Mary Reed: Two for Joy

“No, he hasn’t.” There being no chair, John hunkered down on the floor beside the bed.

A look of horror crossed Felix’ bearded face. “If you are not pardoned, then even being here puts you under sentence of death, you know that well enough.”

“We are all under sentence of death. Some of us have a better idea of when it might be carried out. Right now I need your assistance.”

“Anything, of course,” Felix growled. His mouth tightened in pain. “Although I fear my offer does not amount to much in my present state.”

John replied that it was not Felix’s skill at arms that he needed just then. “What I am going to do is catch a very subtle murderer,” he continued.

“Do you mean whoever murdered Aurelius or Philo?”

“Yes, not to mention a few other people. The stylites, for example. There was nothing supernatural about their deaths, Felix. They were murdered and fire was the weapon used.”

Felix’s expression turned thunderous. “And fire was used against my men at the shrine. Some kind of incendiary device, do you think? I didn’t actually see what happened. I was inside the building by then, bleeding half to death on the floor. But my men swore there was fire from the sky.”

“That’s what they would have half expected, since people have been talking about nothing else for days,” John pointed out.

Felix muttered he should have guessed the truth of it even in his wounded state, since he had heard tales of the empire’s enemies using such weapons on eastern battlefields. Yet he had hesitated to believe those stories. How could fire be harnessed?

John smiled thinly. “Well, Felix, consider. What if you took a divided clay pot and filled one half of it with an inflammable concoction of elements that burns when wet, and the other half with water? Then having sealed it well, when that pot is thrown…”

“…it smashes,” Felix said triumphantly, “and the elements mix and burst into flame!” He frowned. “But clay pots sink, John. What about this fire on the water Hypatia keeps chattering on about?”

John admitted he did not know how that particular conflagration had been accomplished. However, since it had roared out from the mouth of the Bosporos and the shrine stood beside that very waterway he could certainly hazard a guess as to who was responsible.

“I suspect,” he went on, “this or perhaps another inflammable mixture that water cannot extinguish was involved. Imagine a large amount of this substance, something that floats on water, poured into the Bosporos so that its current carries the inferno down to the city. A rare and terrible weapon indeed. Michael is most certainly involved, Felix. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

Felix winced as he shifted uneasily. “Strangely, when you think about it, Michael’s trumpeted his guilt in the matter all along, hasn’t he? But since he hasn’t set foot in Constantinople since he arrived, who’s his accomplice?”

“I believe I know,” John replied, “and I intend to prove it and certain other related matters to Justinian, thus freeing Anatolius and ensuring that justice is served.”

Felix twisted around on the pallet, an effort that drained the color from his face. “This is all very well, John, but surely no one knows better than you that justice is seldom on speaking terms with the truth. And as far as Anatolius goes, I fear that the emperor is more concerned right now in dealing with Michael and defusing the threat posed by him and his rabble, inside and outside the city. What’s worse, by the noise I can hear even up here, your exile did little to calm the mood in the streets.”

John smiled. “I am not so certain that Justinian did not send me away in part for my own safety. Theodora has, as you know, long harbored a deep hatred toward me and during such unsettled times… well, let’s just say that certain very useful opportunities might have very well have presented themselves to her.”

“You think the emperor cannot control the actions of his own wife?”

It was a question John did not have to answer.

“So you are willing to wager that Justinian is not so badly disposed toward you as it would seem on the face of it?” Felix went on. “Well, John, I’ve done more than my fair share of gaming but I’ve never yet gambled with my life.”

“Of course you have, Felix, every time you went into battle! But more than that, I’ve discovered something that will immediately discredit Michael in the eyes of his followers and render him powerless to further threaten the emperor.”

Felix raised his bushy eyebrows in inquiry.

“Michael is not what he appears to be, Felix. Philo hinted at that and he was correct. That’s all I’ll say for now. Now, about that assistance you can render me. Darius has agreed to accompany me but he’s only one man, however powerful. I know there are certain of your excubitors who serve Mithra above even the emperor.”

“That’s true enough. At the barracks near the Chalke you will find a friend of mine, Cassius. He, and whichever men he chooses, can be trusted completely. I’ll write a note for him. He’ll destroy it immediately he’s read it, so don’t worry about that. But what will you accomplish by confronting Michael? That shrine he’s taken over is not a court of law. He could have you killed on the spot.”

“Your excubitors’ presence will prevent that, Felix, and there will also be an impartial witness, one who can vouch for what he observes and whose sworn word will be accepted by both the emperor and the populace in general.”

Felix doubted John could find such a person.

But John had already resolved the dilemma. “It will be quite simple,” he replied, “for his wife is under my roof. I mean to take along Senator Balbinus.”

Had he not been exhausted from his journey Peter might have recognized the furious pounding as announcing not only visitors but also grave trouble.

As soon as the elderly servant slid back the bolt, the house door was kicked wide open, sending him staggering. An elbow to the chest knocked him down. Excubitors flooded in. The hall was suddenly filled with the slap of boots on tile, the smell of leather and oiled iron.

Half-dazed on the floor, Peter grabbed reflexively for the nearest ankle. There was a hoarse yell and a man fell heavily beside him. His victim’s sword clattered and slid away across the floor. Then Peter was being dragged to his feet, his arms twisted up behind his back. He was groggily aware of a blade moving toward his throat.

“Stop at once!”

The blade paused. Helmeted heads turned toward the unexpected sight of a stout middle-aged woman, standing at the base of the stairs, shaking the errant sword she’d just retrieved from the floor.

“Are these the orders Justinian is giving his excubitors now,” Isis continued in a withering tone, “to slaughter old men in their homes?”

A tall man with the feral look of a hawk stepped out of the ranks to face Isis. “The servant will be spared this time, lady. However, if there is any further interference you will have to seek compensation for his loss in the courts.”

Peter was shoved aside.

“And what does this unseemly invasion of a private house signify, captain?” Isis demanded.

“We are here to arrest John, former Lord Chamberlain to the Emperor Justinian.”

“Have you not heard? He is gone. Exiled.”

“We have information that he has come back to the city in direct defiance of the emperor’s orders,” the captain replied curtly. “Now, stand aside or…”

A hoarse roar interrupted the order. “You will leave this house immediately!”

“Captain?” The man looked away from Isis to Felix, who stood, swaying, at the top of the stairs. For an instant the excubitor looked as confused as he had been upon seeing the armed madam. But only for an instant.