The Palace of the Stag, Constantinople
"Master Tarsus?" The priest woke, blinking, and saw night had fallen. Someone was bending over him in the vestibule, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Excuse me! I did not mean to fall asleep." Tarsus sat up, grimacing at a twinge in his back. It did him no good to sleep on these cold stones. He was not a youngster anymore! The little room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. Then he recognized the man leaning over him.
"Master Hipponax!" Tarsus' bearded face lighted with joy. "I had not thought to find you in the city-they told me at the chapter house you had left."
Hipponax sat down, his round face smiling in a tired way. He was a little man, with only a fringe of hair left on his head. Like Tarsus, he was dressed in the pale blue overcloak of the Order of Asklepius.
"Oh no," Hipponax said in a wry voice. "There's too much to do in the city. The high priest and all of his… friends… went off to his estates on Crete until this business with the Emperor's mood improves."
"Ah," Tarsus said, remembering the temple here was devoted to politics and currying favor in the Imperial court rather than actual healing. The simple-looking Hipponax was one of the few actually treating the ill. "You've been ministering, then."
Hipponax made a wry face. "I have! There are nearly a million people in the city, old friend. They have an endless litany of complaints. Far more than one simple priest not overly blessed with the gift can handle. But I try."
"What are you doing here? Have you come to see Prince Theodore?"
Hipponax shook his head, the faintest hint of anger showing in his eyes. "No, I've no desire to see men of war. I was invited by the Caesar, so that he might bend my ear for an hour or so. And a dolorous hour it was!"
Tarsus gritted his teeth. If he had stayed awake, he might have gained entrance to the Prince's chambers in Hipponax's company.
"What's wrong?" Hipponax took Tarsus' hand in concern. "Ay! You're waiting to see the Prince! I'm sorry, I didn't see you until I was coming out."
"No matter!" Tarsus said stiffly. "Do you think that he would see me now?"
Hipponax shook his head sadly, his voice low but cutting in tone. "A gaggle of patricians came in as I was leaving, and they were sitting to dinner. I doubt he'll find time for you tonight! If my interview is any judge, he will be a long time filling their ears with venom and bile directed at the Empress. His idea of plotting is remarkably blunt. Tell me, have you eaten? There is a fine inn not too far away-we could break bread, sip some wine!"
Tarsus felt his stomach grumble awake at the thought of a lamb shank and fresh bread. "I shouldn't," he said, looking out the door of the waiting room. The guards continued to ignore them. "But I fear this is fruitless. Let us find this inn of yours!"
Hipponax beamed, for he was very fond of good food and wine. Tarsus picked up his straw traveling hat and slung a stained woolen cloak over his shoulders. At least he was getting fit again with all this tramping about.
– |"How curious!" Hipponax cut a slice of garlicked sea bass, garnished with scallions and pepper paste, and skewered it neatly on an eating tine. The glistening, perfectly cooked fish disappeared into his mouth. He smiled beatifically, savoring the taste. "Your student claimed to have revivified the dead and imbued them with thought and spirit?"
Tarsus nodded glumly, picking at the spiced lamb on his trencher. As Hipponax had promised, the innkeeper provided an exceptional table. The bread could not be flakier, with a firm yet pliant crust. The lamb was divine, with a succulent aroma and swimming in rich gravy. But, as their conversation turned to Tarsus' mission, his appetite vanished. A sense of impending disaster gripped him, filling his thoughts with wild visions and phantasms. He saw the city burning, choked with the dead and prowled by abominations.
"Yes, he was certain, mad as it sounds. And his subjects! Gods above and below, I cannot think of a more dangerous pair to set loose upon the Empire. Can you imagine the trouble they could cause?"
Hipponax nodded, cleaning off his plate with a hunk of bread. "They are both notorious… I wonder… could that be why he was able to summon them up as living men?"
Grimacing, Tarsus shook his head. "The passage of the ka into the underworld is no mystery. We debated that when we were students. The only way that a spirit returns-the only passage that the gods allow-is by rebirth in a new body, cleansed of all memory. Then the soul grows and learns again. Only the ancient heroes ever brought back the dead whole to the land of the living, and then, then by descending into Hades itself to lead them forth."
Hipponax dabbed at his lips with a cloth. "We've argued that point too. It's allegorical that the heroes led the dead back from Hades. Obviously their physical bodies were cremated or rotted in the tomb. Some means must have existed to let their spirits return and inhabit a new body. Perhaps your student found this mechanism."
"No," Tarsus said in despair. "He related the incantation he used-it was one of the forbidden rites. He restored the body of his lover the same way. She became a husk, just as the old books warn. I fear this: malign spirits were nearby when the boy conducted the rites-they inhabited the freshly vivified bodies and are pretending to be these ancient despots."
"You," the little priest said, sitting back with his hands on his round belly, "are of a morbid turn of thought this evening."
