Two for Joy jte-2

by Mary Reed

  “More readily than one who is alive.”

  It was true enough, John thought ruefully. He knew he was not speaking persuasively, yet having delivered Theodora’s communication as ordered, he now wanted only to escape the other’s unsettling presence.

  Michael rested his hand on the stone sill. His sleeve slid down, revealing a skeletal wrist. John was struck by the impression that he was observing a prisoner yearning for unobtainable freedom. It occurred to him that quite possibly Michael would be happy to die.

  Michael spoke in a near whisper. “Do not your emperor and empress possess eyes, Lord Chamberlain? Did they not see the holy fire strike down preachers of blasphemy atop their columns and reach inside the houses of the wealthy to destroy their whores? Did they not observe how the waters burned?”

  John did not reply.

  “Then carry back this message. Should Emperor Justinian wish to convey his views to me personally, I will listen,” Michael continued. “But I see little point in you and I speaking further on this matter.”

  John bowed and began to leave, but then paused. “If I may ask, is there a man here by the name of Felix? A big, bearded soldier?”

  “We took in all the wounded and are nursing even our assailants back to health, Lord Chamberlain. I believe I know the great bear you mention. He may go back with you, as a token of our mercy. He is, I think, just about recovered enough to travel. One of our sisters has taken special pains to nurse him.” Michael stepped forward to look directly into John’s face, as if he were searching for something in those lean, sunburnt features. “I fear, however, that you are beyond our healing power.”

  Before John could frame a reply, the other continued. “I was not thinking of the physical infirmity we share, Lord Chamberlain. I meant I could not exorcise the demons I see behind your eyes. You need a god who is as forgiving as he is demanding.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Perhaps there was heavenly intervention even so, for John was spared the ordeal of reporting his failure to Theodora. When he arrived at the palace, she was inexplicably absent. He went home and awaited a summons which never came.

  The arrival of a courier the next morning explained the mystery. Justinian had emerged from his theological labors to repossess the reins of power. His Lord Chamberlain was to attend an audience immediately.

  On his way, John debated how he could inform Justinian about his investigations into the deaths of the stylites, not to mention that of the beggar, without revealing that he had been alerted to a possible connection by perusing, albeit at second hand, Michael’s initial letter. Justinian had a tenacious memory and John could be certain that he would recall exactly what he had and had not revealed to John at their last meeting. Then too, more urgent yet was the plight of Anatolius.

  As he entered the reception hall, John glanced at its bronze doors. Their depiction of a procession of nations presenting tribute to an impossibly handsome and elaborately garbed and crowned emperor was so familiar that he usually did not give them a second thought. This morning however he could not help noting the bronze emperor’s towering stature and wondered if this flattering portrait was calculated to personify imperial glory or to save the hands and eyesight of some exceedingly shrewd craftsmen.

  He realized that he would need to exercise more than his usual degree of shrewd discretion himself. Luckily, the emperor’s demeanor was almost cheerful despite his tired eyes.

  “Caesar,” John began, “my felicitations. May I take it that congratulations on an imperial victory on the harrowing battlefield of theology are in order?”

  “Alas, no, Lord Chamberlain,” came Justinian’s surprising reply. “After much reflection, I have come to the conclusion that attempting to join Michael’s heresy to orthodoxy would be more difficult than sewing feet to a flounder.” He laughed heartily.

  “I am most sorry to hear that.” John kept his voice level. He had been about to begin his plea on behalf of Anatolius. Now he was wary. To what could Justinian’s apparent good humor be attributed if his efforts to reconcile religious viewpoints had come to nothing?

  “The city is in a ferment.” Justinian waved away a fly buzzing at his face and heaved a sigh that belied the strange lack of urgency in his tone. “In addition, I have received disturbing information to the effect that some of my excubitors are deserting their emperor. Such disloyalty pains me, but in due course it will pain them much more, I assure you.”

