Two for Joy (31 page)

He wondered how long Anatolius’ stoicism would endure. Soldiers who had silently borne the most grievous battlefield wounds could be reduced to whimpering madness by extended periods of enforced hopelessness. It was something John had witnessed on several occasions. And more than once, out of mercy, he had counseled Justinian to sentence a miscreant to death rather than imprisonment. He prayed to Mithra he would not have to counsel such kindness on behalf of his friend.

His black thoughts about Anatolius’ confinement, circling like birds of ill omen, were not all that distinguished this second diplomatic mission to Michael from the first. John’s world had changed since then. Senator Aurelius, his companion on that first occasion, was dead. So was Philo. Felix was missing. Isis and Darius had been reduced to refugees, the madam’s girls were scattered, one had been horribly murdered. Even the reliable Peter was no longer his usual self, beset as he was by ill health.

The city seemed to reflect the ruins of John’s life. He and the handful of guards accompanying him rode through wide blackened swathes, where fire had claimed the ill built buildings which crowded closely behind the colonnaded main thoroughfare. As they passed along the way, the hooves of their horses stirred up clouds of ashes. The acrid dust burned eyes and nostrils. Everywhere the air brought the sharp taste of smoke to the back of the throat.

If he accomplished his mission, would Theodora look more kindly on his entreaties on behalf of Anatolius?

John urged his mount forward. It was not until the shouts of his guards broke through his dark musings that he realized he had, for some time, been racing madly down the Mese at a full gallop.

***

“Michael has agreed to an audience,” the acolyte announced.

Outside the shrine, John had observed the scattered remains of cooking fires, shattered pottery, a sandal lying abandoned on the churned earth, things that together with the remarkable abundance of stones around the shrine’s steps informed his trained eye of stealthy attack, a panicked rout, and a determined counter-attack. Mute confirmation was provided by the dried blood staining the ground here and there. The number of the mounds of fresh earth ranged beside the nearby stream bore witness to the cost. He would not have buried the dead beside an encampment’s water supply, he thought. Despite the Michaelites’ recent martial success, it was obvious that their leader had had no military training.

Now, as he followed his guide through the crowded building, John glanced around its packed interior, searching for a glimpse of Felix.

Michael had not chosen to meet him in front of the altar this time. Instead, the acolyte led him to a small room in the back of the shrine. “This is the master’s chamber,” he revealed, before announcing John.

The room resembled a cell, but unlike Anatolius’, it possessed an unlocked door and a tiny, square window overlooking the Bosporos.

Michael turned away from the view to face John. “I was sorry to hear of the death of your friend the senator,” he said before John had a chance to speak.

“Your miraculous cure was short-lived, I fear,” John observed tartly.

“It was not my cure, Lord Chamberlain. I am only an instrument for the heavenly physician.”

The shaven-headed eunuch appeared to John even thinner than at their first meeting. Perhaps it was the increased gauntness of the smooth, ascetic face, the tired stoop of the narrow shoulders.

John began to offer the empress’ felicitations but Michael interrupted the formal recitation. “She might have presented these greetings before she sent her excubitors.”

“The empress also wishes to express her sincere regrets regarding the undisciplined conduct of certain of the imperial excubitors,” John replied.

“They were, indeed, undisciplined,” the other agreed. “And now let us dispense with all these flowery ceremonial greetings and waste no more time. Can you tell me why I would wish to hear anything from one who sought to destroy me and my followers?”

John repeated the communication Theodora had ordered him to deliver. “Emperor Justinian has been cloistered, seeking to reconcile your theological views with those of the orthodox persuasion. He left the empress in charge.” He paused. Deception was not something he enjoyed but, like the sword, its use was sometimes necessary, if only in defense of one’s self and one’s friends. “I should not have to tell you,” he finally said, still repeating Theodora’s own words, “that the empress, as a woman, does not have the tight rein on the imperial military that…”

Michael raised his hand, again interrupting John. “Lord Chamberlain, let us speak freely. Do you really believe an empress cannot control those under her command? I most certainly do not. I notice you are extremely uncomfortable repeating this message from your gracious empress and I draw my own conclusions so far as that goes. But as for Justinian’s attempts at constructing a compromise…as has already been proved, we are not timid nor do we balk at the logical conclusions to be drawn from our beliefs. In short, if orthodoxy cannot encompass a Quaternity then there is no compromise to be found. It is as simple as that.”

