Chapter 7

 

Imperial Palace, December 412

 

“WHY DID YOU TRY TO KILL THE EMPEROR?” Anthemius, in his role as chief magistrate, questioned Lucius in the holding cells of the palace guard. The chief of the guards, along with several beefy underlings, stood by, trying to menace a man who seemed unaware they existed. A palace scribe sat in a corner with a lap desk, taking down the testimony.

“The voices. They told me to.” The general seemed a husk of his former vigorous self; thin and wild-eyed.

“The voices? Your co-conspirators?”

“No one, Regent. I acted alone.” The General’s eyes drifted to the shadows in the dark corner. He drew himself in, shivering.

“Then whose voices?” Anthemius was bewildered.

“What?” The would-be assassin looked up, dazed.

“The voices!” Anthemius lost patience. He shouted, “Who told you to kill the emperor?”

“I don’t know! I thought they were the gods, but then…” He put both palms to his temples and pushed as if trying to squeeze something out of his brain. He moaned.

The Regent exchanged a glance with the Chief.

“Then what?” Anthemius asked in a gentler tone.

“The woman. A large woman. Taller than any man I’ve ever seen. The goddess Fortuna?” The man’s eyes drifted upwards. He began to slump.

A guard shook his shoulder, bringing him back. Lucius looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

“This woman told you to kill the emperor?” Anthemius tried again.

“No. She saved him. I was going to kill him. I tried, but she enveloped him, turned her face toward me. Her face. I couldn’t see it. The light.” He shielded his eyes. “Demons. The voices must have been demons.” His voice trailed off into incoherent mumbles.

Anthemius reached across the table and grabbed the man’s jaw, wrenching his face around to stare into his eyes. “One last chance, Lucius. You were a well-regarded man and loyal soldier. Tell the truth. Why did you try to kill the emperor? Who helped you?”

“The demons told me to. I acted alone.”

Anthemius released his grip, stood, and took the chief a side. “I’m afraid his wits are disordered.”

“It doesn’t matter. Only priests, children, and pregnant women are exempt from questioning under torture in cases of treason.”

Anthemius nodded. He turned to the guards. “Bring him.” He indicated the scribe. “You, too.”

They trooped to a large room at the end of the corridor, past a couple of empty cells. Most criminals received swift and severe justice from the city magistrates. These cells were built to hold the occasional problem slave or guard found drunk on duty.

They entered a dark room. One guard lit torches set in standards along the wall. Anthemius noted the full array of knives and hooks to tear flesh. An unlit brazier, used to heat rods for burning skin, or melt lead to pour down a throat, stood in one corner. Whips with knotted rope, and flogs with iron tips, stood at attention in a rack along the wall. In the middle of the room, a broad wheel, taller than a man, sat in a frame with a crank in the axle.

“Put him on the wheel,” the chief ordered his men.

They bound the assassin’s feet to iron hooks fitted in the floor, stood him back against the wheel, and bound his hands overhead to a crossbar on the rim. Two men manned the axle crank.

Anthemius stood before Lucius and asked again, “Why did you try to kill the emperor? Who are you working with?”

“I swear to all the gods! The voices! I acted alone.”

The chief nodded. The guards began to crank the wheel, pulling Lucius up and backwards. He screamed. The chief raised a hand to halt the wheel, letting the screams turn to whimpers. At his nod, the guards released the wheel a fraction, allowing the prisoner some relief.

“Tell me, Lucius, and end this,” Anthemius said in a soothing tone. “You are of a noble family, entitled to a swift death by beheading. Tell me why you tried to kill the emperor and who helped you?”

Lucius mumbled incoherently, tossing his head from side to side.

“Again.” Anthemius nodded to the chief. This time the prefect heard an audible pop as the assassin’s shoulders dislocated.

Lucius screamed until his voice gave out. He fainted. They released the pressure. One guard threw water on the prisoner to revive him.

The regent’s stomach gave a lurch. Bile crept up the back of his throat. He swallowed convulsively, wiping cold sweat from his brow when the guards turned their eyes away. This was a waste of time, but by law he had to do his duty.

“Why did you try to kill the emperor? Who worked with you?”

Lucius lasted several hours before fainting beyond their ability to revive. He never admitted to any co-conspirators.

Anthemius left the room, pale and coughing.

 

*****

 

RAGE, MIXED WITH A HEADY DOSE OF FEAR, flowed through Pulcheria’s veins like molten lead. She paced across the length of her workroom. I almost lost my brother! What if…the appalling thought circled her brain and she could not banish it. She took a deep breath to steady her voice and faced Anthemius, Antiochus, and the chief of the palace guards. “How did this happen?”

They stood shamefaced before her. The chief obviously had taken time to dress in his most elaborate court uniform: a white silk tunic decorated with gold thread at the neck, cuffs and hem, and a short purple cloak thrown back over his shoulders. He stood with soldierly calm but sweat popping out on his forehead betrayed his nervousness.

He should be nervous. I should have his head, or at least dismiss him for this incompetence.

Anthemius, on the other hand, wore the same clothes as the day before, rumpled and stained from the damp cellars. Dark circles ringed his eyes; his jowls drooped in a grimace of weariness and pain.

