by Eric Mayer
“No. He’d never do that. But some friends are more trouble than they’re worth. From what Peter tells me, the master was always saving Felix from himself. He carried him home from the tavern when he was too inebriated to stand, consoled him over doomed love affairs he had no business getting into in the first place, helped pay off his gambling debts. He even extricated him from a plot he got involved in against Justinian. And what did Felix do for the master in return? Peter says he did his best to get him to drink too much.”
“Peter told you all that?”
“Isn’t it true?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then why should the master race off to his aid again, under such dangerous circumstances? Why does he value this friendship so highly?”
“Maybe because Felix has always treated John as a friend, not as a political rival or the Lord Chamberlain, not as…”
Not as only half a man, she had been about to say, but it was not something one ever said aloud. Eunuchs were common at the imperial court but most considered them as a kind of race apart.
“Well, it isn’t for me to criticize, mistress. But I am sorry you have been left in such a difficult situation. Did he arrange to let you know when he reached Rome?”
“How could he, under the circumstances? He may have had to turn back, as far as I know. He could be sitting at the kitchen table at the villa when I return.” Tears came to her eyes as darker possibilities forced their way into her thoughts.
“I’ll keep my ears open in the marketplace. If I hear any news—ships due to arrive from Rome, for instance—I’ll let you know immediately.”
“The marketplace knows practically everything, and often before it happens. I—oh!” Cornelia gave a start as a nearby bush rustled.
“A weasel! The locals say it’s a very bad omen!” Hypatia gasped.
Chapter Four
Archdeacon Leon sat at a table in the library of the Lateran Palace, the papal residence. His sharp-beaked nose almost touched the parchment of the codex lying in front of him. He was alone, except for the souls of all those clerics who had used the library in the past. Here, where they had meditated so deeply and reached out to God so fervently, their thoughts and prayers seemed to linger, suspended in the musty air, invisible until some Biblical verse, some flash of insight, illuminated and revealed their presence like the dust motes tumbling in the sunbeams slanting through the windows.
“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Leon read in a voice as quiet as a turning page. Did his failing eyes discern the letters on the page or did he only see them in his memory?
The past was so palpable that when he lifted his watery gaze, he was almost startled to find the room empty, its shelves and wall niches and cabinets all but bare of the leatherbound codexes and ancient scrolls that had once been the pride of so many popes, until the invaders came, looting and burning again and again.
Leon had hoped to die in the Holy Land but here he was, ending his days in a city once again surrounded by barbarians. What more was there for them to destroy?
He looked around. What had disturbed his reading?
There. A light tapping at the half-open door. His hearing was leaving him too.
“What is it, Matthew?”
His private secretary advanced, sending dust motes fleeing. “Father, a man wishes to speak to you but will only say it’s a delicate matter.”
“Has he no name?”
“He refuses to give it, but I believe I know who he is. He looks very like an official I saw in a procession when I was in the delegation to Constantinople for the funeral of the empress. I was told then he was Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain. Not long afterwards he fell from favor and was sent into exile.”
“Since he’s here, he may have been reinstated. Be careful what you say to him, Matthew. It’s always wise to be cautious when talking to officials close to the emperor. Send him in.”
The elderly archdeacon’s senses were fading but his mind was as sharp as ever, even if more prone to reveries than it once had been.
Matthew ushered John into the room. After the usual exchange of greetings, Leon asked whether John had any objection if his secretary remained to take notes. “It helps my recollection, if needed.”
“None. I am in Rome in connection with Justinian’s emissary General Felix.”
Leon saw an unusually tall, slender man. His bearing identified him as a person to be respected but his narrow face was as sun-browned as a farmer’s. “I shall endeavor to assist you. Meantime, if you will take a seat? My apologies it is merely a bench, but most of the furniture has been carried away, if not burned along with everything in our library.”
“I noticed the scorched wall and a fresco depicting a man reading,” John replied.
“It’s said to represent Augustine.” Leon sighed. “So much trouble, so many tragedies, for so long. We are lucky to have walls and a roof. Men at war loot. Each time it is the same. They strip the city of everything that glorifies either God or the emperor, from statues and sacred vessels to the humblest artifacts and the clothes from the backs of the poorest. A century ago, before the Goths were laying sieges, when the Vandals rampaged through the city, their leader even ordered the imperial copper cooking pots transported to his capital.”
“Yet each new conqueror finds goods to be looted.”
“The faithful have replaced our treasures more than once, only to have them stolen in turn when the city was overrun again. The church took to concealing its sacred possessions, although some have still not been found. It grieves me to say it is entirely possible some of the flock who assisted in their concealment returned to excavate them later. At present many such church possessions are buried until the current trials are past, although we may have to dig them up to sell in order to purchase food if the siege lasts long enough to cause those who remain in the city to starve.”
