by Albert Noyer
The matron used a thumbnail to crack open a blue wax seal, with the embossed initials ÀPA on a vellum sheet, with its edges dyed purple, then read, "'Our Serenity, Aelia Pulcheria Augusta, in happy acknowledgement of the request of His Steadfastness, Petrus Chrysologos, Archbishop of Ravenna, desires that Maria Anicia Aemiliana and Melodia Cloelia Vibulana, should visit Us'."
"Wonderful!" Melodia exclaimed. "Pulcheria will meet with us."
"Not only us. Let me finish, 'Our Serenity further desires that Arcadia Asteria, wife of the physician of our esteemed Aunt, Galla Placidia Augusta, should accompany Our two guests to the Pulcheriana'."
"Me?" Arcadia asked in surprise. "The emperor's sister wants me to go with both of you?"
Maria nodded and smiled. "My dear, I'm so pleased."
"Fine, Domina," Getorius interposed, "but isn't Pulcheria Augusta also asking me, Arcadia's husband, to go with her?"
"Surgeon, I'm afraid not," Maria replied.
Getorius demanded, "Herakles, what is this 'Pulcheriana' she mentions?"
"Asterios, it is one of the private villas of the Augusta that takes up much of Region Fourteen."
"Fourteen? Where is that, how far from here?"
Arcadia touched her husband's sleeve. "Don't be upset. It's an honor for me to be invited."
"How did Pulcheria even know that you're here, or your name?" he demanded. "Mine, for that matter?"
Herakles gestured with a lamb shank, "Asterios, did you not just tell me about the incident on the Mèsé?"
"You mean the woman in the litter chair may have been Pulcheria?"
The guide grinned as he parodied himself. "Be honest, Asterios. Have you another explanation?"
"No," Getorius admitted. "How will the women get to this villa? When?"
Maria handed him the vellum. "Surgeon, the Augusta goes on to say that she will send a carriage for us in the morning, at the fourth hour."
"May I see?" Tranquillus asked. After reading the message, he marveled, "I'm astounded. An imperial audience usually takes much longer to arrange. Isn't that what you told us, Herakles?"
"Aelia Pulcheria has a mind no man can fathom, not even the Basileus. Yet this is very strange. Very strange."
"Heraklete, how come they don't have beer?" Fuscus interrupted. He had eaten everything on his plate and the conversation bored him. "What's the sweet course?"
"A date-filled pastry cooked in honey," the guide told him, then stood up and went to the wine table to avoid further questions.
"Husband," Arcadia whispered, "why would Herakles be upset over my invitation?"
"Perhaps he counted on extra income for 'expediting' an audience with Pulcheria." Getorius drained a cup of Ascalon wine and wiped his lips on a napkin. "Cara, if you're finished, let's go to our room. It's getting dusk outside and the city's street torches should be lighted."
The couple excused themselves. Basina and Fuscus stayed behind to fill up on the sweet course. Maria and Melodia chatted excitedly about their forthcoming meeting with Pulcheria. Hermias stayed with his mistress, but Flavius Bobo left the table, looking dejected as he went outside.
The October evening air was balmy, when Getorius and Arcadia stepped out onto their balcony in a bluish twilight. As civic watch members went about lighting lanterns and torches, yellow dots flickered around the hippodrome, yet the dark bulk of the racecourse itself resembled a dead whale that had washed up on Ravenna's beaches. Palace buildings were ablaze with lanterns and torches; even garden paths that led down toward the villas twinkled like misplaced orange stars. A delicate odor of flowers alternated with that of fish from an indigo-blue Bosporus that sparkled with the lanterns of fishing boats riding at anchor.
"Tired, cara?"
Arcadia nodded. "But I don't feel like going to bed just yet."
"No, the evening is just too beautiful."
"Are you still upset?"
"Over Pulcheria's invitation?" Getorius pulled her close. "Cara, it took me by surprise, just as it did you, yet the widows did say they were planning to endow a church at Pergamum. They'll need imperial permission to do so, and I suppose that will be discussed with the Augusta. Asking you to come was a fortunate courtesy."
"You're probably right. Getorius, I'm intrigued by that healing center the widows mentioned."
"The Asklepion?"
"Yes. Could we go with them to see it?"
