feel that any attempt to impose such a solution is, from the social and political standpoint, unwise. And, from the theological standpoint, downright impious.”
“Impious?” asked Hermogenes. “ Impious? ”
Cassian’s nod was vigorous. “Yes, young man-you heard me aright. Impious.”
Hermogenes groped for words. “I’ve never heard anyone say-” He fell silent, taking a thoughtful sip of his wine.
Cassian smiled. “Mine is not, I admit, the common approach. But let me ask you this, Hermogenes-why is the subject of the Trinity so difficult to fathom? Why is it such an enigma?”
Hermogenes hesitated. “Well, it-I’m not a theologian, you know. But it’s very complicated, everyone knows that.”
“Why?”
Hermogenes frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Why is it so complicated? Did it never strike you as bizarre that the Almighty should have chosen to manifest himself in such a tortuous fashion?”
Hermogenes opened his mouth, closed it; then, took a much deeper sip of wine-almost a gulp, actually. As a matter of fact, he had — now and then-puzzled over the matter. Privately. Very privately.
Cassian smiled again. “So I see. It is my belief, my dear Hermogenes, that the Lord chose to do so for the good and simple reason that He does not want men to understand the Trinity. It is a mystery, and there’s the plain and simple truth of it. There is no harm, of course, in anyone who so chooses to speculate on the problem. I do so myself. But to go further, to pronounce oneself right — to go so far as to enforce your pronouncement with religious and secular authority-seems to me utterly impious. It is the sin of pride. Satan’s sin.”
Hermogenes was struck, even more than by Cassian’s words, by the bishop’s expression. That peculiar combination of gentle eyes and a mouth set like a stone. The merarch knew the bishop’s towering reputation as a theologian among the Greek upper crust. And he knew, as well, that Cassian’s reputation as a saintly man was even more towering among the Syrian peasantry and plebeian classes. Both of those reputations suddenly came into focus for him.
“Enough theology!” protested Irene. “I want to hear John’s latest progress report on his infernal devices.”
Almost gratefully, Hermogenes looked away from the bishop. John of Rhodes straightened abruptly in his chair and glared at Irene. He slammed his goblet down on the table. Fortunately, it was almost empty, so only a few winedrops spilled onto the table. But, for a moment, Hermogenes feared the goblet would break from the impact.
“There is no progress report, infernal woman! As you well know-you were present yourself, yesterday, at the latest fiasco.”
Irene grinned. She looked at the bishop.
“Did you hear that, Anthony? He called me a devil! Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive? I ask for your expert opinion.”
Cassian smiled. “Further clarification is needed. If he called you a devil, then, yes-’twould be a tad excessive. However, John was by no means specific. ’Infernal woman,’ after all, could refer to any denizen of the Pit. Such as an imp. In which case, I’m afraid I would have to lend my religious authority to his words. For it is a certain truth, Irene, that you are indeed an imp.”
“I didn’t think there was such a thing as a female imp,” retorted Irene.
The bishop’s smile was positively beatific.
“Neither did I, my dear Irene, until I made your acquaintance.”
Laughter erupted at the table. When it died down, Maurice spoke.
“What happened, John?”
The naval officer scowled. “I burned down the workshop, that’s what happened.”
“Again?”
“Yes, thank you- again! ” John began to rise, but Antonina waved him down with a smile.
“Please, John! I’ve had too much to drink. I’ll get dizzy, watching you stump around.”
The naval officer subsided. After a moment, he muttered: “It’s the damned naphtha, Maurice. The local stuff’s crap. I need to get my hands on good quality naphtha. And for that-”
He turned to the bishop. “Isn’t your friend Michael of Macedonia in Arabia now?”
The bishop shook his head. “Not any longer. He returned a few weeks ago and has taken up residence nearby. He would not have been much help to you, in any event. He was in western Arabia, among the Beni Ghassan. Western Arabia’s not the best place for naphtha, you know. And, besides, I don’t think-”
He coughed, fell silent.
Hermogenes was about to ask what the famous Michael of Macedonia had been doing in Arabia when he suddenly spotted both Antonina and Irene giving him an intent stare. He pressed his lips shut. A moment later, both women favored him with very slight smiles.
Something’s afoot, he thought to himself. There are hidden currents here, deep ones. I think this is a very good time for a young officer to keep his mouth shut, shut, shut. No harm in listening, though.
Maurice spoke again.
“There’s an Arab officer in our cavalry-well, he’s half-Arab-a hecatontarch by the name of Mark. Mark of Edessa. His mother’s family lives near Hira, but they’re not affiliated to the Lakhmids. Bedouin stock, mostly. I’ll speak to him. He might be able to arrange something.”
“I’d appreciate it,” said John. A moment later, the naval officer rose from the table.
“I’m to bed,” he announced. “Tomorrow I’ve got to rebuild that damned workshop. Again.”
As he left, he and Antonina exchanged smiles. There was nothing in that exchange, noted Hermogenes, beyond a comfortable friendship. He thought back on the bizarre, leering expression which had crossed Antonina’s face earlier in the evening, in the presence of Procopius.
Deep currents. Coming from a hidden well called Belisarius, if I’m not mistaken. I do believe my favorite general is up to his tricks again. So. Only one question remains. How do I get in on this?
Maurice arose. “Me, too.” The hecatontarch glanced at Hermogenes.
“I believe I’ll stay a bit,” said Hermogenes. He extended his cup to Irene. “If you would?”
Maurice left the room. Antonina yawned and stretched.
“I’d better look in on Photius. He wasn’t feeling well today.” She rose, patted Irene on the shoulder, and looked at Hermogenes.
“How long will you be staying?”
“Just for the night,” replied Hermogenes. “I’m leaving early in the morning. I really can’t be absent from the army for long. Sittas seems to have finally gotten lance charges out of his system, and he’s beginning to make noises about general maneuvers.”
“Come again, when you can.”
“I shall. Most certainly.”
Moments later, he and Irene were alone in the room. Hermogenes and she stared at each other in silence, for some time.
He understood the meaning in her gaze. A question, really. Is this man staying at the table to seduce me? Or He smiled, then.
I’ve done some foolish things in my life. But I’m not dumb enough to try to seduce her. As my Uncle Theodosius always said: never chase women who are a lot smarter than you. You won’t catch them, or, what’s worse, you might.
“So, Irene. Tell me about it. As much as you can.”
The next morning, Antonina arose early, to give her regards to Hermogenes before he left. As she walked out of the villa, the sun was just coming up. She found the young merarch already in the courtyard, holding his saddled horse. He was talking quietly with Irene.
Antonina was surprised to see the spymaster. As a rule, Irene viewed sunrise as a natural disaster to be avoided at all costs.
When she came up, Hermogenes smiled and bowed politely. Antonina and the merarch exchanged pleasantries, before he mounted his horse and rode off.
