Three for a Letter (11 page)

Godomar began to speak, then decided against it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bertrada told him. “She looks just like the Whore of Babylon! Isn’t that right?”

“You are obviously distraught by the tragedy that befell your charge, Bertrada. That’s entirely understandable. Nevertheless, I shall have to speak with Livia about your behavior.”

With that Godomar picked up the offending works and stalked out, hoping that Theodora would forgive him if Sunilda should innocently repeat any of her nursemaid’s blasphemous nonsense in her hearing.

He was halfway down the corridor when he met Peter. The servant seemed to have so little to do that one might have suspected the Lord Chamberlain had brought him to the estate just to give him a holiday, Godomar thought sourly.

“I was assisting in the kitchen but Master Zeno’s cook is a very insolent man, and careless to boot,” Peter explained when Godomar questioned him concerning his duties. “He refused to follow any of my suggestions and in fact just said, very rudely indeed, that I must have something more pressing to attend to elsewhere. Everyone seems eager to put me to work except my master. I am becoming weary from not having enough to do. Besides which, I find my thoughts are constantly turning to the things I see all around me. It makes me very uneasy, sir. I imagine it must give a pious man like yourself a great deal to ponder on also?”

“What is it that particularly troubles you?” Godomar inquired.

Peter frowned. “For one thing, there are far too many comings and goings and people creeping around during the night. It’s said that the flesh is weak, I know, but on this estate it seems absolutely helpless.”

“But you serve in the palace, Peter. Surely you have seen such behavior before?”

“My master has his own house, thanks be to heaven,” Peter replied fervently, “and a well-ordered house it is too. Indeed, while I’ve served in many places in my time, I’ve never seen such brazen impropriety since I was—well, even then—” He paused and frowned. “It must be something to do with all these mechanical abominations, sir. I know it’s not a servant’s place to question his betters but is not creating a thing that mimics life almost blasphemy? Perhaps that was why the poor little boy died and Poppaea is now so ill.”

“That is possible,” Godomar acknowledged. “However, you appear to be devout, Peter, so I doubt you’ll come to any harm in this place.”

“But were not Gadaric and Poppaea also devout?”

“Indeed,” the other confirmed, “yet even those of us who are firmly bound to goodness must be always on our guard.”

“If you would be good enough to offer a prayer for me and for my master I would be most grateful,” Peter said hesitantly.

“I will do so gladly.”

Thus reassured, the elderly servant continued on his slow way down the corridor.

Watching him go, Godomar wondered how loyal such a devout man could be to a pagan master who was certainly beyond salvation. Indeed, he suspected that the twins’ Christian but sadly Arian forebears, including even the great ruler Theodoric himself, were presently crying out in agony in their eternal punishment.

The thought reminded him of the preparations he had yet to make for Gadaric’s funeral. Thanks to his ceaseless labors, he thought with some satisfaction, the innocent boy had been a good, orthodox Christian. His rites would certainly reflect that. Given the godless enticements of the world—especially those of the court, not to mention Zeno’s estate—it was almost as well that Gadaric had died so young. The road to salvation was a difficult one but his had been shorter than most. Now his sister must continue on that road alone.

Yes, thought Godomar, the road to salvation would be an excellent topic for the address he would give at the boy’s funeral. He wondered if the unrepentantly pagan Lord Chamberlain would deign to attend.

Chapter Thirteen

John walked away from Gadaric’s grave. Although it was past mid-morning the grass of the small clearing in an inconspicuous corner of Zeno’s garden was still soaked with heavy dew. John could feel its moisture seeping uncomfortably through the soft leather of his boots. He chided himself for even noticing such a petty annoyance under the circumstances. After all, life was full of trivial irritations, all endless distractions from its tragedies and joys.

Those who had attended the brief ceremony began to drift away back to the villa. A few remained in the clearing and talked in hushed tones. Godomar’s voice rose above the others. Birds sang cheerfully, unheeding, in the surrounding trees.

The boy’s funeral had been slightly delayed while messages went back and forth between the estate and Constantinople. There had been some concern over where Gadaric should be laid to rest since the twins had no family, or at least not outside Italy, and no permanent residence, having been shifted from one host to another during most of their brief lives. Finally it was decided that burial on the estate where Gadaric had spent his last summer seemed as appropriate as any other place.

“I’ll have a fitting memorial built,” Zeno had said. “With an ever-burning flame. Or perhaps it could include a replica of one of those toy animals Hero made for the children. Gadaric had such fun with them, you know. Hero could make it so that it would move in the wind. I think the boy would have liked that, don’t you?”

John did not remind the kindly old man that Gadaric would not be able to enjoy such a creation. He had noticed that during Godomar’s graveside remarks Zeno had shifted from foot to foot, looking like a lost child.

The boy’s sister Sunilda, on the other hand, had appeared utterly composed, standing between her nursemaid and Calyce. The women repeatedly wiped away tears and directed concerned looks at their charge, but the child had remained dry-eyed. She appeared bored. Once John thought he saw a hastily suppressed smile begin to form on her lips.

