‘No, Father,’ replied the Emperor Michael. ‘I am more in need of spiritual nourishment. Might we walk together in the Mother Church?’
Alexius’s dark eyes sparkled. ‘Indeed we might, Majesty. I completed the morning Mass only an hour ago, and yet I already long for her. And unlike physical nourishment, which when consumed in excess can encumber the flesh with corpulence and corruption, each spiritual repast lightens our burden and cleanses our souls.’
Alexius escorted Michael through the various ante-chambers and sitting rooms of his personal apartments, through the Patriarchal offices, across the carpeted causeway to the second-floor gallery of the Hagia Sophia, and then down the stairs at the south-east corner of the enormous cathedral. They walked out into the nave. In the morning light the central dome shimmered as if it would break loose and float into the heavens. Polyphonies drifted gently through the light-filled ether; the white robes of the chanting priests could be glimpsed behind the two-storey latticed screens of green Thessalian marble that shielded the altar. The two most powerful men in the world were a strange and marvellous sight as they strolled side by side, both of them swathed from chin to ankle in layers of metallic silk; the Patriarch predominantly in white, with embroideries of gold crosses; the Emperor in vivid claret purple sprinkled with golden eagles. In the golden light of the Mother Church they seemed more akin to the glittering mosaic deities floating high above them than to human figures.
Alexius took Michael’s arm. ‘Our Lord transformed His Word into the light of the world, yet here in our Mother Church, I often feel that the primordial light is transmuted back in the Word. Does that sound strange to Your Majesty?’
Michael’s face twitched curiously, first the lips and then the eyebrows. ‘That fascinates me, Father. Do you refer to the hosannas and holy sacraments with which our church is even now redolent?’
‘That, certainly, Majesty. But also the Word of Our Lord without the intervening medium of human voices. When I am here, I often have private, intimate conversation with the Pantocrator.’
Michael skipped forward a step, as if seized by some irrepressible impulse. ‘Father, is … is it possible that the Pantocrator would speak to me in that fashion?’
‘But most certainly. You are his Vice-Regent on Earth. I would be disturbed to know that Our Lord had not communicated His wishes to you.’
‘He has communicated His wishes, Father. He spoke to me for the first time on the ambo when you crowned me Caesar. Now we converse frequently. Even in my own chambers.’
Alexius squeezed Michael’s arm in a gesture of encouragement. ‘And what are the Pantocrator’s wishes, Majesty?’
Michael’s eyebrows twitched quite noticeably. ‘He has asked me to go forth and multiply.’
Alexius’s eyes paced rapidly. ‘Indeed. Is it our Empress He has asked you to wed so that you may bring forth this fruit?’
Michael tilted his face slightly upward, as if basking in the light from the dome. ‘No. That lovely blossom has not borne fruit all these years, and it most certainly will not now.’
‘You are correct in that assumption, Majesty. While our Empress has preserved the exquisite bloom of her youth, she has passed the age of fertility. However, Majesty, you must know that while you are the adopted son of the Empress, you are in the eyes of her people her consort. You might compromise that relationship if you were to take a bride.’
‘But if my bride were also purple-born?’
It was as if Alexius could scarcely restrain his eyes from leaping out of his head. ‘I am afraid the Augusta Theodora is no more likely to bear fruit than is her sister, Majesty.’
‘I have heard an interesting rumour, Father. That the purple-born Eudocia gave birth to a daughter in a convent somewhere. It is presumed that the child died. But what if the child had been adopted and lived somewhere, unaware of her noble Macedonian lineage? She would be of childbearing age now.’
Alexius hoped his pounding breast would not give him away. ‘I have heard those rumours, too, and think there is some truth to them, at least where the birth is concerned. But we cannot presume that the child was born alive, or, if it was, is still alive. And if that Imperial progeny were alive, how can we presume that it is of the female gender?’
‘But if Eudocia’s child could be found, and if it were a woman in good health, would you object to this marriage, Father?’
Alexius commanded his arm not to tremble. The lineage of the child would be suspect, Majesty. She would not have been born in the porphyry chamber of the Imperial Palace, so she would not be a true purple-born. And of course the child was born outside the sacrament of marriage.’
‘But if the Patriarch of the One True Faith, knowing of the legitimacy of the Macedonian blood in those veins regardless of the circumstances of birth, were to assure his people that the necessary conditions for purple-born status had been met, the lineage would no longer be suspect.’
Alexius’s shoulders arched from the burden of self-control. ‘But I could not give my people those assurances of my own volition. I would have to wait and receive the Pantocrator’s instructions on such a vital matter. But of course this is all speculation, and most likely will remain so.’
Michael seemed to listen to someone else for a moment. ‘Yes. Quite. Father, let me ask you to speculate on another subject. Let us presume that when the Christ lived on earth as a man--’
‘You mean when the Holy Spirit took on the form of the Christ. You must not become careless and lapse into the Latin error by denying the procession of the Holy Spirit from the Father through the Son. If you do so, you deny Christ the Pantocrator His divinity. And you know what a scourge that heresy has become.’
Michael nodded impatiently. ‘When the Holy Spirit occupied the body of the Christ, He had an earthly father: Joseph. Now this Joseph was a virtuous man. But let us assume for the purpose of speculation that Joseph was in fact an evil man. Let us assume that he mocked the Christ as did Caiaphas, that he scourged Him as did the soldiers of Pilate. Let us assume that he brought shame to the Holy Family. Let us assume that he fouled the Mother of God with his lust and corrupted Her virtue.’
Alexius raised both wiry eyebrows. ‘Do not let speculation lead you into blasphemy, Majesty. You must remember that the Fallen Archangel can often speak to us in the guise of the Pantocrator, and convince the unwary that Satan’s beguilements are the words of the Christ.’
Michael’s entire body went rigid, and his eyes darted for a moment. Then he almost convulsively relaxed; Alexius could feel the tremor. ‘But let us assume that these crimes did take place. Who would be the agent of retribution in this case? Would it be the Holy Spirit in the form of the Father, or of the Son?’
‘Christ the Pantocrator would offer this corrupt Joseph the opportunity to repent and earn forgiveness. And then this corrupt Joseph would be judged at the Heavenly Tribunal alongside all souls, and held accountable for any sins of which he had not been cleansed. And at that Tribunal the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit will all three preside.’
Michael pondered this information for a moment. ‘I must return to the duties with which Christ the Pantocrator has charged me, Father. But I feel a remarkable spiritual satiation after your wise and loving counsel. Indeed, I felt that even as you spoke, the Christ was whispering in my ear.’
The Patriarch Alexius greeted the Augusta Theodora by signing the cross on her forehead. She had been got out of bed and now wore a plain purple robe; her lustreless brown hair was set in a single braid.
‘It is time, my child,’ said Alexius.
Theodora calmly showed Alexius to a couch and signalled her eunuch to offer him wine. ‘What has happened, Father?’