The dog John had seen rooting in the gutter trotted quickly past the entrance to the passageway, holding a large bloody scrap of flesh in its teeth. Had John been a superstitious man, he would have regarded that as a very ominous omen.
“If you heard correctly,” John said thoughtfully, “then it would appear that our time is growing very short indeed.”
Striding through the austere warren of imperial administrative offices, John found himself noticing the water clocks set in niches and corners to regulate the labors of those not content to depend on the sun. The level of water in the receiving bowls made it abundantly clear that it had taken him far too long to make his way through the boisterous crowd swirling about outside the Chalke.
Felix was not in his office when John finally reached it. It seemed he had been called away to a meeting with the empress. But when John made his way to the Hormisdas, she had gone and so had Felix.
“The excubitor captain was here,” confirmed the silentiary still on guard outside Theodora’s now empty audience hall. “He left in a hurry, looking very grim. I’d guess there was some military action afoot, though it’d only be a guess, since my hearing isn’t what it once was-and of course I wouldn’t be eavesdropping at any rate. We guards are nothing if not discreet.”
John thanked the man for his garrulous discretion with a coin. He knew immediately where he would find Felix.
Once by tradition but now of necessity, the mithraeum was concealed in the bowels of an imperial storehouse in a less traveled part of the palace grounds. A casual visitor who might by accident penetrate far through the maze of winding passages to arrive at the stout door allowing entry into the holy place would have been intercepted by the guards stationed there, their constant presence easily explained by the valuable goods stored in similar stone cellars under the rambling building. Politely escorted back to the upper level, such visitors would doubtless be just as happy to see sunlight. Who knew how many had entered and never emerged back in the days when enemies of the state or those who had fallen from the emperor’s favor had been imprisoned in those underground rooms?
But the guards stepped aside, knowing John was a fellow adept. Closing the stout door behind him, John quickly walked down the flight of steps into the shadowed mithraeum. Tonight there would be no celebration, no ceremonial meal, no ritual to mark a follower’s joyous advancement another degree up the seven-runged ladder, drawing ever closer to Lord Mithra. Tonight there was only a lone man, his bushy haired head bowed, seated on a stone bench.
John sat down next to him.
“Well, John,” Felix said, evincing no surprise at the Lord Chamberlain’s arrival, “I’m shortly off to visit the Michaelites.”
“And not with peaceful intent it seems, for I see you are girded for battle,” John replied with a nod at the helmet set on the stone flagged floor.
The two men were silent for a time, gazing at the marble bas relief behind the altar. Light from the torches bracketing it glanced off the deeply carved details of the familiar scene-the Phrygian cap Lord Mithra wore, the sharp edge of his raised blade, the powerful shoulders and curled tail of the huge bull he was about to sacrifice to bring forth life.
It was a scene which never failed to move John to the core of his being.
The low cave-like ceiling of the narrow mithraeum was painted with gleaming stars, but its walls were beyond the reach of the torches’ pool of light. Thus it ever was. Moreover, it seemed to John that deeper shadows, more evil than those held at bay by torchlight or by the sacred fires kindled on the altar when ceremonies were to be held, were pressing in around them, inky doubles of the dark chaos engulfing the city above them.
Felix frowned fiercely.
“You’re worried about something more than an engagement of arms, Felix,” John observed. “Perhaps you have come to ask Lord Mithra for guidance? If so, I would be happy to leave.”
The big captain nodded. “You’re right, John, but in fact it’s something I would like to discuss with you.”
John listened closely as Felix continued. “I’m on the horns of a dilemma as sharp as those of the Great Bull,” he said. “I am a soldier, it’s my duty to follow orders, whether it be to fall upon the enemy and dispatch him or guard some soft and simpering ambassador from whatever evil he thinks he will encounter while going about his business at court.”
He paused, folding his arms on his brawny chest. “I have just been ordered by the empress to ride with my men to the shrine where the Michaelites are gathered. And when we arrive there, we are to dispose of Michael immediately along with such of his followers as may seek to prevent us carrying out our orders.”
“You have been ordered to kill him?”
Felix nodded. “You would think that Theodora must realize that to murder the man will inflame passions to such a degree that riots will break out as soon as news reaches the city. All of Justinian’s generals would have refused, I imagine, mutinous although it would be. But my men and I, barracked within the palace grounds, well, we can hardly fail to do the empress’ bidding, because generals would certainly not balk at putting down a rebellion by mere excubitors!”
“She must have made her decision immediately she knew of Michael’s threat to set the Bosporos on fire.”
Seeing Felix’ look of disbelief John related what he had learned not long before.
Felix uttered a string of lurid curses. “She never mentioned that, but why would she? I armed myself, gave my orders and then came straight here to reflect for a few moments. You barely caught me, John. I must leave shortly to finalize arrangements.”
“Perhaps Theodora is convinced that such a supernatural occurrence as Michael has promised will set off riots anyway and would rather they occurred without him to direct them?”
Felix nodded unhappily. “Excellent strategy to remove their leader, but the very notion of killing an unarmed man disturbs me greatly.” He frowned. “I can’t believe Justinian would order this rash action.”
John considered the matter briefly. “That’s probably so, Felix. There are women at the shrine, women and children both. I saw them myself when I was there with Aurelius. There is going to be a blood bath of the innocent if there’s any resistance and both of us know perfectly well that there will be.”
“Oh, Theodora realizes that all right. When I received my orders, she remarked that baptism in blood might be just what the heretics needed. The bitch is as hard as one of those horse hoof breastplates the Sauromatae wore. But,” Felix continued, “I’m glad you arrived, as I had intended to leave a message with Peter when I go to meet my men at the barracks. If you were not at home, I mean. It’s this. If I should fall in the field, John, I would like you to attend to the rites. With no family…”
“I understand,” John assured him, “and you have my oath on it.”
Felix thanked him. “And there’s one thing more, John,” he went on hesitantly. “I ask you to give me your blessing as a Runner of the Sun and therefore a more senior adept than me.”
Looking uncomfortable, he stared at the floor as he continued. “I don’t fear the blade, but what of this fiery magick? It claimed the stylites and Isis’ girl as well, and that within Aurelius’ house as my men and I stood guard. So if you would…?”
This night was bristling with as many surprises as a crafty wild boar, John thought. Felix had achieved the Mithraic rank of Lion, just two below that which he himself held, and had never made such a request before. Perhaps his unease about the task he had been ordered to undertake was more profound even than he had indicated.