The speed with which the illness spread took everyone by surprise. Those living closest to the docks of the Bosporus were infected first. Within days it had spread inward to the entire city then jumping the barrier wall to the few farmers living nearby. It did not discriminate between rich or poor. Equal numbers fell ill. Some succumbed the same day. Others writhed in agony, their screams a macabre chorus echoing through neighborhoods before falling eternally silent. A few survived with light symptoms: a mild fever and none of the exploding pustules. A lucky few never became ill and spent their time caring for those who did.

Anyone with a knowledge of healing was in high demand. Potions were made, teas were brewed, salves applied to the ailing. In some cases, when used as soon as symptoms began, the artful application made a difference and the patient survived. The rich offered high reward for successful treatment. The poor relied on kindness of others.

Graveyards overflowed. Gravediggers no longer dug for the single individual, but created large mass graves, bodies piled atop one another. Soon the gravediggers fell in and became part of their own creation. Bodies piled up in the streets as desperate families had no other place to put them. The putrid stench of the decomposing bodies attracted even more vermin to invade.

Justinian reacted with horror at the condition of his city. He ordered the army to clean the streets of any decaying corpses. Bodies were put into carts and dumped into the Bosphorus. Derelict ships were commandeered, bodies stuffed in every crevice then lit afire and pushed out to sea. Empty towers within the city were crammed with bodies and sealed. Humans were not the only victims. Dogs, cats, and other domestic animals fell prey. The illness kept ravaging.

A quarantine order kept the citizenry in their homes. Those who did venture out and were literate carried a bit of papyrus with their name so that their family would be notified if they fell dead in the street.

The door at Marus’ quarters was the only thing that shielded him from the throngs of people who came to request his help. He quickly realized that most of the people he was called upon to treat were already too far into the illness to be saved. He offered comfort and kind words to the family but could do nothing for the afflicted. He rationed his dried herbs for those he might actually save. He became a common sight on the streets of Constantinople going to minister to those he could help. Curious citizens peered from windows at this man who seemed untouched by the pestilence. Some windows produced a smiling face and a wave from a family who had had someone cured.

One morning Marus was startled to open his door and see only one young boy whom he recognized as coming from the Imperial Palace. As he exited his room he saw three members of the Imperial guard holding back the usual crowd asking for help. He blinked and addressed the boy, “What brings you here?”

“Your presence is requested at the Palace. I know nothing more.”

A chill went up Marus’ spine. Belisarius and Antonia were staying at the palace to protect them from infection. Had one of them taken sick? He quickly gathered what herbs he had and went to follow the boy. The Imperial guards cleared a path through the crowd giving the populace a wide birth and keeping them far away. Marus could see a few of the crowd, wide eyed at the sight of the guard, turn and run in the opposite direction, presumably to spread the word that Marus was being taken to the palace.

As they entered, the guards stepped back to stay at the entrance and the young boy took over. “Follow me,” he said.

The interior of the palace seemed deserted. The usual bustle of servants going to and fro did not exist. And eerie silence echoed through the passageways. Marus breathed relief when then boy bypassed the door to Belisarius’ temporary space. The relief was quickly replaced with apprehension when he realized he was being led toward the emperor’s private quarters.

The guard outside the door recognized Marus and nodded to him as he opened the door. The young boy stepped aside and Marus entered.

Justinian lay on a bed, eyes closed and unmoving. Theodora sat by his side, holding a cloth on his forehead. She looked up as Marus entered. For a brief moment Marus saw fear and concern in Theodora’s eyes. That was quickly overshadowed as she sat up straight and assumed her royal countenance. “The fever started yesterday.” She spoke to no one in particular, her eyes on Justinian. Marus knew her discourse was for him. “The Imperial Physician died two days ago. There is much death in the palace. Servants are few. I keep a cool cloth on his forehead as I have heard you recommend.” She spoke without emotion, relating the necessary facts, never taking her eyes from Justinian’s sleeping face. Marus waited, transfixed by the scene.

Theodora continued, “I have heard that your treatment is not what the Imperial Physician would have prescribed. But you have been effective. Physicians favor the humors and bloodletting. You favor tea.” She glanced in Marus’ direction.

“Yes, noble Augusta, that is true.”