Michael half turned to look out of the window again. The sun shimmering on the restless waters of the Bosporos threw a rectangle of bright light across the stone floor, swept bare of even a single stalk of straw from the lumpy pallet in the corner.

“The empress wishes you to understand,” John said, “that in such a large empire as this there is room for many differing shades of belief, although not necessarily within the confines of one city’s walls. She wishes me also to point out to you that the patriarchy of Alexandria is an exceedingly high office.”

Michael’s pale, sexless face was framed by a nimbus of sunlight. John wondered if this was how others saw the person they so lightly referred to as ‘John the eunuch,’ not as a man who had been grievously wounded but as a creature neither man nor woman and, thus, a being not quite human or natural. His stomach tightened at the thought.

“Can it be that Empress Theodora is offering me the patriarchate of Alexandria providing that I abandon my followers and slink away in the night? Is that even an office that is hers to award?”

“The empress wields tremendous influence,” John replied truthfully, thinking of Anatolius’ plight as he spoke.

“Indeed? You have finally said something I can believe. But there again perhaps you can tell me why I should not simply remain here and take the patriarchy of Constantinople itself?”

John pointed out that continued stubbornness in the matter would eventually bring much larger detachments of military men with which to contend.

“Certainly in that case there is no doubt that they would prevail,” Michael said with a slight smile. “But it would be a pyrrhic victory indeed. Need I remind you that the mob in the street vastly outnumber all of the emperor’s men?”

“Will the mob follow one who is dead?” John countered.

“More readily than one who is alive.”

It was true enough, John thought ruefully. He knew he was not speaking persuasively, yet having delivered Theodora’s communication as ordered, he now wanted only to escape the other’s unsettling presence.

Michael rested his hand on the stone sill. His sleeve slid down, revealing a skeletal wrist. John was struck by the impression that he was observing a prisoner yearning for unobtainable freedom. It occurred to him that quite possibly Michael would be happy to die.

Michael spoke in a near whisper. “Do not your emperor and empress possess eyes, Lord Chamberlain? Did they not see the holy fire strike down preachers of blasphemy atop their columns and reach inside the houses of the wealthy to destroy their whores? Did they not observe how the waters burned?”

John did not reply.

“Then carry back this message. Should Emperor Justinian wish to convey his views to me personally, I will listen,” Michael continued. “But I see little point in you and I speaking further on this matter.”

John bowed and began to leave, but then paused. “If I may ask, is there a man here by the name of Felix? A big, bearded soldier?”

“We took in all the wounded and are nursing even our assailants back to health, Lord Chamberlain. I believe I know the great bear you mention. He may go back with you, as a token of our mercy. He is, I think, just about recovered enough to travel. One of our sisters has taken special pains to nurse him.” Michael stepped forward to look directly into John’s face, as if he were searching for something in those lean, sunburnt features. “I fear, however, that you are beyond our healing power.”

Before John could frame a reply, the other continued. “I was not thinking of the physical infirmity we share, Lord Chamberlain. I meant I could not exorcise the demons I see behind your eyes. You need a god who is as forgiving as he is demanding.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Perhaps there was heavenly intervention even so,
for John was spared the ordeal of reporting his
failure to Theodora. When he arrived at the palace, she was inexplicably absent. He went home and awaited a summons which never came.

The arrival of a courier the next morning explained the mystery. Justinian had emerged from his theological labors to repossess the reins of power. His Lord Chamberlain was to attend an audience immediately.

On his way, John debated how he could inform Justinian about his investigations into the deaths of the stylites, not to mention that of the beggar, without revealing that he had been alerted to a possible connection by perusing, albeit at second hand, Michael’s initial letter. Justinian had a tenacious memory and John could be certain that he would recall exactly what he had and had not revealed to John at their last meeting. Then too, more urgent yet was the plight of Anatolius.

