“There are more hiding places in Constantinople than there are stars in the sky, even if the relic is still in the city. Where will you start?”
“I’m not certain. If I can learn exactly who was trying to sell it and who wants to buy it, that might give me a path to follow.” He started to get up. Dizziness hit him. There was a roaring in his ears. He sat down heavily.
“You need rest,” Anastasia told him. “I’m acquainted with a woman who can make up a potion to help revive you. She also has protective amulets.”
Felix tried to push himself up but realized he was too weak. He had managed to stagger back from the Hippodrome but his panic had passed and the effects of the beating were beginning to make themselves felt. “I’m not superstitious enough to want an amulet,” he said, thinking of the Jingler, “but something to sooth the aches and pains would be useful. Hypatia, John’s servant, made such potions, I recall. Who are you thinking of?”
“Antonina, Belisarius’ wife.”
“You know Antonina? How?”
“Does it matter?”
Felix shook his head violently and when it throbbed he wished he hadn’t. “No, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to…impose on her.”
Anastasia looked at him curiously.
“People will gossip,” Felix stammered.
“Gossip? About what?”
“They don’t need anything to gossip about to gossip, do they?”
She stared at him then laughed. “Why, you nasty bear! You know Antonina too, don’t you? Where did you…meet her?”
“Don’t be foolish! I never, um, met her. Not the way you mean. Everyone knows General Belisarius-”
“A tryst! Where, I wonder? When? I shall have to ask her.”
“No, please, I mean, she wouldn’t remember anyway. I was a young idiot. Who are you to be questioning Antonina about such delicate matters anyway?”
Anastasia pulled her features into a parody of hurt feelings. Then leaned forward. Her breath scorched his neck. “I am devastated.”
“It meant nothing then and less now,” Felix mumbled.
“Prove it to me.”
She nibbled at his neck, then bit harder.
“You shouldn’t do that!”
“Mmmm. Why not? No one will notice another little wound.”
Chapter Twenty-four
It was past midday when Felix left his house. He kept self-consciously fingering his neck, as if anyone would notice the delicate, purpling bite mark amidst all his bruises, cuts, and abrasions.
He had slept the morning away like a dead man. Anastasia had awakened him, having fetched various preparations which she duly administered. If nothing else the vile taste of the potions and the hideous burning of the salves got him on his feet. She had neglected to bring an amulet. Perhaps, on second thought, she had decided the cross she’d given him was protection enough.
She had insisted he wasn’t well enough to go out. Unfortunately there were people Felix did not want to talk to but needed to consult. And soon. He decided to have the conversation he least wanted to have first.
He had received written orders from Justinian to investigate the theft of the relic, the sort of task the urban watch would normally carry out. Was the emperor really deeply interested in the relic? If confronted, perhaps he would decide he didn’t need Felix investigating after all.
A succession of the largely ornamental silentiaries stationed in the innermost recesses of the imperial residence respectfully permitted the captain of the excubitors to pass through doorway after doorway until he reached the hall leading to Justinian’s private study. In theory, these guards were to serve as a counterweight to the excubitors. The reality was different. The silentiary who appeared to escort Felix into the emperor’s presence made it plain how easily the excubitors would prevail if they decided to mutiny.
The silentiary presented a ridiculous figure in robes studded with cut-glass gems and a helmet topped by a dyed ostrich plume. He carried a spear so long it probably couldn’t have been put to use without knocking frescoes off the corridor walls.
What did not strike Felix as ridiculous was the man’s identity. It was his old colleague Bato, the fellow who had accosted him while he was trying to dispose of the courier’s body.
“Felix! What a coincidence! I haven’t seen you for months and now we run into each other twice in two days. I hope your lady friend was pleased with what you delivered?”
Felix forced a smile. He didn’t think Bato suspected anything, but how could he be certain? He’d been staring right into the cart at the blanket-wrapped body.
“I see the silentiaries are treating you well, Bato. And so now you’re rubbing elbows with the emperor.” Bato and Felix had both served as excubitors years before but Bato had left to join the silentiaries, who were less likely than the excubitors to engage in fighting, a decision Felix had never understood.
“Don’t change the subject,” Bato said. “Was your client satisfied? Has she ordered more of your goods?”
“Would I tell you if she had?”
“If we were drinking together like we used to you would.”
They stopped before a wooden door into which were carved crosses and angels. It looked as if it had been looted from a monastery.
“The emperor is entertaining a cleric at the moment. The visitor should be leaving soon.”
“Justinian is still knee-deep in theology, then?”
“Up to his neck, to judge by the piles of parchment on his desk. Theodora’s death hasn’t been easy for him to accept.”
It was well known that when he was troubled the emperor tended to retreat into theology.
“Have you overheard any talk about this stolen shroud?”
“What? Am I a spy for the excubitors?” Bato smiled. “If you’re looking for imperial secrets it’ll cost you a drink. Maybe two.”
“As soon as I’ve got this job I’m working on finished we’ll get together.”
“We can talk about the old days. Well, listen to me! I never thought I’d be old enough to want to do that.”
A draft had found its way into the center of the palace, catching at the yellow ostrich plume, making it sway back and forth.
“Are you happy in the silentiaries, Bato?”
“It’s an easy living if not very exciting. But wait! You’ve already tried to worm imperial secrets out of me. Are you trying to get me to rejoin the excubitors? You’re not thinking of emulating Justin and seizing the throne for yourself?”
“Hardly.” Felix laughed. That was Bato, always jesting.
He was, wasn’t he?
“I hear you’ve thrown your lot in with General Germanus.”
“Now who’s asking for secrets?”
Before Felix could decide whether Bato was merely up to his usual bantering or whether he had a more serious intent, the carved wooden door opened. Felix was surprised to see the priest Basilius emerge. Basilius looked equally surprised to see Felix, but he went past without acknowledging him.
Bato directed Felix into the study and closed to door behind him. Outside the sun shone, but in this windowless room deep within the imperial residence the night never ended. Felix imagined that it was here that Justinian had buried himself almost continually since Theodora’s death, sleeping fitfully on a simple cot, poring over the religious texts piled on the wooden shelves and desk behind which he now slumped. The light from a single lamp showed how the flesh had fallen from the emperor’s normally round, bland face, revealing the grim skull beneath.
Felix began to bow.
“Never mind the formalities, captain. You’ve arrived at a convenient time. I interrupted my studies to speak with Basilius about the stolen shroud. Do you have any news about it? How is your investigation going?”
Felix’s spirits fell. He had been hoping to find Justinian was not concerning himself overly much with the theft. Apparently the opposite was the case.