by Mary Reed
Alba made no effort to sit on the stool in the corner. She remained standing in front of the lamp. Shadows obscured her pale face. John could not make out her age.
“I grew up at the court, Lord Chamberlain. I can feel when someone is gazing at my back. I remember you as a young man, when you worked for the Keeper of the Plate. I have only heard about your remarkable career since then. You haven’t changed much.”
A ghost of a smile formed on John’s lips. “Some might say otherwise.”
“The collector of rents told you I was here, didn’t she?”
John nodded. “You do not sound very pleased I have found you, Alba.”
“She is forever sending unfortunate souls to me, Lord Chamberlain. She implies that I can cure them. I suspect she collects a fee for her services.”
“Can you heal?”
“Only the Lord can heal the sick, as any Christian could tell you. I try to offer comfort. But you aren’t here to be healed or comforted.”
“No. However, I do hope you can help me. Are you acquainted with Menander?”
She nodded. “He is a neighbor. He also used to be at court.”
“Do you speak to him often?”
“I used to. Our families were banished a few months apart and we both came to live in the same building, which is how I made his acquaintance.”
“I’ve just come from his room. He lives in a remarkable fashion.”
“He refuses to accept the blessing the Lord has bestowed upon him.” Her tone was even, but John detected a sudden coldness.
“What blessing do you mean? The treasure trove he was able to take with him?”
“Hardly, Lord Chamberlain. I mean the banishment itself. It was a blessing, since it is more difficult for a rich man to attain heaven.”
Alba paused. “Yes, a blessing, for the Lord saw fit to clear away the obstacles along Menander’s path to eternal life. He cannot see that. He is blinded by the gold piled up around him. What value has gold, except that assigned to it by men? Yet its glare obscures the light of the Holy Word as surely as the lights of this man-made city hide the blazing celestial fires overhead. I can tell you understand. You must be a man of religion. And yet, you are a rich man.”
John did not deny it. He wondered what Alba would think of his spartan furnishings and lack of slaves. His simple tastes reflected his own nature. “Do you know anything about Menander?”
“We both received the same blessing. Now I care for the church, attend services, and offer my assistance to the poorest of the poor. He chose another path. I argued with him and prayed for his soul. That was a long time ago. I still pray for his soul.”
“And what path, exactly, did Menander choose?”
“The same that most at the palace tread. Menander was always a man who indulged his passions. I believe he gambles and who can say what other vices he has acquired. He frequents the theater.”
“He told you this?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve encountered him on the street from time to time. He’s often arriving home as I leave to go about my work, and insists on describing to me what he has seen. Things no Christian woman should even hear about. He has begun to revel in wickedness. When I protest, he tells me it is all make believe, visions if you like. Well, I’ve had visions myself, of saints and angels, and I am prepared to state that saints and angels do not appear on the stage in Constantinople!”
She paused for a moment, staring at John in a fixed fashion. “Lord Chamberlain, do you ever have visions?”
“Never, Alba. I obtain my knowledge of things by my senses and by questioning. Which is why I have sought you out. You doubtless recall the house in which I live?”
John felt her penetrating stare drop away. “Glykos the tax collector lived there,” she said.
“Did you know the family?”
“Only in passing. Comita was his wife’s name. I heard they had a daughter. She was born after I began my new life.”
“Did you see them after Glykos was executed?”
“Not very often. I had my own sorrows and we are always selfish about them, are we not? But I have occasionally run into Comita at the market. She looked very ill the last time we met. That was some years ago. She was trying to coax a farmer to part with a bunch of dried out beets for less than he was asking. He refused. You would have thought they were monstrous gems. Charity is often farther away from home than barbarous lands, I fear. I paid his asking price and we talked a little while. Comita told me she and her daughter were living with her late husband’s brother, a man called Opilio. A sausage maker. Forgive me, if I have said too much,” she murmured. “Why should someone from the palace express an interest after all these years? Has Justinian perhaps decided on a pardon?”
“No, Alba.”
He felt her stare on him again. “Are you certain you have not had visions, Lord Chamberlain?”
“I assure you I have not.”
“Visions are not always of saints and angels. Did you know I scrub the floors of the church? When I first knelt on the freezing tiles to begin the bitter labor to which I had been reduced—for so I considered it at the time—my knees were still smooth and unbruised and my hands uncalloused. The sun had not yet risen high enough to light the windows. Alone, in the dark, I pictured my friends at the palace, asleep at that hour in their soft, warm beds, as I should have been. I could have washed the floor with my tears…
“Then, I heard a voice. A whisper. By the time I realized I was hearing it, there was only the memory. What I remembered it said was this. ‘Rejoice for all is the Lord’s will…’
“I jumped up. My first thought was one of the workers who fill the lamps was mocking me. I saw shadows, the gray windows, the dim shapes of pillars…
“Then I noticed a faint gleam on the wall near where I had been working. A ray of lamplight slanted across a small icon of Elisabeth the Wonderworker. Oh, I did not know her at the time, but I made inquiries, as you can imagine…
“She was born of wealthy parents. When they died she gave away all her possessions and traveled to Constantinople to take up a monastic life and minister to the poor and the sick. How fortunate I was. Elisabeth had to choose to give up worldly things herself. My choice was made for me. It was Elisabeth who had spoken to me.”
