Six for Gold

Chapter Thirty

From outside, the Church of Sergius and Bacchus was a squat, domed structure slotted uncomfortably between the Church of Peter and Paul and the architectural jumble of the Hormisdas Palace. Anatolius would never have guessed the building could contain the vast, airy space into which he stepped. From a floor of gray-veined marble, two tiers of red and green marble columns ascended to a vaulted sky filled with a glittering mosaic host of holy men and angels.

It was almost enough to make a Mithran believe in the Christian heaven.

He had, however, come to the church on secular business.

“I visited your lodgings and was directed here by your neighbor,” Anatolius said to Bishop Crispin. “That’s to say, the man who had taken up residence in the alcove with the statue of Diana next to your room. I expect you’ve noticed he’s got his laundry draped all over her?”

“I believe that is more for the sake of her modesty.” The monophysite ecclesiastic was a slight, narrow-faced man with a sparse black beard. He wore black robes cinched with a wide red belt. “Timothy is exceptionally learned. He spent several years meditating in a cave. Why do you wish to speak to me, young man?”

“I’m here on behalf of Senator Symacchus.”

The bishop looked Anatolius over as if he were a dubious theological argument.

“You were left this legacy in his will,” Anatolius went on, holding out the sandalwood box. “It’s his collection of pilgrim flasks.”

Crispin took the box and opened the lid. “How very kind of him to remember one with whom he so often argued!”

“I understand you held opposing religious views?”

“We sometimes win our opponents’ hearts, though they disagree with us intellectually.” Crispin held one of the tiny flasks up to his eyes. “Symacchus now knows which of us was right.” Placing the flask back in the box, he sketched a blessing.

“Are these interesting items very valuable?”

“It would be as well to ask the same of the blessings of the saints! If you mean are they worth anything in nomismata, I doubt it. As Symacchus knew, I collect them for my own enjoyment. Most of these examples are of a common variety, although I see one or two of a type I’ve not seen before. Still, I am very happy to have them. Thank you.”

“How did you come to take up such an interest, if I may ask?”

Crispin gently closed the box. “Perhaps you think collecting objects from far-flung places is a strange interest for one who has been a guest here at the Hormisdas for most of Justinian’s reign? Let us say it’s because I must make my pilgrimages vicariously. Envoys and new arrivals to our enclave contribute to my collection.”

It was, Anatolius knew, well known that Theodora’s monophysite guests were likewise the orthodox Justinian’s prisoners. They were under the empress’ protection in the Hormisdas Palace, but not allowed to stray far from it.

“You have lived in Constantinople for a long time?”

“I arrived here more than a decade ago. I was with a delegation trying to fashion a compromise with those of the emperor’s religious persuasion. It transpired it was not the Lord’s will for that effort to succeed. I was content to remain. The local authorities in Antioch have long persecuted those with whom they disagree. You see what’s inscribed on the entablature?”

Lifting his gaze to the white marble frieze carried atop colored columns, Anatolius read a portion of the chiseled verse indicated. “…Pious and heaven-crowned Theodora…”

“The empress ordered this magnificent church constructed for us. And, to be honest, to house the thumb of Saint Sergius as well.”

Crispin tapped the box lid. “When even the oil from a lamp burning near a tomb is imbued by some essence of the saint interred there, contemplate how much more powerful is the smallest scrap of the saint’s earthly husk.”

“If the thumb of a Roman soldier is worthy of such a church, there must be relics worth an empire,” Anatolius observed.

“Were you a friend of the senator?”

“I fear I didn’t know him well.”

“He spoke most eloquently on behalf of the orthodox point of view,” Crispin said. “Justinian cannot reproach him for failing to persuade me that I am in error. True belief withstands any amount of reasoning.”

Crispin looked Anatolius up and down again, more critically than earlier. “It occurs to me that I do not know your name. Again, thank you for bringing the senator’s gift. Now I must attend to my devotions.”

As Crispin began to turn away, Anatolius drew forth the cross he had taken from the senator’s storeroom. He had chipped its enamel and snapped off the top so that it now resembled the broken artifact Thomas had been given to identify himself to the person he was to meet at the Hippodrome.

Crispin stared with ill-concealed surprise at the cross Anatolius was holding. “Where did you get that?”

“From an acquaintance of the senator’s. A man who told me of the offer he made to Symacchus, one he would like to convey to you, now that the senator is dead.”

Crispin’s suspicious gaze remained fixed on the broken cross. “Are you certain this man you mention knew the senator? I believe you have been sorely misled, whoever you are.”

“What do you mean?”

A faint smile flickered across Crispin’s narrow face. “The senator told me about a certain clumsy fellow who made a pretense of knowing things he clearly could not know, of having knowledge he did not possess. At one point, statements very akin to threats were made to the senator by this oaf. You say you bring the same message. The senator was recently murdered.”

Crispin paused. “Therefore in the circumstances I have no choice but to report our conversation to the authorities, my gaudy peacock friend,” he went on. “I shall pray your life is spared, but my petition is much more likely to be granted if you are far away from Constantinople.”