by Mary Reed
John had put the idea out of his mind. Now that Justinian had mentioned it he felt himself tensing again.
Suddenly he could feel the presence of Theodora. He was acutely aware her remains lay within the stone tomb beside which he stood. She was now nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. Yet she was not truly gone. Not from the city or the empire or John’s life.
“I require a report on your investigation,” Justinian said. “I do not care to leave my wife’s side. If I alarmed you…well, perhaps you will be spurred to greater efforts to find her murderer. What progress have you made?”
What progress? For some reason John’s thoughts turned to his visit to the inn. Making the acquaintance of a man who ate only white foods could hardly be called progress. It seemed to sum up his accomplishments so far.
Nevertheless, he recited the list of those he had visited, leaving out the former madam Isis. “Joannina’s lady-in-waiting Vesta, Theodora’s physician Gaius, Antonina, generals Germanus and Artabanes.”
Justinian’s face remained expressionless. He gave no hint of whether he considered this an acceptable effort or not.
When John had finished the emperor merely nodded. “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain. When you are ready your escort will take you home. But first you might want to visit the vigil being held for the late empress.” He started to turn away, paused. “I suspect some of those present are not true believers.” He glanced at John with a slight smile.
Again John wondered if Justinian suspected or knew John would have to be counted among those devoted to another god should a roll call be made by suddenly appearing angels.
“Speak to Vigilius. He is in attendance,” Justinian added.
Was he asking John to investigate the pope?
The emperor turned his back and John walked out into the night. Although the sky overhead was black it had begun to gray in the east, revealing the city’s ragged horizon of tenement and mansion roofs, domes and monuments, and not far away, mounting above all, the long shadow of the Aqueduct of Valens.
John was surprised to be alive.
Chapter Twenty-six
After hours of darkness Hypatia realized that the kitchen was filled with gray, predawn light.
Had she dozed off, waiting for the Lord Chamberlain to return?
If so, she surely would have awakened if he had come in.
She went down the hall anyway, looked through the open door of his bedroom, into his study.
He had not returned.
Maybe he really had been dragged off, like so many others in the past few days, to be…
She tried to put that fear out of her mind.
What should she do? She was a servant. The only court official she could possibly approach for help was the Lord Chamberlain.
Anatolius! John’s friend. He knew Hypatia. He was a lawyer now but had worked in the palace for years. And his house was not far away.
She raced downstairs, took the key from the hook beside the entrance, and went outside, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.
The gray light in the sky wasn’t yet filtering down into the city. The square was a black lake, the far side marked by a single torch outside the excubitors’ barracks. She waded out into the darkness, wondering if she would be able to find her way.
By the time she emerged from the Chalke Gate the streets had brightened enough for her to make out and avoid the shadowy forms of carts on their way out of the city after making night-time deliveries. Gulls and feral dogs were out in force, scavenging before the thoroughfares became crowded.
She made a wrong turn down a malodorous alley, but no ruffians laid in wait.
Finally she recognized the entrance to the short, alley-like passage leading to Anatolius’ home. The burly gatekeeper narrowed his eyes as she approached.
“I’ve come from the Lord Chamberlain’s house,” she said. “I’m his servant Hypatia. Anatolius knows me.”
The gatekeeper made a noncommittal grunt, walked back and into the massive villa the high wall enclosed, emerged quickly, and swung the gate open.
She could see him smile to himself and shake his head as she went past. He couldn’t help but be aware of his employer’s proclivities.
Anatolius himself met her at the entrance. He was dressed as if he had already been up and working though he looked rumpled and tired.
He led her across the atrium but stopped short of his office. Shadows clustered in corners and gray fingers of light pried through shutters.
Anatolius wearily rubbed his unshaven face as he listened to Hypatia’s account of the unseen morning visitors. “You’re right to be worried,” he said. “I’ll go to the palace. Someone there will know what’s going on. Little stays secret there for long.”
Hypatia shivered involuntarily although the atrium was warm.
“Probably it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Anatolius added. His tone didn’t sound convincing.
His office door was partly open and Hypatia thought she glimpsed movement inside.
“I’m sure you don’t want to leave Peter alone too long,” Anatolius went on. “I’ll let you know what I find out but most likely John will be home before I hear anything.” Anatolius placed his hand lightly on her arm as if to usher her on her way.
Hypatia realized she had been staring toward the office. She was certain someone was in there.
““Will you be able to help the master?”
“Oh, I’m sure there will be no need. Nevertheless, I will look into the matter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
She had the feeling he wanted to get her out of the house.
Chapter Twenty-seven
John left the mausoleum and walked around to the front of the church, gathering his thoughts. Light streaming from many windows illuminated armed guards positioned in the porticoes on each side of the marble-walled building. The golden domes on the roof reminded John of eggs but what would hatch from those architectural look-alikes sitting atop the arms of the cross-shaped structure and over their central intersection could not be fathomed.
A crowd of worshipers issued from the entrance. The vigil must have ended.
