“Lie down on that cot, Ingunda,” she said gently. “We’ll do this slowly, starting with one leech.”
After taking the handle of the net off its peg, Arcadia opened the access hatch. The stink of a stagnant swamp rose from the dark water inside. She gingerly brushed off a few leeches that clung to the bottom of the door, and then muttered, “That wasn’t very clever. Now I’ll have to swish around in the water to net more of the creatures.”
Leaning forward and bracing herself mentally for the effort, Arcadia dipped the net into the brackish water. But, instead of sliding into the vat, the bronze ring holding the mesh struck something hard just beneath the surface.
“What the…?” she exclaimed, and bent to look inside for the obstruction. She made out a white form flecked with black oblong leeches, and thought some kind of marble pier had been built into the vat to make it easier to see them. When Arcadia gave the bulky form a harder jab, the shape moved. As it rolled over, a hand came into view. The pale length of arm below the wrist was dark with the creatures. When the body slowly turned past the opening from the inertia of her thrust, a bloated face bobbed to the surface.
Even with the black creatures clinging to the blood-drained white flesh, Arcadia recognized the pudgy features of Archdeacon Surrus Renatus.
She pulled back in horror. Feeling dizzy, Arcadia grasped at the vat’s slippery edge for support, but fainted, lost her grip, and crumpled to the tile floor.
Chapter twelve
When Arcadia regained consciousness, she was lying in one of the hospital beds, slowly becoming aware of a young woman wearing a white tunic and veil, who was smiling down at her.
“I am Sister Paulina,” the nurse said. “You injured your head when you fell. Are you feeling better?”
Arcadia nodded, then winced after touching a bandage on her forehead. Her skull ached, the inside of her mouth felt dry as the summer sand on Ravenna’s beaches, and her stomach was nauseous.
“Ingunda told me who you were,” Paulina continued. “I’ve sent for your husband.”
“In that vat,” Arcadia croaked through her parched throat.
“I know”—Paulina touched her arm in sympathy—“but be at peace, sister, the lid is closed again. The creatures cannot escape.”
Escape? My God, the woman didn’t look inside! She thinks I fainted from seeing the leeches.
Paulina tucked another blanket around Arcadia, and she closed her eyes. Perhaps it’s just as well the woman doesn’t know about Surrus Renatus until Getorius is told. Had it really been the archdeacon’s body in that black stinking water, or some kind of hallucination brought on by anxiety? No, it had definitely not been an apparition—the rotten smell of the vat’s stagnant contents still lingered in her nostrils. Arcadia frantically rubbed at her nose, then her arm, imagining that dark, slimy creatures were clinging to her skin.
She recalled that Getorius had been worried that this very thing would happen. Two of the witnesses to the papyri’s discovery were already dead, both within the space of a day, Miniscius the construction worker had probably been murdered too, and now Archdeacon Renatus was obviously a fourth victim—no one could accidentally fall into a vat that size, not even with the cover off. And he had had no reason to be in the room. Bringing the Eucharist to a patient in the wards would be the closest Renatus might come to the Hirudorium, and he would probably have sent one of his sub deacons to perform that simple ministry.
Arcadia opened her eyes, touched the bandage again, and murmured, “When in Hades’ name is that husband of mine coming for me?”
Getorius arrived shortly afterward. He spoke briefly with Paulina, and then came to his wife’s bedside.
“Finally,” she muttered. “Hades heard my plea.”
“Hades? Arcadia, what are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Then, how are you feeling? The Sister told me you fell back and injured your head.”
“Getorius—”
“Don’t talk until I have a look at you.” He slipped the bandage off and lightly touched the bruise on Arcadia’s forehead, then sniffed the remnants of a glistening poultice on the cloth. “Good, they put camphor ointment on the wound. How badly does your head hurt?”
“Getorius. In that leeching vat—”
“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sent you to the Hirudorium alone.”
“No, no, not that. Where’s Paulina?”
“At the far end of the ward. Do you want her to bring you something?”
“NO! Why won’t you listen to me?”
“Is something else wrong?”
“Getorius,” she rasped, “the body of Archdeacon Renatus is inside that vat.”
“W…what? Renatus? That…that’s impossible.”
“Don’t shout, Husband. I’m telling you, someone drowned the archdeacon in the leech tub. Paulina and the other sisters haven’t discovered his body yet.”
Getorius slumped down on the edge of her bed. “Then it’s just as I feared. Another witness is dead.”
“Yes, and it happened inside the palace again. We have to warn Galla Placidia right away. Even she may be in danger, if someone on the staff is involved in this.”
“Right. I’ll tell Paulina I’m taking you home, then try to schedule a meeting with Placidia.”
“I’m going with you when you talk to her.”
Getorius knew better than to object to his wife’s stubbornness. “Have Paulina help you dress, and ask a sister to walk you home. Meanwhile, I’ll find the Gothic Queen’s secretary.”
In her private reception room Galla Placidia took the news of the archdeacon’s murder badly.
“Flavius Aetius is behind this,” she screamed, flinging her silver wine cup at the wall. Purple liquid splashed against a mosaic depicting two pigeons on the rim of a fountain, and dribbled down the tiles in streaks. The goblet clanged to the floor, echoing metallic vibrations throughout the room. “He and that Gothic wife of his want to rule the Western Empire.”
Arcadia winced. Getorius’ slight shake of the head warned her not to react out loud. It was better for the woman to vent her anger without commenting.
“Two of my staff dead,” Placidia ranted on, “and now the Archdeacon of Ravenna. Who
