One for Sorrow (17 page)
John’s first thought as he stepped into the nave of the Church of the Holy Wisdom was that Justinian was unknowingly erecting a tribute to Mithra, Lord of Light.
The overwhelming impression was one of light. The enormous dome overhead curved upwards gradually, as if the sky itself had been pulled earthwards and brought close enough for its true immensity to be grasped. The dome was pierced with numerous, blindingly bright openings through which sunlight flooded, filling the vast space beneath with the other-worldly radiance that presages a violent storm.
John’s second thought was that the events of the past few days, the deaths of his friend and of Berta, the reappearance of his old love, must have upset his humors, rendering him dangerously susceptible to his emotions.
He became aware of the smell of wet plaster and the echoing of hammers. He lowered his gaze from the dome and scanned the interior for the patriarch. John was determined Epiphanios would explain why he had sent guards for Ahasuerus.
The patriarch found John first. “Lord Chamberlain! You have finally graced my church with your presence!”
John turned toward the querulous voice. Scaffolding clustered on all sides. Laborers were ill-defined shadows flickering against the brilliant openings in the dome. Dust filled the air.
The patriarch was a bent figure dressed in simple white robes.
“It is as magnificent as everyone claims,” John replied.
“High praise indeed.” The voice was forced and thin, a whisper from a sickbed. “It is nearing completion. The mobs who burned the old church merely cleared the ground for a more glorious tribute to the Lord.”
“I noticed that you have the building well guarded.”
The patriarch shrugged bent shoulders. “There are forty thousand pounds of silver decorating the sanctuary alone. Each seat will have silver revetments.”
“An impressive tribute to one who lived among beggars.”
“It is a measure of our Lord’s power, is it not, that man must spend a fortune in silver and gold to achieve merely the palest imitation of the glory found in the poorest part of His creation?”
The patriarch looked at John with red and watering eyes. Perhaps it was the dust. John ignored the question.
“Let me show you my church, Lord Chamberlain. Over there, we are already installing the reliquaries.” The skin of the bony hand that gestured toward the shadows at the base of the wall behind the columns and scaffolding was ancient parchment through which John could see the faded writing of veins. “The fragment of the True Cross will be displayed in that spot, for example. One day many of the most holy relics of the city will be gathered in this magnificent place, and we are in the process of obtaining even more, both minor and major.”
John, who believed a saint’s bones to be indistinguishable from the bones of any other man, changed the subject. “The effect of the light is remarkable.” The quality of the light, insubstantial as it might be, struck him more forcibly than any physical manifestations of the patriarch’s religion.
“Wait until the lamps are lit, Lord Chamberlain. There will be hundreds, suspended from the dome, fastened to the columns, set in wall sconces. The architects were instructed to leave not a single shadowed place. The whole of the interior must be illuminated.”
“Surely a man passing by a lamp will cast a shadow?”
The patriarch allowed himself a weak chuckle that turned into a rasping cough. “You are a theologian. But then, in Constantinople, who is not?”
They walked out into the center of the nave. Beams of sunlight, given tangible shape by the dust clouds filling the air, appeared from this vantage point more substantial than the dust-obscured pillars along the aisles.
“You attended the funeral of the Keeper of the Plate?” asked the patriarch suddenly.
“Yes.”
“What was it like?”
“A simple ceremony. It might well have been in the countryside. Birds were singing.”
“It was a dignified burial then?”
“Very much so.”
“Excellent. I had opportunity to deal with Leukos frequently. He looked after some of our reliquaries, ceremonial goblets, and the like. After the last fire, much of what would usually be stored in the church treasury was placed temporarily in his care. He was a good Christian.”
John followed the old man until he came to a halt near a partially disassembled scaffold leaning against a pillar. The patriarch looked up at the dome.
“It may surprise you, but I am as puzzled as the poorest peasant by the ways of our Lord.”
John, in fact, was not surprised, but remained silent.
The patriarch continued, “Just a few days ago, a young laborer, a country boy, was gravely injured. He fell and landed right where I am standing. I am given to understand that part of the scaffolding gave way. And so he fell through that glorious light down to these beautifully laid tiles. But at least he was serving in the house of the Lord. And when I heard about it I thought of Leukos, dying in the darkness of a filthy alley.”
John wasn’t certain what point the patriarch intended to make. “About your guards. You sent several for an old soothsayer. They dragged him from an inn and took him to your residence.”
John expected a denial. The patriarch’s response surprised him.
“You are well informed. I ordered the arrest of the self-styled fortune-teller, the man Ahasuerus. A murderer.”
Was that why Justinian had ordered John to cease his investigation? Had it been decided by the time of the banquet the patriarch would have Ahasuerus arrested?
