Two for Joy

Chapter Twenty-one

Anatolius was not squeamish about sleeping in strange beds. He had spent the night in many- and not alone-perhaps in more than he would have felt comfortable admitting even to John. But until now he had never had to contemplate sleeping on what his poetic imagination had once dubbed the altar to Hypnos, slumber’s personification, in such depressing circumstances and surroundings. Not even Ovid, he thought, would have been able to find any hint of romance in the emperor’s dungeons.

It did not seem so long ago that he had been sitting in John’s warm kitchen rather than on a cold stone floor. When John went in search of the missing Philo, Anatolius had insisted he accompany him. But John would not hear of it. Anatolius was to rest, he had said, and although he and the others certainly wanted to know the story behind Anatolius’ sorry, blood-spattered condition, it could wait until Philo was back and they were all safe under one roof.

Would it have made any difference, Anatolius wondered, if had he remained there rather than departing on John’s heels? He had had no desire to relate the less than heroic events that had culminated in his being carted to safety over Darius’ shoulder, as if he were a sack of grain. Besides, he had to be certain his home had not suffered the same fate as Isis’ establishment.

When he reached his house he discovered it had remained untouched. Moreover, on the way there he ascertained that the disturbances had been quelled, at least along the Mese and in the immediate vicinity of the palace. So, discarding his ruined tunic he hastily donned fresh clothing and set off for the baths, determined to enjoy that luxury while it was still available. He suspected the unorchestrated riots that had swept the city were but petty upheavals compared to the organized chaos that was surely being planned. And who could say if the new day might not bring further miracles of destruction?

Returning home again refreshed in body and spirit, he had almost reached his front door when it swung open and an excubitor stepped outside. Simon followed. His cringing bearing conveyed his abject fear before he even spotted Anatolius.

“Master,” he cried, distressed, “we could not refuse them entry!”

The excubitor’s appraising stare at the approaching Anatolius took on a harder edge. The man was holding the bloodied tunic Anatolius had lately discarded.

“Why are you here?” Anatolius demanded hotly as more armed men emerged from his house.

“By imperial order and in the name of the emperor, we are here to arrest you,” the man holding the tunic declared. Despite his firm tone and hard look, there was a hint of uncertainty on his face. Perhaps he was not yet accustomed to arresting members of the court. “You are under suspicion of murdering a certain man by the name of Philo,” he added, completing the formalities.

“Philo?” Anatolius was incredulous. “But surely he’s at the Lord Chamberlain’s house?”

It was obviously a ghastly misunderstanding, he thought. With all the disorder in the city someone along the chain of command had received garbled instructions. But his father would soon set things right. No, he corrected himself quickly with a deep pang of pain, his father was no longer able to aid him. But there again John would be able to straighten matters out just as swiftly.

“I suggest that you consult the Lord Chamberlain on this matter,” Anatolius said, “for it is quite evident that a mistake has been made.”

“Our orders are to arrest you. They are our only orders,” the excubitor replied, resting a hand suggestively upon the hilt of his sword.

Anatolius demanded to know who had made the accusation.

The excubitor did not reply but looked pointedly down at the reddened tunic hanging over his arm.

Anatolius was marched smartly away through the dark and unhealthy network of narrow lanes pressing closely around the wall encircling the Great Palace. Even as he was escorted to a row of cells beneath the ruins of a small temple left picturesquely intact in a less frequented part of the palace grounds, he remained convinced that his detention was an error. Mistaken identity, perhaps, or some other simply explained misunder- standing. Had Felix been in charge of the excubitor detachment sent to arrest him, it would all have been cleared up in the wink of an eye.

Now, hours later, leaning against the rough wall of his cell, he wondered if he would be released soon or if he would be forced to make his bed that night upon the cold floor. No sound came from the corridor. He might as well have been already buried and forgotten.

Thinking of burials gave birth to unfortunate recollections of certain rumors and gossip. One day a courtier was received with smiling favor, the next he found himself ordered confined to his home until he died or hastened his own death. Had imperial policy changed, become yet stricter? Were such unfortunates locked away from the world now, left to starve to death with none knowing where they were hidden away?

Anatolius knew as little of the law as he cared to-which was almost nothing. As he recalled, Romans were seldom sentenced to imprisonment but rather to fines, forfeitures or death. The thought did not cheer him.

He rubbed his gritty eyelids. Why should the emperor, whom he saw nearly every day, whose words he worked diligently to embellish, treat his trusted secretary in such a barbaric manner?

He reminded himself at present it was Theodora who was in charge although the orders issued bore Justinian’s name. He recalled Theodora’s exotic scent, her warm breath on his face. Had she perhaps detected some forbidden interest in her in his demeanor?

Of course, he’d also copied out Michael’s letter for John. Could Theodora have learned of that? Did it explain her sudden animus? She would need little excuse or reason, in fact none at all, to strike out at a close friend of her enemy the Lord Chamberlain, especially when that friend’s execution would result in his newly acquired estate reverting to the coffers of the empire.

