Four for a Boy Page 7

  Gaius stared at the instruments in the bowl. “You’d have more sympathy if you had my job, Felix. We see innumerable children. Not that long ago we had one poor child brought in whose head was crushed in a cart accident. Often there’s nothing you can do but watch them die, wash them down, and send them home for burial. At least Hypatius saw a few years!”

  “Yes, yes, I do see your point,” Felix replied. “But, as I said, we need to speak to the doorkeeper.”

  Gaius finally fell silent and led them down corridors as difficult to navigate as the Bosporos, thanks to the patients lining them, some leaning against the walls and others stretched out on the floor. They crossed a bare courtyard where untainted air swirled briefly around their faces. Then they plunged back into the warm, malodorous atmosphere of the far wing. John glanced into the doorless cell-like rooms they passed. Each contained three or four patients lying on thin pallets under threadbare blankets. Even so, he reflected, many must be in better quarters than wherever they lived outside the hospice.

  In one room, a cluster of solemn children stood around an emaciated, white-bearded man who lay comatose, his face covered in sores. Stentorian breathing rattled in his throat. In his mercenary days, John had heard the sound often from the lips of the dying. The man was not long for the world.

  Gaius showed the two men into a room no different from the rest except that it was so narrow that it had space for only two pallets. Only one was currently occupied. Perhaps, John mused, the doorkeeper’s roommate had just been discharged, either from the hospice or from earthly pain, and that very recently. After ascertaining that the room’s sole occupant was awake and lucid, Gaius left.

  “Come by when you have a free hour or so,” he told Felix on his way out. “We’ll resume our tour of the city’s taverns.”

  John had only glimpsed the wounded doorkeeper in the Great Church. There the old man had been nothing more than a pile of discarded robes in the shadows. Here, swathed in a coverlet, he appeared not much different. His thin, leathery face reminded John of a preserved holy relic.

  “Who are you, good sirs?” The doorkeeper’s eyes were bloodshot. His gaze darted back and forth between his visitors in terrified fashion.

  Felix made his usual introduction. His mention of the Prefect elicited a peep of horror. “And what is your name?”

  “Demetrios.”

  “You were one of the doorkeepers on duty the day that the man Hypatius was murdered in the Great Church?”

  “My job was to guard the door. Not the vestibule. The villains stabbed me too.” The man pulled himself up into a sitting position, revealing wrists as thin as a kalamos. He was shaking.

  “I’m sure you’re not responsible in any way for Hypatius’ death, Demetrios. We just need to know if you saw anything that might help us find the men who committed the crime. You are attentive, I’m sure.”

  Demetrios seemed to relax a bit. “Certainly.

  Doorkeepers always have to be alert. I regret to say that not all our visitors are pious. Some of them, and you will scarcely credit this, even seek to steal whatever they can conceal about their persons. So we keep a close watch on all who come into the church and also aid worshippers as needed. The old and the feeble, for example, sometimes need help. All are welcome in the house of the Lord but some need extra assistance getting into it.”

  “No doubt that’s true. But did you witness the murder?”

  “I did.” Demetrios sat up straighter. “It was not long after Hypatius arrived. A sad loss, sir. He was a most pious gentleman, very generous to the church and full of charitable works. He always gave us doorkeepers a coin or two. We’ll miss him. But as to that terrible event—it was bitterly cold that day and not much better inside the church. The archdeacon does not allow much funding for charcoal, you see.”

  The old man shivered as if memories of the cold had chilled him anew. “Yet even so, a fair number of people came, mostly to see the sculpture. It offends some, sirs. Others, sadly more superstitious than devout, consider such representations to be magickal. I’ve had to tell more than one not to soil the marble with their grubby hands. There was even a fellow we had to pull down off the pedestal because he was convinced his wife would be cured of her fever if he touched Christ’s face. The sculpture is so lifelike that, well, sometimes, and especially when the light was dim, it gave me pause. Yet if such a pious gentleman as Hypatius thought to glorify the church with it, then who is a simple doorkeeper to say otherwise?”