  John bowed his head. There was no doubt that Justinian would be aware that one high ranking excubitor was even now recuperating at John’s house. Or had Felix already been arrested? “It is my understanding that the majority of the men have remained at their posts,” he ventured.

  Justinian waved his hand airily. “For how long, Lord Chamberlain, for how long? We both know the seductive power of a rampaging mob, just as we are both aware that stern measures are required to contain it. We have had to take such measures before, as you will doubtless recall.”

  He sighed again. “But,” he went on briskly, “emperors must be subtle as well as wise. Brute force of arms is not the only way to rule. At times, my subjects are like children, appeased with golden toys, a delightful entertainment, unaccustomed delicacies to eat, a handful of coins. Failing that, there are always sterner measures of persuasion, such as the removal of their ringleader’s head. After all, if their leader cannot keep his, what chance have his miserable followers?”

  John remained silent. Was the emperor about to order a second attack on the pilgrims’ encampment or would he require John to return to the shrine and personally remove Michael’s head? With Justinian, anything was possible. Perhaps the emperor’s mention of coins indicated he had decided to purchase a peaceful solution, as with the Persians who had been rattling their spears at the gates of the empire for years.

  The emperor’s hand flashed out. The drone of the fly stopped abruptly and he dropped its tiny carcass to the floor.

  “That is how such agitators should be dealt with,” Justinian remarked casually, “but unfortunately with a host as large as is buzzing in the streets, there are neither fists big nor numerous enough to catch them all. And so, dear Lord Chamberlain, given such a dilemma, what action would you take were you emperor?”

  So that accounted for the emperor’s cheerful manner, John realized. Although his theological efforts had failed, he had formed another plan of attack and for some reason wished the Lord Chamberlain to venture guesses at it, a childish game carried on in a marble sarcophagus while a lawless populace continued roaming the streets.

  Justinian laughed. “I see that you are puzzled, John. Then I shall give you a hint. The house that you live in. What happened to its former owner?”

  An icy hand squeezed John’s heart. The hated tax collector’s head had been handed to the mob. It was suddenly and horrifyingly clear that Justinian proposed to solve his current problems by utilizing the same method.

  Mithra! John thought. He had endured so much. Could not he have been rewarded with a soldier’s death? To be bound and sacrificed like a lamb or a dove at the self-serving altar of the man in whose service he had labored so long, and all because of a Christian holy man. It was ironic beyond belief-so ironic that, to his own amazement as much as Justinian’s, he burst into laughter.

  Justinian began chuckling himself. His amusement lasted longer than John’s, whose brief merriment ended as abruptly as it had begun when it occurred to him that Theodora at least would certainly be vastly entertained to see him dead. He was absolutely convinced, as if the emperor had just announced it to him personally, that she had been apprised of his disobedience of her orders. It was just as certain that his disobedience had more than a little to do with what was now to be his fate.

  Justinian slapped John’s thin shoulder lightly.

  “I have always admired your self-control, Lord Chamberlain,” he said, “and now I stand in awe of it. When you heard your death sentence pronounced, your expression scarcely wavered, or at lea
st not until you laughed.” He chuckled again. “But you are not quite so cunning that I cannot follow your reasoning nor detect that hint of relief, however much you try to hide it.”

  “Caesar?” John forced out through dry lips.

  The emperor looked amused. “Yes, yes, you cannot conceal it. You know me too well. It’s true indeed that ordinarily by now your head would no longer be attached to your body and the rabble would already be praising me for dispatching the treacherous advisor who undermined my efforts to negotiate with Michael.” He paused, contemplating the prospect. “Still, as a man of honor,” he continued, gently nudging the dead fly with the toe of his scarlet boot, “despite the undeniable fact that it would be the easiest and swiftest solution to my dilemma, I find myself reluctant to use it. No, it has been my gracious decision that in view of your long service and discreet laboring on my behalf in many delicate matters you will go immediately into exile. Before the third hour hence, leave the city. Do not linger. My generous mood may be short-lived. After all, my next cup of wine may be sour or I may find, dare I say it, a fly on my plate.”