Her anger cooled somewhat. She sat, patting the divan. “Regent, you look tired. Please sit.”

Anthemius straightened sagging shoulders. “Thank you, Princess, but this report is best delivered standing. We questioned Lucius all through the night. He insisted he acted alone. There were no conspirators.”

“Questioned under torture?”

The regent nodded.

“Is he dead?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Do you believe him? That no one helped him?”

The chief stepped forward. “We’re questioning his friends. They know nothing. A few said General Lucius changed since coming back from the border. He lost a childhood friend in the fighting and mourned excessively.”

“That’s no excuse for trying to kill my brother!” she shouted.

“He didn’t pull his sword,” Anthemius soothed.

“He tried! I saw him. He pulled three times and seemed astonished it didn’t come free.”

“It’s a miracle!” Antiochus raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Lucius claimed a large woman enveloped the emperor in her arms and prevented his sword from leaving the scabbard. Surely the Virgin Mary kept your brother from harm.”

“Where did you hear that tall tale?” Anthemius threw him an annoyed look.

“One of the guards told me.” The eunuch looked pleased.

“What?” Pulcheria leaned forward, stunned. Had the Holy Virgin appeared to save my brother?

“Lucius’ mind was disordered.” The regent gave Antiochus a sharp look. “He identified the specter as the Roman goddess Fortuna.”

“The general was a pagan?” Pulcheria fumed. “This is what happens when you allow unbelievers in positions of power!” When I rule, one of my first acts will be to expel all pagans and Jews from the army and the administration. This will never happen again!

“He likely mistook your own brave and protecting presence for that of the goddess.” The chief ran a hand through his thinning hair. “We examined the sword and scabbard. It appears a loop of leather around the hilt kept it in place. It is a common precaution for ceremonial swords, so they don’t come loose while riding. Lucius must have forgotten to remove it in his nervousness or haste.”

Pulcheria leaned back, disappointed, filing the story away for the future. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if people thought the Holy Virgin personally protected the imperial family. “Was the sword his?”

“He claimed so.” The chief nodded.

“But he didn’t know to release the restraining loop?” She cupped her chin in her hand, staring into the middle distance. “This seems suspicious to me. I’m not convinced Lucius acted alone.”

Pulcheria saw the men glance at one another and guessed their thoughts. Silly girl. What does she know of swords and conspiracies?

“We will follow up with all due diligence and apprehend any additional conspirators, if they exist.” Anthemius went down on one knee, head bowed. “I promise, Princess, on my honor, I will do all in my power to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

Pulcheria placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you will, Regent. You have ever been a friend and protector of our family.”

“It will be easier to protect you and the emperor if you curtail your travels in the city, Princess. Perhaps you should be more…retiring?” Antiochus offered a brief, pleading smile.

“This happened in our home!” Pulcheria’s rage returned. She stood. “I sometimes think we would be better protected by our good people in the streets than by the incompetents in charge of the palace. You two—” she pointed at the eunuch and the chief. “—are dismissed from my presence. I wish to confer further with the Regent.”

Antiochus and the chief paled, expressing apologies as they bowed out her door.

Good! A little fear for their positions might spur them to better efforts.

Pulcheria turned to Anthemius. She caught the ghost of a smile flee his face.

“Princess, for such a young woman, you have a remarkable way of putting people in their place.”

“Antiochus irks me to no end. He treats me like an idiot child.”

“I believe he thinks better of you.”

“He can’t resist ordering our lives. You may be regent, but that means you govern the empire. Inside these walls, Antiochus rules, and his will is law. As long as we are children, he wields power over our persons like no other. I can suggest and order, but things happen at his will and in his time.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“You know I value your advice.” She took his hand in hers, noting the age spots and wrinkles that signaled his advancing years.

“You are nearing womanhood.”

Pulcheria blushed, nodding. Her breasts were budding, her hips taking on more curves. She had yet to bleed, but Nana assured her it could be any month now.

“It is time to think of marriage. In a year or two, you could be betrothed to a suitable man. In three, married, with a child of your own on the way. Betrothal shifts the balance of power. You could dismiss Antiochus.”

Marriage and childbirth, her twin dreads. The first because of its threat to Theo; the second because of its threat to herself. Just the mention triggered feelings of fear and helplessness. She pushed those feelings away, schooling her face.

“My brother could dismiss Antiochus today, but he has an odd fondness for the man.” And she lacked any evidence of outright animosity to sway her brother to her side. The eunuch accepted gifts from people wanting favors, but that was to be expected.

The regent’s eyes widened.

Pulcheria pursed her lips. She hadn’t meant to comment on Theo’s great weakness, his malleability. He was only a boy. She hoped he would grow out of the habit of bowing to others’ whims as he got older and wiser.

“I will think on your proposal.” She released his hand.

“Good. All men’s days are numbered on this earth. I would see you and the emperor in safe hands before I depart.”

Into whose hands did he want to consign their fate? She trusted Anthemius to act honorably, but not his son. Isidorus showed more ambition and less patience. He would likely become the dominant force in the government after his father died.

“God keep you safe and grant you long life, my friend, so we don’t have to face those challenges.” She escorted him to her door. “Now go home and rest.”