Nine for the Devil (13 page)
John waited to die in Justinian’s mausoleum.
But the sudden pressure he felt against the middle of his back was not sharp steel but flesh. One of his guards gave him a shove.
John took three stumbling steps forward before he saw the emperor kneeling by Theodora’s sarcophagus.
How horrified the empress would be if she could see the emperor kneeling in the presence of one of his subjects.
Justinian got to his feet. At those times John had seen him since Theodora’s death his demeanor had been so stolid John had wondered if he really was a demon exhibiting a false face to the world as many believed. Now, however, very human tears glistened on his gaunt cheeks. Justinian’s face had grown so thin it resembled the skulls of Timothy, Luke, and Andrew, three of the most sacred treasures held in the Church of the Holy Apostles. The impression had scarcely formed in John’s thoughts when Justinian smiled wanly in his direction.
“I shall be laid to rest next to the empress in due course,” the emperor remarked in an even tone. “But I feel as if I were already entombed. I feel like Emperor Zeno. The story goes that he was locked in his tomb while still alive and called from his darkness for three days before his voice fell silent forever.”
Justinian patted Theodora’s sarcophagus fondly, as one might caress the head of a child.
John fought to reorient himself. Mention of the former emperor inevitably reminded John of Cornelia and his daughter Europa at the estate of Anatolius’ uncle Zeno.
“It is a beautiful creation, excellency,” he replied automatically. The color was strangely appropriate. For Theodora was enclosed not in the purple of imperial majesty but by reddish-brown, as if the stone had taken on the hue of her murderous nature.
“Sardian stone,” Justinian said. “I commissioned it three years ago, never expecting…she was only forty-five at the time and…” He stopped and for an instant John thought the emperor’s voice would break and he would begin to sob. If he had been about to do so, he controlled himself. Instead he traced a finger along the top of one of the the fluted columns carved on each corner of the sarcophagus. John saw the finger trembled.
John, himself, was trembling, the effects of his stressful journey. He hoped it didn’t show.
“Look here, Lord Chamberlain,” Justinian said. “See how the doves circle the heads of lambs, indicating her nature. And there at the end, and on the lid, the olive wreathes enclosing crosses.”
John said nothing. He found it impossible to imagine that even the man who had been married to her could have believed Theodora’s nature to be reminiscent of doves and lambs and olive wreaths.
Perhaps least of all the man who had been married to her.
And the emperor knew how Theodora had hated John. Did he expect to convince John now of his wife’s saintliness? Or did he have something else in mind?
“I did everything in my power to help her,” Justinian went on. “But what did it come to in the end? It is commonly said I have the power of life and death over every person in the empire, but in truth I have only the power of death. It’s not a great matter, since death is certain anyway. And what can I do now, to serve the empress in death? I promised to allow those heretics she sheltered in the Hormisdas Palace to remain there. I will do so, but would it not be better if there were no heretics?”
His gaze fastened on John. Did Justinian know his Lord Chamberlain was a Mithran, a heretic? Did he care?
“You have always done your best to mediate between the opposing factions, excellency,” John said.
Justinian looked at the sarcophagus. “Yes. Without success. It is even more urgent now that this wretched matter of the Three Chapters be resolved. What do you think of the Three Chapters, John?”
The Three Chapters was the name by which the current religious controversy had come to be called, due to the fact it revolved around three writings by long dead churchmen which some deemed to be heretical. John couldn’t believe Justinian had had him abducted from his home and driven to this mausoleum in the middle of the night to discuss religion. “I lack your expertise in theology, excellency,” John replied.
“It is a knotty problem,” Justinian acknowledged. “Countless tomes written debating the nature of Christ. Over years of study I have come to the conclusion that it is all exceedingly simple. Nestorianism, you see, is the opposite of Monophysitism. Nestorius claimed that Christ had two natures, human and divine, both distinct, while the monophysites believe that Christ had only a single nature, his human nature being absorbed into his divinity.”
John felt dazed. During the long carriage ride he had steeled himself for death, but instead he found himself listening to an arcane lecture. He struggled to recall what he knew of church councils. “Did not the Council of Chalcedon condemn both as heretical?”
“Yes. The fathers ruled that Christ has two indivisible natures in one person. He was both fully human and fully divine. Having given the matter much thought, and as God’s representative on earth, I came to the conclusion that two indivisible natures are not necessarily different from a single nature in which a second nature has been subsumed.”
“A matter of words.”
