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A DEACON OF HAGIA SOPHIA

The Most Reverend Evagrios, Deacon of Hagia Sophia, rented a small but pleasant apartment on the second floor of a large residence building near the Julian Haven. From the central court a staircase led up to his rooms the outer windows whereof opened upon a pleasing view over the small harbour, and across the domes of the Church of Saints Sergios and Bacchos to the bright Marmora. Most of the near-by dwellings were filled with the families of minor court officials, and the lower entrance to the Hippodrome was near enough to provide a great convenience in attending the races. The neighbourhood, in short, was highly genteel and suitable for a self-important member of the clergy.

The deacon had furnished his rooms handsomely, although certain captious visitors had complained that his furniture carried too much gilt paint, that the holy books in his cupboards were most indifferent copies although in very sumptuous purple bindings, that his mosaic of the Marriage at Cana was garish, and that the marble Priapos in his dining-room was in doubtful taste for the home of a man in holy orders. None could deny, however, that the dinners served in this dining-room were excellent, and had been even improved by the advent of the new cook Neokles; while by general consent in the gayer circles of the city, Evagrios’ Nikosia was counted as comely and vivacious a “Spiritual Sister” as any such damsel flaunted by an unmarried churchman.

Evagrios ranked merely as a deacon, but to be deacon of Hagia Sophia, which reckoned over five hundred clerics in its service, implied the handling of a vast secular endowment. Wide landed properties, hospitals, poorhouses and orphanages all had to be maintained. Several hundred shops, on land owned by the cathedral, had to be rented out. The holy man therefore had often to talk confidentially with the Patriarch himself. It was said the Logothete of the Treasury once actually asked him to advance a thousand pounds of Hagia Sophia’s gold to tide over a temporary stringency at the Exchequer. The popes of small churches cringed before such a deacon, and he could with perfect safety patronize all the lesser bishops and hegumens. Everybody spoke of him as “a man sure to rise,” and as a consequence he was one of the most envied of the younger clerics in the capital. If a few grieved quietly over certain aspects of his career these captious souls seemed wholly without influence.

Evagrios therefore ought to have been a very contented man. When he returned home one afternoon immediately after Leo’s departure for Asia, the deacon however was in a most unclerical ill-humour. He flung into his aula after a spiteful command to the driver of his mule car, and clapped his hands emphatically, bringing into his presence a pleasant-featured young girl wearing a long blue peasant smock.

“Where’s Nikosia?” was his demand.

“She’s out lunching with a friend,” was the somewhat hesitant response. “She also said something about going to see the dancers, the farce and the performing bear at the ‘Merry Wenches.’ ”[23]

“More likely she stopped at the perfumers’ shops on the Augustæum, spending my good money,” fumed the deacon; but here his eye lit fairly on the damsel, his black mood fled, and he beamed fulsomely:

“Saloma, my dear?”

The girl cast down her eyes, flushed and bit her lip.

“We’re quite alone, I think,” suggested Evagrios, “won’t you give me just a little kiss?”

Saloma’s lips trembled: “Oh, despotes, not now! I pray you by the Mother of God not now. I was an honest girl at my father’s farm at Dagne. Then I was induced to take service in the city, and you seemed so kind——”

“And haven’t I been kind?” smiled the deacon, plucking her sleeve as she shrunk away from him. The girl, however, slipped back from his grasp, tears filling her large eyes.

“Ai, yes! Too kind! How can I ever go back to my parents? How can I even go to confession? The priest will ask——”

“There, there,” soothed the churchman, holding out a silver piece in his thick fingers, “let no grey hairs grow. I know a pope who’ll confess you, and never let his questions or penances tax a flea. Here’s a keration for some gewgaw on the Mesē. Now let your red little lips give me that kiss.”

Saloma stood piteously hesitant. Whether she would have obeyed the order of Evagrios, or fled the room in distress, will never be recorded, for at that instant a heavy latch rattled with just warning enough to enable the deacon to assume an easy attitude and for the servant to pretend to be picking up dead rose-petals from the carpet. Nikosia entered, followed by her Coptic boy.