"Do you see another possibility?" Tarsus' voice rose irritably.
"No." Hipponax shook his head, eyeing pastries laid on a platter next to their table. "I'll just have one of these." He took a square of thin dough, glazed with crushed nuts and honey. "Well, all philosophy aside, why tell Prince Theodore?"
"This is worse than just raising the dead, Hipponax. The boy has consumed the spirits of the dying as well, denying them their rightful passage into the underworld."
The little round-faced priest choked on his pastry. "What did you say?"
Tarsus nodded, angrily cutting at his lamb. The knife stabbed into tender flesh and red juice oozed out. "I could feel them around him. They made a soft noise wherever he went, moaning and lamenting. He said… you've heard of the great eruption of Mount Vesuvius in Italia?"
Hipponax nodded, his face growing paler.
"Well, the boy was there. He claimed he was responsible. I'm not sure that he realized it, but when all those poor people died, he swallowed up their spirits as they flew free. Gods, Hipponax, you can feel him from a mile away, a churning black cloud of malignity! He distorts the hidden world where he walks, warping patterns and crumbling bright matrices like a thunderhead. Just being in the same room with him is dangerous."
"Oh my." Hipponax put his fingers to his lips. "How… how many did he consume?"
Tarsus shook his head, his face bleak. The arching ceiling of the inn, built in an old underground water cistern, seemed to press down on him. "Thousands. Tens of thousands. A multitude. Their voices were like the wind on a field of grass, countless."
"I see why you wished to see the Prince, then."
"Yes, the high priest sent me to warn the Imperial government. To make them take action against the boy. He must be stopped, killed, somehow, before he consumes more innocents."
Hipponax sighed, all humor gone from his face. He seemed much older and careworn. The anger that had briefly surfaced before returned. "Prince Theodore is useless. Have you heard of the dispute between him and his niece?"
"Some rumors, some outright fabrications, I imagine."
The little priest leaned close, his face tight. "Here is how things stand in this troubled city: thanks to the pernicious nature of our dear high priest in the temple here, Emperor Heraclius lies gripped by dropsy, a foul and debilitating ailment. Some months ago, we were summoned by Prince Theodore to treat his brother, but the high priest-the fool!-angered the Emperor with his rash words and we were sent away before I could examine the Emperor."
"Gods, why? What dispute lies between Emperor and temple?"
Hipponax shook his head sadly, round face sour as a lemon. "Here is the truth of the matter-I am surprised that you have not heard of it! Some years ago, the Emperor's wife, Eudocia, died and, after a period of mourning, he married his sister's daughter, Lady Martina. Now, I have met the new empress and she is a bookish and introverted sort of girl, but quite pleasant and respectable. I believe-worse yet-that she and the Emperor truly love each another. However! All of the temples, ours included, condemn this too-close match as an affront to the gods. So, when the high priest entered the Emperor's chamber, he demanded that Heraclius divorce his niece before he could be cured."
Tarsus grunted in dismay. Amongst his order, there was a strict rule that their powers, given by the gods for the benefit of all men, should not be used for political advantage or gain. He knew that the priests in the capital were not above leveraging their position for the betterment of their own purses. Now a man lay sick, perhaps dying, in violation of every sacred oath, for political advantage. Tarsus-who had not been involved in such matters before-felt ill himself.
"The Emperor was not pleased and, even in the extremity of death, banned the high priest, his fellows and all members of our order from his presence." Hipponax chewed on his thumb. "Now he continues to linger, half between death and life. His heirs are too young to take the throne and no regent has been appointed. The Empress and the Prince detest each other. Nothing can be done, no one will take action, while they strive for control of the ministries and the army.
"The Imperial government is paralyzed," Hipponax concluded. "I fear there is no one to help you."
"If that is so," Tarsus said, jutting out his chin, "then I will go to Rome."
Hipponax nodded slowly, playing with the wine cup on the table between them. "That would seem the best thing. Though, I wonder…"
"Wonder what?" One of Tarsus' eyebrows arched like the curve of a bow. His affable old friend, who had labored for so long in humble obscurity, sounded almost sly. The intrigues of the capital, he thought, must be infectious. Too, Hipponax seemed angry. Tarsus guessed that the corruption of the temple priests had gone too far.
"I can't imagine that Empress Martina, loving her husband as she does, is glad to see his body bloat with foul humors. Perhaps if we approached her-in secret-she could allow us to cure her husband. If the Emperor were well, then many transgressions might be forgiven. This breach of faith between temple and Empire might be healed. You would get the Imperial aid you need to deal with this dangerous student."
"And if Heraclius dies while we are attempting to heal him?" Tarsus fingered his neck, filled with mounting apprehension. "We'll both find ourselves in it. Not very enticing…"
"Nonsense," Hipponax said, smiling confidently. "We are both masters of the art. We can cure him."
Now it was Tarsus' turn to look sour. "Really? And who will cure us if things go badly?"