Whether Justinian’s gaudy footwear had been chosen to reflect the importance of their audience or was simply an unfortunate result of inattention to dress, John could not say. Aside from the boots, Justinian was dressed in his usual careless manner which on this occasion meant a purple, gem-studded cloak thrown over a creased tunic that even from a distance looked as if it had been slept in.
“Leave us,” Justinian ordered the two excubitors who escorted his visitors into the enormous hall. “These men are known to me. They present no danger.”
He waved the guards away with the rolled parchment in his soft, heavily beringed hand. The excubitors withdrew but only as far the reception hall’s great bronze doors. No man, however trustworthy he might have seemed a day or even an hour before, was to be left alone with the man who was supreme head of the Roman Empire and God’s representative on earth.
The hall was chilly. Its green marble walls, graced by ivory panels webbed with delicate gold leaf traceries, soared up into the shadowed vault of the roof. The only other decorations were one or two statues of celebrated military figures. John had thought more than once that those fortunate enough to be permitted to approach the emperor’s throne were in no need of such reminders of Justinian’s absolute power over every living thing in the empire. Having observed countless such visitors approach and depart, John felt that most of them counted themselves fortunate to leave with their heads still on their shoulders. He, however, like all those serving at court, was continually camped very close to danger whether he was actually in Justinian’s presence or not.
“Caesar,” began John, but before he could approach the throne, a simple affair of inlaid wood looking as out of place as a shopkeeper’s stool amidst the soaring magnificence of its setting, the emperor leapt up from it. The jeweled fibula fastening his purple cloak slipped, allowing the precious fabric to drag on the floor as he advanced to greet them.
“Lord Chamberlain, I regret I must ask you to put aside preparations for the formal opening of the Great Church for yet another day since I have another task for you. However, no doubt you will be relieved to hear that it will not require you to climb pillars.”
Justinian’s round, florid face bore its customary bland smile. Some of his enemies characterized that smile as the expression of an idiot, others considered it the blank mask of a demon yet to completely master aping the human form. And some called it both, but not too loudly.
Justinian turned toward Aurelius. “Word has reached my ear that you are not well, senator.”
“A matter of minor import, Caesar, about which I did not wish to trouble you.”
“I see,” Justinian said. “But I do wish to say this. Doubtless you’re aware that when physicians failed the ancients, oft times their patients visited the sanctuary of Asclepius. Our medical knowledge is much advanced since those days, but still it does not do to ignore the possibility of divine intervention, while bearing in mind that the faithful now petition Saint Michael rather than a pagan god.” His tone clearly conveyed the promise that anyone addressing their petition to the latter could be guaranteed ill health as soon as the fact was discovered. “Perhaps,” he continued, “you should consider making a visit to such a shrine.”
Aurelius murmured his humble appreciation for the suggestion, which was the same advice he had already received from more than one of his acquaintances.
Justinian fell silent, staring into the vault of the ceiling and then pacing away, forcing his two visitors to follow. He never seemed to stand still. John, who dealt with the emperor nearly every day, could almost believe the popular rumor that Justinian never slept.
“But I shall smooth your way for you, my dear senator,” the emperor went on. “I am sending you with the Lord Chamberlain here to visit the shrine of Saint Michael, the angelic physician himself. It is beside the Bosporos. You will have horses at your disposal within the hour.”
Aurelius bowed his thanks.
“And now, my friends, we shall turn to the particulars of why you were summoned to see me.” The emperor’s tone hardened. “It so happens that a crowd of pilgrims has taken up temporary residence in and around that very shrine. It is a holy place, we are all agreed upon that, and therefore worthy of pilgrimage. However, their leader, who conveniently enough calls himself Michael, has apparently taken leave of his senses.”
Justinian was off again, scarlet boots padding quietly across the marble floor as John and Aurelius trailed at a respectful distance.
“I received a communication from this Michael a few days ago demanding an audience, if you can believe such audacity!” he went on. “It also stated that certain dire events would soon come to pass if the demand was not met. As vaguely worded a prophecy as any, yet it appears to have been borne out by the deaths of the stylites.”
John exchanged a glance with Aurelius before speaking. “Gaius will doubtless have apprised you of the results of our investigations into those deaths, excellency?”
“Indeed he has, and he is of the opinion that they were caused by lightning. He also informed me you are not quite so certain, Lord Chamberlain. Why is that?”
“Lightning does not usually strike so many places at once. Such a remarkable coincidence gave me pause.”
“True enough, but then chance can confound our expectations,” Justinian pointed out. “Recall that Emperor Carus was struck down by lightning during a military campaign. Even a prudent gambler, if such a person can be found, would happily have wagered the entire imperial treasury against half a follis that such an event would never happen.”
“Unless of course the lightning was directed by a divine hand,” Aurelius put in.
John glanced quickly at him. Apparently the senator’s contemplation of a lengthy ride to the shrine of Saint Michael undertaken while suffering his painful condition had disconcerted him. Suggesting the possibility of divine retribution against an emperor was surely a statement the senator would normally not dream of making.
“I have heard it said that there might be a more worldly explanation for the emperor’s death,” John quickly remarked, “but most would dismiss that as mere gossip.”
“No doubt, Lord Chamberlain, no doubt,” Justinian agreed mildly. “But as for these poor holy men, I know you would prefer there was a mystery to be solved, and so would I, rather than suppose that this Michael person possesses the key to knowledge of the future. Thus, you will suspend your investigations and all your other duties for a day or so since there is a journey to undertake.” He flourished the parchment he carried. “Here is a second communication from Michael, newly arrived. He again demands an audience, but this time he mentions something of his theology, which is extraordinary to say the least.”
“Caesar, if I could have a copy of these messages, it might…” John quickly said.
Justinian waved the letter in a dismissive gesture. “Do you doubt my characterization of them?”
“Of course not.” John knew well the folly of contradicting Justinian.
The emperor smiled coldly and continued. “Very well, then. You and Senator Aurelius will go to the shrine as my ambassadors. Meet with this Michael and ascertain all you can of his plans or any other information that will be useful to me. You are there officially as bearing my greetings, but I also wish you to ascertain whether he may be inclined to negotiation.”
Justinian addressed Aurelius. “Now, senator, I would not tax your strength further. I will speak to my Lord Chamberlain alone.”
As soon as Aurelius had departed the hall, Justinian handed John the rolled parchment. “Since you were so interested in reading Michael’s letters, you may examine this latest one. First of all, give me your general impressions,” he ordered.
John rapidly scanned the proffered parchment. “I note that Michael writes in excellent Greek and his hand is fairly neat, but that his theology is not what the Patriarch would term orthodox.”
“Yes, it is an interesting theory, is it not, this idea of theirs, what would you call it, not a Trinity but a Quaternity?” The emperor’s lips twitched into what, for the first time since the audience began, might have been a genuine smile. “But this notion of a purely human Christ co-equal with the Trinity, that is the blackest of heresies.” Justinian’s smile did not waver as he made this pronouncement. “Still, I intend to compose a thesis upon this startling suggestion. Perhaps we can discover some path to a mutual understanding with these Michaelites, as they apparently call themselves.”
John did not doubt that the amount of understanding that might be discovered would depend heavily upon the number of followers Michael could claim. “If there is such common ground, I am certain you can find it, excellency,” he said tactfully. “The Patriarch himself bows to your theological prowess.”