  Felix removed his helmet and ran a hand through his thick hair. Despite the seriousness of their investigation, John had to suppress a smile. Between Gaius and Demetrios one might guess the main affliction besetting Constantinople was a mysterious disease which refused to allow the lips to stop moving.

  Felix broke into the doorkeeper’s ramblings to ask when the Blues had arrived on the scene.

  “Oh, there was already a crowd of them in the church,” was the surprising reply. “All are welcome, as I said, without exception. Now as it happened, I was standing inside by the main door. I’d just come in for a short time to get out of the bitter wind, you understand, when it happened. It was all very confusing, between the number of people in the vestibule and the fact that it’s not as well lit as the rest of the church. Anyhow, the trouble broke out among the crowd gathered around the sculpture.”

  “These were Blues?” put in Felix hopefully.

  “Some certainly were, but most of them were regular visitors. I knew many of them by sight. Hypatius was standing looking up at the sculpture, when one of the Blues shouted.”

  “What was it he shouted?”

  “Let’s just say it was a blasphemy and leave it at that. Hypatius took him to task for using such words in a holy place. The others immediately started yelling even worse. A few of our regular worshippers tried to shout them down. Then Hypatius attempted to calm everyone. It was no good. Things had gone too far.”

  Felix shook his head. “And this in a holy place!”

  “As you say, sir. It turned into chaos. Women were getting hysterical. Men ran outside to escape. Wisely so. Damage was done to the church…yet really it all happened in less time than it takes to tell you. Within a few heartbeats fighting began.”

  Demetrios’ voice rose incredulously as he continued. “Including among the faithful! Suddenly Hypatius fell, mortally wounded as it turned out. It was as if he had been struck by the hand of God. But why a man of such piety? And he hadn’t even started the argument. That is how blood was spilled in the house of the Lord, sirs!”

  To John’s surprise, the doorkeeper began to cry feebly. “Yes, blood was spilled in the house of the Lord,” Demetrios repeated forlornly.

  “And it was then that you were wounded?” Felix asked after a brief silence.

  The doorkeeper’s head bobbed in agreement. “I tried to go to Hypatius’ aid. The Blues were running away and a couple shoved me aside, but not before one turned back and sunk his blade into my shoulder. Why would they do that? Killing one man, wounding another, and for what reason? Is there nothing they won’t stoop to? We’re not safe in our beds!”

  The thought brought fear back to his face.

  “The city will be calm now,” Felix reassured him. “Look at the way the Prefect put down those rioters just the other night. They’ll think twice about starting anything now.”

  “Those young troublemakers aren’t averse to murder. They’ll be very hard to convince.”

  John had the fleeting impression that the doorkeeper was about to leap off his pallet. The man raised a stick-like arm and waved it in feeble agitation.

  “Decent citizens never know whether or when they’ll be assaulted. Prudent men go about their business well guarded and it’s best for women to stay at home. Except for attending church, that is.”

  He slumped down, looking suddenly exhausted. Felix asked the doorkeeper if he had related all that he had seen.

  “That’s all, sir.” />
  There was an outburst of screaming in the corridor. Looking out, John saw a young woman, her head covered with a soiled veil, carted shrieking into a nearby room. Gaius raced into view.

  Felix stepped out of the sickroom and laid a hand on the physician’s arm before he could pass. “What’s happened?”

  Gaius wrenched his arm free. “It’s a street whore. A dissatisfied customer threw a lamp full of burning oil into her face.” He vanished into the room where the woman’s continued screams now had a raw, rasping quality. Evidently the tortured cries had been going on for a long time.

  “Gaius was right, John,” Felix said as they departed the hospice. “Tempers are short. There’ll be worse before long, I’d wager my sword on it. Anyone who’s not prepared to fight should stay off the streets.”