John observed that during a siege food would be more valuable than gold and silver.
Matthew coughed and Leon felt the light touch of his secretary’s hand on his sleeve. He blinked as if coming awake. “Forgive the ramblings of an old man, sir. You said you were here in connection with Justinian’s emissary?”
“Yes. General Felix told General Diogenes he intended to visit you.”
“He did visit. Matthew can show you his notes, but I can give you an outline of our meeting. We spoke at length and he told me Justinian had chosen him to dissuade me from attempting to arrange a surrender to the Goths. I had put this suggestion to Diogenes, who agreed to send a message to his superior Belisarius, currently in Constantinople. Naturally, as a fighting man, Diogenes made it plain that unless ordered to do so by a higher authority, he would not agree to my suggestion. I had the distinct impression Felix would not have accepted it either. Also that he did not care for performing diplomatic work, not having the smooth tongue of professional liars.”
“He can be blunt,” John admitted.
“I sense you also disapprove,” Leon replied. “However, I say to you what I said to him and to Diogenes. I will continue to press for surrender to preserve what remains of the city and save many from death by slow starvation or outbreaks of disease, in which case a quick death on Goth blades, should that happen once the gates are opened, would be preferable. On the other hand, it may be the Goths would allow residents to leave the city in safety.”
“I was told the city could hold out for months without fear of starvation, that the storehouses are full and the fields are planted in wheat.”
“Did Diogenes tell you that? The general has been hoarding food for the garrison. The population is already half-starved because of it.”
John wondered if that was so. “So you were not swayed by Felix’s entreaties?” he said. “How did he react?”
“He was displeased and agitated. Clearly he would much rather have faced me in a sword fight than wage a war of words.�
��
“That certainly would agree with his humors. Did you discuss anything else?”
“No. I think we were both more than happy to get away from each other.”
“Did he indicate where he intended to go next? Was he to report back to Diogenes immediately?”
Leon shook his head. “He said nothing on that subject.” He felt that the tall man to whom he was speaking was poking, prodding, measuring him with his keen gaze.
John thanked Leon and took his leave.
“He will be back,” Leon told Matthew.
When his secretary left the library, Leon tried to resume reading but he could no longer concentrate. The comforting spirits of the past had fled, leaving him by himself in the present in a city on the precipice of disaster.
Fate was against John. He had been thinking about his interview with Leon, wondering whether the archdeacon was as yet aware that Felix had been missing for two days, when he realized suddenly that he was lost. He should have had no difficulty navigating back to the house in which he was staying. Descending the Caelian Hill with its many churches, all deserted now in the depopulated city, he kept the Palantine Hill in sight, knowing it was south of his destination. Unfortunately, the streets curved and branched, and here and there were blocked by craggy barriers of rubble or charred piles where burning buildings had caved in. It was impossible to maintain a straight route.
He was sorry he had taken advantage of the clothing at the house to discard his pig farmer disguise and make himself presentable to the archdeacon. Dressed in costly garments he must appear an inviting target for the rough characters lounging around, eyeing him speculatively. He wondered momentarily if the clothes belonged to Conon. They didn’t fit too badly and Felix was shorter and much broader than John.
He had not been attacked yet. Even when he wandered the streets and alleys of Constantinople he had rarely encountered any trouble. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, that seemed to discourage predators.
He found himself in the same long, rectangular area he had passed through already. He had mistaken it for the Roman Forum. He realized now that it was another because he could not see the Temple of Rome near to Conon’s house. Admittedly, a vast basilica occupied one end of the forum; its gilded roof blazed beneath the sun. He glanced at it and a dark image of the sun drifted across his eyes until he blinked it away.
John had not passed anyone who looked trustworthy enough to ask for directions. This forum, cobbled with blocks of white marble, was populated only by statues of once-famous poets, generals, and statesmen. What would they have to discuss were they alive?
He was pondering which direction to try next when a man appeared from behind a marble philosopher.
“I beg your pardon, sir. May I be of assistance?”
The speaker was a middle-aged man with a stout body perched on a pair of incongruously skinny legs. He wore a charioteer’s leather helmet which had the appearance of having been trampled on by several teams of horses.
John judged him harmless. “Could you could tell me where I am?”
“This is the Forum of Trajan. You must be new to the city?”
John nodded.
“Seeing the sights while they still remain to be seen?”
“What I most wish to see is the house where General Felix lives. It is near the Temple of Rome.”
“Oh, I know that area very well. Let me show you the way.”
John thanked Mithra that Fortuna had relented. “Thank you. I was beginning to feel a kinship to Odysseus with all my wandering around.”
“A well-traveled friend of yours, is he? Well, sir, you just follow me.”
The man scurried off, his legs scissoring back and forth energetically beneath the rotund body.
“This is the way to Sandalarius. The house you want is nearby,” John’s guide said, as they passed through a colonnade at the northeastern end of the forum. “You are a friend of General Felix, sir?”
