“You make it make appear all the apostles and fathers of the church were buried here.”
“You’d think so, seeing what’s been dug up and put on display.” The man lowered his voice. “Years ago, I was digging a grave and, God forgive me, I came too close to someone who’d already been here a while. I accidentally sliced into his side. He was just rotten cloth and bone by then. No complaint there.
“But not long afterwards, I was in a church, I won’t say which one, but what do you think was there, displayed in a reliquary? It was our poor Lord’s rib, the very one they say was damaged when his side was pierced by the centurion’s spear. Well, excellency, I could see better in those days, and so I can assure you that the only problem with that relic was that the nick in the rib was identical to the outline of the edge of my spade.”
John could well believe it. “This place is large and you are but one man. How did you come to notice me?”
“I heard you talking. My ears are better than my eyes. And then I saw a shape coming out of the field right where the aqueduct cuts through.”
“But I came from the road.”
The guardian frowned. He turned his head to one side, then the other. “I thought there was something. Yes. Listen.”
John could discern only insects heralding the approaching night.
“A spade. I hear a spade!”
The guardian bolted away. John followed. Although nearly blind the man dodged around grave markers and mounds as if he had ingrained the topography of the place in his mind.
The intruder, no doubt alerted by the noise of their approach, had vanished by the time the two reached where he had been digging.
“Grave robbing in broad daylight!” cried the guardian, flailing his sword around. “How could anyone dare it!”
John thought it might not have required much daring, considering that the cemetery’s guardian was more or less blind and the grave in question was in a nondescript corner, partially concealed by shrubbery.
A pile of dirt lay on one edge of a hole that reached down to the tile-lined crypt where a partially exhumed body lay.
John knelt by the graveside. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness of the pit he made out green silk robes and blond hair.
It was Berta.
Chapter Forty-seven
“The body hasn’t been disturbed.” John shuddered as he brushed dirt off his clothes. Despite the warm sunlight it had felt cold in the shadows beside Felix’s intended wife. “We must have frightened the robbers off before they finished their job.”
“Whatever their job was.” The cemetery guardian had returned after going to send an assistant to fetch the urban watch.
It was time for John to leave. He did not want to be detained by the prefect’s men.
He was rounding a grove of pines when the sound of hooves made him think he had left the cemetery too late.
However, it was not the urban watch. A group of mounted men came into view, among them Gregorius.
The young charioteer glanced at the sky as if trying to avoid John’s gaze, but when it became apparent the two men had seen each other, he hailed John. “Lord Chamberlain. What brings you out here?”
“I have been paying my respects to one of the departed.”
“So have I. You’re not planning on walking all the way back to the palace, are you? Take my apprentice’s horse. The boy’s young. A little exercise will do him good.” His tone suggested he was hoping John would not take him up on the offer, but John disappointed him by accepting it.
The youngster dismounted, casting sullen sideways glances at John and his master, and then slouched off down the road as if he were hauling a block of granite on his back.
John pulled himself up into the saddle and Gregorius waved his companions away.
“You’re looking at me suspiciously, Lord Chamberlain. We have been visiting a teammate, killed during practice a couple days ago. Some bastard sawed the axle of his chariot practically all the way through and it was so cunningly done it wasn’t noticed. I could have been driving that chariot, and then I’d be the one beneath the mound back there.”
“Do you think someone’s trying to kill you?”
“Not me in particular, but the Blue teams have been having too much success lately. Certain people are losing wagers too often, and heavy gamblers don’t like losing money. Some are not averse to bribing team members not to try too hard to win, though when it comes to arranging accidents….”
“Chariot racing has many dangers. Have you considered finding a safer way to make a living?”
Gregorius laughed without humor. “Something illicit, you mean? There’s certainly dangerous. And so is a man in your position walking around by himself.”
“I enjoy my own company after working with courtiers and high officials all day. I don’t have to worry about ruffling my own feathers.”
“I understand a Master of the Soldiers is worth a ransom of 10,000 nomismata. What might a Lord Chamberlain be worth?”
“That would depend on Justinian’s mood the day I was abducted.”
They rode past the Church of Holy Apostles, the dilapidated timber roof of the church contrasting with the glittering brass and gold dome of Constantine’s mausoleum beside it.
At the Forum Theodosius they parted ways. Gregorius said he would instruct his apprentice to retrieve John’s horse from the imperial stables. “Despite the intrigues I’ll be sorry to leave here,” Gregorius went on. “No other city can match Constantinople. Not Antioch, or Thessalonika, or Alexandria. Whenever I depart, no matter where I’m going to race next, I’m on my way to the hinterlands compared to this city.”
John rode back toward the palace. He felt like a mosaicist who kept gathering more and more pieces of colored glass. Something about the colors suggested the picture that might be assembled from the tesserae but as yet he couldn’t discern what it looked like.
He stopped at Felix’s house. He wanted to question Felix about the events of the preceding night. The captain had professed not to recognize the intruder, but had been intoxicated and almost incoherent at the time. Apparently he had recovered from his excess quickly because his servant reported he had left hours earlier.
When John reached home he was relieved he had not been able to spend time questioning Felix since much to his displeasure he found Thomas visiting Europa.
Peter clucked angrily as he followed John upstairs. “The so-called knight has been bending her ear for hours, master. I can’t get rid of him. They’re in your study.”
“Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll attend to Thomas.”
The big redhead leapt up from his seat when John strode in. “Lord Chamberlain! We were beginning to worry!”
“What are you doing here, Thomas?”
“Oh, I’ve just been telling Europa I’m looking….”
“I mean here in my study?”
Europa began to explain. “As I told Thomas, I was informed by Peter that in Constantinople men are not allowed to visit women in their rooms. So I suggested that we talk here. The mosaic is beautiful.”
“I would have preferred something less elaborate.”
“I don’t agree. I think it’s wonderful. Except for that little girl.” Europa’s large eyes glanced at the even larger, darker eyes of the portrait of Zoe. “She frightens me. Watching all the time. And listening. She could tell you everything she’s heard.”
Did Europa dart a glance at Thomas? Was that a raised eyebrow, a flash of a smile?
Thomas cleared his throat. “She would only have heard about my travels and the wonders of my country.” He tugged at his ginger mustache. “No wonder her eyes are glazed.”
“Really, Thomas, you’re too modest,” Europa told him. “I could listen to your tales all day.”
“According to Peter, you very nearly have,” pointed out John. He felt uneasy, uncertain of his role. This young woman was, after all, his daughter. But how could he be a father to someone he had never known as a child? He felt an irrational anger at Thomas. Was it fatherly concern or jealousy over this almost stranger who reminded him so much of a young Cornelia? “Where is your mother, Europa?”