Thessalonica

“Rufus would laugh at you,” George said. “I’d laugh at you myself, if I weren’t worn out. When one man goes out looking for two to take on, it’s most often because he’s drunk his wits away.”

His son let out a loud sniff. It was, George thought, no wonder they recruited soldiers from among lads of about his son’s age: they were strong, aggressive, and, most of all, stupid. If their superiors ordered them to rush out and get themselves killed, they’d do it, and thank the officers for the privilege.

Sophia said, “Somebody besides us should know the Slavs have come so close to the city.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” George answered with a sigh. He touched the rabbits he’d set down on the counter. “I wanted to bring these home first of all, so your mother could start dealing with them. But as soon as I’d taken care of that, I figured the best thing I could do was pay a visit to Bishop Eusebius.”

Getting to see the prelate of Thessalonica would not have been easy for an ordinary shoemaker at any time. Getting in to see him when he was not only prelate but also de facto prefect of the city would have been doubly difficult. But when George went to the basilica of St. Demetrius, he knew the magic words that got him past the lesser priests and scribes. Those lesser worthies hustled him past the silver-domed ciborium topping the saint’s tomb, past the basilica’s brilliant wall and ceiling mosaics, and straight into the little office adjoining the church wherein the bishop labored when not performing the divine liturgy.

In that office, Eusebius looked more like a bureaucrat than a prelate. The desk behind which he sat was piled high with papyri; ink smudged the fingers of his right hand. He was scribbling a note when George came in, and set down his reed pen with every sign of relief.

“What’s this I hear?” he asked in a Greek so educated and archaic, George had trouble following it. “Is it accurately reported to me that you met two of the revolting barbarians in the woods earlier today?”

“Yes, Your Excellency, I did.” George stuck with his Latin, the tongue in which he felt most at home. Eusebius understood him and motioned for him to go on. The bishop probably thought him on the uncultured side. That didn’t bother him. By Eusebius’ standards, he was on the uncultured side. He described the meeting with the Slavs and his attempt to explain Christianity, or at least its potency, to them.

“Well done,” the bishop said, making the sign of the cross. “En touto nika.” As if making a great concession, he turned that Greek into Latin: “In hoc signo vinces.” Then he returned to his own preferred language. “Very well. You shared your food with the barbarians. What, beyond their mere presence, prompted you to report all this to me? You understand, their presence is of some concern in and of itself with the garrison gone, which is why I had you admitted to my presence, but--”

“I’ve come to bring this to your notice for two reasons, Your Excellency,” George said. “One is that the Slavs, as best they could without using words, made it plain to me that they were looking not just for supper but for Thessalonica.”

Bishop Eusebius’ attention had wandered. Now it snapped back to the shoemaker. “That is not good,” he said. “With the war that has gone on between us Romans on the one hand and the Slavs and Avars on the other, I do not want to hear reports that the barbarians are seeking our God-guarded city.” He held up a beringed, elegantly manicured hand. “Do not mistake me. By that I do not mean I am ungrateful for your having brought this word to me, only that I wish you had no need to do so.”

“I understand,” George assured him. He studied the bishop with an odd mixture of distaste and admiration. The word that came to mind for Eusebius was slick, slick as fine olive oil or an icy pavement. Slickness could be wonderfully useful or unexpectedly dangerous, depending on circumstances. George gave a mental shrug, thinking, As if I have the power to pass judgment on those placed over me. Aloud, he went on, “The other reason I thought I ought to bring them to your notice is because they admitted the wolf-demons that have been howling outside the walls belong to them.”

“Did they?” Eusebius said softly. Yes, George had his attention now. “What did they say of them? Tell me everything you remember.” George got the distinct impression that, if Eusebius was dissatisfied with his report, he would go after more detail with lash and rack and heated pincers.

“They didn’t say anything, Your Excellency, since we couldn’t talk with each other,” the shoemaker replied. He detailed the exchange, then added, “I’ve heard, Your Excellency, that these demons can attack a priest even after he’s made the sign of the cross. Is that so?”