As he entered the reception hall, John glanced at its bronze doors. Their depiction of a procession of nations presenting tribute to an impossibly handsome and elaborately garbed and crowned emperor was so familiar that he usually did not give them a second thought. This morning however he could not help noting the bronze emperor’s towering stature and wondered if this flattering portrait was calculated to personify imperial glory or to save the hands and eyesight of some exceedingly shrewd craftsmen.

He realized that he would need to exercise more than his usual degree of shrewd discretion himself. Luckily, the emperor’s demeanor was almost cheerful despite his tired eyes.

“Caesar,” John began, “my felicitations. May I take it that congratulations on an imperial victory on the harrowing battlefield of theology are in order?”

“Alas, no, Lord Chamberlain,” came Justinian’s surprising reply. “After much reflection, I have come to the conclusion that attempting to join Michael’s heresy to orthodoxy would be more difficult than sewing feet to a flounder.” He laughed heartily.

“I am most sorry to hear that.” John kept his voice level. He had been about to begin his plea on behalf of Anatolius. Now he was wary. To what could Justinian’s apparent good humor be attributed if his efforts to reconcile religious viewpoints had come to nothing?

“The city is in a ferment.” Justinian waved away a fly buzzing at his face and heaved a sigh that belied the strange lack of urgency in his tone. “In addition, I have received disturbing information to the effect that some of my excubitors are deserting their emperor. Such disloyalty pains me, but in due course it will pain them much more, I assure you.”

John bowed his head. There was no doubt that Justinian would be aware that one high ranking excubitor was even now recuperating at John’s house. Or had Felix already been arrested? “It is my understanding that the majority of the men have remained at their posts,” he ventured.

Justinian waved his hand airily. “For how long, Lord Chamberlain, for how long? We both know the seductive power of a rampaging mob, just as we are both aware that stern measures are required to contain it. We have had to take such measures before, as you will doubtless recall.”

He sighed again. “But,” he went on briskly, “emperors must be subtle as well as wise. Brute force of arms is not the only way to rule. At times, my subjects are like children, appeased with golden toys, a delightful entertainment, unaccustomed delicacies to eat, a handful of coins. Failing that, there are always sterner measures of persuasion, such as the removal of their ringleader’s head. After all, if their leader cannot keep his, what chance have his miserable followers?”

John remained silent. Was the emperor about to order a second attack on the pilgrims’ encampment or would he require John to return to the shrine and personally remove Michael’s head? With Justinian, anything was possible. Perhaps the emperor’s mention of coins indicated he had decided to purchase a peaceful solution, as with the Persians who had been rattling their spears at the gates of the empire for years.

The emperor’s hand flashed out. The drone of the fly stopped abruptly and he dropped its tiny carcass to the floor.

“That is how such agitators should be dealt with,” Justinian remarked casually, “but unfortunately with a host as large as is buzzing in the streets, there are neither fists big nor numerous enough to catch them all. And so, dear Lord Chamberlain, given such a dilemma, what action would you take were you emperor?”

So that accounted for the emperor’s cheerful manner, John realized. Although his theological efforts had failed, he had formed another plan of attack and for some reason wished the Lord Chamberlain to venture guesses at it, a childish game carried on in a marble sarcophagus while a lawless populace continued roaming the streets.

Justinian laughed. “I see that you are puzzled, John. Then I shall give you a hint. The house that you live in. What happened to its former owner?”

An icy hand squeezed John’s heart. The hated tax collector’s head had been handed to the mob. It was suddenly and horrifyingly clear that Justinian proposed to solve his current problems by utilizing the same method.

Mithra! John thought. He had endured so much. Could not he have been rewarded with a soldier’s death? To be bound and sacrificed like a lamb or a dove at the self-serving altar of the man in whose service he had labored so long, and all because of a Christian holy man. It was ironic beyond belief—so ironic that, to his own amazement as much as Justinian’s, he burst into laughter.