Two for Joy (12 page)

Disappointed, Hektor poked the branch through the cage bars, jabbing at the bear. The animal raised its furry head tiredly but made no effort to lash out.

“Ah, Felix, you’re a sorry excuse for a murderous beast,” Hektor grumbled. It was hard to believe the huge animal had killed a man. That was why Theodora had insisted it be brought to the palace, or so Hektor’s fellow page Tarquin had claimed. But that wasn’t so surprising, was it, considering that the empress had an affinity for bears. After all, her father had been a bearkeeper for the Greens and she must have spent a good deal of time around them as a girl.

Spent time with both bears and Greens, Hektor thought with a pleased smile. No doubt that was where she had acquired some at least of her more violent tendencies. Unfortunately, two years or so of captivity seemed to have taken its toll on Felix’s murderous instincts.

“If I were to set you free, would you show your claws?” Hektor asked the bear, darting around the side of the cage and jabbing his branch sharply into the bear’s face. The animal snarled more in dismay than anger but the boy at least got a glimpse of the long yellow teeth that had torn out a human throat. He wondered, idly, what it would feel like to take a man’s life. He felt certain he would appreciate the experience more than a bear ever could.

Still bored, Hektor bid farewell to the animal and wandered away in the afternoon sunshine, eventually venturing into that part of the palace Justinian used for his offices, a place where there was seldom much call for pages.

As he strolled along the corridor, the boy’s thoughts wandered back to his thwarted interrogation of the hateful cat, which had now transformed itself in his imagination into a heavily disguised spy, a cunning and evil foe to be dealt with most severely when apprehended. But his daydreaming ceased abruptly when he saw Theodora emerging from one of the offices.

Hektor quickly retreated around a corner to the shelter of the nearest doorway. As skilled as he was at being conspicuous he had an even better facility for hiding, both exceedingly useful talents at the court in conjunction with a well-developed instinct for knowing when, where and in which circumstances to employ each.

Theodora, he was certain, did not notice him as she swept away in the other direction. He immediately crept around the corner and moved stealthily back through the trail of her perfume to the room from which she had emerged.

What Hektor saw when he peeked inside made him forget the nefarious spy disguised as a cat. There sat Anatolius, looking dazed. Anatolius, of course, was just a harmless fool, but the fool’s eunuch friend John had spoken most impertinently to Hektor on more than one occasion.

The eunuch had made a grave mistake, the boy thought, his mouth tightening at the humiliating recollection of those slights. Hektor might yet be young but he knew much. He was aware, for instance, of Theodora’s deep enmity toward John. It sprang, he suspected, from jealousy. How often had he had seen her glare at John as he departed after a private conference with Justinian, her angry look touched with panic? After all, she had made it plain to all that the emperor’s opinion was for her alone to influence. What the emperor truly believed, what actions he intended to take, these were in the nature of marital secrets. Yes, the empress would certainly richly reward the person who found a means to end the unseemly intimacy between her husband and the eunuch John. That was something else Hektor knew.

So it was with special interest that he observed Anatolius sitting at his desk copying something. It was not an unusual task for a secretary, but Hektor’s court-sharpened instincts immediately detected something amiss. Perhaps it was the man’s posture or possibly a subliminal hint of his sour, nervous sweat.

Hektor peered more intently around the door post. There was a blotch of spilt ink on the corner of the document Anatolius was rapidly copying. Moving quietly back down the corridor, the boy smiled to himself. He would wait for Anatolius to depart and then read whatever he had been transcribing. Perhaps he would discover something that could be used against him and his friend the eunuch. Yes, he thought, he would obviously have to keep a close eye on John’s movements for the next few days. Suddenly, he was no longer bored.

Chapter Nine

Senator Aurelius beamed with satisfaction as he
strolled through his atrium with Anatolius. The
banquet was underway. Around the central impluvium sat graceful vases holding huge bunches of the white roses sacred to Venus. The splendid garments of his guests captured the sweet scent of juniper garlands woven with leaves of ivy and grapevines, those ancient symbols of hospitality, looped around the doorways. The happy sound of his well-fed guests’ conversation and laughter swirled around them. Yes, the scene was perfect. How could it not be? That morning the senator had finally passed his painful bladder stone.