Yet he would not hold an estate were it not for the death of his father. The thought brought another of those sudden floods of shocked recollection to cut through the foggy miasma that seemed to be afflicting his reasoning. The pain of his loss, realized anew, was as sharp as it had been when he first saw his father lying dead.

“Oh, father,” he whispered to the empty air, “if only you were here to help me now.”

But there again, Justinian could not remain in seclusion for much longer and the absence of a man of Anatolius’ stature would soon be noticed at court, unless everyone assumed he had abandoned his city house and fled to the safety of the country.

Ah, but then what of the household slaves? Well, the gossips would say, they would naturally have been left in Constantinople to guard the house. Or possibly the more charitable of his acquaintances would declare that in their opinion he was mourning in seclusion, refusing to receive visitors. And his slaves would not dare say anything. After all, once it was established their master had disappeared, they would be suspected of doing away with him under cover of the general disorder.

He rested his head on his drawn-up knees, clasping his arms around his legs. At least his cell was dry. He wondered what its original purpose had been. Perhaps it had once been occupied by a temple servant. He resolved when he was released he would sacrifice to whichever deity his temporary quarters honored as well as to Lord Mithra. Indeed, the underground room in which he was sitting reminded him of the mithraeum.

“Courage, Anatolius,” he told himself loudly. “You have achieved the rank of Soldier of Mithra. Do not disgrace yourself and your companions at arms.”

But even as he spoke, there came to his mind an image of the bear Theodora kept caged. Would he and the bear ever be free again?

The dark image was banished by a thud at the door. He leapt up, startled, heart racing. If only he had a blade! Was this where his life would end? But it would be sold dearly, he promised himself, moving swiftly to the corner that would be concealed by the door, now opening to admit the flickering light of a lamp. The cell’s rough wall was reassuringly solid against his back. If he could grab that lamp and throw the burning oil into his visitor’s face, it might offer an opportunity to flee down the corridor. He leaned forward, coiled ready to leap as the door swung fully back and a tall man stepped into the small room.

It was John.

Anatolius felt nauseated with the rush of relief.

The excubitor who had unlocked the cell looked in briefly before shutting the heavy door. He remained outside.

“I’ll tell you what’s happening as quickly as I can, Anatolius,” John said, setting the lamp on the floor. “No doubt word’s already on its way to Theodora that I’m here-and I would hate to find myself taking up residence in the next cell!” A quick smile curved his thin lips.

“But how did you know I’d been arrested? Did one of my servants rush to tell you?”

“A summons to Theodora,” John said shortly. “brought by Hektor, who is less skilful at concealing his delight at your downfall than the empress. I must admit I did catch a glimpse of glee in those cold eyes of hers.”

Anatolius shuddered. He did not tell John that the last time he had seen those eyes had been from a much closer viewpoint than John had enjoyed at his recent interview with the empress. “But why did she wish to inform you personally?”

“What can say? But it gave me an opportunity to petition that you be released into house arrest, either at your home or mine. She refused, naturally. Here you were and here you would stay, she said, and it made no difference if there was rape and riot in the streets, holy fire or bloodshed, while she was ordering imperial affairs, justice would continue to be served and the guilty punished.”

Anatolius, feeling hysteria overwhelming him, gave a husky giggle.

“Calm, Anatolius, you must stay calm!” John said sharply. “Lose your head now and you’ll lose it in truth!”

Stifling the giggle that now threatened to change into a sob, the other nodded.

“I visited the Prefect before I came here,” John continued rapidly. “I didn’t learn much. Your accuser remains anonymous, and now the Prefect’s busy gathering evidence against you. He’s already interviewed some who claim they saw you this morning close to where Philo was discovered. And then there’s this matter of your tunic. I’m hoping to discover something to tip the scales in your favor.”

Anatolius did not care for his friend’s grim tone. “Then Philo really is dead?”

John gave a curt nod and continued. “Now, one of your slaves told the Prefect that you left your house this morning before dawn in a raging fury to seek out the man you thought responsible for your father’s death. You had in fact declared your intent to kill the culprit. Is this true?”

Anatolius admitted that it had been so. “For my thought at the time was how pleasing it would be to slip my blade between his miserable ribs and twist it until his life painfully bled away,” he went on. “But when my humors had cooled a little, I thought better of it. A far sweeter revenge would be the humiliation of public accusation and arrest, for surely justice would be served and he would pay the supreme penalty. And of course when he paid it, I would be there to observe the rendering of the account, a thought I must confess I reveled in and still do.” He did not need to point out the irony of his now himself being accused of murder and imprisoned in an imperial dungeon.

“I can see how you came to suspect Philo, Anatolius. He was certainly extremely angry with your father for refusing to help him find a post. He had spoken much of that and, of course, everyone who attended the banquet knows he was in the house when your father died. And then again you had personally invited him to provide entertainment. You said that you felt responsible…and your impetuous nature is well known.”

The realization that John also suspected him was as if a bottomless pit had opened at Anatolius’ feet.

