by Mary Reed
The Hormisdas Palace had been home to Justinian and Theodora before the former acceded to the throne. Now it was hardly a fit abode for anyone. Over the years Theodora had given sanctuary there to the persecuted of her religious persuasion. Monophysites, who would otherwise have been exiled to the far corners of the empire or executed outright, had been granted safety there, bishops and holy beggars alike, clerics who had lived in palatial mansions and zealots who had occupied columns in all weather. The place was filled to bursting and still they came to sanctuary, like cats who knew where to find discarded scraps, thought John, noticing a dark, feline shape slinking through the weeds.
“You have a much better chance of being allowed to return to Rome with Theodora gone,” he told Vigilius. “It is a motive, and when I learned you had been a visitor to her sickroom, I could not ignore the information.”
“So-called information surely, Lord Chamberlain?”
“It appears Vesta was deceived. Who might the empress request provide spiritual comfort?”
“Menas springs to mind,” Vigilius observed.
The courtyard was an overgrown wilderness. Bronze emperors and marble philosophers lay entangled in vines and rank brush, the pedestals upon which they had stood occupied now by ragged stylites whom, John supposed, remained continuously on their low perches just as they had remained for years atop their tall columns. An enormously fat man resembling a huge toad had taken up residence in the dry basin of a crumbling fountain.
“Menas visited her only a few times,” John said. “The empress and he reconciled over the years, to an extent, for political purposes. He displaced her hand-picked favorite Anthimus in the patriarch’s palace but not in her affections. Although that was years ago.”
“Twelve years ago, but the empress never forgets a grudge.”
It was true enough, but John said nothing.
Justinian almost never called upon John for advice regarding religious disputes. Perhaps, as more than one person had warned and John had long suspected, the emperor realized that his Lord Chamberlain was a pagan and his views on religion therefore untrustworthy. For his part John was happy to avoid delving into the endless squabbling to which Christians were prone. When he needed to deal with such squabbles as a member of the consistory his approach was to treat them as he would treat any other political disagreement. In the end it was always a question of personalities, power, position, and wealth. That holy men might sincerely be battling to gain theological ground, to enhance the value of their particular beliefs and further their power to impress those beliefs on others, struck John as largely irrelevant.
That was why, when Vigilius began to hold forth on the contentious points of the Three Chapters dispute, John began to excuse himself.
A monstrous ululation interrupted him. It might have been the cry of a holy hermit confronted by the devil himself, but the yowling and hissing that followed identified it as the sound of a furious cat.
There was a scrabbling in the undergrowth and then a small, tan-colored cat burst into view, raced straight over John’s boots, and vanished under an ornamental thorn bush. A much larger black feline limped in pursuit.
Vigilius chuckled. “Cyril and Nestorius are at it again. For the most part they are friends. After all, they are both cats. But Nestorius will insist on biting Cyril’s injured leg, and finally when Cyril has had all he can endure, well…”
“Strange names for cats,” John remarked.
“I’m not sure what wit named them. You will recall the Council of Ephesus supported the teachings of Cyril and anathematized Nestorianism, so since these two are forever fighting in the garden, naturally, we are reminded of-”
“Yes, naturally,” John cut in. “I am amazed at the humor of holy men. But I can’t detain you any further.”
He departed in haste.
It had been a short visit.
Then again how long would one expect it to take to clear a pope of murder?
Chapter Fifty
The stench of the Hormisdas had not faded from John’s nostrils before he began to wonder if he had been too hasty in accepting Vigilius’ insistence he had not been the hooded man seen by Vesta.
Or had John been too hasty in accepting the accused girl’s word she had seen a hooded stranger in the first place?
The odor of the Hormisdas clung to his clothing like smoke. He would have to change.
He usually gave a wide berth to the columns occupied by stylites dotted around the city. When he thought of the religion of the Christians he smelled incense and neglected, unwashed bodies. Mithraism by contrast brought to mind the coppery odor of blood spilled by the sacrificial bull, the smell of raging battle.
He did not understand the attraction of Christianity.
As he neared his house he saw a well-dressed stranger approaching its doorway.
Had a message finally come from Cornelia?
There was no horse to be seen.
The messenger might have stabled his steed.
John picked up his pace, resisting the temptation to break into an undignified run.
The stranger turned at the sound of boots on cobbles and to his disappointment John saw he was clearly not a messenger. The man’s unnaturally thin stooped figure, the soft, unlined face, the gaudy, multi-colored robes, marked him as an imperial eunuch, even before John got close enough to smell the visitor’s cloying perfume.
The eunuch addressed him in a tremulous voice. “Please, excellency, you must come with me.”
John stopped short of the distasteful creature. The eunuch must have mistaken the Lord Chamberlain’s disinclination to come too close for fear because he added, “You were observed speaking with His Holiness and there is information it would be well for you to know. There is no danger. Please accompany me.”
“I didn’t imagine you posed any danger,” John replied curtly. “I will see your master, whoever he might be.”