John had now spoken to the kitchen staff and the gardeners, not to mention estate laborers and house servants and slaves, concerning the night of the banquet. Predictably, they had neither seen nor heard anything of assistance, their attention having been occupied with their master’s wealthy, high-born guests. Although this famous senator or that renowned lady had been mentioned in passing, the merest glimpse of the empress had been enough to drive any possibly useful information from their collective minds.

John was contemplating the task ahead when Calyce caught up with him.

“Lord Chamberlain, I didn’t see your young friend Anatolius at the ceremony.” Her mouth was set in a grim line which accentuated her prominent jaw.

“It was necessary for him to ride for Constantinople, Calyce. He asked me to express his condolences to the boy’s family at an appropriate time after the funeral. I should be grateful if you would accept them on his behalf.”

“But of course. How considerate of Anatolius. Poor Gadaric, he doesn’t have much of a family. Or didn’t have, I should say.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Bertrada is only a nursemaid but I’ve tried to help her as much as I could, or at least when I am not waiting on the empress when she’s in residence here. Bertrada’s little more than a child herself, you know, and has to deal with that overbearing man Godomar, although I suppose I shouldn’t have such harsh words for a man of religion.”

“Do I understand Bertrada is an Ostrogoth herself and came from Italy with the twins?”

“Oh, yes. She was in Amalasuntha’s household but there is no family connection as such. Italy became very dangerous for anyone connected with Amalasuntha and Bertrada was fortunate she was sent to Constantinople with the twins when they were taken under the emperor’s protection. She makes a fine nursemaid for them, being their countrywoman. However, she was young when she left Italy and had really had no opportunity to gain an appreciation for the finer, more elegant ways of court. So I’ve tried to take her under my wing and instruct her a little.”

“You and Livia are also originally from Italy?”

“Yes, we are. Indeed, that was the reason Theodora chose us from among all her ladies-in-waiting to stay here with the children this summer.”

Godomar strode past them at a great pace. He said nothing but his gaze lingered on John and Calyce as they walked along together and his mouth tightened.

“Is the prelate also Italian?” John asked as Godomar swept silently by.

“I believe so. Why, Lord Chamberlain, just think! We appear to have almost rebuilt Rome on the shores of the Marmara!”

“Please don’t give Zeno any more wild ideas, Calyce. Tell me, had you met Godomar before you arrived at this estate?”

“No, I hadn’t. I suppose Justinian chose him to tutor the children because of his obvious piety—not to mention his orthodoxy.”

“I haven’t seen Livia this morning,” John noted.

“She’s sitting with Poppaea. The girl still hasn’t woken up. Do you think it’s that awful dwarf creeping about, up to no good? We’re all in danger so long as he is loose.”

“The search for Barnabas continues and Captain Felix’s excubitors are guarding the estate,” John reassured her. “There is nothing to fear. As to Poppaea, Gaius was of the opinion that she would soon awaken of her own accord.”

Calyce looked dubious. “Gaius? You mean the palace physician? I was there when he examined the girl. He was full of talk about an excess of yellow bile. Apply cold compresses, he told us, and meantime if her condition worsens, we are to summon him again. Yet how long has she slept now? And we are merely to apply cold compresses! I think it is past time we sought a physician’s help again. Preferably a different one.”

“Poppaea still sleeps, but her condition has not worsened. Gaius did not think it would. He does have some experience in treating the effects of poison, Calyce. In fact, he told me that in this particular case, Poppaea’s youth will serve her recovery better than any treatment he—or any physician—could administer.”

Calyce gave a sniff of disdain. They walked in silence for a while. “And when will Anatolius be returning?” Calyce finally asked.

“Soon, I’d think. Tell me, Calyce, is Bertrada trustworthy?”

“Trustworthy? Certainly. A bit flighty, perhaps, but she is young. She has handled the twins very well. They were a difficult pair of children, Sunilda in particular. She seems to live in a world of her own invention.”

“I’ve noticed that. Could it be due to Bertrada’s influence in some way?”

“Oh no, excellency. My only concern for Bertrada, although really it’s none of my business, well…I shouldn’t say.”

“What is it that worries you?” John prompted her.

“Well, it’s this inexplicable fancy she’s taken to the excubitor captain, Felix.”

***

As Felix approached a bend in the flagstone path he detected the sound of running. He drew his sword as he looked keenly around.

Despite the light remaining in the sky, dusk had already settled under the surrounding shrubbery and insects had begun their discordant night songs.

A small form crashed through the bushes. Felix leapt back, raising his sword. Then he himself looked down at Sunilda, who returned his surprised stare with a wide grin.

The girl uttered a piercing shriek and then bolted away down the path behind Felix just as John strolled around the bend after her. He seemed remarkably untroubled by his charge’s flight. Turning to look after the child Felix saw the reason for the Lord Chamberlain’s unconcern. Bertrada was approaching.

