One for Sorrow

Chapter Thirty-nine

John’s first thought as he stepped into the nave of the Church of the Holy Wisdom was that Justinian was unknowingly erecting a tribute to Mithra, Lord of Light.

The overwhelming impression was one of light. The enormous dome overhead curved upwards gradually, as if the sky itself had been pulled earthwards and brought close enough for its true immensity to be grasped. The dome was pierced with numerous, blindingly bright openings through which sunlight flooded, filling the vast space beneath with the other-worldly radiance that presages a violent storm.

John’s second thought was that the events of the past few days, the deaths of his friend and of Berta, the reappearance of his old love, must have upset his humors, rendering him dangerously susceptible to his emotions.

He became aware of the smell of wet plaster and the echoing of hammers. He lowered his gaze from the dome and scanned the interior for the patriarch. John was determined Epiphanios would explain why he had sent guards for Ahasuerus.

The patriarch found John first. “Lord Chamberlain! You have finally graced my church with your presence!”

John turned toward the querulous voice. Scaffolding clustered on all sides. Laborers were ill-defined shadows flickering against the brilliant openings in the dome. Dust filled the air.

The patriarch was a bent figure dressed in simple white robes.

“It is as magnificent as everyone claims,” John replied.

“High praise indeed.” The voice was forced and thin, a whisper from a sickbed. “It is nearing completion. The mobs who burned the old church merely cleared the ground for a more glorious tribute to the Lord.”

“I noticed that you have the building well guarded.”

The patriarch shrugged bent shoulders. “There are forty thousand pounds of silver decorating the sanctuary alone. Each seat will have silver revetments.”

“An impressive tribute to one who lived among beggars.”

“It is a measure of our Lord’s power, is it not, that man must spend a fortune in silver and gold to achieve merely the palest imitation of the glory found in the poorest part of His creation?”

The patriarch looked at John with red and watering eyes. Perhaps it was the dust. John ignored the question.

“Let me show you my church, Lord Chamberlain. Over there, we are already installing the reliquaries.” The skin of the bony hand that gestured toward the shadows at the base of the wall behind the columns and scaffolding was ancient parchment through which John could see the faded writing of veins. “The fragment of the True Cross will be displayed in that spot, for example. One day many of the most holy relics of the city will be gathered in this magnificent place, and we are in the process of obtaining even more, both minor and major.”

John, who believed a saint’s bones to be indistinguishable from the bones of any other man, changed the subject. “The effect of the light is remarkable.” The quality of the light, insubstantial as it might be, struck him more forcibly than any physical manifestations of the patriarch’s religion.

“Wait until the lamps are lit, Lord Chamberlain. There will be hundreds, suspended from the dome, fastened to the columns, set in wall sconces. The architects were instructed to leave not a single shadowed place. The whole of the interior must be illuminated.”

“Surely a man passing by a lamp will cast a shadow?”

The patriarch allowed himself a weak chuckle that turned into a rasping cough. “You are a theologian. But then, in Constantinople, who is not?”

They walked out into the center of the nave. Beams of sunlight, given tangible shape by the dust clouds filling the air, appeared from this vantage point more substantial than the dust-obscured pillars along the aisles.

“You attended the funeral of the Keeper of the Plate?” asked the patriarch suddenly.

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“A simple ceremony. It might well have been in the countryside. Birds were singing.”

“It was a dignified burial then?”

“Very much so.”

“Excellent. I had opportunity to deal with Leukos frequently. He looked after some of our reliquaries, ceremonial goblets, and the like. After the last fire, much of what would usually be stored in the church treasury was placed temporarily in his care. He was a good Christian.”

John followed the old man until he came to a halt near a partially disassembled scaffold leaning against a pillar. The patriarch looked up at the dome.

“It may surprise you, but I am as puzzled as the poorest peasant by the ways of our Lord.”

John, in fact, was not surprised, but remained silent.

The patriarch continued, “Just a few days ago, a young laborer, a country boy, was gravely injured. He fell and landed right where I am standing. I am given to understand that part of the scaffolding gave way. And so he fell through that glorious light down to these beautifully laid tiles. But at least he was serving in the house of the Lord. And when I heard about it I thought of Leukos, dying in the darkness of a filthy alley.”

John wasn’t certain what point the patriarch intended to make. “About your guards. You sent several for an old soothsayer. They dragged him from an inn and took him to your residence.”

John expected a denial. The patriarch’s response surprised him.

“You are well informed. I ordered the arrest of the self-styled fortune-teller, the man Ahasuerus. A murderer.”

Was that why Justinian had ordered John to cease his investigation? Had it been decided by the time of the banquet the patriarch would have Ahasuerus arrested?

But why then was the patriarch involved?

“Why was he escorted to your residence?”

“I presume they wanted to question him at the guard station there.”

“He is still in custody?”

“Alas, no. He escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“A little way at least, Lord Chamberlain. They found the scoundrel at the docks, seeking transport no doubt. He is drowned. He flung himself into the sea to avoid recapture.”

John felt disappointment settle with the dust in the back of his throat. “This is certain?”

“I am told the undertow pulled him down immediately. The body has not yet come to light, but there is no doubt as to the location of his black soul. You seem distressed?”

For an instant giddiness washed over John. The golden air, pierced by shafts of light, took on an underwater aspect.

“I sympathize,” the patriarch continued. “Drowning cannot be a pleasant death. The mouth opening for air, finding only brine. A fall from a scaffold would be preferable. On the other hand, drowning can be no worse than a knife in the ribs. Or am I wrong? I have no experience of these things.”

“You referred to him as a murderer. What reasons do you have to think so?”

“One receives information. What does it matter why he was suspected since his guilt has now been proved?”

“By the fact he threw himself into the sea?”

“More than that. In his panic the soothsayer dropped the satchel he was carrying. It contained numerous implements of his blasphemous trade, including two ceremonial, elaborately decorated daggers, an exact match for the dagger with which Leukos was murdered.”