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field was stealing meaningful looks at Hektor. The boy’s face had thinned in the past year or so and was handsome enough, despite several patches applied by the palace tonsor to hide small skin blemishes.
    A strong swing of the stick and the players were off again.
    “Have you considered taking up playing polo?” Justinian asked.
    The original topic of discussion had been closed, John knew immediately. “I prefer the exercise ball, excellency,” he replied.
    Justinian’s florid face blossomed into a cheerful smile. “I avoid arduous exercise, Lord Chamberlain. I find it incites a pain in my side that causes me to bend so much that I resemble one of the empress’ pet dwarfs. It seems to me it would not be wise for the emperor to be observed in such a guise.”
    John smiled wordless agreement.
    Justinian clapped John on the shoulder again. It was a familiarity the Lord Chamberlain always found distasteful. “You see, that is why you are best dispatched to Zeno’s estate,” he went on. “No one else at court possesses as much discretion, John, even if many would say that you are often too frank. You remind me of an acrobat, balancing between truth and discretion.” He started to laugh.
    John looked at him quizzically.
    “I wasn’t thinking about you as a circus performer. Something rather humorous just occurred to me,” Justinian explained. “It concerns my instructions to the silentiary today. Perhaps I shall desert my post on the next petition day as well but if I do I shall order that all the petitions presented are to be denied.”
    As Justinian laughed at his own jest, John forced himself to smile. He couldn’t help thinking that it was a poor time to be absenting himself from the palace and his frequent meetings with the unpredictable emperor, since it left Justinian open to the uncontested arguments of the empress.
    He hoped the emperor would not have another sudden whim and grant one of Theodora’s venomous petitions against the Lord Chamberlain she so hated.

Chapter Seven
    John and his companions rode away from Constantinople at sunrise. Remnants of the ragged mist veiling the Sea of Marmara swirled like white silk around seaweed-strewn rocks and tidal pools along the shoreline. Drifts of broken shells and bleached bits of driftwood undulated at the high water mark. Patches of rough grass and stunted, gnarled trees testified to the winds that regularly scoured the coast.
    John took little notice of the scenery, devoting his thoughts to the furious empress back in Constantinople, doubtless conveying her anger to Justinian over the recent tragic events at Zeno’s estate.
    “So, John,” Felix was saying, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the clattering hooves of their excubitor escort’s horses, “which of your missions has priority?”
    “I believe that finding Barnabas is the key to Sunilda’s safety, so in fact Justinian hasn’t ordered us to march in two different directions as you’ve been complaining ever since we left Constantinople, Felix,” John replied.
    “Well, perhaps that’s so. Mind you, if the empress asked him to, he definitely would. She’s got far too much power if you ask me. Take this matter of her support for the Monophysites, for example. The faithful say they’re heretics. Yet the emperor ordered General Belisarus to Italy to bring Ostrogothic Arians to heel. But you won’t find Justinian sending the general into Theodora’s apartments to quell heresy there! Why does he let her get away with it?”
    “He’s in love with her.” Breaking off the conversation, John glanced back at Peter. Constantinople was a relatively short ride from Zeno’s estate but he was nevertheless concerned at how Peter was faring.
    He had begun to regret his decision to take Peter with him. His intention had been to provide the elderly servant with a visit to the country and a rest from his usual household labors. Instead, Peter had grown visibly more fretful the further they