The lady had thrown back her ascetic’s robe, disclosing an inner tunic of fine pink wool. She wore extremely heavy earrings set with amethysts and a number of fine brooches. Her cheeks, reddened at the outset by too much rouge, were now more genuinely flushed by some sudden passion, and her dark eyes snapped angrily.

“Well, little dove,” remarked Evagrios coolly, “what sends you home in a flurry? Didn’t those Ephesian acrobats perform well?”

“By the Panagia,” began Nikosia, panting, “this is unendurable. I could have that fellow at Hagia Anastasia scourged!”

“Scourged? It must have been something extraordinary then; explain.”

Nikosia cast off her robe, tossed her black gloves to the silent Saloma and dropped into a chair.

“Merely this: I went to the ‘Merry Wenches.’ The tightrope performer was good, the puppet-show excellent, the mimes most amusing; but, you understand, all were rather broad, even for that particular theatre.”

“It never had fame as a nunnery,” sympathized the deacon.

“After quitting it,” pursued Nikosia, “I wandered with my friends into the narthex of Hagia Anastasia to match some ribbons at the stall of Malchos.[24] After getting a few ells we bethought us that it were only pious (considering the worldly character of the farce) to enter the church and listen to the sermon just beginning.”

“Highly pious, philotata,” approved the deacon.

“I expected to hear that dear man, Pope Kedranos. He always takes you to the seventh heaven when he talks about the Holy Trinity. Absolutely nothing to offend the most tender conscience. Well, I was hardly in a nice seat just opposite the ambo, when behold! there appeared not holy Kedranos, but that abominable rustic Pope Michael, whom they won’t have in so many churches, and who, they say, hangs around the hospitals making miserable the poor and incurable. He mounted the pulpit and delivered such a sermon that I feel as if I had been carded alive in the prefect’s torture chamber.”

“My poor lamb,” soothed Evagrios compassionately; “but what’d he say?”

“He first denounced all kinds of sins in general, such as ‘Pride’ (I’m not proud) and ‘Gambling’ (I never dice—at least, not for very high stakes); and I was just thinking, ‘The fellow isn’t really so bad,’ when suddenly his tune changed. ‘I see before me,’ he cried, ‘not men but mostly women; let me therefore speak of the sins peculiar to their sex!’ And off he rushed with his whips actually snapping in the air.

“My dear gossip Eualia wept aloud, and Plotina, Deacon Kodrox’ ‘Sister,’ seemed ready to leap across and stab him right there on the ambo with her bodkin. ‘Why,’ thundered the wretch, ‘will you deform the faces God hath given you? Hearken unto the words of St. Jerome: “What business have rouge and paint upon a Christian cheek? Who can weep for her sins when her tears wash her face bare, and mark furrows upon her skin? With what trust can faces be lifted towards heaven, which the Maker himself cannot recognize as his own workmanship?” ’ And sometimes I vow he pointed his finger straight at me, and every eye was turned my way. ‘Yea,’ he shouted out, ‘there are even females in this church wearing the sober robes of nuns, when all the world knows they violate that law which forbids light women to appear save in garments scarlet and awful as their sins.’ Then, worst of all, when he had ended, a thunder of applause went all through the church.[25] I wrapped my gown about me, and home I came. And now”—her passion wound up—“get you over to Hagia Anastasia and tell the pope in charge never to let that Michael speak there again, or I——”

“Euge!” ejaculated Evagrios, “you are in a pretty temper. If ever our affections cool, ask the director of the ‘Merry Wenches’ to give you a place in the farce. Theodora was a variety actress before she caught the Crown Prince, and soon became Empress. And so I see now that, as St. John Chrysostom once said, ‘Herodias is raging! Herodias is dancing! Herodias demands the head of John!’—I mean, of course, of Michael.”

