The crew members left on board were all at the prow, throwing knucklebones and debating the best places ashore for drinking and women in anticipation of their watch ending. If they were keeping watch for anything, it was for Captain Theon’s return. They paid no attention to John.
“Wait until we get to Crotone,” said one of the men. “There’s a temple to Priapus there!”
John did not wait to hear the ensuing argument about the veracity of the statement. He strolled along beside the rail keeping a prudent distance as he always did until he reached the stern. Peering around the edge of the cabin he waited until there was a rattling noise and the players’ attention was fixed on the bones tumbling along the deck. Then he moved speedily to the cabin door.
Because the ship had been left in the care of a handful of trusted men, or from what seemed to be customary carelessness, the door was unlocked.
As soon as John stepped inside his boot landed on a stain on the plank floor. A reddish patch of half congealed liquid. Spilled wine to judge by the smell.
Beams of light lanced in through gaps in the closed shutters. The brazier sat against the back wall. Along one side lay rumpled bedding and dirty clothing. The walls were mostly concealed behind shelves cluttered with items ranging from small boxes and amphorae in wooden cradles to hammers and cooking utensils. On a wooden table stained navigational charts lay half-unrolled across dirty metal plates.
Apart from the absence of water it might have been the remains of a shipwreck on the bottom of the sea.
John stood still, listening carefully. He could hear the muted voices of the gamblers at the other end of the ship. No one came to the door. Apparently he had not been seen.
He went to work.
He searched the bedding and the chests, finding nothing but the personal items one might expect. Nor was there anything of interest on the table. He started to examine the shelves as silently as possible, shifting a box to get to the ceramic jars behind it and moving them aside to find nothing but a broken knife.
His shoulder banged a shelf. Something flashed down past him. He reached out reflexively and caught it before it smashed against the floor. It turned out to be an empty blue glass bottle.
He paused. Had he made any tell tale noise?
After a short while he resumed. He had broken out in a sweat. The hot, stifling air in the cabin lay against his skin with a pressure as palpable as that of water in a hot bath. Fat flies circled above the grease-encrusted brazier grill.
How long had he been searching?
At some point Captain Theon would be back, or the stranger would decide John had eluded him and return to the Leviathan.
He knelt down to examine the bottom shelves. He removed a sack. All it concealed was a large lidded pot.
This was what Peter had been doing before someone tried to push him overboard. Searching the shelves, in his case for cooking utensils. In John’s case…
He pulled the pot forward and removed its lid.
Inside sat a small package, firmly secured and bearing a wax imperial seal.
He picked it up. It was light and felt soft.
Then there was a movement but before he could make sense of it or react a garrote was tightening around his neck.
For years he had lived at the Great Palace and dealt with intrigue more often than with weapons. But the reflexes from his fighting days as a young mercenary had never left him.
He reached back and ducked forward in the same motion and with a convulsive effort managed to pull his assailant half over his head.
A body crashed into a shelf sending down a torrent of wares.
John clambered to his feet. As he did so, the attacker leapt at him, driving him across the cabin.
John twisted away, trying to break his fall.
He saw the corner of the table coming up at him and then the world dissolved in a fiery flash.
Chapter Forty-six
Cornelia came into the atrium crying. She wore a plain, white robe like those worn by the girls at Isis’ refuge. Felix noticed that, as was the case at the refuge, there were rows of close-set doors along the walls. Yet he knew this was John’s house.
“My apologies,” he said. “I realize I haven’t visited recently. I suddenly remembered. How long has it been? Years?”
How could it have been years since he had seen his friend? Suddenly there was hollow feeling in his chest. How could he have forgotten him for so long?
Tears streamed down Cornelia’s face as she approached. “It’s too late,” she said. “You waited too long. He’s gone now.”
“Gone?”
“It’s your fault,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Read the letter.” He realized she was holding a scroll out to him, although he had not noticed her holding it before.
He reached out and noticed then that the scroll was glistening red, dripping with blood.
Felix awoke with a start, lying on his back on the concrete floor of a cell. He stared up numbly, without comprehension as his dream dissipated in the shadows squirming across a low, whitewashed ceiling. It took him a little while to remember that the cell belonged to Isis’ girl, Lallis. It was not locked or barred. Unlike the emperor’s dungeons it was devoted to denial of the flesh rather than the flaying of it.
He had had no trouble denying his flesh since Lallis had ushered him in. She had not suggested they resume their former affair-or business relationship, if he were being honest. Perhaps she had actually changed her ways and not just her clothing.
And neither John nor Cornelia were in Constantinople any longer. They were both on a ship to Greece. And both were perfectly safe, weren’t they?
Felix rolled onto his side.
Lallis was sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up under her chaste robe, staring at him as if he were some exotic creature. “I haven’t had a man in here since Isis converted her establishment to a refuge.”
“I should hope not.”
She gazed down with big, brown, dog-like eyes. He had always thought her eyes expressive. Had it just been the way she’d outlined them in kohl?
“I thought I would like my new life. So much easier. But…I’m so bored.”
“If you’d had the excitement I do, you’d wish you could be bored again.” Though it seemed a wise thing to say, he wasn’t so certain it was true. Anastasia seemed to revel in excitement. Was that why she was involved with Felix, because she was so bored?
Lallis’ thin lips tightened into an unattractive pout. “It’s all right for Mother Isis but she’s practically dead. When she had some life in her, she had a lively time of it. How many prayers can a girl say? How many hymns can a girl sing?”
She bent suddenly and came at him with a kiss. He must have misjudged. She hadn’t changed much at all. He moved his head and she got a mouthful of beard. He put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him, uncomfortably aware of her warmth.
“Oh, Felix, don’t you remember?”
“I recall what you charged.”
She drew away. Her mouth trembled.
“I’m sorry,” Felix said. “Yes, yes, it was more than that. Certainly. But we can’t resume. It’s impossible.”
“Another woman!”
“No. Or, rather…well, it makes no difference. You have a good, secure life here. One that doesn’t include lovers.” He didn’t feel capable of arguing.
Lallis looked at her lap and smoothed down the robe which had ridden up her legs. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And I know your life isn’t all prayers and hymns, Lallis. Isis still has business interests. She owns shops. Surely you work outside this place frequently?”
“I know things aren’t the same, Felix. But since you’re here and no one knows, it wouldn’t hurt, would it?”