John made his way against the tide into the well-lit interior where knots of people still lingered. He did not need to seek out Vigilius. Vigilius found him.
“Lord Chamberlain, I have been hoping to have a word with you.”
Except for his sumptuous ecclesiastical robes Pope Vigilius was not an impressive figure. He was short. His features looked squashed together. His nose curved down toward a prim mouth as if it were reaching for the neatly trimmed white beard that thrust straight out from the chin. His narrow forehead slanted back into a vast expanse of shining scalp bordered by a bushy growth of dark hair halfway down the back of the head.
Had he been told John would be there?
John gave him a formal greeting. “How may I be of service?”
“I was hoping you might intercede with the emperor for me, Lord Chamberlain. You are a member of the consistory, are you not?”
John acknowledged it was true.
Vigilius indicated he wished to speak where they would not be easily overheard. He led John to the front of the nave where a row of marble columns twice a man’s height and surmounted by an architrave barred the laity from the sanctuary beyond. Waist high slabs of marble between the columns were engraved with crosses and the monograms of the emperor and empress. The architrave bore depictions of the twelve apostles. Stands in front of the columns displayed icons and reliquaries. Vigilius halted in front of an elaborate silver-barred cage in which an eroded, broken stone column was displayed like one of the exotic beasts in Theodora’s menagerie.
“It is the column of flagellation to which our Lord was tied when he was scourged,” Vigilius said needlessly, seeing where John’s gaze had drifted.
John continued his survey of the nave. No one was taking special notice of their conversation. Most of the assembly looked as if they would much rather be in b
ed. However, for those at court it was important to be seen participating in official mourning.
“What is it that concerns you?” John asked stiffly. He did not like the prospect of becoming involved in church affairs. Religious disputants were less inclined to reason and compromise than statesmen or generals.
“You know I have been imprisoned here in the city for more than a year?”
“Imprisoned is too harsh a word. My understanding is that Justinian has decided that you and Patriarch Menas should come to an agreement before you leave and the chance for agreement is lost.”
Vigilius frowned, pulling his nose even further toward his beard. “I was arrested-that is the word-arrested-while celebrating the feast of St. Cecilia. In the middle of the service I was dragged away to a waiting ship!”
“What is it you want? Surely the emperor is willing to speak to the pope?”
“He will speak to me but he will not necessarily listen. His wife poisoned his mind against me. Theodora, with her heretical views is behind the trouble. She was the one who insisted I be held here and broken, forced to accede to her wishes.”
“You’re talking about the Three Chapters,” John said wearily. “You already acceded to her wishes by condemning them, did you not?”
“I said I had come to my own independent conclusion and that being the case I can change my opinion.”
“Which you intend to do, particularly now that Theodora is dead.”
Vigilius didn’t argue the point. “I hope the emperor will soften his views now that Theodora is gone. Her passing may have been the hand of God. A blessing, allowing Justinian to see the error of his ways and return to the orthodox church.”
“Justinian considers his own beliefs to be orthodox. He has been trying to convince all the religious factions to admit that their beliefs are not so different as they seem to think.”
“Not different? To imagine that Christ had only one nature-”
John raised his hand. He had already heard too much about the nature of a god in whom he did not believe. “I am not a theologian. I would think you and Patriarch Menas should resolve this matter and then approach Justinian together.”
A clergyman does not spit on the floor of a church but Vigilius looked very near to doing so. “Menas is Theodora’s creature!”
“How can that be? He supplanted her protegé Anthimus in the patriarchate.”
“Menas is malleable. He’s changed his views.”
“Malleability is a virtue Theodora much admired, but I think it was you who changed your views, not Menas,” John replied. “That is why Theodora hated you more than Menas. She knew that Menas was orthodox. He was made patriarch against her will. You, on the other hand, were chosen by her to do her bidding. You betrayed her.”
“You insult me, Lord Chamberlain.”
“I am only telling the truth. I was here when Pope Agapetus died during his visit. I am well aware how Theodora arranged for you to replace him as pope after you promised to support the monophysite cause.”
Vigilius reddened. “How can you…do you believe-”
“You were expected to be another Anthimus for her,” John went on, paying no attention to the sputtering Vigilius, “but as pope rather than patriarch. Unlike Anthimus you were not going to be deposed and vanish from the face of the earth. At the time of your appointment you were nothing more than a deacon. You owed your elevation entirely to Theodora, but once you were safely back in Rome you reneged on the agreement. I cannot fathom your theology but I am very familiar with a political blade in the back.”
“But-”
John shook his head and continued in a weary voice. “What did you expect from Theodora after that? You are fortunate to still be alive.”
He was almost surprised by the harshness he heard in his own voice. The way Vigilius stood, hunched and tense, a pained expression on his face, he might well have been imagining he was tied to the column behind him, being flagellated. Perhaps that was the way he viewed his sojourn in Constantinople, a long flagellation by the emperor, to be followed by a hideous death on a cross.