“Nothing more. When I summoned Pope Vigilius to Constantinople I discovered he had never read the passages he was defending, for he does not read Greek. He knew only what he had been told. After I had them translated for him, he saw they were heresy and agreed with me that they should be condemned. If more churchmen spoke both Greek and Latin, as you do, Lord Chamberlain, perhaps this misunderstanding would never have arisen.”
It was true that John spoke several languages. It was a useful skill. Justinian and those closest to him were Latin speakers, while the rest of Constantinople spoke Greek or the various languages from the far flung parts of the empire from which they had come. Over the years John had become so used to alternating between languages according to whom he was speaking that he hardly noticed changing back and forth.
“I recall that Vigilius issued his pronouncement condemning the Three Chapters at Easter,” John said. “So you have all but brought about a reconciliation between the monophysites and the Orthodox church.”
Justinian nodded, then looking to where his wife lay, frowned. “Theodora was pleased. But now Vigilius is wavering. Cursed man! The churchmen in the west, in Italy, are horrified. They say a repudiation of the Three Chapters amounts to heresy.”
John had managed to control the fear he had felt while locked in the carriage, on his way to his execution as he had imagined. Now, however, he felt a new chill. What sort of man would choose the side of his wife’s tomb as the place to ramble on about the current religious dispute? Perhaps the tears on his cheeks were as false as the human face he wore.
Or perhaps Justinian was not a demon, but simply insane.
Justinian continued talking. Was this the sort of thing that ran through his mind when he sat up at night, poring over holy books?
John allowed his attention to wander. However the disputants wished to slice up Christ’s nature it made no difference to the world, except insofar as it affected the empire.
“This is a Christian empire,” Justinian was saying. “If the church is not united, the empire is not united.”
“I can see that, excellency.”
“Why are you looking so grim?” the emperor asked. “Do you suppose I intend to have you dispatched to the next world, with my praises of Theodora the last earthly sounds you hear?”
John had put the idea out of his mind. Now that Justinian had mentioned it he felt himself tensing again.
Suddenly he could feel the presence of Theodora. He was acutely aware her remains lay within the stone tomb beside which he stood. She was now nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. Yet she was not truly gone. Not from the city or the empire or John’s life.
“I require a report on your investigation,” Justinian said. “I do not care to leave my wife’s side. If I alarmed you…well, perhaps you will be spurred to greater efforts to find her murderer. What progress have you made?”
What progress? For some reason John’s thoughts turned to his visit to the inn. Making the acquaintance of a man who ate only white foods could hardly be called progress. It seemed to sum up his accomplishments so far.
Nevertheless, he recited the list of those he had visited, leaving out the former madam Isis. “Joannina’s lady-in-waiting Vesta, Theodora’s physician Gaius, Antonina, generals Germanus and Artabanes.”
Justinian’s face remained expressionless. He gave no hint of whether he considered this an acceptable effort or not.
When John had finished the emperor merely nodded. “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain. When you are ready your escort will take you home. But first you might want to visit the vigil being held for the late empress.” He started to turn away, paused. “I suspect some of those present are not true believers.” He glanced at John with a slight smile.
Again John wondered if Justinian suspected or knew John would have to be counted among those devoted to another god should a roll call be made by suddenly appearing angels.
“Speak to Vigilius. He is in attendance,” Justinian added.
Was he asking John to investigate the pope?
The emperor turned his back and John walked out into the night. Although the sky overhead was black it had begun to gray in the east, revealing the city’s ragged horizon of tenement and mansion roofs, domes and monuments, and not far away, mounting above all, the long shadow of the Aqueduct of Valens.
John was surprised to be alive.
After hours of darkness Hypatia realized that the kitchen was filled with gray, predawn light.
Had she dozed off, waiting for the Lord Chamberlain to return?
If so, she surely would have awakened if he had come in.
She went down the hall anyway, looked through the open door of his bedroom, into his study.
He had not returned.
Maybe he really had been dragged off, like so many others in the past few days, to be…
She tried to put that fear out of her mind.
What should she do? She was a servant. The only court official she could possibly approach for help was the Lord Chamberlain.
Anatolius! John’s friend. He knew Hypatia. He was a lawyer now but had worked in the palace for years. And his house was not far away.
She raced downstairs, took the key from the hook beside the entrance, and went outside, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.
