Thomas suddenly looked abashed. “I…I…well, people refer to you as John the Eunuch and….”
“You have been asking about me?”
“No. But people talk and-
“So you imagine I cannot be swayed by feminine magick?”
“Nor…uh…persuaded to swerve from the path of righteousness,” Thomas replied. “Who was it said there are those who make themselves eunuchs to better serve heaven?”
John filled his cup again. “One doesn’t serve by refraining from that which he cannot attempt. My condition is not of choice, I can assure you.”
“It wouldn’t be. But how was…no, I apologize. I have had far too much of this excellent wine.”
John realized that Thomas wasn’t alone in having had far too much to drink. He couldn’t remember when he had last been so intoxicated. Not since he had begun his ascent at court. Possibly not since he had been a young man. The little girl in the mosaic looked out at him, reproach in the glass facets of her eyes. He knew he should not say more. Nonetheless he spoke.
“You want to know how I came by my nickname, do you Thomas? Since we are such great friends, as you seem to think, the two of us having met three times, I shall tell you.”
“It isn’t necessary. Forgive my impertinence.”
“No, I will tell you, Thomas. My lover and I were with a troupe of bull-leapers. We traveled endlessly. They entertained, I was one of their guards. The roads are dangerous. We were very much in love. Odd to think of it now, is it not? I wanted the best for her. It was her birthday. I was young. I was impatient. I made inquiries, and heard of a man who sold silk. Illegally, of course. But I wanted my Cornelia to have silk. I bragged to my friends in the troupe that if all those high-born ladies could have it, then so would my Cornelia.
“I had been drinking that night too, and the idea suddenly seized me that I must obtain silk before the sun rose again. So I went. The roads in the area were little more than ruts. Amid the defiles and brush, in the darkness, I took a wrong turning.
“The man I sought was encamped at a crossroads at the base of a prominent hill, or so I had been told. All the hills looked prominent and none of the roads I took crossed others. Still, I convinced myself I was moving in the right direction. I went on and on. I have learned since that it is better to turn back sooner rather than later.
“I crossed into Persian territory. We’ve been at war with the Persians a long time. I was caught. I wish I could say I killed at least one of them. In my time, I have killed men. But I was taken by surprise, knocked to the ground, a boy manhandled by his older brothers.”
Thomas grunted uneasily. He looked ill. “There’s no need to….”
“I insist, my friend. You wanted to know. I will spare you the details of my captivity. I was not enslaved alone. After some time we became a burden. We were to be killed. It was Fortuna that brought traders, because to them we were of some value, provided we were properly prepared. Eunuchs are considered by many to be more dependable in certain roles than other men, unburdened as they are by family loyalties or normal appetites.
“You are aware how such a condition is accomplished. When you are young you feel invulnerable. You think you are not like the others. Others may die, but not you. You cannot imagine being shorn of what makes you a man so easily? Are you familiar with the weapon employed by the Persian soldier?”
“I must leave!” Thomas staggered to his feet, knocking his stool over, stumbling into John’s desk, sending the jug onto its side.
John heard Peter’s door bang open and the servant’s steps coming downstairs. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. The room was circling. Why had he been telling this stranger the story he never related to anyone?
“But how can one live through such an ordeal?” Thomas whispered thickly.
“We live or we die. It is not our choice.” John turned away from the big knight and toward Zoe. “And now,” he told the mosaic girl, “I can give Cornelia as much silk as she could ever desire.”
Chapter Nineteen
John winced at the sunlight that shouted through the kitchen window. His head pounded and he could feel a vein in his temple squirming. Nevertheless he couldn’t stomach Peter’s proffered cure which sat untouched in a large goblet on the scarred wooden table in front of him.
Anatolius, newly arrived, gave John a concerned look and inquired about his health.
“Too much wine,” John groaned, and proceeded to describe his evening, including a description of Thomas and his supposed mission. “I’m afraid I had very loose lips last night. A dangerous practice for a Lord Chamberlain.”
“You had a shock yesterday, John. Meeting Cornelia again after so long. Not to mention Leukos’ death and this peculiar foreigner showing up.”
“I should know how to control myself.”
“You’re only human, even if you sometimes pretend otherwise.” Anatolius glanced at the goblet on the table. “What’s that odd concoction?”
“Owls’ eggs and wine, the traditional cure for over-indulgence of the grape, as Peter put it. I’m not sure which is more unpleasant, that mixture or the look of disapproval Peter had when he put it down in front of me.”
Anatolius smiled. “Perhaps he intends it as your punishment. You should carry an amethyst. It’s said they’re a marvelous antidote to intoxication.”
“Do you carry one?”
“I tried but it didn’t help. You know the way it is with these cures, they always work, but only for someone else.”
“True enough.”
“And what about this scoundrel Thomas?”
“Peter saw him out. Unceremoniously, I gather. Peter has taken a dislike to him.”
“I’m not surprised. Some barbarian trying to pass himself off as a knight from Bretania in search of a holy relic. You can’t believe a tale like that! I wonder what he’s really up to?”
“I don’t know what to believe when it comes to Thomas. He presents a problem.”
“And to think he’s staying where Leukos and I visited the soothsayer. I never knew the Inn of the Centaurs was such a popular place. You should have told me about him yesterday.”
“I would have, but when you told me about Cornelia….”
“Yes, I would have forgotten everything else myself.” He reached out and tapped the leather pouch lying on the table. “Is this Leukos’ pouch, the one you told me about?”
“Yes. A messenger from the prefect delivered it last night, but Peter only told me this morning. I was waiting for my head to stop throbbing before examining it. No point in putting it off longer, I suppose. But I must request that you tell no one I have it.” As he spoke, John picked up the pouch, loosened its drawstring, and poured the contents out into the painfully bright sunlight lying across the table.
Something rolled across the table top, fell over the edge, and ticked down on the tiled floor. Anatolius retrieved a tiny, polished green stone. John frowned, puzzled.
“I have one like that,” Anatolius offered. “The soothsayer gave it to me after he told my future. It was one of the pebbles he used to do it. He said I should keep it for good fortune.”
John could hardly believe his own good fortune. “So we’ve learned something already! Leukos must have kept his appointment with the soothsayer. The old man said he had, but objects are not so prone to lie as people.”
The other contents of the pouch were more commonplace. There were four coins, three of silver and one gold, the gold coin having been clipped, which John theorized might indicate that Leukos had made a purchase on the last afternoon or evening of his life. But on the other hand, it might also indicate that he, or the coin’s previous owner, had purchased something earlier.
“Nothing to be learned from the coins, then?” queried Anatolius.
“Actually they tell us quite a bit. For one thing, it confirms what we had already surmised from the fact that Leukos still had the pouch. It wasn’t robbery.”
“You mean because they weren’t taken? Perhaps the thieves stole something Leukos had just purchased. Perhaps they were scared away as they were in the process of robbing him. That could have happened if they were interrupted by a passerby. Someone might even have come out of Isis’ house and disturbed them.”