by Mary Reed
“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.”
“Do you think Vigilius would have sought to harm the empress?”
“Physically, you mean? I know what is being said but I would never accuse him of murder.”
“Tell me, did you visit Theodora while she was ill? She must have sought spiritual guidance. She wouldn’t have allowed Vigilius to offer it, but she might have accepted comfort from you as patriarch.”
“She seldom summoned me after she took to her sickbed, Lord Chamberlain. She did not seem interested in receiving clergymen, or at least I was never informed of her asking to see one.”
“Odd behavior, I would say,” John offered.
“Very unusual. Perhaps she regretted her heretical leanings or maybe she took comfort from Justinian. He is after all God’s representative on earth.”
They continued to speak for a short time. Menas appeared satisfied Vigilius had said nothing to John which might cause Menas trouble, and John managed to avoid being drawn into further theological discussions.
Both being satisfied, they went their separate ways, John back to the house he had not expected to see again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Hypatia thanked Anatolius and left his house. She was sure there had been someone observing her from the office. Who could possibly be there on business at this hour?
As she left, she saw the gatekeeper grinning to himself. Anatolius must have been entertaining a woman when Hypatia arrived. That was it. The gatekeeper suspected there had been trouble.
She came out of the passage and started across the small forum from which it led. In the forum’s center a statue of an emperor or some lesser forgotten luminary appeared to be wading in a fountain basin.
When she reached the corner of the street leading in the direction of the palace she paused.
A sudden impulse caused her to look back.
It wasn’t her business who Anatolius chose to entertain. Peter was more important than Anatolius’ love affairs.
But why had Anatolius been anxious for Hypatia to leave? What did he care whether John’s servant caught a glimpse of his lady friend?
As she stood in the shadows a figure emerged from the passage.
A woman dressed in a bright blue stola.
Vesta.
Joannina’s lady-in-waiting glanced around and then walked toward Hypatia.
Hypatia backed quickly into a doorway.
Vesta appeared to be in a hurry. She went by with her eyes down, so close Hypatia could smell her perfume. If she noticed a form in the shadowy doorway she must have taken it for a drowsing beggar.
Hypatia waited long enough to be certain Vesta was well on her way and then set off at a brisk pace for the palace.
She did not have time to ponder why Anatolius apparently had not wanted her to see Joannina’s lady-in-waiting. Having done what she could for John, her thoughts turned to Peter.
If Gaius were fit to treat the empress surely he was qualified to care for an elderly servant? But physicians were not always mindful enough of their patients’ comfort. Surely it wouldn’t interfere with Peter’s treatment if she made a potion to relieve pain. She could collect the necessary ingredients from Gaius’ herb garden on the way back.
Once on the palace grounds she took the wide path used by carters and others to ferry supplies to the kitchens. Now the sun had risen further, and shadows cast by lines of trees barred the path. Through the trees could be glimpsed the vegetable beds where Hypatia spent much of her time cultivating those needed for culinary purposes.
At its far end the path forked, one side leading to the kitchen buildings and the other to an open space where carts unloaded boxes of eggs, slabs of fly-encrusted meat, barrels of fish, sacks of flour, crates of fruit, and other supplies. Passing through the vegetable garden beyond would bring her out on a walkway providing a short cut to Gaius’ herb garden. It was a familiar route for Hypatia, who often took it when returning from an early morning visit to the market, but wished to pick fresher herbs for sauces or stews than those offered in the city.
She again thought of Peter left alone and quickened her step, ignoring the jests of three burly men carrying amphorae into the back door of the kitchens. She soon reached a large grove of pine trees shading a marble statue of Poseidon guarding a fish pond. Created to resemble an open space in a wood, the shrubby glade featured patches of ferns and wild flowers clustered here and there among moss-covered boulders. Poseidon’s fish, ornamental rather than destined to be served at the imperial table, lived in a rocky, shadow-dappled pool fed by a trickling stream.
A flicker of movement caught Hypatia’s eye as she passed the entrance to the grove.
Vesta was visible just behind Poseidon, working in a tall patch of foxgloves alive with the humming of bees going to and fro between the flowers’ purple fingers. Vesta kept looking around, furtively, as she stooped to collect foxglove leaves she put into a small bag.
When she first arrived at the Great Palace, Hypatia had been surprised the showy flowers were permitted to flourish on the grounds. They were praised by physicians for treating affectations of the heart, but she knew the purple spikes were also the source of a deadly poison and thus perhaps not the wisest choice of plantings in a court whose members would kill to advance a step in the hierarchy or eliminate a rival for an obscure imperial post.
Recollection of poison reminded Hypatia of John’s seemingly impossible task of finding Theodora’s poisoner, if indeed such a person existed.
Was the poison Justinian believed had been used to murder Theodora been brewed with these or other examples of the beautiful if deadly plant?
And to what purpose would Vesta put the material she was secretly gathering?
Intrigued, Hypatia hid behind a nearby summerhouse until Vesta emerged from the grove, and followed her a second time through the rapidly growing crowds in the city’s thoroughfares.
Vesta’s destination lay in the shadow of the Hippodrome.
Antonina’s house.
C
hapter Thirty
John found his house door locked. He knocked, waited, and tried again. There was no response.
He looked up at the second story window of his study. The diamond-shaped panes showed only muddled reflections.
He raised his fist to pound harder, then paused to think. If Hypatia were there she would have answered. She must have gone out, and Peter wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs even if he could hear John’s knock up on the third floor.
It would be best if Peter didn’t hear because if he did, he might foolishly attempt to get out of bed.
What could have prompted Hypatia to leave Peter alone?
The answer was obvious. She assumed John was in danger, having been abducted in the middle of the night, and had gone to seek help.
Should he look for her at the Urban Prefect’s offices?
She would hardly have sought the assistance of the prefect’s night watch. They worked in concert with the excubitors and it had been excubitors who carried John off.
He doubted she had seen his captors but if by good fortune she had glimpsed the carriage surely she would have recognized it as an imperial vehicle.
Therefore, he reasoned, she would seek help from someone outside the palace.
Who did Hypatia know in the city who could help?
Anatolius. Who else? John’s friend, who had at one time paid her unwanted attention.
John strode back across the square in the direction from which he’d just arrived.
The sun rose higher, measuring its power in shadows fingering rooftops and statues. Already it was warm, heralding another stifling day. Carts carrying crates of produce and squawking chickens rattled through streets coming alive with artisans hurrying to their work and beggars rolling out of sheltered corners to begin scratching out a hopeless existence for another day.
John took a shortcut, little more than a crevice between buildings. He was sorry almost as soon as he emerged from it when he was hailed by a man scrubbing the entrance to a business selling costly linen, wool, and similar cloths.