religious viewpoints had come to nothing?
“The city is in a ferment.” Justinian waved away a fly buzzing at his face and heaved a sigh that belied the strange lack of urgency in his tone. “In addition, I have received disturbing information to the effect that some of my excubitors are deserting their emperor. Such disloyalty pains me, but in due course it will pain them much more, I assure you.”
John bowed his head. There was no doubt that Justinian would be aware that one high ranking excubitor was even now recuperating at John’s house. Or had Felix already been arrested? “It is my understanding that the majority of the men have remained at their posts,” he ventured.
Justinian waved his hand airily. “For how long, Lord Chamberlain, for how long? We both know the seductive power of a rampaging mob, just as we are both aware that stern measures are required to contain it. We have had to take such measures before, as you will doubtless recall.”
He sighed again. “But,” he went on briskly, “emperors must be subtle as well as wise. Brute force of arms is not the only way to rule. At times, my subjects are like children, appeased with golden toys, a delightful entertainment, unaccustomed delicacies to eat, a handful of coins. Failing that, there are always sterner measures of persuasion, such as the removal of their ringleader’s head. After all, if their leader cannot keep his, what chance have his miserable followers?”
John remained silent. Was the emperor about to order a second attack on the pilgrims’ encampment or would he require John to return to the shrine and personally remove Michael’s head? With Justinian, anything was possible. Perhaps the emperor’s mention of coins indicated he had decided to purchase a peaceful solution, as with the Persians who had been rattling their spears at the gates of the empire for years.
The emperor’s hand flashed out. The drone of the fly stopped abruptly and he dropped its tiny carcass to the floor.
“That is how such agitators should be dealt with,” Justinian remarked casually, “but unfortunately with a host as large as is buzzing in the streets, there are neither fists big nor numerous enough to catch them all. And so, dear Lord Chamberlain, given such a dilemma, what action would you take were you emperor?”
So that accounted for the emperor’s cheerful manner, John realized. Although his theological efforts had failed, he had formed another plan of attack and for some reason wished the Lord Chamberlain to venture guesses at it, a childish game carried on in a marble sarcophagus while a lawless populace continued roaming the streets.
Justinian laughed. “I see that you are puzzled, John. Then I shall give you a hint. The house that you live in. What happened to its former owner?”
An icy hand squeezed John’s heart. The hated tax collector’s head had been handed to the mob. It was suddenly and horrifyingly clear that Justinian proposed to solve his current problems by utilizing the same method.
Mithra! John thought. He had endured so much. Could not he have been rewarded with a soldier’s death? To be bound and sacrificed like a lamb or a dove at the self-serving altar of the man in whose service he had labored so long, and all because of a Christian holy man. It was ironic beyond belief-so ironic that, to his own amazement as much as Justinian’s, he burst into laughter.
Justinian began chuckling himself. His amusement lasted longer than John’s, whose brief merriment ended as abruptly as it had begun when it occurred to him that Theodora at least would certainly be vastly entertained to see him dead. He was absolutely convinced, as if the emperor had just announced it to him personally, that she had been apprised of his disobedience of her orders. It was just as certain that his disobedience had more than a little to do with what was now to be his fate.
Justinian slapped John’s thin shoulder lightly.
“I have always admired your self-control, Lord Chamberlain,” he said, “and now I stand in awe of it. When you heard your death sentence pronounced, your expression scarcely wavered, or at least not until you laughed.” He chuckled again. “But you are not quite so cunning that I cannot follow your reasoning nor detect that hint of relief, however much you try to hide it.”
“Caesar?” John forced out through dry lips.
The emperor looked amused. “Yes, yes, you cannot conceal it. You know me too well. It’s true indeed that ordinarily by now your head would no longer be attached to your body and the rabble would already be praising me for dispatching the treacherous advisor who undermined my efforts to negotiate with Michael.” He paused, contemplating the prospect. “Still, as a man of honor,” he continued, gently nudging the dead fly with the toe of his scarlet boot, “despite the undeniable fact that it would be the easiest and swiftest solution to my dilemma, I find myself reluctant to use it. No, it has been my gracious decision that in view of your long service and discreet laboring on my behalf in many delicate matters you will go immediately into exile. Before the third hour hence, leave the city. Do not linger. My generous mood may be short-lived. After all, my next cup of wine may be sour or I may find, dare I say it, a fly on my plate.”
He turned away. The audience was at an end.
John bowed to the emperor’s back. How tempting a target it presented. But of course nobody was allowed into the imperial presence without surrendering any weapon carried upon their person. And the guards stationed by the doors, out of ear shot but well within sight, would swiftly fall upon anyone attempting to harm the emperor and, quite possibly, upon one who merely appeared to be contemplating doing so.
“Caesar, my felicitations,” he said quietly.
“Goodbye, John,” Justinian replied over his shoulder.
“I hope John’s audience with the emperor has gone well,” Isis remarked. “I do think it’s a good omen that Justinian has decided to put his theological studies aside and take personal control of the empire again. Justinian you have at least half a chance of outguessing, but Theodora, well…”
Sunlight splashed over Isis as she sat at the kitchen table eating dried apricots and talking to Peter. It was that quiet time when the midday meal was over and the kitchen not busy with preparations for the evening. Now that she had washed and changed into a modest woolen robe, the madam could have passed for a respectable woman except for the barbaric lapis lazuli amulet suspended from a gold chain around her neck.
Peter commented that she had been fortunate that the bauble had not been stolen in her flight to John’s door. His expression of distaste belied his words, however.
“Ah, Peter, you must give me credit,” Isis replied, finishing the last piece of fruit. “As soon as I realized the possibility I took it off and concealed it about my person.” To spare his sensibilities she did not say where it had been concealed.
Peter complimented her upon her ingenuity. “But tell me,” he went on, “that amulet, it’s a smaller version of that djed object that you have in your bedroom. Is it intended to protect?”
Isis weighed her words. She was well aware of Peter’s faith and did not wish to offend the elderly man. He had been kind to her since her precipitous arrival, cast up on the doorstep like seaweed after a storm in the Sea of Marmara. In fact, Peter had obtained her respectable garment from a matron of his church and, although she did not care much for the hymns which he sang in a tuneless voice as he prepared food over the brazier, she was grateful for his concern.
“Well, it’s Egyptian,” she explained carefully. “Some call it a fertility charm, others the backbone of the god Osiris. Yet others claim it represents the tree in which my namesake discovered Osiris’ hidden body. But whatever you choose to call it, a djed is considered very lucky. I would feel quite naked without mine.”
Peter sniffed disdainfully. “Egyptian, you say? No offence intended, but they do have some very odd ideas. Why, they mummify cats and crocodiles and such and bury them with heathen rites, don’t they?”
With a slight smile, Isis confirmed the truth of his information.
“The master lived in Alexandria a long time ago,” Peter went on thoughtfully. “Do you think he would consider it impudent if I asked him to tell me more about it? It sounds like a very exotic and unusual place.”
“No more so than Constantinople, Peter,” was the reply. “We just become inured to what surrounds us. Why do you suppose that we scarcely notice the beggars crowding around the Milion? Sometimes it takes a stranger’s eyes to see what is clearly before us yet to which we are blind.”
As she finished speaking Darius came into the kitchen, escorting Hypatia, who was carrying a basket of leeks. She set it on the table and smiled at Isis. “Salutations, my lady. I am Hypatia.”
Isis’ drawn face lit up at the sound of her voice. “You’re Egyptian! How wonderful to hear that accent again!
