Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

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?”