John felt fortunate that he had had enough time to put a number of eyes and ears around Constantinople on watch. He had hoped for a different assignment. The task of acting as a glorified bodyguard for an eight-year-old girl while simultaneously attempting to find the missing Barnabas was not one he relished. “As you direct, Caesar,” he replied formally.
“Sunilda is extremely important to the empire, in fact just as important as defeating the armies of the Goths. To think how many glorious victories on the battlefield have been undone by events transpiring quietly within the walls of estates and palaces,” Justinian mused. “And, besides, Theodora is most distressed by this affair. Barnabas was her favorite performer, you know.”
The emperor directed his gaze into the distance, toward the far reaches of the polo field and the buildings of the Great Palace beyond, their stolid forms softened by the heat haze. “I would not set you a task that was unimportant, John,” he finally went on. “From the very first, from that service that commended you to my attention, I have trusted you only with the most sensitive and vital assignments.”
“I was a slave at the time, Caesar,” John reminded him. “You needed someone expendable, did you not?”
Justinian laughed softly. “You are always compelled to tell the truth, aren’t you? Yet you are still alive. And there are those who do not believe there is a God!”
The polo players clattered by again. John noted one of the girls standing on the edge of the field was stealing meaningful looks at Hektor. The boy’s face had thinned in the past year or so and was handsome enough, despite several patches applied by the palace tonsor to hide small skin blemishes.
A strong swing of the stick and the players were off again.
“Have you considered taking up playing polo?” Justinian asked.
The original topic of discussion had been closed, John knew immediately. “I prefer the exercise ball, excellency,” he replied.
Justinian’s florid face blossomed into a cheerful smile. “I avoid arduous exercise, Lord Chamberlain. I find it incites a pain in my side that causes me to bend so much that I resemble one of the empress’ pet dwarfs. It seems to me it would not be wise for the emperor to be observed in such a guise.”
John smiled wordless agreement.
Justinian clapped John on the shoulder again. It was a familiarity the Lord Chamberlain always found distasteful. “You see, that is why you are best dispatched to Zeno’s estate,” he went on. “No one else at court possesses as much discretion, John, even if many would say that you are often too frank. You remind me of an acrobat, balancing between truth and discretion.” He started to laugh.
John looked at him quizzically.
“I wasn’t thinking about you as a circus performer. Something rather humorous just occurred to me,” Justinian explained. “It concerns my instructions to the silentiary today. Perhaps I shall desert my post on the next petition day as well but if I do I shall order that all the petitions presented are to be denied.”
As Justinian laughed at his own jest, John forced himself to smile. He couldn’t help thinking that it was a poor time to be absenting himself from the palace and his frequent meetings with the unpredictable emperor, since it left Justinian open to the uncontested arguments of the empress.
He hoped the emperor would not have another sudden whim and grant one of Theodora’s venomous petitions against the Lord Chamberlain she so hated.
Chapter Seven
John and his companions rode away from Constantinople at sunrise. Remnants of the ragged mist veiling the Sea of Marmara swirled like white silk around seaweed-strewn rocks and tidal pools along the shoreline. Drifts of broken shells and bleached bits of driftwood undulated at the high water mark. Patches of rough grass and stunted, gnarled trees testified to the winds that regularly scoured the coast.
John took little notice of the scenery, devoting his thoughts to the furious empress back in Constantinople, doubtless conveying her anger to Justinian over the recent tragic events at Zeno’s estate.
“So, John,” Felix was saying, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the clattering hooves of their excubitor escort’s horses, “which of your missions has priority?”
“I believe that finding Barnabas is the key to Sunilda’s safety, so in fact Justinian hasn’t ordered us to march in two different directions as you’ve been complaining ever since we left Constantinople, Felix,” John replied.
“Well, perhaps that’s so. Mind you, if the empress asked him to, he definitely would. She’s got far too much power if you ask me. Take this matter of her support for the Monophysites, for example. The faithful say they’re heretics. Yet the emperor ordered General Belisarus to Italy to bring Ostrogothic Arians to heel. But you won’t find Justinian sending the general into Theodora’s apartments to quell heresy there! Why does he let her get away with it?”
“He’s in love with her.” Breaking off the conversation, John glanced back at Peter. Constantinople was a relatively short ride from Zeno’s estate but he was nevertheless concerned at how Peter was faring.
He had begun to regret his decision to take Peter with him. His intention had been to provide the elderly servant with a visit to the country and a rest from his usual household labors. Instead, Peter had grown visibly more fretful the further they traveled from the city. Perhaps he would be more cheerful after he had rested from the journey.
They were now riding past the high walls of the estate next to Zeno’s. Looking down the coast road, John could see the edge of an extensive olive grove and beyond that the beginning of the road leading up to Zeno’s villa. On the seaward side the land sloped down to the beach, gently in some places, more abruptly in others. Farther in the distance a few smudges of smoke rose lazily into the sky, evidence of a village hidden by the hilly terrain.
Peter was staring glumly out to sea across a headland that dropped abruptly toward the water. A craggy island was visible through the departing mist. No doubt it was the goat island about which the servant had muttered darkly when he learned of their trip, John thought. His servant’s reaction had not surprised him, however, since Peter, good Christian though he might be, was also highly-and frequently-superstitious.
“I must say that I didn’t expect to be enjoying Zeno’s hospitality again quite so soon, Felix!” John observed.
“At least it’s a chance to get away from court for a while,” the other replied, “although from what you’ve told me, it’s obvious the mime accidentally killed the child and then departed as hastily as his miserable short legs could carry him. After all, we all know that the children were only political playing pieces for the imperial couple and worth much more to them than a mere mime-even if Barnabas is Theodora’s favorite-so can you blame him for fleeing? I would have done the same if I were in his boots.”
“If I may say so, master,” Peter put in, “the little boy should have been abed, not wandering about the estate at that time of night.”
“The nursemaid certainly seems to have been somewhat negligent with her charges,” John agreed thoughtfully. “I intend to question her more closely about that when we arrive.”
“Yes, and-” Felix began to reply before Peter interrupted him.
“Master! Look!” he quavered. “Out there beyond the island!”
The party reined their horses and stared as the last shreds of mist steamed into nothingness above the swells of the sea. The water roiled as a huge shape broke the surface. Squinting against the sun, John glimpsed an enormous head and a broad, glistening back. Outlined against the bright sea, the whale moved majestically out of sight around the curve of the island, as silently as an apparition.