John made his way through a network of subterranean corridors and chambers, his footsteps echoing on stone floors. Some doors stood open to reveal piles of amphorae containing wine, sacks of grain, barrels holding the pungent fish sauce known as garum, and similar comestibles stored against those occasions when one or another was late in arriving from various parts of the empire.
Penetrating to the deeper parts of the labyrinth John finally arrived at a stout wooden door.
Behind lay the mithraeum, the temple to Mithra, a long, narrow, pillared room lit by torches set in brackets on roughly dressed stone walls. Above, a ceiling encrusted with shards of pottery suggested a cave.
John descended a short flight of steps and bowed his head briefly to the altar at the far end of the room.
He held the high rank of Runner of the Sun. The honor of the post he offered to Mithra, being content to remain at that level since he could not devote the amount of time to religious matters that would be required if he rose higher, not least because in an officially Christian court Mithrans were proscribed and subject to harsh penalties if discovered.
That a temple, albeit a secret one, could be built on the very grounds of the palace was a testament to the courage and fellowship of the anonymous men who created it. He had heard its sacred statues and beautifully chiseled marble bas relief had been brought openly to the palace in large crates the cart drivers claimed held special items to decorate Theodora’s quarters and therefore had not been opened and inspected.
It was amusing to think Theodora, a supporter of monophysite heretics to the chagrin of the orthodox, had been an unwitting accomplice of pagans whose views even she would have disapproved.
Here, John hoped, he might find some inspiration in solving his task.
His gaze had, as always, been drawn to the sacred scene depicted in the bas relief behind the altar. The shifting shadows thrown by the fire burning on the altar animated its depiction of Mithra slaying the Great Bull.
As Lord of Light, Mithra was honored thrice daily by prayers offered by the Father, the priest in charge of the temple.
On this occasion, however, John had arrived as a brief ceremony was concluding with a final prayer.
“…fallen far away defending the frontier and even now ascending to thy realm of light though buried without the appropriate rites for one who loved and served thee. Grant that he be found worthy of living in thy radiance,” the Father intoned.
Three men ranged behind the Father responded as one with John and the Father.
“Lord of Light, we beseech thee!”
The five Mithrans bowed to the altar before the trio of men took their seats on a bench and waited in silence as the Father greeted John.
“As you heard, we have lost another adept, John. A brave man, one advancing rapidly in the ranks.” The Father was about John’s age, a familiar face at court though considerably outranked by John. “We are losing others too. Lately many are neglecting their religious duties.”
“Have you seen Felix recently? Of course, he’s been rushed off his feet since Theodora died.”
“I’m afraid he’s one who has fallen away. I haven’t seen him for months. I intended to ask you where he’s been.”
John exchanged a few more words with the Father and then sat on a bench in the quietness of the sacred place.
He had hoped to compose his mind, to think about the problems he faced. But the absence of Felix from his usual place of worship had given him yet another matter to worry about.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“The captain hasn’t been in this morning,” a clerk told John. “He may be inspecting the barracks.”
“I expected him to have left word for me.”
The clerk, a thin, pallid creature and clearly not a military man, pawed through scrolls on Felix’s desk. “I’m sorry, Lord Chamberlain. There’s nothing but routine paperwork here.”
Early morning sun slanted across the paved courtyard visible through the window. The plaster walls were bare except for one of the official crosses installed all over the administrative complex. It was not a salubrious office, but then Felix never spent much time behind a desk.
John went into the corridor. Clerks and minor officials were wandering into their offices, blinking sleepily.
He had spent a long time meditating in the mithraeum and then had come straight here, to see what information had been gleaned during the night by the watch Felix had put on Anatolius’ house. The fact that Felix had not been waiting for him, had left no word, seemed to indicate no one of interest had been seen entering or leaving the house, but John would have preferred to have been told that was the case. Apparently Felix had not thought it necessary.
He left the palace and found Pulcheria in her usual spot. She had moved from the shadows to sit in a patch of sunlight and her multicolored rags resembled a wild, formless mosaic, the perfect adornment for a church of some sect whose views would make even the most blasphemous of heretics flush with disapproval. Tripod the three-legged cat peeked from behind her, a lurking demon glaring malevolently at John as he hunkered down to talk to Pulcheria.
“What of the assignments I gave you? Have you learned anything yet?”
“About the one matter, nothing yet,” Pulcheria replied. “But as to the more pressing question, concerning your friend-”
“So you were able to observe Anatolius’ house last night as I asked? Did you see anything?”
Pulcheria divided the last of the fish on which she was breakfasting, ate one bit, and gave the other to the cat. She looked slyly at John with the good side of her face. “Oh yes, Lord Chamberlain. I followed your instructions. Your largesse will buy me many a fine meal, but I think you will find it was money well spent.”
“Did you see that young servant I described to you? Did she arrive early and spend the night as I expected?”
Pulcheria wiped greasy fingers daintily on her colored rags. “No. Your friend was not up to his usual antics, not last night at least. I hired an acquaintance of mine to help me. The poor fellow is lacking a leg but his eyesight is excellent. I set him to watch the front entrance and he says he didn’t see anybody unusual going in.”
“Is this acquaintance reliable?”
“Certainly, Lord Chamberlain. He is a former military man. Unfortunately, he squanders his pension on wine.”
It was not necessarily a description that would have led John to consider a man reliable. However, he made no comment. Pulcheria had always been very reliable. He would trust her judgment.
“I thought if anyone wanted to come to the house unobserved they wouldn’t go to the front door,” Pulcheria continued. “So I found a cozy space with a clear view of the back of the house.”
“Did you notice any excubitors watching?”
“No. They must have concealed themselves well.”
“As they should have,” John said. It surprised him that excubitors, even without their uniforms, could have hidden themselves from a street beggar. And what could she have noticed that they had not?
“I settled down quite comfortably before sunset,” Pulcheria went on. “I’m not particular where I wait when I am keeping watch.” The undamaged side of her mouth lifted in a laugh. “A couple of men came and went before dusk. One delivered a crate. Another brought a big sack full of cheese. I could smell it when he walked by. I had to grab Tripod by the scruff of his neck to keep him from leaping out. He is very fond of cheese.”
“But eventually you saw a suspicious visitor?” John prompted, aware Pulcheria was enjoying drawing her story out.
“Oh, very suspicious, Lord Chamberlain! But many hours passed first. Several drunken faction members wandered by quarreling about their racing teams, pushing and shoving one another. After they’d gone I found a nummus one had dropped. Well, then, it was nearer to dawn than sunset when a visitor arrived. The house guards looked practically asleep at the back gate, but they raised their lances until they saw who he was, then they ushered him in, most obsequiously.”