John was not surprised word of his interview with Vigilius had reached other ears before John had arrived home. On the palace grounds everyone could be certain anything they said or did in the open was being observed, not to mention most of the things done and said in supposed secrecy. One could only hope the observer was not the wrong person-or a tool of the wrong person.
The eunuch silently led him back across the square and through the palace complex to the cross-emblazoned doors of the empress’ quarters.
John guessed the messenger had come from Joannina.
He was wrong. The scented creature did not take the corridor leading to Joannina’s rooms nor did he turn toward Theodora’s private chambers, but rather went down a hallway leading deeper into the section of the palace reserved for women. The walls were covered with frescoes depicting luxurious gardens populated with mythical animals.
Eunuchs flitted about the corridors like great, garish birds frightened from their perches. Exotic fragrances saturated the air. Was John being led to the quarters reserved for the ladies-in-waiting? He did not ask, not caring to converse with the eunuch. He would discover their destination soon enough.
When they reached it, set back in a quiet corner down a deserted corridor, a door of heavy carved wood opened into a domed room not much larger than the subterranean mithraeum he frequented. There were marble benches at one end and an altar at the other. Apart from its utilitarian features, the room resembled the interior of the Great Church.
Gilded tesserae glittered on the walls. Silver disks suspended on twisted brass chains sparkled overhead. Columns of green Thessalonian marble, star-speckled porphyry, and silver engraved with shining angels rose around them. A replica of the Great Church’s dome surmounted the room. A gold cross shone from the center of the dome and openings around its base admitted the lambency filling the interior. The light, falling in gentle shafts mingling into a golden haze might have been that of the rising sun, but John realized it arose from unseen lamps brightly illuminating a semi-circular, blue painted space surrounding the dome.
&n
bsp; A figure rose from a bench. He wore a monk’s loose garment, the hood thrown back to reveal ascetic features and sparse white hair. Though he had not seen the man for years, John recognized him at once.
“Patriarch Anthimus.” John made a slight bow.
The old man gave a wan smile. “Yes. I know I am supposed to be a pile of bones under the waters of the Marmara, but when I was deposed and replaced with Menas, Theodora, gentle soul that she was, could not bear to see me put to death. She has hidden me here ever since. Justinian has assured me he will continue to abide by her merciful wishes.”
The notion that anyone should consider Theodora merciful was as surprising as Anthimus still being among the living, and in the very heart of the Great Palace at that. He was fortunate not to have been consigned to the Hormisdas Palace but he probably would not have been safe anywhere else. Given the man’s stature, Justinian would have been pressed by political opponents to have him executed.
The former patriarch’s presence was another reminder that while the environs of Constantinople were small, they were crowded and concealed many mysteries. It also reminded John that although Theodora was dead, her presence in the city remained very much alive.
“It was you who visited Theodora during her final days, not Vigilius,” John stated.
“That is so. Our Lord’s faithful followers have lost a great champion but now she is at home with the saints.”
“You have spies among the monophysites in the Hormisdas.”
“Naturally.”
“But why would you wish to clear Vigilius of suspicion? He is opposed to your views. For that matter, Menas might have been suspected next.”
“They are both men of God, though they are confused about the actual nature of the one whom they serve. I would not see anyone put to death wrongly. Did not Christ say that as we treat the most lowly of his creatures, so we treat him?”
“You are telling me you live by your beliefs?”
“You sound doubtful, Lord Chamberlain. Well, then, let’s say I didn’t want you investigating Theodora’s secret caller, because it might have led others to me as well. People who, unlike yourself, would not be trustworthy and principled enough to keep my presence secret as Justinian desires.” Anthimus smiled broadly, revealing large yellow teeth. “Does that explanation suit you better?”
Chapter Fifty-one
A desultory breeze under a brazen sky summoned hardly enough strength to stir the air, much less countless wisps of straw and drifts of discarded domestic refuse trapped in the corners of colonnades. It was the kind of weather when the brooding sky might soon look down on an outburst of violence.
A good day for a riot, John thought as he crossed the Augustaion on his way to visit Anatolius.
The noise of the busy, overcrowded streets seemed smothered by advancing clouds, pressing down on the city as if determined to extinguish its life. Beggars’ beseeching whines sounded muffled, laborers strolled across the square as if they had all the time in the empire to earn a crust, shopkeepers lounged at their doors waiting for customers who were few and far between.
Even those who practiced the legal profession in the law basilica near the Great Church seemed unconcerned that justice was being delayed by their absence from the halls in which it was administered-or at least officially said to be administered. Several men gathered at the foot of the wide steps leading to the basilica’s porticoed entrance were engaged in an argument, albeit one conducted at a slower pace than usual.
Anatolius was among the onlookers, but having spotted John left the group and greeted him.
“Anatolius, I expected I’d find you here during the afternoon,” John said. “I have a question or two. We should speak where we cannot be overheard.”
“The middle of the Augustaion,” Anatolius suggested. “No opportunity for eavesdroppers there!”
