“Thank you. I prefer to feel more useful.”
“Quite.” He turned back to Getorius. “My payment for your services was adequate?”
“Patients usually pay me in fish or sausages. Yours was overly generous, sir.”
“Good. I wonder if you’d mind going to my home again? Now, Agatha…Mother…is complaining about bed sores.”
“I can apply a poultice to relieve them, Senator, but she won’t get better.”
“Have you something for her pain?”
“Stronger opion, but she’ll be addicted.”
“As long as Mother is comfortable. Could you go now? Unfortunately, I have an appointment and can’t be there with you.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Splendid. My dear…” Maximin acknowledged Arcadia as if to leave, but asked, “I trust you both had a pleasant dinner with the Empress Mother?”
“Very,” Getorius replied cautiously. Is the senator probing?
“I understand that you both were privileged to visit her new mausoleum.”
“Y…yes.” How would he know that? Has he heard about the death, or the twin papyri?
“A rare occasion,” Maximin said without expanding the conversation. “Surgeon, do tell my Mother I’ll be home early this evening.”
“I will, sir.” Getorius watched him walk away, across the basilica’s square. “Who could have told him that we went to the mausoleum, Arcadia?”
“Renatus? Theokritos, or perhaps one of Sigisvult’s guards? The senator is probably no stranger to uncovering palace secrets.”
“Undoubtedly not. I’ll go to his mother and wash her rawness with a boric solution. Her servant can purchase a soft sheepskin for Agatha to lie on. That should help a bit.”
“And I’d better get back and talk to Agrica about our noon meal. I’ve invited Sigisvult to eat with us.”
“Good, we can talk about what happened. Find out what he knows about that hidden niche in the wall. I shouldn’t be at the senator’s very long.”
Getorius found Agatha about the same. He told Fabia to buy the sheepskin and continue the boric washes. She could come to the clinic on the next day for the opion.
Walking home, Getorius looked forward to talking with Sigisvult. Perhaps he could help make some sense of the horrifying incident in the mausoleum. The architect had been too upset after the murder to talk—Getorius had sent over a mild nepenthes sedative for him—but he should be feeling better by now.
As Getorius crossed the Via Theodosius to his villa, he realized he had not seen Sigisvult at the Mass service that morning. Perhaps the man was still not well. When he entered the door from the Via Caesar, Arcadia hurried into the atrium to meet him.
“Getorius, I’ve been waiting for you. Sigisvult has been arrested.”
“What?”
“He’s being held in the palace.”
Getorius slipped off his cloak. “I can’t say I’m too surprised. I’m sure he had nothing to do with placing that case in the niche, but the building’s architect would be the first person suspected. Where is Sigisvult confined?”
“One of the Lauretum anterooms. Flavius Aetius insisted on a form of house arrest, not an underground cell.”
“Then the commander does know what happened, but exactly how much?”
“Probably only about Feletheus. As you said, his Huns would have reported a death.”
“Arcadia, I’m going to my study, have Silvia bring me a cup of wine. Can you come in and talk?”
“I can, since Sigisvult won’t be here,” she said. “I’ll bring us both wine.”
After his wife brought the wine and sat down, Getorius took a nervous gulp of his, then nursed the cup in his hand a long moment before looking up at her. “Arcadia, even though Theokritos is testing the papyri’s authenticity, genuine or not, we have to consider the implications of having them released. And someone was going to do that very soon.”
“What would have happened after the will was made public?” she asked.
“Most probably, Sixtus would convene a council of bishops, like the one called at Ephesus a few years ago over the Theotokos controversy about Mary’s role in the Incarnation. This one would probably be held in Rome. If they decide the will is genuine, Sixtus, as Peter’s…and Christ’s…successor, is bound to fulfill its terms.”
“It has to be a forgery, Getorius.”
“I agree, but who are the forgers? What’s their purpose? If…” Getorius abruptly slammed down his cup on a table next to his chair. “My God, Arcadia! The will papyrus must be connected to that prophecy Behan was going to announce. Hiding the documents in his flimsy hut would have been too risky. Poor weather, or a fire would have destroyed them.”
“But Behan would have had to have accomplices to conceal it in the mausoleum,” Arcadia reasoned.
“True, workers would have noticed a monk wandering around the site. And that niche had to be left in the brickwork…the trap set.” Getorius took a gulp of wine. “This was well thought out. Even with the will a forgery, some factions would be eager to use it for their own purposes.”
“Placidia could simply have the documents burned.”
“Theokritos wouldn’t allow it, and besides him, there are five other witnesses. We would all have to be, ah, silenced.”
“Silenced by whom?” Arcadia asked, while realizing there was no ready answer. “Getorius, I imagine Sigisvult is depressed. He must think Placidia feels as if a loyal dog has suddenly turned on its owner. Why don’t we go see him after we’ve eaten?”
“Good idea, Arcadia. We’ll bring a pitcher of that Venetian wine.”
“And I’ll have Silvia pack some of our dinner for him.”
The wind had shifted after the rain and now manifested as a mild southwesterly breeze that tempered Ravenna’s unseasonably cold autumn. All but the largest sheets of water had drained off, leaving small lakes that were wind-ruffled and sparkling under a sky of fluffy clouds that allowed the sun to shine through at irregular intervals.
It was a short walk to the palace. “Will we have trouble getting in to see Sigisvult?” Arcadia asked, after she saw sentries patrolling the entrance.
“I doubt it. If his detainment is just a formality, he’ll be lightly guarded. Ah, good, one of the sentries is Charadric. I once treated him for a nasty knife wound.”
“Charadric, how is your hand?” Getorius asked when
