Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

That was why, when Vigilius began to hold forth on the contentious points of the Three Chapters dispute, John began to excuse himself.

A monstrous ululation interrupted him. It might have been the cry of a holy hermit confronted by the devil himself, but the yowling and hissing that followed identified it as the sound of a furious cat.

There was a scrabbling in the undergrowth and then a small, tan-colored cat burst into view, raced straight over John’s boots, and vanished under an ornamental thorn bush. A much larger black feline limped in pursuit.

Vigilius chuckled. “Cyril and Nestorius are at it again. For the most part they are friends. After all, they are both cats. But Nestorius will insist on biting Cyril’s injured leg, and finally when Cyril has had all he can endure, well…”

“Strange names for cats,” John remarked.

“I’m not sure what wit named them. You will recall the Council of Ephesus supported the teachings of Cyril and anathematized Nestorianism, so since these two are forever fighting in the garden, naturally, we are reminded of-”

“Yes, naturally,” John cut in. “I am amazed at the humor of holy men. But I can’t detain you any further.”

He departed in haste.

It had been a short visit.

Then again how long would one expect it to take to clear a pope of murder?

The stench of the Hormisdas had not faded from John’s nostrils before he began to wonder if he had been too hasty in accepting Vigilius’ insistence he had not been the hooded man seen by Vesta.

Or had John been too hasty in accepting the accused girl’s word she had seen a hooded stranger in the first place?

The odor of the Hormisdas clung to his clothing like smoke. He would have to change.

He usually gave a wide berth to the columns occupied by stylites dotted around the city. When he thought of the religion of the Christians he smelled incense and neglected, unwashed bodies. Mithraism by contrast brought to mind the coppery odor of blood spilled by the sacrificial bull, the smell of raging battle.

He did not understand the attraction of Christianity.

As he neared his house he saw a well-dressed stranger approaching its doorway.

Had a message finally come from Cornelia?

There was no horse to be seen.

The messenger might have stabled his steed.

John picked up his pace, resisting the temptation to break into an undignified run.

The stranger turned at the sound of boots on cobbles and to his disappointment John saw he was clearly not a messenger. The man’s unnaturally thin stooped figure, the soft, unlined face, the gaudy, multi-colored robes, marked him as an imperial eunuch, even before John got close enough to smell the visitor’s cloying perfume.

The eunuch addressed him in a tremulous voice. “Please, excellency, you must come with me.”

John stopped short of the distasteful creature. The eunuch must have mistaken the Lord Chamberlain’s disinclination to come too close for fear because he added, “You were observed speaking with His Holiness and there is information it would be well for you to know. There is no danger. Please accompany me.”

“I didn’t imagine you posed any danger,” John replied curtly. “I will see your master, whoever he might be.”

John was not surprised word of his interview with Vigilius had reached other ears before John had arrived home. On the palace grounds everyone could be certain anything they said or did in the open was being observed, not to mention most of the things done and said in supposed secrecy. One could only hope the observer was not the wrong person-or a tool of the wrong person.

The eunuch silently led him back across the square and through the palace complex to the cross-emblazoned doors of the empress’ quarters.

John guessed the messenger had come from Joannina.

He was wrong. The scented creature did not take the corridor leading to Joannina’s rooms nor did he turn toward Theodora’s private chambers, but rather went down a hallway leading deeper into the section of the palace reserved for women. The walls were covered with frescoes depicting luxurious gardens populated with mythical animals.

Eunuchs flitted about the corridors like great, garish birds frightened from their perches. Exotic fragrances saturated the air. Was John being led to the quarters reserved for the ladies-in-waiting? He did not ask, not caring to converse with the eunuch. He would discover their destination soon enough.

When they reached it, set back in a quiet corner down a deserted corridor, a door of heavy carved wood opened into a domed room not much larger than the subterranean mithraeum he frequented. There were marble benches at one end and an altar at the other. Apart from its utilitarian features, the room resembled the interior of the Great Church.

Gilded tesserae glittered on the walls. Silver disks suspended on twisted brass chains sparkled overhead. Columns of green Thessalonian marble, star-speckled porphyry, and silver engraved with shining angels rose around them. A replica of the Great Church’s dome surmounted the room. A gold cross shone from the center of the dome and openings around its base admitted the lambency filling the interior. The light, falling in gentle shafts mingling into a golden haze might have been that of the rising sun, but John realized it arose from unseen lamps brightly illuminating a semi-circular, blue painted space surrounding the dome.

A figure rose from a bench. He wore a monk’s loose garment, the hood thrown back to reveal ascetic features and sparse white hair. Though he had not seen the man for years, John recognized him at once.

“Patriarch Anthimus.” John made a slight bow.

The old man gave a wan smile. “Yes. I know I am supposed to be a pile of bones under the waters of the Marmara, but when I was deposed and replaced with Menas, Theodora, gentle soul that she was, could not bear to see me put to death. She has hidden me here ever since. Justinian has assured me he will continue to abide by her merciful wishes.”

The notion that anyone should consider Theodora merciful was as surprising as Anthimus still being among the living, and in the very heart of the Great Palace at that. He was fortunate not to have been consigned to the Hormisdas Palace but he probably would not have been safe anywhere else. Given the man’s stature, Justinian would have been pressed by political opponents to have him executed.

The former patriarch’s presence was another reminder that while the environs of Constantinople were small, they were crowded and concealed many mysteries. It also reminded John that although Theodora was dead, her presence in the city remained very much alive.

“It was you who visited Theodora during her final days, not Vigilius,” John stated.

“That is so. Our Lord’s faithful followers have lost a great champion but now she is at home with the saints.”

“You have spies among the monophysites in the Hormisdas.”

“Naturally.”

“But why would you wish to clear Vigilius of suspicion? He is opposed to your views. For that matter, Menas might have been suspected next.”

“They are both men of God, though they are confused about the actual nature of the one whom they serve. I would not see anyone put to death wrongly. Did not Christ say that as we treat the most lowly of his creatures, so we treat him?”

“You are telling me you live by your beliefs?”

“You sound doubtful, Lord Chamberlain. Well, then, let’s say I didn’t want you investigating Theodora’s secret caller, because it might have led others to me as well. People who, unlike yourself, would not be trustworthy and principled enough to keep my presence secret as Justinian desires.” Anthimus smiled broadly, revealing large yellow teeth. “Does that explanation suit you better?”