Nine for the Devil

Chapter Thirty-five

John’s route to Isis’ house for penitents took him through a nondescript square bounded on one side by a porticoed warehouse. As he approached it, the heap of gaudily hued rags piled in one corner moved. A dainty hand waved a greeting.

“Pulcheria!” John replied.

The beggar turned the good side of her face toward her visitor. It was an attractive face. Middle-aged now. Like everyone else John knew she was showing her age. Or at least one side of her face was attractive. The other side, ruined when a dissatisfied client had thrown a burning lamp at her years before, had not aged at all. It was still a melted mass of flesh, the visage of a demon caught in the act of changing into human form.

“You are enjoying our warm weather, Pulcheria?”

“Oh, yes. Those of us who live outdoors prefer the heat. But it has been so hot lately that people are staying inside, and so I have had fewer coins tossed my way. If you had a job for me, I would be pleased.”

Before John could reply there was a loud hiss. A mangy feline resembling a worn-out sack on three twisted sticks wobbled out from the sheltering rags, hissed at John again, and wandered away with all the grace of half a spider.

Pulcheria looked fondly after the cat. “Poor Tripod. He’s feeling his age in all three of his legs.”

“I am amazed he is still with you.”

“Oh, he’s tough. Nearly twenty now as near as I can tell. Thank the Lord. I know he can’t go on forever, but I try not to think about it. We all need a companion. I can almost feel sorry for the emperor.”

“I noticed you in the crowd watching Theodora’s funeral procession.”

“We must all pay our respects to our rulers whatever our stations in life.”

A generous attitude, John thought, for a woman who had been forced to make a living as a prostitute until disfigurement turned her into a street beggar. She showed no signs of bitterness. He saw she still bound her dark hair with countless colored ribbons, matching the wild arrangement of brilliant rags which formed her clothing.

They spoke for a while, then John pressed several coins of a denomination rarely glimpsed by beggars into her hand. He turned as if to leave, paused, exchanged a few more words with her, and added another coin. Finally he continued on his way.

***

John shouldn’t have been startled to see Isis poring over the Christians’ holy book at her desk, but he was and admitted as much. “I realize people don’t believe I could possibly take religion seriously, but I do,” Isis told him. “It is my business to take it seriously. Would you care for one of these honey cakes?”

John shook his head. Although he had hardly eaten all day, his empty stomach rebelled at the idea of the rich, sweet cakes which were normally favorites. He sat on the couch.

Isis wiped a few crumbs from her white linen robe. “Christ was a troublemaker. I never knew that. Patriarch Menas would not have liked him very much.”

“You think not?”

“Would the patriarch like me if I walked into the Great Church and started telling him he had got his religion all wrong? It seems to me he was just asking for trouble.”

“My understanding is that he was well aware of the danger and knew what was coming.”

“Have you made a study of it, John? After all, Justinian is always immersed in church controversies.”

“I take an interest in religions. They are too important to the empire to ignore. I’m not a theologian. Justinian looks elsewhere for advice on theology.”

Isis licked honey off her fingers. “A haughty sort, this Christ, or so I originally felt. Arrogant. Demanding. But a brave man and at times gentle. Reading the story for myself is giving me quite a different impression of him.”

John sighed. “Man? Or God? Or both?”

“What do you mean? Oh, I know. What do they call it, the Three Chapters argument? I haven’t got to the part yet where they explain all that.” She gave him a playful smile.

She was just bantering as always. He carefully broached the subject of Kuria.

“That wretched girl! Did I look fierce when you reminded me of her yesterday? I must learn forgiveness.”

“Do you recall any of those men you said were attracted to her? Officials, patricians?”

“I don’t know, John. So many girls and so many men. I tried not to notice the men, or remember them. And the girls…you’d think I would remember. Maybe it’s my age. I only recalled Kuria because she wounded one of my girls.”

It was understandable, John told himself. Though a visit to the brothel might have been a memorable experience for each individual, for Isis it was simply a business. Would a vendor remember who she’d sold a couple of melons to years earlier? And as for clients from the imperial court…most of the court had probably crept past the gilded Eros that once stood outside Isis’ hospitable door, if they hadn’t slunk in through the back door instead.

He wanted to believe Isis was not concealing anything from him as everyone else seemed to be doing.

“Why do you suppose you remembered her having aristocratic clients at all, Isis? Did something we talked about bring it to mind? Was it someone you might have associated with Theodora or Justinian? Or with me?”

“With you, John?”

“I deal with many people at court. I thought perhaps there might be a connection to be discovered. Talking to me might set a spark of memory flickering.”

Isis pursed her lips. “A friend of yours perhaps? That big bear Felix.”

John stiffened. “Felix was visiting Kuria?”

“He wanted to marry her.”

John leaned back into the cushions with a sigh of relief. “No, no, Isis. That was poor Berta many years ago. She was the girl who was murdered.”

Isis made the Christian sign. “Yes, you’re right, John. It must have been Berta I was thinking about. Poor child. It just seemed as if it was more recently your friend was in here doting over her…strange how muddled the past gets.”

“The more important events always stay close to us, Isis. The less important recede. Berta was involved with violence as Kuria was, although Berta was the victim. That might be why you mixed up the two.”

“Yes, probably.” Isis looked alarmed. “I wonder if my mind is going to fade away as I get old? I can’t afford that to happen. I’ve always taken care of myself.”

“We all become a little forgetful as we get older, Isis.”

Later, on his way home, John remembered his consoling words to Isis.

He had never forgotten anything. And there were so many things he wished he could forget.