John ignored the comment. “Would you say this discontent was organized?”
“No. I took it to be your everyday grumbling fueled by overindulgence in the grape. Bribes costing too much, taxes too high, contracts being sold on the side. However, that was a year or two ago. Often dissatisfaction takes a long time to turn into action. It wouldn’t surprise me if it did perhaps eventually come to something.”
John said nothing, allowing the flow of words to continue.
Fortunatus snapped his cloth at the air. It might have been a gesture of disdain leveled at officialdom in all its guises. “If it’s conspirators you want to talk about, interview Opimius. He seemed to know a large number of, let us say, malcontents who would just as soon Justinian did not become emperor. Why don’t you ask him about it?”
“I don’t think he would be very open with me.”
“I suppose not. Well, let me be open then. I’ve had to spend my whole life behind a mask, mouthing lies of one sort or another, but I would not honor the Lord were I to take shelter in His house and continue lying, would I? It’s been said that Justinian has purchased every senator, but it’s not so. There are those who don’t need his largesse and others who are not of the Christian persuasion, may the Lord have mercy on their souls. On the other hand, it’s true that most of the Senate wants to officially request Justin to step aside. He is only a figurehead now, or was until this mysterious illness felled his nephew, who many suspect rules from the shadows. However, there are still a number of prominent citizens who oppose Justinian becoming emperor. Hypatius was one and Opimius is another. And I should mention two of Opimius’ closest associates- landholders who fear Justinian’s predations-Trenico and Tryphon are of the same thought.”
He began to ramble about how he would advise the latter two to donate their land to the church before Justinian seized it and then retire to the monastery to help him polish silver rather than laying up further wealth.
John barely heard him. He had sought out Fortunatus, as he had Dominica, to pursue his new theory concerning Hypatius’ death: that it stemmed from the donation of the sculpture rather than from political intrigue. Instead what he had found was unexpected confirmation of a possible conspiracy against Justinian.
Worse, it was not information Justinian would wish to hear for it could certainly be twisted to prove he would have had a reason to want Hypatius dead. Not to mention several others. There were many in the city who still believed Justinian responsible for Vitalian’s death, even though the only evidence they could point to was that the death had benefited Justinian.
Beyond that, Anna’s father clearly appeared to be involved with those who were opposed to Justinian ever ruling. It was not just coincidence that he had been talking with Trenico and Tryphon at the baths. The latter had denied acquaintanceship with Opimius for good reason.
Fortunatus talked on, but said nothing more of consequence. Still chattering, he finally escorted John to the monastery gate. Outside, passersby hurried along, bent about their own business. John glanced back at the low building they had just left. He would welcome the opportunity to sink into its peace, he thought, as he stepped out into the world again.
“One thing more,” Fortunatus said as he held the gate open. “If you were thinking of interviewing Dio, there’s no point in going straight to his studio. He visits a friend here now and then so I happen to know that he won’t be back from Proconnesus until late today. He’s been out there for the past few days choosing marble for his next commission.”
“Do you happen to know what it is?”
“Hypatius had not begun building his final resting place, although he’d given Dio very detailed instructions for its design,” was the surprising answer. “He greatly admired the tomb the young man created for Dominica’s last husband.”
Fortunatus gave John directions to Dio’s studio. “Let’s hope it doesn’t decide to run away before you arrive,” he concluded.
He began to swing the gate shut, but John stopped him. “You say Dio designed the tomb for Dominica’s last husband?”
“Dio was the husband’s bastard son. As for me, I tend to think he may be Dominica’s offspring, but then I am just an old man who has fled the world, and glad to have left it behind.”
The gate banged shut, leaving John alone with his thoughts-among them that Fortunatus had not left the world nearly so far behind as he claimed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When he was ushered into Emperor Justin’s private apartment, Felix saw that the most powerful ruler in the civilized world was reclining on a couch. He was eating bread and cheese from an earthenware plate.
The homely sight heartened him. He could not help comparing the frugal fare to the culinary conceits offered at the Gourd’s banquet. There was certainly something to the old saying that a man’s nature was in his nourishment.
“Ah, my excubitor,” Justin muttered around a mouthful of bread, without waiting for Felix to bow. He handed his crumb-dusted plate to the guard stationed behind his couch, who juggled with the dish one-handedly while contriving to retain his other hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Take that plate away,” Justin instructed the man irritably.
“As you direct, Caesar.” The guard eyed Felix suspiciously.
“He’s one of my bodyguards, just like you, but one who doesn’t balk at carrying out his orders,” Justin snapped. “Leave.”
Felix felt a glow of pride at the emperor’s words. For an instant he forgot the chagrin that had been building inside him for the past few days as he talked endlessly to various people, never daring to say exactly what he meant, nodding politely at the palpable lies he was offered. It had made him feel as if he was an obsequious palace bureaucrat rather than a military man. He remembered now that however unpleasant his duty might be, the man he served had once been a soldier too.
When they were alone, Justin’s voice fell to a tired whisper akin to parchment sheets rustling in a breeze. “What have you been doing, Felix? Do you have anything to report yet?” He made no effort to conceal a grimace of pain as he leaned back.
Felix outlined the investigations he and John had carried out. Put into words and presented to the emperor, their efforts sounded futile, even ludicrous.
Justin waved his prominently veined hand. “No, no. The words these people speak aren’t worth a clod of dirt. I’m not interested in what they told you. What I want to know is what did you learn? What did you observe? What do you make of the situation?”
For a moment Felix could not speak. He could hardly believe that the emperor was asking for his opinion. Finally he said, “To begin with, Caesar, there are more axes to grind at court than there are in to be found in all the woodworkers’ shops in the city.”
“I have numerous axes myself. Mine are extremely sharp and very useful for removing heads from shoulders.”
“As you say, Caesar. However, it would appear that the majority of those to whom we spoke were more intent on fomenting difficulties than in aiding our inquiries.”
“This colleague of yours, Justinian’s eunuch. Has he said anything about my nephew?”
“I regret that I’m not certain what you mean.”
Justin shifted ponderously on the couch, his lips compressed into a tight line. A large crumb clung to the moist corner of his mouth. Felix had the fleeting impression that the man was not so much living within his big body as being crushed under its dead weight.
“Slaves always talk to each other. The palace is full of gossip. Do you think I don’t know what is being whispered behind my back? What about this notion Justinian’s got into his head, that I’m planning to accuse him of having a hand in the murder of Hypatius?”