“The empire got on perfectly adequately without me for several centuries. It will manage just as well when I’m gone. Each journey I take is more difficult. I wonder if this will be the last time I see this place?”
“You mused about the same thing only two weeks ago, Caesar,” Proclus pointed out. They had descended several terraces in the palace grounds, down precipitous staircases and along twisting paths meandering between groves of dark cypresses.
Their winding way took them to a long colonnade whose pillars were embraced by climbing plants, leafless in this dead season. The sylvan retreat was fitted with benches and faced a marble fountain whose wind-blown jet dared sprinkle droplets on the ruler of the empire as the small procession passed by.
Justin produced a key, opened a low door in the far corner of the colonnade, and thus they had come at last to this concealed garden.
Hemmed in by the blank back of the colonnade and two tall brick retaining walls, the narrow, enclosed space held its secrets fast among the cascading vines and trailing bushes spilling down in thick profusion from plantings on the terrace towering above its fourth side. The trees faintly silhouetted on the level above them might have been floating in the starry sky.
Justin’s attendants, breathing as heavily as the emperor, had lowered him to the bench and, on his curt order, departed to the other side of the colonnade door.
“This garden was Euphemia’s notion,” Justin said. “A private place kept only for us, away from prying eyes and ears. We often came here at night. It’s a good place to talk, and sometimes even…yes…” A reminiscent smile lightened his broad, ruddy face.
Proclus observed that the imperial living quarters offered more warmth, not to mention comfort, on this cold night and pointedly suggested that Justin might be more comfortable there rather than sitting in a cold, dark garden.
“Would I? Even the most trusted guards have ears, Proclus. Yes, on reflection, I should have allowed someone else to take the throne. My life would have been simpler.”
“The Master of Offices was incompetent. As for your other rival, Amantius…he was a villain, to say the least. A treacherous eunuch. Would you have allowed him to place his own man on the throne?”
“There are those who think I am more treacherous still,” Justin replied. “My nephew, to name but one. He believes I condemned Amantius for no other reason than to serve my own ambition. Naturally, he fears I intend to employ the same strategy with him, which is to say executing him for the murder of Hypatius. My own nephew, a man I have educated and nurtured and made my heir, believes this vile lie! How do I know, you wonder? Let’s just say that, like my guards, the walls of the Hormisdas have ears. Perhaps, after all, I am not a foolish old man to wish to speak to you privately here.”
His voice was so low that Proclus could barely make out his words over the sound of water reverberating around the rectangular space. At the base of the waterfall tumbling from the terrace above an alabaster Diana stood poised on a marble outcrop in the middle of a pool whose edges were lost in thick undergrowth.
The moon had risen. As his eyes grew accustomed to its stark, blue light, Proclus could see other alabaster forms, a deer, a goat, a boar, half concealed amid rampant bushes. The pale animals looked alive and made him uneasy, although less so than when he looked up at the rectangle of sky. Then he felt as if he was standing at the bottom of a freshly dug grave.
“Your humors are troubling you this evening, Caesar, and naturally your nephew’s illness worries you, as it does everyone,” he offered. “All these ridiculous plots people gossip about are no more real than that hare by your foot.”
Justin let out a wheezing cough. The long walk down to the garden had taxed his strength. “I have placed my trust in you, Proclus. I want to make certain you know exactly what is going on so you can take appropriate measures should anything happen to me.”
“Happen? What do you mean?” “If I knew what might happen, I could prevent it,” Justin snapped back. “When the streets are on fire who can predict where the wind will carry sparks? You must be prepared for all eventualities.”
“The City Prefect is bringing the troublemakers firmly under control, exactly as you ordered,” Proclus assured him.
“Is he? How can a man who dabbles in magick and potions be trusted?”
“I thought you placed great faith in that painkilling concoction he brings you?”
“To relieve this agony, Proclus, I would deal with Satan. I am not saying that the Gourd does not serve me, but that he is most unreliable. He has strange notions. The other day he told me he knows a man who has unlocked the secret of flight. The Gourd was very excited. He envisions his men soaring above the city, spying out malefactors, swooping down upon them. How can you trust a man with such delusions?”
“Nevertheless, he is making the streets safer, by all accounts.”
“Would this be for my benefit, or to further his own ambitions?”
“You think that he has designs on the throne, Caesar?”
“He has accumulated quite a large force to keep order in the city,” Justin pointed out, “and whereas my excubitors may be better trained and armed, their numbers are far fewer.”
Proclus hastily assured him of the Prefect’s loyalty.
“Justinian trusts him even less than I do,” Justin replied. “He claims that is why he initiated his investigation into Hypatius’ death. On the contrary, I believe it was launched because he’s afraid I’ve ordered the Gourd to produce evidence implicating him.”
“You would never do such a thing.” Proclus sounded shocked.
“Of course not! However, Justinian has a certain someone whispering poisonous thoughts in his ear all hours of the day and night, doesn’t he?”
From the darkness came the faint mournful call of some nocturnal bird Proclus did not recognize. The quaestor had never taken an interest in the outdoors. To him, night meant neatly scrivened sheets of laws softly glowing in lamplight, and perhaps a splash of wine at the end of his labors.
“Surely Justinian is as interested in finding out the truth about Hypatius’ death as you are,” he finally ventured.
Justin laughed. “How do you suppose a slave and an excubitor are going to solve such a mystery? Justinian is simply giving a less than subtle warning, telling me he is aware of my supposed conspiracy against him. As if the emperor needs to conspire to remain in power! All I need to do that is order an execution and it is done. That, of course, is what my nephew fears.”
He sighed. “Doubtless, the slave is also there to keep an eye on the Gourd, just as Felix has been instructed, except of course the one reports to me and the other to Justinian. Why do you imagine the Gourd’s so angry about those two? Frankly, it makes me suspect he’s up to something he doesn’t want me to know about. And naturally Felix is also keeping watch on Justinian’s slave for me. Oh, my nephew and I have had a long conversation about all this, dancing about the subject without ever once coming right out and saying what we meant. It’s all very tiresome, Proclus. All of us at court have to deceive endlessly in order to keep each other honest.”
His companion’s brow wrinkled as he considered the matter. “A pair of informers, known to be such not only to each other but also to the person both are supposed to be informing on…that would appear to create an impasse. If they do manage to find out who murdered Hypatius, so much the better. A most intelligent strategy, Caesar. My compliments.” He bowed.
“You don’t need to flatter me, Proclus,” Justin replied, sounding pleased. “Now tell me this. How do you know I didn’t order you to accompany me to this secluded place so you could be strangled?”
“Caesar?” The garden, frosted by moonlight and populated by indistinctly seen creatures lurking in thick vegetation, suddenly appeared sinister and unwelcoming.
“Don’t tell me you harbor no ambitions! Yet as I said, I do trust you, and so I will tell you a secret. Ah, you look distressed. It isn’t healthy to know an emperor’s secrets, is it? Nevertheless, be warned, I have no intention of replacing Justinian with another heir. He is my blood kin, my sister’s son, and I promised her when I adopted him that I would raise him up to succeed me. He is like the son Euphemia and I could not have.”