by Mary Reed
Anastasia patted her friend’s knee again. “Yes. It’s a terrible injustice. Word of Theodora’s death will have reached him by now and he’ll know what that portends. It won’t be a shock if he were replaced.”
“We’ll see. He may receive some encouragement after all.”
“Never mind. Italy must become tedious. All that fighting, nothing but ruins. You’d be able to spend more time together in the capital.”
Antonina’s grim expression conveyed her opinion of the possibility.
Anastasia clucked at her. “Is it possible you do not want to spend more time with your husband? Perhaps there’s something other than fallen ruins in Italy? Something younger and better-looking, whose column remains standing? You may have brought a souvenir of Italy back with you?”
“You are referring to Belisarius’ aide?”
“Karpos, isn’t it? A handsome young man.”
“Sent to assist me in my negotiations. He is better versed in my husband’s military affairs than I am.”
“I am sure he has been of great assistance.”
Antonina smiled cooly. “At least he is young and handsome. Unlike some men of your acquaintance.”
Anastasia felt her face redden. “Oh, Felix…well…”
Antonina’s eyes glittered as coldly as stars in a winter sky. “You know Felix has aligned himself with Germanus?”
“He’s mentioned hopes of fighting in Italy. He thinks Germanus might give him a command there.”
“But has it not occurred to you that your grizzled lover could be working against my husband? He knows Belisarius won’t favor him because of that little misunderstanding years and years ago.”
“When you seduced Felix in the Hall of Nineteen Couches, you mean?”
“Men can be so unforgiving about mere trifles and life is so short. I do so enjoy talking with you, my dear. You should visit more often. You could keep me informed about Felix. Tell me if anything is said that Belisarius and I should know about.”
“I came to make just such an offer, but then we got to gossiping.”
“I should have guessed! Why, I almost suspected that you might have come here to see what you could learn from me for Felix’s benefit.”
The gaze from the vivid eyes was as steady as the gaze from Theodora’s painted orbs. Anastasia felt her heart beating too fast. Could Antonina read her thoughts? She made herself laugh. “What an idea! Don’t worry, I will report to you every day, if you wish. Not that Felix and I discuss military matters often, or very much of anything else.”
“A love match, is it? With a man so much older than you?”
“Ten years older if that. Just because you prefer boys—”
“When the two of you are together, he might be mistaken for your father. If he needs assistance I have potions.”
Anastasia sat up, away from the pillows. “Felix doesn’t need a potion to please me, but he might be glad to have a talisman against the supernatural.”
“He is troubled by the supernatural? How very interesting.”
Anastasia explained what she knew about the theft from the church and how Justinian had ordered Felix to investigate.
“Oh, by supernatural you mean those demons. I’ve heard about them already.”
“You have?”
“The story was all over the city by dawn, like a fog from the sea. And growing every hour. Mark my words, before nightfall the gossips will have it Satan himself emerged from a trap door to Hell and ripped the relic from the priest’s very hands! I didn’t know about Felix’s involvement. The demon Felix has most to fear may be the emperor himself. What a shame his eunuch friend cannot assist him.”
“You almost sound as if you wish Felix harm, Antonina.”
“Certainly not. It’s Germanus who concerns me, not his would-be subordinates.” She stopped abruptly and laid her hand on Anastasia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear. I know how it is between a man and woman. We can’t help our feelings. But you can do better for a lover. You have in the past, and I’m certain you will do so again in the future.”
Anastasia bit back numerous retorts that came to mind, including the lurid matter of Antonina and her adopted son. There was no point in arguing when her friend was trying to be kind. “This business at the church worries me,” she finally said. “I always scoffed when Felix told me tales of strange beings lurking in the forests of Germania, but now I am not so certain.”
“It’s superstitious nonsense, Anastasia, but since you feel that way it’s just as well you weren’t here last night.”
“Oh?”
“My women servants were hysterical this morning because one of them saw something she described as ever so small and strange lurking near the back of the house. Ever so small and strange, she said. Well, what kind of a description is that? It might have been a three-legged cat. Once it realized it had been seen it scuttled off.”
“Could it have been one of those fiends?”
Antonina’s gave a sour laugh. “Certainly not. Having frightened the servants today, the stupid girl finally admitted it resembled a man. She’d initially dismissed it as a beggar hoping for scraps but as soon as she got out of bed this morning and heard about demons being seen in the church, naturally her beggar grew horns. Now the household’s in an uproar. My cook burnt my breakfast looking over her shoulder rather than at the brazier. I see I shall have to be severe with them.”
Antonina’s smile suggested that the task did not displease her.
***
Although a fierce sun was heating the path when Anastasia left Antonina’s house, she crossed the street to avoid walking in the shadow of the Hippodrome. Did she catch a glimpse of a small unnatural figure as it dodged back into the dimness of a shadowed entrance way? Was it the demon her friend’s servant had seen?
Don’t be silly, she told herself. Imagining things out of nightmares in broad daylight! What was wrong with her?
