Two for Joy jte-2

by Mary Reed

  Just as he plunged into a final dark passageway that debouched into the Mese, a group of grim-faced excubitors came racing down the narrow alley toward him, swords drawn. John recognized one of them, a dark, stocky fellow who regularly guarded the entrance to the excubitor barracks across from his house.

  The excubitor stopped in his tracks, his face transformed by surprise, as his comrades in arms ran past John.

  “Lord Chamberlain! What are you doing here?” He drew a quick breath. “I wouldn’t get any closer to that than you are now!” He pointed his sword back. “We’re off to help secure the Great Church, just in case somebody decides to burn it down again.” He turned to follow his companions but the touch of John’s hand on his shoulder detained him.

  “What’s the situation on the Mese?”

  “Well, Lord Chamberlain, a so-called ambassador from Michael managed to slip into the city undetected.”

  “That would be easy enough for one man, but it sounds as if this ambassador has developed an extremely large following rather quickly.”

  The excubitor shrugged. “Right now the mob will follow anyone claiming to speak for Michael. In fact, it’s escorted him right to the gates of the palace. He claims to have a message to deliver to Justinian.”

  John commented that it was unfortunate that the emperor was not receiving anyone.

  “His message wasn’t really intended for Justinian,” the other noted shrewdly. “The brazen little bastard is doubtless happy enough to be able to stand in front of the Chalke and read it to them that escorted him there.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I was at the edge of the crowd, so I didn’t catch all the details, but as near as I could tell he said that Michael had grown weary with waiting for Justinian’s answer regarding certain matters of what he called mutual interest.” The excubitor paused to look, frowning, past John. His companions had vanished.

  “And what else?” John prompted. “I shall ensure that you do not suffer from being delayed by my questions.”

  “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain. As I was saying, then, I was at some distance and the shouting got rather loud, as usually happens in these situations, so I may not have heard all the man’s words correctly. But if what he said is true, we are going to have a lot more than a relatively good-natured mob to cope with tomorrow. He proclaimed that if Michael’s demands were not met by tomorrow night, his god will set the waters of the Bosporos aflame. Impossible of course, but tell them that…” He gave a quick nod in the direction he’d come from. As if in response, the crowd roared again even louder than before.

  The dog John had seen rooting in the gutter trotted quickly past the entrance to the passageway, holding a large bloody scrap of flesh in its teeth. Had John been a superstitious man, he would have regarded that as a very ominous omen.

  “If you heard correctly,” John said thoughtfully, “then it would appear that our time is growing very short indeed.”

  Striding through the austere warren of imperial administrative offices, John found himself noticing the water clocks set in niches and corners to regulate the labors of those not content to depend on the sun. The level of water in the receiving bowls made it abundantly clear that it had taken him far too long to make his way through the boisterous crowd swirling about outside the Chalke.

  Felix was not in his office when John finally reached it. It seemed he had been called away to a meeting with the empress. But when John made his way to the Hormisdas, she had gone and so had Felix.

  “The excubitor captain was here,” confirmed the silentiary still on guard outside Theodora’s now empty audience hall. “He left in a hurry, looking very grim. I’d guess there was some military action afoot, though it’d only be a guess, since my hearing isn’t what it once was-and of course I wouldn’t be eavesdropping at any rate. We guards are nothing if not discreet.”

  John thanked the man for his garrulous discretion with a coin. He knew immediately where he would find Felix.

  Once by tradition but now of necessity, the mithraeum was concealed in the bowels of an imperial storehouse in a less traveled part of the palace grounds. A casual visitor who might by accident penetrate far through the maze of winding passages to arrive at the stout door allowing entry into the holy place would have been intercepted by the guards stationed there, their constant presence easily explained by the valuable goods stored in similar stone cellars under the rambling building. Politely escorted back to the upper level, such visitors would doubtless be just as happy to see sunlight. Who knew how many had entered and never emerged back in the days when enemies of the state or those who had fallen from the emperor’s favor had been imprisoned in those underground rooms?

