Two for Joy (7 page)

Peter smiled again. “I would be offended beyond belief if we had not worked together for the Lady Anna, rest her soul, and I had the measure of your frivolous speech! No, this will be just a splash, for the humor’s sake. Gaius prescribed it for a tonic as needed and the master insists that I follow his instructions.”

He measured out two small libations.

Hypatia pushed her dark hair away from her face. “And has your kitchen lately been invaded by that young man Anatolius?” she asked with too careless inquisitiveness.

“Anatolius? He is often here, yes, although I sometimes wonder whether he visits to speak with the Lord Chamberlain or to steal my stuffed dates. And why do you inquire?”

The young woman blushed. “Oh, I was just curious. I sometimes see him passing by when I am working in the flower beds.”

“Ah.” Peter’s thoughtful monosyllable had subtle shadings.

“But,” she rushed on, “never mind about court dandies like Anatolius. Everyone is abuzz about these Michaelites.”

“The emperor sent the master off to visit them,” Peter said. “I must say that I do not think he would normally care to mingle over much with such people, a rabble by all I hear, despite their being led by a holy man. But then he must do his master’s bidding, just as we must obey ours.”

Hypatia took a sip of wine and asked for Peter’s thoughts about the situation.

Peter paused to compose his reply. Elderly cooks were not often asked to explain matters of religion, much to his disappointment, and he was happy to have the opportunity to expound his theories.

“I know you worship the gods of Egypt, Hypatia, and so perhaps the finer points of theology do not intrude upon your reflections,” he began, quickly adding, “and I see you are valiantly trying to conceal your amusement at an old man’s words. However, the beliefs of these Michaelites are rather unsettling, to say the least. Their deity, it would seem, is comprised of four parts, one entirely human. It’s not so long since that they would have been immediately executed for daring to even breathe such a thing.” His voice trembled slightly at the very thought.

“But,” he went on, fortifying himself against such rank heresies with a sip of wine, “as to that, they say that this Michael has promised to rid the city of all unbelievers and that those houses about which decent men do not speak will be shuttered, and much else besides.”

Hypatia commented that if this band of believers was able to achieve such lofty goals, they would have done what all of Justinian’s laws had not yet been able to accomplish.

“True enough. Yet they seem to have had supernatural assistance. It is chilly in here, don’t you think? Or perhaps I notice it more as I get older.”

Peter got up stiffly and stirred the nearly dormant brazier back to life. “I only hope the Michaelites do not stir up a greater conflagration than this,” he murmured.

“The merchant who sold me this honey said there was much disquiet expressed at the inn he patronizes,” replied Hypatia. “When inns are awash with such talk you can be certain the streets will soon be equally flooded with trouble. And like you, he mentioned the supernatural. Do you know anything more about that?”

Peter sat down again. “Well, Hypatia, the evening before last,” he began, “and I assure you that this is the perfect truth, I saw a fiery angel descending from the heavens. The master insists it was merely one of those unfortunate stylites who were struck by lightning, but that is not what I saw. And like you, I speak to people in the market place so I know that others trembled before the same vision.”

Hypatia looked thoughtful rather than surprised. “And this angel, do you think he has arrived to battle on the side of Michael or to defend the city against him?”

“As to that,” said Peter, “time will tell.” He stared into the flames leaping above the brazier. A few moments before the kitchen had seemed cold, now it felt suffocatingly hot.

“That’s true enough. But meantime perhaps you should try some of the honey, Peter? It’s said Hippocrates recommended it for a variety of ailments as well as for making sweet confections, for bees distill whatever may be in the plants they visit. I’ve heard of soldiers poisoned by bees who feasted on rhododendron. But don’t worry, those who labored to make this honey for you dined only upon the best wheat!”

Peter could not resist dipping his finger into the honey. “This makes for a better potion than wine,” he said, lifting his finger to his lips. “But now tell me, how do their keepers persuade the bees to feed only on wheat or clover?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, really. The hives are placed in the middle of a wheat field or a patch of heather or other flowers, depending which flavor is desired. Bees do not stray far from their homes and so will only visit flowers within a certain area around them.”