  He turned away. The audience was at an end.

  John bowed to the emperor’s back. How tempting a target it presented. But of course nobody was allowed into the imperial presence without surrendering any weapon carried upon their person. And the guards stationed by the doors, out of ear shot but well within sight, would swiftly fall upon anyone attempting to harm the emperor and, quite possibly, upon one who merely appeared to be contemplating doing so.

  “Caesar, my felicitations,” he said quietly.

  “Goodbye, John,” Justinian replied over his shoulder.

  “I hope John’s audience with the emperor has gone well,” Isis remarked. “I do think it’s a good omen that Justinian has decided to put his theological studies aside and take personal control of the empire again. Justinian you have at least half a chance of outguessing, but Theodora, well…”

  Sunlight splashed over Isis as she sat at the kitchen table eating dried apricots and talking to Peter. It was that quiet time when the midday meal was over and the kitchen not busy with preparations for the evening. Now that she had washed and changed into a modest woolen robe, the madam could have passed for a respectable woman except for the barbaric lapis lazuli amulet suspended from a gold chain around her neck.

  Peter commented that she had been fortunate that the bauble had not been stolen in her flight to John’s door. His expression of distaste belied his words, however.

  “Ah, Peter, you must give me credit,” Isis replied, finishing the last piece of fruit. “As soon as I realized the possibility I took it off and concealed it about my person.” To spare his sensibilities she did not say where it had been concealed.

  Peter complimented her upon her ingenuity. “But tell me,” he went on, “that amulet, it’s a smaller version of that djed object that you have in your bedroom. Is it intended to protect?”

  Isis weighed her words. She was well aware of Peter’s faith and did not wish to offend the elderly man. He had been kind to her since her precipitous arrival, cast up on the doorstep like seaweed after a storm in the Sea of Marmara. In fact, Peter had obtained her respectable garment from a matron of his church and, although she did not care much for the hymns which he sang in a tuneless voice as he prepared food over the brazier, she was grateful for his concern.

  “Well, it’s Egyptian,” she explained carefully. “Some call it a fertility charm, others the backbone of the god Osiris. Yet others claim it represents the tree in which my namesake discovered Osiris’ hidden body. But whatever you choose to call it, a djed is considered very lucky. I would feel quite naked without mine.”

  Peter sniffed disdainfully. “Egyptian, you say? No offence intended, but they do have some very odd ideas. Why, they mummify cats and crocodiles and such and bury them with heathen rites, don’t they?”

  With a slight smile, Isis confirmed the truth of his information.

  “The master lived in Alexandria a long time ago,” Peter went on thoughtfully. “Do you think he would consider it impudent if I asked him to tell me more about it? It sounds like a very exotic and unusual place.”

  “No more so than Constantinople, Peter,” was the reply. “We just become inured to what surrounds us. Why do you suppose that we scarcely notice the beggars crowding around the Milion? Sometimes it takes a stranger’s eyes to see what is clearly before us yet to which we are blind.”

  As she finished speaking Darius came into the kitchen, escorting Hypatia, who was carrying a basket of leeks. She set it on the table and smiled at Isis. “Salutations, my lady. I am Hypatia.”

  Isis’ drawn face lit up at the sound of her voice. “You’re Egyptian! How wonderful to hear that accent again! Sit down, my dear. Tell me what is happening there. Have you been in the city long?”

  Hypatia blushed. “You are too kind. I have been here only three or four years. Peter and I served the Lady Anna. Perhaps you knew her? When she died, we were both freed.”

  Darius had pulled a stool forward for the girl. She frowned at him, shaking her head slightly, apparently uneasy about taking it. Darius shrugged and left the room. Peter busied himself sweeping the kitchen floor.

  “Sit down, my dear, sit down,” Isis urged again. “It is a long time since I left Alexandria. A lovely city indeed. Not to say that Constantinople is not also a city of beauty.” Her professional eye had already noted the girl’s unblemished tawny skin and regular features. What an asset to her establishment she would be, if she was ever able to rebuild it.

