Mary Reed: Two for Joy

“Those events are known to me, of course. It is not so long since they took place, after all.”

John paused, reluctant to say what he sensed had to be said. “And if I may draw your attention to the end of that particular story?”

Justinian’s shoulders stiffened slightly. The eyes that looked out at his advisor from a pudgy mask of affability might have been the burning eyes of a demon. Then he averted his gaze and a strained laugh emerged from his lips.

“Thank you, John. I value your advice, as always. May you and the senator have better success with Michael than all Basiliscus’ chamberlains and senators achieved with Daniel. You may depart now.”

John’s heart did not cease its clamorous pounding until he had bowed his way out of the reception hall into the fresh air of the palace gardens. Everyone in Constantinople was aware of the ending of that particular story, when, in the presence of much of the population of the city, Emperor Basiliscus and the Patriarch had humbly prostrated themselves at Daniel’s feet.

“I’m sure this Michael knows the story of Daniel and Basiliscus as well as anyone else,” growled Felix after John had outlined his conversation with Justinian.

John could not help noticing that just the mention of an emperor’s humiliation had sent the excubitor captain’s scarred hand to the hilt of the short sword at his side, startling a passing clerk who immediately hastened his pace along the peristyle outside Felix’ office.

The burly, bearded German directed a rumbling laugh at the retreating scribe’s back. “What is it you want, John? Just so long as it doesn’t involve me standing down wind of some dead stylites again…”

John assured him that he was not planning any more visits to stylites’ columns. “I just wished to ask if you were able to secure any assistance from the Prefect?”

“He wasn’t as helpful as usual.” Felix frowned. “Perhaps we should discuss this matter elsewhere?” he added cautiously. Around them Justinian’s administrative army had embarked on its daily march, ready to wield quill and writ against all enemies of the empire, treacherous tax delinquents, marauding purveyors of unlicensed silks, barbaric bakers asking an unregulated price for their loaves, and all their criminal brethren. Who could say who might be eavesdropping?

“I can’t linger, Felix. I was ordered to leave almost immediately! But as to that, I know a route that will provide more privacy for our conversation.”

When they were on a narrow path winding between thick plantings of yew trees Felix glanced casually over his broad shoulder and, seeing they had not been followed, took up the conversation while keeping his tone discreetly low. “The Prefect’s resources have been stretched rather thin lately, John. The Blues have been growing bolder by the week and now they’re hunting in packs. One of my guards was robbed outside the Inn of the Centaurs only three days ago. He was still in uniform and armed! If Justinian would only allow it, I’d be more than happy to hunt those Blues down like the cowardly vermin they are.”

“At least the Greens have not yet dared confront them, and just as well, considering the riots that would be touched off if they did,” John said grimly.

Felix wondered thoughtfully if the death of the stylites might provide the excuse the factions scarcely needed to be at each others’ throats.

“I wouldn’t think so,” John replied. “But that is one reason I want the matter looked into very carefully. Exactly what aid did the Prefect feel able to offer?”

“He agreed to interrogate his patrols about anything odd or unusual they may have observed in the forums where the deaths occurred. Odd activities, fights, that sort of thing. But as far as questioning vendors and merchants, I fear to accomplish that I’d have to place some of my men on, shall we say, extended leave?”

“I have placed you in an uneasy position, Felix. Your superior is no friend of mine. I can see that that would be difficult.”

“But on the other hand, the Master of the Offices is too consumed with political intrigues to take much notice of the work we are doing, so long as we do it quietly and without drawing attention.” Felix briefly displayed his wolfish smile. “So perhaps we may be able to assist you more than seems possible at first glance.”

John led the way through a garden and into an enormous rectangular building housing the imperial financial offices. Down a narrow, echoing hall they went, descending into the building’s lower level. Finally, having navigated a labyrinth of passages that would have defeated the Minotaur, they emerged into a terraced garden from which the long profile of the Hippodrome was visible above a line of poplars planted alongside the palace walls.

“The remains of those poor stylites will have been removed from their pillars by now,” John said thoughtfully. “I doubt their bodies have anything left to reveal, and in any event mens’ lives are always more instructive than their deaths. Those men were not always perched up beyond the world’s reach. Is there some common thread that links them?”

“We have plenty of informants among the religious orders,” Felix offered, speaking in a normal tone now they were outside in the open. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to ascertain their backgrounds. It might cost more than a follis or two, though.”

John stared thoughtfully at the Hippodrome. “I will see that your expenses are discreetly reimbursed, Felix. Now, however, I must be on my way.”

Felix tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “I think too much is being made of this Michael, John. Remember, in the end Daniel went back to his pillar. Perhaps Michael’s just a simple holy man, like all the rest. I’d wager-if I were still a betting man, that is-he’ll tell you that all he wants is permission for a triumphal procession down the Mese and an audience with Justinian.”

“I hope you’re right,” John replied. “I’ll know more at the end of my journey.”

Peter had been beset with misgivings as he watched John and Senator Aurelius ride off on their diplomatic mission. The armed escort provided by the emperor had done nothing to reassure him. It merely pointed at the danger involved in his master’s mysterious journey.

Nevertheless he was heartened when Philo departed the house soon afterwards, muttering that there had to be at least one person in this barbaric city who might have need of a man of learning. As a good Christian, Peter had offered a brief prayer on behalf of the philosopher that such a person would be found. He also offered a briefer prayer on his own behalf that such a patron would not be found until night arrived. Then he allowed himself to contemplate the pleasing prospect of a quiet day alone.

Thus when there was a knock on the door he answered it reluctantly. He was relieved to be greeted by a dark-eyed young Egyptian woman.

“Hypatia! It’s been some time since you last visited. Come in! Come up to my kitchen.”

They had met when Hypatia arrived to serve as gardener for Peter’s former owner, Lady Anna. Following their mistress’ untimely death, they had both been freed and now Hypatia worked in the imperial gardens, living on the palace grounds although in a house far less magnificent than John’s.

The young woman set a basket of pears down on the scarred kitchen table. Reaching into the basket she pulled out an earthenware pot of honey.

“I heard that you have been unwell, Peter,” she said, “so I brought along a small gift for you. Now, make certain that you eat it all yourself and don’t use it in dishes for John!”

Peter peered under the lid, smiling his surprise and gratitude. The honey was the same golden brown as the woman’s skin. “I do occasionally like to indulge in something sweet,” he admitted. “Thank you for the gift and your concern, Hypatia. But I am better now, thanks be. And now tell me, how are things with you?”