“Ah, I see I have your interest at last! Well, then, to continue. As it happened, the emperor was originally of the opinion that it would be most unwise to allow the general populace to mistakenly conclude that a high born, handsome and,” she touched Anatolius’ chin lightly, “well-favored young man be permitted to murder with impunity. So he consulted those who are knowledgeable about these matters. They suggested that your punishment begin with the stripping of the skin from your knees right down to your toes.”
Anatolius felt faint.
“But as all his subjects are aware,” Theodora pointed out with a smile, “only Justinian as emperor has the right to wear scarlet boots, so of course he enjoyed their jest immensely. So much so that it persuaded him that, as a gesture of his renowned mercy, you will be granted a speedy death immediately after suffering the agony of being fitted for your new scarlet boots.”
Anatolius’ stomach heaved at her words. He silently invoked the name of Mithra, trying desperately to maintain control of himself. What was she saying now, something about signing documents giving his newly acquired estate to the imperial treasury?
“But surely it is the law that…” he croaked.
Theodora made a valiant effort to appear offended at the mere suggestion of illegality. She was almost convincing, having improved in the art of acting since her youthful years in the theatre.
“It would be a gift for the good of the empire and could well encourage others to follow your generous example. After all, who of your illustrious line will be left after you die? Your only relative now is your uncle Zeno, and he is aging and in any event rarely sets foot in Constantinople.” An unpleasant smile flitted bat-like across her face. “I seem to be unable to avoid the mention of feet, don’t I? But concerning your uncle, he will shortly be arriving in the city. I sent for him immediately you were arrested so he could arrange your father’s funeral rites. We must always observe the proprieties, Anatolius. It is regrettable that you cannot be present at your dear father’s funeral, but there it is.”
Was it an indirect threat against his uncle, Anatolius wondered, recalling the kindly old scholar who spent his days pottering about in his garden, a man whom John had once described as possessing eclectic credulity?
He could not be certain, but he would strive not to reveal his fear to Theodora. He would rely upon his god to protect him from those who dwelt in darkness and to give him the courage manfully to bear whatever obscene horrors awaited. He offered up a silent prayer that he would not succumb to the temptation of begging for death. Whatever path he took, he knew he was trapped in a snare as finely meshed as the gold chains spidering Theodora’s hair. He had no illusions as to his fate even if he agreed to sign over everything he owned to the imperial treasury.
It was as if Theodora could read his rapidly churning thoughts.
“Now it may be that you are relying upon the Lord Chamberlain to rescue you from this predicament, as he has done so often in the past. I hear that he visited you not long ago,” she said, moving towards the door. As she opened it, she revealed what Anatolius realized was the true reason for her extraordinary visit.
In a smiling Parthian shot, she said, “But my dear Anatolius, on this occasion and indeed for the rest of what remains of your life, the Lord Chamberlain can no longer assist you. The emperor, you see, exiled him. Another gesture of his boundless mercy, for he could have ordered him executed on the spot, but alas, it was fruitless. Word has just arrived that your eunuch friend was caught by the rabble. Apparently he sought to defy his emperor and remain nearby. I am supposing you begged him to help you, and perhaps that is why he disobeyed Justinian’s orders. Such a pity, really, and so predictable of him. He could not have saved you and now he is dead. It appears that his life ended neither quickly nor painlessly. I will spare you the details.”
The door banged behind her, the draft from its heavy closing extinguishing the small lamp’s flickering flame.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Dressed in elegant clothing, Peter stood on the grassy space in front of the shrine of St.
Michael, speaking with a similarly well-dressed pilgrim.
“Sarcerdus Rufus?” the man said, in response to Peter’s inquiry. “His wealth is exceeded only by his piety. He followed Michael from a distant land. In fact, it’s well known that Michael began his preaching on Sarcerdus’ very doorstep.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully and forced himself to stand upright, burdened as he felt by the unaccustomed weight of his embroidered robe.
The past hours had resembled a strange dream. First, he had fled Constantinople with his master. Then they had inexplicably disembarked from the ship taking them to safety and walked south alongside the Bosporos, back to the shrine. And finally John had insisted his servant pose as a wealthy pilgrim. At least this latter strangeness explained John’s sudden and final puzzling instruction to add a fine garment in the small bundle of clothing carried with them when they left the city.
As his master had explained it, since he had been to the shrine in his official capacity on two very public recent visits, it was entirely possible that he might be recognized if he tried to question pilgrims or acolytes himself. And it was necessary that they find out as much as possible about Michael-especially about his origins.
Peter had ventured the opinion that everyone in Constantinople knew about Michael. After all, everyone in the city had talked about nobody else for days.
“Perhaps we only think we know about him and his followers,” John had remarked, going on to tell Peter about Philo’s cryptic message.
The servant was appalled. Why would his master risk his life because of some nonsensical letter? It was just as likely to have been some odd game the man had been playing, like the one with the board and carved pieces.
But Peter, always dutiful, had done his best, not that it had taken much craft to learn about Sarcerdus Rufus.
Peter, or rather the pilgrim he was supposed to be, had traveled a long way to pay his respects? Well, hadn’t he heard Sarcerdus Rufus had traveled even further? Was Peter prepared to pour a stream of silver out for Michael’s charitable works? Praiseworthy indeed, but everyone knew Sarcerdus Rufus had pledged a river of gold.
As to where this paragon of far traveling and generous virtue was to be found, Sarcerdus Rufus was staying with the acolytes and a number of pilgrims at a nearby villa.
Unfortunately, John now insisted Peter must interview Sarcerdus Rufus. Fortunately, the villa was not far down the road.
The villa’s gate was guarded by a group of burly men who, Peter thought, did not look much like acolytes. The man who stepped forward to block his path had certainly not received the scar bisecting his face from poring over scripture.
The man studied Peter, a well-dressed elderly man looking very fatigued. His tall, stooped attendant-his servant, Peter explained upon requesting admittance-stood a pace or two behind, intently studying the stony ground.
“You aren’t likely to be granted an audience with Michael very soon,” the guard warned Peter.
“Indeed that is not surprising, but I was advised I should bring my offering here for safekeeping,” he replied. “Perhaps I might entrust a small portion of it to you immediately?”
“We do have procedures, of course,” acknowledged the guard as his hand, missing two fingers, rose toward the glint of the follis Peter offered. No doubt everyone knew that Sarcerdus Rufus had given a larger bribe, but to Peter’s relief the guard didn’t mention this fact and simply stood aside.
“You are welcome here, good sirs,” he said, waving them into the villa grounds.
Stepping through the arched gateway, Peter found himself surprised by the expanse of the gardens surrounding the dwelling. Even a cursory glance around revealed a guest house, stables, and outbuildings, all solidly built of cream colored stone and roofed with red tiles and set amidst decorative groves and fountains.
The Michaelite presence was obvious from numerous groups of people conversing as they strolled around. As Peter and John drifted among them, they passed by a fountain with a basin a woman was using to wash clothing. A
