Xanthe looked at her sleeping son. “Triton thought I should support him. It was the final straw. But Nereus did not tell Prudentius the entire story, Lord Chamberlain. What he feared would happen had already taken place. He somehow found out about me. He hated me. After all, I wasn’t a suitable companion for his useless drunkard of a son, was I?” She smiled wanly.
“Nereus discovered your background and demanded your former employer intercede?”
Xanthe drew herself up proudly. “Not at all. I left Triton and returned to Prudentius’ service by my own choice. Afterwards, Nereus came here, asking Prudentius to keep me away from Triton. Then Triton showed up at the house door demanding Prudentius return what he had stolen. He thought he owned me because I’d married him, you see.”
“And you bore his child.”
“The marriage was a mistake.”
“Was it? Considering he was the only son of an extremely wealthy man?”
Xanthe made no reply.
“On my first visit here, one of the beggars remarked that you are Prudentius’ favorite,” John finally said. “I couldn’t help noticing Prudentius has a special fondness for you, and such conversations between you as I witnessed tended to support the notion. Is it possible Prudentius wishes to marry you?”
Xanthe’s mouth trembled. “Prudentius is dying.”
***
John followed Xanthe through the garden. Above them, Ezra the stylite mumbled a mournful hymn. John could distinguish occasional phrases. Christ the physician, come to treat ailing mankind. A spear and nails for surgical instruments, vinegar to treat its wounds. His robe for a dressing. By suffering He will end all suffering.
John thought that if suffering could really end suffering there would have long since been no pain left in the world.
“Here he is.” Xanthe stopped beside Prudentius’ door, which faced into the garden peristyle.
Yet another door, John thought.
The last door.
“The sickness came upon him suddenly. It is the worst sort.” Tears rolled down her face.
John stepped alone into Prudentius’ darkened room.
Its smell overwhelmed the senses, a heavy sweetness overlaid with the ripe odor of decay.
Prudentius lay propped up on his narrow pallet. The elongated rectangle of bright light falling through the open door lay across a figure which appeared to have already collapsed in on itself. The lawyer’s hands lay motionless at his sides. Only glittering eyes under bristling brows gave any hint of life.
Prudentius blinked, dazzled, at the tall, elegant figure silhouetted in the nimbus of light streaming in from outside.
When John shut the door, the only illumination was from bars of light filtering in through cracks in the closed shutters.
“I knew you would come for me,” Prudentius gasped, his voice as distant as a whisper from the grave. “I am ready.”
John stepped forward until he stood by the dying man’s bedside. “You murdered Triton.”
Prudentius released a long whistling breath that carried a faint denial.
“Why wasn’t Triton suspicious of the smoked cheese you gave him, considering the enmity he’d shown you? Was it presented as being a gift of reconciliation from his father? Its unusual taste would have masked whatever poison you used,” John continued. “Naturally people took the cause of his death to be the plague. When Cador delivered Nereus’ letter and with it the news that Nereus had died, you questioned him closely.”
The dying man stared wordlessly at him.
“You asked Cador the things a lawyer would need to know, and so discovered he was among the witnesses to Nereus’ final will,” John went on. “He didn’t need to tell you he could not hear since it became obvious during your conversation, at which point you realized at once Nereus’ oral will was invalid. Since his intent was to disinherit Triton, obviously this meant under the original will the estate would pass to Triton, or through him to his heir, Nereus’ grandson. Who just happened to be living here with his mother under your protection.”
Prudentius remained silent.
“So simple, isn’t it?” John went on. “Even if Cador died, any of the other servants, Sylvanus for example, would testify to the fact the man was deaf.”
“It was Nereus’ wish to disinherit his son…” Prudentius protested feebly. “I exerted no influence on him regarding the matter…Nereus agreed to assist me with my philanthropy…The letter Cador brought concerned certain…financial arrangements to this end…”
“Whatever you choose to call them, those payments were to ensure you kept Xanthe well away from Triton. However, once you realized the will under which Triton inherited his father’s wealth was still valid, you murdered Triton so that his son, his legitimate and only child, would inherit instead. In the end, the real key to this final door was Triton’s murder, which was not directly connected with the witnesses I sought so hard to find, and yet everything to do with the will.”
John paused for an instant. “Tell me, would Xanthe and the boy have long survived her marriage to you, Prudentius?”
Prudentius made a sound that was a sigh or a murmured prayer. One of his hands twitched weakly, unable to rise from the coverlet.
“I care deeply about them both…but surely you have come to take me to heaven, holy one? I have given all I can in charity. I could have done so much more with Nereus’ wealth…You understand, I am certain…Hurry! The others are coming. Don’t you hear them scratching? Their wings beating? Don’t let them drag me away!”
The frail body trembled.
Understanding dawned on John.
“Who do you suppose I am, Prudentius?”
“Why, you are an angel, of course, a messenger from heaven…which ordained Cador should serve as a witness and then sent him to me…The Lord knew how difficult it has been for me to continue my good works, to care for all my charges…It was a miracle.”
The rasping, fading voice trailed away. The lawyer’s lips continued to form words without enough breath to animate them.
John bent and put his face next to the dying man’s.
“…deserved to die,” Prudentius was whispering. “The plague might have taken him soon enough anyway. He would have squandered everything and what would my poor family have done then? I was heaven’s tool, nothing more.”
His head jerked to one side and he stared into the shadows. “They’re here…please, holy one…they’re here! No! Let go!”
Prudentius let out a strangled shriek.
John took a step away.
Prudentius’ hand shot out and clutched John’s garment.
“Don’t go! Take me with you! I had to kill him, don’t you see? To help my family…I was merely serving the Lord as best I could.”
The hand on John’s robe lost its grip and fell away.
Prudentius stared fixedly at John. “I beg you, holy one. Tell me whether or not heaven has forgiven me…”
John looked down at the tormented face.
He did not reply.
Epilogue
John stood in his atrium and gazed out into the brightly illuminated garden.
He imagined its green expanse as a pool of brightness set amid largely darkened city streets beneath a sky veiled by acrid smoke. At this hour lamplight would be spilling from the windows of the Great Church to join with the lurid glow of burning vessels, silhouetting the roofs of dwellings under which no living person lay. Few were abroad now except carters transporting the departed to their final earthly destinations or the faithful attending church services, adding their pleas to those praying for the plague to pass.
There was a matter that would not wait for the plague to leave, if indeed it intended to depart at all.
Singing tunelessly to himself, Peter bustled past bearing a large platter of fruit. Hypatia followed, carrying an enormous silver wine jug. Rarely used, it was engraved with bunches of grapes and vine tendrils, appropriate decorations for the forthcoming celebration.