Mary Reed - Ten for Dying

“Could it have been one of those fiends?”

Antonina’s gave a sour laugh. “Certainly not. Having frightened the servants today, the stupid girl finally admitted it resembled a man. She’d initially dismissed it as a beggar hoping for scraps but as soon as she got out of bed this morning and heard about demons being seen in the church, naturally her beggar grew horns. Now the household’s in an uproar. My cook burnt my breakfast looking over her shoulder rather than at the brazier. I see I shall have to be severe with them.”

Antonina’s smile suggested that the task did not displease her.

***

Although a fierce sun was heating the path when Anastasia left Antonina’s house, she crossed the street to avoid walking in the shadow of the Hippodrome. Did she catch a glimpse of a small unnatural figure as it dodged back into the dimness of a shadowed entrance way? Was it the demon her friend’s servant had seen?

Don’t be silly, she told herself. Imagining things out of nightmares in broad daylight! What was wrong with her?

But wasn’t it true that the world teemed with demons? Hadn’t Jesus cast out unclean spirits? If there had been that many roaming the sparsely populated wastes of the Holy Land how many more must infest overcrowded Constantinople?

She touched the cross that hung from a gold chain around her neck.

Yes, the Lord would protect her. But what about Felix, who clung to his pagan god Mithra?

Anastasia had pleaded with him to abandon his god. There was no future for pagans at Justinian’s Christian court. And now it was even more important that he accept Christ, if only to avoid being carried off to Hell by whatever had carried off the shroud.

She was still musing about what strategies she might employ to convince Felix to change his beliefs when she entered the square of the Augustaion. She looked toward the Great Church, seeking inspiration, but the sun reflected off the dome was so blinding that she had to avert her gaze. The after-image lingered in her vision. Waves of heat rose from the square, distorting figures hurrying across it. The whole city seemed to be melting in the bright light.

Even the cross lying against her breast felt hot to her fingertips now. She prayed that Felix had encountered no difficulties.

What protection could he expect from his illusory Mithra?

Felix sat on a bench under the peristyle of his house, idly fingering the cross pendant Anastasia had given him and staring at the statue of Aphrodite set in a bed of rosebushes.

The last owner must have had strange humors or else been a philosopher. Love surrounded by thorns! What a sight for a military man to see every day. He should have the goddess replaced by a statue of Mars.

He squinted into the bright sky. Military man? What sort of military man was he, stationed at the palace? A servile bodyguard of perfumed courtiers. If only he were able to join the glorious fighting in Italy. But how could he? He had to obtain an appointment. It was the only way.

Germanus was the key. As soon as Justinian recovered from his grief he’d replace that fool Belisarius, and Germanus was a man who remembered who’d aided him when he was out of favor.

He turned at the sound of soft footsteps. His nascent smile of welcome died as he recognized his servant Nikomachos. He stuffed the cross back under his clothes. His shaggy beard concealed even the gold chain around his neck.

“At what hour do you wish the evening meal?” Nikomachos’ tone was, as usual, peevish, if not quite to the degree of justifying a reprimand.

“The time of my guest’s arrival being uncertain, lay out a few dishes that can be eaten cold. And wine. Not the everyday wine. Something fit for a banquet.”

Felix remembered John and his disgusting Egyptian wine. Now Felix had inherited a large store of the stuff. Perhaps he would donate it to a church, if they would take it. That would make Anastasia happy.

How far had John traveled on his way to Greece by now? Would they meet again or not?

“Cheeses? Fruit?” Nikomachos was asking.

Felix nodded absentmindedly. His servant bowed, almost imperceptibly, and went indoors.

Would Nikomachos have been surprised if he knew how his master envied him? He had lost an arm on a battlefield near Rome. Felix would gladly give an arm, or his life, to go into battle again. He had employed Nikomachos chiefly because of the man’s service to the empire. He often regretted it, being reminded every day by the sight of him of his own soft and unseemly post.

Felix got up with a grunt. He felt stiff and fat and lethargic, prematurely old. He walked slowly around the sunlit space. Flowers and bushes lay utterly still under a heavy blanket of heat. The only movement was when a bee lit on or took flight from a blossom. A gentle hum filled the hot air. The fragrance of roses overpowered other floral smells.

Anastasia liked having fresh flowers in the house. He picked a rose, which dug a thorn into his thumb. With a curse he tossed it into a bush and sucked the bleeding thumb.

Was it an omen?

How much longer would Anastasia be?

Staring in the direction of Aphrodite he found himself comparing the marble goddess to Anastasia. His lover was more mature, her figure more voluptuous. The sculptor had not had very good taste in women. A smile puckered Felix’s lips. Anastasia was a lively partner, well skilled in the ways of Aphrodite. If only she would stop trying to persuade him to convert to Christianity! He was a besotted fool to have revealed his faith, but in bed after passion such confidences were exchanged and he felt unable to refuse her questions. At least he had not revealed too much about Mithraism. He was careful to wear the little cross she had given him whenever she visited. Women liked that sort of thing.

Yet he was leaning toward converting. Only ostensibly, he told himself. It made sense. It was a Christian court and if to appear to be Christian meant a better chance of advancement, would it not be wise to at least pretend to follow their gentle god? Certainly a soldierly god like Mithra understood the necessity of suiting one’s tactics to the situation.

But he couldn’t ponder that right now. The stolen relic presented an urgent problem. Had he been unwise in arranging for the onward passage of packages without inquiring about their contents? He had given the matter some thought after visiting the church and the uncooperative Jingler and decided his best move would be to hand the next package-the one he assumed would contain the stolen relic-over to the authorities. The action would surely bring a large reward of some kind.

He could even make up some story about having tracked down the relic. He’d deceived the smugglers into delivering it to him. Anastasia would be able to think up a convincing tale.

In any event it was better to run the risk of retaliation from the smugglers-whoever they were-than the anger of Justinian, whose spies were everywhere.

He paused in his perambulations.

Was it possible there was a spy in his household?

Felix knew nothing about the religious beliefs of his servants but they were almost certainly Christians. He kept nothing of Mithra in his house. However, he did not always check his tongue in private, so they might well know he was a pagan. If the servants guessed he was profiting from the illegal sale of objects they venerated, and especially such an important object as the Virgin’s shroud, they might well decide to cause him trouble-extorting money to remain silent, for example.

Or betraying him to the authorities.

He scratched his sweaty neck nervously. He muttered a curse. What was the matter with him? He was starting to think like the Jingler.

Nevertheless, might a Christian baptism serve as a charm against exposure? The Lord was supposed to protect even the lowliest of His followers, although Felix had never seen evidence of it.