  At Isis’ urging Hypatia sat and talked about her work in the imperial gardens and her continuing studies of herbs and their uses, both for medicinal purposes and as beauty aids.

  “A herbalist?” Isis was thoughtful, thinking of several ways such knowledge would be useful in her house. She really must try to persuade the girl to work for her.

  “Now tell me, Hypatia,” she said with a smile, “are you open to persuasion concerning a change of occupation? Are you contented with your work, despite being constantly exposed to the elements and ruining that pretty skin? Perhaps you might consider employment with a private individual? Though few will admit it, not everyone enjoys working at the palace.”

  Hypatia looked surprised at the other woman’s blunt manner of speaking. “Well, at the moment, yes, I am quite happy where I am, thank you. It is good to work in the sun and leave the rest to those who know more about the ways of the world than I do. Besides, for the next few weeks I have agreed to serve the Lord Chamberlain.”

  Isis chuckled. “Well, if you reconsider and decide you would like to work for me, Peter can tell you where I can be found, if I am not still in residence here. Now I must go and see if I can find something to do. Perhaps I shall go and sit in the garden with Darius for a while. You were very brave to come here unaccompanied, Hypatia.”

  “I live on the palace grounds and there is safety here, at least in daylight,” the young woman replied.

  Isis nodded and bid her farewell. Getting up to go, she knocked the basket and several leeks fell to the floor. Hypatia hastened to pick them up for her and, with a quick word of thanks, Isis left the room.

  “Peter,” Hypatia burst out. “About that lady. I was wondering what a respectable woman would be doing wearing that amulet. But when I picked up the leeks, I couldn’t help but see the djed tattooed on her ankle. She’s a member of the Order of the Penitents of Mary of Egypt!” Her dark eyes were wide with amazement.

  Peter looked puzzled. “Isis? A lady? And a member of a holy order? Where do you get such notions?”

  “Because all the penitents carry that mark!”

  Peter was astonished at this revelation. Surely this explained his master’s continued acquaintance with the woman. And now his faith in her essential goodness might very well be borne out. “This morning Isis was talking about going home to Alexandria, Hypatia. I wonder if John has been urging her to resume her former life? Perhaps she will re
turn to carrying out good works, comforting the poor, visiting the sick, whatever it is these penitents do.”

  Hypatia smiled, mischief dancing in her dark eyes. “Perhaps she will, but it’s somewhat unlikely. You see, Peter, the penitents are not nearly as penitent as their alleged patroness. They belong to houses of the sort that Michael has promised to close and shutter.”

  Peter looked disappointed. “Then that tattoo isn’t surprising at all for Isis owned just such a house, I’m sorry to say. But now that her establishment has burnt to the ground, perhaps she will lead a more chaste life.”

  Now it was Hypatia’s turn to be surprised. Her lips tightened in outrage. “Do you mean she has been running a brothel? She was asking me to work as a whore? And I thought… Well, I wondered why such a grand lady was inviting me to sit beside her. Evidently I mistook the garment for the person!”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Exiled? But why? You are Lord Chamberlain!”

  Darius spoke much too loudly and John gestured him to be quieter. The sunlight sparkling cheerfully on the water trickling into the pool in John’s garden provided a poignant contrast to the suddenly bleak outlook of its owner.

  “Even Lord Chamberlains are not safe from Justinian’s whims. You’ve lived in Constantinople long enough to know that.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly I am. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

  “There is something I wish you to undertake, yes. I must leave before the emperor changes his mind and sends a detachment of excubitors to escort me into an unmarked grave outside the city. Or possibly in this very garden, for stranger things have happened. Peter and I will be departing soon and therefore I am leaving the safety of this house and its occupants in your capable hands.”

  “I could come with you and help guard Peter, since he insists on accompanying you,” Darius offered. “He’s an old man and hasn’t been well. How will he survive exile and all its dangers?”