Four for a Boy (10 page)

The two senators looked alike in their surprise.

“Not only a shrewd fellow, but courageous as well, to ask such a question,” Aurelius remarked. “This man is on the path to great things.”

“Unfortunately,” observed Opimius, “that particular path passes by more than one early grave.”

“This is entirely irregular,” Aurelius said after a gulp of wine. “But then, since you are out and about with one of Justin’s bodyguards, I must assume that perhaps you seek this information for another.” He stopped speaking and looked expectant, but John did not take the opportunity to respond.

“I have as much as admitted my son owes his life to you and Felix, so I can hardly refuse,” Aurelius finally said. “I trust I do not need to remind you that I speak in confidence or that a slave’s word against a senator’s isn’t worth a half-nummus. I note you have not revealed the details surrounding this assignment of yours so you are obviously a man of discretion.”

John nodded silently.

Opimius set his cup down on his desk. “This is quite absurd, Aurelius. I must apologize.”

Aurelius shook his head. “No, I find it rather interesting. I would not be surprised if John here plans to pose equally impertinent questions to whomever I name. Besides, we should all welcome any opportunity to assist our next emperor, no matter the odd guise in which it may present itself. So I believe I can suggest a couple of appropriate avenues of inquiry.”

“It’s all Anna’s doing,” Opimius replied. “She’s never stern enough with the servants. She gets too fond of them, you see. I’ll send him off immediately.”

“That would be an error, I think. After all, he and I seem to be working to the same end. John, I will give you two names, and no more than that. However, I would not be accused of saying anything slanderous nor do I care to be asked how I know this or that. Let’s say I am basing what I tell you on nothing more than a feeling that I have. Or to put it another way I am playing at being the oracle. And my pronouncement, based on the direction of the wind, is that you should seek out Tryphon, whose mansion overlooks the Golden Horn. The other person is someone you may have seen here on occasion. Trenico.”

“Trenico? One of two upon whom you’d cast suspicion?” Opimius’ face reddened. “Aurelius, I hope you’re not implying that I…”

“I’m implying nothing, Opimius. Your friends are all well aware of Trenico’s interest in your daughter. But people who are not familiar with your domestic situation, well, they may draw entirely the wrong conclusions.”

“But Trenico is a confidante of Theodora’s!”

“So he says. Heed the oracle, my friend.” Aurelius smiled, but there was a chill in his eyes. “Now, we should get on with our business and John here can proceed with his.” He pursed his lips and stared at John. “Yes, my son is more perceptive than I at times. There is definitely something strange in those eyes. As for getting any information out of the two men I’ve named, I wish you luck.”

Chapter Thirteen

Trenico’s eyelids narrowed when he read the introductory letter he had accepted from Felix. Then he stuck out his prominent chin and did his best to look down on John and Felix, both of whom towered over him.

“Since the City Prefect requests it, I suppose I have no choice but to speak to you. We must all assist him in his efforts to make our streets safe. Even when it involves inviting slaves into our homes.”

He dismissed the servant who had admitted them and led his unwelcome visitors across the atrium and along a short hallway to an office whose lone window was shuttered.

Felix proceeded with his inquiries.

The excubitor had recovered from his drinking bout and possibly, John thought, had had time to reflect for he seemed to be making some effort to conceal his distaste for the companion with whom he had been temporarily yoked. Perhaps he was also embarrassed by recollections of his behavior.

John glanced around Trenico’s office. Its painted walls displayed a fantastical cityscape of impossible spires and domed towers. Lamps sat in niches cleverly aligned with the painted architecture so as to form an impression of illuminated windows. It was easy to imagine he was standing in the street at the evening hour when shadowless twilight flattens reality. He could not help thinking, ruefully, that Lady Anna would be enchanted by the artful effect.

“I have no disagreements with the emperor’s nephew, any more than I do with the emperor. Even if I did, why would I admit it to you?” Trenico sniffed and folded brawny arms across his chest, displaying sculpted muscles.

“Senator Aurelius harbors bitter feelings concerning certain business dealings we had,” he went on. “The fact of it is that although a man may be born to wealth and privilege it does not make him a good businessman. Perhaps he should employ better advisors.”

He stepped toward the window. “We need fresh air in here,” he continued, yanking open the shutter. Thin sunlight spilled into the room, reducing the twilight city to mere pigments.

“A year ago,” Trenico continued, “Aurelius renovated one of his country estates. I introduced him to an acquaintance, who knew an importer able to secure the senator an excellent price on a shipment of marble. I received a small remuneration from the importer. A mere courtesy on his part. Aurelius, however, did not appreciate either the quality of the goods or the price he was charged for them.”

