Two for Joy (4 page)

“Forgive me for intruding, master, but it is almost dark. I kept food warming near the brazier for you.” His gaunt face was pallid.

“Thank you, Peter, but I fear today’s duties have upset my humors. Perhaps I shall eat a bite later, but meanwhile please bring us wine. Then, if you wish, go to bed.”

Peter left and returned carrying a jug, a good ceramic cup for Philo and the cracked clay cup that was John’s favorite, for it reminded him of the woman with whom he had shared it, some years after he left the Academy, the woman with whom he might even now be sharing his life had fate not intervened. He noticed Peter’s hand trembling as the servant measured out first wine, then water. A few drops splashed on Philo’s board and Peter wiped them away, murmuring apologies and knocking several of the carved pieces over as he did so.

As Peter turned to leave the room, Philo lifted his cup and asked loudly, “Why do you keep such a useless old man as your servant?”

John waited until Peter had shuffled out before replying. “When I asked you earlier how he had been today, Philo, you told me he was going about his duties. You neglected to tell me the effort it was costing him.”

The sharpness in his tone seemed lost on the other. He had turned his attention back to his game, idly fingering first one piece, then another.

John said nothing more. His old mentor had described Peter as a useless old man, but it was clear that he might well have been thinking of himself.

***

Abandoning his study to Philo, John sought solitude in the garden. He sat on the marble bench beside a pool whose rippled water was replenished by a slow trickle from the mouth of what had once been a splendidly sculpted creature, but was now worn down into a shapeless mass of lichened stone. There was to be no rest there either. The single olive tree near the pool insisted upon reminding him of groves of its ancient kin, which ringed around the Academy. Before he could shake the memory, Anatolius appeared.

“John,” his friend called cheerfully as he approached, “Why are you lurking about out here? It’s getting chilly. It’s going to be a good night to be indoors.”

The emperor’s secretary was one of a very few allowed unquestioned access to John’s house—the emperor himself would have been another in the unlikely event that he ever appeared at John’s door—but this evening the Lord Chamberlain was in no mood for visitors. His dark gaze swept down from contemplating the sky above the colonnades surrounding the garden to scour Anatolius’ face. He murmured a half-hearted greeting.

Anatolius plumped down beside him. “You look as if your humors need balancing, John. Has Justinian been particularly difficult today?” Before John could reply, the younger man rushed on. “My day was difficult indeed, I may say. I had an extremely trying interview with my father, who trotted out all his usual complaints. What’s worse, though, is that he has arranged for my transfer to the quaestor’s office.” He sighed heavily. “I am hoping I can persuade him to change his mind, but meantime he has at least entrusted me with the final arrangements for a banquet he is holding shortly. I thought I’d consult you for appropriate guidance on certain matters relating to that, John. The matter of the entertainments, for example.”

John nodded, relieved that Anatolius had not arrived to share the latest gossip concerning the spectacle of the stylites. He preferred to avoid that subject for a while if at all possible.

“I trust that you weren’t contemplating anything too flamboyant, Anatolius?” he said. “Officially it’s your father giving this banquet and I imagine many high officials and courtiers will be present. You should therefore be thinking of the less lively sorts of entertainment, if you take my meaning—as I am certain you do.”

Anatolius evinced no surprise at John’s statement. He was familiar with the Lord Chamberlain’s uncanny ability to be aware of every event connected with the palace, not to mention much of what was occurring outside its walls.

“As it happens, I received a personal invitation from your father this morning,” John went on, unwittingly destroying at least part of Anatolius’ admiration of his powers. “So it will have to be a rather sober affair, I fear, if I am to be present in my official capacity, which I surmise is the intent.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be as lively as some banquets we could mention,” the other grinned, tossing a pebble into the pool. “Now, I have in fact already planned part of the entertainment. It’s a presentation certain to please those whose taste is refined, not to say stodgy. In short, it’s a tribute to the Muses—singing, flute playing, recitation of poetry, that sort of thing.”

