Nine for the Devil

Chapter Twenty-five

John waited to die in Justinian’s mausoleum.

But the sudden pressure he felt against the middle of his back was not sharp steel but flesh. One of his guards gave him a shove.

John took three stumbling steps forward before he saw the emperor kneeling by Theodora’s sarcophagus.

How horrified the empress would be if she could see the emperor kneeling in the presence of one of his subjects.

Justinian got to his feet. At those times John had seen him since Theodora’s death his demeanor had been so stolid John had wondered if he really was a demon exhibiting a false face to the world as many believed. Now, however, very human tears glistened on his gaunt cheeks. Justinian’s face had grown so thin it resembled the skulls of Timothy, Luke, and Andrew, three of the most sacred treasures held in the Church of the Holy Apostles. The impression had scarcely formed in John’s thoughts when Justinian smiled wanly in his direction.

“I shall be laid to rest next to the empress in due course,” the emperor remarked in an even tone. “But I feel as if I were already entombed. I feel like Emperor Zeno. The story goes that he was locked in his tomb while still alive and called from his darkness for three days before his voice fell silent forever.”

Justinian patted Theodora’s sarcophagus fondly, as one might caress the head of a child.

John fought to reorient himself. Mention of the former emperor inevitably reminded John of Cornelia and his daughter Europa at the estate of Anatolius’ uncle Zeno.

“It is a beautiful creation, excellency,” he replied automatically. The color was strangely appropriate. For Theodora was enclosed not in the purple of imperial majesty but by reddish-brown, as if the stone had taken on the hue of her murderous nature.

“Sardian stone,” Justinian said. “I commissioned it three years ago, never expecting…she was only forty-five at the time and…” He stopped and for an instant John thought the emperor’s voice would break and he would begin to sob. If he had been about to do so, he controlled himself. Instead he traced a finger along the top of one of the the fluted columns carved on each corner of the sarcophagus. John saw the finger trembled.

John, himself, was trembling, the effects of his stressful journey. He hoped it didn’t show.

“Look here, Lord Chamberlain,” Justinian said. “See how the doves circle the heads of lambs, indicating her nature. And there at the end, and on the lid, the olive wreathes enclosing crosses.”

John said nothing. He found it impossible to imagine that even the man who had been married to her could have believed Theodora’s nature to be reminiscent of doves and lambs and olive wreaths.

Perhaps least of all the man who had been married to her.

And the emperor knew how Theodora had hated John. Did he expect to convince John now of his wife’s saintliness? Or did he have something else in mind?

“I did everything in my power to help her,” Justinian went on. “But what did it come to in the end? It is commonly said I have the power of life and death over every person in the empire, but in truth I have only the power of death. It’s not a great matter, since death is certain anyway. And what can I do now, to serve the empress in death? I promised to allow those heretics she sheltered in the Hormisdas Palace to remain there. I will do so, but would it not be better if there were no heretics?”

His gaze fastened on John. Did Justinian know his Lord Chamberlain was a Mithran, a heretic? Did he care?

“You have always done your best to mediate between the opposing factions, excellency,” John said.

Justinian looked at the sarcophagus. “Yes. Without success. It is even more urgent now that this wretched matter of the Three Chapters be resolved. What do you think of the Three Chapters, John?”

The Three Chapters was the name by which the current religious controversy had come to be called, due to the fact it revolved around three writings by long dead churchmen which some deemed to be heretical. John couldn’t believe Justinian had had him abducted from his home and driven to this mausoleum in the middle of the night to discuss religion. “I lack your expertise in theology, excellency,” John replied.

“It is a knotty problem,” Justinian acknowledged. “Countless tomes written debating the nature of Christ. Over years of study I have come to the conclusion that it is all exceedingly simple. Nestorianism, you see, is the 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.