“There’d be no point in trying to frighten me, Cornelia. I could order others to investigate if I felt my life was in danger.”
“Which is what you should have done, John. Why didn’t you go to Felix about it? He would surely have set some of his excubitors to work for you.”
“This is a private matter. I want to keep it private.”
“Is it?” Cornelia snapped. “What is this actress to us?”
“I’ve known her for a long time, or so it seems. Don’t worry, this had nothing to do with Agnes. It was a common street crime.”
“Oh, very common, I am certain. It’s common for high officials to stroll around the city in dark corners, all alone, just inviting someone to sneak up behind them and hit them over the head.”
“Shopkeepers and laborers and clerks walk the streets by themselves,” John pointed out, suppressing a smile at Cornelia’s outburst, realizing her fiery outpouring masked concern for the man she loved. “Besides, I have the advantage of military training.”
“Much good it did you!” Cornelia replied with a slight smile.
John put a hand to the tender spot on his skull. It was badly swollen. When he touched it pain brought tears to his eyes.
He noticed Peter standing in the doorway. There were two of him. Both frowned with disapproval. Both retreated into the hallway when John glared in their direction.
John squeezed his eyes open and shut several times, trying to clear his vision. “If people could creep up behind my back without my realizing it, I would’ve been dead long ago,” he argued.
“You’re not as young as you used to be, John.” Cornelia leaned over and kissed his forehead. “We have spent most of our lives apart. I would quite like for you to stay with me for a while. And don’t forget Europa. It’s time we went to visit her. She’s more important than a mosaic girl, or an actress, or whoever’s death it is you want to avenge, because I can see clearly that’s your intention.”
“It is part of putting things in order, in the world, in my own mind. But I do think of our daughter.”
“Not as much as you’ve lately been thinking about this Agnes.”
John made no reply because she was right.
He saw that Peter had returned to the doorway, looking alarmed. “Master, I told him that you-”
A figure decked out in garish orange robes brushed past the servant.
It was Francio.
Before anyone would remonstrate, he yanked a cloth off the basket he carried, revealing a heap of coiled sausage links. “I heard about your accident, Lord Chamberlain. It’s all over the palace. I immediately thought how disappointed you would be if you were unable to come to my banquet so I have brought the banquet to you. Or rather the sausages at any rate. Lucanian sausages, no less. You can’t find them just anywhere. They’ll have you up and about in no time.”
Cornelia thanked him without mentioning the household had recently dined on the same hearty fare.
John threw off his cover and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The room whirled around. “Lucanian sausages? Where were they purchased, Francio?”
“Where…?”
“Was it from a man called Opilio?”
Francio glanced around in confusion. “Opilio? It might have been. The name sounds familiar.”
“Did he deliver them while Crinagoras was reciting his verse in your kitchen?”
“I’m not certain. It’s possible. He made more than one visit to bring his wares. Now, John, make certain Peter cooks them well. Even eaten alone, they are perfection, and I am certain my guests-”
“Mithra!” John burst out. “That’s where the sausage maker must have heard Zoe’s name. Apparently Opilio still hasn’t told me the whole story.” He stood up and staggered.
“You’re not fit to go out,” Cornelia told him.
“Master,” Peter cried, “let me fetch a physician.”
“No need to consult a physician, John,” Francio said. “Try these delightful morsels. They’ll build up your strength in no time.”
He thrust the basket toward Cornelia, who pushed it back sharply.
Francio lost his grip and the basket fell to the floor. He stood blinking, looking distressed, chains of sausage looped at his boots. “I was only trying to make you feel better,” he said in a hurt tone.
But John was already out the door, closely followed by Cornelia and Peter.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A crowd under the colonnade almost within sight of Opilio’s shop brought John to a halt. He paused and waited for the pavement to stop tilting under his boots before attempting to plunge ahead through the closely packed bodies.
By the time his dizziness passed, Peter had managed to catch up again, not that the old servant would ever admit to finding it difficult to keep pace with John’s loping stride. “Are you feeling unwell, master?” he panted.
John reassured him.
Cornelia had been furious when John insisted he interview Opilio immediately. He’d practically been killed and hardly had he opened his eyes when he was off to let the ruffians finish the job, she declared, although at great length and much more colorfully. She had been only slightly mollified by the prospect of Peter going along to keep an eye on things since if fisticuffs developed he would be there to summon help.
It was as well Peter had not heard her comment, as he would have been mortally offended.
“Master,” Peter was saying, “it must be providence that brought us this way just now. Here is exactly what you need. One of Zachariah’s melons.”
John looked in the direction Peter indicated, toward the front of the crowd. He realized he had been so intent on simply forcing himself along that he had hardly taken note of his surroundings. That was dangerous in Constantinople, but how else could he have missed seeing the man who was lying on his back on the ground, juggling melons with his bare feet?
A young woman sold melons from a crate nearby. She caught sight of the Lord Chamberlain, whose height made him visible above most of the onlookers and whose expensive garments distinguished him from the others.
“Are you in need of a cure, excellency? Who among us does not have something that needs attention?” she asked. “And who is to say that these melons are not as miraculous as the ones which healed Zachariah?”
John glanced at the prone juggler, who was keeping three melons aloft. His legs worked frantically. The fist-sized melons barely touched the man’s filthy soles before they were sent back into the air.
“The ones Zachariah juggles cost more,” the woman remarked. “They are even more efficacious.”
“I would like to buy you a melon, master,” said Peter in an eager tone. “I’ve bought them before now, on my way to or from the market. They are always refreshing, and I hear their curative powers are undeniable.”
“Certainly you’ve always had strength to return home from the market, however heavily laden,” John replied. “I will buy one for each of us, but not the sort that has been juggled, if you don’t mind. I shouldn’t have made you rush out to accompany me.”
John moved through the knot of spectators and completed the transaction with the melon seller.
“Look, all of you,” she said loudly. “If our wares are good enough for this fine gentleman from the palace, why should you hesitate to buy them?”
The woman and the juggler looked well dressed for street performers. John imagined the juggler must be young also, though he had not managed a good look at his face, his muscular legs being more visibly presented.
John moved away.
“Do you want to wait for Zachariah’s homily, master?” Peter asked.
“I think not. There is some urgency in talking to Opilio.” John took his blade from his belt, cut a melon in half and handed it to Peter, then sliced his own. It was sweet. Whether it possessed miraculous powers was not immediately evident. “Why does anyone suppose these melons have special virtues?”
“Because they cured Zachariah,” Peter replied. “Or at least ones like them did.”