“But it probably would hurt, Lallis. Some way or another it always ends up hurting. As it is, it’ll be difficult enough if I’m found with you. If I cause you trouble…” He shook his head wearily. “I would never have imagined Isis would turn me away. She’s a different woman.”
“I know why she threw you out.”
“Obviously, because she’s a good Christian now.”
“It’s not that. It’s because of that relic you were telling her about.”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“I overheard. You told her you were being hunted by men smuggling relics. So needless to say she had to get rid of you as fast as possible.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s part of it! She’s helping the smugglers.”
Felix stared at the girl. “Not Isis! She wouldn’t do that!”
“Selling relics is part of the way she supports the refuge. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. This is the day they’re delivered, which is probably why she turned you away at once. She couldn’t risk you staying even a single night in case of what you might see or hear, and later reveal if you were caught and questioned. The messenger arrives just before dawn.”
She rose, opened the door a crack, and looked up and down the hallway. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Isis doesn’t require us to do early morning devotions, thank the Lord.”
She motioned for him to follow. The hallway was empty, illuminated by a lamp on a wooden table at one end. Lallis crept silently in the opposite direction, into deepening darkness. Felix tip-toed nervously behind, past the closed doors lining the walls. Gone from beside them were the lewd mosaic plaques illustrating the pleasures available within. He thought of the rows of stalls beneath the Hippodrome. Each door here opened onto a bare, utilitarian box like Lallis’ cell, equally suited to serving man or God.
At the end of the hall she stopped, put a finger to her lips, and waved him forward to peer around the corner.
He was looking down another long gloomy hallway. Felix recognized the door at the end as the back entrance which in the old days had been used by tradesmen and discreet high court officials. An orange light spilled feebly into the hallway then grew in intensity until Isis came into view, holding a clay lamp. She set the lamp in the niche beside the door, then slid back the bolt.
Felix felt a pang of guilt to be spying on his old friend.
But then, she’d coldly refused to help him, hadn’t she?
And Lallis claimed…
But how could he believe that Isis was smuggling relics?
Isis pulled the door open. A figure stood in the darkness outside. No words were exchanged. The caller handed Isis a small sack. She opened the top and looked in. Apparently satisfied, she closed the sack. Coins flashed in the lamp light.
Then from down the hall came a shriek. “Lallis has a man with her!”
Felix heard doors opening and more loud comments from Isis’ girls.
Isis heard the racket too and whirled around. The sack slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. Bones rattled out and skittered into the walls, as if invisible hands were playing knucklebones.
“Mithra! Just my luck!” cursed Felix, and ran after the caller.
Chapter Forty-seven
Fortuna had not abandoned Felix entirely. He careened past Isis who was startled into immobility. Bones crunched under his feet, then he flung himself out the door.
Isis’ mysterious caller was still within sight. The man sauntered along, showing no sign of concern. Apparently he had not heard the commotion he had left in his wake.
Perhaps he was hard of hearing. Keeping his distance to remain undetected, Felix could tell he was a man of late middle age, sturdy. There was something familiar about him.
When the man passed through a pool of torch light in front of a closed shop, Felix recognized him-the lamp keeper he and John had interviewed at the Church of the Holy Apostles the morning after the theft of the Virgin’s shroud. What was his name? Peteiros? He claimed to have seen demons making off with a sacred relic, yet hadn’t he just delivered a bag of bones to Isis?
An ugly swarm of possibilities began to buzz around in Felix’s head.
As the sun rose, light spilled into the streets. The squeaking and banging of metal grates being raised as shops opened for the day reverberated beneath cool shaded colonnades. Peteiros, if indeed Felix had identified him correctly, strolled along the Mese. Naturally, he would take his time, now he had nothing to hide. He carried only the coins Isis had handed over.
To be delivered to whom?
The answer seemed obvious.
But perhaps Peteiros wasn’t going to the church. He might have taken the furtive job to make extra money. He could even be employed by Porphyrius. Peteiros would make an inconspicuous courier. Just as an aristocrat would not appear out of place arriving at the house of the excubitor captain, so a church worker would raise no eyebrows by going to the door of a refuge.
However, to Felix’s dismay, at the spot where the Mese forked, Peteiros took the northern branch and started to climb the hill atop which sat the Church of the Holy Apostles.
All the way there Felix hoped Peteiros would turn from his route. He held his breath in expectation every time they approached a side street, but the carer of holy lamps kept straight along, dragging Felix’s hopes lower and lower, until he finally entered the grounds of the church and vanished through its entrance.
Felix cursed silently. Already he was opposed by the emperor and a wealthy and famous charioteer. Now it seemed he had to worry about the priest of one of the city’s largest churches. Who would it be next? The Patriarch?
How could he have been so stupid? Who had unrestricted access to the shroud except Basilius? He bore the responsibility for its security. All that nonsense about demons must have been concocted between the priest and Peteiros.
If he-or John-had given the matter thought Basilius could have been confronted immediately and Felix would never have run afoul of Justinian and Porphyrius. And Julian would still be alive.
Felix’s spirits had been sagging the closer they got to the church, but as he went up the steps his despair turned to anger.
A deacon took one look at his grim face and directed him to Basilius. The priest was taking a morning walk through the grounds behind the church. He stopped in front of Theodora’s mausoleum at Felix’s approach and when he saw Felix’s expression he blurted out, “Bad news? Is it the shroud? Please, Lord, let it be safe.”
“You should be able to me whether the relic is safe or not. First explain the transaction at Isis’ refuge this morning. Then tell me what you did with the missing relic. And no lies this time!”
“You have no right to speak-”
“A man with his life hanging by a thread has the right to demand information from anyone to save himself.”
Basilius was making little gestures with his hands, pleading for Felix to be quieter. “You can’t think I had anything to do with stealing the shroud?”
“I can, I have reason to think it, and I do.”
“But you saw me after I consulted with the emperor about the theft.”
“A good smokescreen. You knew the shroud was going to reside here for a while after Theodora’s funeral. So you decided to take advantage of the chance. It was you who arranged to have it protected so inadequately. On purpose, I believe.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know you’ve been selling relics to Isis. Do you expect me to believe it’s a coincidence the most valuable relic in your church has been stolen?”
Basilius looked around nervously. There was no one nearby. “Isis? Who is Isis? Wait. Do you mean Theodora’s model prostitute? The one who supposedly changed her house to a refuge?”
Felix’s fists clenched. He forced himself not to grab the little cleric by the front of his robes and shake the truth out of him. “You know Isis well enough to have had your man Peteiros deliver a sack of relics, old bones to be precise. I observed the transaction myself and followed him back here.”