by Mary Reed
It was earlier than the time he usually took long morning walks. He followed his accustomed route and had almost reached the square where he had met Agnes before the roofs of the city began to emerge from the night, a mountain range of massive blocks and escarpments, surmounted by countless crosses.
He heard a scuffle, and turning quickly, caught a glimpse of movement. He had the impression something had vanished into a doorway on the opposite side of the street. A feral dog or a cat?
Then it occurred to John that he was near the spot where he had been attacked.
He stepped back against the wall of a closed shop. His side of the street was still sunk in impenetrable shadow.
He waited.
A figure burst out from the doorway and raced across the street at an angle, this time disappearing under an archway. The echoing footsteps seemed to linger in the narrow space between the buildings.
John’s hand went to his blade. Had he been followed? Was the figure he had glimpsed attempting, not very artfully, to outflank and then creep up on him?
He moved toward the archway.
The figure rushed out.
John raised his blade and stepped into the man’s path.
The other came to a sudden halt.
It was the maker of sundials.
“Helias!”
“Lord Chamberlain.” The voice had the same pitch as the squeak of a terrified rat.
“Have you been following me?” John demanded.
Helias threw panicked glances this way and that. “No! I’m just on my way home.”
“You have a stranger manner of it.”
The diminutive sundial maker shifted from foot to foot. “Please, do you mind if we continue while we talk?” Without waiting for a reply, he headed off a trot.
John caught up easily with his long stride. “Why were you darting back and forth like that? Were you trying to elude someone?”
“No, excellency. It’s because of the shadows. Can’t you see them? They’ll trip you up. Nasty things, they are. They move fast.”
To John the street appeared uniformly dark, aside from the deeper shadow along the side they were walking on. He said as much.
“But you don’t work with shadows every day as I do, Lord Chamberlain. My sundials are specially made to display them. You might call my creations shadow traps. Or perhaps time traps. It’s the same thing, you see. It’s all to do with the sun crossing the sky, pulling shadows along with it. It’s enough to make you giddy if you can’t help noticing, as I do.”
During their first meeting Helias had confessed he didn’t like being out in the sun because he couldn’t help calculating the time from the shadows, but it struck John now there was something more to the matter than that.
Or else Helias was lying.
Helias turned and went through the archway leading to the courtyard and his subterranean shop. He stopped abruptly at the edge of the open space and jerked his head around, averting his gaze. “I’m too late!” His squeaky voice rose to an even higher pitch. “I had business to attend to and I lost track of the time.”
The irony of the statement was not lost on John. However, he contented himself with questioning Helias why he conducted business in the middle of the night.
“My clients value my services. They are willing to make arrangements to suit my needs.” Helias replied. “Time is important. They depend on me to supply them with time of the best quality.” The sundial maker kept his gaze pointed toward John’s feet, or perhaps at some indeterminate point on the pavement behind John because the Lord Chamberlain would certainly cast a shadow.
“Time is the same for all of us,” John observed.
“I fear it is not so, Lord Chamberlain. For example, consider the senator who decided to install an antique sundial in his garden. Suddenly he was missing important meetings. The sundial was set for hours in Rome. It wouldn’t work in Constantinople…I don’t know how I’ll get to my emporium now. The courtyard is swarming with shadows. They’re creeping everywhere.”
In fact, John could make out poorly defined shadows, including that of the exedra used by the troupe. “Helias, do you claim you can see these shadows moving?”
“But I can! I can’t help it! Anyone’d see how they move too if they spent all day incising the lines of the hours, each perfectly in their place so shadow fingers would cross them exactly when they should.”
John remained unconvinced on the matter of whether or not Helias had been following him and advised him in a curt voice to admit it if it had been so.
“No, Lord Chamberlain, it is just as I say. And now, I must…try…If I fall, would you pick me up?”
It was evident the little man’s fear had made him forget he was talking to one of the most powerful officials at court.
The sundial maker backed hesitantly into the courtyard. John watched in amazement as Helias crept backward, eyes squeezed shut. He began to veer off course.
“Move the other way,” John instructed.
Helias finally blundered into the wall some distance from the doorway leading to the underground shops. He scuttled crab-like along the wall with his shoulder blades pressed firmly to it, managed to open the door without turning, fell backward into the dark maw revealed, and was gone.
John pondered the strange events. This was the second extremely odd explanation he had encountered for someone’s suspicious actions. Figulus, at least, had obviously been working on his enormous mosaic for years, but Helias might have manufactured his excuse on the spot. Still, John felt Helias was telling him the truth.
Who would make up such a ridiculous ruse to disguise his actions?
Chapter Thirty-Four
The rasp of a bolt being drawn back and the creak of the front door opening carried up the stairs and into the kitchen where John and Cornelia had just sat down to a breakfast of bread, cheese, and hard boiled eggs.