John reminded himself Justinian had directed him to talk to Vigilius. The pope might benefit from Theodora’s death or so it had been whispered during Theodora’s long illness. After all, Justinian had spent years trying to find some doctrine to which the pope in the west and the orthodox patriarch and less than orthodox monophysites in the east could all agree. The empress had been a staunch monophysite. Now that she was gone, Justinian might not care so much about placating the monophysites. If their concerns were put aside, Vigilius could probably find common ground with Menas and return to Rome. Nevertheless, John had a hard time envisioning the pope as a murder suspect.
“You refuse to intercede?” Vigilius was saying. His voice had risen to a whine.
John released his breath slowly. “I will speak to the emperor. I will see how he feels about the matter at the appropriate time. Theodora’s death has made him all the more determined to see her wishes carried out. You might consider that. Clearly Justinian considers his position a compromise. He believes he is being accommodating. If you could see it as a compromise too, rather than a capitulation, you could be on a ship back to Rome tomorrow.”
John did not add he found the whole question of how many natures Christ had and how much they were stirred up together of less practical consequence than how many eggs and how much stirring was called for in one of Peter’s recipes. He realized, however, that to some, for unfathomable reasons, they were of grave import.
Vigilius looked at the floor, then up at John. He remained silent, as if debating whether to say more. “Very well, Lord Chamberlain. I will be grateful if you have a word with the emperor,” he finally replied.
He moved off, not looking grateful in the least, walking carefully, as if his bent back under the heavy robes had been scourged.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was time for John to leave. He walked toward the aisle, passing the reliquaries housing the skulls of saints Andrew, Luke, and Timothy. The reliquaries resembled miniature churches dipped in gold and encrusted with gems. The flames of their surrounding candles made them flash and glitter and twinkle so the gaze could not fix upon their surfaces but was constantly drawn away by the moving light, as a glowing soul might draw the attention from a physical body.
“Lord Chamberlain, I noticed you speaking with Vigilius.”
The long-bearded, narrow face of Patriarch Menas loomed in John’s path.
“We exchanged pleasantries.”
“The pope did not look very pleased, but then he rarely does. I see you are admiring our relics. Some day you should let me show you everything we have here. Relics of John Chrysostom and countless other saints and martyrs. The bones of the three apostles are buried beneath us. They were discovered in three wooden coffins when excavations for this rebuilt church were under way. It was the Lord’s way of blessing Theodora’s enterprise.”
“I was present at the ceremony when she laid the cornerstone,” John replied.
The endless ceremonies he had attended blurred into a soporific cloud of glittering tedium but he could not help recalling the empress in her finery, playing the part of a mason on a brutally cold windy day, managing to splash mud over both herself and the emperor while the assembled officials and courtiers desperately tried to stifle their laughter for the good of their necks.
“She did more than lay the cornerstone,” Menas said. “As it happened there hadn’t been sufficient money allocated for construction. The three apostles appeared to Theodora in a dream and instructed her to go to the shore by the city gate, where she would find twelves jars filled with gold buried. She did so and in fact there were jars of gold coins bearing the likenesses of the apostles.”
The picture of the empress digging in the mud on the beach almost made John smile. “Do you believe that legend, Patriarch Menas?”
“It is a story the common people enjoy, Lord Chamberlain.”
; “And so perhaps you thought I would enjoy it also?”
Menas reddened. “I meant no insult.”
“Indeed. What did you wish to speak about?”
“Pope Vigilius. I hope he has not been slandering me?”
“Why would he do so?”
“It is no secret we are at odds over the Three Chapters.” Menas gave John a bleak smile. “I sometimes wish I had remained head of Samsun’s Hospice. I felt I was truly serving the Lord there, ministering to the poor. I would be happy to be doing that today. What greater work is there than alleviating the suffering of our fellow men?”
John had no intention of recounting to Menas his conversation with Vigilius. “You are worried what people might think now that Theodora is dead?”
“You mean because I replaced that favorite of hers, Anthimus, as patriarch, people might suppose I was somehow involved with her demise?”
“You are the one who mentioned slander.”
“It was more than a decade since I was appointed. And it wasn’t as if I sought the position. Pope Agapetus asked me to take it. If Theodora had a grievance with anyone it was with Agapetus. As for Theodora and I, we reconciled long since, even if her views were less than orthodox.”
“That hardly needs to be said. At any rate, Vigilius told me as much.”
“So he was being honest for once.” Menas shook his head vehemently, causing his long beard to tremble. “A troublesome man. When he first arrived he cut me off from the table of the Lord for four months. I wish Justinian would send him back to Rome.”
“You can hardly blame him for being unhappy. He was after all abducted from church forcibly and transported here.” John was remembering his own recent abduction.
“Abducted? Rescued, you mean. The populace was so disgusted they threw stones at his ship as it sailed off. He had no business becoming pope in the first place. Theodora sent him to Rome with a fortune in gold and orders to Belisarius to install him on the papal throne.”