Alba had turned slightly. Now the light illuminated her features in a soft mist. She was no youth, but her face appeared as unlined as that of a child.
“Perhaps, Alba, you were speaking to yourself?” John said in a gentle voice.
“No, Lord Chamberlain. It was Elisabeth. And how fitting it was. For at the end of her life, an icon of a saint on a church gate spoke and instructed her to prepare for her journey to heaven…
“For years I have looked to Elisabeth’s icon in the Church of the Mother of God and waited for her to speak again. I look forward to that day, because I believe the mosaic icon will speak when it is time for me to ascend to take my own place in heaven.”
She paused for a heartbeat. Her gaze did not waver from him. “Do you think me foolish, Lord Chamberlain, to expect a mosaic to talk? No, I can sense you do not.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Visions?”
“Visions!” John confirmed, taking off his boots.
Cornelia combed her hair. She was gazing toward the diamond panes of the window, in which John could make out her faint reflection as well as his own. Whether she was looking at herself or him in the dark glass he could not say.
Her thin linen tunica left her arms bare. John could see the movement of their firm muscles. She was as lithe as he remembered on their first meeting over twenty years earlier. Now there were sparkles of gray in her hair.
“And do you have visions, John?”
“Nightmares sometimes.”
“I don’t wonder. You need a better bed. You’d sleep more soundly.”
John lay down on the cotton-filled mattress. The bed frame creaked under his weight. It
was the same bed he had used since he moved into the house. He had never given it any thought before. Now that Cornelia had mentioned it, he could feel the lumpy cotton pressing uncomfortably against his bony frame.
He didn’t think his nightmares had anything to do with the bed.
“I wish you’d let go of this matter of the mosaic girl, John. From what you say, the poor dead woman must have been a common prostitute. It’s the sort of crime the City Prefect will solve, if it can be solved, and if it’s even considered worth pursuing. Life is cheap here. Look at the state of those boots! You’ve been venturing into places a Lord Chamberlain shouldn’t be going without a bodyguard.”
“Anatolius and Crinagoras accompanied me for part of the time,” John protested.
“Ha! It would’ve been you protecting them if it came to blade work.” Cornelia laid her ivory comb on the wooden chest below the window. “No matter how long I live in this city, I will never get used to it. So bright when seen from the sea, but full of darkness even at noon.”
“That’s true, and it’s something that I wish to address. Apart from this matter of the mosaic girl as you call it.”
“You know, when you were younger you wouldn’t be talking about girls, mosaic or otherwise, when we were alone in a room with a bed.”
John laughed. “Well, I may surprise you yet. But I am concerned for your safety, Cornelia. As you just pointed out, it isn’t wise to be walking the streets alone.”
“I’m only out during the day and I keep to well frequented places. I don’t wander down muddy alleyways. Or did you find some foul swamp to wade through?” She wrinkled her nose.
“I should have left my boots downstairs,” John admitted.
“Yes. Peter will be upset. But don’t worry about my safety. I’ve taken care of myself in Alexandria and—”
“Yes, but in all the other places you lived, you weren’t a member of the Lord Chamberlain’s household, as I have said before. Men in my position have enemies. Many enemies.”
Cornelia sat down on the bed beside him. John was aware of her perfume, faint as a memory of their days in Egypt, and the warmth where her hip touched his.
“I know you have enemies, John, but I find it hard to understand. It’s not as if you’re an ambitious man.”
John laughed. Odd as it sounded, she was right. “What further ambition could I possibly have?”
“You could crave still more power and more wealth. The empire isn’t enough for Justinian. He wants Italy back. He never has enough churches either. He keeps building more. Everyone has ambitions. And consider Anatolius. He aspires to write poetry for future generations.”
“That’s Crinagoras. Anatolius has turned his thoughts entirely toward the law.”
“You don’t believe that, do you? And consider Captain Felix. As high as his position is, wouldn’t he prefer to be leading an army on the battlefield?”
“Probably. When he joined the excubitors they were led by Justinian’s uncle Justin, a military man. Felix has always admired Justin. It’s true, though, my office came to me, rather than my seeking it out. However, whether I am ambitious or not, there are those who fear my power, or resent it, and have reason to do so.”
John patted the mattress beside him. “May I invite you to lie down?”
Cornelia settled into the curve of his arm. “No doubt,” he went on, “I am a threat to many at court. It’s no good looking at me like that. In serving the emperor I have harmed people, sometimes without realizing it. Others may believe I have deliberately harmed them, or might simply resent me for reasons known only to themselves. And any of these people might try to hurt me by hurting my family. Which is why you should have a guard when you go out. I will have to look into finding one.”
“But John, I was the one chiding you just now for going about unguarded. You see, we think alike. Who wants a guard underfoot all the time? As I was saying the other day, I’d like to see your private bath restored. Then I wouldn’t have to go out so often, would I?”
