by Eric Mayer
The companion prodded the motionless body with a boot, eliciting nothing but a muttered curse. “You must excuse my friend. He doesn’t like to lose, and I’ve already won a paltry sum. Paltry but half his month’s pay.”
“Didn’t I see the two of you coming away from a senator’s house as I approached?
“That’s right. We work there. I’m Gainus. We were coming off duty. I remember you now. I said to my friend here, ‘There’s a military man if I ever saw one.’ A new recruit to the garrison?”
John shook his head.
The heavily intoxicated guard had fallen asleep, so John stepped over him and took his seat. “What can you tell me about your employer, the senator’s servant?”
“I’m not one to betray my employers, sir.”
John pushed a coin across the table. “You indicated she does not pay well.”
Gainus set his hand on the coin without hesitation. “She pays better than some in this benighted city. But not as well as you.”
“She claims she is in charge of the senator’s house.”
“That is so.” Gainus picked up the coin and turned it around, admiring it before stuffing it into the pouch at his belt.
“She is certainly an attractive employer.”
Gainus chuckled. “None of us would mind being permanently posted to her bedroom.”
“What kind of woman is she?”
“She thinks highly of herself, sir. She can squeeze into her mistress’ clothes but her morals are a little loose. She loves the knucklebones.” He made a throwing motion.
“Placing herself in the hands of Fortuna you mean?”
“And not only Fortuna’s hands.”
John picked up one of the glass bones, tossed it into the air, and caught it on the back of his hand. “This is how we played with them when we were children. An innocent game.”
“But we are not children any longer.”
John tossed up two bones and caught both of them. “Has Clementia been visited by a man called Felix?”
Gainus looked thoughtful. “I don’t know the names of all her visitors.”
“He’s a German, a big bear of a man with a bushy beard.”
“No one like that. You may be thinking of Hunulf. He became, let us say, a favorite of Clementia soon after she hired him as a guard. A young man. A large German fellow. He left weeks ago because he was dissatisfied with the pay. I’m not so sure he didn’t compensate himself with a few items of value when he left.”
John asked Gainus if he knew where Hunulf was currently working.
“Probably for someone who pays better. He came to Clementia after working for Basilio at Saint Minias church until the old fraud halved his wages. Before that he deserted from the army over lack of pay, and he wasn’t alone.”
John wondered if Gainus was referring to himself. “Why wasn’t he arrested?”
“If Diogenes arrested every deserter, he’d have to put half of the able-bodied men in Rome into custody and he’ll need them when Totila attacks, whether they’re officially part of the army or not. Diogenes is just happy the whole garrison hasn’t risen up to murder him as they did in the case of General Conon. If Hunulf comes to grief, it’ll be because he’s a Mithran.”
John expressed surprise. Evidently Gainus had had enough wine to loosen his tongue when talking to a stranger.
“Diogenes is determined to stamp out Mithraism in the ranks,” Gainus explained. “Most think he’s trying to curry favor with Archdeacon Leon. Romans and Goths have the weapons, but it’s the church that rules people’s minds.”
John said nothing. He couldn’t help thinking it was ironic that Diogenes had unknowingly sent Felix, a secret Mithran, to deal with the archdeacon. He gathered up three bones, tossed them upwards and caught all three.
“You have excellent reflexes for a man your age, sir. But let’s try a different game.”
The inebriated man near John’s feet twitched and groaned.
Gainus took out the coin John had paid him and set it on the table. “A small wager.”
John matched the coin with one of his own. He tossed the bones and they clattered as they bounced on the tabletop. Gainus stared at them in consternation. “You rolled a Venus! There’s no beating that. You’re a lucky man.”
John retrieved the two coins and left, hoping Gainus was right, for Felix’s sake.
