Thomas usually told me who I should be on any given assignment, but Gillen had provided no such guidance. What type of person called on an archbishop? Someone far more powerful than a Greek slave. I couldn’t be myself, but I wasn’t dressed to be anyone with sufficient status to visit a man like Archbishop Simon Atumano.
Could a pious follower of the Greek faith see a Latin archbishop? I wore Greek clothes, not Latin, so I couldn’t pretend to be part of his congregation. I didn’t know much about Atumano, other than his position. I’d heard no rumors of misdeeds or weaknesses, nothing that could give me insight into who I ought to be.
I finally settled on Irene. Thomas had once been in love with a woman named Irene. But when Nicholas de Ardoino had given the position of notary to someone else, Irene had moved on. I remembered her as determined, eloquent, and perhaps a little outspoken. At the cathedral, I would need that determination and that ability to speak clearly and persuasively.
There was another Irene, an empress who had reigned in Constantinople. She’d been regent for her son, then had ordered his eyes gouged out when he’d stopped listening to her. I wasn’t sure who I felt most like—Irene of Athens or her son, Constantine. But either way, I was going against my natural duties by visiting a church against Thomas’s wishes.
The cathedral complex was south of the market, along one of the main roads. A wall surrounded the church, administration building, and private home. The cathedral’s warm bricks of gold and gray stretched skyward toward red roof tiles and a central dome. I’d been inside before, once. It was one of my earliest memories. Thomas had been meeting with someone, and I’d been told to stand as lookout. But I’d been drawn to the fresco showing a man riding a donkey while people waved palm leaves. Something about that picture had stirred my curiosity. I’d wanted to know why someone in ordinary clothing was being honored by so many people. I’d gazed at it for a long time, until Thomas realized I wasn’t keeping watch as ordered. The punishment—a beating—had driven away any happiness I’d found from studying the painting. Even now, I chose a path that kept me some distance from the church as I made my way to the home.
“The chapel is there.” A tall priest pointed to the church. “This is the residence of His Grace, the most reverend Archbishop Simon Atumano.”
I bowed my head, trying to portray respect. “I have a message for His Grace.”
When I looked up, the priest seemed skeptical. His blue eyes studied me, no doubt coming to the conclusion that I was a Greek of no high rank. “If you share your message with me, I will deliver it to His Grace.”
Gillen had asked me to tell no one but Atumano and Rasheed of his location. I didn’t want to break that trust. I could seek out the archbishop myself, but it would take time, and the more I delayed my return, the more I’d raise Thomas’s suspicion. I decided on a partial explanation. “I have a message for him from Gillen the Basque. I’m not allowed to tell anyone else.”
The priest’s mouth drew together at the mention of Gillen. He recognized the name. “I will tell His Grace. You may wait here.” He gestured to the inner courtyard.
While the priest left to find the archbishop, I stepped along the mosaicked courtyard. The stonework had been completed by a skilled craftsman. The style was Greek, so the home must have belonged to an Orthodox priest before it belonged to a Catholic one. I didn’t concern myself overmuch with the doctrinal differences between the two Christian religions in Thebes, but I kept track of small things—Catholic monks usually had tonsured heads, and Orthodox monks usually wore beards. Details like that helped me recognize and identify someone, even from a distance. But I felt the real difference between the groups, at least in Thebes, was that the Latin faith had the backing of the Catalans, and the Greek faith did not.
I was studying an icon when the tall, blue-eyed priest returned.
“Follow me,” he said.
As I walked, I tried to muster all the boldness and determination of an Irene. The one-time empress wouldn’t have worried about going against a master’s wishes, and she wouldn’t have felt inadequate in an archbishop’s presence. Nor would the Irene Thomas had once pursued. The priest led me to a small room filled with books and three men, all of them sitting on benches.
The archbishop was recognizable by his alb and chasuble. The hair visible under Atumano’s miter was mostly gray, and his penetrating eyes were unlike any I’d ever seen. The brown coloring was average enough, but behind them was something more—knowledge and kindness. It wasn’t what I’d expected from a man of such power.