  Chapter Eight

  John followed Lady Anna as she stepped hastily into the bookseller’s shop just off the Augustaion. Her quick step resulted not so much from eagerness to discover what new offerings might be found in the brightly lit emporium as from her desire to take shelter against the feathery snow beginning to drift from a sullen sky.

  “Ah, my lady.” The bookseller greeted her with a low bow. He appeared not to have noticed John at all. “It is good to see you again. And how is your father the senator?”

  “Well indeed, Scipio.”

  The bold odors of spice, perfume and freshly baked bread had streamed from the doorways of other establishments John and Anna had passed. The air here was scented more subtly by dusty parchment. Scipio’s scrolls and codices were arranged neatly on shelves and tables and in wall niches, as if in a library.

  Anna began to warm her hands at the brazier set by the far wall. It stood as far away from the flammable wares as possible.

  “And yourself, my lady?” The bookseller was a slightly built man with a shaved head. Quite young, John thought, to be the owner of such an establishment.

  “I am well also, at least now that I can feel my fingers again. Have you anything to show me today?”

  Scipio nodded his bald head. “Only a single item, but one that I think you’ll find most intriguing.”

  He took down an ornamented box from a shelf and opened it to display a codex with an unadorned leather cover.

  “It was sent to me by my brother, who often finds such treasures. An aristocrat, whom I will not name, was selling off a few valuables to satisfy the tax collector’s latest outrageous demand. Alas, the libraries always go first. Knowing your interest in gardens, I have not shown this to anyone yet.”

  Anna took the proffered item. John saw it was a selection of Pliny the Younger’s letters, the first of which was devoted to describing his gardens. She scanned it eagerly. “John, is this not beautiful?”

  John agreed it was.

  “This is certainly of great interest, Scipio,” she said, “but I should like to consider the matter overnight. I could send a message tomorrow, if you would be willing to wait.”

  The bookseller assured her that he would be more than happy to do so and politely ushered them out. A thin veil of snow had begun to whiten everything in the street, bits of broken pottery, animal dung, straw, scraps of rotted fruit, and even a scrap of parchment escaped from Scipio’s shop.

  “Do you think it’s worth the price?” Anna wondered as their steps turned homeward.

  “Not to a collector. The cover was plain to begin with and looks badly worn. I noticed that a few of the pages are stained. But since the subject matter interests you…if you think it has value, then it does.”

  “True indeed.”

  They proceeded at a brisk pace. John kept a cautious watch on the doorways and narrow alleys they passed. While he felt he should be pursuing the investigation into Hypatius’ death, Justinian’s orders, however odd, had been very clear; he was to continue with his other duties so far as possible. It had happened, for one reason or another, that his tutoring of Lady Anna had also come to include escorting her about the city on occasion.

  “What value can you put on a person, John?” Anna said. “I’m not talking about slaves. Pardon me if I offended you.”

  John softly pointed out that slaves were unoffendable and that no apology was therefore necessary.

  Anna smiled, her plain face suddenly beautiful from its sweetness. “I spoke without thought, John. It’s hard to think of you as what…as who…you are. And now what is it that makes you look so solemn?”

  How could he tell her that it was her inappropriate tone that distressed him? “I find myself wondering about Hypatius. A man of great worth, it seems.”

  “If Hypatius were a book, his cover would be of carved ivory but his verses wouldn’t scan.” Anna pulled her cloak closer around her angular frame as they turned into the street on which stood her father’s house. “While we should not speak in ill fashion of the departed, the reason I say this is that he had been paying romantic attention to me for some time. Frankly, I had become very tired of it.”

  John observed that was entirely understandable. A servant girl opened the house door for them and took their snow-damp cloaks.

  He noticed that the atrium was darker than usual. Because of the cold weather, several folding wooden panels had been shut, closing the senator’s office off from both the garden beyond and the rest of the house.

  “Some spiced wine, please,” Anna instructed the servant. “And two cups. And ask Dorotheus to send someone to light the brazier in my study. We’ll be in father’s office.”