“Anatolius, I am well pleased with your efforts,” Aurelius commented, nodding benignly at a cluster of senators discussing the yields of their vineyards. “The menu was completely appropriate, restrained but with a hint of exotica. I was especially impressed by the various wildfowl in plum sauce, not to mention the braised lamb. And the entertainments the same, no dwarfs dancing on the table knocking jugs flying or stepping into the platters, for example.”

For the first time in days the senator was seeing the world through eyes unclouded by pain. “The roast venison was particularly well received, I noticed,” he continued. “Did you steal away imperial cooks and do I thus face financial ruin for the honor of benefiting from their labors?” He gave his son a paternal smile, intended to remove any sting from his words.

Anatolius reddened. “I borrowed the services of John’s cook to oversee the kitchen for this occasion, father. He was more than happy to oblige. John prefers the plainest of foods, but Peter does enjoy the occasional challenge to his culinary skills.”

Father and son had paused by the impluvium. Glancing into it, Aurelius was startled to see golden fish swimming in the clear water.

Anatolius followed his gaze and smiled proudly. “A little surprise for later. Toward the end of the evening, your guests can try to catch them and the person who succeeds in capturing the one with the black spotted tail will be presented with a small golden fish suitable for wearing on a chain.”

His father regarded him with affection. “It appears that the poet can imagine something other than mooning over lost maidens,” he said. “It will certainly be more than interesting to see Senator Epirus, for one, trying to land a fish, especially after one too many cups of wine. Or better yet, Gaius. He’s already intoxicated enough to pay the fee for one of those imperial cooks you didn’t hire.”

Anatolius reminded his father of the strange fortune-telling rhyme that John had once mentioned, something about one meaning sorrow and two, joy.

“Could it not equally apply to wine?” he continued. “For certainly two cups bring merriment but not enough to provoke the uninhibited sort that leaves the Furies in the head and scandalous stories circulating around the court next day.”

They continued their tour of the crowded house. The noise was intense, but it was the sound of voices loud with enthusiasm rather than raised in anger. The senator smiled when he saw that now the house slaves had cleared away the remains of the banquet there was, in fact, a dwarf dancing on the long dining room table, tumbling and tripping for an enthusiastic audience. Nearby, a group of acrobats twisted themselves into impossible positions for knots of amazed guests.

Aurelius noted with approval that his son had sensibly employed Felix and several excubitors in the event of any sort of unpleasantness, but had instructed them to circulate quietly, dressed as guests. He complimented Anatolius on his arrangements, and, again, upon the carefully chosen floral decorations.

“About those tubs of linden trees. I was just explaining to Senator Epirus that they represent the legend of the hospitable Philemon and Baucis. Ever the cynic, he said that he doubted we are acting as unwitting hosts to Zeus and Hermes, however powerful many of our guests may be. But surely the palace gardeners needed some persuasion to loan such choice items?”

“Oh,” Anatolius shrugged, “I happen to know one of them, and she was happy to assist. Her name’s Hypatia and she also provided the very choice pears Peter baked for us, not to mention the excellent vegetables. She’s an accomplished herbalist as well, and indeed I had asked her about a potion for your infirmity. Fortunately now I shall be able to tell her that it will not be required.”

“Send her to me tomorrow, Anatolius. I can inform her myself and I’d also like to reward her suitably for the aid she has rendered in making this such a wonderfully successful evening.”

As they circulated, sparing a word for this or that courtier, Senator Aurelius smiled with pride. Perhaps Anatolius would not disgrace the family name after all, despite the concerns his, Anatolius’, mother had often expressed during the boy’s somewhat turbulent youth. Thinking of Penelope, gone these ten years, brought unexpected moisture to Aurelius’ eyes. Such emotion was not for public display, and he was happy to see John enter the atrium because it gave him an opportunity furtively to wipe his brimming eyes as he turned away from Anatolius to greet the new arrival.

John apologized for his late arrival. “Unless I am ordered otherwise, I must assume the emperor still intends the Great Church to be officially dedicated in a few weeks. I am to arrange all the secular ceremonies and I fear I have been much occupied with other matters.”

