Mary Reed - Ten for Dying

The baptism would need to be performed privately.

But he was a soldier of Mithra, like John and other friends. How could he abandon his faith? Abandon both his god and his friends?

He could imagine John’s stinging rebuke. The Lord Chamberlain-the former Lord Chamberlain-was a man he greatly admired for his stoic acceptance of the terrible fate he had met at the hands of Persians. Surgery that had made him a eunuch.

Even as the excubitor captain continued pacing impatiently around his garden, his thoughts turned from an angry John to a friend in danger sailing further away from Constantinople at every passing hour. Going into exile and yet, in Felix’s opinion, no safer than he had been when living on the palace grounds for years.

Justinian had a long memory. Imperial assassins, like imperial spies, were well-paid and numerous.

Imperial assassins had a way of catching the disfavored unawares.

The thought brought Felix back to his own dilemma.

He wished Anastasia would arrive.

Felix went inside and paced from room to room. He eyed the wine jug sitting on the table beside the bed. No. It would be better to do something constructive than start drinking. He and Anastasia had been doing a lot of drinking. He must keep a clear head.

Instead, he could have a word with General Germanus. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Germanus of his loyalty. If there was going to be trouble, Germanus might be his strongest ally.

The general’s doorkeeper informed Felix that Germanus had gone to an important poetry reading at the Baths of Zeuxippos. “Of course, you wouldn’t have known about such a cultural event,” the doorkeeper sniffed.

Luckily, from Felix’s point of view, the reading had just ended when he arrived. The audience was leaving the semi-circular exedra off the main atrium of the bath complex, excitedly debating the merits of competing court poets as if the versifiers were charioteers and money was riding on the winner of a forthcoming literary debate.

A group of big, imposing men, all with an obvious military mien, lingered between the curved rows of seats and the speaker’s platform.

Felix spotted Germanus among them.

In his early forties, the general was, like Justinian, a nephew of the late Emperor Justin. However, like Justin and unlike Justinian, he had retained the rugged look of the family’s peasant origins, with a granite block of a face and powerful, sloping shoulders. He kept his dark hair and beard trimmed to a stubble.

This was a man who looked and acted like an emperor. Not a man who took orders from a woman, as Justinian had. And what would Justinian do now that Theodora was gone? Had it not been for her admonitions he would have fled the city like a frightened girl during the Nika riots years ago. And considering that Justinian’s chief general Belisarius was likewise ruled by his wife Antonina…well, Felix feared for the fate of the empire. Whereas if Germanus replaced Belisarius he would soon restore things to their proper order.

As Felix approached he saw Germanus speaking to a swarthy, clean-shaven young man. “Excellent work, Florus. Your arrows go straight to their targets. I look forward to the next reading.” He clapped the man on the shoulder so hard Felix was surprised the slight fellow remained standing.

The poet bowed and left the exedra, a large scroll thrust before him, a spear of words.

Felix caught Germanus’ eye. “Captain Felix, you’re late. Florus was reading from his New Illiad , the part where Belisarius retreats to his ship off the coast of Italy and sulks. I admit I offered a few suggestions. He says I inspire him.”

“You inspire many of us,” Felix said, wondering how much of Germanus’ gold had watered the inspiration. Surely Germanus’ Uncle Justin, whom Felix had served as a bodyguard, would not have bragged about inspiring poets. The old soldier-turned-emperor couldn’t even read.

Felix read only history, such as Cassiodorus’ History of the Goths , ever hopeful that he would one day be sent to Italy to help vanquish those bold warriors. And of course lately he had read a few biblical verses at Anastasia’s behest.

Felix’s expression must have betrayed his lack of enthusiasm.

“Florus is a real man’s poet,” Germanus added. “Cold steel and hot blood, none of these pitiful perfumed worms squealing like suckling pigs while they squirm under a woman’s dainty thumb.”

One of the general’s looming entourage went so far as to clap Germanus on the back and laugh heartily. “You should write that down, sir. You’re a better poet than Florus!”

Felix attempted a polite chuckle.

“Why are you here, Felix? Do you have information for me?” The general’s tone was chillier than Felix would have liked.

“The Lord Chamberlain has departed for Greece. I saw him leaving this morning.”

“Everyone in the city knows he’s been sent into exile.”

“True, but he has actually left now. Meaning Narses will now have Justinian’s ear. There will be no one to challenge him.”

“One eunuch is much like another.”

“The emperor might, however, be inclined to listen more closely to his excubitor captain. I am after all in charge of palace security and the palace is even more dangerous than usual with Theodora gone and Justinian still reeling from his loss. Changes are coming, and changes always bring danger.”

Germanus barked out a laugh. “Since Justinian’s uncle was captain of the excubitors before he usurped the throne, the emperor might consider you dangerous.”

“Am I dangerous to the emperor? Do you want me to be?” Felix asked softly.

Germanus smiled. It was the smile of a wolf baring its teeth. “I’m pleased to see you are so eager, my friend. But we must be careful.”

“I am looking forward to fighting by your side in Italy. But if there is anything I can do immediately, I am at your service.”

“I appreciate your support. But Constantinople is not Italy. We are not at war here.”

“You and Belisarius are at war.”

“Indeed.” Germanus ran an enormous hand over his cropped hair. His colleagues stood silent, pretending not to listen although they could not have failed to hear every word. “It is not a war that can be fought with steel, however, which is where you excel.”

“Nevertheless, if I can assist, I will. Whatever you need.”

“What I need is something to fatally soil Belisarius’ reputation, something that will make him a stench in the emperor’s nostrils, something that will cause the emperor to distrust him.”

It was the sort of information John would have been more likely to turn up, Felix thought. “I will keep my eyes and ears open,” he said. “I have many contacts at the palace.”

Possibly Anastasia knew something useful. He did not voice the thought.

“Very good.” Germanus clapped him on the shoulder. “I like to see enthusiasm in my allies. But you must not seek me out. I will send for you if I need you. I will see you are invited to Florus’ next reading.”

When Felix got back home, Anastasia still had not returned. Felix ate by himself by lamplight.

He was more irritated than worried. She had her duties at the palace, although she had never specified what they were. Attending a doddering old matron who did not take notice of her frequent absences perhaps?

Nikomachos cleared the table with his typical maddening slowness. How else could a one-armed servant clear a table? If not for Felix he would be unemployable since he couldn’t fight anymore. His service to the empire entitled him to live in dignity.

Felix went out into the back courtyard for a breath of air. Over the top of the wall he could see only vague shapes of buildings.