“I am.” John was curt. He did not intend to answer any further questions about his business or the reasons for his own presence in Rome. However, nothing further was said.
Instead his garrulous guide embarked upon a story about Trajan. “Remember this, sir, as you walk about our ravaged and lawless city. There was a time when Trajan, setting off to battle, stopped to grant an audience to a poor widow who prayed to him for justice on those who had murdered her son and was granted it. If only any of our leaders would pause what they are doing today to hear a prayer for justice.”
Chapter Five
Delivered back to his house by the obliging stranger, John couldn’t help wondering how he was going to find Felix in a strange city where he couldn’t even find his own way home.
Viteric came out to meet him. “My apologies that I did not accompany you, sir. I was summoned to a meeting with my superior and when I arrived you had already left.”
John brushed past him in silence. Viteric had almost certainly been reporting the little information on John he had to offer. So far. He managed to remember where the dining room was located. It looked out onto a central garden that had been dug up to grow crops during a previous siege. A few formerly cultivated flowering shrubs had re-established themselves amidst weeds growing around animal pens at one end. The pens were empty. Felix hadn’t been looking ahead. John would have liked to have had a couple of the pigs he and Marius had transported.
Almost before he and Viteric were seated, Eutuchyus appeared with wine, arriving so silently one might have thought the steward barefoot.
“You visited Archdeacon Leon?” Viteric asked.
“How would you know?”
“You were seen.”
John wondered if it was Viteric who had seen while spying on him but kept the thought to himself. “What do you know about Felix, Viteric?”
“Nothing, sir. I only saw him occasionally when my superior wished to speak to him. Marius would have been the best person to consult. He was Felix’s aide.”
John sipped his wine. There must have been oceans of wine abandoned by aristocrats fleeing the city, ripe for the looting. “I questioned Marius extensively on the way to Rome. He knew nothing useful.”
“Or didn’t want to tell you?” Viteric suggested.
“That is possible,” John admitted. When it came down to it, what did he know about Marius? He had not been in a position to seek information on the man. Diogenes had confirmed that he had arrived in Rome from Constantinople as Felix’s aide. He wasn’t an imposter, at any rate.
“There was gossip in the barracks that Felix wanted to rush through the gates and attempt to drive the Goths away. Diogenes believed venturing forth would be suicidal.”
That haste to engage the enemy sounded like Felix, John thought. Too often impetuous. “Did the two men work well together?”
Viteric’s lips tightened. “That is not for me to say, sir.”
“No, it isn’t.” John rose and ordered Viteric to return to the barracks.
“But sir—”
“I shall send for you if I need you.”
Viteric departed with ill-concealed reluctance. It struck John his main problem with his aide was not going to be summoning Viteric but avoiding him—he who was Diogenes’ eyes and ears.
John wanted to search the house without Viteric peering over his shoulder. It was an unusual house, a sprawling villa that must have once belonged to a wealthy family who over the years had constructed additions haphazardly.
John explored, trying to sense some sign of the Felix he knew. What would that be? He had rarely visited Felix’s mansion in Constantinople. Usually it had been to help the excubitor captain safely back through the dark streets when he had downed too much wine. Had Felix left traces on his living space? It was not likely. He was a military man, a creature of barracks and encampments. He had no use for the niceties
of domestic life.
What might he have brought with him from Constantinople? One couldn’t transport many belongings and everything that he wanted—which is to say a military command—was waiting for him in Rome.
There would be no religious displays because, like John, Felix was a Mithran, an adherent to a proscribed pagan religion who necessarily must keep his beliefs secret.
More often than not, John had been with Felix in the streets and taverns of the capital as they undertook some investigation on behalf of the emperor. Although they had never fought side-by-side on the battlefield, they had faced death together more than once. They had come to trust each other with their lives. There were few bonds stronger. So far, that trust had never proved futile and John was determined not to be the one to fail in his obligations.
Before long John turned his search to the room Felix had appropriated for his bedchamber. It was decorated by a colorful fresco showing the kidnapping and return of Persephone. Had his old friend suddenly developed an interest in Greek mythology? More likely he had admired the depictions of the semi-clad Persephone. Her legend hinged on her sudden disappearance The irony was not lost on John.
There was clothing in chests, and placed underneath some tunics, perhaps for safekeeping, a codex. Puzzled, John picked it up. Felix read little, although he had once taken to perusing Cassiodorus’ Gothic History, enthralled by visions of a time and place where a warrior might still aspire to power without the need to cope with an emperor. This text was history as well. Book One of Julius Caesar’s Commentaries on the Gallic War. The leather cover was worn slick. John opened the codex and saw written: “May he who steals this volume from Diogenes be cast out from the light of God and wander in darkness forever.”
John hoped Felix had borrowed the volume.