But why then was the patriarch involved?
“Why was he escorted to your residence?”
“I presume they wanted to question him at the guard station there.”
“He is still in custody?”
“Alas, no. He escaped.”
“Escaped?”
“A little way at least, Lord Chamberlain. They found the scoundrel at the docks, seeking transport no doubt. He is drowned. He flung himself into the sea to avoid recapture.”
John felt disappointment settle with the dust in the back of his throat. “This is certain?”
“I am told the undertow pulled him down immediately. The body has not yet come to light, but there is no doubt as to the location of his black soul. You seem distressed?”
For an instant giddiness washed over John. The golden air, pierced by shafts of light, took on an underwater aspect.
“I sympathize,” the patriarch continued. “Drowning cannot be a pleasant death. The mouth opening for air, finding only brine. A fall from a scaffold would be preferable. On the other hand, drowning can be no worse than a knife in the ribs. Or am I wrong? I have no experience of these things.”
“You referred to him as a murderer. What reasons do you have to think so?”
“One receives information. What does it matter why he was suspected since his guilt has now been proved?”
“By the fact he threw himself into the sea?”
“More than that. In his panic the soothsayer dropped the satchel he was carrying. It contained numerous implements of his blasphemous trade, including two ceremonial, elaborately decorated daggers, an exact match for the dagger with which Leukos was murdered.”
“
S
o it’s over?” Anatolius said.
He sat talking with John in John’s garden. He had come to the house hoping for a glimpse of Europa but aside from a hint of exotic perfume, possibly imagined, as he crossed the entrance hall lit by a single lamp there was no evidence of her.
“As far as Justinian and the patriarch are concerned it is over.”
“And as for you?”
John’s lips tightened. “I instructed the prefect to inform me of any bodies recovered from the sea.”
“For what purpose?”
“For one thing, he might have had something on his person that would offer a clue to why Leukos was murdered.”
Anatolius was almost sorry he had asked John about his investigation. He had listened with one ear while staying alert for the sound of light footsteps on the garden path.
A few rays of dying sunlight straggled over the house roof to coruscate off a pool fed by a soothing trickle from the mouth of some unidentifiable, time-worn creature. John sat on a bench and Anatolius perched on the smooth edge of the fountain basin.
“You say Justinian instructed you not to pursue the matter further, even before those incriminating daggers were found in Ahasuerus’ possession?” Anatolius continued. “Doesn’t that suggest he knew then that Ahasuerus was about to be arrested for the crime?”
“It might have been nothing more than one of his whims,” John said. “There also remains unexplained the disappearance of Xiphias, who worked with Leukos.”
Anatolius shrugged. “From what you’ve told me about Xiphias, John, there’s no mystery there. He was a cruel and vengeful man. Had he been in your position, seeing an opportunity to exact revenge on an old tormentor, he would have leaped on the chance gleefully. Men like that always believe the hearts of others are as black as their own.”
“I’ve been Lord Chamberlain for a long time. Had I wanted to relegate Xiphias to the dungeons or deprive him of his head, I could have done so at any time, and for no reason at all.”
“Reasonable men make the mistake of thinking everyone else is reasonable.”
John directed his gaze toward the eroded creature in the middle of the fountain. “Look at that poor beast,” he mused. “The elements are sending him back to the lump of stone from which the sculptor coaxed him.”
“Are you unwell, John?”
“Tired. My mind wanders when I’m tired.”
“Mine just lies down and sleeps.” Anatolius’ attempt at levity was apparently lost on John. His friend, who always had the look of an ascetic, appeared even more drawn and hollow-eyed than usual. It was not surprising. Being reunited with a lost love might not be a joyful experience, considering the circumstances.
“Anatolius, you remember I mentioned I had visited a stylite a couple of evenings ago? I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you much about that.”
“It must have been harrowing to be out in that terrible storm.”
“Worse yet trying to climb up an exceedingly narrow and slippery ladder in order to converse with a taciturn holy man ringed in his own filth and not in the best of tempers. Especially with the wind plucking at my cloak and plunging cold fingers into my tunic.”
“Reminds me of some wild actresses of my acquaintance,” Anatolius remarked, still hoping to elicit some sign of good humor from his friend.
John frowned. “This young religion has acquired some strange encrustations. I wonder what the patriarch thinks about having this pious beggar sitting up there in his crow’s nest, communing with the Lord, not a stone’s throw from that great church filled with gold and silver?”
“The stylite might not be looking at the church. Perhaps he watches the chariot races.”
John smiled at last, if wearily.
“I’ve only seen the fellow from the ground. What was he like?” asked Anatolius.