  Suppressing a surprised giggle, the girl vanished toward the kitchen.

  “Father won’t mind if we wait in here until my study’s warmed up.” Anna led John into the office and motioned him to take a seat. “He’s attending a church service. Tiresome, perhaps, but necessary for a senator.”

  John made no reply. Although never spoken of, it was obvious to him that Opimius was a pagan. Like a handful of other senators who remained loyal to the gods of their ancestors, Anna’s father made a show of observing the state religion. He had no other choice. However, it was exceedingly improper, not to say unwise, for Anna to refer to the matter even obliquely.

  The office’s rich wall hangings and carpet seemed to hold the heat from its lamps. Anna went immediately to the brazier.

  “Why don’t you warm your hands, John? You suffer from the cold just as I do. You think I haven’t noticed?”

  John assured Anna he was warm enough. It made him uneasy that she should notice such a thing, or mention it. Anna sat down on an upholstered couch next to John’s chair.

  “Hypatius was a friend of my father’s,” she continued. “Naturally he often visited. He was a pious man, but a man who was pious in an obvious way. He attended services daily, funded charitable works, gave the church ostentatious gifts, and so on.”

  The servant entered to place a wine jug on the table beside the couch. She looked John over with obvious curiosity before she was dismissed.

  John took a sip from his wine cup. Orange lamp light flickered around the rim. He suggested that Hypatius’ activities were not unworthy.

  “As you say.” Anna drained her cup. “However, there are those who do good deeds for the sake of the doing and those who do them for the sake of being known for their charity.”

  “Still, charity is charity.”

  Anna smiled at him again and John looked down into his wine.

  “I suppose you are right, John. Perhaps I do him a disservice. He was a regular visitor here for years. I never felt that I got to know him very well or much about him except that he was very wealthy and his business interests were many and varied. And, as I said, he pawed at me when father wasn’t looking.”

  “You did not want to know him well?”

  “Father would have been happier if I had. In fact, he would have been positively ecstatic if I had become that old hypocrite’s wife. Fortunately for me, Hypatius did not have the opportunity to propose I be thus honored.”

  �
�Did you think he intended to?” John finished his wine. Before he realized it, Lady Anna had picked up the jug and began to refill his cup.

  John felt his chest constrict. He could hardly draw his cup back and allow the wine to spill onto the senator’s fine carpet. He looked at Anna, questioningly, and she fixed her gaze on him. Her eyes were unremarkable yet he could not look away. His cheeks prickled as if all the lamps in the room had suddenly flared up into raging bonfires.

  Anna poured the wine slowly until his cup had been filled. She was not very adept at such duties. A trickle ran down the side of the vessel and puddled on the table top.

  “Hypatius intended to hold a banquet next month, and hinted he intended to make an announcement of some import during it. I thought it might have to do with me, I admit, and had been dreading it.” She sighed. “I am not certain. He was, after all, a wealthy man. He did not need my attractive dowry. He could have bought himself some woman as beautiful as a sculpture of Helen.”

  “But he was paying you unwanted attentions,” John managed to say.

  She pursed her lips. “Perhaps he thought he was being kind. No, a rich man like him would not wish to take as wife someone plain as I am. I’m sorry if I sound cross, John, but everyone seems to believe they know what is best for me. Or, rather, what father has told them is best for me. Everyone wishes to please father. He has convinced a widow of his acquaintance, a redoubtable woman indeed, to counsel me on how a single woman of wealth conducts her affairs. I suppose this would be in case I remain obdurately single should father die. A few months ago Dominica, that’s her name, suddenly began visiting more frequently. At first I thought she had her eye on father! Then she started taking me aside for little talks.”

  “I am familiar with such well-meant lectures,” John said. He couldn’t help but remember the advice Dorotheus had insisted on giving. It was not proper for a lady to converse in such manner with a slave. Yet how could a slave properly tell a lady that? To his dismay Anna plunged ahead.