Nine for the Devil

Chapter Twenty-seven

John left the mausoleum and walked around to the front of the church, gathering his thoughts. Light streaming from many windows illuminated armed guards positioned in the porticoes on each side of the marble-walled building. The golden domes on the roof reminded John of eggs but what would hatch from those architectural look-alikes sitting atop the arms of the cross-shaped structure and over their central intersection could not be fathomed.

A crowd of worshipers issued from the entrance. The vigil must have ended.

John made his way against the tide into the well-lit interior where knots of people still lingered. He did not need to seek out Vigilius. Vigilius found him.

“Lord Chamberlain, I have been hoping to have a word with you.”

Except for his sumptuous ecclesiastical robes Pope Vigilius was not an impressive figure. He was short. His features looked squashed together. His nose curved down toward a prim mouth as if it were reaching for the neatly trimmed white beard that thrust straight out from the chin. His narrow forehead slanted back into a vast expanse of shining scalp bordered by a bushy growth of dark hair halfway down the back of the head.

Had he been told John would be there?

John gave him a formal greeting. “How may I be of service?”

“I was hoping you might intercede with the emperor for me, Lord Chamberlain. You are a member of the consistory, are you not?”

John acknowledged it was true.

Vigilius indicated he wished to speak where they would not be easily overheard. He led John to the front of the nave where a row of marble columns twice a man’s height and surmounted by an architrave barred the laity from the sanctuary beyond. Waist high slabs of marble between the columns were engraved with crosses and the monograms of the emperor and empress. The architrave bore depictions of the twelve apostles. Stands in front of the columns displayed icons and reliquaries. Vigilius halted in front of an elaborate silver-barred cage in which an eroded, broken stone column was displayed like one of the exotic beasts in Theodora’s menagerie.

“It is the column of flagellation to which our Lord was tied when he was scourged,” Vigilius said needlessly, seeing where John’s gaze had drifted.

John continued his survey of the nave. No one was taking special notice of their conversation. Most of the assembly looked as if they would much rather be in bed. However, for those at court it was important to be seen participating in official mourning.

“What is it that concerns you?” John asked stiffly. He did not like the prospect of becoming involved in church affairs. Religious disputants were less inclined to reason and compromise than statesmen or generals.

“You know I have been imprisoned here in the city for more than a year?”

“Imprisoned is too harsh a word. My understanding is that Justinian has decided that you and Patriarch Menas should come to an agreement before you leave and the chance for agreement is lost.”

Vigilius frowned, pulling his nose even further toward his beard. “I was arrested-that is the word-arrested-while celebrating the feast of St. Cecilia. In the middle of the service I was dragged away to a waiting ship!”

“What is it you want? Surely the emperor is willing to speak to the pope?”

“He will speak to me but he will not necessarily listen. His wife poisoned his mind against me. Theodora, with her heretical views is behind the trouble. She was the one who insisted I be held here and broken, forced to accede to her wishes.”

“You’re talking about the Three Chapters,” John said wearily. “You already acceded to her wishes by condemning them, did you not?”

“I said I had come to my own independent conclusion and that being the case I can change my opinion.”

“Which you intend to do, particularly now that Theodora is dead.”

Vigilius didn’t argue the point. “I hope the emperor will soften his views now that Theodora is gone. Her passing may have been the hand of God. A blessing, allowing Justinian to see the error of his ways and return to the orthodox church.”

“Justinian considers his own beliefs to be orthodox. He has been trying to convince all the religious factions to admit that their beliefs are not so different as they seem to think.”

“Not different? To imagine that Christ had only one nature-”

John raised his hand. He had already heard too much about the nature of a god in whom he did not believe. “I am not a theologian. I would think you and Patriarch Menas should resolve this matter and then approach Justinian together.”

A clergyman does not spit on the floor of a church but Vigilius looked very near to doing so. “Menas is Theodora’s creature!”

“How can that be? He supplanted her protegé Anthimus in the patriarchate.”

“Menas is malleable. He’s changed his views.”

“Malleability is a virtue Theodora much admired, but I think it was you who changed your views, not Menas,” John replied. “That is why Theodora hated you more than Menas. She knew that Menas was orthodox. He was made patriarch against her will. You, on the other hand, were chosen by her to do her bidding. You betrayed her.”

“You insult me, Lord Chamberlain.”

“I am only telling the truth. I was here when Pope Agapetus died during his visit. I am well aware how Theodora arranged for you to replace him as pope after you promised to support the monophysite cause.”

Vigilius reddened. “How can you…do you believe-”

“You were expected to be another Anthimus for her,” John went on, paying no attention to the sputtering Vigilius, “but as pope rather than patriarch. Unlike Anthimus you were not going to be deposed and vanish from the face of the earth. At the time of your appointment you were nothing more than a deacon. You owed your elevation entirely to Theodora, but once you were safely back in Rome you reneged on the agreement. I cannot fathom your theology but I am very familiar with a political blade in the back.”

“But-”

John shook his head and continued in a weary voice. “What did you expect from Theodora after that? You are fortunate to still be alive.”

He was almost surprised by the harshness he heard in his own voice. The way Vigilius stood, hunched and tense, a pained expression on his face, he might well have been imagining he was tied to the column behind him, being flagellated. Perhaps that was the way he viewed his sojourn in Constantinople, a long flagellation by the emperor, to be followed by a hideous death on a cross.

John reminded himself Justinian had directed him to talk to Vigilius. The pope might benefit from Theodora’s death or so it had been whispered during Theodora’s long illness. After all, Justinian had spent years trying to find some doctrine to which the pope in the west and the orthodox patriarch and less than orthodox monophysites in the east could all agree. The empress had been a staunch monophysite. Now that she was gone, Justinian might not care so much about placating the monophysites. If their concerns were put aside, Vigilius could probably find common ground with Menas and return to Rome. Nevertheless, John had a hard time envisioning the pope as a murder suspect.

“You refuse to intercede?” Vigilius was saying. His voice had risen to a whine.

John released his breath slowly. “I will speak to the emperor. I will see how he feels about the matter at the appropriate time. Theodora’s death has made him all the more determined to see her wishes carried out. You might consider that. Clearly Justinian considers his position a compromise. He believes he is being accommodating. If you could see it as a compromise too, rather than a capitulation, you could be on a ship back to Rome tomorrow.”

John did not add he found the whole question of how many natures Christ had and how much they were stirred up together of less practical consequence than how many eggs and how much stirring was called for in one of Peter’s recipes. He realized, however, that to some, for unfathomable reasons, they were of grave import.

Vigilius looked at the floor, then up at John. He remained silent, as if debating whether to say more. “Very well, Lord Chamberlain. I will be grateful if you have a word with the emperor,” he finally replied.

He moved off, not looking grateful in the least, walking carefully, as if his bent back under the heavy robes had been scourged.