Mary Reed: Two for Joy

The company rode to the foot of the shrine’s steps, forcing a path through the massed pilgrims. The murmur of the crowd gradually rose higher as it took note of the imperial party. When several excubitors had taken up posts at the shrine’s doorway beside a pile of baskets, sacks and amphorae that had accumulated there, John quickly dismounted as Aurelius struggled off his horse, grimacing in pain.

“Well, John,” the senator muttered, “I hope you know the proper ceremonial greetings when meeting some holy vagabond fresh off the road from who knows where, because this is something quite beyond my own experience.”

A fresh breeze had been scouring the shrine with the sharp smell of the sea, but as it subsided momentarily John detected from within the building another odor, a disturbing blend of sweet perfume and the acrid smell of the sick. He had just noted it when a ruggedly-built man almost as tall as himself emerged from the shrine.

The man’s size and the hard lines of his face suggested a military background, but he appeared unarmed and wore a long white robe. He offered no hint of a formal greeting nor did he make any effort to hide his disdain as he looked down the steps at the emperor’s emissaries.

“I see Justinian has declined the opportunity to meet personally with the master. However, there is yet time enough for that. You may follow me,” he instructed.

If John had intended to reply he would have had no opportunity because the acolyte, as he supposed the man to be, immediately vanished back into the building. Aurelius gave a grunt of displeasure. Their visit was not beginning well.

Inside the shrine, a long nave ran between two aisles accessible through archways. The shadowy aisles and their niches were filled with figures, some reclining on stone benches along the walls, others lying on straw pallets on the floor. A harsh cough echoed, then another. The rasp of labored breathing and low, monotonous moaning echoed around the stone walls. The smell of illness was overpowering.

“These poor creatures are seeking the aid of Saint Michael, the heavenly physician,” noted the big acolyte. “And so by faith they shall be healed.”

Dimly seen figures moved around, attending to the sick. A knot of acolytes, going by the fact that their robes were identical to that worn by their guide, stood conversing in the center of the nave. As he went by them, John noted the eastern eyes of a Persian, an Egyptian’s hawk nose and wavy hair, a man in a himation who could have been Philo’s brother, not to mention two men who looked to be of sturdy peasant stock, possibly farmers temporarily absent from their land. Michael’s theology appeared to appeal to a dangerously heterogeneous group, it seemed.

John was weighing how he could best reveal this unfortunate discovery to Justinian as they reached the end of the nave, where a plain marble altar stood before a slitted window in the back wall. A dusty beam of sunlight lanced through the lazy coils arising from two perfumed candles, the only items adorning the altar.

The swirling smoke stung John’s eyes. He blinked away tears and suddenly there was a figure standing in front of him.

Michael was not the begrimed, weather-beaten desert hermit John had half-expected. He was a slight man of elegant appearance, dressed in an immaculate white robe. His head was shaven, his face gaunt but smooth. Sunken eyes flashed in the candlelight like water at the bottom of a well as he inclined his head in silent greeting.

Why did an invisible hand wrench at John’s vitals at the sight of this man? Fighting back his inexplicable unease, John made his formal salutation.

“The Emperor Justinian, conqueror, ever Caesar, conveys to the pious Michael his greetings. We stand before you as his eminent representatives, the revered Senator Flavius Aurelius and myself, John, Lord Chamberlain to the emperor.”

Michael regarded his two visitors placidly. “I look forward to consulting you concerning the arrangements for my meeting with your most eminent emperor, Lord Chamberlain.”

He spoke softly but even so could not disguise the unnatural timbre of his voice. John understood then what troubled him.

Michael was a eunuch.

“The emperor has graciously granted audiences to many pious men such as yourself,” Aurelius said.

“I see,” Michael replied with a slight smile. “So there have been many who were heralded by all-consuming holy fire?”

John stood silent for the length of several heartbeats. He abhorred dealing with other eunuchs, nearly all of whom had been maimed as children. He had reached manhood before being castrated and did not like the thought that many would mistake him for one of those effeminate creatures whose nature had been prevented from taking its proper course. Aurelius’ suddenly raised voice abruptly brought his attention back to their mission.

“We regret that we have not been granted authority to escort you into the city at this time. The emperor has instructed us only to offer you his felicitations and the prospect of an audience to be arranged at his convenience, a boon that few receive and many would envy you.”

“We must hope then that Justinian will be able to invite me into the city for an audience with him before the cleansing fire strikes again. When you return, please convey to him the matter we will be discussing when we finally meet.”

“And what matter would that be?” Aurelius inquired stiffly.

“Concerning my ascending to the patriarchy and, of course, to co-equal rulership with Justinian.” Michael replied calmly.

Aurelius stared at Michael in amazed disbelief.

John remained silent. He realized now that they were dealing not merely with a eunuch, but with a madman. Or at any rate, he reminded himself, a man who was obviously familiar with the story of Basiliscus prostrating himself at the feet of Daniel, and furthermore a man wise, or perhaps foolish, enough to attempt to use it to his own advantage.

It was obvious that there was nothing further to be learned today. John was preparing to make a formal farewell when, without warning, Michael stepped toward Aurelius and grasped the senator’s shoulders.

“You have been unwell.” Spoken in a whisper, the words took on an even more abnormal timbre. One could almost imagine that the voice did not emanate within the frame from which it emerged.

Michael closed his eyes for an instant, then stepped back quickly, causing the perfumed smoke to writhe about him. “Now, however, you are healed,” he said. “Go back to the emperor with this miracle.”

On their homeward journey John and Aurelius rode for a long while in silence. They were proceeding back along the Golden Horn before John finally spoke.

“I judge this Michael to be a dangerous man indeed, Aurelius. All his talk about divine retribution and miracles is bound to stir up unrest.”

“Considering that he seemed to be implying that there could be more deaths, I have to agree,” Aurelius said. “But surely you do not take his claims seriously?”

John lowered his voice before replying. “Fire is sacred to many religions and to be honest, I do not see it being used as a tool for divine retribution. Those stylites died by some human agency, I am certain of it. The sooner I can discover who murdered them the faster peoples’ fears can be laid to rest. And also of course the sooner this fraud can be sent back to whatever desert he emerged from, if he is not executed, that is.”

“You have allowed him to upset you, John.” Aurelius observed. “Is it possible he is simply seeking to take advantage of some strange but natural occurrence that happened to kill those unfortunate stylites?”

John shook his head. “I think not, and considering the size of the crowd gathered around him, I wish I were already back on the other side of the water looking for the person who is really responsible.”