  But the guards stepped aside, knowing John was a fellow adept. Closing the stout door behind him, John quickly walked down the flight of steps into the shadowed mithraeum. Tonight there would be no celebration, no ceremonial meal, no ritual to mark a follower’s joyous advancement another degree up the seven-runged ladder, drawing ever closer to Lord Mithra. Tonight there was only a lone man, his bushy haired head bowed, seated on a stone bench.

  John sat down next to him.

  “Well, John,” Felix said, evincing no surprise at the Lord Chamberlain’s arrival, “I’m shortly off to visit the Michaelites.”

  “And not with peaceful intent it seems, for I see you are girded for battle,” John replied with a nod at the helmet set on the stone flagged floor.

  The two men were silent for a time, gazing at the marble bas relief behind the altar. Light from the torches bracketing it glanced off the deeply carved details of the familiar scene-the Phrygian cap Lord Mithra wore, the sharp edge of his raised blade, the powerful shoulders and curled tail of the huge bull he was about to sacrifice to bring forth life.

  It was a scene which never failed to move John to the core of his being.

  The low cave-like ceiling of the narrow mithraeum was painted with gleaming stars, but its walls were beyond the reach of the torches’ pool of light. Thus it ever was. Moreover, it seemed to John that deeper shadows, more evil than those held at bay by torchlight or by the sacred fires kindled on the altar when ceremonies were to be held, were pressing in around them, inky doubles of the dark chaos engulfing the city above them.

  Felix frowned fiercely.

  “You’re worried about something more than an engagement of arms, Felix,” John observed. “Perhaps you have come to ask Lord Mithra for guidance? If so, I would be happy to leave.”

  The big captain nodded. “You’re right, John, but in fact it’s something I would like to discuss with you.”

  John listened closely as Felix continued. “I’m on the horns of a dilemma as sharp as those of the Great Bull,” he said. “I am a soldier, it’s my duty to follow orders, whether it be to fall upon the enemy and dispatch him or guard some soft and simpering ambassador from whatever evil he thinks he will encounter while going about his business at court.”

  He paused, folding his arms on his brawny chest. “I have just been ordered by the empress to ride with my men to the shrine where the Michaelites are gathered. And when we arrive there, we are to dispose of Michael immediately along with such of his followers as may seek to prevent us carrying out our orders.”

  “You have been ordered to kill him?”

  Felix nodded. “You would think that Theodora must realize that to murder the man will inflame passions to such a degree that riots will break out as soon as news reaches the city. All of Justinian’s generals would have refused, I imagine, mutinous although it would be. But my men and I, barracked within the palace grounds, well, we can hardly fail to do the empress’ bidding, because generals would certainly not balk at putting down a rebellion by mere excubitors!”

  “She must have made her decision immediately she knew of Michael’s threat to set the Bosporos on fire.”

  Seeing Felix’ look of disbelief John related what he had learned not long before.

  Felix uttered a string of luri
d curses. “She never mentioned that, but why would she? I armed myself, gave my orders and then came straight here to reflect for a few moments. You barely caught me, John. I must leave shortly to finalize arrangements.”

  “Perhaps Theodora is convinced that such a supernatural occurrence as Michael has promised will set off riots anyway and would rather they occurred without him to direct them?”

  Felix nodded unhappily. “Excellent strategy to remove their leader, but the very notion of killing an unarmed man disturbs me greatly.” He frowned. “I can’t believe Justinian would order this rash action.”

  John considered the matter briefly. “That’s probably so, Felix. There are women at the shrine, women and children both. I saw them myself when I was there with Aurelius. There is going to be a blood bath of the innocent if there’s any resistance and both of us know perfectly well that there will be.”