“So that would account for his animosity toward you? He thinks your introduction indirectly led him to pay too much for inferior material?” Felix asked.

Trenico stared into his withered garden, where a single crow perched atop an eroded obelisk. “Yes, I do. Men hold the biggest grudges for the smallest of reasons. As to those who may oppose Justinian, many disapprove not of Justinian personally but of his intended marriage to Theodora.”

“A view which you hold yourself?” Felix inquired.

“Not at all. While it is not a common conviction, I believe one should marry for love and nothing else.” Trenico clapped his hands together, startling the crow into flight. “Nasty creatures, those birds. I’m proud to say that I’m a confidante of Theodora’s. She’s called upon me for advice on more than one occasion. So if you must be putting your noses where they don’t belong, start looking in the right places. Question those who oppose our future empress.”

“And they would be?”

“You might try interviewing Archdeacon Palamos. He has been particularly outspoken, as anyone who moves in palace circles knows. Perhaps he’ll also take your interest as a warning. Now, I have nothing more to say so you can leave or I will have you ejected.”

As John turned to go, he noticed that twined around the columns framing the office door was a freshly painted, luxuriant bush of roses, so perfect in their beauty that he could almost smell their sweet perfume.

***

“A surly fellow, that Trenico,” Felix remarked as he and John traversed the slush-covered Augustaion. “Did you notice his arms? Impressive at first glance, I admit, but they’re the sort of showy muscles gained from the exercise ball, not from using a plow or a pickax, let alone a sword. He’d probably be completely useless in a fight.”

They were now approaching a confusion of buildings. The Great Church and the Church of Eirene, Samsun’s Hospice, a small monastery and the patriarch’s palace clustered together like holy conspirators.

“The palace gossips have it that Emperor Justin also heartily disapproves of his nephew’s plans to marry Theodora,” John observed. He had no particular desire to pursue a conversation with the excubitor, but realized they could achieve nothing without some degree of cooperation.

“Euphemia was bitterly opposed to it,” Felix replied, “and the emperor still talks of her as if she were alive. Sometimes her shade seems to wield more power over her husband than the living woman did. There have been times when I’m on duty when I could practically feel her breath on the back of my neck.”

“What about this Archdeacon Palamos? Do you think he is one who is against the marriage, or did he just run afoul of Trenico at some point?”

Felix kicked at the cold slurry underfoot. “The possibility has occurred to me. Aurelius points to Trenico and Trenico points to this Palamos. They’re trying more to use us than to reveal anything useful. The bigger question is how are the emperor and his nephew using us?”

They were approaching the Great Church. Piles of dirty snow at the foot of the stairs leading to its portico suggested heavenly clouds tainted by contact with the secular world.

Before John could reply a white blur smacked Felix on the chest. The excubitor staggered slightly in surprise.

A second snowball exploded near John’s feet. Looking up at the portico he glimpsed a couple of street urchins peering from behind its columns.

“We’ve been ambushed,” roared Felix. He grinned as he scooped a fistful of dirty snow and sent his icy missile flying upward.

Excited shrieks greeted his counterattack, followed by a flurry of snowballs.

“Reminds me of when I was a boy. In Germania we had real snowfalls.” Felix charged forward. For his size he was surprisingly swift as he pounded up the steps.

The urchins dodged from column to column with shrill screams of delight. What could be better than to be fighting one whose helmet and cuirass identified him as a real military man?

Then, without warning, Felix was uttering a string of curses barely acceptable in a military encampment, let alone at the door of a church. His anger wasn’t feigned.

When John reached him he saw that the excubitor’s jaw was scarlet with blood.

“Treacherous little bastards!” Felix shouted. “They stuck a stone in that last snowball. I should’ve remembered that trick. We did just the same. It just shows you can’t trust even children in this city.”

A plump, white-robed figure emerged from the church. He was dwarfed by its bronze doors, which rose to the height of several men.

“This disturbance will cease at once,” he ordered.

“And who are you?” Felix asked curtly.

“I am Archdeacon Palamos.”

“Perhaps Fortuna is finally smiling on us,” Felix muttered.

When introductions had been made, Palamos led his visitors into the church. The archdeacon had the soft look and extreme pallor of a monk who has not emerged from his cell for years. He was, John judged, barely middle-aged, young to hold sway over this enormous church.

“I would not normally be here,” Palamos explained, “but the man in charge of the lamps is ill so I’m temporarily overseeing his duties. Half the job is keeping all the lamps filled.”

They passed through the vestibule and stood at the top of the nave. The lamps Palamos referred to were everywhere, hanging from golden chains, sitting in wall niches or on stands or tripods. Lamps of all sizes and shapes, some made of gold, others formed of glass, a few of silver. Every corner that the suffused light pouring in from high-set windows failed to reach was thus illuminated, twinkling with points of orange flame that resembled swarms of fireflies.