But wasn’t it true that the world teemed with demons? Hadn’t Jesus cast out unclean spirits? If there had been that many roaming the sparsely populated wastes of the Holy Land how many more must infest overcrowded Constantinople?
She touched the cross that hung from a gold chain around her neck.
Yes, the Lord would protect her. But what about Felix, who clung to his pagan god Mithra?
Anastasia had pleaded with him to abandon his god. There was no future for pagans at Justinian’s Christian court. And now it was even more important that he accept Christ, if only to avoid being carried off to Hell by whatever had carried off the shroud.
She was still musing about what strategies she might employ to convince Felix to change his beliefs when she entered the square of the Augustaion. She looked toward the Great Church, seeking inspiration, but the sun reflected off the dome was so blinding that she had to avert her gaze. The after-image lingered in her vision. Waves of heat rose from the square, distorting figures hurrying across it. The whole city seemed to be melting in the bright light.
Even the cross lying against her breast felt hot to her fingertips now. She prayed that Felix had encountered no difficulties.
What protection could he expect from his illusory Mithra?
Chapter Seven
Felix sat on a bench under the peristyle of his house, idly fingering the cross pendant Anastasia had given him and staring at the statue of Aphrodite set in a bed of rosebushes.
The last owner must have had strange humors or else been a philosopher. Love surrounded by thorns! What a sight for a military man to see every day. He should have the goddess replaced by a statue of Mars.
He squinted into the bright sky. Military man? What sort of military man was he, stationed at the palace? A servile bodyguard of perfumed courtiers. If only he were able to join the glorious fighting in Italy. But how could he? He had to obtain an appointment. It was
the only way.
Germanus was the key. As soon as Justinian recovered from his grief he’d replace that fool Belisarius, and Germanus was a man who remembered who’d aided him when he was out of favor.
He turned at the sound of soft footsteps. His nascent smile of welcome died as he recognized his servant Nikomachos. He stuffed the cross back under his clothes. His shaggy beard concealed even the gold chain around his neck.
“At what hour do you wish the evening meal?” Nikomachos’ tone was, as usual, peevish, if not quite to the degree of justifying a reprimand.
“The time of my guest’s arrival being uncertain, lay out a few dishes that can be eaten cold. And wine. Not the everyday wine. Something fit for a banquet.”
Felix remembered John and his disgusting Egyptian wine. Now Felix had inherited a large store of the stuff. Perhaps he would donate it to a church, if they would take it. That would make Anastasia happy.
How far had John traveled on his way to Greece by now? Would they meet again or not?
“Cheeses? Fruit?” Nikomachos was asking.
Felix nodded absentmindedly. His servant bowed, almost imperceptibly, and went indoors.
Would Nikomachos have been surprised if he knew how his master envied him? He had lost an arm on a battlefield near Rome. Felix would gladly give an arm, or his life, to go into battle again. He had employed Nikomachos chiefly because of the man’s service to the empire. He often regretted it, being reminded every day by the sight of him of his own soft and unseemly post.
Felix got up with a grunt. He felt stiff and fat and lethargic, prematurely old. He walked slowly around the sunlit space. Flowers and bushes lay utterly still under a heavy blanket of heat. The only movement was when a bee lit on or took flight from a blossom. A gentle hum filled the hot air. The fragrance of roses overpowered other floral smells.
Anastasia liked having fresh flowers in the house. He picked a rose, which dug a thorn into his thumb. With a curse he tossed it into a bush and sucked the bleeding thumb.
Was it an omen?
How much longer would Anastasia be?
Staring in the direction of Aphrodite he found himself comparing the marble goddess to Anastasia. His lover was more mature, her figure more voluptuous. The sculptor had not had very good taste in women. A smile puckered Felix’s lips. Anastasia was a lively partner, well skilled in the ways of Aphrodite. If only she would stop trying to persuade him to convert to Christianity! He was a besotted fool to have revealed his faith, but in bed after passion such confidences were exchanged and he felt unable to refuse her questions. At least he had not revealed too much about Mithraism. He was careful to wear the little cross she had given him whenever she visited. Women liked that sort of thing.
Yet he was leaning toward converting. Only ostensibly, he told himself. It made sense. It was a Christian court and if to appear to be Christian meant a better chance of advancement, would it not be wise to at least pretend to follow their gentle god? Certainly a soldierly god like Mithra understood the necessity of suiting one’s tactics to the situation.
But he couldn’t ponder that right now. The stolen relic presented an urgent problem. Had he been unwise in arranging for the onward passage of packages without inquiring about their contents? He had given the matter some thought after visiting the church and the uncooperative Jingler and decided his best move would be to hand the next package—the one he assumed would contain the stolen relic—over to the authorities. The action would surely bring a large reward of some kind.
He could even make up some story about having tracked down the relic. He’d deceived the smugglers into delivering it to him. Anastasia would be able to think up a convincing tale.
In any event it was better to run the risk of retaliation from the smugglers—whoever they were—than the anger of Justinian, whose spies were everywhere.
He paused in his perambulations.
Was it possible there was a spy in his household?
