Anatolius did not care for his friend’s grim tone. “Then Philo really is dead?”
John gave a curt nod and continued. “Now, one of your slaves told the Prefect that you left your house this morning before dawn in a raging fury to seek out the man you thought responsible for your father’s death. You had in fact declared your intent to kill the culprit. Is this true?”
Anatolius admitted that it had been so. “For my thought at the time was how pleasing it would be to slip my blade between his miserable ribs and twist it until his life painfully bled away,” he went on. “But when my humors had cooled a little, I thought better of it. A far sweeter revenge would be the humiliation of public accusation and arrest, for surely justice would be served and he would pay the supreme penalty. And of course when he paid it, I would be there to observe the rendering of the account, a thought I must confess I reveled in and still do.” He did not need to point out the irony of his now himself being accused of murder and imprisoned in an imperial dungeon.
“I can see how you came to suspect Philo, Anatolius. He was certainly extremely angry with your father for refusing to help him find a post. He had spoken much of that and, of course, everyone who attended the banquet knows he was in the house when your father died. And then again you had personally invited him to provide entertainment. You said that you felt responsible…and your impetuous nature is well known.”
The realization that John also suspected him was as if a bottomless pit had opened at Anatolius’ feet.
“No, John, absolutely not! You have misunderstood entirely!” he protested. “The man I mean is Senator Balbinus. He and my father were much at odds. While I was sequestered in the study I looked through the papers on my father’s desk. Some were legal threats, concerning a land dispute with a neighboring estate owner, a dispute in which Balbinus had apparently seen fit to involve himself.”
“And so you think that was the reason he murdered your father?”
Anatolius repeated that it had been Balbinus he had sought, not Philo.
John pointed out that Balbinus had not been present at the banquet on the night of Aurelius’ death.
“He wasn’t invited, John,” Anatolius said wearily. “But don’t forget that guests were arriving and departing from the house for several hours. Every public room was crowded. With all the comings and goings that evening, he could have somehow slipped in and out unnoticed. He, or perhaps his accomplice.”
John frowned as Anatolius’ frantic rush of words echoed around the cell. “Is the truth at the heart of this matter that you have taken up with Lucretia again, despite the fact that she is now married? Is that why your rage was directed at Balbinus?”
“Of course not!” Anatolius was hurt. “You would have known about Lucretia if that had been the case. You know I can’t keep confidences like that, even though doubtless you would have lectured me about morality.”
John smiled grimly. “That at least is true. But I also remember certain statements you made not long after she and Balbinus married.”
Anatolius looked at him in amazement.
“Do you think that, once uttered, our words vanish, never to return to our detriment, no matter how ill considered those words might be?” John asked.
Anatolius pondered the question briefly before replying. “As a fellow adept of Lord Mithra, you have my solemn oath that I did not murder Philo. He must have been the victim of some cut-throat or other. After all, some will kill for the sport of it, some get caught up in hysteria and others kill from blood lust. There are stranger people about even than that, those who kill for pleasure. You did well to warn him of the dangers of going out alone. It’s a pity he paid such a terrible price for failing to heed your advice.”
Anatolius paused. “It’s too easy to stumble over something people don’t want trumpeted abroad,” he said. “There’s plenty of people with secrets that don’t particularly interest us, but they’ll kill to guard them. After all, how can they be certain that some inquisitive old man is not an imperial spy? There’s enough of them around.”
John said that unfortunately that was certainly so.
“I can tell you something I thought it prudent not to reveal when I was arrested, though,” Anatolius replied, “and it’s this. Although I did not find the man I was seeking, I did see Philo just before dawn this morning. He was standing outside the Chalke in very close conversation with a foreign looking fellow. I am wagering that’s the man the Prefect should be looking for. The question is, will anyone believe me when I say I saw this man?”
John asked Anatolius why he had not tried to persuade Philo to go back home immediately.
“I would have, except, well, that was when a gang of Blues set about some Greens that were unlucky enough to be outnumbered. I got caught in the brawl and by the time I extricated myself, Philo and the other man had vanished.”
“No doubt this was when you were bloodied?”
“Oh, that. Yes. Well, I fell and hit my head on the cobbles. It split my scalp open and I bled like a skewered ox. In fact, I lost consciousness.”
John observed that it did not sound too convincing a tale.
“True. I can hardly remember all of what happened myself,” Anatolius admitted. “But how long will I have to be here? Perhaps if you tell Theodora what I’ve just told you, she might relent?”
“It would do no good.”
Anatolius mumbled something complimentary about John having a gift for reasoned argument.
“Yes, so Philo used to tell me,” was the reply. “But he inevitably added that what I had was the potential for it if only I would apply myself more diligently… Alas that I did not, for at my recent audience with Theodora my powers of persuasion gained me nothing except orders to another audience with Michael. I am to be off to the shrine with the sunrise tomorrow, there to deliver a message I would normally term a capitulation except on this occasion Theodora is obviously hoping to gain time to lay further plans. As soon as I get back I will again attempt to see Justinian on your behalf.”
Anatolius could not control the quaver in his voice. “There’s no justice, John! There is no reason at all for me to be kept here!”
“Justice is the first casualty of war and that’s the point we’re rapidly approaching. Fortunately for you, your guards are fellow adepts, so for now at least you can expect reasonable treatment. The one outside told me that a few excubitors have deserted. Most of them have remained steady and so the palace is safe for now, but what will happen once they’re outnumbered by a mob baying for blood, anybody’s blood?”
“So perhaps it will indeed all end in fire and bloodshed,” Anatolius muttered. “And as for me, it appears I am fated to remain hidden away here until the accusations against me are finally heard. If they are ever heard.”
After John left Anatolius lay down. He could faintly hear the steady beating of waves, as if the sound of the sea was communicating with him through the earth upon which the building sat.
Then he realized it was the beating of his heart that was thrumming in his ears. He tried to pretend that the cold floor was just another of the many beds he had known. Uninvited, old lovers arrived to whisper to him. He forced them from his thoughts. But there was one more insistent than the rest. Anatolius was not able to convince her to depart. Lucretia seemed to kneel beside him, intent on comforting him, but his vision of her brought only further torment to this terrible place.
Chapter Twenty-two
Lucretia wiped her forehead ineffectually with the back of a grimy hand. She was exhausted. The quiet shrine where she had hoped to find refuge was now a crowded hospital, its fetid air filled with the sounds of pain and hope, prayers and curses. She could barely pick her way through the crush of the sick still hoping to dream cures and the wounded who had so recently fought on the field of battle outside the building.