Aetius took the tablet. “Liver and gallbladder in one,” he read. “Lungs and heart. Stomach. Large and small intestines.” He looked up with a frown of disgust.
“What is this butcher’s list you’ve given me?”
“Commander, show it to the deacons who were in charge of the body. I think that word got out in the port area about Behan dying in that isolated location, and his body might have been used to practice embalming rites. Secretly. Apprentice priests are no more anxious to be arrested than I am.”
“I don’t know—looking inside that temple could be touchy,” Aetius warned. “With African grain no longer available, the Augustus wants to be certain that nothing alienates local Egyptian interests. Reports of an intrusion into a religious rite of Isis would be certain to enrage him.”
“Then what will I need to take with me when I’m exiled to that Dalmatian rock?”
Aetius smiled at Getorius’s jest as he slapped the tablet covers together. “Fine, Surgeon, I’ll do what you ask…but I was also told that one of your surgical instruments was found inside the dead man’s shroud.”
“I know.” Getorius’ elation at his guesswork faded. “I can’t explain that, except to say that it didn’t get there through sorcery.”
“No. All right, I’ll take two guards to the temple…pretext of a tax inspection or something like that.”
“I’m grateful, Commander.”
Aetius stood and grasped Getorius’ arm. “That pretty wife of yours must be frantic at your arrest.”
“Arcadia’s strong, sir. I’ll tell her what you’re doing to help when she brings my supper.”
“Let’s hope you’re right about the embalmed organs. I’ll let you know what we discover…if anything.”
Once Aetius and his bodyguard were gone, Getorius’ doubts surfaced again. Based on speculation about the dissection that might be groundless, he was asking a possible conspirator to help him. The commander—without actually going to the temple—could come back and say he had found nothing. Getorius slumped back down on the bed and picked up the history book.
“I don’t even know if Egyptians still practice the embalming you describe,” he muttered to Herodotus, “especially in a damp climate like Ravenna’s. Once Behan is buried my trial will only have the two deacons as witnesses. They’ll say they found his body mutilated and my scalpel inside the shroud. All I’ll be asked to do is identify the instrument. Any magistrate would draw the same conclusion of guilt.”
What’s the penalty for mutilating a corpse? Probably close to that for desecrating a tomb. At best I’d be forbidden to practice medicine, and at worst, as Aetius suggested, I could be exiled to some desolate island in the Mediterranean Sea.
Getorius was aware of the irony in the thought. His immediate fate would be of small consequence if whatever conspiracy was underfoot succeeded. By the date of the trial, controversy over Christ’s intentions would have begun to pit Christian against Judean communities in the major cities of both empires. Through the resulting slaughter, the apocalyptic horrors that John had described would be fulfilled in his and Arcadia’s lifetime. Indeed, an isolated island might be a temporary haven.
Aetius said that an abbot from Behan’s monastery had arrived. He has to be connected with the papyri. The first thing the man would do is to contact those who know about the will. Hades! Here I am, helpless in this room, while he and his fellow conspirators are in the city finalizing their plans to institute a theocracy.
Chapter twenty-one
Hunched over in his tattered cloak, and with wet boots making a squishing sound on the paving stones of the Vicus Galla Placidia, Brenos of Slana saw the queen’s mausoleum up ahead. He glanced to the west. A faded red sky held the dark etched silhouettes of ragged clouds; the light rain would soon stop. The cold drops felt good on Brenos’ feverish face, but he was forced to walk with an awkward lope to keep his robe from rubbing the painful ulcer on his side. Perhaps he should have consulted the queen’s physician, but there had not been time.
By that final glow of rosy light, the abbot noticed that Smyrna’s carriage was already waiting next to the first narthex arch. The two-wheeled rig was painted black, almost invisible in the twilight, and had a leather top to keep off the rain while it took him to the Villa of the Red Rooster. There, Smyrna would sort out what had happened after the confusion caused by Behan’s untimely death, and the accidental discovery of the two papyri.
In his letter Smyrna had boasted of his access to the palace of the Augustus, so it should not be too hard for him to locate the documents in time for the vigil service, although that was only two days away.
When Brenos reached the carriage he looked up at the driver, who motioned him to climb alongside. Once his passenger was seated, the man pulled back his hood and pointed to a silver plaque hanging around his neck. The abbot squinted at the letters, making out the words MVTVS SVRDVS, and nodded that he understood. Clever of Smyrna to send a deaf-mute to pick me up. Nameless. No questions and no answers either.
The mute directed the mare along a narrow street that paralleled the Honorian wall. At the Theodosius Gate, guards chuckled and exchanged mocking comments with each other about Mutus, before waving the carriage through with a sweep of their spears.
About a quarter mile beyond the gate, the silent driver guided the horse to the left, off the main stone-paved road and onto a muddy pathway that was scarcely wider than the carriage. The rain had stopped. Since the pinkish tinge of twilight on the horizon was barely enough to light their way, Mutus slackened the reins, letting the mare instinctively follow the rutted path.
Brenos heard the carriage wheels sound a hollow clatter as they passed over the boards of a bridge
