Mary Reed - Eight for Eternity

Haik laughed. “I suppose the emperor wouldn’t allow you to pitch a tent in the gardens?”

“It would reflect badly on Justinian if his chamberlains did not appear to be well compensated.”

Haik ran a hand absently through his long, black hair. “So you’re a chamberlain. From what little I know, that’s an office with a lot of power.”

John shook his head. “The office has no power of its own. All power flows down from the emperor, like the water from Aphrodite’s shell.”

The white marble statue held an oversized clam shell in one upraised hand. Water bubbled out of the shell and splashed into the basin at the bare feet of the goddess. The tiles near the fountain glistened with moisture. Occasionally John could feel a droplet against his face. Given the chill in the air on this January day, it was not a pleasant sensation.

“There are numerous chamberlains with varied duties,” John added. “Everything depends on Justinian’s whim. Narses is a chamberlain but also the imperial treasurer. Which makes him my superior. And it is obvious that he intends to make certain that he remains my superior.”

“I’ll stick to my orchards. It’s less complicated than the imperial court and a pistachio tree isn’t likely to stab you in the back.”

“But it might conspire to break your teeth.”

The gap in Haik’s grin proved the truth of the statement. He was silent for a time. His gaze remained fixed on John.

“You’ve been staring at me. You’re wondering about me, aren’t you? Do I look different? Has my voice changed? Am I the same man? Perhaps I have become treacherous and deceitful.”

“I would never believe that of you.”

“But that’s what they say about eunuchs. They are sly creatures. Always plotting.”

Haik looked down at the tiles. “No, John. Truly…I…I’ve been staring at you because…I can’t believe my eyes, seeing you in these surroundings. Can this be the young soldier in muddy boots with whom I drank a ration of sour wine after a day’s march? How did he come to be at the Great Palace?”

“After I left for Egypt I traveled for a while with a troupe of entertainers. They employed me as a guard. I didn’t guard myself very well. I accidentally wandered into an area controlled by the Persians. Luckily I had learned to read and write before I ran away to become a fighting man so I had some value, especially as a eunuch.”

“But at least since you no longer…well…you can’t suffer from any urges….”

John looked at the slender, naked Aphrodite, one hand holding the overflowing shell, the other laid demurely between her legs. “I only wish that were so. I can remember what it is like to be with a woman in every detail. I am hardly the only soldier to be maimed.”

“Yet your misfortune brought you good fortune. God works in strange ways.”

“Does he? As far as I recall, I was the one who did all the work, Haik. My first glimpse of Constantinople was the bottom of the sea wall as I was dragged across a dock in chains. The Keeper of the Plate eventually employed me. If I had not worked to better myself I would have remained just another face in the administrative horde. But I distinguished myself. So when the emperor needed someone who was discreet-but disposable-for a confidential assignment, I had my chance. I made the best of it.”

“You don’t seem to enjoy the fruits of your labors.”

“I wouldn’t say that, my friend. Every morning when I open my eyes I take satisfaction in the fact that I have survived to see another day.”

“They should both be dead now,” said the executioner. “They would be too if I’d had time to prepare the scaffold correctly and the ropes were of better quality. I trust that the Prefect realizes it was not my fault.”

“Eudaemon wasn’t at the Praetorium,” John said. “An assistant told me you were in charge of the execution.”

“In charge but without the proper resources.”

Considering the number of condemned the executioner had launched into eternity he was an unremarkable figure, noticeable only for one shoulder being slightly higher than the other. It made him look vaguely awkward and uncomfortable.

“I’m a craftsman,” he said. His mild features belied the anger in his voice. “I take pride in my profession. A quick, clean death, that’s what I aim for. I once met a fellow who extracted money from the condemned man’s family on condition he’d make sure the fellow had an easy exit. Had no idea what he was doing. Botched the job so badly the victim’s head was ripped off. He never collected his fee. Whether the family got their bribe back, I can’t say.”

Two boys, perhaps six and seven, whom John took to be part of the man’s family, sat in a corner and goggled up at their visitor.

“I’m not here to quibble over your payment,” John said. “I wish to interview you about the hanging. Kindly ask your children to leave us. It isn’t the sort of thing they should hear.”

The man looked surprised. “They’re always asking to hear that story about the poor fellow’s head again. But if you insist.” He shooed them into the other room.

The rooms were part of a stolid apartment building north of the Mese, halfway down the steep hill which descended toward the long finger of water known as the Golden Horn. Furnishings were the usual wooden tables and chairs and a brazier for heat and cooking. One of the ubiquitous Christian crosses hung from the wall. The confined space smelled strongly of garlic from a recent meal.

“I understand you are called Kosmas.”

“That is correct, excellency.”

“From your speech I can tell you are not from the city. What brought you to Constantinople?”

Kosmas’ mild expression darkened. “Taxes. We owned a farm in Anatolia. Raised livestock. Pigs mostly. A few mules and horses. For four generations we were landowners, until, finally, we couldn’t pay. So I brought my wife and children to the city and looked for work. That was three years ago.”

“You found employment as an executioner?”

“Most of the time I work for a butcher. I’m paid a decent wage and can bring home some meat as well. Executions aren’t steady work. They bring in extra money. One day I might be able to own a small farm again. I miss the open fields. The noise the beggars make in the alley keeps us awake most nights.”

“How does a farmer and a butcher come to hang criminals?”

“I performed executions in Anatolia. Even in the countryside there’s occasionally someone who needs hanging and not many with the required expertise. Once a village witnesses a condemned man slowly strangled because the knot wasn’t placed right….well…I took it up as a civic service. I was well known in the area.”

“You may have spared a lot of curious children nightmares,” John observed, with a stern glance toward the doorway to the other room. He glimpsed two heads vanishing from sight. “You were summoned on short notice to carry out the executions by Prefect Eudaemon?”

“Yes. He is familiar with my work. There have been quite a number of calls on my service of late. As a good Christian I can only deplore that, but as a family man with children and a wife to feed…you understand, I am certain.”

John responded with a thin smile. In fact, he did not understand Christians at all. Was Kosmas attracted to Christianity because it was the official religion or because its most sacred symbol was a man being executed? “Describe what happened,” he ordered.

Kosmas paused in concentration. In his memory he must have been seeing a picture of that cold morning. “The prisoners were ferried over from the city. Seven of them. Four were beheaded. A quick death, excellency. Much kinder than hanging. Not a task I like to carry out. But duties must be met however distasteful. Think of how those in charge of crucifixions must have felt! It’s one thing to give a quick downstroke of a sharp axe and deprive a man of his life, but quite another to hammer nails into living flesh. I have never been ordered to crucify a man, but if I was I would make it less painful. Even when I slaughtered livestock I tried to be quick about it. We should never have been given so little time to prepare.”