One for Sorrow

Chapter Sixteen

John awakened to darkness and the sound of raised voices.

He had been dreaming. Not of Cornelia, strangely, nor of his daughter, but of his childhood. He had been running across a summer field. Not pursued and with no destination. Simply running, skimming over the top of the wiry grass. The stones and tussocks, the sun-hardened depressions where cattle hooves had sunk into mud, none of these tripped him. He glided over all of them. Although he was running and not flying, he felt at the crest of every hill that he might take to the sky and soar. He was tireless. His legs did not weaken. His breath did not grow labored. He could run, effortlessly, forever.

Now he was awake, his heart leaping, his breath catching in his throat. The careers of palace officials ended as often with unexpected midnight visits as with presentations of commemorative diptychs before the assembled senate.

John rolled off his bed, hastily donned clothes, and grasped the dagger he kept close to hand. Without lighting a lamp, he moved toward the door of his bedroom.

Voices echoed from the atrium downstairs.

As he trod quietly down the wooden stairs, John saw Peter holding a lamp and looking perturbed. He was blocking the way of a slight figure fantastically dressed in beaded tights and colorful plumes.

It was Hektor, a court page and one of Justinian’s decorative boys. John thrust his dagger back into his belt.

Hektor caught sight of John. He feinted to his right, and then darted around Peter’s left. The old servant’s slow swipe at the agile boy found only the bobbing end of a feather.

“You, John,” shrilled Hektor. “Your master wants you!”

“You don’t give orders to the Lord Chamberlain,” protested Peter.

“I speak for Justinian, old fool.”

“Never mind, Peter,” John reassured his servant. “Bring my cloak.” He turned his attention to Hektor, who was posturing insolently at the foot of the stairs, hands on hips. The boy’s reddened lips shone in the flickering light from Peter’s lamp. “What does the emperor want in the middle of the night?”

“You’ll find out when we get there. Hurry up!”

John pulled on the cloak Peter offered. The old man scowled at Hektor.

To John, the boy’s rudeness meant nothing. It was the emperor who concerned him. Few in Constantinople were closer to Justinian than the Lord Chamberlain, but the emperor was no man’s confidant. He was a Janus. John had watched the emperor jest affably about favored charioteers with courtiers whose glib tongues and evasive eyes would be sitting at the bottom of a torturer’s bucket before the next sunrise.

Outside, the cobbles glistened in the light of the moon, a thin clipping from the edge of a silver coin. Hektor raced ahead. John followed.

As they neared the Octagon, John could see light in its windows. Lights always burned in the emperor’s residence. Justinian did not sleep like other men. Perhaps he didn’t sleep at all. Perhaps he wasn’t a man. It was whispered abroad that he wandered the hallways all night.

“Perhaps the imperial demon will have forgotten to put on his human face at this time of the night,” suggested Hektor. “They say he is as unnatural a man as you.”

John ignored the impertinent remark. He did not believe such superstitious tales. He understood that the emperor had an abnormal capacity for imperial business. Did part of Justinian’s success lie in the fact that his sleeplessness having given him more time to learn, he had already lived-and had time to master the lessons of-a natural life span? It was a trait John might have envied had he allowed himself such weakness.

Having passed numerous guarded doorways John was ushered-thankfully without Hektor-into a small, plain room. Here in the center of his private quarters Justinian had discarded his amethyst-studded collar and brocaded cloak and was dressed in a simple tunic and hose. He had, however, retained his imperial pearl-studded red boots.

“John,” he said, turning away from a desk piled with codices and scrolls. “How good of you to arrive so quickly.” He assumed the smile John had seen him give to allies and condemned men alike.

John inclined his head. “My good fortune, Caesar.” He doubted the emperor had any idea of the late hour. “I see you are busy.”

“A new theological treatise. At the Hippodrome celebrations-was it only a day or two ago? — it occurred to me how I might help reconcile some of these quarreling sects who are so troublesome. Have you given much thought to the nature of Christ? How is it possible to intertwine the divine with the human? A tangled knot indeed.”

“It is said Alexander took the expedient of cutting the Gordian knot.”

“Yes, a simple enough solution for a mere conqueror, but I am an emperor. I will order Anatolius to make a copy of my conclusions for you. I know you study such things.”

John bowed his thanks.

Physically Justinian would have been lost in the crush of the rabble which was never allowed to approach closely enough to see his face. He was of average height, his face pudgy and splotched red as if he drank to excess, although in fact he abstained from wine entirely. He was of such unprepossessing appearance that more than one ambitious man had forgotten that the life of every person in the empire hung on the fragile thread of Justinian’s whim.

“I am sorry about your friend Leukos,” Justinian continued. “Replacing him will be a vexing problem for me. He was a most trustworthy man. Meanwhile, I intend to give you free rein, John, to honor him to the height of your ability, which will be very high honor indeed. But first, there is the question of the manner of his death.”

“The prefect informs me that an investigation is under way,” John said softly.

“An official investigation, yes.”

“It would appear to be nothing more than a common street murder.”

Justinian smiled. “Do you believe that, John?”

“I do not yet have enough facts to form any belief, Caesar.”

“Then you shall proceed to find out the facts. I wish you to ascertain, in confidence, who was involved in this so-called street crime, and the real reason for it.”

John nodded. “I will report to you and no one-”

“I’m sure you need your rest now,” Justinian cut in.

Dismissed, John turned to leave, but arrested his step when the emperor added, “About that ill-concealed weapon beneath your cloak, John….”

The guards at the door raised their swords instantly. John’s heart seemed to stop. Half asleep, he had neglected to remove the dagger he had thrust into his belt back at the house. He forced his suddenly clumsy tongue to move. “Caesar, in my haste to see you, I must have forgotten….”

Justinian’s expression was as smoothly blank as the walls of the room. “If I did not know you so well….” He paused and his full lips tightened slightly, although his eyes betrayed no emotion. “But then, how well can one man know another?”

“I will be more careful.”

“We must all be careful, Lord Chamberlain. Especially an emperor.”