Peter smiled. “Perhaps we should all take note of the ways of the industrious bee, then, and if at all possible seek not to stray too far afield. If we settle our hearts in the midst of righteousness and remain close to home, then we will never taste evil.”

He was discomfited to see that Hypatia was suppressing a giggle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his hand affectionately. “But truly, when you’ve had perhaps a sip or two too much wine you could pass for a churchman.”

Chapter Five

The crowds bustling through the bright sunlight and long morning shadows striping the
colonnaded Mese were being regaled with a sight which, unlike the dining habits of bees, would soon be the subject of hundreds of excited conversations.

A mounted company of heavily armed imperial guards, twenty strong, was clattering along the wide street at a steady pace. In the midst of the contingent rode two men of obvious importance, one a silver-haired aristocrat with tightly drawn lips, the other a lean, somber looking man who might have been mistaken for an ascetic except for his elegant robes and the richly embroidered mantle lying over his shoulders. Passersby stopped to stare, as they might have paused to listen to distant thunder, while hoping that the storm surely being heralded would break over someone else’s head.

John was aware of the faces gaping at him. A private man, their attention made him uncomfortable. He knew, however, that both route and escort were designed precisely to gain such attention. The emperor could have ordered his envoys ferried across the narrow mouth of the Golden Horn from where it was but a short ride to Saint Michael’s shrine beside the Bosporos. But, John guessed, Justinian’s agents were already spreading word of this diplomatic mission far and wide and before long, all over the city, people would be exclaiming that indeed it was true, the most pious of emperors had accorded Michael the respect due such a man. Hadn’t they seen with their own eyes the lofty officials dispatched to visit him as Justinian’s emissaries?

As to whether this display of magnanimity would serve to placate the restless populace as much as Justinian apparently imagined or would simply encourage further support for the heretics, John could not say.

So the showy entourage made its way through the bustle of the circular Forum of Constantine, past the rotunda of the senate house and the towering column surmounted not by some ragged stylite but a gleaming statue of the city’s founder, and through the much smaller but still busy Forum Tauri beyond which the Mese forked. Here they turned not south, towards the Golden Gate and the Via Egnatia which would have taken them, after weeks of hard and dangerous travel, to the ancient capital Rome itself, but toward the west.

Only when they were beyond the inner city’s wall and away from the crowds did John speak. “Do you wish to stop and rest for a time?” he asked Aurelius.

“I would rather continue and have the journey over with that much sooner.” Although the senator spoke without taking his gaze from the flat stones of the roadway in front of them John could see the pallor of his face. Recalling Justinian’s comment about sending the senator to the shrine for a cure, he couldn’t help remembering Philo’s reference to the emperor’s cruel concept of mercy.

“Have you consulted Gaius about this ailment?” he asked, concerned.

“Unfortunately, yes. He had me taking a vile concoction of naphtha which, I have heard, can kill as easily as cure. But since it failed to render either service to me, he has demanded I fast for three days. If the stone has not passed by then, he intends to play the surgeon.”

They were riding through one of the cemeteries that dominated the area between the inner and outer walls of the city. Modest burial mounds and grave markers were scattered around and between sheltering cypress trees. Aurelius waved his hand at the tranquil scene, adding in an undertone, “If worse comes to worse, I’d as soon rest here in three days’ time than lie under that drunkard’s knife. The pain has been so desperate that I have actually contemplated visiting my country estate and sacrificing to Salus. On the other hand, now there’s the matter of this shrine we’re visiting. Many have dreamt cures for their ailments there, or so I have heard.”

John remained silent.