John wrinkled his nose at the recollection. “It would be difficult to guess his age. He is bearded and dressed in rags. At least he isn’t the sort who stands there semi-naked, wearing just chains.”
“You make him sound like someone who’s managed to get on the bad side of the empress. Or perhaps the good side.”
John shook his head in mock disapproval. “You must watch your tongue, my friend.”
Anatolius made an even more scurrilous joke.
“You shock me,” John was stern-faced but faint lines of amusement were blossoming around his mouth and eyes. “I hope you will not be a bad influence on Europa.” The admonition went home.
“No, of course not.”
“Do you think I haven’t noticed you sitting there with your head cocked to one side, only half hearing what I’m saying, glancing around every time a bird rustles a branch? Or guessed why?”
Anatolius looked at his feet. “You are observant, John. You must surely have learned something from the stylite.”
“I learned that Constantinople is a small city full of twisting alleys. We live here in such close proximity, each to all. Leukos’ murder was the sort of tragedy that happens in the poorer byways of the city all the time, but they are practically as close to the palace as to the tenements.”
“You’ve lived here long enough to know that.”
John ignored the comment. “And as for you, my friend, you judged Ahasuerus to be an honorable man.”
Anatolius looked uneasy. “It seems I am a poor judge. We know Leukos met the soothsayer. He had that green pebble in his pouch, just like the one that Ahasuerus gave me.” A look of alarm crossed Anatolius’ face. “It occurs to me that I’m fortunate the old villain didn’t follow me into an alley instead.”
“You’ve changed your opinion of him?”
“When he’s found to have had daggers matching the murder weapon in his possession, what choice do I have? I suppose I trusted his prediction for me because I wanted Europa to believe it also,” Anatolius concluded.
“Do you mean because a young lady is not likely to accept the word of a murderer that her admirer will be lucky in love?”
Anatolius flushed but remained silent.
“Do you think the soothsayer followed Leukos and stabbed him to death?” John asked.
“I don’t know if he followed him. Perhaps they arranged to meet later for some reason. A longer reading, for example. Or Leukos might have been talking too freely about the valuable imperial plate in his charge, and Ahasuerus got the notion he was carrying a lot of money. Perhaps he just happened to see Leukos on his way to somewhere else.” Anatolius was becoming exasperated. Although he knew it was unfair, he was angry at John for dampening his own good spirits.
“Why did Leukos seem so distracted at the Hippodrome?”
“He did, didn’t he? I suppose he was anticipating his visit to the soothsayer. It wasn’t the kind of thing he did every day.”
“And what about Berta’s death? Do you suppose that was unrelated? The alley where Leukos was murdered runs behind Isis’ house. Berta was at the same palace celebration Ahasuerus attended. Now I fear Europa and Cornelia are in danger. After all, they were at the same accursed gathering.”
“You think too much, John. It’s just coincidence. And after all, in Berta’s line of work, such things happen. As for Leukos, he visited the soothsayer. A few hours later the old man’s dagger is in Leukos’ ribs. Even a theologian would have to agree his murderer was the soothsayer. Ahasuerus was drowned when he tried to flee, pulled to the bottom of the sea. What better vengeance could you want? As I’ve already said, it is over.”
“You’re right, Anatolius. I do want revenge. I admit it. But drowning, no, I wouldn’t wish that.”
John fell silent. The setting sun had disappeared behind the roof. “It isn’t reason that leads me to believe the soothsayer wasn’t the murderer,” he finally said. “It is a feeling. If Leukos’ murderer were dead, it would be gone. If he were really avenged, this black creature inside me would have taken wing. But it has not, and I feel that if I don’t bring his murderer to justice, it will gnaw at me for the rest of my life.”
“But John, what has happened has happened. Leukos’ death was unfair. But even if Ahasuerus were not the murderer, and I can’t see who else could be, would finding the murderer make it any fairer?”
John did not answer the question. He looked grim. There were times when, even though he was a personal friend, Anatolius almost feared the Lord Chamberlain.
“I can’t help feeling Cornelia and Europa may in some way be involved,” John said. “and that makes it imperative that this mystery is unraveled. Until it is I am convinced their lives are in danger, and we can’t guess which direction the danger will be coming from.”
Anatolius was silent. In the gathering darkness the scent of the garden’s spring flowers seemed stronger. He wondered what went on in his maimed friend’s mind when he lay alone at night. What other demons that could never be exorcised raged inside John? What agonies that dared not be remembered hammered at the flimsy door of suppression?
And it occurred to Anatolius, perhaps because he was of a poetic turn of mind, that John’s controlled and rational exterior might be no more than a thin varnish over madness and despair.