skin was of the kind, like well-oiled leather, that resists wrinkling and prevents one from determining the owner's true age by mere appearance. His otherwise well-performing epidermis, however, was marred by a rather large patch of scaly, lichenlike growth below his left ear, of about two fingers' breadth and length, that threatened periodically to crack and even bleed and which thirsted for some healing salve, of which I had plenty and would have gladly applied had he even given the least indication of wanting any — but every time I even made an attempt to approach him regarding this or any other matter, his hard, hostile stare stopped me cold.
The most extraordinary thing about Maximus, however, was his demeanor, for in his way of talking, walking, and even entering a room, he acted as if there were only two people in the entire world — himself and Julian. The first time I saw this little man was the very day we had arrived in Constantinople, while the newly crowned Emperor was conferring with the palace steward about some matter or another in a corridor near the main entrance. In the confusion of the day, Maximus had somehow wormed his way through the crowd outside, talked his way past the overwhelmed palace guards, and strode imperiously straight through the gaggle of eunuchs who were desperately seeking a quick audience to ensure the preservation of their positions. Maximus walked quickly, his tiny legs churning and his head and shoulders bobbing like a duck's, straight to where the Emperor stood examining a plan of the palace and its dependencies.
It took a moment for Julian to look down and focus his gaze on the extraordinary little man who stood before him, but when he did, his eyes lit up, his mouth broadened into a beaming smile and he swept Maximus up in an enthusiastic embrace that astonished the queasy courtiers as much as it did me.
'Maximus, old friend!' he exulted, and I don't believe I had ever seen such joy on his face as I saw at that moment. He immediately excused himself from the steward and led the dwarf down the corridor to a private conference room on the side, the little man bearing a smug, haughty expression as he swept past the advisers and impatiently waiting retainers, into private conference with the Emperor.
Nor was it the only time I saw this occur during those first few weeks — for although the Emperor's effusiveness dwindled with the familiarity of having the dwarf constantly in his presence, the look of joy on his face upon seeing his arrival never did diminish. The same cannot be said, however, for the rest of the palace dwellers. The eunuchs and courtiers hated the little man, and their feelings were reciprocated, for when he was not ignoring them completely he muttered oaths at them under his breath and roughly shouldered them aside if they attempted to block his access, even if they were merely seeking to announce his presence. Even I, to my shame, grew to despise him, for the man's rudeness knew no bounds; he appeared to have no human feelings in him whatsoever for anyone but Julian. I once took Oribasius aside, after his arrival from Gaul, to ask him about the queer little fellow, about whom no one in the palace seemed to know anything, and even the voluble Asclepian took some convincing before he would speak freely.
'I avoid him like the plague,' Oribasius told me. 'The fellow gives me indigestion.'
'But Julian must see something in him,' I argued. 'What is their connection?'
'He is an old teacher of his. A pagan, but not of the easygoing sort like myself. The man takes his worship of the ancient gods very seriously, almost, I would venture to say, murderously. He has performed astonishing feats of magic, raising spirits from the dead, causing inanimate objects to move, producing horrifying noises and smells from the empty air. Rumor has it he is skilled in certain black arts, poisoning and such, though I ascribe such tales to the malicious whispering of the eunuchs, who no doubt whisper about me as well. Still, several men who have crossed him in the past have died under mysterious circumstances.'
'Mysterious circumstances?' I repeated skeptically. 'Oribasius, you're a skilled physician, and so am I. There are no 'mysterious circumstances.''
'That is true,' he admitted. 'Still, people have died for surprising reasons, people whose death he certainly did not regret. I recall years ago how one of his rivals at the institute at Ephesus died of cholera-'
'That is hardly mysterious,' I interjected. 'Thousands die of cholera all the time during the epidemics.'
'There was no epidemic at the time.' Oribasius sighed. 'His was the one and only case that year, extremely unusual, you must admit. A bishop who had scolded him once suffered a stroke and was paralyzed — yet he was only thirty-five years old at the time. He suffered gravely for many days before he finally died of pure starvation, unable to eat. I could cite several others, but you get the idea.'
