Felix removed his helmet and ran a hand through his thick hair. Despite the seriousness of their investigation, John had to suppress a smile. Between Gaius and Demetrios one might guess the main affliction besetting Constantinople was a mysterious disease which refused to allow the lips to stop moving.
Felix broke into the doorkeeper’s ramblings to ask when the Blues had arrived on the scene.
“Oh, there was already a crowd of them in the church,” was the surprising reply. “All are welcome, as I said, without exception. Now as it happened, I was standing inside by the main door. I’d just come in for a short time to get out of the bitter wind, you understand, when it happened. It was all very confusing, between the number of people in the vestibule and the fact that it’s not as well lit as the rest of the church. Anyhow, the trouble broke out among the crowd gathered around the sculpture.”
“These were Blues?” put in Felix hopefully.
“Some certainly were, but most of them were regular visitors. I knew many of them by sight. Hypatius was standing looking up at the sculpture, when one of the Blues shouted.”
“What was it he shouted?”
“Let’s just say it was a blasphemy and leave it at that. Hypatius took him to task for using such words in a holy place. The others immediately started yelling even worse. A few of our regular worshippers tried to shout them down. Then Hypatius attempted to calm everyone. It was no good. Things had gone too far.”
Felix shook his head. “And this in a holy place!”
“As you say, sir. It turned into chaos. Women were getting hysterical. Men ran outside to escape. Wisely so. Damage was done to the church…yet really it all happened in less time than it takes to tell you. Within a few heartbeats fighting began.”
Demetrios’ voice rose incredulously as he continued. “Including among the faithful! Suddenly Hypatius fell, mortally wounded as it turned out. It was as if he had been struck by the hand of God. But why a man of such piety? And he hadn’t even started the argument. That is how blood was spilled in the house of the Lord, sirs!”
To John’s surprise, the doorkeeper began to cry feebly. “Yes, blood was spilled in the house of the Lord,” Demetrios repeated forlornly.
“And it was then that you were wounded?” Felix asked after a brief silence.
The doorkeeper’s head bobbed in agreement. “I tried to go to Hypatius’ aid. The Blues were running away and a couple shoved me aside, but not before one turned back and sunk his blade into my shoulder. Why would they do that? Killing one man, wounding another, and for what reason? Is there nothing they won’t stoop to? We’re not safe in our beds!”
The thought brought fear back to his face.
“The city will be calm now,” Felix reassured him. “Look at the way the Prefect put down those rioters just the other night. They’ll think twice about starting anything now.”
“Those young troublemakers aren’t averse to murder. They’ll be very hard to convince.”
John had the fleeting impression that the doorkeeper was about to leap off his pallet. The man raised a stick-like arm and waved it in feeble agitation.
“Decent citizens never know whether or when they’ll be assaulted. Prudent men go about their business well guarded and it’s best for women to stay at home. Except for attending church, that is.”
He slumped down, looking suddenly exhausted. Felix asked the doorkeeper if he had related all that he had seen.
“That’s all, sir.”
There was an outburst of screaming in the corridor. Looking out, John saw a young woman, her head covered with a soiled veil, carted shrieking into a nearby room. Gaius raced into view.
Felix stepped out of the sickroom and laid a hand on the physician’s arm before he could pass. “What’s happened?”
Gaius wrenched his arm free. “It’s a street whore. A dissatisfied customer threw a lamp full of burning oil into her face.” He vanished into the room where the woman’s continued screams now had a raw, rasping quality. Evidently the tortured cries had been going on for a long time.
“Gaius was right, John,” Felix said as they departed the hospice. “Tempers are short. There’ll be worse before long, I’d wager my sword on it. Anyone who’s not prepared to fight should stay off the streets.”
Chapter Eight
John followed Lady Anna as she stepped hastily into the bookseller’s shop just off the Augustaion. Her quick step resulted not so much from eagerness to discover what new offerings might be found in the brightly lit emporium as from her desire to take shelter against the feathery snow beginning to drift from a sullen sky.
“Ah, my lady.” The bookseller greeted her with a low bow. He appeared not to have noticed John at all. “It is good to see you again. And how is your father the senator?”
“Well indeed, Scipio.”
The bold odors of spice, perfume and freshly baked bread had streamed from the doorways of other establishments John and Anna had passed. The air here was scented more subtly by dusty parchment. Scipio’s scrolls and codices were arranged neatly on shelves and tables and in wall niches, as if in a library.
Anna began to warm her hands at the brazier set by the far wall. It stood as far away from the flammable wares as possible.
“And yourself, my lady?” The bookseller was a slightly built man with a shaved head. Quite young, John thought, to be the owner of such an establishment.
“I am well also, at least now that I can feel my fingers again. Have you anything to show me today?”
Scipio nodded his bald head. “Only a single item, but one that I think you’ll find most intriguing.”
He took down an ornamented box from a shelf and opened it to display a codex with an unadorned leather cover.
“It was sent to me by my brother, who often finds such treasures. An aristocrat, whom I will not name, was selling off a few valuables to satisfy the tax collector’s latest outrageous demand. Alas, the libraries always go first. Knowing your interest in gardens, I have not shown this to anyone yet.”
Anna took the proffered item. John saw it was a selection of Pliny the Younger’s letters, the first of which was devoted to describing his gardens. She scanned it eagerly. “John, is this not beautiful?”
John agreed it was.
“This is certainly of great interest, Scipio,” she said, “but I should like to consider the matter overnight. I could send a message tomorrow, if you would be willing to wait.”
The bookseller assured her that he would be more than happy to do so and politely ushered them out. A thin veil of snow had begun to whiten everything in the street, bits of broken pottery, animal dung, straw, scraps of rotted fruit, and even a scrap of parchment escaped from Scipio’s shop.
“Do you think it’s worth the price?” Anna wondered as their steps turned homeward.
“Not to a collector. The cover was plain to begin with and looks badly worn. I noticed that a few of the pages are stained. But since the subject matter interests you…if you think it has value, then it does.”
“True indeed.”
They proceeded at a brisk pace. John kept a cautious watch on the doorways and narrow alleys they passed. While he felt he should be pursuing the investigation into Hypatius’ death, Justinian’s orders, however odd, had been very clear; he was to continue with his other duties so far as possible. It had happened, for one reason or another, that his tutoring of Lady Anna had also come to include escorting her about the city on occasion.
“What value can you put on a person, John?” Anna said. “I’m not talking about slaves. Pardon me if I offended you.”
John softly pointed out that slaves were unoffendable and that no apology was therefore necessary.
Anna smiled, her plain face suddenly beautiful from its sweetness. “I spoke without thought, John. It’s hard to think of you as what…as who…you are. And now what is it that makes you look so solemn?”