“Let us not speak of those other matters tonight,” Aurelius replied.

Anatolius grinned widely. “And do enjoy some wine now that you’re here, John, although I’m afraid there’s none of that dreadful Egyptian vintage you insist on serving at your house.”

John accepted a cup from the servant who appeared at a gesture from Aurelius, commenting on the latter’s cheerful appearance.

“I’m a new man, John.” He explained the amazing improvement in his health. “Were I a credulous sort I would probably be barefoot and on my way to prostrate myself before Michael at this very moment. I’ve been regaling my friends with my cure. It makes an amusing story, don’t you think? An old pagan healed by a Christian holy man. A cosmic jest indeed! Not that I really believe it is, of course.”

“Gaius thinks you do,” John told him. “On my way in, I heard him complaining bitterly, saying you are trying to ruin him by telling people that weeks of his treatments aren’t as effective as a single touch from a charlatan.”

Aurelius was charitable. “Gaius imbibes too much upon occasion, and when he does his appreciation of humor deserts him. But if he continues to worship Bacchus so ardently, would he blame his patients for preferring to find their cures by sleeping in shrines? He will be in better spirits tomorrow and no doubt regret what he has said tonight, if he even remembers it, which personally I doubt.”

John agreed that going by past experience such would certainly be the case.

“Let’s not concern ourselves with Gaius, then. And don’t worry about your crotchety old house guest either, John,” Aurelius went on. “He’s having a marvelous time eating dried apricots and demonstrating this peculiar new game of his to some of the soberer guests in my sitting room. That was another excellent notion, Anatolius,” he added. “Not that I would actually employ someone to tutor me in such a frivolous pursuit, as I made plain to him, but I’m pleased with the interesting diversion he’s offering. Although I must admit, I wouldn’t have engaged those girls we were talking about at table.”

“They’re here to offer livelier entertainment than a board game, are they?” wondered John, giving a quick smile.

“On this occasion, no,” Anatolius grinned. “Now, John, you may have missed the prawns and partridges by arriving so late, but there are still delicacies to be admired. But only from a distance, you understand. As I was saying to my father, these ladies are as pure as Vestal virgins.”

Aurelius laughed. “Remember, my boy, I know the nature of the temple where our lady visitors reside.”

Anatolius grinned again. “Ah, but these particular handmaidens have many talents.”

“And they may need them soon. One of my colleagues mentioned to me earlier that there is some thought of proposing to Justinian that he immediately shut down all those storehouses of talent wherein such ladies as we are discussing dwell. Apparently the thought is that it might be one of the easiest ways to appease the religious zealots camped by the Bosporos.”

“Is the Senate really considering making such a recommendation?” John’s tone was thoughtful.

Aurelius said that it might well be just rumor.

“Well, be that as it may,” Anatolius said, “tonight the ladies will be showing off talents which, in their usual employment, are probably the only things they keep hidden! They will be dressed as the Muses, attributes and all, and each will give a recitation from the classics, to musical accompaniment provided by Euterpe, muse of music and joy. That is to say, by our friend Isis.”

John laughed at the very thought. “Isis? Playing on that hydra of hers?”

Anatolius shook his head. “Oh, no. No, I would have needed to engage a carter to drag that contraption over here. She has taken up playing the flute. It’s her newest pastime, apparently. Don’t worry, father,” he added quickly. “She will be veiled most modestly. No-one will recognize her, or if anyone does, they won’t be too eager to admit it.”

“My son has even had the foresight to protect the reputation of my house. I never thought to see the day!”

“If you are so pleased, perhaps you will think again about this matter of my laboring with the quaestor?”

Aurelius chuckled. “Now how could I disappoint all my guests? Your poetic imagination will be treating us to some remarkable sights and sounds this evening, but I wager that tomorrow no one will be talking about your earthy Muses, your flute-playing Euterpe, your prize-awarding pisceans or even Philo’s exotic game. No, I predict the chatterers will talk only of how an old senator’s stubborn and wayward son was transformed, as if by magick, into a man of substance by his new appointment!”