Maximin gave a patronizing chortle as he sat down in a wicker chair, and rattled coins in his belt purse. “Ah, Domina, a silver piece to the proper official, even a slave. No, especially a slave. Cheaper, and they’re hardly noticed, skulking around as they do.”
“Who at the palace told you about my husband?”
“A ridiculous charge,” Maximin repeated, hedging a direct answer. “I was consul twice, you know. In fact I’ve been petitioning Valentinian to confer the rank of Patrician on me. Perhaps, my dear, in exchange for the expertise of my lawyer your husband could put in a good word for me?”
“Getorius has no influence with the Augustus.”
“With his mother then? I understand Galla Placidia is about to appoint him palace physician.”
“It’s not been confirmed, Senator.” The man knows everything, Arcadia thought, as she sat down opposite him.
“The day of your husband’s arrest,” Maximin digressed, “the Empress Mother talked to a leader of the Judeans?”
The question was another surprise. “Y…yes, Rabbi David ben Zadok.”
“There was a document of some nature discussed?”
My God, does he suspect, or perhaps even know that the papyri exist? It’s certainly possible with all the palace contacts he’s boasting about. “Your…informants didn’t tell you what this document was, Senator? You seem to know everything.”
“Informants?” Maximin gave an easy laugh and pressed a finger hard against his palm. “Domina, even gold cannot pierce steel. But I’ll ask no more. The matter is undoubtedly confidential.”
Oh, fine! Now I’ve told him that a document does exist—
Maximin frowned and reached forward to touch Arcadia’s forehead. “That is a nasty bruise, my dear.”
“Archdeacon Renatus…” Arcadia stopped. What am I thinking? “An…an accident in the clinic, Senator.”
He sat back, nodding. “The archdeacon? A pity he died so suddenly in his sleep.”
“The bishop reported that?”
“The palace announced his death—”
Arcadia was relieved when Silvia entered the room with a pitcher and poured out two cups of hot mulled wine, ending the conversation about Renatus. When Maximin reached for his, she saw a ring on his finger with the image of a rooster cut into its carnelian stone. She was so shaken at the sight that she knocked over her cup.
“Clumsy,” she muttered, standing quickly to brush at the stain on her tunic.
Maximin pulled a linen square from his sleeve and dabbed at the reddish drops. “Did something upset you, my dear?”
“Y…your ring.”
“The red cockerel?” Maximin chuckled and reached for Arcadia’s hand. He pressed the signet into the underside of her wrist, then held her fingers as the faint impression of a rooster appeared. “It’s the emblem of my country place outside Ravenna, Villa Galli Rubris, ‘The Villa of the Red Rooster.’ Fighting cocks are one of my passions, but mainly I raise poultry for the city markets.”
Arcadia eased her hand away from his and rubbed at the impression. The Villa of the Red Rooster was a smooth explanation, but could the man be believed? “Did…did you come about your mother?” she asked, still flustered.
“Yes, in part. May I call you Arcadia?” At her nod, Maximin lightly touched her cheek. “Forgive my saying it, but you look tired, understandably so of course, from the strain of seeing patients alone, the unfortunate deaths of your friend and the archdeacon, your husband’s detention. Horrible business.” He pulled his hand away and twisted the ring a moment before asking, “Arcadia, will you look in on Agatha? Her bedsores are improved, but she needs more of that pain medication.”
“Senator, I’m still training with my husband. Wouldn’t it be better to call Antioches?”
“The man’s old, forgetful.” Maximin leaned back and swirled the wine in his cup.
“Actually, Arcadia, I also wanted to invite you to spend a few days at my villa. It’s not far, about a mile outside the Theodosius Gate. I think you’d quite like relaxing in the baths…getting away from this abominable sewer smell for a few days. I couldn’t be there with you all the time—business concerns—but you would be mistress of the place.”
“I’m flattered, Senator, but…what about your wife?” Arcadia recalled the rumors about Valentinian having more than a platonic interest in her.
“Prisca?” He hesitated, then said, “She…she might join you. Yes, by Zeus! I’ll tell her to be there.”
Arcadia was still wary. Despite his ready explanation, the man was wearing the signet of what Zadok thought might be a far-reaching and deadly conspiracy. “Why invite me like this, Senator?”
“The deed comes back to the doer.” Maximin chuckled after paraphrasing the proverb. “Pure selfishness. As I said, I’ve heard that your husband will replace Antioches at the New Year. Another friend in the palace….” He winked to let her draw the conclusion.
“And Prisca will be at the villa?”
“Of course. And I believe my wife is…ah…of an age when having a woman physician would please her.”
The man’s as slick as his hair oil, Arcadia thought, and yet the prospect of a few shamelessly luxurious days was appealing. She would also have unencumbered time to think of ways to help defend Getorius, perhaps find out Maximin’s interest in the document he was curious about. Why not go?
“Senator, I’ll have to speak to my husband. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”
“Understood.” Maximin put down his cup, leaned forward, and affected a confidential tone. “I’ll speak to the guards’ tribune. House arrest can be made quite comfortable. And my lawyer will talk to the bishop about dropping his absurd allegation.”
Arcadia knew these were not idle boasts. Maximin’s wealth spoke in both the civil and episcopal palaces, even at Rome itself, where the Senate had erected a statue of him in Trajan’s forum. Why not have a powerful friend for a change? Getorius certainly needs one now.
“Senator, I’ll tell my husband I’ve accepted your offer.”
“Splendid.” Maximin opened a leather case hanging under his cloak and took out a wax notebook. “A good time would be…yes, the calends of December, three days from now. Will that be convenient for you?”
“Perhaps the first through