“Holy Trinity!” screamed Nikosia in rising fury, “I come home asking for sympathy. I am met by this!” Then she turned viciously on the gazing Saloma. “Out of the room, quean! If you dare to eavesdrop——”

Saloma glided from the room in alarm. Nikosia ran to the door to make sure it was closed, then faced the deacon again:

“Haven’t I a right to a passion? Have I ever before been thus insulted? But it’s just as well. Now I’ve got up courage at last to talk about worse things than even that outrageous preacher. First of all, about Saloma: Is everything innocent between you two?”

“Absolutely, my little dove; absolutely,” assured Evagrios very hastily. “I swear by the spotless Mother of God——”

“I only half believe you; but let that pass. I’ll come to the point: When are we going to get married?”

The deacon’s jaw dropped, and his fingers twitched. “Married?” he echoed. “We? Are you serious, Nikosia?”

“Why not?” she demanded with returning calmness. “You are only a deacon. Deacons can marry. Then I can hold up my head as a Deaconissa of Hagia Sophia and nobody will shrug and point at me.”

Evagrios threw up his arms proclaiming the total inanity of the female sex: “Most beloved Nikosia,” he began, “in all things please be reasonable. Ask a new ring, a new shawl, a new waiting boy, if you will, but don’t thresh over that old straw! How often have I explained, and you seemed to comprehend, that although a deacon can marry, and after that can even be ordained a priest, no married clergyman can become a Bishop and still keep his wife. Then where’s my career? Where go my hopes, which you know so well, that some day the old eunuch—I should say the Master of the Palace—may recognize my abilities, and later if the Patriarch’s throne should become vacant——”

“Vah!” ejaculated the lady, sarcastically, “what a ‘Sacred Beatitude’ you’d make! Don’t hunt for moonbeams!”

“I assure you,” persisted the deacon, “my hopes are not groundless. The present incumbent, John, is feeble in health and weak as water. Any day may see his downfall. The patriarchate demands not a saint, but a keen man of affairs who can settle vast properties, who——”

“Just as you have managed the cathedral funds; you know all about the banker Elpidios and how he got the solidi for that ship to Cyprus.”

The deacon grew very red. “Silence,” he commanded. “You know that money was replaced. Let’s talk of something pleasant.”

“Well then, our marriage.”

Evagrios smote the table with fury. “Be reasonable, woman. What would become of you if I were made a bishop? Says not the canon that a bishop must send away his consort to a ‘tolerably distant nunnery’? How would you like to have your hair clipped and be interned for life?”

Nikosia shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll risk it. You’re not bishop yet.”

The deacon was ready with a yet more vehement answer, when the Copt boy thrust his head in at the doorway:

“The kyrios Petronax and another strange kyrios.”

“Show them in,” ordered Evagrios, not sorry to end so unpleasant a discussion, while Nikosia deliberately gathered up her gown and flounced towards an inner room.

Petronax, clad in a good walking tunic, entered and salaamed graciously; behind him walked a squatter figure, almost completely hidden in a huge brown chlamys hooded over his head.

“You’ve no guests?” asked the palace myrmidon, after the initial salutations.

“None, my dear Petronax,” assured the deacon.

“Then his Sublimity may safely uncover.”

Whereat, to the perfect astonishment of Evagrios, the second visitor thrust back his mantle, disclosing the fish-like eyes and hairless countenance of Paul. The deacon literally crouched at his feet when he paid his reverence. “I am overwhelmed,” he began; “upon my humble rooms comes the greatest conceivable honour!”

Paul moved towards a chair, short-winded and puffing, and beckoned Evagrios to take another. “Don’t name me,” he enjoined; “don’t act so your servants will chatter. I’m not here for compliments. There are enough of them at the palace.” He reviewed the deacon’s person and then his apartment with a shrewd glance. “Nice rooms, and in an expensive quarter of the city. You’ve a pretty ‘Sister’ also, eh? Costs money to keep her?”

“Yes, Sublimity; yes, yes,” assented Evagrios, trying to collect his wits.

“Your allowance from Hagia Sophia is small. You could use a few solidi more?”