“Your Emperor requires your assistance. Come. Observe. What think you?”

Marus stepped forward. Justinian appeared to be in a deep sleep. His face was slightly flushed. He did not appear to be suffering. Marus was standing on the opposite side of Justinian’s bed when he addressed Theodora. “You have done well, my Augusta. The Emperor rests peacefully. I will prepare moringa tea. Lavender will clean the air. He opened his satchel of herbs and extracted dried lavender. Theodora would allow no one besides herself to minister to Justinian. He showed her how to intertwine the dried blossoms in the moist cloth so that the fragrance filled the air and entered Justinian’s breath. He instructed her to refresh the cloth and blossoms with clean water and to wipe down Justinian’s body to keep the fever in check.

“I go to prepare the tea myself,” he said to her.

She looked up and for the first time met his gaze. Marus felt he was being measured. “Yes,” she said. “That will be best.”

Marus hurried out of the chambers and made his way to the cooking area. The usually busting area was devoid of activity. One old woman tended a cook-fire. No meals were being prepared. No vegetables were being chopped or chickens plucked. He did not recognize the old woman and addressed her brusquely, “Woman, you have fresh water?”

“Fresh as of this morning. Brought from the imperial cistern. Who inquires thus?”

“Forgive me, I know you not. I am Marus, cook to the general Belisarius, and most recently attendant to Our Glorious Emperor Justinian who requires fresh water.”

“It has been rather quiet around here. Many have died and those who remain in the palace eat only dried fruit from the last season or salted meats that require little preparation. The usual servants have either died or gone to their families in the countryside.” She spoke as she retrieved a cook pot at put it atop the burning fire. She added more wood to the fire and poured what water she had into the cook pot. “What are you desiring to cook?”

“Tea. And I will require that you keep a pot of water boiling. And more fresh water is needed. Is there someone who can fetch more water?”

“I will go myself. There is no one else. It is not far” She scooped up a bucket and ambled toward the cistern.

Marus watched the water come to a boil and took the pot from the fire, adding a double amount of moringa. Steam from the seeping tea added a warming fragrance to the air. He paused. There were still a small supply of Devil’s cherries in his herb satchel. He had not been this close to Theodora since he made the special jam. His stomach muscles tightened and his teeth clenched as he thought about his long-ago vow. Had the fates finally given him access to accomplish his goal? Or was Justinian suffering enough with fever? One Devil’s cherry added to the tea would end his suffering. No. He wanted Justinian alive. Alive so he could grieve the loss of Theodora. Why had the fates not made Theodora ill? Then it would have been easy. But death from illness is not as grievous as unexpected death. He wanted Justinian to suffer as he had. The tea would remain pure and curative.

Marus grabbed a drinking mug from the larder and while the tea was still steaming, carried both back to the Imperial Chamber. Normally no food or drink was consumed in the chamber. Marus set the pot on the floor and dipped the mug in for a portion of tea. He looked at Theodora.

“My most Glorious Augusta, let us wake him to administer beneficial tea.” He held out the mug.

She took the mug and stared into it as wisps of steam still escaped. She looked at Marus. She stood and walked to the guard standing by the door. “Drink this,” she said to him as she handed the mug to him. The startled guard rested his spear against the wall and took the mug. He, too, stared into the mug. “Drink it now,” Theodora repeated. He took a tentative sip and swallowed.

“Drink it all.”

The guard complied. Theodora took the mug and handed it back to Marus. “Now we wait,” she said.

When no harm came to the guard after a reasonable period of time, Theodora gently shook Justinian’s shoulder and brought him out of his sleep. He smiled at his wife and looked about the room in confusion. Theodora indicated to Marus to fill the mug from the cook pot and gave it to Justinian to drink. “This will ease your rest. Belisarius’ healer, Marus, is here and has prepared this for you. It will drive away the fever.”

Marus was astonished to hear himself referred to as a healer by the Empress. He could not help feeling pride that he was spoken of in such a way. Relief flooded over him that he had not used a Devil’s cherry. He had passed her test and was trusted. He smiled and bowed in her direction. What was he doing? He wanted her dead. He wanted Justinian to suffer. Yet, here he was, doing his best to heal Justinian and appease Theodora. This was not the time to extract revenge. Justinian must live.

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