Thessalonica

He needn’t have bothered; Rufus talked right through him: “She sent him a distaff so he could spin thread. He was a eunuch, after all, so she figured she could insult him no matter what he’d done for the Roman Empire. But he had his revenge. He’d had Lombard mercenaries on his side fighting in Italy, and he invited the whole cursed tribe down. They were plenty glad to come, too, I’ll bet. The country next door to theirs was filling up with Avars about then.”

George thought about that. His shiver had nothing to do with the weather. “Any country next door to the Avars is a good one to get out of, you ask me.”

“You mean, like this one?” Rufus asked, which was such a good question, George didn’t answer it.

At first, George thought the service at St. Demetrius’ basilica convened for prayer against earthquakes a coincidence. Then he reminded himself that Rufus and Eusebius had been putting their heads together. If they thought the Slavs and Avars liable to try working earth magic, the bishop would naturally do his best to forestall it.

“Why does the earth quake, Father?” Sophia asked as they walked toward the basilica.

“Because God is angry with us,” Irene said before George could answer.

“I know that,” Sophia said impatiently. “What I mean is, how does He make the earth shake? Or how do the gods of the Slavs and Avars do that, so He can stop them?”

“They jump up and down inside the earth, and when their feet hit, everything in there shakes, and so do we,” Theodore said.

“Let’s say that’s true,” George said. “What is there for their feet to land on that’s any harder than anything else? And if there isn’t any one part inside the earth that’s harder than another, how can they jump up and down at all?”

“They’re gods,” Theodore said, “or demons, anyhow. Who knows what they can or can’t do? Besides that Avar wizard, I mean.”

George chewed on that. “Of course God--and demons, I suppose--can break natural laws now and then. That’s what miracles are. But if natural laws got broken all the time, we wouldn’t have any natural laws.”

“Earthquakes only happen every now and then,” Sophia said.

“Thank God,” Irene added, and made the sign of the cross.

Theodore, being of the age where he constantly had to challenge his father, did so: “If demons jumping up and down inside the earth don’t make earthquakes, what does?”

“My father said that his father said he once heard a philosopher traveling to Athens say--” George began.

Irene’s loud and pointed sniff interrupted him. “Philosophers followed the pagan gods,” she reminded him, “and God proved the stronger. So why should anyone care what the philosophers said?”

“Why should anyone care if I get a word in edgewise?” George said. “I don’t think anyone does care if I get a word in edgewise.” Having won a small space of silence with that outburst, he proceeded to fill it: “What this fellow said, if I have it right, didn’t have anything to do with God or demons at all. He said the earth is full of caves and caverns that go deep, deep, deep underground, and when air rumbles through them in underground storms, that’s what makes earthquakes.”

Theodore delightedly clapped his hands together. “Earthfarts!” he cried, hopping in the air with glee. “Let’s all pray that God can keep the Slavic demons from farting underground. Amen!”

“I get asked a serious question, I give a serious answer, and what thanks do I get for it?” George asked the air. “This. Straighten up, you foolish loon,” he growled at Theodore, who had doubled over in laughter. He was having a hard time not laughing himself, but he would have given himself over to the city torturer before admitting it.

He was not the only one who knew their son well, either. In tones suggesting the Last Judgment, Irene said, “Theodore, before you think of breaking wind in the middle of Bishop Eusebius’ prayer, imagine what your father will do to you after you come out of the church.”

Theodore did imagine it. George could see him weighing whether the disaster to follow would be worth the entertainment during. What he could not see, and what worried him, was which way his son would decide.

When they got to the basilica, Irene and Sophia went upstairs to the women’s gallery. George and Theodore made their way toward the altar. Along with keeping his elbows up to move other men out of the way, George kept looking around to see where Menas was. When he spotted the rich nobleman, he made a point of staying away from him. It wasn’t fear: more on the order of not borrowing trouble, since every time the two of them came anywhere near each other, things only got worse.

People muttered back and forth while they waited for Bishop Eusebius. Not everyone knew why the bishop had summoned the folk of Thessalonica. Theodore made himself look wise and well connected by explaining to anyone who would listen. George kept his own counsel. Being thought close to the powerful was nothing he deemed important. Besides, Eusebius would do his own explaining soon enough.