"To Pergamum? We came here to look at medical manuscripts, remember, Arcadia?"
"What better research than to experience the actual healing of the sick?" she asked. "You could write a whole treatise on Basina Bobo alone."
Both laughed at the thought before Getorius commented, "An unpleasant woman whom I'd call a 'hyper-chondriac, she's so overt about her imagined illnesses."
"I'm sorry for her poor husband."
"Yet Flavius Bobo seems to dote on her."
"Strange. Getorius, do you feel any better now about Herakles being our guide?"
He shrugged cautious assent. "You were right, Arcadia, and who knows where we'd be without him. He's found us this mansio and can save me time in locating libraries. In fact, that's where I'll go tomorrow, while you're away."
The couple lingered on the balcony until the last streak of orange horizon had been absorbed into an indigo sky. When the distant voice of a watch crier carried up to them, announcing the beginning of the third night hour, Arcadia asked her husband to look in on Brisios, then went inside their room to arrange her hair for the night.
The relatively peaceful evening had been a contrast to the savage baton swings of the senator's servant that afternoon, and the silent, revealing blood stains on the arena sands. But, then, at Ravenna both had experienced harassment and violent deaths. Arcadia took a final glance in her mirror before massaging rose-scented palm oil on her face and arms. How will the Eastern Augusta react to the unforeseen presence of a Barbaroma, who isn't wealthy and shows up for an imperial audience in a very badly wrinkled tunic?
CHAPTER IV
In the morning, Getorius was first to rise. He tucked the brown and white sheep-skin bed covers over Arcadia's shoulders, to let her sleep longer, then went out on the balcony and watched the sun ascend over the Bosporus and distant Asian mainland. Backed by gently rolling hills, two settlements dotted the strait's eastern shore, where a cluster of white buildings and docks spread out at a northern curve of land. A smaller village and harbor lay slightly to the south. Beyond Constantinople's sea walls, fishing boats undulated on the dark-blue water; mewing gulls swooped down to quarrel over scraps thrown overboard. One of the empty grain carriers slipped between the fishing craft, bearing south from the Euxine Sea. From studying Ptolemaic maps in Ravenna's palace library, Getorius recalled that the inland Euxine stretched north beyond its connecting Bosporus. Surrounding this far northeast boundary of the Roman Empire, were the lands of Hun and Bulgar tribes.
In the sun's warming rays, pigeons preened themselves on the hippodrome's long walls and the terra cotta palace roofs. North of the complex, a trio of deserted temples ranged along the crest of an acropolis, but no smoke swirled from morning sacrifices on altars in front of their stairs. Getorius thought of Theodosius, the Eastern Basileus, why not use Herakles's term for the emperor, who was somewhere inside his palace or walking in the gardens, before beginning the daily routine of governing. Hopefully, he's a more competent man than than our Valentinian.
"Getorius."
He turned at Arcadia's voice. She stood in the doorway wearing a short night tunic, barefoot, and seductively flushed from sleep. Even the glimpse of her bare legs aroused him. What if we went back to bed and.
"Getorius," she repeated, "did you hear that loud moaning in the night?"
His wife's question did nothing to distract him from the thought of making love. I was half-hoping you hadn't."
"At first I believed someone was ill, then realized it was a woman in a nearby room experiencing the, the, well, the orgasm of a lifetime! She sounded like Basina Bobo."
"With Flavius?" Getorius scoffed. "I don't think the little man has it in him."
"It didn't have to be her husband."
"Hermias?"
Arcadia cocked her head as she scratched an arm. "Basina's slave is obviously in charge of more than her medicines. Do you notice those dove-eyes the woman makes every time she talks to him?"
Getorius chuckled at the thought. "So you think it was 'Hermias-induced'?"
"Possibly. Husband, am I, ah, missing out on something?"
"What?" Getorius glanced up sharply at her. "What are you implying?"
Arcadia laughed and came over to kiss his cheek. "I'm teasing you. You're very satisfactory in bed. Let's get dressed now and and go downstairs to ask how well the others slept. And see if Basina Bobo even shows up."
"She will if there's food to be eaten," Getorius quipped.
Brisios waited by their door as the couple left for the dining room. "Mistress," he told Arcadia, "I found a fuller's shop that will press your tunics."
