Then it had been a dim, empty cavern. Now a crowd of shadows moved between its rows of pillars glimpsed through a shifting fog of smoke. Torches shone like hazy suns or threw out shafts of light as the miasma eddied to and fro.
Even in that uncertain illumination John could see many of the figures were armed.
Not all of them were excubitors.
John recognized several faces. Men he had seen from a distance, meeting with Menander at the court near the sea, an actor from Petronia’s troupe, and, sitting on a fallen column, staring insolently in his direction, the boy who had led him from the stylite’s square to the cistern where the dead woman lay face down in the water.
The corpse that had not been Agnes.
Agnes stood beside Troilus in front of his shop, her face flushed from exhilaration or perhaps the physical exertion of leading John here.
They had been leading him from the very beginning but he should have realized it sooner than he had, John thought. Would have realized it, had he not been so eager to track down Agnes’ murderer and learn something about the model for the girl who had served as his confidante for so long.
There was nothing of Zoe left about Agnes now, except for the haunted eyes.
Troilus stepped forward. The torchlight accentuated the lines in his face and silvered the gray hair. Despite his youth he looked old and careworn.
“Lord Chamberlain! I see you are still in the habit of carrying out pursuits in person. Most high officials would summon servants for that sort of exertion. Nevertheless, I am pleased you have chosen to join us.”
“Us? Who do you mean, Troilus?” John replied.
“Why, those who have rebelled against Justinian’s vicious rule! Men and women of courage who have met with each other in secret until now! Men like yourself!”
John glanced at the purple trim on the garments worn by both Troilus and Agnes. The structure they stood before had gained the appearance of a military command post. Guards were stationed at its door and two artifacts from the shop stood ceremoniously outside.
The Sergius automaton and a life-sized satyr.
“As you well know, Lord Chamberlain, appearances count for everything,” Troilus went on. “What Justinian believes is more important than the actual situation.”
Felix had moved back a few paces. John could feel his silent, watchful presence.
Agnes stared at John with Zoe’s eyes.
Her gaze was full of hatred.
Had John always misinterpreted the mosaic girl’s dark-eyed countenance? He had supposed it evidenced a knowledge of the world beyond her years. Was it merely her loathing for the man who sat at his desk and contemplated her? The man who lived in the house where her family should have lived?
“If you abandon whatever foolish plan you’ve concocted, Troilus, it may be possible to convince Justinian that this has been nothing more than play-acting. Foolish, certainly, but not treason.” John looked around at Felix. “Isn’t that so, captain?”
Felix made no reply.
“It would not even be necessary for you to arrest these pranksters, my friend,” John persisted. “Return to the palace with me and we can laugh about it over a jug of wine.”
Felix’s gaze remained obstinately fixed on some distant horizon.
Troilus laughed. “Don’t imagine that either General Felix or I am so faint of heart as to abandon what we have set out to accomplish, Lord Chamberlain. Do you suppose these armed men are my only accomplices? Fate is on my side also, or perhaps you would say Fortuna? Not to mention gods much older and more powerful than the stripling godlet on which Justinian depends.”
“Indeed? And what causes you believe it to be so?” John replied in a tone indicating he doubted every word Troilus had spoken.
“Why, everything that has transpired in my life! What dreams I had after my father revealed my lineage! I remember when the ship bearing me came within sight of Constantinople. It was near sunset. The lights of the city were beyond counting. It seemed to me that I stood outside the sphere of the heavens and saw the stars blazing on the inside with the brilliant dome of the Great Church glowing sun-like at the center. This was to be my world, by right of birth, as the son of an empress!”
“Poetic words, but proof of your lineage,” John demanded, “where is that?”
Troilus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not interrupt me, Lord Chamberlain. You are accustomed to listening to your emperor, are you not? You will speak when I give you permission to do so.”
“But I am most interested in your tale!”
Troilus smiled coldly. “As well you should be! First, you must understand the effect of my only meeting with my mother. Can anyone conceive what it did on the innocence of a child to be greeted, not by motherly love, but by demonic hatred? I came as a babe to the breast, only to be cast into the grip of a murderous monster.”
John shrugged. “You did not know Theodora’s reputation?”
“Silence!” Troilus shouted. “You are speaking of my mother!” He paused and gathered his thoughts before taking up his story. “And yet that was only the beginning of the horror. I ran away. I was pursued through a nightmare of dark and unfamiliar streets, every one of which could lead only to my death.”
John pointed out that his present course was leading him to that dark destination.
Agnes stepped forward. “Troilus, I advise you to have the Lord Chamberlain’s tongue removed.”
“Afterward, perhaps, when we have extracted all the information he can provide,” Troilus replied. “If he chooses not to cooperate with us, that is. But first let me finish revealing my history to the fool. It will be spoken of for decades, celebrated in song, and if he refuses to join us, he should not go to his death without hearing it.”
Turning toward John, he continued. “And then when in my flight I sought refuge on a stylite’s column, as I reached the top, there descended upon me a demon. A foul, black bird. Flapping and screeching and scratching at my eyes with its filthy talons. Its stench was like the pits of hell. I fought, though I was nearly senseless with terror. The demon died and in doing so took the form of an old man.”
John remained silent. The remaining mosaic pieces were rapidly joining together.
“I was afraid I would be seen,” Troilus continued in a quieter voice, as if talking to himself. “I hid the body in the shelter atop the column and huddled beside it. Dawn came. How would I know when my pursuers had ceased to search for me? I had nowhere to go. If I were discovered I would die. Besides, all my senses left me. For a while I did not know where I was. Perhaps I actually was dead and in hell.”
“You have not seen Justinian’s dungeons yet,” John offered, calculating how near he would have to get to be able to leap on Troilus and disarm him.
Troilus paid no attention. “There was no room to move. I was thrust against my dead companion. His glazed eyes stared at me. He wheezed, as if some foul thing were trying to speak with his corpse mouth. And more than once I saw his expression change, but now I realize it was only the mass of flies crawling across his sunken face.”
Agnes began to interrupt, but Troilus waved his hand and she fell silent.
“Yes, Lord Chamberlain, my shelter was alive with flies. Their buzzing filled my thoughts and the formless drone became the tormented cries of dead souls, too loud and horrifying to be grasped by a mortal man. So overwhelming that it made me unable to think. And then there was the smell of death. I gagged ceaselessly. When I tried to breath through my mouth to avoid the stench, I inhaled flies.”
Felix stirred restlessly. Knowing his friend as he did, John realized he was tired of listening to Troilus and wished to move into action.
Troilus, however, was determined John would hear his story. “It was during that endless damnation that details of my flight came back to me as a dream I had forgotten. In the palace garden I broke away from the monster into whose hands my mother had delivered me and threw myself into an abyss. I had no thought but to end my life in my own way before death was inflicted on me in some manner too dreadful to contemplate.”