Sunilda raced to her nursemaid’s side and clung to her tunic, hopping up and down and looking over her shoulder in mock terror.

“It’s a bear,” she cried. “Help! Help! A big bear’s going to get me.” She began screaming again but the screams dissolved into laughter.

Bertrada leaned over. Her blonde hair swung down fetchingly as she put her slim arms around the girl. “Oh, my! You’re right!” she smiled. “But he’s such a handsome beast, don’t you think? He won’t harm us. See, he’s putting away his sword. Why, we might even be able to lure him home and keep him for a pet.”

Sunilda giggled. Felix felt his mouth go dry. He stood speechless, tugging at his beard.

“It’s a pity you don’t have any honey, Bertrada,” John smiled. “You could have lured that bear away with it! Still, Sunilda and I have had a fine walk.”

“Yes, we talked the whole way,” the girl said, suddenly solemn.

The nursemaid wondered what topic could have occupied them for so long.

“Philosophy,” Sunilda told her.

The two men looked after Bertrada and her small companion as they vanished along the shadowy path toward the villa. Felix wished now he had not confessed to John how much Bertrada reminded him of Berta. The Lord Chamberlain did not say much, however, but merely stared thoughtfully into the thickening shadows and then, after a word of encouragement, left Felix to complete his patrol and departed down the path himself.

Felix continued through the darkening garden. As he marched along, he turned his bushy-haired head this way and that in a semblance of alertness, but in fact King Khosrow could have led half of the Persian army past under his nose and would still have remained undetected. No matter how much he tried, Felix could not put Bertrada out of his mind. He muttered a curse or two and then began tunelessly humming a marching song.

The figure appeared before him as silently as an apparition, a glowing vision set against a dark background of shrubs. And as impossible as it seemed, she was completely naked. Her form was more perfect than Felix could ever have imagined.

It was also sculpted in marble, he realized, even as he felt his heart jump like a rabbit in a snare.

All the same, as he passed by the statue he couldn’t help but touch her reassuringly cool hip. The ancient Greek artist had certainly done a remarkable job, he told himself, although the effect had been aided more than somewhat by his, Felix’s, unrestrained imaginings.

And his imaginings now turned to other matters.

Felix felt uneasy. Who or what threatened the little girl? As commander of the men guarding the palace, he was accustomed to shadowy enemies that could not be confronted directly and honorably on a field of battle, but in this instance the enemy seemed even more nebulous, not to say ludicrous. He and his men had been dispatched to secure an estate against a venomous dwarf who seemed invisible, able to come and go at will. How would his next attack materialize? By poisoning the entire household? Or letting loose another mechanical device to wreak mayhem?

Felix turned and began to march back along the path. He had gone only a few paces when he spotted the second figure moving across the garden. For an instant he wondered if it was his overactive imagination at work but at the crack of a dry twig as the figure stepped forward, Felix knew this was not a vision.

Barnabas!

He sprinted toward the intruder.

Then he realized that the figure was not as short as the mime but rather more the height of the nursemaid who had been tormenting his thoughts until recollection of the accursed dwarf had driven her out of them.

The figure had long, light-colored hair.

It was Bertrada.

Running swiftly up, he lightly grabbed her arm to turn her around. “Bertrada, you shouldn’t be out here alone! You know it’s dangerous!”

The face that turned up toward his was wrinkled. The light hair was not blonde, but rather silver.

“My name is Minthe,” the woman informed him with quiet dignity.

***

Calyce was waiting at the back of the villa as Minthe had said. The herbalist had scorched Felix’s ears on the way there. Didn’t he know she would be treating Poppaea?

Felix had quickly regained his senses. “But if you’re going to be healing the girl, why do you have to come skulking in like this, not to mention in the dark?” he asked shrewdly.

“Poppaea’s mother has expressed some misgivings about the origin of Minthe’s skills,” Calyce explained. “So we thought this would be the best way.”

Minthe was blunter. “The truth, Captain Felix, is that if she knew I was here, Livia would not allow me to set foot in the poor child’s room. Yet it is my potions that will bring her daughter back to full health. I’ve come to see how she’s doing. She will be awake soon, and there are certain mixtures to be prepared for her.”

“Livia is distraught and hardly knows what she is saying right now. She’ll be grateful to you in the end, you’ll see,” Calyce assured the woman.

Felix’s orders from Justinian had not included instructions concerning dealings with Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting. After their brief discussion and reassured that Minthe was expected, Felix allowed them to go inside, glad to see them go. Glad to be entirely free of women, young, old and in-between for a while, he thought wearily.

The torches set in brackets by the villa door sputtered and flared. Something brushed his cheek, as lightly as a memory. It was a moth, now circling one of the torches, its fluttering shadow on the wall looking larger than a bird’s.

A vision of Bertrada returned, painfully, to flutter in his mind’s eye. No, what was he thinking, he scolded himself. The well-loved face smiling in his memory was Berta’s.

Surely there could be no other man in the whole of the empire so sorely distressed.