“Yes, Sublimity; yes, yes.”

“And would perhaps prize my favour in certain other matters?”

“Oh! I’m your devoted slave; your least commands——”

“I understand all that,” waved the eunuch. “Don’t ‘Sublimity’ me so much. I want to be private. Now give ear: You know Petronax. He’s procured me certain desired information. But to act on it requires a churchman. Therefore I come to you.”

The deacon’s face glowed. “Your condescension overwhelms me.”

“Listen to the end. You wonder why I prefer to come here in a disguise and don’t summon you to the palace. Understand then that the business touches the Strategos of Thrace and demands the uttermost delicacy. He must never learn my interest. At the palace he has friends and the very walls can have ears. This place is safest. Now to business.”

Paul then stated briefly that for sufficient reasons he desired to break off the infatuation of the strategos for a certain woman who doubtless controlled him. Petronax had investigated her identity. Leo, it seemed, had been making frequent and unrequired visits to one Kallinikos, lecturer at the University. At first he may have gone merely to investigate certain military machines constructed by that absurd pedant, but Kallinikos, it appeared, had the additional asset of two daughters, reported to be well favoured, and quite able to cast their nets to advantage.

“Two daughters,” quoth Evagrios in his churchliest accents; “but with which was he infatuated?”

“On that point,” reported Petronax, “there was some uncertainty, but a female agent of mine had gossip with their maids. The latter assured her, ‘It’s plain to see that it’s our younger mistress who has the strategos’ eye!’ ”

Evagrios rubbed his hands knowingly:

“I recall the girl often in the churches. Very coy and modest, of course—part of her trade if she’s after such big game as the War Minister. A pretty little thing, though you can’t tell how much is rouge and paint. Can sing a little, too: probably therefore will take to the theatres if she misses with a rich lover. She’s the one to snare his Serenity Leo, who, being by common report absolutely indifferent to women, will doubtless be a very Samson shorn and blinded by his Delilah when at last he does succumb.”

“Admirably to the point,” commended Paul, “no physician discovered a malady better. My worthy Evagrios, you should rise to great things.”

The deacon bowed himself double, quivering with delight.

“Again I am transported. Assuming that we deal with this Anthusa—that’s her name, I recall—graciously explain how the least of your servants can aid to handle her? As one in holy orders I hope that other means can be found than an abduction—at least, until other expedients fail.”

“I prefer less blunted and brutal weapons,” replied the eunuch coolly; “that is, unless pressed by necessity. You need not, Reverend Sir, mix up in anything unchurchly. I merely require your coöperation to prosecute a charge before the Patriarch of wizardry and dealings with the Devil.”

A great light broke over Evagrios’ countenance: “Oh! Sublimity, what surpassing insight! You mean to have such a charge brought against Kallinikos.”

“I praise your quick understanding. Petronax will go over all the details he has discovered to support the case. The old driveller has said a number of things which certain jealous colleagues will perhaps maintain against him. There is good chance too of catching him partaking in the Nestorian heresy.”

“The Blessed Apostles forbid,” cried the deacon, hastily crossing himself.

“It is probably the truth. Perhaps, too, you could find some magic books in his library—the kind St. Paul got them to burn at Ephesus long ago, and which have since been forbidden by all our pious Christian emperors. However, it’s probably simplest to base the main charge around a strange bronze device which we understand he possesses, a cylinder with curious metal arms that some of the servants admitted they had seen in their master’s workroom, whirling around and emitting hot vapour.”

“Undoubtedly from a demon inside,” completed the deacon, again crossing himself.

“So it would seem,” pursued the Master of the Palace. “This Kallinikos may be a very consort to the Witch of Endor, the possessor of a familiar spirit, and so God has wisely ordered it”—his tones broke with a pious sniffle—“that in guarding our more worldly interests we may also be punishing a gross spiritual wickedness.”