  “Oh, Theodora realizes that all right. When I received my orders, she remarked that baptism in blood might be just what the heretics needed. The bitch is as hard as one of those horse hoof breastplates the Sauromatae wore. But,” Felix continued, “I’m glad you arrived, as I had intended to leave a message with Peter when I go to meet my men at the barracks. If you were not at home, I mean. It’s this. If I should fall in the field, John, I would like you to attend to the rites. With no family…”

  “I understand,” John assured him, “and you have my oath on it.”

  Felix thanked him. “And there’s one thing more, John,” he went on hesitantly. “I ask you to give me your blessing as a Runner of the Sun and therefore a more senior adept than me.”

  Looking uncomfortable, he stared at the floor as he continued. “I don’t fear the blade, but what of this fiery magick? It claimed the stylites and Isis’ girl as well, and that within Aurelius’ house as my men and I stood guard. So if you would…?”

  This night was bristling with as many surprises as a crafty wild boar, John thought. Felix had achieved the Mithraic rank of Lion, just two below that which he himself held, and had never made such a request before. Perhaps his unease about the task he had been ordered to undertake was more profound even than he had indicated.

  “But of course,” John said, “if that is what you wish.”

  Felix donned his helmet and they took the few steps necessary to stand reverently before the altar. The big, bear-like man bowed his head as John addressed the torch-lit image of their god.

  “Mithra, Lord of Light,” John began, “Slayer of the Great Bull, I approach to humbly petition thy blessing upon thy servant Felix, who will soon march forth to soldier.”

  Torchlight wavered across Felix’s bearded face, as he glanced briefly up.

  “Grant that his eye be keen, his judgment sound and his sword arm strong.” John paused. It did not seem appropriate to be offering a prayer of such a militant nature, given the unarmed pilgrims Felix and his men would be facing. Inspiration touched him.

  “Keep him in the shelter of thy starry cloak,” John continued, “and give him wisdom in directing the engagement, that it be conducted in a way that is honorable to thee, his lord. But if it must be that he climb the seven-runged ladder and leave this world, grant this, that he depart with grace and that his memory be considered worthy and fitting for one who faithfully followed thee.”

  Turning, John laid his hands on the captain’s bowed head. “And now with this blessing, go forth and soldier, Felix, captain of the excubitors and adept of the rank of Lion.”

  “And may Lord Mithra guard me on the field of battle,” the captain replied in the traditional response.

  John lingered for a few moments after Felix left the mithraeum. It was growing late. There was no question now of engaging an informant or one of Felix’ spies. If there was anything useful to be learnt, John would have to discover it for himself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Philo had spent a lifetime studying philosophy.

  He had read countless dialogs and listened to endless discourses. But he had never received such a pointed and sorry lesson in human nature as he received while standing near an apple seller’s stall not far from Isis’ house.

  The succession of well-dressed men he observed slinking down the side alley leading to the brothel’s back door spoke more eloquently of the baseness of human nature than the most imaginative and perverse theologian ever could.

  “Another apple?” The old woman, nigh as wizened as the dried fruit she was hawking, glanced down at the coins on Philo’s palm. “I don’t mind taking your trade, but if I may say so, you’d find it cheaper, not to say much better for your humors, to summon up your courage and just give a quick rap on the door. Darius will let you in as quick as a wink. Do you think anyone takes any notice of the traffic in and out of that house? All sorts of people go there at all hours. It’s like the procession of beasts to Noah’s ark. Except, of course, all the beasts going into that house are male.”

  Philo flushed. It had been humiliating finding his way to the establishment but at least he had only needed to ask a couple of people before he was able to obtain directions. Evidently the house he sought was one of the best known in Constantinople.

  “I assure you, I have never entered such a place nor do I intend to,” he said. Even as he protested, he wondered why he should care what an apple seller might think of him. But his statement was true enough and so he had been extremely offended when John had more or less accused him of patronizing such a place. Mulling it over later, though, he could not help wondering who might have been mistaken for him. John had mentioned the man always called on market days. So, this being market day, Philo had chosen to lie, or rather stand about, in wait to see if he could find out.

