The nearest rooster, bolder than his mates, pecked at one of the shiny orbs below it, in a cautious probe for danger. Brenos’s scream of terror was drowned out by a cacophony of savage clucking, as the vision of Alpha and Omega disappeared from his consciousness in a final burst of pain, and a dazzling white light.
Chapter twenty-six
Getorius had been released shortly after the first evening watch began. As well as authorizing his release, Bishop Chrysologos had granted him a dispensation from fasting, so around the fourth hour after sunset he was eating a late supper, while Arcadia watched.
“If this abbot is up to something, we should get over to the Ursiana well before the service,” he told her, pushing aside his plate.
“In case he has a duplicate will?”
“Right. But how he intends to make it public is—”
“Master,” Childibert interrupted as he pushed aside the curtain and looked into the dining room. “Master, the young Judean has come to see you.”
“Nathaniel? Bring him in.”
“That’s strange,” Arcadia commented, “I thought Nathaniel told us he would be celebrating a week-long Hebrew festival.”
“Welcome,” Getorius said after Nathaniel came through the curtain. “Take off your wet cape. Have you eaten supper?”
“Yes.”
“Then join me in drinking a cup of wine. I’m celebrating my freedom.”
“That is not why I came…” Nathanial hesitated, then said, “My thanks, but I…I cannot accept the wine.”
“Your dietary laws,” Arcadia recalled.
“Yes. Although it is still our Festival of Lights, not all of us are celebrating, but I congratulate you on your freedom, Surgeon.”
“What does your festival celebrate?”
“Hanukkah recalls one of our more successful attempts to shake off an oppressor at the time of Antiochus Epiphanes.”
Getorius held up his cup. “Then, Nathaniel, I’ll drink for you to a quick end of this forged papyrus business. We’re going to confront that Hibernian abbot tonight at the cathedral. Ask him what he knows about the papyri.”
“That is why I came.” Nathaniel sat at the table and asked, “Have you heard more about the false will? We are only hours from its possible release.”
“I can assure you, Nathaniel, that the matter is at rest,” Arcadia told him.
“How is that? Do you have it here?”
“No. Not…not exactly,” she said.
Nathaniel shifted uneasily in his chair. “I must warn you. In the weeks since you showed us the documents we have sent word for Judeans in city garrisons to be alert tonight, also to those in army units along the Padus River. If this abomination comes to pass, no Judean soldier will be caught with his sword sheathed, or his shield down.”
“Your people have nothing to fear,” Arcadia assured him, “but, in any case, they would be protected by the law.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Rabbi Zadok doubts that. Last year the new Code of Theodosius at Constantinople—which was ratified here by Valentinian—has statutes that prohibit Hebrews from holding public office, or building new synagogues. You can see that the release of this will, genuine or not, would ultimately result in what even the two emperors dared not include in the law.”
“Genocide?” Arcadia exclaimed. “But that’s terrible. We…we never heard.”
“You Christians weren’t affected. The new statutes simplify additions to the laws since Constantine compiled the original codes a century ago. Good overall, I suppose, if you’re not Judean.”
“I would think…what is it this time?” Getorius asked, seeing Childibert by the curtain again.
“Master, the Senator is here to see you.”
“Publius Maximin?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Why would he come at such a late hour?” Arcadia wondered aloud. She went with Childibert through the adjacent reception room and peered around a corner of the curtain, into the atrium. Maximin seemed upset, pacing the floor and slapping a mud-stained leather tube against his thigh. “Thank you, Childibert. I’ll bring the senator in.”
When Arcadia escorted Maximin into the dining room, Getorius extended a hand. “Senator, we’re honored. This is Nathaniel, a pupil of Rabbi ben Zadok in Classis.”
Maximin nodded to the man, but turned to Getorius. “The reason I am here is not a pleasant one. May we go into your study? I have an urgent matter to discuss.”
“Of course…but…Nathaniel?”
“The Judean may come. This also concerns his people.”
Puzzled, Getorius led the way around to the room. Maximin refused the wine Arcadia offered him, but dropped heavily into a chair, cradling the leather tube close to his body as if he expected someone to snatch it away.
“This is not a social call,” Maximin began. “I…I went from the port to my country villa a short while ago. Prisca was with me. We planned on going to the vigil service from there, but my steward, Andros, told me guards had found that abbot who came from Autessiodurum dead in my rooster yard.”
“Brenos at your villa? Dead?” Getorius repeated, shaken at the news. “How…how can that be, Senator?”
“I was not there, Surgeon,” Maximin responded curtly. “I have no idea how he got into my house.”
“Did Andros say what happened?” Arcadia asked.
“An accident, evidently. The man fell out of my study window and broke his neck.”
“How did he get in past your guards?” she persisted. “Why was he there in the first place?”
The wicker chair creaked as Maximin leaned back and fondled the case. “One of my rooster figurines—you saw them, Arcadia—one of the golden ones was found clutched in his hand.”
“You’re saying the abbot is a thief?”
“My dear, there is undoubtedly some evil in all of us,” Maximin hedged, “yet what he was doing in that room is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never even met the man.”
Arcadia felt that was probably untrue. She had seen him look out of the vesting room during the abbot’s erratic eulogy at Behan’s funeral, so he may have met with Brenos afterward. She recalled the many guards she had seen at the farm. Ulysses himself, much less the
