Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“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.

It was time for John to leave. He walked toward the aisle, passing the reliquaries housing the skulls of saints Andrew, Luke, and Timothy. The reliquaries resembled miniature churches dipped in gold and encrusted with gems. The flames of their surrounding candles made them flash and glitter and twinkle so the gaze could not fix upon their surfaces but was constantly drawn away by the moving light, as a glowing soul might draw the attention from a physical body.

“Lord Chamberlain, I noticed you speaking with Vigilius.”

The long-bearded, narrow face of Patriarch Menas loomed in John’s path.

“We exchanged pleasantries.”

“The pope did not look very pleased, but then he rarely does. I see you are admiring our relics. Some day you should let me show you everything we have here. Relics of John Chrysostom and countless other saints and martyrs. The bones of the three apostles are buried beneath us. They were discovered in three wooden coffins when excavations for this rebuilt church were under way. It was the Lord’s way of blessing Theodora’s enterprise.”

“I was present at the ceremony when she laid the cornerstone,” John replied.

The endless ceremonies he had attended blurred into a soporific cloud of glittering tedium but he could not help recalling the empress in her finery, playing the part of a mason on a brutally cold windy day, managing to splash mud over both herself and the emperor while the assembled officials and courtiers desperately tried to stifle their laughter for the good of their necks.

“She did more than lay the cornerstone,” Menas said. “As it happened there hadn’t been sufficient money allocated for construction. The three apostles appeared to Theodora in a dream and instructed her to go to the shore by the city gate, where she would find twelves jars filled with gold buried. She did so and in fact there were jars of gold coins bearing the likenesses of the apostles.”

The picture of the empress digging in the mud on the beach almost made John smile. “Do you believe that legend, Patriarch Menas?”

“It is a story the common people enjoy, Lord Chamberlain.”

“And so perhaps you thought I would enjoy it also?”

Menas reddened. “I meant no insult.”

“Indeed. What did you wish to speak about?”

“Pope Vigilius. I hope he has not been slandering me?”

“Why would he do so?”

“It is no secret we are at odds over the Three Chapters.” Menas gave John a bleak smile. “I sometimes wish I had remained head of Samsun’s Hospice. I felt I was truly serving the Lord there, ministering to the poor. I would be happy to be doing that today. What greater work is there than alleviating the suffering of our fellow men?”

John had no intention of recounting to Menas his conversation with Vigilius. “You are worried what people might think now that Theodora is dead?”

“You mean because I replaced that favorite of hers, Anthimus, as patriarch, people might suppose I was somehow involved with her demise?”