The single oil lamp in the bedroom cast its feeble imitation of the fires of Hell across the fresco of Persephone in the underworld. It made for a confused picture of the afterlife, John thought. Did the dead either burn in eternal flame or rejoice forever in the light of their god as Christians believed, or did all alike wander through the gloom of Hades, as some pagans supposed?
He picked up the codex of Caesar’s Commentaries, which he assumed Felix had been reading, and leafed through it. He tried to read to distract himself for a while, but it only made him worry about Felix, who had likely dreamt of conquering Gaul himself. More than five centuries after the beginning of the empire, long after Rome had reached the zenith of its power, Gaul was free to be conquered again. Felix would have been pleased to be part of the effort, but Justinian was having enough trouble just taking Italy back.
So why was Felix missing? Was he really sleeping off the results of a drinking spree somewhere or had he taken some rash, foolish action in aid of the emperor’s cause? Had he decided to go ahead and do whatever it was he had summoned John to assist?
Not that it was very clear why he had asked for John’s help. Did Felix know John had arrived in Rome? If he did, why hadn’t he been in touch yet?
John realized that a general would make a valuable hostage.
He was tired. His thoughts were floating around, unmoored from reason. Suddenly he was aware the lamp had gone out.
Had it been blown out? Had he dozed?
He looked around the dark room. The darkness at the foot of the bed seemed denser. A figure stood there, motionless.
“Felix?”
There was no reply but John was certain he could make out his friend’s bushy beard and bulky form.
He lit the lamp with the striker.
As light flared, the figure vanished.
John decided he must have gone to sleep and when he woke his imagination had painted a shadow with his friend’s image.
Chiding himself for seeing things, he blew out the lamp and settled back to sleep again, still worrying about Felix.
Chapter Seven
The gold solidus in General Diogenes’ hand flashed in the sunlight. “Would you care to wager on the next race, Lord Chamberlain?”
John declined.
Diogenes looked disappointed. “Your friend Felix never passes up a wager, especially on the chariot races.”
A crowd of gods in marble and bronze filled the imperial box high above the race course at the Circus Maximus. Hundreds of years before, when the emperor attended the races, he was considered another of the Olympians, though flesh and blood. Now no additional god sat in the special place, only a general, a soldier, and a former Lord Chamberlain.
When Viteric arrived at John’s house that morning bearing a message from Diogenes, John had immediately hoped there might be news of Felix. Instead, he had been invited to the races in terms that sounded more like an order.
He had obeyed reluctantly. He had no time for chariot-racing with Felix still missing. The previous night’s vision of Felix—nothing but a dream he’d had while only half-awake—still clung to his awareness, a black fog making him uneasy for no discernible reason.
John sat with Diogenes at the front of the box, while Viteric stood discreetly behind. The stands could have accommodated thousands but there were only hundreds present, most of them soldiers, clustered in the lower tiers nearest the track. Thin cheers drifted up to the three onlookers. The distant rattle of the cha
riots and the crack of the charioteers’ whips echoed around the empty expanse. It was a far cry from the tumultuous races John had attended at the Hippodrome in Constantinople, despite that the Circus Maximus was half again as large as the Hippodrome.
“It’s good for morale,” Diogenes remarked. “My men enjoy it and some of them race in their spare time.”
Rome had been turned into a city of phantoms. The senate had been deported. The Goths outside the walls might attack at any moment. Yet the races went on. The Roman way of life was not yet dead.
“Do you attend the races with Felix?” John asked.
“No. But I run into him every time I go. He invariably suggests a wager.”
“And usually loses.”
“At least he enriches me, even if he does vex me.”
“It sounds as if you are not on friendly terms.”
“I wouldn’t say we are unfriendly. His mission here is ambiguous. Awkward for everybody. He hasn’t been very forthcoming. He did not arrive with orders putting him under my command. Julius Caesar once said he would rather be first in a village than second in Rome. These days, being first in Rome isn’t much different than being second in a village, but I’m not going to be second in Rome, either to Felix or to Leon.”
