Four for a Boy Page 9

  Chapter Ten

  The broad-shouldered and highly perfumed man who answered Felix’s rap at Madame Isis’ door took the excubitor’s sword and the short blade that John carried before allowing them inside.

  The day had been long and fruitless. Felix had finally suggested they come here. “There’s more information to be found at Isis’ place than there is marble on Proconnesus,” he’d said.

  The atrium’s floor, with its intricate scenes of entwined carnality, left no doubt as to what sort of establishment they had just entered. It was equally obvious by his accent, curly beard, and long, wavy hair that its doorkeeper was Persian. For John, the Persian and the erotic mosaic created a painful juxtaposition.

  “We’re here for some wine and conversation, Darius.” As Felix spoke a girl dressed in white, hair crowned with a chaplet of interwoven flowers, rose gracefully from a gilded couch that sat beside a statue of Venus in the embrace of Mars. She padded toward them on bare feet.

  Felix frowned. “I don’t have the coins for more right now, I fear. They’re right when they say if you don’t have a nummus for a sausage it’s better not to be hungry!”

  “Well, Darius, it seems we have been favored by a visit of two gentlemen from court.” The girl smiled sweetly at John and Felix, and then raked them with a shrewd, appraising glance.

  “In this instance I fear we have arrived to see Madam Isis, not you, Hunila.”

  The girl pouted. “Oh, Felix, it’s been ages since I entertained you. When are they going to raise your wages?”

  The girl looked down to the floor and following her gaze John saw she was expertly caressing one of the mosaic’s naked figures there with her bare toe. She looked up expectantly at John. “And who’s this handsome friend of yours?”

  “John. He’s a slave. Assisting me.” “I will ask madam if she can see you.” Darius moved away quietly. John saw he was wearing soft yellow slippers.

  “As far as that goes,” Hunila said, “we make no distinctions here, although I can think of a few of my clients who would be horrified to learn I’ve also occasionally entertained their servants. There again, who’s going to tell them?”

  Felix observed that they would certainly not reveal anything. “I’m certain we can trust your professional discretion as well. Even though I’m sure there are plenty of interesting stories you could tell.”

  Hunila’s face suffused with such anger that the flush on her cheeks showed through her fashionable white makeup. “Interesting? Ugly, more like it! If it hadn’t been for Darius we would have had a very bad incident the other night. Three boys from one of those idiotic factions showed up in the small hours. Not that madam minds since she just charges them extra for keeping us up late.”

  Felix guffawed at such business acumen.

  The girl glared at him. “Unfortunately they objected to paying a little extra for the inconvenience. You know how they are, dressed so richly but generally with about as much wealth as starving dogs. And the manners of starving dogs. Anyway, they decided to take what they wanted for nothing. Just as they’d probably stolen their fine clothing. Darius tossed them out. I thought madam would be annoyed to lose clients, but she just patted him on his shoulder and thanked him for his efforts.” Felix turned to John. “Darius has been with Isis ever since she set up this house. Beautiful place, isn’t it?”

  “It’s certainly very well appointed.” John didn’t add that the dizzyingly detailed floors, plush wall hangings, decorative columns, and the gilt glittering from every nook and cranny did not match his Spartan tastes. He studied the statue of Venus and Mars, who, in contrast to the white-faced girl, had been painted in warmly realistic flesh tones.

  “Would you like to see my room? I have a very interesting fresco.” Hunila favored John with a sly smile that he guessed was as contrived as the expressions on the statue a few paces away.

  “He’s no use to you,” Felix cut in. “Here’s Darius to take us to see Isis. I’ll try and visit you soon, Hunila.”

  Isis was perched on an ivory stool in front of the window of her private sitting room. Sunlight delineated the delicate features of an olive-skinned young woman arranging her employer’s long, glossy black hair.

  To John’s chagrin the Persian doorkeeper formally announced them as the excubitor Felix and the slave John.

  Isis welcomed them warmly. As she spoke, her hairdresser swept the last stray, raven locks into a tight coil and deftly secured them with a jeweled hair pin. She handed Isis a mirror.

  “It is done, madam,” the girl said softly in Egyptian, Isis’ native language.

  Isis complimented the woman on her efforts. “Take a few sweetmeats and share them with the other girls.”

  The servant took the proffered bowl, gave a small bow and departed.

  “Isn’t she a treasure? Not only wonderful at arranging my hair, but an excellent cook. I was lucky to be able to buy both her and her mother at a reduced price.”

  It was the sort of comment John heard every day. It reminded him he was a chattel that could be purchased by even a well-to-do whore. His jaw clenched. Their sharp-eyed hostess noticed the tiny movement.

  “John, let me tell you that I was once a slave myself. There’s no shame in it. And it’s not too long since I scraped up enough to buy my freedom although it took a year or two longer to be able to set myself up in business. Who knows what Hemsut has in store for any of us? Until you find out, sit down and have some wine. In my house all are equal.”

  Felix dropped onto an overstuffed couch and helped himself to wine from an intricately engraved silver vessel that would not have looked out of place on the emperor’s table. “I’ll wager you’re wondering how I know Isis, beyond the obvious. She keeps me informed of what’s going on behind the emperor’s back. I make sure her establishment isn’t overlooked by interested parties at court who might like some female companionship.”

