Mary Reed: Two for Joy

“I suggest you get yourself a man’s weapon, child! And a new pair of eyes at the same time. That poor woman was nowhere near the Lord Chamberlain’s height.”

Hektor was realizing that Varus did not seem too perturbed at having caught a beggar rather than the fugitive eunuch. Further, it belatedly occurred to him that excubitor captains did not usually heed court pages’ advice. And when had Varus realized that the person wearing John’s cloak was too short? In his excitement, Hektor had missed that particular entirely. It would all require further rumination, but first he must guard against personally suffering repercussions from their lack of success in catching the man the excubitors had been ordered to apprehend.

“And I suggest you continue to seek the fugitive you were sent to arrest,” the boy snapped, snatching back his dagger and wiping it clean on his tunic, “for I promise you that if the eunuch escapes I will make certain that the Master of the Offices knows exactly who was responsible for letting him go free.”

John thanked Mithra that the company of excubitors had been directed with uncharacteristic confusion, for otherwise he would have departed from the senate house straight into captivity. Instead, taking advantage of the situation, he and his party had been able to slip unnoticed out of the forum through its nearest archway.

The journey to Saint Michael’s shrine had been less eventful but still hardly pleasant. John had apprised Lucretia of the necessity of speed and discretion in carrying out his plan and having agreed to assist, she did her part by going to the senate house to summon Balbinus out to join them. However, the couple had exchanged only the coldest and briefest of words upon meeting again, and during their ride had contrived to keep several mounted excubitors between them at all times-excubitors that did not arrest anyone but rather escorted them to the shrine, fully aware that following their captain exposed them to the severest punishments that Justinian could devise.

The only communication between the estranged man and wife had occurred after they had left the city and were riding along the shore of the Golden Horn. Balbinus had urged his mount forward in order to remark to John, loudly and pointedly, “You can see from the way my wife rides that she has committed to memory the wisdom of Xenophon on horsemanship. I of course am a villain of the worst sort imaginable, but a villain whose stables and library she would be happy to have at her disposal again, no doubt.”

Lucretia had immediately pointed out from the other side of John and just as loudly, “Speaking of which, let none of us forget that the first rule of horsemanship is never to approach the horse in anger.”

As he and his three companions crowded into Michael’s austere room, John noted afresh the occupant’s gaunt features, the eyes set like dark pools in a pale, serene face.

“Lord Chamberlain, welcome,” Michael said. “I have been wondering whether I would see you again. Can it be that you bring an invitation from the emperor? Is he ready to discuss certain matters in good faith?”

John ignored the question. “I have brought with me Senator Balbinus and his wife. I believe you will recognize her,” he said.

Michael’s gaze moved from Balbinus to Lucretia and paused there. “You are making a terrible mistake.” The words were spoken softly. Lucretia blushed and looked silently at the floor.

Balbinus glared at Michael, as if trying to ascertain what type of person this was whose hypnotic preaching had almost robbed him of his wife.

Darius shifted uneasily beside John. He had protested the Lord Chamberlain’s decision to bring only two excubitors into the shrine, unarmed at that, and even then to post them outside the small room.

“When we last met you immediately expressed your regrets at the death of Senator Aurelius,” John began without preamble. “I am wondering how you had come by this knowledge so quickly, being some distance from Constantinople.”

Michael shrugged. “I am visited every day by pilgrims from the city.”

“That may be so, but I believe word of Aurelius’ death arrived on the lips of one of your bloody-handed accomplices when he reported that your orders had been carried out.”

“Accomplices? My orders? What do you mean by this?” Michael’s gaze met John’s without wavering.

“It is my opinion that the person who murdered the senator is responsible for other deaths and, further, that all were carried out in your name,” John replied bluntly.

Michael looked grim. “So, Lord Chamberlain, it seems that you are not here to represent the emperor after all, for he would hardly send an emissary to accuse me of such evil deeds. Needless to say, I do not order murder to be committed.” He addressed Balbinus. “Then, senator, will you at least reveal the true purpose for this visit?”

“I agreed to be present as a witness,” Balbinus told him, “and only then because my wife urgently requested it. I do not know what it is I am to witness.”

John spoke again. Despite the rage in his eyes, he spoke in his normal level tone, rendering his words the more shocking.

“Then let me speak plainly,” he said. “It was you, Michael, who ordered the murder of those unfortunate stylites as well as the death of the girl Adula. Those first deaths you predicted in a letter to Justinian. The death of the girl, in the house of a wealthy citizen, you prophesied in a sermon you gave here on the very evening the deed was committed.”

“Is this true, Lucretia?” growled Balbinus.

She flushed with anger. “Why do you question me? I was not here on that particular evening!”

Michael shook his head wearily. “Does a prophet command the events he foretells? Of course not! Likewise, I but sounded the warning. It was the hand of God that smote those deluded stylites and a woman corrupted by the foulest of sins.” He traced the ritualistic sign that Peter often made but, John noticed, used all four fingers of his right hand to do so.

“I do not believe it was the hand of any deity,” John replied, noting by Darius’ expression and the rigid setting of his shoulders that he did not care for Michael’s characterization of Adula. “It was the very human hands of your accomplices, who soaked certain clothing in a mixture ignited by water. A heavy rain, for instance.”

“Is not a human hand animated by the Lord’s will His hand?” Michael asked, apparently heedless of the implied confession in the words.

“He must be very careless in the details then,” John said. “Your letter predicted four deaths, but only three stylites died. Joseph was spared, but that was only because the inflammable tunic placed in his offering basket was stolen by a beggar. And so it was he who burnt to death in an alley a stone’s throw away when drenched by the same storm that immolated the others. Was that beggar’s thieving hand also carrying out heavenly will?”

Michael abandoned the religious debate. “I repeat I am not a murderer, Lord Chamberlain. I am a healer. You yourself saw that I cured Senator Aurelius.”

“A coincidence, nothing more. You ordered him murdered also. Nor we should overlook another victim, a harmless old philosopher.”

A shadow seemed to pass across Michael’s pale features. “A philosopher?”

“A former tutor of mine, not one of those exiled philosophers whom you met in the east. They were traveling around, studying incendiary weapons, weren’t they, looking for a tool to take revenge on the emperor who had so badly wronged them.” John pressed the attack. “And is it not true that when they heard you preaching and more importantly saw the followers you were attracting they recognized in you another weapon just as powerful as fire, one that could be harnessed to it to wreak even more havoc?”