Palamos beckoned to a boy waiting nearby. “One of the lamps in the dome has blown out, Arion.” He grasped the boy’s arm lightly, turned him around and directed his attention upward. “On the ledge under John the Baptist, you see? Would you attend to that one next?”

The boy nodded solemnly.

“That’s a good boy,” Palamos smiled. “We don’t want to leave John in the dark, do we? Especially when he’s standing out there in the river.” He gave the child a quick pat on the rump as the boy departed to carry out his task.

“I used to scramble up there myself to do the same job when I was younger. Hard to believe, isn’t it?” Palamos tapped his large belly. “Too much study.”

“Theology can be as treacherous as a narrow ledge,” John remarked.

Felix glanced back at the controversial sculpture, looming in the vestibule and just visible from where they stood. “His was a very pretty death, despite it being brought about by the betrayal of a man he thought his follower,” he mused. Palamos asked him what he meant.

“Where’s the blood? Where’s the pain? If you or I were being crucified we wouldn’t have the strength to lift our chins off our chests, let alone look up and, well, almost smile.”

“There are those who call the sculpture blasphemous,” the archdeacon observed.

Felix looked at him questioningly.

“The gossips have it that the sculptor is an ardent, albeit secret, monophysite. Thus, he chiseled a Christ who is wholly divine and would not know pain.”

Palamos placed his fingertips together almost as if he were about to pray. “It is even rumored, although it is ridiculous in my opinion, that this sculptor was personally recommended to Hypatius by Theodora, whose deviation from orthodoxy is only too well known.”

Felix shook his head. It amazed him that people could become inflamed over such subtle theological concepts. “Yet Justinian still wishes to marry her.”

“True enough. I find myself worrying that when Justinian rules he will be far less tolerant of those holding unorthodox religious views than his uncle has been. It’s been said the only heretic Justinian will tolerate is the one in his bed.” A smile quirked Palamos’ lips. “What most of my flock seem to object to is Theodora’s lurid past.”

John broke in. “And what is your opinion of this proposed marriage?”

Palamos pushed his fingertips more tightly together. “Legally speaking, a man in Justinian’s position cannot marry an actress. Not even a former actress. It has been proposed that Justin change that law. But why should law be bent to the will of a single person? And in the service of nothing more than carnal appetites.”

“It appears Theodora is as widely disliked as Justinian is liked,” John noted.

“It’s her influence on him that’s feared. And rightly so. Women often turn good men into beasts.”

Felix changed the subject. “Did you know Hypatius well, archdeacon?”

“Yes, indeed. He was a very pious man and extremely generous to the church. That remarkable sculpture is only one example of his philanthropy. There are other sculptures and mosaics he donated all over the city. He spent half his time attending dedications of buildings he’d helped finance. A new wing to a monastery here, a chapel there.”

“He seems to have been famous for public good works.”

“He was not one to hide his light under a basket, unlike the sculpture’s other sponsors. To be fair, he also spent many hours helping at Samsun’s Hospice.”

“So he was willing to give of his time?”

“Yes, and indeed I observed him there myself now and then. He’d always make the same jest to patients. ‘Now you can tell your friends you’ve been attended by a man who owns horses worth more than your entire family,’ he’d say. On the other hand, he did have a reputation as a ruthless businessman. Furthermore, if you ask me, he was far too fond of women for a man of his age.”

Movement drew John’s attention away from the conversation.

On the narrow ledge running around the base of the dome overhead, Arion ignited the lamp and shadows dissipated, revealing the bearded, emaciated portrait of a sheepskin-clad John the Baptist.

“Good boy!” Palamos shouted, clasping his pudgy hands together. “They are so helpful at that age, you know. Alas, when they get older they tend to fall prey to the baser urges. Not a few of them are even attracted to pagan practices, especially those connected with the flesh.”

“Pagans in Constantinople?” John was sure Felix was concealing a smile.

“Alas, yes. There is no doubt there are respectable aristocrats who worship in this very church and then go straight home and disembowel a chicken in front of some obscene ivory goddess of fertility.”

To this remark Felix made no reply, but when he and John again stood outside in the suddenly dazzling sunlight he grinned widely. “Well, it seems that many in this city have a dual nature, not just the Christian’s god.”

“At least Palamos hasn’t set us barking on the trail of some enemy of his. Now presumably we will visit this other man Aurelius mentioned? Tryphon?”

“First I think it’s time we looked in on the deceased. He’ll probably be as forthcoming as everyone else we’ve spoken to so far. At least he won’t lie to us.”