Anatolius lifted his face from his goblet. “A remarkable landscape of dead flesh to set beneath the nose of an emperor who won’t eat meat. Perhaps Theodora ordered the display as a little jest at Justinian’s expense.”
The Armenian ambassador laughed loudly and John shot Anatolius a warning look.
John glanced around. Several couches away the patriarch was dining frugally on bread and red wine. The Mithran in the Lord Chamberlain would have admired a man whose religious sensibilities did not allow him to indulge in the pleasures of the world even an arm’s length from the emperor. Then again, the old cleric’s lack of appetite here might be common sense, for at court even members of the church were not immune from political machinations and assassination attempts.
The patriarch looked pale and gaunt. John wondered whether the old man’s professional interest in eternal salvation was becoming a matter of personal concern.
His gaze moved to Theodora, who was now busily spearing slices of roast duck with her knife while her husband occupied himself with a bowl of what might as well have been weeds so far as John could tell. Would the empress be an attractive woman without the rouge and powder and luxurious robes? Justinian, he noticed, regarded her with an expression of fond indulgence even as she bit daintily into her duck with her small carnivore’s teeth.
After the dining finally ended and Patriarch Epiphanios had muttered the closing grace and departed, the shrilling of flutes announced the start of the entertainment.
John hardly noticed the mimes or the dwarves. When a dancing girl clad in white from shoulder to thigh, her scanty clothing shimmering in the lamplight, leapt onto the table, she merely served to remind John of Berta, with whom Felix and Thomas had been so taken.
The dancing girl glanced down at Anatolius, lost her balance, and fell off the table just as two miniature chariots pulled by small, briskly trotting, long-haired dogs and driven by hirsute brown charioteers burst into the hall.
“Monkeys!” cried the ambassador.
Tiny bells on the dogs’ polished leather harnesses jingled merrily as the diminutive charioteers commenced to chase each other around the hall, chattering, displaying their teeth, and waving miniature spears at each other.
The diners roared with laughter.
“The poor dancer must not like monkeys,” said Anatolius, scrambling off his couch to help the girl up.
John swiveled around to watch the charioteers, who had made a circuit of the table and were returning.
One of the drivers clutched a bunch of grapes he had snatched from the table.
The other hurled his spear in John’s direction.
John heard the tiny projectile hiss past his ear, then the weapon embedded itself in the shoulder of the senator across the table.
As the wounded man looked in stupefaction at the blood blossoming on his garments diners fell utterly silent.
Except for Theodora’s cawing laugh.
***
When the banquet was over John made his way to the foyer where the emperor and empress were receiving selected guests. He was still pondering the charioteers. Surely the spear could not have been intended for him? A monkey couldn’t possibly be trained to select a target, could it? His close call had been nothing more than chance.
Justinian greeted him with his usual bland geniality. “All was perfect, as usual, Lord Chamberlain.”
“Thank you, Caesar.” John bowed.
Justinian waved a beringed hand. “And that reminds me. I have not thanked you for your efforts concerning the death of the Keeper of the Plate. Do not trouble yourself further with the matter.”
John’s stomach knotted. “Caesar, if I may ask-”
“You may not.”
Justinian turned away with an abruptness that would have been characterized as rude in anyone other than the emperor.
John had been dismissed and dared say nothing further. He was suddenly aware of the empress standing beside him.
“Lord Chamberlain, my husband is too kind. I am not always so pleased with your efforts. You might, in the future, keep that in mind.”
“I never forget it, Highness,” John replied truthfully.
Theodora’s heavily painted features betrayed no emotion. It was commonly said she had not been a very good actress in her youth; if that were true, John guessed her knowledge of the craft had deepened during her years as empress.
“I am in accord with the emperor on the guilty one,” she said. “I have met the soothsayer and though I did not speak with him for long, he struck me as a vicious, unprincipled man, one who would not blink at murder.”
John stared pointedly at a drop of grease shining at the corner of the empress’ mouth. She licked away the tiny gobbet.
“A word of caution, Lord Chamberlain. Being too observant can be dangerous.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Peter dug his spoon into his bowl of lentils and gingerly tasted them. “Overcooked,” he complained to the diner perched next to him on the splintery bench.
“Don’t say that too loudly at the Inn of the Centaurs, especially not within hearing of the mistress of the house.” His neighbor was mopping up the remains of his meal with a chunk of bread, making the table with its uneven legs wobble alarmingly. Peter had noticed the man’s gaze drifting constantly around the room as he ate.
Was he a thief? Or being sought for a crime? A criminal avoiding arrest?
Peter had the feeling the man was dishonest but couldn’t have said why. “The mistress here is outspoken, is she?”
“Yes, and possessing a temper making whips and scorpions seem like a child’s playthings.”
Peter looked dolefully around at the scattering of mismatched tables, the stained plaster walls, the noisy crowd of travelers and clerks. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here. He felt sorry now that he had made up the story about a sick friend to give him an excuse to be absent from his employer’s house for a while.
But, he reminded himself, the master needed his assistance. Hadn’t he overheard him telling Anatolius that he wished he could visit the inn secretly to investigate?
“This appears to be a fairly well-run establishment,” Peter said doubtfully, pushing his bowl away with one hand and steadying the table with the other. “Did you come to the city to attend the celebrations?”
“That, and other business I had in hand. Lucky to find somewhere to stay too. Every room’s taken, and noisy all night.”
“I suppose there’s no hope of lodgings?” He realized he was not as disappointed as he should have been at the possibility that he might not be able to spend the night in this uncouth place.
“Probably not in most places, but the owner here is the sort who would move cots into his cellar to get a few more coins in his pocket,” the other replied, stuffing a last bit of bread into his mouth as he got up. “I wish you good fortune.”
Peter’s face fell. He had already begun to concoct a miraculous speedy recovery for his sick friend. But at least the thief, or criminal, or whoever he was had left.
The innkeeper’s wife appeared from the kitchen, frowning, an untidy thundercloud wiping her hands on a grubby cloth.
“I wish to, er, compliment you on your cooking,” Peter said, as she cleared plates from the table. “Do you have a room I could rent for a night?”
She glared at him. “We don’t run that sort of establishment if you are contemplating bringing a lady friend here for an evening of carnal delight. What profession do you follow? We only cater to the best here, you know.”
Peter flushed. “I am in the city to carry out commissions for a distributor of pottery ware,” he told her, using the story he had invented on his way from John’s house.