She went back downstairs. The house was large and felt empty. Why did the Lord Chamberlain choose to live this way?
No wonder Peter seemed glad to have her company.
Hypatia stepped out into the dark garden, into the smell of foliage and damp earth. Night insects chirped, hidden in the black leaves. She took a narrow flagstone path in the direction of the burbling that filled the quiet space. Some light-footed creature rustled away through the bushes.
Hypatia lowered herself on the bench by an eroded fountain. She could make out faint reflections in the gently bubbling water. In the square of night overhead a few stars blinked in the humid air.
In even such a tiny patch of nature she found respite from the brutal world of humankind. No matter what miseries men visited upon each other the insects would continue to chirp and the wild creatures would go on their nightly forays.
The Lord Chamberlain had been distressed by the lack of news from Cornelia. Hypatia could see it plainly in his face, which was unusual. He normally masked his emotions.
He had said he intended to sleep but Hypatia knew he would sit up drinking wine in his study and talking to the mosaic girl on the wall.
He would be better off if he stopped talking to bits of colored glass, came downstairs, and listened to the sounds of his garden. Cornelia had probably told him as much. It was good she was living here now. The Lord Chamberlain was not as solitary as he had been when Hypatia had first worked for him. People shouldn’t be alone.
A breeze, chilled by the darkness, made Hypatia blink. She had been dozing off on the bench, lulled by the fountain’s music.
She pushed herself to her feet, walked wearily back inside, guided by a single torch beneath the peristyle, and tiptoed up the stairs and down the hallway.
As she’d expected, a line of lamplight showed under the closed door of John’s study. She knew Peter had sometimes stood outside the door long enough to hear John muttering to himself, or rather, as he imagined, to Zoe, the mosaic girl. She hurried past, preferring not to hear, and climbed the stairs to the servants’ quarters.
Her room was next to Peter’s. She lay down on her pallet, then realized she should check on him before she slept.
She must have been more exhausted than she imagined. The next thing she knew she was waking to a sharp banging noise.
Had a crate fallen off a cart passing by outside?
Shouts.
From downstairs.
More banging. Knocking.
Someone at the house door.
She leapt up and scrambled down the stairs, still half asleep.
John’s study was dark.
She heard footsteps, more voices.
By the time she reached the atrium there was only silence inside.
From outside came the rattle of wheels and the clatter of hooves on cobbles. The sound was coming through the front door, standing open.
A carriage vanished around the corner of the excubitors’ barracks across the square.
She slammed the door, and went up the stairs two at a time.
The kitchen was just as empty. So was the study and John’s room.
“Master,” she called. “Lord Chamberlain.”
There was no reply.
Chapter Twenty-three
Joannina loosened the top of her light blue tunica, dabbed more perfume between her breasts, and settled down on the couch to wait for Anastasius.
She had dismissed Vesta for the night, after pressing upon her a silver chain she considered too heavy for her own delicate neck but which suited her lady-in-waiting. It pleased Joannina’s vanity that Vesta made every effort to emulate her and Joannina was determined to turn the girl into a suitable match for some handsome courtier. Not that the plain-looking Vesta had any chance of catching a man such as Joannina’s Anastasius, but then that match had been made by the empress herself.
On second thought, Joannina got off the couch and padded barefoot around the room snuffing out all the lamps except for one in a far corner. Anastasius preferred to have the lights blazing but she felt more comfortable with a softer ambiance.
Except for the diaphanous tunica and too much perfume she wore only tiny silver earrings in the shape of sea shells. Anastasius, she knew, liked her to keep on a bit of jewelry.
She was partial to silver jewelry. It suited her pale skin.
Skin the color of moonlight, Anastasius had told her.
It would have been better if he had left it at that and hadn’t elaborated by telling her she was more glorious than the heavens because the heavens boasted only one, rather than two silvery moons. And even then the words might have struck Joannina as more poetical if the poet’s hands hadn’t been so busy with the celestial orbs.
Where was he anyway? He hadn’t seemed himself since the Lord Chamberlain’s visit. He’d been short- tempered. He had done nothing during their ride that morning except complain about how much he was sweating. When they’d returned he’d changed his clothes and gone off without telling her what he was planning to do. Which was rare. Perhaps he intended to surprise her with a present, to make up for his bad mood.
At least he wouldn’t stumble home intoxicated as men did, she had heard. He put more water in his wine than anyone she’d ever seen and he never drank except at meals. In that way, he was only a step removed from the abstemious emperor.
Anastasius was, she thought dreamily, the ideal husband, except that he wasn’t quite her husband yet.
“Well,” she murmured to herself, “in the eyes of the Lord we are man and wife, and that’s all that truly matters.”
She liked to hear herself say that. Unfortunately, unless they were legally married and beyond the interference of her parents, it was unlikely they’d be allowed to continue living together.
If only Theodora had lived a few weeks more, she would have ensured the ceremony was held as scheduled and no one would have dared to come between the two young lovers.
Joannina had been terrified when the empress first suggested that Joannina and her grandson marry. The young girl was awed by Anastasius. Tall and regal with his thick mane of glossy black hair, he was a familiar figure at court, bantering easily with his few equals, withering inferiors in the heat of his disdain. Everyone deferred to him despite his youth. It was not surprising, considering he was Theodora’s grandson.
Nevertheless, Joannina’s parents had not approved. Her mother had been apoplectic judging from her letters. But what could her parents do? They were in Italy. Joannina thought they should have been pleased to see their family allied with Theodora’s. For one thing, it would block the ascension of General Germanus over Joannina’s father Belisarius once and for all. She had been aware of their rivalry practically before she could talk. But no, her mother insisted Theodora was just trying to get her hands on Belisarius’ family’s fortune. As if the empress needed anyone else’s miserable fortune.
And what right did her faithless slut of a mother have to interfere in the authentic pure love shared by Joannina and Anastasius?
Joannina was hardly more than a child, but a child has eyes and ears. She had observed the men who came and went when her father was absent. And there was the one who was her stepbrother. How vile.
Yet there were those who disapproved when Theodora ordered Joannina and Anastasius to live together in the same rooms in the empress’ part of the palace. People whispered. Most of the girls Joannina’s age who whispered were envious. They could only wish the empress would force them to share a bedroom with the most
