Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

“Euphemia was bitterly opposed to it,” Felix replied, “and the emperor still talks of her as if she were alive. Sometimes her shade seems to wield more power over her husband than the living woman did. There have been times when I’m on duty when I could practically feel her breath on the back of my neck.”

“What about this Archdeacon Palamos? Do you think he is one who is against the marriage, or did he just run afoul of Trenico at some point?”

Felix kicked at the cold slurry underfoot. “The possibility has occurred to me. Aurelius points to Trenico and Trenico points to this Palamos. They’re trying more to use us than to reveal anything useful. The bigger question is how are the emperor and his nephew using us?”

They were approaching the Great Church. Piles of dirty snow at the foot of the stairs leading to its portico suggested heavenly clouds tainted by contact with the secular world.

Before John could reply a white blur smacked Felix on the chest. The excubitor staggered slightly in surprise.

A second snowball exploded near John’s feet. Looking up at the portico he glimpsed a couple of street urchins peering from behind its columns.

“We’ve been ambushed,” roared Felix. He grinned as he scooped a fistful of dirty snow and sent his icy missile flying upward.

Excited shrieks greeted his counterattack, followed by a flurry of snowballs.

“Reminds me of when I was a boy. In Germania we had real snowfalls.” Felix charged forward. For his size he was surprisingly swift as he pounded up the steps.

The urchins dodged from column to column with shrill screams of delight. What could be better than to be fighting one whose helmet and cuirass identified him as a real military man?

Then, without warning, Felix was uttering a string of curses barely acceptable in a military encampment, let alone at the door of a church. His anger wasn’t feigned.

When John reached him he saw that the excubitor’s jaw was scarlet with blood.

“Treacherous little bastards!” Felix shouted. “They stuck a stone in that last snowball. I should’ve remembered that trick. We did just the same. It just shows you can’t trust even children in this city.”

A plump, white-robed figure emerged from the church. He was dwarfed by its bronze doors, which rose to the height of several men.

“This disturbance will cease at once,” he ordered.

“And who are you?” Felix asked curtly.

“I am Archdeacon Palamos.”

“Perhaps Fortuna is finally smiling on us,” Felix muttered.

When introductions had been made, Palamos led his visitors into the church. The archdeacon had the soft look and extreme pallor of a monk who has not emerged from his cell for years. He was, John judged, barely middle-aged, young to hold sway over this enormous church.

“I would not normally be here,” Palamos explained, “but the man in charge of the lamps is ill so I’m temporarily overseeing his duties. Half the job is keeping all the lamps filled.”

They passed through the vestibule and stood at the top of the nave. The lamps Palamos referred to were everywhere, hanging from golden chains, sitting in wall niches or on stands or tripods. Lamps of all sizes and shapes, some made of gold, others formed of glass, a few of silver. Every corner that the suffused light pouring in from high-set windows failed to reach was thus illuminated, twinkling with points of orange flame that resembled swarms of fireflies.

Palamos beckoned to a boy waiting nearby. “One of the lamps in the dome has blown out, Arion.” He grasped the boy’s arm lightly, turned him around and directed his attention upward. “On the ledge under John the Baptist, you see? Would you attend to that one next?”

The boy nodded solemnly.

“That’s a good boy,” Palamos smiled. “We don’t want to leave John in the dark, do we? Especially when he’s standing out there in the river.” He gave the child a quick pat on the rump as the boy departed to carry out his task.

“I used to scramble up there myself to do the same job when I was younger. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Palamos tapped his large belly. “Too much study.”

“Theology can be as treacherous as a narrow ledge,” John remarked.

Felix glanced back at the controversial sculpture, looming in the vestibule and just visible from where they stood. “His was a very pretty death, despite it being brought about by the betrayal of a man he thought his follower,” he mused. Palamos asked him what he meant.

“Where’s the blood? Where’s the pain? If you or I were being crucified we wouldn’t have the strength to lift our chins off our chests, let alone look up and, well, almost smile.”

“There are those who call the sculpture blasphemous,” the archdeacon observed.

Felix looked at him questioningly.

“The gossips have it that the sculptor is an ardent, albeit secret, monophysite. Thus, he chiseled a Christ who is wholly divine and would not know pain.”

Palamos placed his fingertips together almost as if he were about to pray. “It is even rumored, although it is ridiculous in my opinion, that this sculptor was personally recommended to Hypatius by Theodora, whose deviation from orthodoxy is only too well known.”

Felix shook his head. It amazed him that people could become inflamed over such subtle theological concepts. “Yet Justinian still wishes to marry her.”

“True enough. I find myself worrying that when Justinian rules he will be far less tolerant of those holding unorthodox religious views than his uncle has been. It’s been said the only heretic Justinian will tolerate is the one in his bed.” A smile quirked Palamos’ lips. “What most of my flock seem to object to is Theodora’s lurid past.”

John broke in. “And what is your opinion of this proposed marriage?”

Palamos pushed his fingertips more tightly together. “Legally speaking, a man in Justinian’s position cannot marry an actress. Not even a former actress. It has been proposed that Justin change that law. But why should law be bent to the will of a single person? And in the service of nothing more than carnal appetites.”

“It appears Theodora is as widely disliked as Justinian is liked,” John noted.

“It’s her influence on him that’s feared. And rightly so. Women often turn good men into beasts.”

Felix changed the subject. “Did you know Hypatius well, archdeacon?”

“Yes, indeed. He was a very pious man and extremely generous to the church. That remarkable sculpture is only one example of his philanthropy. There are other sculptures and mosaics he donated all over the city. He spent half his time attending dedications of buildings he’d helped finance. A new wing to a monastery here, a chapel there.”

“He seems to have been famous for public good works.”

“He was not one to hide his light under a basket, unlike the sculpture’s other sponsors. To be fair, he also spent many hours helping at Samsun’s Hospice.”

“So he was willing to give of his time?”

“Yes, and indeed I observed him there myself now and then. He’d always make the same jest to patients. ‘Now you can tell your friends you’ve been attended by a man who owns horses worth more than your entire family,’ he’d say. On the other hand, he did have a reputation as a ruthless businessman. Furthermore, if you ask me, he was far too fond of women for a man of his age.”

Movement drew John’s attention away from the conversation.

On the narrow ledge running around the base of the dome overhead, Arion ignited the lamp and shadows dissipated, revealing the bearded, emaciated portrait of a sheepskin-clad John the Baptist.

“Good boy!” Palamos shouted, clasping his pudgy hands together. “They are so helpful at that age, you know. Alas, when they get older they tend to fall prey to the baser urges. Not a few of them are even attracted to pagan practices, especially those connected with the flesh.”