Thomas nodded. “Excellent, excellent. She was very fond of green, wasn’t she?” He sounded wistful.
Isis stared at him with surprise. She heard genuine emotion in his voice. “You were fond of her?”
He blushed. “Yes.”
Isis knew that men could quickly form attachments if they met a girl at the right time. It was the source of no small amount of trouble in her business. “You only saw Berta once, as I recall?”
“That’s true but she had something about her…I think she took a liking to me too, although I wouldn’t say so to Felix. She was fascinated by my travels.”
Isis did not point out that being fascinated by clients was part of Berta’s job. What an innocent the man was. But then what could you expect of someone from the far edge of the empire? “I’ve done some traveling myself, Thomas. Have you been to Alexandria? That’s where I’m from.”
“There are few places I have not been.”
“The Lord Chamberlain lived there for a while.” A soft smile briefly illuminated her plump face. “You know, he is a good man. He has suffered much, and yet remains kind.”
“No higher praise can any man, or woman for that matter, have bestowed upon them. I would be proud to have that said of me.”
“I think, Thomas, that your heart is true and you need not fear the weighing of it when the time comes. What a strange and terrible city this is! I shall be glad to return home eventually. I daresay you feel the same way? Do you think it will be a long time before you return home?”
He shrugged. “It’s been too long since I’ve walked under the gray skies of Bretania, yet I can’t say when I’ll feel its kindly rain on my face again.”
“You are quite the poet, Thomas!”
“All men wax poetical about that which they love.”
“And there is no doubt that Felix loved Berta.” Isis, having drunk too much, had put aside her goblet and was peeling an apple. “If only we knew who murdered her. Here is an apple for knowledge, as the Christians say. Perhaps it will work for you.”
Thomas chewed the proffered fruit thoughtfully. “In the northern part of Bretania where I was born, apple-cores are called gowks. Yet you could put apples in huge piles and ask a man from the south to find the gowks, and he would look forever. They would be there, in plain view right in front of him, yet hidden, so he would not find them. Well, not unless he asked someone from the north, I suppose!”
“It seems that the moral of your tale is that with good will and many eyes the hidden cannot remain so forever.” In her current state of inebriation it struck Isis as a profound insight.
Thomas nodded solemnly. “Let us hope so, for I fear Felix is going to be a dangerous man until he exacts his revenge for Berta.”
Chapter Forty-two
It was not wise to seek out the emperor in his private residence in the middle of the night.
The thought flashed through John’s mind as a shadowy figure bulled into him.
As the shock of the assault faded he realized there could be no connection with his intended visit. He was crossing the gardens and had not even reached the Octagon. The emperor’s eyes seemed to be everywhere and his reach had no limits, yet he was not omniscient.
“…what about her? What about her?” his attacker roared. “They killed her too!” The words were slurred by wine.
Hands fastened claw-like on John, intent on dragging him to the ground.
As John staggered backwards, his attacker began to emit gasping, inarticulate noises. John recognized first that the man was sobbing, and second, that it was his friend Felix.
“Captain!”
The man’s grip loosened. “Berta,” he mumbled as his legs buckled and he fell forward. John helped him to a nearby bench.
“In your condition it’s fortunate you ran into me rather than one of your own men or some administrative troublemaker.”
“Berta’s dead.”
“I know, Felix.”
“But you’ve been looking for Leukos’ murderer. And even though the old soothsayer’s dead, the bastard, you’re still looking.”
“Who told you that? Anatolius? Have you waylaid him tonight also?”
The burly captain let his head drop against John’s shoulder and continued to sob. John hoped his friend was intoxicated enough so as not to remember much in the morning. Of those three things that relieve men of their senses and dignity-wine, religion, and women-wine, John thought, offers the least recompense.
Intoxicated or not, Felix was right. Berta was dead too. John must not forget there were two murders to avenge.
“Best get you home. Can you stand?”
Felix grunted and clambered unsteadily to his feet.
John steered him deeper into the garden. Who at court hadn’t taken too much wine on some occasion or other? Yet there was no misstep so slight that it would not be noted and used at an opportune time.
Distracted by his efforts to keep Felix upright, John left the path. Felix lurched into shrubbery, dragging John with him.
There was a muffled oath, movement in the dark, a transitory gleam of naked flesh, rounded, a knee, or breast.
“Zeus take you!” came a hoarse male voice. “Find your own spot, you two!”
Summoning all his strength John pulled Felix back to the path. Muted giggles, faint as a memory, pursued him out of the thicket. The night closed in like dark water.
When he had dragged Felix back to the captain’s house, he tried to prop Felix up with his back to the wall but his friend’s legs were so wobbly he slid down until he was sitting.
John rapped at the house door to alert a servant to their arrival.
It swung open.
Had Felix been drinking before leaving the house and forgotten to secure the door? Had his servants failed to notice? It seemed unlikely.
John slipped the captain’s sword from its scabbard.
He stepped quietly into the house. From somewhere, perhaps the colonnade surrounding the garden, enough torchlight filtered in to reveal the rough outline of the holding basin in the center of the atrium. John took a few steps toward the gray rectangle of a doorway just visible across it.
Felix’s sword was far heavier than any John would have chosen. He paused, listening. A cricket trilled nearby.
Did he hear breathing? He had the distinct sense the darkness enclosed something more solid than the cricket’s repetitive song.
He heard movement behind him and when he turned he could see a dim patch of light on the tiles, escaping from a partially covered lantern, giving enough illumination to avoid stumbling but not reaching beyond its owner’s feet.
“Home at last, captain?” The voice was muffled. John could discern no more than the outline of the speaker. Felix’s visitor must not have been able to distinguish so much as that to mistake John for Felix.
“I hope Fortuna has treated you more kindly tonight than it did when last we spoke,” the voice continued. “Although I’m not sure it is Fortuna’s fault if you insist on backing the Greens every time she gives victory to the Blues or if you will call four fingers when she ordains five. Don’t worry. I have been authorized to offer you the usual arrangement. But we must know by tomorrow at the second hour. By the way, you should have wagered against your marriage. I put ten nomismata against it and made a killing!”
The words must have been loud enough to reach outside and penetrate Felix’s befuddled haze.
“No! I’ll take no more of your dirty money!” Felix’s slurred shout echoed around the atrium. Somehow he had got to his feet and his form filled the doorway. “Tell your master to find someone else!”
The captain lurched forward, lost his precarious balance, and fell.
In the instant John’s attention was drawn away from the intruder the man flung the covered lantern.
It came at him like a fireball.
John knocked it aside with his sword. By the time he had blinked away the effect of sparks and flame, Felix’ visitor had vanished.