Aurelius continued thoughtfully, as much to himself as to his companion. “Consider the well-known case of Aquilinus. He was starving to death after a fever because he was unable to keep nourishment in him. When his physician could do nothing, he went to St Michael’s shrine, carried there, so they say, by one of his servants. And what happened but at the shrine Aquilinus dreamt he would be cured by dipping his foot into some strange sludge of wine and pepper and honey. Oh, his physician was doubtless much put out and, I am willing to wager, called it a cure flying in the face of medical knowledge and probably much worse. But since the man was half dead anyway, he determined he would do as he dreamt and did so and indeed was cured.”

John pointed out sympathetically that as far as treating illness was concerned, sometimes in battling them it was necessary to face the knife.

Aurelius laughed harshly. “You preach to me in the same manner in which I lecture my son! What you say is true enough, John. But a warrior does not have his legs trussed up over his head while the physician standing behind him—how may I put this delicately—coaxes the cursed stone along in a fashion that would make even a powdered court page blush. I could endure the knife that follows without flinching, but not the indignity that precedes it.”

“We can’t always choose what we must endure. Indignity, at least, can be survived.”

The senator realized that his words had been ill chosen and his expression grew even more stricken. He apologized.

“You don’t have to excuse yourself for reminding me of what I have endured, Aurelius,” John replied. “But although you might choose to leave us prematurely for your own reasons, think of Anatolius. He is certainly a man of many talents, but…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Aurelius muttered, sparing John the impossible task of finding some tactful phrase to describe Anatolius’ dangerous blend of impetuosity and impracticality. “I’m sure he has informed you about his new prospects?”

“He went on at greater length about the banquet, but he did mention you are planning to launch him upon a legal career.”

Aurelius winced, perhaps from the jolt of his horse stepping down harder than hitherto. “You sound almost as enthusiastic as my son about the prospect, John.”

“It’s a good plan, though. Anatolius tends to drift with his fancies and those ponderous legal phrases may serve to anchor him. However, he still needs occasional guidance.”

Aurelius shook his head wearily. “Not guidance, John. Let us be honest. He still needs to be protected from himself.”

The senator fell silent and few words were exchanged during the remainder of the tedious journey. Both men knew that just as they had been ordered to observe Michael and report back to Justinian, so one or more of their escorts would be under orders to observe the emissaries.

Having passed beyond the high mortar and stone walls built to protect Constantinople on its only side exposed to land attack, the mounted party proceeded northward around the end of the Golden Horn and then back east along that narrow drowned valley. The way was lined with small settlements alternating with fields and villas set amid country estates. The city they had left was visible across glassy water bristling with ship masts. Tenements and churches clung to the side of a long ridge whose highest points formed six of the seven hills of Constantine’s new Rome.

Their journey was more rapid than John anticipated. Other riders, pedestrians and the drivers of carts and wagons, realizing at a glance that the company was about imperial business, readily vacated the narrow road at their approach. Although such highways were a boon to trade their real purpose was military, having been built wide enough to accommodate the passage of a single war chariot.

Only when they turned north in the direction of the Euxine Sea were the travelers forced to slow their pace as the road grew increasingly congested with people on foot, predominantly peasants and laborers by their simple tunics. As they neared the shrine, more than one slave-borne litter and even a covered carriage could be seen, swept along in the human tide flooding the road.

“This crowd reminds me of the day before a celebration,” observed Aurelius, before leaning down to address a sturdy farmer leading a donkey burdened with baskets of fruit. “Shouldn’t you be going in the other direction, to the market?”

The farmer looked up fearfully. “I would on any other day, excellency, but today I am taking an offering to Michael, to ask for his blessing upon me and my family.”

“Justinian will not be pleased to learn how quickly the man’s fame is spreading,” John remarked.

The senator made no reply. His eyelids had narrowed to slits and his lips, drawn tight for hours now, looked nearly bloodless as his horse, made restive by the crowd, snorted and pawed at the ground, jolting its rider painfully.

The guards, who earlier had been talking and laughing in a relaxed manner, became as restive as the horses. They shouted warnings, shaking spears to underline them.

“Take care,” John admonished the nearer of their guards. It would not take much to touch off a disturbance. A carelessly handled weapon drawing blood, for example.