  His encounter with Hektor still weighed heavily on his mind, but as always, notwithstanding John’s warnings, his curiosity was stronger than his caution. Besides, he did not think he would find Hektor frequenting such a house. At least, he sincerely hoped not.

  He pressed a coin into the fruit seller’s palm and took another apple.

  “Perhaps you’ve loitered here so long because you want to talk to me?” the woman suggested with a lewd cackle. “Don’t be shy, deary. We’re both of an age, you know. Why should youngsters have all of love’s delight, that’s what I always say.”

  A man selling lumps of stringy meat of indeterminate origin from a stall a few paces away overheard her badinage and bellowed an obscene suggestion in their direction, illustrating his words with graphic gestures.

  Far from being outraged, the apple seller yelled back an even lewder reply.

  Philo drew away a few paces. How many hours had he been standing here, watching that house? The fruit he had consumed was beginning to make him feel queasy. How could he have been reduced to this? How could his years at the Academy have fled so quickly?

  He could remember his leave-taking so clearly. His few belongings, with those of his friends, were packed and loaded on the cart ready to take them all to Piraeus as soon their escort arrived to accompany them to the docks and so into exile.

  It had been a morning of bright sunshine. He had left the others waiting at the Academy gate and walked back through the well planted grounds. These cloistered gardens and beautiful groves had been his world. He knew the winding pattern of the flagstone paths as well as he knew his own soul. The sudden warmth of the sunlight into which he emerged from the stand of murmuring, gloomy firs beside the gymnasium he had felt many times before.

  But he would not feel it again.

  The gymnasium was empty. The students had gone as soon as Justinian’s edict was handed down. All that remained of their boisterous activities was a mildewed leather ball lying in one corner of the exercise area.

  He left the deserted building and walked slowly to the far end of the Academy grounds, realizing that this walk, one he had taken so many times before, would be the last. Ever since Justinian had ordered the Academy closed Philo had been aware of many such last things. Thus, in the midst of a discourse on P
lotinus he had thought, “This is the last time I will lecture students about beauty.” As students trickled away to their homes he had told himself; “I will never again meet a new student fresh from Athens.”

  And all the time, although he told himself he was preparing for his departure, still he clung to enumerating the last week, the last day, the last hour.

  Now the time to leave had finally come. He stood in the ancient, weed-overgrown burial ground just beyond the back wall of the grounds. Concealed in a stately palm tree, a bird trilled sweetly. Doubtless it would sing the next morning as well, and the following week, and the month after that, but, Philo thought, he would not be there to hear it.

  He had often come to this quiet place in the mornings. He liked to contemplate the grave markers, some simple slabs, others in the shape of amphorae, weathered beyond recognition. On a few, patches of lichen clung to half-eroded inscriptions-perhaps because moisture gathered there-allowing a meaningless letter or two to be made out. The graves might have been a thousand years old. Philo had thought himself as likely to leave the familiar precincts of the Academy as were the crumbling bones lying under the mossy earth.

  Loud voices interrupted his thoughts. Two men, young and intoxicated enough not to care about being observed leaving through Isis’ front door, staggered loudly past.

  Tears stung Philo’s eyes. He could he possibly live in this terrible city. He blinked the tears away, angry at himself. He was too old for self pity. His past was gone. It had no more substance than a dream. Crossing the Aegean the day after he had left the Academy forever, the life he had lost had been etched in his memory. It had remained so for his first year at Khosrow’s court, and during his second. But though time healed wounds, it also wore away memory. The only thing about his past life that seemed real now, Philo reflected bitterly, was his leaving of it.

  It was at that point he finally sighted his prey emerging from Isis’ front door. His sorrow was replaced by a mixture of shock and relief that what he had dared hope might be was actually, incredibly, true.