“It must be Anatolius. I wasn’t expecting him this early, not after we were out so late last night. I kept dreaming about that black glass wall.” John took another bite of bread and stood up.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you going out for a walk,” Cornelia remarked, getting to her feet. Her eyebrows knitted in concern. “I hope it’s not about that girl.”
“Agnes wanted to talk to me, Cornelia, and now she’s dead. Probably because of what she wanted to tell me.”
Cornelia sighed. “Be careful. The Goddess has watched over you so far but…”
“We’re going to speak with Procopius. Nothing dangerous about that. We won’t be leaving the palace grounds.”
“They can be dangerous too.”
“So I’ve been told.” John picked up a sliver of cheese and chewed it as he went downstairs to the atrium.
Peter had closed the door.
He was alone.
“Who was that, Peter?”
“I can’t say, master. It took me a little while to get here and when I looked out there was no one there. Only this.” He held out a rolled bit of papyrus no longer than John’s finger.
“You didn’t see anyone in the square? No one near the excubitor barracks?”
“No, master.”
Whoever had left the papyrus must have raced away to vanish before Peter got to the door. On the other hand, Peter was slowing down.
John took the papyrus and unrolled it.
The message had been penned in Latin:
“At the second hour, two conspirators will meet beside the Milion.”
The Milion sat at the edge of the Augustaion. From the Mese, John could see the four pillars, connected by arches and surmounted by a pyramidical roof. Pedestrians hurried past on their way to the Great Church, Samsun’s Hospice, the law courts, the Baths of Zeuxippos, and the palace.
No one lingered near the Milion.
John walked slowly to the monument. There was no one inside either.
The morning light, slanting in through the arch
ways, illuminated inscriptions on the pillars stating the distances from the capital to the important cities of the empire.
John pretended to study them.
When he first lived in Constantinople as a slave he had searched for places he had lived—Athens, where he briefly attended Plato’s Academy, Bretania, one of the places he had served as a mercenary, Alexandria in which he met Cornelia. There had been no city in the border region where the Persians had captured and emasculated him before selling him into slavery.
The distances, vast as they were, did not begin to describe the gulf which lay between John and those places. No journey, however long, could return him to the man he had been.
He waited. No one stopped near the monument. He was certain the second hour had passed. Perhaps he had arrived too late.
The light dimmed as a figure stepped through an archway.
A burly man with a bushy beard and familiar face.
“John!” said Felix. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.”
The excubitor captain tugged his beard and glanced around. “I…um…”
John produced the bit of rolled papyrus. “This was left at my door a short while ago. It said two conspirators would be meeting at the Milion.”
“I received a similar note,” Felix admitted.
He compared his papyrus to John’s. The wording was the same and the handwriting appeared to be identical.
“For all we know our informer may have alerted half the palace,” John said. “The emperor himself is liable to come strolling along within the hour.”
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here but us, John. The villains might have been frightened off. Maybe we should wait over the way and see if anyone appears.”
John followed Felix to the other side of the Augustaion. They climbed the tier of steps surrounding the base of the towering column there.
Sunlight glanced blindingly off the column’s copper sheathing. There was no stylite atop the pillar but rather an equestrian statue of Justinian.
The emperor’s bronze steed had one foot raised, as if about to gallop off toward the east. A few people sat on the steps, as if upon theater seats, to gaze down on the drama of the city.
From where John and Felix stood, the Milion and all approaches to it were clearly visible.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring armed excubitors with you, Felix,” John observed.
His companion grunted with disgust. “I thought it was a jest by someone who has an odd sense of humor.”
John raised his gaze to the mounted Justinian. “If a couple of conspirators wanted to meet, they might find it amusing to do so right under the gaze of the emperor himself.”
“They’d be perfectly safe with the emperor staring off into the east,” Felix replied. “It strikes me he’d best stop keeping an eye on the Persians when the real dangers to his rule are right here in the city.”
Crowds surged back and forth through the open space before them. No one paused at the Milion. City dwellers took the monumental milestone for granted. They knew they lived at the center of the civilized world. The distances to its other parts were irrelevant.
After a while, the pair decided to leave.
Felix suggested visiting a tavern close by and they repaired to it, taking their seats at a table in the back part of the room. From there they could see into the street.
The tavern was plain, most of its patrons dressed in a manner showing them to be workmen. Its plaster walls were black with smoke stains and its wine cups not of the cleanest.
Perhaps the proprietor felt no need to make an effort to entice patrons, being located so close to the busy Augustaion.
“Do you think there’s someone laughing at our folly right now, Felix?”
The excubitor scowled over the chipped rim of his cup. “No doubt about it, John. If you really wanted two villains caught would you send the Lord Chamberlain and the Captain of the Excubitors? No, you’d alert the city authorities.”
John took a sip of wine to which far too much water had been added. “Yet we both came to the Milion, didn’t we? A little more than a week ago I was approached by a woman in a square in the Copper Market. She wanted to meet me the next morning. It was suggested to me that the arrangement was a jest by some fool at court. The next time I saw her she was dead. Murdered.”