  “And when you succeed in sending me clients with heavy coin purses who also happen to know what’s going on behind the emperor’s back, the better for both of us!” Isis commented. “Information is a valuable commodity in this city, John. As you are learning. Here, have a splash of wine.” John accepted a cup and sat next to Felix.

  Isis poured herself a libation. “And now, my friends, a toast. To the health of Emperor Justin and to his nephew Justinian.”

  “I shall drink to half of that!” Felix replied.

  Isis smiled at Felix and then cursed him for his stupidity with a string of Egyptian epithets that would have burned the ears off the Sphinx.

  “Is that another of those melodious poems from your native land, Isis?” Felix inquired.

  John’s eyes had widened at the unexpected phrases. Isis pointed a ring-encircled finger at him. “You understood what I said! You speak Egyptian, don’t you?”

  John admitted it was so in Isis’ native language.

  “You have a passable accent. How long is it since you were there?” Isis began chattering away happily.

  Felix looked at his companions in confusion. “Isis, you amaze me. We’ve been here a very short time and already you’ve found out something about this man’s mysterious background. You certainly take a keen interest in the lives of your visitors as well as your clients!”

  “That’s because my clients and visitors have such interesting lives, Felix,” Isis laughed. She was an attractive woman, John thought, although in that soft, rounded way that had never much appealed to him. “Now John, when were you last in Egypt?”

  “It is some years since I left, madam.”

  “And you lived where?”

  “Alexandria.”

  “Oh, but Hemsut has been kind today.” Isis clasped her hands in front of her ample bosom. “I too lived there before I came to Constantinople. I hope to see Alexandria again when I am able to retire. That will be few more years yet. Yes, it will be good to live there again. Do you not long for those bottomless skies? Soft nights with st
ars as bright as the gems on an empress’ robes. The Nile flooding in the spring until nothing remains of the land but the cities, rising above the water like islands in the Sea of Marmara.”

  John gave a thin smile. “I think of Egypt often, madam. Unfortunately my master requires my constant attendance at court.”

  “Yes. How thoughtless of me. I apologize.” She reached over and patted John’s knee. “What does your friend Felix want to know?”

  Felix frowned at the two whose conversation, in Egyptian, had been indecipherable to him. “I hope you’re not busy plotting, Isis. If you’re going to talk about me, can’t you speak in Greek?”

  “Of course.” Isis refilled his cup and pushed a tray of dried apples toward him. “What do you seek?”

  Felix took a hearty swallow of wine. His eyes looked unfocussed. “We’re interested in anything you might have heard from your girls about the Blues.” He described the distinctive young man John had observed fleeing after Hypatius’ death.

  Isis shook her head. “Nobody like that has been here, Felix. It sounds as if even Darius would have had his hands full if such a man had visited.”

  “He was larger even than your doorkeeper,” said John. “But we hear you’ve had problems with other Blues?”

  Isis muttered a ripe curse under her breath. “Yes, we have. I am contemplating barring them from my house since lately they have been more trouble than their money is worth. It’s my opinion that Justinian lets them get away with murder because of Theodora’s affection for them. Not that I can blame her.”

  John asked Isis if she had a particular reason for her opinion.

  “You’ve probably heard that her father was a bearkeeper for the Greens and that when he died, her mother remarried. Theodora’s stepfather hoped to keep the bearkeeper’s job in the family, but the Greens turned him out. They condemned the whole family to poverty, because the father’s fate is the family’s fate. It was a terrible act. Unforgivable. Theodora and her two sisters were very young. Luckily the Blues were willing to employ the man and so her family was saved. I can appreciate Theodora’s feelings perfectly. If for some reason someone had to step in and save my girls, I would be eternally grateful to them as well.”

  “Few in this city share Theodora’s gratitude toward the Blues,” put in Felix.

  “True enough. But while none of us wants a blade in the ribs, I’d say the empire has more to fear from the Gourd than dim-witted young men parading around in outlandish clothing.”

  Felix squeezed his eyes shut. John wondered if he was thinking hard or trying to conquer an impression that the room was spinning. Isis had already refilled the excubitor’s cup more than once.

  “John was treated to a fascinating spectacle the night of the last riot,” the excubitor finally said. “I was keeping the statuary in the Gourd’s garden in line so I missed the show. From what John told me I begin to wonder if the Gourd really does practice magick, as many say.”

  “They say it in whispers, surely?” was Isis’ tart reply. “And what was this astonishing spectacle?”

  John quickly related the scene he had witnessed at the Gourd’s dinner party. Isis, chewing on a segment of dried apple, considered the information, then ventured the comment that nothing would surprise her with the Gourd. More importantly, what dishes had he served to his guests?

  Mystified, John described the various courses he had seen.

  “I am always looking for something new in the culinary line to offer my clients. I don’t think those baked gourds you described would do. However, I’ve had an inspired idea. What do you think of this? I shall redecorate my house in the style of Sobek, the crocodile god!”