Felix knew nothing about the religious beliefs of his servants but they were almost certainly Christians. He kept nothing of Mithra in his house. However, he did not always check his tongue in private, so they might well know he was a pagan. If the servants guessed he was profiting from the illegal sale of objects they venerated, and especially such an important object as the Virgin’s shroud, they might well decide to cause him trouble—extorting money to remain silent, for example.
Or betraying him to the authorities.
He scratched his sweaty neck nervously. He muttered a curse. What was the matter with him? He was starting to think like the Jingler.
Nevertheless, might a Christian baptism serve as a charm against exposure? The Lord was supposed to protect even the lowliest of His followers, although Felix had never seen evidence of it.
The baptism would need to be performed privately.
But he was a soldier of Mithra, like John and other friends. How could he abandon his faith? Abandon both his god and his friends?
He could imagine John’s stinging rebuke. The Lord Chamberlain—the former Lord Chamberlain—was a man he greatly admired for his stoic acceptance of the terrible fate he had met at the hands of Persians. Surgery that had made him a eunuch.
Even as the excubitor captain continued pacing impatiently around his garden, his thoughts turned from an angry John to a friend in danger sailing further away from Constantinople at every passing hour. Going into exile and yet, in Felix’s opinion, no safer than he had been when living on the palace grounds for years.
Justinian had a long memory. Imperial assassins, like imperial spies, were well-paid and numerous.
Imperial assassins had a way of catching the disfavored unawares.
The thought brought Felix back to his own dilemma.
He wished Anastasia would arrive.
Chapter Eight
Felix went inside and paced from room to room. He eyed the wine jug sitting on the table beside the bed. No. It would be better to do something constructive than start drinking. He and Anastasia had been doing a lot of drinking. He must keep a clear head.
Instead, he could have a word with General Germanus. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Germanus of his loyalty. If there was going to be trouble, Germanus might be his strongest ally.
The general’s doorkeeper informed Felix that Germanus had gone to an important poetry reading at the Baths of Zeuxippos. “Of course, you wouldn’t have known about such a cultural event,” the doorkeeper sniffed.
Luckily, from Felix’s point of view, the reading had just ended when he arrived. The audience was leaving the semi-circular exedra off the main atrium of the bath complex, excitedly debating the merits of competing court poets as if the versifiers were charioteers and money was riding on the winner of a forthcoming literary debate.
A group of big, imposing men, all with an obvious military mien, lingered between the curved rows of seats and the speaker’s platform.
Felix spotted Germanus among them.
In his early forties, the general was, like Justinian, a nephew of the late Emperor Justin. However, like Justin and unlike Justinian, he had retained the rugged look of the family’s peasant origins, with a granite block of a face and powerful, sloping shoulders. He kept his dark hair and beard trimmed to a stubble.
This was a man who looked and acted like an emperor. Not a man who took orders from a woman, as Justinian had. And what would Justinian do now that Theodora was gone? Had it not been for her admonitions he would have fled the city like a frightened girl during the Nika riots years ago. And considering that Justinian’s chief general Belisarius was likewise ruled by his wife Antonina…well, Felix feared for the fate of the empire. Whereas if Germanus replaced Belisarius he would soon restore things to their proper order.
As Felix approached he saw Germanus speaking to a swarthy, clean-shaven young man. “Excellent work, Florus. Your arrows g
o straight to their targets. I look forward to the next reading.” He clapped the man on the shoulder so hard Felix was surprised the slight fellow remained standing.
The poet bowed and left the exedra, a large scroll thrust before him, a spear of words.
Felix caught Germanus’ eye. “Captain Felix, you’re late. Florus was reading from his New Illiad, the part where Belisarius retreats to his ship off the coast of Italy and sulks. I admit I offered a few suggestions. He says I inspire him.”
“You inspire many of us,” Felix said, wondering how much of Germanus’ gold had watered the inspiration. Surely Germanus’ Uncle Justin, whom Felix had served as a bodyguard, would not have bragged about inspiring poets. The old soldier-turned-emperor couldn’t even read.
Felix read only history, such as Cassiodorus’ History of the Goths, ever hopeful that he would one day be sent to Italy to help vanquish those bold warriors. And of course lately he had read a few biblical verses at Anastasia’s behest.
Felix’s expression must have betrayed his lack of enthusiasm.
“Florus is a real man’s poet,” Germanus added. “Cold steel and hot blood, none of these pitiful perfumed worms squealing like suckling pigs while they squirm under a woman’s dainty thumb.”
One of the general’s looming entourage went so far as to clap Germanus on the back and laugh heartily. “You should write that down, sir. You’re a better poet than Florus!”
Felix attempted a polite chuckle.
“Why are you here, Felix? Do you have information for me?” The general’s tone was chillier than Felix would have liked.
“The Lord Chamberlain has departed for Greece. I saw him leaving this morning.”
“Everyone in the city knows he’s been sent into exile.”
“True, but he has actually left now. Meaning Narses will now have Justinian’s ear. There will be no one to challenge him.”