“It’s the woman who called herself Zoe you’re talking about?”
John looked away from the door. “Yes. Her real name was Agnes. How did you know?”
“Anatolius mentioned it to me, although he didn’t go into details.”
“I’m glad to hear he has gained some discretion, although not nearly enough.”
“You say she’s been murdered?”
“Yes. Furthermore, I’ve come to believe that the woman had something to tell me, something someone else didn’t want me to know.”
“Why didn’t she tell you right away instead of making an appointment?”
“Perhaps she feared she was being watched.”
“Why didn’t you come to me? I’d have assigned a few of my excubitors to help. That is if I could find any to spare. The emperor has my excubitors serving as personal bodyguards for every minor dignitary that shows up in he capital. They’re nothing more than ornaments. Still, I would have found someone to assist you.”
“I thought it was a private matter and should remain so. I had the impression there was some connection to me personally.”
“Because she knew the name you gave the mosaic girl? I’d have thought you would have confided in me after I’d rescued you from the street. The attacker must have intended to kill you. Was there any connection to Menander?”
“News travels fast,” John remarked.
Felix ran a big hand through his beard and laughed. “When a corpse is found in the Lord Chamberlain’s residence the whole palace is agog over the sensation within the hour.”
John nodded and resumed his observation of the tavern door.
The tavern itself had almost emptied while they sat there. A man with a basket full of vegetables came in and gulped down a cup of wine while standing at the counter. A servant taking time to have a drink on the way back from market, John thought.
“I tried to question Menander shortly before he was killed,” John went on. “It’s no wonder we received anonymous notes. Our informant—if he was genuine—must value his life. As I said, I had thought this matter was a private affair, to do with me personally. I am beginning to suspect there’s a lot more going on.”
“You might deign to allow me to be of assistance then?”
“I can certainly use it, Felix.”
John recounted events since his meeting with Agnes and the results of his inquiries. He spoke in low tones and kept a watch on the street.
Felix nodded and scowled and emptied his cup twice. Finally he growled, “This rumor about Theodora’s lost son replacing Justinian is absurd. Granted, she hasn’t managed to give Justinian an heir, but that doesn’t mean anyone would accept the claim of one of her blood rather than the emperor’s. For every man who hates Justinian there are ten more who hate Theodora. Admittedly the populace would be glad to be rid of the imperial couple, but I don’t think they’d want to replace them with her evil spawn.”
“You’re thinking of the tales about the empress enjoying congress with demons?”
“Who can say what she was up to in Egypt, when she wasn’t sharing the stage with hungry geese?” Felix grinned. “Besides, what claim to the throne could an illegitimate son of the empress possess?”
“Power proves its own legitimacy. Theodora is powerful. More than a few consider her to be a true co-ruler. Were Justinian to be removed Theodora would doubtless claim to be his appointed successor, and not without justification. To placate her enemies, she could offer to stand aside in favor of her son, and thereafter rule through him.”
“That sounds far fe
tched,” Felix observed.
“It would sound convincing if backed up by enough swords and there were enough weak-willed men who would wish to remain in favor with Theodora.”
Two middle-aged men entered the tavern. They surveyed its cramped space and selected the table furthest from where John and Felix were sitting.
After they were served they leaned toward each other to talk. Both wore fine garments and unhappy expressions.
“I’ll have our jug refilled,” John told Felix. He moved quickly and quietly. He had passed the table where the two sat almost before they noticed.
John returned with the wine. “I have just learned Senator Corvinus will soon be involved in an exceptionally unpleasant divorce.”
Felix smiled. “From the law courts, are they? Lawyers often look as guilty as criminals. You should put that nonsense about Theodora’s son out of your mind.”
“Admittedly, it would take a lot of swords to make an argument in such a son’s favor. But what if the son himself believes he is destined to rule? Whereas the truth of the matter is more likely that certain parties only want to prove his existence in order to rid themselves of the imperial couple, and after that, well…”
Felix asked him what he meant.
“You recall the general opposition to Justinian marrying an actress? His uncle Justin, even though he ruled at the time, wouldn’t pass the law that allowed it until his empress died.”
“Eudoxia did hate Theodora, it was common knowledge, but I’m certain if Justin had thought it best for the empire he would have passed the law sooner.”
“That may be,” John said, aware of his friend’s admiration for the emperor who had risen from the same position Felix now held. “But what if her enemies had proved she was mother to an illegitimate child? Would the church have accepted the marriage? Could Justinian have ruled and commanded the loyalty of the army and aristocracy, while in a marriage to a former actress, condemned by the Patriarch?”
“It might have been difficult.” Felix stared into his cup.
“The city is overflowing with people who have grievances against the imperial couple. Luckily for the emperor they all have different grievances. Should they agree to come together over a shared outrage and rise up together…well…consider the sort of trivial events that spark riots.”