It was hard to imagine the burly, dark-bearded man as a child. It was easier to imagine him battling Achilles. He differed from his imperial cousin in that he was actually a military man. He had fought on the battlefield, had his horse killed under him on one occasion, and nearly died himself. A true soldier emperor in the Roman tradition.
“It was not the educational experience your tutors desired,” John observed.
“No, but I’m certain Christodorus received a fee. Poets have to earn a living somehow.” Germanus stopped in front of a bronze Aphrodite. “This is the only statue rescued from the ruins, and not entirely intact. Years after that performance I looked the verse up. ‘Her breasts were bare but her robes were gathered around her rounded thighs.’ A true enough description, but now she has only a single breast. The goddess of love turned into an Amazon warrior!”
The restorers had done their best to repair the statue. Perhaps they had honestly mistaken her for an Amazon.
Germanus’ smile faded for the first time. He ran a hand over his cropped beard. “Such genius and centuries of art annihilated in a day by the ignorant rabble, all of whom together could not create even the kerchief that binds Aphrodite’s hair. There is no justice in the world, Lord Chamberlain.”
“There is a little justice in the world, Germanus.”
The general’s hulking guards shifted their grips on their weapons, shuffled their feet, looking bored. They appeared to John the type of men who would not be fully engaged by anything except violence.
Germanus smiled again. “I have fought my whole life to gain justice for my family. Here I am, descended from a royal line, and myself and my children are told to stand aside for whores and bastards bred from a bear keeper.”
“But no longer.”
“No. However, don’t think I’m only concerned with justice for myself…” He trailed off abruptly. “Lord Chamberlain, every single person you approach will single out an enemy as a potential suspect. Therefore I wish to stress Artabanes isn’t my enemy.”
“General Artabanes?”
“A fine commander. The opposite of his predecessor. Justinian should never have sent Areobindus to Libya. He was a senator, not a military man. And a coward to boot. I’m sure you know the story.”
John did indeed. Areobindus had surrendered himself and his wife Praejecta to the rebels. Artabanes arrived, restored order, and rescued Praejecta, but not before Areobindus had been assassinated.
“Are you telling me Artabanes acted against Theodora?”
Germanus’ thick lips tightened. “As good as, Lord Chamberlain. A month ago he visited me at my house, supposedly to discuss the situation in Libya. But before long the conversation turned to the imperial couple. They were both worthless in his opinion. He claimed he wasn’t alone in saying so. On the other hand, I was as close a relative to the old emperor Justin as Justinian, and more fit to rule being a military man and not a self-styled theologian, a soft fellow who took orders from his wife. If only I had been older at the time of Justin’s death, and so on.”
John pointed out such talk was tantamount to treason.
“That’s what I told him. But he took no notice. He said he knew I was a fair-minded man. Everyone knew I was fair-minded. Otherwise some treacherous senators would have already begged me to put Justinian out of the way.”
“He wanted to gauge your interest in deposing Justinian?”
“What else? He told me Justinian didn’t even try to rule. He sat up all night without any guards, just decrepit old priests, studying the holy books. In effect he explained to me exactly when and where the emperor could be assassinated and how simple it would be.”
John looked around at the bodyguards. They gave no evidence of listening but had doubtless taken interest in the entire conversation. How might they feel about serving an emperor rather than a general?
“He hated Theodora even more,” Germanus continued. “He hated them both. Murdering her would be a blow against Justinian. It would weaken him.”
“People with grievances like to talk about revenge, even when they know they can’t take it.”
“In Libya, Artabanes personally stabbed a tyrant in the tyrant’s own banqueting hall. He’s a courageous man.”
John questioned Germanus further but having delivered his prepared speech the general remained affable but effectively as silent as the bronzes. Christodorus might have ventured to guess what he was thinking.
John did not and took his leave.
Chapter Eighteen
As John walked toward the Chalke Gate he formed the impression he was being followed.
It was a sense an inhabitant of the palace soon developed.
He turned and went through an archway leading to the square of the Augustaion in front of the Great Church.
His pursuer had no intention of merely following. A towering, granite column of a man-the largest of Germanus’ guards-overtook him and spoke. “Lord Chamberlain.”
John stopped. “There was something your employer forgot to tell me?”
“That’s right. He is worried about your safety.”
“I appreciate that.”
Passersby streamed around the two men as if they were two rocks in a river.
“A high official should not be walking around alone, Lord Chamberlain. You never know who might be lurking around the next corner. Especially when you start asking powerful people the wrong questions.”
“Is that what Germanus said?”
“An intelligent man like you can deduce the answer.” The guard turned and plowed his way back through the crowd.
The man’s words puzzled John. He had been threatened too many times to be concerned about threats to himself. What he worried about was Cornelia and his daughter and grandchild.
He followed the retreating guard out through the archway. He would have preferred to return home to see if there had been any word from Cornelia, but after talking to Germanus he knew there was one more stop to make.
He had seen the sun rising over the palace gardens as he began the day’s investigations, and before he was done he would see it drop below the rooftops of the city toward which it was falling even now, stretching the shadows of buildings, statuary, pillars and pedestrians and stray dogs in the direction of the Sea of Marmara as if the shadows intended to drown themselves in the dark waters as night closed in.
***
Germanus stamped into the atrium of his house, cursing effusively. The servant who had met John at the door earlier shrank away.
“You never should have told him I was at the Zeuxippos baths,” Germanus thundered.
The servant had simply offered the usual report on who had called at the house and the general had started shouting.
“But what else was I to do?” The servant’s voice quavered. “He was acting under Justinian’s orders. He showed me the seal.”
“Next time tell him you don’t know where I’ve gone. Or that I’m off hunting in the Cypress Forest. Send him up the Bosporos looking for me. Tell him I’ve set sail for Egypt!”
“I tried to get rid of him as quickly as possible. I didn’t want him to run into-”
“No, certainly not! And what about our other visitor?”
“Gone to see the lawyer.”
“Again? What good will that do? I hope the lawyer knows enough to keep his mouth shut. I don’t like all this running around. Too much risk of being seen.”
The servant was visibly trembling and Germanus softened his tone. “You did well to keep the Lord Chamberlain out. No one is to get past the atrium, and if possible not even that far. Maybe you should say my cook has the plague.”