“You told me Felix was sent to deal with Archdeacon Leon, to stop him from agitating for peace negotiations with Totila.”
“Ostensibly, but what was he up to all the time between his talks with Leon? When I asked he said he was assessing the situation to report back to the emperor. When I pressed him about when he was due to report back he told me he was awaiting orders.”
Awaiting orders to take over command of the Rome garrison from Diogenes? That was what the general feared, John thought. “What about his aide, Marius? Did he reveal anything?”
“He never met or even spoke with anyone except for Felix, so far as I know. No one in the city knew a thing about him.” Diogenes leaned forward, hands on the parapet to watch two chariots come flying down the course toward the finish line. The racer wearing the color of the Blues won and Diogenes grimaced and looked over his shoulder. “You have won our wager, Viteric.”
Turning back to John, he said, “I’ll have to stop gambling until Felix returns.”
“How is the search going?”
Diogenes absently rubbed the side of the crooked nose in his noble face. “By this afternoon my men will have made inquiries at every tavern and whorehouse in the city. A few years ago that would never have been possible. Rome is much diminished. Even vice is dying out.”
“Is it possible Felix accomplished his mission and has left to return to Constantinople without notifying you?”
“If he has, we will soon find out.”
Yes, John thought, Diogenes would find out when the messenger he had doubtless sent to the emperor to inquire about John returned. If Justinian’s emissary to Rome had returned, everyone at court would know it.”Would Felix have any reason to keep out of sight?”
It was getting hot. The bulky general was sweating profusely. His face was flushed. “Are you suggesting Felix imagined he had reason to hide from me? That I threatened him?”
“I was thinking of those who collect debts by forceful means. Of gambling losses.”
Diogenes shrugged. “Who can say? Commerce of all types continues here as best it can.”
“Where do you think he is? In hiding with conspirators, planning to raise a mutiny against you?”
“You are the one he asked for help, Lord Chamberlain. You are more likely than I to know the answer to that.”
“As I told you, Felix did not specify what type of help he needed or why he needed it. Perhaps you don’t believe me?”
“I’ve seen the letter. It offers little basis to compel you to rush to Rome.”
“Felix is my friend. An old friend.”
Below, the starting gates sprang open and the next race began. Six chariots jostled to position themselves next to the spina in the middle of the track. An elderly man who had stationed himself alone, far up in the stands, could be heard bellowing his support for the Greens.
“I hear you have been out in the city alone, Lord Chamberlain. Rome is a dangerous place these days. Most of those who returned here were desperate, and remain so.”
“Have you visited Constantinople? It is a dangerous city too and far more populated than this one.”
“Nevertheless, I insist Viteric accompany you. I will provide more guards if you think it necessary.”
“I’ve always preferred to conduct my business alone. I don’t like to be surrounded by an escort. There is safety in anonymity.”
“That may be, but if you’re ambushed and killed by some ruffian, I shall have to answer for it.”
The chariots were on the opposite side of the track, mostly concealed from view by the monuments, statues, and obelisks decorating the spina. The sparse crowd was cheering but the cries of seabirds circling overhead were louder. John glanced back to see Viteric, now seated against the rear wall, apparently concentrating on the race but overhearing everything being said.
“It was Belisarius’ idea to bring back the races,” Diogenes went on. “Do you recall years ago how the Goths offered to make him king? I’ve had no such offer. Pity.” He smiled to show he was joking.
“Are you expecting an offer?”
“Certainly not! Totila is a brilliant general and the Goths are loyal to him. But short of replacing Totila, the Goths may be willing to make arrangements with Romans who are inclined to make them.”
John asked him if he had anyone specific in mind.
“Archdeacon Leon.”
“Leon told me Felix’s visit was an attempt to persuade him from continuing to press for a surrender.”
“Leon can be very persuasive. Tell me, is Felix a particularly religious man?”