I was familiar with the other two men. Gillen’s Moorish friend, Rasheed, and an old Catalan knight named Don Oliverio Domingo. I was glad to see Rasheed because that was who Gillen wanted the information to reach. But seeing Don Oliverio made me wish I’d come at a different time. He had hired Thomas to steal the letters from Don Paco de Folgueres. Thomas had taken the assignment, then sold the papers to Gillen and Rasheed instead of keeping his original bargain. Don Oliverio hadn’t paid Thomas, so Thomas’s treachery hadn’t cost him anything other than the opportunity to gain the letters. Did he know Rasheed had them instead?
Don Oliverio didn’t seem to recognize me. I’d been in the background, watching for danger, while he and Thomas had worked out the arrangement. He’d probably seen me, but he might not have studied me.
“Your Grace.” Thomas had never taught me how to address an archbishop, so I made my best guess and bowed slightly.
Atumano stood. “You have word on Gillen? Does that mean he is alive?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Atumano smiled. “Praise be to God.”
“Where is he?” Rasheed asked.
I couldn’t tell anyone the location of our new home, not while Nicholas de Ardoino was searching for us. “I can arrange a meeting. He is ill but well enough to be transferred to your care.”
Rasheed frowned. “Gil wasn’t sick when he went to the villa. What happened?”
“Henbane, we believe.” I left out the other details—I didn’t trust any of the men in the room, not completely.
“At de Ardoino’s villa?” Rasheed asked.
I nodded.
“Gillen isn’t the first man the verguer’s poisoned.” Don Oliverio crossed his arms. “But he may be the first to have survived.”
“He vomited soon after he was affected. And he asked me to fetch powder from his saddlebag. It seemed to help.”
Rasheed and Don Oliverio looked to the archbishop.
Atumano smiled. “I would never have suggested Gillen risk poisoning, but I am glad my idea was helpful. Prepared charcoal. I read about it somewhere . . . Hippocrates or Pliny, I think.” He glanced at his books. I’d never seen so many before. At least fifty volumes were stacked around the room. They were worth a fortune. And loose paper was just as abundant. What did one person do with so many things to read?
Atumano looked at me. “And how is Gillen? Henbane is no laughing matter, even with an antidote.”
“He was unresponsive for a day. Even now he remains weak and dizzy.”
“How did he escape the villa?” Rasheed asked.
I hesitated, but three pairs of eyes were on me. I reminded myself to be like Irene—unafraid of opening her mouth. “I smuggled him out.”
Rasheed raised an eyebrow. The long scar along his face seemed to amplify his skepticism. “How did you manage that? I saw the villa. It was a fortress.”
I didn’t want to give away my secrets. I might need to use the same methods again. I’d told Gillen, and I suspected he would eventually tell his friend, but I still hesitated.
Don Oliverio uncrossed his arms. “You’re Thomas’s protégée, aren’t you? That would explain much.”
My cheeks burned with heat at his recognition. “Yes.”
“Who is Thomas?” the archbishop asked.
Don Oliverio frowned. “A local thief. He has abundant skills, but he’s unscrupulous and slippery. I hired him to retrieve those letters from Don Paco de Folgueres’s clerk. He took them, then sold them to Gillen and Rasheed when they offered him more than I did. He didn’t even ask if I could match the offer. No loyalty in that one.”
Rasheed frowned. “You didn’t need to hire him and us. We would have gotten them for you.”
Don Oliverio had hired two people to steal the same letters? A queasy feeling grew in my stomach.
As if reading my mind, Don Oliverio turned to me. “Yes, but with my method, I learned who I could depend on for results and who I could trust to be loyal.”
“Thomas is the one who succeeded in getting the letters?” The archbishop helped himself to a bowl of shelled almonds.
Don Oliverio nodded, but Rasheed shook his head. “Thomas wasn’t there. She’s the one who took the letters, then tricked Gil into accepting the wrong one.”
I took a step toward the door. If I was a little mouse, then they were all cats.
“There’s no need to be afraid, my child.” Atumano waved me toward a bench. “You learned your skill from this Thomas?”
I nodded and sat but stayed on the edge of the wood, where I could bolt if needed.