'Wives' tales,' I scoffed. 'Call him what you will: hierophant, magician, thaumaturge, evoker of the gods — his techniques are nothing but sleight of hand. It's appalling that Julian has fallen for such utter foolery.'
'Don't underestimate him, Caesarius,' Oribasius said warily. 'You may think Maximus a charlatan, but that word is not so easily defined. He calls himself a 'theurgist,' a worker of the divine. When he performs his 'miracles,' he uses every law known to science and to the gods — chemical, physical, optical — to achieve the effects he wishes to achieve. Since the gods made mirrors, or at least made men who made mirrors, he and his ilk see no contradiction in using them as props to obtain the desired theurgic effect. Blast it, mirrors are easy — he uses things that can't be easily explained, and convinces his followers that it is the gods' hand at work. Why are sparks created when certain rags of linen and wool are brushed against each other? Why does lodestone from Magnesia make iron jump through the air in its attraction to it? How do humble materials like saltpeter and charcoal, when combined, produce thunder and lightning? No one can explain these things, they believe them to be magic, and when Maximus uses them in his techniques they see him as a magician. You may think him a fraud, but since he employs materials provided by nature, indeed by the very gods, his tricks and manipulations are no fraud to his eyes. And you will make an enemy of him if you so dismissingly call him one. When Maximus is around I prefer to keep my mouth shut.'
Still, the more I thought about Maximus' history and his crude behavior, and about how the entire palace staff was being upset by his presence, the more it disturbed me. I finally resolved to raise the issue at the first opportunity. Several nights after my conversation with Oribasius, I was studying with Julian in his tiny pantry office when he suddenly looked up from his work, rubbed his eyes, and stood as if to stretch. He looked around absentmindedly as if searching for something to distract him from his meditations for a moment and I seized the occasion.
'Julian,' I said. 'I say this to you as a friend, with only your interests at heart, and I pray you take no offense.'
Julian smiled. 'When have you ever minced words with me? Sometimes you're like the voice of my conscience, Caesarius, but I would have it no other way. Please — say your piece.'
I hesitated. 'Your comrade Maximus is… an unusual sort. He has rather affronted some of the palace staff and set the eunuchs unreasonably against him. Is he so important that he requires unrestricted access to the palace and to you?'
He looked at me cautiously for a long moment, as if seeking to guess my intent; then he slowly stood up, crossed the small room, and closed the door. A feeling of dread came over me, as one feels when about to be informed of a friend's death, and indeed Julian, as I knew him, died that day, in a way. He resumed his seat and his intense gaze at me, and then sighed.
'Caesarius,' he said, 'not everything an emperor does is public knowledge. My entire boyhood, for example, was a very private one, despite the fact that I was closely related to the Emperor and was a nephew of Constantine himself. I spent many years in seclusion, shuttling between banishment and acceptance, never for reasons of my own doing, but because of passing political winds. My tutor Mardonius and I moved several times, between Constantinople, Nicomedia, my remote estate at Macellum, back to Constantinople-'
'Julian,' I interrupted, 'your moves and your devotion to study are well known to all. You needn't explain them.'
'Just so,' he said. 'But the following events you did not know. In my twentieth year Constantius sent me to the academy at Nicomedia, to distance me from the distractions of Constantinople. I quickly learned all I was able from the instructors there, and pleaded to the Emperor to allow me to travel further, to expand my horizons. In the end he relented, provided that I continued to travel with Mardonius, who was ordered to send in regular reports.
'During my travels I resolved to visit Pergamum, for I had heard of its famous center for Asclepian studies and I had in mind that I might wish to investigate the healing arts. You needn't furrow your brows at me that way, Caesarius, I know your feelings about the Asclepians, and in any case I ended by doing nothing to pursue that course of study. There will be plenty for you in a moment to make your brows furrow, and worse.
'In Pergamum I fell in with Aedesius the mystic. Aedesius was ancient, and at the time failing in bodily strength, but he had developed about him a circle of extremely vigorous disciples, including Eusebius and our friend
