“As if he knew part of this mystery?” Zadok turned to Placidia. “This churchman was in charge of money that is collected for the poor. A considerable sum, no?”
“I suppose so.” She jabbed a finger toward the door. “But Aetius is behind this, just as Stilicho tried to usurp my nephew’s throne and make his own son Augustus.”
Getorius knew that Stilicho’s enemies had leveled the same charge at him. Aetius also had ambitious detractors who would conspire to depose him as army commander. “What then, Rabbi,” he asked to distract Placidia, “is your estimate of the will’s impact on your people if it were released? Or on Christians, for that matter.”
Zadok slumped back on the couch. “First,” he replied in a low voice, “your spiritual leader, Sixtus, would be informed. He would call a council to debate the document’s authenticity. Yet do you think the citizenry would wait for their decision? Many Christians…too many, I fear…would see to it that no Judean lived long enough to inherit even a single bronze follis.”
“But this would be a decision of Christ’s,” Arcadia contended. “Christians are obliged to carry it out peacefully.”
“Young woman, who are Christians?” Zadok asked curtly. “You Nicenes here? Followers of Arius in the port quarter? Manicheans? Nestorians? There are many divisions in your sect…” He paused, half-smiling at an ironic thought. “This affair might at least unite all of you.”
“You’re saying the release of the will would result in the destruction of your people?” Placidia asked. “Horrible. Christ would not have wanted that, or Peter. Nor do I.”
“Once, when a Christian mob torched a synagogue at Antioch, the bones of our dead were destroyed,” Zadok commented wryly. “A magistrate asked why the living Hebrews had not also been burned. It was a jest to him.”
“Sir, whoever forged the will must realize that chaos would result,” Getorius said. “It would somehow serve their purpose.”
“Those of the red cockerel.”
“I’ve said all along that it was a conspiracy,” Placidia reminded the rabbi.
“But one that goes far beyond usurping the western throne. The destruction of an entire people.”
“Then destroy this cursed papyrus!” Placidia cried. “Burn it to ashes!”
Zadok stood up. “Empress, that would not quiet the crow of the cock. Another bird would soon take its place. No, we must expose the authors of this abomination, and quickly.”
“Behan was only one man. To root out his accomplices—” Getorius was interrupted by a heavy rapping on the door.
Placidia went to open it. Bleda, the chief of Aetius’ Hunnic guard, stood outside with two of his men. The Asiatic looked past her as he held up a parchment sheet.
“Order from Bishop Chrys’lo’gos,” Bleda said in heavily accented Latin. “Arrest sur-geon for il-legal di-ssection of a body.”
Getorius heard him and felt a spasm wrack his stomach. Marios had been buried for a month now. How could the bishop have found out?
“Ridiculous,” Placidia scoffed, pushing aside the indictment. “I’m to appoint him palace physician in January.”
“I have bish-op’s order,” Bleda insisted.
“Whom is Getorius supposed to have cut open?” she demanded.
The Hun held up the parchment sheet he could not read. Placidia squinted at the name. “Behan? Behan from the Abbey of Culdees? Surgeon, that’s the dead monk you examined in his forest hut.”
“Yes, but I—”
“You dissected his body?”
“No, he didn’t!” Arcadia cried, flushing. “We left and told Optila to have a wicker cage made in which to preserve Behan’s body until we heard from his abbot about burial.”
“And you’ve not gone back there?”
“No!”
“Optila is my son’s Hunnic bodyguard. I tell you, Aetius will use his band of barbarians to…” Placidia looked back at Bleda. “Very well. But I’ll speak to the bishop about clearing this up, Surgeon.”
Getorius nodded, grateful for her offer, yet thinking that, meanwhile, he would be confined inside the palace, just as Sigisvult had been—before he was murdered there.
Chapter fifteen
While the bishop’s canon law advisers drew up charges and prepared for a trial, Galla Placidia ordered that Getorius be confined in the room of a tribune who had gone to Rome for the winter. His detention was to be as non-restrictive as possible: no guard was to be stationed inside the room, and the surgeon could be escorted to the library to read there whenever he wished.
After Arcadia’s initial shock at the charge, she remembered what had happened to Sigisvult and told Brisios to bring her husband meals that had been prepared in her kitchen, until such time as she could visit him herself.
Two evenings after the arrest, Arcadia was surprised when Childibert announced that Publius Maximin had arrived to see her. Her first thought was that the senator’s mother, Agatha, had gotten worse, and that he wanted Getorius to accompany him back to his villa to treat the old woman.
Maximin brought in the damp smell of the outdoors as he entered Getorius’ study, where Arcadia met him. The senator wore a dalmatic of fine wool, visible under a stylish cloak cut elliptically at the hem. Red calfskin boots showed water stains. His oiled hair, flecked with gray, was combed forward in traditional Roman style, and she thought a faint odor of bay-scented perfume actually enhanced his masculinity. He obviously relished playing the part of an immensely rich and important man.
“Senator.” Arcadia held out a hand, hoping her slight frown relayed her disapproval at Maximin’s presumption in calling Getorius away to Agatha’s whenever he wished.
“Forgive me, Domina,” he apologized, gently squeezing her hand. “I fear I may have inconvenienced your husband at times. Only a son’s concern for his mother would explain such poor manners.”
“He was glad to be of service to her.” She was surprised at his admission, but not quite sure of its sincerity. “Senator, my husband isn’t here just now.”
Maximin released his hold. “Yes, I was appalled to hear of his arrest on such a ridiculous charge. May I offer the services of my personal lawyer for his defense?”
“Th…thank you.” Arcadia wondered how he knew of the detention, since Placidia had