  “Sounds very exotic to me.” Felix’s speech was slurred. “Though when visiting a girl, how much notice does anyone take of the surroundings? What did you say? Crocodile god? That might keep the Blues away and everyone else as well!”

  “Oh, Felix, it would all be in jest!”

  “A toast to whatshisname then, the god of Egypt.” Felix spoke too loudly. He helped himself to yet more wine.

  John set his own cup down. It was always wise to keep a clear head. He wondered if he’d have to carry the burly excubitor back to his barracks.

  ***

  On their way out, Felix fumbled his sword as Darius returned it. The sun’s early promise had proved to be as reliable as that of a man of law. The wind was sweeping in from sea, swirling around corners and throwing dust into pedestrians’ eyes. John hoped its chilly fingers would revive his companion.

  As the two men stood outside Isis’ house several others hurried up, paused as they drew abreast, and then quickened their pace to go by, faces averted. John suggested it would be better if they moved away from Isis’ door since their presence there was obviously affecting possible clients.

  Felix, however, planted his boots stolidly, leaned against the wall and contemplated the sky, evidently seeking inspiration.

  “I’m not certain where we should inquire next,” he finally announced, scratching his chin.

  He appeared to John to be in no condition to make further inquiries. “As I suggested earlier, we should try to establish who might have an interest in engaging someone to do away with Hypatius.”

  “And what authority have we been granted to question the sort of people who can hire others to do such murderous tasks?”

  “None, strangely enough given the circumstances,” John admitted. “However, I think it would be the best—”

  “And who are you to be giving orders?”

  “I am trying to cooperate as ordered.”

  “Well, I’m willing to listen to sensible suggestions.” Felix spoke thickly.

  “We certainly can’t find the culprits by sitting around and drinking.”

  Felix took a lurching step forward. “Watch your tongue, slave, or I’ll give you a thrashing you won’t soon forget!”

  Slave! The insult was a spark to the anger that permeated John’s being like oil in a lamp wick. A raven’s wing of darkness beat across his eyes and a roaring akin to breaking waves filled his ears.

  Felix seemed unaware of his companion’s anger. “You dare to insult one of the emperor’s bodyguard?” he went on. “You. A slave! And a eunuch at that!”

  John’s fists clenched. The muscles in his arms tightened.

  With an effort he stopped himself from lashing out.

  A terrible heat rushed up around him as he looked at the excubitor, swaying, splay legged and glassy eyed. An easy target.

  John reminded himself he was not free to defend honor he did not possess. Were he to strike Felix, he would be destroyed like a defective tool.

  Not that that possibility concerned him, for it would mean a merciful end to the undesired, phantom existence into which he had been cast.

  But how then could he find those shadowy enemies who seemed to be menacing Senator Opimius and his daughter, Lady Anna?

  “What, you’re not going to fight? At least pretend to be a man.” Felix took a unsteady step toward John and fell forward.

  John caught him. “Come on, Felix,” he said. “Perhaps we can get you into the barracks without your captain noticing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you know, Proclus, I sometimes wish I were still Captain of the Excubitors. It’s a more straight-forward job than this emperor business. I should have refused the crown, especially since the Master of Offices was eager enough to wear it.”

  Justin shifted uncomfortably on the marble bench in an instinctive but vain attempt to relieve the ever-present pain of his wound. He did not look at his quaestor. Instead, he stared out into the night, across the sunken garden he had insisted they visit.

  “It was you for whom the crowds in the Hippodrome roared, Caesar,” Proclus replied smoothly, “and the empire would have been the poorer had you not acceded to the public will.”

  “The empire got on perfectly adequately without me for several centu
ries. It will manage just as well when I’m gone. Each journey I take is more difficult. I wonder if this will be the last time I see this place?”

  “You mused about the same thing only two weeks ago, Caesar,” Proclus pointed out. They had descended several terraces in the palace grounds, down precipitous staircases and along twisting paths meandering between groves of dark cypresses.

  Their winding way took them to a long colonnade whose pillars were embraced by climbing plants, leafless in this dead season. The sylvan retreat was fitted with benches and faced a marble fountain whose wind-blown jet dared sprinkle droplets on the ruler of the empire as the small procession passed by.

  Justin produced a key, opened a low door in the far corner of the colonnade, and thus they had come at last to this concealed garden.

  Hemmed in by the blank back of the colonnade and two tall brick retaining walls, the narrow, enclosed space held its secrets fast among the cascading vines and trailing bushes spilling down in thick profusion from plantings on the terrace towering above its fourth side. The trees faintly silhouetted on the level above them might have been floating in the starry sky.

  Justin’s attendants, breathing as heavily as the emperor, had lowered him to the bench and, on his curt order, departed to the other side of the colonnade door.

  “This garden was Euphemia’s notion,” Justin said. “A private place kept only for us, away from prying eyes and ears. We often came here at night. It’s a good place to talk, and sometimes even…yes…” A reminiscent smile lightened his broad, ruddy face.

  Proclus observed that the imperial living quarters offered more warmth, not to mention comfort, on this cold night and pointedly suggested that Justin might be more comfortable there rather than sitting in a cold, dark garden.