“Yet doubtless there will be a few who will frown at a senator inviting actresses into his home,” John pointed out with a slight smile.

“No need to worry about that. These aren’t actresses. I’ve engaged Isis and some of her girls,” Anatolius replied airily. “Their performance will be perfectly decorous, of course. After all, you know how Isis fancies herself a patroness of the arts.”

“True enough. No doubt she’ll be happy for an opportunity to show off some of her girls’ more refined skills. Still, Anatolius, I must admit that I really don’t think that your father would have engaged such entertainers himself. What else did you have in mind? Nothing too outrageous, I trust?”

“No, of course not. There’ll be your usual mimes, jugglers, dancers, that sort of thing. But I was trying to think of something a little more unusual that would not shock the guests, and I though you might have heard of some troupe new to the city.”

John’s recent contretemps with Philo was still fresh in his mind. “Here is one suggestion,” he replied. “As you know, my old philosophy tutor is currently my guest. He has been tormenting me with a new game he brought back from Persia. Shatranj, he calls it. It’s something to do with trapping your opponent’s king. The elephant moves this many squares in one direction and the ship so many in another. I’m afraid I’ve not shown much inclination to learn to play, so I’m vague about the details, but as it happens he just mentioned the idea that he might eke out a living teaching the game at court. Now, if you were to engage him to entertain at your banquet by demonstrating it to your guests, at the same time that might perhaps assist him in finding employment. And what’s more, I do think it could be quite the talking point, without a hint of scandal attached to it. That would certainly please your father.”

Anatolius leaned forward intently. “And nobody has seen this game yet, you say? That would certainly weigh heavily with the guests, wouldn’t it?”

“The court always appreciates novelty.” John hesitated before continuing. “I should caution you, however, that it’s possible Philo may not feel inclined to accept your offer. To be blunt about it, he approached your father for assistance and was rebuffed.”

“Well, my father might turn your old friend away but I shall certainly talk to him,” Anatolius said firmly.

“If he hesitates, you might also consider mentioning that since many powerful men will be present, he may well meet someone willing to provide him with other sorts of employment. I’m certain he’s chafing at depending on my hospitality for a roof over his head—that of course is how he sees the situation, not the way I view it. I’m happy to provide him with a home for as long as he wishes, although it’s true that we do not always see eye to eye. In fact,” John concluded, “he upset Peter with a very unfortunate remark hardly an hour ago.”

“He upset Peter yesterday too,” Anatolius told him in an interested tone. “Peter was just telling me about it when he let me in. For a man of philosophy, Philo can be very tactless, I must say. Apparently he was complaining the sauce for the duck was not thick enough. Of course, Peter pointed out to him that you preferred plain food and that he was not going to go against the master’s preferences. It’s probably just as well they are both civilized men, as there are always sharp knives on the kitchen table and even cooks and philosophers must surely be hotheaded at times.”

John nodded, adding that Philo had risked all simply by venturing into the kitchen while Peter was cooking, since that was something which the servant could not abide. He would have a word with Peter, he thought, and ask him to try to be forbearing. It struck John that it was fortunate he was not married or the ubiquitous philosopher would probably also have invaded his wife’s apartments in addition to the study and Peter’s kitchen.

“How long has he been here, John? More than two weeks, isn’t it?”

John confirmed the fact, noting that Philo had arrived on the Ides of October.

“Well, now November has begun,” Anatolius replied, “And it’s a lucky month, so they say. Let’s hope so, for all of us! But however did he know where to find you?”

“Apparently my fame has spread further afield than I realized,” John replied with a frown. “He evidently heard of my good fortune at some time or other.”

“Ah, that would explain it. A teacher never forgets those of his students who do well.”

“Whether or not they did well as students.” John paused, uncertain whether to voice the thought that had come to him. There were many things he shared only with the mosaic girl Zoe, upon whose discretion he could depend completely. Strangely, the only other person with whom he sometimes shared confidences was Anatolius, probably the least discreet man John knew. “It gave me a shock when Peter called me to the door and I saw Philo standing outside,” he finally said, “for I had thought that all that part of my past life was dead, had died long ago.”

