Then, screaming his wife’s name, he leapt into the embrace of the waiting Bosporos, into an unbearable explosion of heat that burned away the world.
Chapter Thirty
“This supposed admission of guilt was in a language no one there but you understood,
Lord Chamberlain. While it was followed by self-immolation, it isn’t sufficient proof of the Persian’s murderous activities. Nor,” Theodora stated coldly, “will it serve to free Anatolius.”
The empress had perched herself with audacious impertinence on the throne in the chilly reception hall while Justinian restlessly paced its floor. The huge, echoing space around them reminded John even more strongly of a sarcophagus, perhaps because it looked increasingly likely he might soon be entombed in his own.
“After all,” the empress continued, “need I point out that Anatolius arrived at your house covered with Philo’s blood?”
“In a way he did, highness, since although it was mostly his own, some of it came from Darius’ tunic, bloodied when he committed the deed just before rescuing Anatolius.” John directed what he hoped was a reassuring look toward Anatolius, who stood in shackles a few paces away.
“We do not have time to waste on this trivial matter,” Justinian put in mildly. “You are fortunate indeed, Lord Chamberlain, that I did not have you summarily executed when Senator Balbinus appeared on your behalf, seeking an audience. And you, senator,” he added, with a slight nod toward Balbinus, “are lucky that that head of yours is still atop your shoulders rather than displaying its regal profile from a spike, given the dangerous company you have been keeping of late.”
Balbinus made no reply. His face had begun to take on the pale tint of the ivory panels mounted on the hall’s green marble walls.
The emperor paced over to the throne. With a fond smile, he put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I know, however, that the empress is as determined as I that justice be done,” he announced to the small group, “and so we will grant you a little more of our time. Lord Chamberlain, you say that this doorkeeper Darius had been a spy for years?”
“Almost certainly ever since he first arrived in Constantinople,” John confirmed. “For after all, where would anyone find talk looser than such an establishment, one whose patrons included courtiers and palace officials?”
“Indeed! And now, since you’ve described to us this plot on the part of the philosophers and their fiendish fire weapon,” said Justinian, “do you believe it was Darius alone who was responsible for all the deaths we have spoken of?”
“Not to mention those who died on the docks,” Theodora put in, glaring at John.
John admitted that obviously the entire truth could never be known.
“But Caesar,” he continued, ignoring the empress and addressing Justinian directly, “although it may not have been Darius who placed the murderous clothing into the stylites’ baskets, it could only have been he who provided the deadly robe in which Adula died at Senator Aurelius’ house. And it was Darius who poisoned the wine jug in the senator’s study. He had the run of the house, assisting Isis and her girls preparing to present their entertainment. And as for Philo…” John again glanced at Anatolius but the young man was staring at the floor, shoulders slumped.
“As for Philo,” John went on, “I am certain that his fateful appointment was to meet one of his former colleagues. Since he was both extremely bitter about his exile and very vocal about it, I have no doubt that colleague would have felt safe in revealing the plan to him.”
Theodora interrupted to draw her husband’s attention to the fact that John appeared to be criticizing his closure of the Academy. John’s spirit’s sank to his boots. Justice was going to prove elusive, after all. The faces of the two men beside him reflected the same grim thought.
“Not at all, not at all,” Justinian said, stepping away from the throne. “The Lord Chamberlain merely reports his deductions. Not that I shall necessarily accept their truth, John, but carry on with your explanation.”
John collected his thoughts rapidly. “Thank you, Caesar. As I was saying, no doubt their plan was revealed to him. A spy in the Lord Chamberlain’s house would be extremely useful, would it not? And, after all, Philo had suffered too.”
“Suffered?” snapped Theodora. “They should all have been thanking their pagan gods for the mercy shown by their emperor in allowing them to come home.”
Justinian smiled benignly at her words.
“Indeed that is so, highness,” nodded Balbinus with perhaps a shade too much enthusiasm.
Justinian ordered John go on.
“But Philo, I think, would not have thrown his lot in with them,” John said. “He was nothing if not contrary. Besides, despite some of the things he said, it is obvious to me that he had really turned his bitterness on himself. I cannot see him harming others. And a man so preoccupied with beauty and order would have found no appeal in the philosophers’ plans for death, destruction and chaos.”
Theodora laughed. “Do you practice magick, Lord Chamberlain, that you can read the thoughts of another, and a dead man too?”
“No, highness, but as my teacher he offered his thoughts to me and many of them I have made my own. I am sure he balked at the chance to work with his former colleagues. They could not afford the risk of allowing him to reveal what he had been told. So when, thanks to me, Darius arrived on the scene to bring him home, he was ordered to dispose of Philo immediately.”
Justinian, seemingly lost in thought, was gazing at the hall’s great bronze doors. His florid features had sagged into the unreadable expression that too many opponents had mistaken for vacuity.
John knew that his life and the life of more than one other in the room were being weighed. Finally the emperor spoke, “Although this is not exactly proof as would be acceptable in a court of law, Lord Chamberlain, your chain of deductions does seem possible. I have always trusted your insights and intelligent discussions of difficult problems. Besides, I cannot imagine my soft young secretary as a cold-blooded murderer of old men. I am certain that the empress agrees.”
Theodora’s venomous stare skewered John, contradicting Justinian’s words even as they were spoken. Although a slight smile quirked the emperor’s lips briefly, he appeared not to notice her look. “So I have decided that the matter is now closed. Guards, unchain my secretary!”
John caught the slight widening of Theodora’s eyes and the flare of her nostrils. He thought her near to combustion with no need of inflammable concoctions. Perhaps she had hoped that Anatolius at least would not escape.
“That may be,” the empress said, her smooth voice revealing no hint of her rage, “but there is still the matter of the Lord Chamberlain’s treason in defying you, his emperor, by returning from exile. Not to mention Anatolius’ complicity in all his machinations. Perhaps the young poet here was not man enough to wield a blade against one he suspected of killing his father, but he was observed copying an important and secret state document-the first message from Michael. Such an offense is punishable by death.”
Justinian turned a questioning look on Anatolius.
John knew there was no use denying the allegation. “A misunderstanding, as you will doubtless have realized, Caesar,” he put in quickly. “Anatolius was unable to speak with you although he knew how urgently I needed the information. He assumed you would have given your permission.” As he spoke, John hoped that Justinian had forgotten his refusal to allow him to examine the document in question. “As I have explained, it was the content of that message that set me on the right track. I acknowledge that the action was rash, but it enabled the plot to be defeated.”
“A knotty question to be resolved indeed,” mused Justinian. “Should the emperor behead the general who wins a battle by disobeying orders or commend him for achieving the victory?”