John retraced his steps until the two reached the spacious square bordered on one side by the bulky, domed mass of the Great Church. A mounted Justinian, gilded bronze, stared down at them from atop his towering column. It reminded John the emperor’s eyes were everywhere, but for now he was confident he and Anatolius had not been followed.
They walked toward the center of the square, where they would notice anyone who tried to linger nearby. Gulls circled overhead, crying raucously.
“I wanted to talk with you about my conversation with the Cappadocian,” John said, “but I had urgent business yesterday.”
“It’s said you saved the life of Joannina’s lady-in-waiting.”
“For the time being. Did she tell you herself?”
“Hardly, John. She-”
“I suppose the Cappadocian has already reported our meeting to you?”
“You make it sound as if he works for me. The situation is quite the opposite. He has hired me to represent him. Did he allay your suspicions?”
“What do you think? He admitted hiding in the palace kitchens and everyone knows about the mutual hatred between him and Theodora.”
“He had to remain inconspicuous when he returned, given Theodora was still alive at the time, if only barely.”
“What do you know about what he’s been doing and where he’s living since he returned to Constantinople?”
“As I said, he’s a client and-”
“I understand that,” John said impatiently. “I’m not referring to your legal work for him. I know you want to avoid harming a client. Outside your legal discussions, has he said anything shall we say interesting?”
Anatolius pondered the question. “He has unbent somewhat but not to any great extent. He is a cautious man as well as a vicious one. He did mention his plans are proceeding well, but nothing about what they actually were.”
“As you say, a cautious man.”
“I’ve had no indication he’s doing anything more than looking into whether he might retain a legal claim on any of the properties that were confiscated from him. A perfectly legitimate pursuit.”
“Do you think that’s the extent of his plans?”
“I make a point not to think about anything that isn’t my business as his lawyer.”
“Why is Vesta constantly visiting you, Anatolius? Do you persist in claiming she’s there on business as well?”
Anatolius looked confused. “But she is there on business, or so she says.” He gazed at the glowering sky. “She’s become a trial. She keeps asking for legal advice on the matter of the marriage of her mistress. It strikes me as odd, since usually my clients consult me in person and generally incognito. Many of the matters on which I advise them are delicate in nature so naturally they wish to keep their business confidential. She never asks specific questions. Tell me about this or that, she’ll say.”
John frowned. “I gather the Cappadocian has called on you more than once. Is it possible Vesta is hoping to meet him at your house?”
Anatolius looked surprised. “I very much doubt it. What possible purpose could there be?”
John admitted he did not know.
“You’re working too hard, my friend. Taxing your strength, seeing connections that cannot possible exist. Let’s go and have a cup of wine.”
John offered only a bleak smile. “Thank you, but no. I would rather you told me where the Cappadocian is staying.”
“Ah…yes…I was hoping you wouldn’t insist on that.”
“I would rather not have to insist, Anatolius, but it is a matter of vital importance that I am able to reach the Cappadocian quickly.”
“I see. You’re aware that once word gets out that a lawyer has loose lips, his clients desert him?”
“Justinian ordered me to investigate Theodora’s death and the emperor’s wishes must outweigh your client’s welfare. And your welfare too, Anatolius.”
“Of course. Understand, I’m giving you the information in strictest confidence. Hopefully my client won’t realize where you gained the knowledge. He’s been staying with Germanus.”
One suspect staying with another.
Was John’s task becoming simpler or even more complicated? “I doubt he’ll be surprised by my sudden arrival,” John said. “He must know I’ll seek him sooner or later and as long as he’s in the city he’ll be located eventually.”
Anatolius nodded. “He’s a shrewd man, the Cappadocian.”
“Germanus and the Cappadocian are natural allies. Both had careers blocked by Theodora, now both will return to power.” John was thinking out loud. “It’s a logical partnership of two men with a mutual interest in seeing Theodora taken to her grave.”
Anatolius pointed out it was all speculation.
“I will talk to them both. A fine pair, Anatolius. The rapacious former tax collector and the general who, incidentally, sent one of his bodyguards to warn me of possible fatal consequences if I continued my investigations. Probably he was afraid I would find out he’s been hiding the Cappadocian.”
He left Anatolius with a curt farewell.
Crossing the wind-blown square he wondered if it had occurred to Anatolius he was now known to have a number of links to persons under investigation, if not actual suspicion?
It must have occurred to him. Admittedly a minority of these persons had more reason to wish Theodora continued to live rather than die.
That was the most puzzling aspect of the whole affair, but setting that aside and placing Anatolius at the center of the web, John could see strands radiating from his friend not only to the Cappadocian, but through him to his host General Germanus, and from Germanus to the once great general Artabanes, now apparently reduced to living in a twilight of intoxication spent mourning the loss of the woman he wanted to marry.
The pattern was complex and confusing, not yet completed. Did Vesta, Anatolius’ curiously persistent visitor and Joannina’s lady-in-waiting currently being instructed in the secrets of herbal preparations by Antonina, fit into the pattern?
Antonina was a woman whose knowledge surely extended to certain potions that cured their imbibers forever of that most vexatious ailment called living.