"That's very thoughtful, Brisios, and I'll need one in about an hour. Let me go back in our room and bring you the one I'll wear."
While he waited, Getorius told the slave, "Get something to eat after your Mistress comes back."
"I will, Master, with the kitchen staff."
"Good." What kind of a conversation can I have with a slave?We've only spoken about his work. "Ah, did you sleep well?"
"I did, Master."
I'd prefer if he didn't call me that all the time, but I've never considered an alternate form. Just 'Surgeon,' perhaps? "Ah, Brisios, where is this fuller's shop?"
"A place in the wide street, on the way to the baths."
"So you did go to enjoy the water?"
"I did, Master."
"I see. Good." What is the matter with me? I have no trouble talking to patients. Where in Hades's name is Arcadia? "Brisios, let me go hurry your mistress along. She can't be late in visiting the emperor's sister."
"Master, I'll wait here."
Getorius found his wife shaking wrinkles out of tunics she had brought on the voyage. She held up one for him. "This is what I'll wear, and take along the palla I've kept with me since leaving Herakleia."
"Fine, I always liked that tunic with the Celtic designs at the neck and sleeves."
"Not too barbarian looking?"
He kissed her neck. "Cara, your beauty, barbarian or otherwise, will dazzle Pulcheria's court."
"Flatterer. For jewelry I'll wear my chain with the gold coin showing both emperors Valentinian and Theodosius together."
"Good politics. I'll give the tunic to Brisios and we can go to breakfast."
The dining room smelled of freshly baked breads in baskets on each table. The side counter was set with pots of olives, chunks of smoked fish, sausages, boiled eggs, cheese, and dishes of olive oil. Pitchers of a sourish milk drink were available for local guests used to the taste. At the counter, a woman brewed cups of a hot drink made from the same black leaves that Zhang Chen had brought to Ravenna.
Spurius Fuscus, the only person at their table, gestured with a piece of bread. "Over here, Getrus."
Shelling a boiled egg and adding the white bits to a mound of olive pits next to his plate, Fuscus ignored Arcadia as she sat down. She noticed he had not brought a napkin as other diners had; greasy stains spotted his tunic where he wiped his fingers.
"Getrus, what we doing today?" Fuscus asked through a mouthful of egg. The builder's questions always seemed to be in the tone of a demand, a habit undoubtedly left over from ordering his construction slaves around.
Getorius placed a portion of each food on a plate for his wife. "Herakles said he would show us the sights of Constantinople, Fuscus, but I'm going to find a library while Arcadia is gone."
"Gone? Where to?"
Arcadia replied, "I've been invited to visit the sister of the emperor with the two widows."
"Getrus, where is Heraklete?" Fuscus asked as if he had not heard her. "I got complaints about that room he gave me."
"What's wrong with it?" Arcadia countered. "Ours is quite nice."
"Too far from the latrines for one thing. Don't like the view." Fuscus stopped, scowling as he looked across the room. "Caco, here's that bitchy woman again."
Basina Bobo hobbled in with her arm still in the sling, but without Hermias. She leaned on her husband to complain about the slave, "That stupid Greek slave. I ask him for a simple massage and he practically breaks my shoulder."
Flavius tried to soothe her anger. "Now, dulceda, I'm sure Hermias didn't mean any harm."
"Stupid Greek," she muttered at the table. "Bobo, hold my chair out for me."
While Basina helped herself to several bread rolls with her good hand, Arcadia asked, "Did you sleep well, Domina?"
"No! All I heard all night was stupid wagon noise outside my window."
Arcadia winked at Getorius. "All night? We didn't hear a thing."
Basina ignored her. "Where's that stupid guide? I want a different room. Bobo, you tell that to what's-his-name."
"Of course, Dulceda, when I see Herakles."
Getorius decided to distract the man from his wife's nagging. "Flavius, you said you're from Arminium. Are you a merchant there?"
"He cleans sewers," Basina taunted through a mouthful of bread.
"Dulceda, I don't actually clean them myself," Flavius corrected with a touch of annoyance. "My business has a contract with the town councilors."
Basina spit an olive pit on the floor. "My father was an important Frankish chieftain."
Flavius's expression stiffened. "So you've reminded me ever since we married."