John smiled. “As it happens, I’ve traced the artisan responsible for the mosaics. Considering how lewd they are, they may require some modification in addition to repair.”
“I think not. They’re finely crafted and nothing is shown that would embarrass either of us. Peter could be instructed to avoid the room if it is offensive to him. I can clean it myself. And the hypocaust doesn’t function any more, except as a good place for rats to nest.”
“I will engage for someone to look at that also.” John brushed an errant gray hair away from Cornelia’s face. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
Chapter Sixteen
John wished to talk to Opilio, the sausage maker Alba had mentioned, but he decided to talk to Figulus first.
Although he had spoken with the mosaic maker about the repairs he desired, he had not made final arrangements and it seemed to John that investigations would be better served by giving Cornelia something pleasant to contemplate, rather than brooding on the possible dangers posed to him by looking into a murder. Then too, he supposed the refurbishment might serve as an apology to Cornelia for the obvious distress his investigations were causing her.
A servant asked John to wait in the doorway of the workshop. After a while Figulus’ wife appeared. John had not seen her during his initial visit. She was stout and her prematurely gray hair made her look too old to be carrying a red-faced whimpering infant under each arm. She was also exceedingly short, shorter than Figulus’ older boys, who were ostensibly poring over tesserae scattered across a work table but casting sidelong glances at the visitor.
John stated his business above the mewling of the squirming infants. The mosaic maker’s wife looked displeased. John couldn’t tell whether it was with him or the infants or both.
“I am afraid it is not possible to speak with Figulus right now,” the woman said. “He’s out on a job. Is it some…special…work you’re interested in?”
“Yes, I suppose you would call it that.”
The woman looked John up and down. Mostly up, given her stature. “I thought you might be one of…those customers.” She glanced over her shoulder and glared meaningfully at the boys, who complied with their mother’s unspoken order as slowly as they dared and slunk out of the workshop. “If you want to see some examples of the special work, it would be best to return during the evening, sir. We keep them locked up, because of the children.”
One of the infants swiped at John with a pudgy hand, fell far short, and reached out again. The other seemed more interested in trying to grab his mother’s hair.
“I’ve seen examples of the work,” John said. “In fact, they cover the walls of my bath. I’ve spoken to your husband about repairs. I merely need to make arrangements for it to be carried out.”
“I see…well…” Figulus’ wife slapped lightly at the fists of the reaching infant and then pushed the hands of the other away from her head. “You can find him right across the street from the law courts. He has an important commission there.”
***
“Yes, Lord Chamberlain, by the time I’ve finished this will be a lavatory fit for any magistrate or even the City Prefect himself.”
Figulus stepped down from the marble bench that ran the length of the long, narrow room. The openings in the bench had been covered with boards. Several workmen were busy in a far corner, making a blue sky, or perhaps a sea, out of tesserae. The smell of wet plaster almost masked the usual odors.
“I am to do the more detailed work,” Figulus explained. “The magistrate who hired me specified that in particular.”
“Will these pictures change their character with the light?” John asked.
“Oh, no. The magistrate simply wanted a more attractive place for lawyers to deliberate. You know how uninspiring these public lavatories can be.”
John did not mention he avoided such facilities whenever possible.
He saw that the work was half comple
ted. The theme was classical. There was Hercules cleaning the stables. Next to him Sisyphus rolled his stone up the mountain.
The mosaics were an improvement on the graffiti scratched into the unfinished walls. No doubt many of the witticisms involved lawyers and magistrates or Theodora, or all three. Presumably the glass tesserae would be more difficult to deface.
“Most impressive,” John remarked politely.
Figulus beamed. “Thank you, excellency. I am hoping that citizens will feel an urgency as they pass by at the very thought of what awaits them in here.”
“Doubtless more than a few citizens on their way to the courts will feel the need to stop and admire your workmanship, Figulus. Now, I trust you will have time to for those repairs I asked about?”
“I can spare a few days and one or two workers right away and meantime I have some experienced men I can trust to carry on creating the clouds and mountains here.”
“Your business appears to be thriving.”
“The Lord has been generous to me,” the mosaic maker said with a smile.
“Your wife seemed to think I was a customer of another sort.”
Figulus stopped smiling. “What do you mean?”
“She thought I had come to look at some special work of yours. I suspect the sort akin to that on my walls. Do you have much call for that sort of work?”
“Only as is necessary, Lord Chamberlain. It pays well and I have expenses. My understanding was that you were not interested in work of that nature?”
“I am not. Simply curious.”
Figulus’ smile returned, but it did not appear very convincing. “Very well then. When would you like me to start on your bath?”
***
Opilio’s shop was not far from the courts. John bent his head to avoid the sign that graphically declared the wares for sale within. Cut into the shape of a giant sausage, it jutted far out into the colonnade, almost certainly in contravention of the ordinances. It looked as if the sign maker had repainted something intended for a brothel. Or perhaps it merely appeared that way to John thanks to a sleepless night. He could not shrug off such nights as easily as when he was younger.