The gray light in the sky wasn’t yet filtering down into the city. The square was a black lake, the far side marked by a single torch outside the excubitors’ barracks. She waded out into the darkness, wondering if she would be able to find her way.
By the time she emerged from the Chalke Gate the streets had brightened enough for her to make out and avoid the shadowy forms of carts on their way out of the city after making night-time deliveries. Gulls and feral dogs were out in force, scavenging before the thoroughfares became crowded.
She made a wrong turn down a malodorous alley, but no ruffians laid in wait.
Finally she recognized the entrance to the short, alley-like passage leading to Anatolius’ home. The burly gatekeeper narrowed his eyes as she approached.
“I’ve come from the Lord Chamberlain’s house,” she said. “I’m his servant Hypatia. Anatolius knows me.”
The gatekeeper made a noncommittal grunt, walked back and into the massive villa the high wall enclosed, emerged quickly, and swung the gate open.
She could see him smile to himself and shake his head as she went past. He couldn’t help but be aware of his employer’s proclivities.
Anatolius himself met her at the entrance. He was dressed as if he had already been up and working though he looked rumpled and tired.
He led her across the atrium but stopped short of his office. Shadows clustered in corners and gray fingers of light pried through shutters.
Anatolius wearily rubbed his unshaven face as he listened to Hypatia’s account of the unseen morning visitors. “You’re right to be worried,” he said. “I’ll go to the palace. Someone there will know what’s going on. Little stays secret there for long.”
Hypatia shivered involuntarily although the atrium was warm.
“Probably it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Anatolius added. His tone didn’t sound convincing.
His office door was partly open and Hypatia thought she glimpsed movement inside.
“I’m sure you don’t want to leave Peter alone too long,” Anatolius went on. “I’ll let you know what I find out but most likely John will be home before I hear anything.” Anatolius placed his hand lightly on her arm as if to usher her on her way.
Hypatia realized she had been staring toward the office. She was certain someone was in there.
““Will you be able to help the master?”
“Oh, I’m sure there will be no need. Nevertheless, I will look into the matter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
She had the feeling he wanted to get her out of the house.
John left the mausoleum and walked around to the front of the church, gathering his thoughts. Light streaming from many windows illuminated armed guards positioned in the porticoes on each side of the marble-walled building. The golden domes on the roof reminded John of eggs but what would hatch from those architectural look-alikes sitting atop the arms of the cross-shaped structure and over their central intersection could not be fathomed.
A crowd of worshipers issued from the entrance. The vigil must have ended.
John made his way against the tide into the well-lit interior where knots of people still lingered. He did not need to seek out Vigilius. Vigilius found him.
“Lord Chamberlain, I have been hoping to have a word with you.”
Except for his sumptuous ecclesiastical robes Pope Vigilius was not an impressive figure. He was short. His features looked squashed together. His nose curved down toward a prim mouth as if it were reaching for the neatly trimmed white beard that thrust straight out from the chin. His narrow forehead slanted back into a vast expanse of shining scalp bordered by a bushy growth of dark hair halfway down the back of the head.
Had he been told John would be there?
John gave him a formal greeting. “How may I be of service?”
“I was hoping you might intercede with the emperor for me, Lord Chamberlain. You are a member of the consistory, are you not?”
John acknowledged it was true.
Vigilius indicated he wished to speak where they would not be easily overheard. He led John to the front of the nave where a row of marble columns twice a man’s height and surmounted by an architrave barred the laity from the sanctuary beyond. Waist high slabs of marble between the columns were engraved with crosses and the monograms of the emperor and empress. The architrave bore depictions of the twelve apostles. Stands in front of the columns displayed icons and reliquaries. Vigilius halted in front of an elaborate silver-barred cage in which an eroded, broken stone column was displayed like one of the exotic beasts in Theodora’s menagerie.
“It is the column of flagellation to which our Lord was tied when he was scourged,” Vigilius said needlessly, seeing where John’s gaze had drifted.
John continued his survey of the nave. No one was taking special notice of their conversation. Most of the assembly looked as if they would much rather be in bed. However, for those at court it was important to be seen participating in official mourning.
“What is it that concerns you?” John asked stiffly. He did not like the prospect of becoming involved in church affairs. Religious disputants were less inclined to reason and compromise than statesmen or generals.
“You know I have been imprisoned here in the city for more than a year?”
“Imprisoned is too harsh a word. My understanding is that Justinian has decided that you and Patriarch Menas should come to an agreement before you leave and the chance for agreement is lost.”