Basina looked past her husband to fix her stare on Getorius. "You. You're supposed to be a surgeon. What can you do to help my shoulder?"
"There's Herakles," Arcadia exclaimed, pleased to steer conversation away from the woman's ailments.
The guide had on a short tunic with a blue ribbon sewn near one shoulder. New leather boots were laced up to mid-calf. He looked tired, yet greeted everyone cheerfully.
"Kalimera sas, good morning! This will be beautiful day. You all slept well?"
"Very well," Arcadia interjected before Basina and Fuscus could begin complaining. "I'm curious, what is that ribbon you're wearing?"
Herakles pulled the tunic shoulder away to show the emblem. "I favor Blues, one of our four chariot racing teams or factions, if you will."
"Racing teams?" Fuscus stopped chewing. "Heraclete, I want to see a race. Is there one today?"
"In the afternoon."
"Hear that?" Fuscus scowled at Basina. "Flavius, you come with me. Do you good to get away from her complaining."
"He isn't going anywhere without me," Basina emphasized, "and I'm not watching smelly horses drag carts around in a circle."
Fuscus insisted, "If you ask me, he needs to get away from you. Never heard nothing like your bitching."
"What? Listen, you. My father would have put your sorry ass in chains for talking to me like that. Bobo! Are you just going to sit there and let him talk like that"
"Now, du..dulceda," he stammered in embarrassment.
She snapped. "Don't you 'dulceda' me, you half-man."
"Parakalo, parakalo," Herakles interjected. "You will please, every one, finish meal, then we meet in the garden to talk about our day."
Fuscus muttered, "Canicula, ittle bitch," and stood up to go pour himself more wine.
"Turd!" Basina called after him and continued eating. A red-faced Flavius reached for a crusty roll, then dropped it, his hand visibly shaking.
Getorius turned to Herakles. "I haven't seen the two widows this morning."
"Asterios, the ladies went out early to visit Hagia Sophia, the church of Theodosius that replaced Constantine's basilica."
"I'd like to see it too," Arcadia said. "Do we have time before Pulcheria's carriage arrives?"
"Domina, it is just over two miles to the Pulcheriana. You now have over an hour."
"I will arrange it, Asterios. I join you in a quick breakfast, then tell you the way to Hagia Sophia."
After Getorius and Arcadia went outside with the guide, he explained that the church dedicated to Holy Wisdom was past the Milarion and just beyond a basilica where public business and trials were held. The Augusteion and a senate building were nearby. The former was an open square where citizens gathered to protest government policies, or be heard on matters of importance to them. The route passed the Chalke Gate, a main entrance to the Great Palace from the Mèsé.
The couple found Maria and Melodia sitting on a bench in Hagia Sophia's entrance court, a space planted with chestnut trees. Spiked hulls and fallen leaves littered the paving, releasing a pleasant autumn smell in the warming sun.
"Good morning," Maria called out to them. "The church is magnificent and you must look inside."
"We're going back for breakfast," Melodia added, "then rest a bit before leaving for Pulcheria's. Our travels have been so tiring."
"I don't wonder," Arcadia said, "Ravenna to the Holy Land, and then to Constantinople. I'll go back to the Nova Roma too, but we want to see the inside the church."
Getorius told her, "I'll come in after I first look over the entrance architecture."
The marble portico was similar to that of a temple: a porch extending from the entry had an arched pediment sheltering a pair of gilt doors that opened into a broad narthex. Getorius entered the interior, which smelled of incense, a resinous odor that permeated the bricks and become as much part of the structure as the mortar holding them in place. Inside the nave, morning light flooded down from clerestory windows above the side aisles and splashed onto colorful marble flooring. A golden curtain could be drawn over the entrance during liturgies. Overhead, a constellation of brass oil lamps, outnumbering those in Ravenna's main basilica, hung from a gilt, coffered ceiling.
A stairway leading to a space above the aisles was labeled "Women's Gallery." Except for that segregated area, Hagia Sophia was a larger and more opulent version of Ravenna's basilican Church of John the Baptist.
Arcadia's voice calling to her husband from the apse, echoed back to him. "Look at these six pillars and the iron grillwork on each side of these stairs. They seem a barrier between the altar and people."