“What is your name, child?”
I’d come into the archbishop’s residence as Irene, but if they got Gillen back, I didn’t want them to think I had lied to them. Especially not to an archbishop. Perhaps I was superstitious, but it seemed dangerous to lie to someone like that. “Gil has taken to calling me Eudocia.”
“Thomas and Eudocia. Both seem to be proficient in their trade. Could we use them?” Atumano addressed Don Oliverio, not me, so I kept silent.
“Thomas possesses skills but no principles. He might be difficult to control.” Don Oliverio stood and paced. “He’s not someone to follow a cause.”
“God often uses imperfect instruments.” The archbishop took another almond, then offered the bowl to me. I took a small handful—I was hungry, and I doubted he’d poisoned them since he was eating them himself. “Tell me, Eudocia. Can Thomas be trusted?”
Thomas was motivated by money, by the thrill of accomplishing something difficult, and by a hatred for Nicholas de Ardoino, but I couldn’t tell the archbishop that. Thomas was my master. He might give no loyalty to someone like Don Oliverio, but I had no choice in the matter. If I broke my allegiance to Thomas, I’d end up as one of Bessarion’s girls. “It is true that he did not honor his assignment for Don Oliverio Domingo. And I beg your pardon for that, senyor.” I gave Don Oliverio a deferential nod. “But he can be depended on to accomplish the impossible. Few others can match his record of achievements, though I am not at liberty to list them.”
Silence filled the room. I wondered what cause they had spoken of but didn’t dare ask.
“Where is Gil?” Rasheed asked.
“I’m not allowed to say.” Thomas would already be furious if he found out I’d come to visit the archbishop without permission. I’d be one of Bessarion’s girls—or a corpse—if I betrayed the location of his hideout. “Gil is improving and wished me to arrange for his return to you.”
Rasheed eyed me. “At least tell us if he’s within or without the Cadmea. That will affect where we take him.”
“Within.”
Rasheed nodded. “How, then?”
“The taverna where we met before. We can bring him there.”
“Tonight?” It seemed Gil’s friend wanted him back soon.
I wasn’t so sure I wanted to be rid of him. Thomas’s lair felt safer, somehow, when Gil was there, even if he was weak and unable to walk more than a few steps. But it was selfish of me to want him to stay. He would be safer with his friends. “I’ll arrange it.”
Rasheed seemed to relax.
My purpose was almost accomplished, but I still had something else to bring up. “For my part, I would have given Gil my help because he needed it. But Thomas will wish generous reimbursement for his expenses.”
Rasheed raised an eyebrow again. “I suppose Gil can put away a lot of food, and he’s been with you two days.”
Don Oliverio scoffed. “Thomas isn’t asking for compensation on his food stores. He’s holding Gillen hostage.”
I cringed to hear his words, but I feared there was truth in them.
“Then offer an appropriate ransom.” The archbishop didn’t seem disturbed. “Get young Gillen back so we can move on. Give Thomas enough that there will be no resentment. If he is capable of gratitude, give enough to earn it.”
Was that what Gillen had done at the taverna? Offered enough in exchange for the letter to leave no room for resentment? It had worked. Had Thomas been resentful, he wouldn’t have hidden Gil, and he wouldn’t have let me care for him at the expense of my other duties.
“Tonight, then, Eudocia.” Rasheed nodded at me.
I stood to leave, then hesitated. “Will you see me out, Rasheed?”
He seemed surprised but agreed, following me from the archbishop’s home into the courtyard between the residence and the church.
“What is it?”
“I’m not supposed to be here. I plan to tell Thomas we met in the market. Could you corroborate my version of events, if Thomas asks?”
Rasheed chuckled. I’d just given him something he could hold over my head. All he had to do was threaten to tell Thomas that I’d come to the archbishop’s house and I’d have no choice but to submit to blackmail. But his laugh contained amusement, not greed. “Yes, Eudocia. I’ll say I saw you at the market. I’ll even go there with you now, if you like. But I don’t know why you couldn’t have said that in front of Don Oliverio and the archbishop.”
“I couldn’t very well ask an archbishop to lie, could I?”