Vigilius frowned, pulling his nose even further toward his beard. “I was arrested—that is the word—arrested—while celebrating the feast of St. Cecilia. In the middle of the service I was dragged away to a waiting ship!”
“What is it you want? Surely the emperor is willing to speak to the pope?”
“He will speak to me but he will not necessarily listen. His wife poisoned his mind against me. Theodora, with her heretical views is behind the trouble. She was the one who insisted I be held here and broken, forced to accede to her wishes.”
“You’re talking about the Three Chapters,” John said wearily. “You already acceded to her wishes by condemning them, did you not?”
“I said I had come to my own independent conclusion and that being the case I can change my opinion.”
“Which you intend to do, particularly now that Theodora is dead.”
Vigilius didn’t argue the point. “I hope the emperor will soften his views now that Theodora is gone. Her passing may have been the hand of God. A blessing, allowing Justinian to see the error of his ways and return to the orthodox church.”
“Justinian considers his own beliefs to be orthodox. He has been trying to convince all the religious factions to admit that their beliefs are not so different as they seem to think.”
“Not different? To imagine that Christ had only one nature—”
John raised his hand. He had already heard too much about the nature of a god in whom he did not believe. “I am not a theologian. I would think you and Patriarch Menas should resolve this matter and then approach Justinian together.”
A clergyman does not spit on the floor of a church but Vigilius looked very near to doing so. “Menas is Theodora’s creature!”
“How can that be? He supplanted her protegé Anthimus in the patriarchate.”
“Menas is malleable. He’s changed his views.”
“Malleability is a virtue Theodora much admired, but I think it was you who changed your views, not Menas,” John replied. “That is why Theodora hated you more than Menas. She knew that Menas was orthodox. He was made patriarch against her will. You, on the other hand, were chosen by her to do her bidding. You betrayed her.”
“You insult me, Lord Chamberlain.”
“I am only telling the truth. I was here when Pope Agapetus died during his visit. I am well aware how Theodora arranged for you to replace him as pope after you promised to support the monophysite cause.”
Vigilius reddened. “How can you…do you believe—”
“You were expected to be another Anthimus for her,” John went on, paying no attention to the sputtering Vigilius, “but as pope rather than patriarch. Unlike Anthimus you were not going to be deposed and vanish from the face of the earth. At the time of your appointment you were nothing more than a deacon. You owed your elevation entirely to Theodora, but once you were safely back in Rome you reneged on the agreement. I cannot fathom your theology but I am very familiar with a political blade in the back.”
“But—”
John shook his head and continued in a weary voice. “What did you expect from Theodora after that? You are fortunate to still be alive.”
He was almost surprised by the harshness he heard in his own voice. The way Vigilius stood, hunched and tense, a pained expression on his face, he might well have been imagining he was tied to the column behind him, being flagellated. Perhaps that was the way he viewed his sojourn in Constantinople, a long flagellation by the emperor, to be followed by a hideous death on a cross.
John reminded himself Justinian had directed him to talk to Vigilius. The pope might benefit from Theodora’s death or so it had been whispered during Theodora’s long illness. After all, Justinian had spent years trying to find some doctrine to which the pope in the west and the orthodox patriarch and less than orthodox monophysites in the east could all agree. The empress had been a staunch monophysite. Now that she was gone, Justinian might not care so much about placating the monophysites. If their concerns were put aside, Vigilius could probably find common ground with Menas and return to Rome. Nevertheless, John had a hard time envisioning the pope as a murder suspect.
“You refuse to intercede?” Vigilius was saying. His voice had risen to a whine.
John released his breath slowly. “I will speak to the emperor. I will see how he feels about the matter at the appropriate time. Theodora’s death has made him all the more determined to see her wishes carried out. You might consider that. Clearly Justinian considers his position a compromise. He believes he is being accommodating. If you could see it as a compromise too, rather than a capitulation, you could be on a ship back to Rome tomorrow.”
John did not add he found the whole question of how many natures Christ had and how much they were stirred up together of less practical consequence than how many eggs and how much stirring was called for in one of Peter’s recipes. He realized, however, that to some, for unfathomable reasons, they were of grave import.
Vigilius looked at the floor, then up at John. He remained silent, as if debating whether to say more. “Very well, Lord Chamberlain. I will be grateful if you have a word with the emperor,” he finally replied.
He moved off, not looking grateful in the least, walking carefully, as if his bent back under the heavy robes had been scourged.