opposite of Monophysitism. Nestorius claimed that Christ had two natures, human and divine, both distinct, while the monophysites believe that Christ had only a single nature, his human nature being absorbed into his divinity.”
John felt dazed. During the long carriage ride he had steeled himself for death, but instead he found himself listening to an arcane lecture. He struggled to recall what he knew of church councils. “Did not the Council of Chalcedon condemn both as heretical?”
“Yes. The fathers ruled that Christ has two indivisible natures in one person. He was both fully human and fully divine. Having given the matter much thought, and as God’s representative on earth, I came to the conclusion that two indivisible natures are not necessarily different from a single nature in which a second nature has been subsumed.”
“A matter of words.”
“Nothing more. When I summoned Pope Vigilius to Constantinople I discovered he had never read the passages he was defending, for he does not read Greek. He knew only what he had been told. After I had them translated for him, he saw they were heresy and agreed with me that they should be condemned. If more churchmen spoke both Greek and Latin, as you do, Lord Chamberlain, perhaps this misunderstanding would never have arisen.”
It was true that John spoke several languages. It was a useful skill. Justinian and those closest to him were Latin speakers, while the rest of Constantinople spoke Greek or the various languages from the far flung parts of the empire from which they had come. Over the years John had become so used to alternating between languages according to whom he was speaking that he hardly noticed changing back and forth.
“I recall that Vigilius issued his pronouncement condemning the Three Chapters at Easter,” John said. “So you have all but brought about a reconciliation between the monophysites and the Orthodox church.”
Justinian nodded, then looking to where his wife lay, frowned. “Theodora was pleased. But now Vigilius is wavering. Cursed man! The churchmen in the west, in Italy, are horrified. They say a repudiation of the Three Chapters amounts to heresy.”
John had managed to control the fear he had felt while locked in the carriage, on his way to his execution as he had imagined. Now, however, he felt a new chill. What sort of man would choose the side of his wife’s tomb as the place to ramble on about the current religious dispute? Perhaps the tears on his cheeks were as false as the human face he wore.
Or perhaps Justinian was not a demon, but simply insane.
Justinian continued talking. Was this the sort of thing that ran through his mind when he sat up at night, poring over holy books?
John allowed his attention to wander. However the disputants wished to slice up Christ’s nature it made no difference to the world, except insofar as it affected the empire.
“This is a Christian empire,” Justinian was saying. “If the church is not united, the empire is not united.”
“I can see that, excellency.”
“Why are you looking so grim?” the emperor asked. “Do you suppose I intend to have you dispatched to the next world, with my praises of Theodora the last earthly sounds you hear?”
John had put the idea out of his mind. Now that Justinian had mentioned it he felt himself tensing again.
Suddenly he could feel the presence of Theodora. He was acutely aware her remains lay within the stone tomb beside which he stood. She was now nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. Yet she was not truly gone. Not from the city or the empire or John’s life.
“I require a report on your investigation,” Justinian said. “I do not care to leave my wife’s side. If I alarmed you…well, perhaps you will be spurred to greater efforts to find her murderer. What progress have you made?”
What progress? For some reason John’s thoughts turned to his visit to the inn. Making the acquaintance of a man who ate only white foods could hardly be called progress. It seemed to sum up his accomplishments so far.
Nevertheless, he recited the list of those he had visited, leaving out the former madam Isis. “Joannina’s lady- in-waiting Vesta, Theodora’s physician Gaius, Antonina, generals Germanus and Artabanes.”
Justinian’s face remained expressionless. He gave no hint of whether he considered this an acceptable effort or not.
When John had finished the emperor merely nodded. “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain. When you are ready your escort will take you home. But first you might want to visit the vigil being held for the late empress.” He started to turn away, paused. “I suspect some of those present are not true believers.” He glanced at John with a slight smile.
Again John wondered if Justinian suspected or knew John would have to be counted among those devoted to another god should a roll call be made by suddenly appearing angels.
“Speak to Vigilius. He is in attendance,” Justinian added.
Was he asking John to investigate the pope?
The emperor turned his back and John walked out into the night. Although the sky overhead was black it had begun to gray in the east, revealing the city’s ragged horizon of tenement and mansion roofs, domes and monuments, and not far away, mounting above all, the long shadow of the Aqueduct of Valens.
John was surprised to be alive.
Chapter Twenty-six
After hours of darkness Hypatia realized that the kitchen was filled with gray, predawn light.
Had she dozed off, waiting for the Lord Chamberlain to return?
If so, she surely would have awakened if he had come in.
She went down the hall anyway, looked through the open door of his bedroom, into his study.
He had not returned.
Maybe he really had been dragged off, like so many others in the past few days, to be…
She tried to put that fear out of her mind.
What should she do? She was a servant. The only court official she could possibly approach for help was the Lord Chamberlain.
Anatolius! John’s friend. He knew Hypatia. He was a lawyer now but had worked in the palace for years. And his house was not far away.
She raced downstairs, took the key from the hook beside the entrance, and went outside, pulling the heavy door shut behind her.
The gray light in the sky wasn’t yet filtering down into the city. The square was a black lake, the far side marked by a single torch outside the excubitors’ barracks. She waded out into the darkness, wondering if she would be able to find her way.
By the time she emerged from the Chalke Gate the streets had brightened enough for her to make out and avoid the shadowy forms of carts on their way out of the city after making night-time deliveries. Gulls and feral dogs were out in force, scavenging before the thoroughfares became crowded.
She made a wrong turn down a malodorous alley, but no ruffians laid in wait.
Finally she recognized the entrance to the short, alley-like passage leading to Anatolius’ home. The burly gatekeeper narrowed his eyes as she approached.
“I’ve come from the Lord Chamberlain’s house,” she said. “I’m his servant Hypatia. Anatolius knows me.”
The gatekeeper made a noncommittal grunt, walked back and into the massive villa the high wall enclosed, emerged quickly, and swung the gate open.
She could see him smile to himself and shake his head as she went past. He couldn’t help but be aware of his employer’s proclivities.
Anatolius himself met her at the entrance. He was dressed as if he had already been up and working though he looked rumpled and tired.
He led her across the atrium but stopped short of his office. Shadows clustered in corners and gray fingers of