“No, John, absolutely not! You have misunderstood entirely!” he protested. “The man I mean is Senator Balbinus. He and my father were much at odds. While I was sequestered in the study I looked through the papers on my father’s desk. Some were legal threats, concerning a land dispute with a neighboring estate owner, a dispute in which Balbinus had apparently seen fit to involve himself.”

“And so you think that was the reason he murdered your father?”

Anatolius repeated that it had been Balbinus he had sought, not Philo.

John pointed out that Balbinus had not been present at the banquet on the night of Aurelius’ death.

“He wasn’t invited, John,” Anatolius said wearily. “But don’t forget that guests were arriving and departing from the house for several hours. Every public room was crowded. With all the comings and goings that evening, he could have somehow slipped in and out unnoticed. He, or perhaps his accomplice.”

John frowned as Anatolius’ frantic rush of words echoed around the cell. “Is the truth at the heart of this matter that you have taken up with Lucretia again, despite the fact that she is now married? Is that why your rage was directed at Balbinus?”

“Of course not!” Anatolius was hurt. “You would have known about Lucretia if that had been the case. You know I can’t keep confidences like that, even though doubtless you would have lectured me about morality.”

John smiled grimly. “That at least is true. But I also remember certain statements you made not long after she and Balbinus married.”

Anatolius looked at him in amazement.

“Do you think that, once uttered, our words vanish, never to return to our detriment, no matter how ill considered those words might be?” John asked.

Anatolius pondered the question briefly before replying. “As a fellow adept of Lord Mithra, you have my solemn oath that I did not murder Philo. He must have been the victim of some cut-throat or other. After all, some will kill for the sport of it, some get caught up in hysteria and others kill from blood lust. There are stranger people about even than that, those who kill for pleasure. You did well to warn him of the dangers of going out alone. It’s a pity he paid such a terrible price for failing to heed your advice.”

Anatolius paused. “It’s too easy to stumble over something people don’t want trumpeted abroad,” he said. “There’s plenty of people with secrets that don’t particularly interest us, but they’ll kill to guard them. After all, how can they be certain that some inquisitive old man is not an imperial spy? There’s enough of them around.”

John said that unfortunately that was certainly so.

“I can tell you something I thought it prudent not to reveal when I was arrested, though,” Anatolius replied, “and it’s this. Although I did not find the man I was seeking, I did see Philo just before dawn this morning. He was standing outside the Chalke in very close conversation with a foreign looking fellow. I am wagering that’s the man the Prefect should be looking for. The question is, will anyone believe me when I say I saw this man?”

John asked Anatolius why he had not tried to persuade Philo to go back home immediately.

“I would have, except, well, that was when a gang of Blues set about some Greens that were unlucky enough to be outnumbered. I got caught in the brawl and by the time I extricated myself, Philo and the other man had vanished.”

“No doubt this was when you were bloodied?”

“Oh, that. Yes. Well, I fell and hit my head on the cobbles. It split my scalp open and I bled like a skewered ox. In fact, I lost consciousness.”

John observed that it did not sound too convincing a tale.

“True. I can hardly remember all of what happened myself,” Anatolius admitted. “But how long will I have to be here? Perhaps if you tell Theodora what I’ve just told you, she might relent?”

“It would do no good.”

Anatolius mumbled something complimentary about John having a gift for reasoned argument.

“Yes, so Philo used to tell me,” was the reply. “But he inevitably added that what I had was the potential for it if only I would apply myself more diligently… Alas that I did not, for at my recent audience with Theodora my powers of persuasion gained me nothing except orders to another audience with Michael. I am to be off to the shrine with the sunrise tomorrow, there to deliver a message I would normally term a capitulation except on this occasion Theodora is obviously hoping to gain time to lay further plans. As soon as I get back I will again attempt to see Justinian on your behalf.”

Anatolius could not control the quaver in his voice. “There’s no justice, John! There is no reason at all for me to be kept here!”

“Justice is the first casualty of war and that’s the point we’re rapidly approaching. Fortunately for you, your guards are fellow adepts, so for now at least you can expect reasonable treatment. The one outside told me that a few excubitors have deserted. Most of them have remained steady and so the palace is safe for now, but what will happen once they’re outnumbered by a mob baying for blood, anybody’s blood?”

“So perhaps it will indeed all end in fire and bloodshed,” Anatolius muttered. “And as for me, it appears I am fated to remain hidden away here until the accusations against me are finally heard. If they are ever heard.”

After John left Anatolius lay down. He could faintly hear the steady beating of waves, as if the sound of the sea was communicating with him through the earth upon which the building sat.

Then he realized it was the beating of his heart that was thrumming in his ears. He tried to pretend that the cold floor was just another of the many beds he had known. Uninvited, old lovers arrived to whisper to him. He forced them from his thoughts. But there was one more insistent than the rest. Anatolius was not able to convince her to depart. Lucretia seemed to kneel beside him, intent on comforting him, but his vision of her brought only further torment to this terrible place.