John ignored the question. “So, in your opinion, is it possible Felix may be convinced he should act as a go-between for Leon and Totila, despite his orders from Justinian?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just searching for possibilities in a chaotic situation, Lord Chamberlain. Alliances can shift. I am sure a man who has held such a position as you realizes that. A general needs to concern himself not only with the battlefield but also with the changing political situation, and when an emissary of the emperor shows up out of nowhere, that changes matters. It is necessary to remain flexible.”
John had the impression the general was sounding him out, wondering if John might be inclined to shift his loyalty away from the emperor or Felix and give it him. Why had he asked whether Felix was religious? Simply gauging what effect a Christian leader’s argument might have on him? Or did he know or suspect Felix’s pagan beliefs?
Archdeacon Leon had not mentioned Mithrans, but Gainus, when John interviewed him outside the tavern, had.
“I was told there are secret Mithrans in the ranks. Is that true?”
“Archdeacon Leon thinks it is. If I could actually identify any, they’d soon be eliminated.”
“Do you suspect there are Mithrans?”
“Yes.”
“And they might be sympathetic to the Goths?”
“The Goths are heretics also.”
“But Christian ones.”
As the sun warmed the walls and the marble and bronze gods decorating the imperial box, the air grew stifling. The sound of hoofbeats drifted up from the tiny chariots which blurred and melted, visions in a dream, as they raced through waves of heat rising from the track. John had the impression he was looking down into Rome’s glorious past from a great height.
“Mithraism is a military religion,” John replied. “There will always be fighting men who are Mithrans.”
“Not in a Christian empire.”
“Had you considered rooting out Mithrans might lead to problems with morale?�
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Diogenes gave a nervous wave of his hand. “I’m more concerned what Archdeacon Leon will think if I don’t clear them out. The church runs Rome and has for many years. It’s the church the populace respects.”
John thought there wasn’t much left of Rome to run and not many inhabitants aside from the garrison. Apparently, Gainus had been telling the truth about Diogenes’ animosity—at least officially—toward Mithrans.
The two leading chariots approached the turn at the end of the spina, marked by a platform supporting three gilded, conical pillars. The Green team’s driver veered to the inside. The Blue’s driver attempted to cut him off. Even up in the imperial box John heard the screech of a wheel hitting the platform. Then the Green’s chariot turned over. The panicked horses dragged it away, spilling the driver onto the track as the trailing chariots bore down on him.
Instantly, a figure emerged from what John had supposed was a small columned temple on the spina. The man leapt onto the track, scuttled to the disabled charioteer, and dragged him away as the remaining chariots thundered past.
Something about the rescuer struck John as peculiar. His movements suggested those of a large spider, because of his bulbous body and skinny limbs. He didn’t resemble the sort of man to be leaping from temples and pulling charioteers to safety.
John strained to see. It looked as if the man was wearing a charioteer’s leather helmet.
It was the same man who had shown John the way home.
The population of Rome was, indeed, small.
Chapter Eight
When the races ended John announced he was returning home to rest, claiming he was still feeling the effects of the long journey to Rome. Despite his protests, Viteric insisted on accompanying him so John was forced to waste more time walking all the way back to the house and pretending to retire to his room before resuming his investigations.
In case Viteric was watching the house, John left by the back door and returned to the Circus Maximus. The Church of Saint Minias faced the Forum of the Bull near the western end of the racetrack. An unattractive pile of bricks, the church cast its shadow over the graceful circular peristyle of the now-closed Temple of Hercules. John wished to speak to the self-styled Holy Father, Basilio, who had greeted him upon his entry into Rome and promptly turned him over to the authorities. Before he entered the church, he paused to admire the bronze bull displayed in the forum. Although the statue had probably been erected in past centuries to mark the place as a cattle market, the bull was sacred to John’s god Mithra. He murmured a brief prayer for fellow Mithran Felix. In a Christian empire, pagans took their objects of veneration where they could find them.