Anatolius, looking interested, asked if Philo appeared very much different.

“He looks much the same. Older, of course. More somber, certainly. The perfect philosopher. You might say he now looks truer to his vision of himself, closer to the ideal image to which he aspires. My first reaction was to tell him to go away.”

In the ensuing silence, the water trickling from the stone creature’s mouth sounded louder as it splashed into the pool beside them. There was not enough light for John to see the question he knew was written across Anatolius’ face.

“You are aware, Anatolius,” he continued, “that I am not the person I once was. I have no desire to revisit the world where that other person lived. In fact, I have made every effort to forget my former life.”

“But your past has a way of finding you, John,” Anatolius pointed out, “which is not to be wondered at considering that you live at the very hub of the world. One seeking to escape his past would do better to dwell in the desert like these hermits the Christians are always gossiping about.”

“Even hermits sometimes eventually find their way to Constantinople,” John replied ruefully.

“Well, then, you would doubtless find the far reaches of the desert yet more congenial, without so much as an occasional wild-eyed zealot to interrupt your solitude. But why do you continue to harbor that prickly old rogue Philo? Surely he knows other people here that he could stay with until he is able to get an establishment of his own?”

“I don’t believe Philo knows anyone else in Constantinople. He spent most of his life at the Academy in Athens and then in exile in the east. To tell the truth, Anatolius, I owe more than you realize to him, for it was he who taught me reading and writing and instilled some philosophy in me. Extending him hospitality for as long as he needs it is the least I can do, for while one cannot repay a kindness, one can at least pass it along by helping someone else.”

Anatolius agreed that that was so. As Justinian’s secretary he certainly understood the value of literacy. “For after all,” he continued, “had it not been that you could read and write, when you arrived at the palace as a slave all those years ago you would not have had the opportunity to put your foot on the ladder that eventually led to your being appointed Lord Chamberlain.”

“There is more than that,” John said quietly. “Let me explain. You know how I was captured by the Persians.”

Anatolius nodded. “The gods should be ashamed for allowing such a fate to befall a young man seeking only to buy silks for his lover.”

John gave a grim laugh. “Or at the very least the gods might have given me a map showing the location of the border, so that I would not have strayed over it. But then again, quite a few others had also been caught, between ambushes and skirmishes. But we became a burden and would have been killed except that Fortuna at least decided to show some kindness and sent a band of traders, to whom we were of some value if properly prepared. And thus was it done, and I became…a eunuch.”

He had paused before spitting out the last two words. Now he sighed. Why was it so difficult for him to name the reality with which he lived every day, one that could never be changed?

“That part of the story you know,” he said, forcing himself to continue. “But I have not told you what happened after we were sold to the traders. We set out for a large settlement, a long march away. But when we arrived, already half starved because supplies were not always easy to come by in that wild country, it was discovered that a contingent of captives from an overrun border city had just arrived. So there was no shortage of slaves for sale.”

John paused and directed his gaze up to the sky, where bright stars were peering through high, wispy clouds. He continued to gaze at them as he resumed speaking in a near whisper. “We were assembled at the edge of the encampment and forced to kneel in the dirt. The leader of the traders addressed us, saying that since they could neither sell us nor feed us, we were to be freed. First, however, we were to sign an official acknowledgment of our debt to their merciful and magnanimous ruler and so on and so forth.

“He then made his way with kalamos and parchment along our ranks. Thanks to Philo I was able to sign my name. Almost all of the others, being illiterate, made only their marks. When the charade was done, all who could not write were beheaded on the spot.”

He heard Anatolius’ quick intake of breath.

“Those few of us who were literate were of course extremely valuable, so well worth the bit of gruel necessary to keep us alive until we were finally sold,” John concluded quietly. “So as you see, Anatolius, I owe my life to Philo’s tutoring.”