The deacon drew himself up, his eyes gleaming:

“My duty as a churchman becomes clear. Charges will be laid before the Patriarch: the case investigated: the wizard deposed from his lectureship, and of course as soon as convicted”—he paused, catching something in the minister’s eye—“but my Humility should recollect that it is not so much Kallinikos as that Anthusa you desire to entangle?”

The eunuch spat contemptuously. “Think you, sirrah, I’m here to war on mice? Don’t imagine I want an ordinary ecclesiastical trial, long as a year of litanies, while your fool of a Patriarch decides just what shade of misbelief afflicts that doddering philosopher. Now give ear closely: This hussy is the mistress of the Strategos of Thrace. Last night I caused a small Saracen raid to be made the excuse for causing him to cross to Asia. He’ll be detained there a week ere he finds his time wasted and returns. If he’s in Constantinople and Kallinikos and his girls are arrested, look you, deacon—I’d not love to be one of the accusers.”

“I would have your august protection?” meekly suggested Evagrios.

“Certainly not, fool. Leo’s influence is becoming irresistible. I dare not quarrel with him. That’s why the power of this wench must be broken, and some woman pliable to my will substituted. I can do nothing openly. If you fail, I must disown you. But take now your orders: stir up the monks of three or four fanatical convents. Press a charge suddenly before the Patriarch. I’ll at least arrange to have the sworn affidavits ready. Sallustios the Advocate will help with the legal formalities. Arrest Kallinikos and his daughters with all speed. Get the monks to fill the streets with clamour and to make the mob join them, howling ‘Death to the wizard and his brats!’ Attalos, sub-captain of the Blue faction, is a handy man. He can go to the Patriarch demanding an instant trial lest there be a bloody riot. Then get the matter at once to the Patriarch’s tribunal and there’ll be only one issue. All will be over before Leo returns to Constantinople.”

“You prefer the accused should be executed?” inquired the attentive deacon.

“Why, no!” Paul smiled benevolently. “As true Christians are we not bidden to love our enemies?—that is, so far as circumstances will permit—and capital punishment might meet legal obstacles. The moment Kallinikos is condemned, urge that he be merely blinded by having the hot bowls of glowing copper passed before his eyes, and as for the girls (his accomplices of course) suggest that their heads be shaven immediately and they be perpetually consecrated and sent off as nuns to St. Gastria—that’s the convent for incorrigible profligates. Leo’ll think twice ere he tries to recover them from there, and will accept the inevitable. After all, he’s a matter-of-fact fellow, and we’ll know how to console him.”

Evagrios’ smile had ever deepened during this speech, but now his expression slightly changed: “The perfection of your proposals justifies the fame of your Sublimity’s intellect, yet consider: the time is short. Leo may return unexpectedly. His vengeance will fall on my unprotected head. Forgive me if I hesitate.”

Paul’s eyes closed enigmatically. “Very well, reverend deacon. You know of course I’m not ungrateful if all goes properly; however, decline if you wish. Of course”—his teeth snapped suddenly—“I may have heard about the rentals of the cathedral properties in Pera, and could suggest an investigation.”

“Oh, Sublimity, those rumours were vile lies. I swear it by the True Cross. What was I saying? I’m wholly at your service. I’ll see the hegumen of St. Abraham’s ere sundown; I’ll burn up with activity to-morrow. The day after to-morrow at latest we will strike!”

“Wise words,” spoke Paul, not without a sneer. “I think we can at least make it hard for Leo to interrupt you. Here’s an advance for expenses.” A heavy purse was cast upon the floor. “Come, Petronax, when that girl, called Anthusa, has been duly consecrated and put under perpetual penance, remind me of this man’s services.”

The minister muffled the mantle around his head and went out, followed by his retainer. The deacon bowed them all the way to the door, then pounced on the purse as a cat upon a sparrow. In delight he poured the jingling gold-pieces into his lap.

“Two hundred solidi,” he cried to himself. “The costs won’t be half of that, with more booty to follow! Who wouldn’t take a little risk for such a stake, and what’s that Leo but only a thick-skulled soldier?”