“I’m sorry,” John said wearily. “I’ve been forced to take an extremely hard decision and in considering it, my thoughts began running here and there and ended up galloping in some odd directions indeed. So you won’t be surprised to hear that I went and sat in Zeno’s mithraeum for a while.”
“You asked Lord Mithra to guide you?” Anatolius guessed shrewdly.
John nodded. “Still, it was a struggle to take the right course, and even now…I don’t wish to deprive Poppaea of her mother, so I haven’t had Livia arrested for Briarus’ murder.”
Anatolius could only gape at his friend.
John stopped and looked at the sky, gathering his thoughts from the clouds. “It’s true there’s no proof that could be used against her,” he admitted, “yet my order would suffice to have her detained and there would soon have been a full confession, as we both know. However, if she is correct in her religious beliefs she will answer to her god soon enough and in the meantime her daughter will still have a mother.”
“But why, John? Why would Livia do such a terrible thing?” Anatolius finally managed to blurt out.
“Livia left the basket containing Hero’s hand in the pile of boxes and baskets deposited beside the gate to Castor’s estate. She was afraid that Briarus might have watched her leaving it. Even if he didn’t know who she was, once he was arrested and brought to Zeno’s villa it was quite possible he’d see her at some point and identify her as the person who left the hand there. He had to be silenced as soon as possible. She admitted she killed him when I questioned her just before Theodora and her entourage departed.”
“Ah,” the other replied. “And there I was, convinced that Briarus’ murderer gained entrance to the villa through the malfunctioning automatic doors while an accomplice outside distracted Briarus’ guard. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as complicated as that. It rarely is, is it? Livia was already inside the villa. All she had to do was draw away the guard by creating a disturbance in the garden and then she could strike.”
They had reached the road and stood in silence for a while, staring at the jagged length of new coastline. Birds wheeled and mewled in the cloudy sky above them. The sea was calm, keeping its secrets.
“Something troubles me a great deal, John,” Anatolius finally said. “I can see Livia would have been in a panic to get rid of the murder weapon before she was discovered in possession of it and how this led to Briarus’ death. But what reason could she possibly have had to kill Gadaric?”
John shook his head. “It is best if you know nothing further about this tragic affair, my friend,” he said firmly.
Epilogue
When John finally met him, Castor turned out to be a short, unremarkable-looking man. His undyed garments were not ill-fitting enough to hide a slight paunch nor did his cropped hair lend any air of asceticism to the face half concealed by a straggly beard.
Castor’s living quarters were plain but not the barely furnished hermit’s cell John had expected. The room’s narrow window overlooked a steep drop to the beach, reminding him uneasily of the headland near Zeno’s villa.
“I know what you’re probably thinking,” Castor told John abruptly. “How could the empress have been attracted to such an ordinary, middle-aged fellow? The truth, I fear, is that she saw me only as a useful tool, a playing piece in an imperial game. Or perhaps even a weapon against Justinian, for I don’t believe he knew she was urging me to come forward and claim the Italian throne. He supported the boy Gadaric as heir, of course.”
John said he had thought as much.
Castor sighed. “Yes,” he went on reflectively, “Theodora ordered me to meet her secretly on a number of occasions. She beguiled me with all sorts of inducements and encouragements to declare my ancestry. Wealth and power to begin with, but at the end all she offered was a chance for me to keep my head on my shoulders! Nothing more carnal than that, thank heaven. After all, would you wish to couple with a scorpion, Lord Chamberlain?”
Castor’s servant padded in, placed a jug of wine on the table and then left the room after shuttering its window.
“You do not find this new life too burdensome?” John inquired.
“As you see, even here wealth eases one’s way through life although my servant didn’t like having to grow his beard to be allowed to sit at table.”
John had sailed across the Sea of Marmara on an early summer day as dark clouds gathered over the sunlit water. He had been careful to ensure that his taking ship from Constantinople went unobserved.
From the sea, the monastery Balbinus had reluctantly identified as Castor’s hiding place-and then only at Lucretia’s insistence-loomed above the rocky shore like a fortress or a continuance of the rugged cliffs upon which it stood. Its lower stories displayed featureless masonry walls punctuated higher up by slits of windows, while along its roof bristled a profusion of turrets, domes and crosses. Yes, a man who passed into anonymity behind its forbidding doors would be lost forever.
Castor had greeted him warily at first. Then, realizing he had nothing to fear from this particular visitor from court, he had asked eagerly for news of the world he had left behind. John described in detail the rest of the tragic events at Zeno’s estate and their aftermath.
Castor looked extremely upset. “How could I possibly find my quiet life burdensome after such a terrible tale, Lord Chamberlain? Many a king and emperor has ended his days in peaceful contemplation. The fortunate ones, at least. And I shall spend my remaining time in the same way without having had the onerous task of actually ruling anything beforehand.”
“You have salvaged part of your library, I see.” John indicated the low shelf holding a pile of codices.
“Some of my favorites, yes,” the other replied. “So although my body may be confined to this monastery, my world is without limits. Balbinus kindly retrieved them from my library. He’s running my estate for me. Mind you, there’s one volume he couldn’t find that I do rather miss. It’s a history of beauty written by a very obscure philosopher by the name of Philo. He was one of those pagans teaching at Plato’s Academy years ago.”
John gave his thin smile and remarked that he had heard of the man. “Do you suppose Barnabas shares your taste for philosophy and made away with it?” he went on. “I understand he recently came back into Constantinople and took ship, but where he is now I couldn’t say. I’ve no doubt he found the island too confining, especially since he told me he had begun to wonder by what means the current keeper of the goats had supplanted his predecessor. I wouldn’t have thought that the guardians of oracular animals would indulge in murderous intrigues against one another. On the other hand, doubtless Barnabas’ views have been shaped by all the gossip he’s heard when performing at the palace.”
He did not mention that he knew of the mime’s flight because first the stentorian-voiced actor Brontes and then an anonymous Egyptian ship captain, both of whom had spotted Barnabas as he crept away to safety, had arrived separately at Felix’s palace office to demand the reward John had promised them for this very information months before.
“So Fortuna has smiled on Barnabas, if I may be forgiven for saying so in this holy building,” Castor mused. “Few who find themselves in Theodora’s bad graces survive to tell their story.”
John poured them both more wine. “Theodora has ordered the Ostrogoth entourage moved to another estate some distance further down the coast,” he said, “and perhaps it’s just as well.”
He recalled that upon hearing of their relocation Felix had valiantly tried to appear relieved, remarking that he considered the departure of Zeno’s guests exceedingly fortunate since military men could not afford to get romantically involved with anyone. Perhaps, John thought, Felix would eventually persuade himself that this was the truth. Meanwhile, John’s recollection of that conversation reminded him of matters of war.