by Albert Noyer
"I suppose that was an unusual request, but, yes, I'll be glad to have Brisios near us. I recall too clearly the bandit who tried to get into our room at Classis."
"Kalos." Arcadia laughed. "I should start using what Greek I still remember."
"Which is more than I know. I'll find a book vendor tomorrow and ask if there's a small phrase book in the language."
Arcadia noted the position of the sun. "Getorius, it's still early. I'd like to explore that street I saw that's only a block from here."
"Aren't you too tired?"
"No, only excited to be here."
"I suppose it would be all right. If this city is laid out in a grid pattern like most in Italy, we really can't get lost. I'll ask the clerk downstairs about that street."
She picked up her shawl and reminded him, "Bring that case with Placidia's authorization."
Fabius, the registration clerk, was in a small office off the atrium hallway. He spoke excellent Latin and said that despite the city's largely Greek-speaking population Latin was the language of Constantinople. Most tradesmen understood it. After all, he added in a haughty tone, the city's citizens were as much Romaioi...Romans...as those living in the ancient capital on the Tiber.
The avenue Arcadia wanted to see was the Mèsé, the city's main east-west thoroughfare. Fabius explained that the Forum of Constantine, a Milarion column, marking mile distances from Constantinople to other major cities in the east, the hippodrome, and nearest public baths were to the right of the palace. To the left were shops and, farther down, a forum of Theodosius. The clerk told them to look for bargains in glaesum, a translucent, brownish gem that Arab import dealers called anbar.
The Mésè, a paved avenue twice as broad as the Via Armini at Ravenna, stretched off to the west. Covered arcades above the sidewalks on both sides were decorated with sculptures. Arcadia noted that the street had hardly any gutter filth, even though shambling camels shared the roadway with mule-drawn wagons and donkey carts. The walks were fairly well crowded, mostly with men; only a few women shopped with slave attendants. Clusters of storefront vendors selling the same goods opened up into large rooms where tables displayed the merchandise. The areas smelled of colorful spices in open baskets. Pepper, cinnamon, saffron and cumin, but odors of tanned leather goods and salted and dried fish added to the variegated smells. Shop merchants were well-dressed, in contrast to shabbier vendors peddling assorted items on the walkway under the portico. They called out their wares to passersby in a bored, repetitious monotone.
At one shop, a turbaned owner with swarthy features and a meticulously trimmed beard hurried out, his face creased with a professional smile. "Ah, sir," he said pleasantly, planting himself in front of Getorius. "Last night I had a dream of you."
"Not again," Arcadia sighed, recalling Herakles. "Not another dream."
Getorius humored the man. "Really? What was your dream?"
"Sir, I saw you come into my shop and buy a golden present for the beauteous lady with you."
Getorius looked past him toward trays of expensive gold jewelry. "We...we've just arrived in...in the city," he stammered. "We'll come back later."
"Later." The merchant's smile evaporated. "Sir, I hear 'later' a hundred times a day. You will return later and all will be sold. Come look over my bargains...."
Shouts coming from the arcade a short distance away interrupted the goldsmith's offer. Getorius glanced back: a well-dressed slave, walking in front of a man riding a white stallion, swung a heavy baton from side to side. "Make way!" he shouted. "Make way for the illustrious Senator Libanius! Make way, there."
As the crier turned resentful people aside, the senator clucked his mount off the street and onto the portico walkway. A wagon had broken its axle and blocked one side of the Mèsé. The vehicle leaned at an angle, its merchandise bales strewn in the road.
Libanius, in a hurry to pass around the obstacle, cantered his horse along the walk. Street vendors and shoppers scattered as his slave doubled efforts to clear a path. In doing so, he accidentally struck an aged man with the baton. The oldster tottered into the gutter, bleeding from a gash on his forehead.
"Did you see that!" Getorius exclaimed. "He needs my help." With Arcadia following, he ran to the injured man, gently sat him on the curb, and examined the head wound. Libanius came abreast of the two and paused to look down. After a moment, the senator tossed down a gold coin, then reined his mount back onto the roadway. The slave's warning shouts melted into the distance.
"Arcadia, give me your sweat cloth," Getorius asked her. "I want to stem the bleeding. You're fine, Sir," he reassured the oldster, pressing the linen cloth to his wound. As Getorius held the makeshift bandage in place, a female voice on the opposite side of the road called out a sharp order from a cedar-wood litter chair. Her porters stopped, along with four spear-wielding guards. Purple silk curtains screened the chair's occupant, but the veil parted enough for the woman to give instructions to the nearest guard. He bowed to her, then came toward Getorius.
"You will tell me your name," the man ordered in guttural Latin. "Why you are here."
Getorius stood up and looked at him. Blond hair, bearded, harsh accent. The man must be someone's Germanic or Gothic bodyguard. "I'm a surgeon, visiting from Ravenna." He indicated the case slung around his shoulder. "I have travel authorization from Galla Placidia, the Empress Mother of Valentinian, our Western Augustus."
"Show it."
By now people had gathered, yet not to watch the guard's confrontation with a stranger. Most faced the litter chair in a low bow, but a few fully prostrated themselves on the stone paving.
The guard took the vellum without reading it. "You stay where?"
Nervous at the questioning, Getorius pointed along the portico. "At the Nova Roma, down a street back there."
"The woman?"
"My wife, Arcadia."
As the guard went back to the litter chair, Getorius wondered if there were laws that he had broken against helping an injured person. Would he spend the night inside a
subterranean prison cell, instead of in a room with Arcadia? He watched the guard push the document through the curtain opening and speak to the woman inside. In a moment he returned with one of his companions.
"Two of them to take me away," he muttered to Arcadia. "Here less than an hour and already I'm in trouble."
She urged somewhat uneasily, "Have...have faith, Husband."
The guard handed back Placidia's authorization. "You are free to go. The old one will be taken to a hospital."
While the second guard helped the wounded man to his feet, Getorius's hands trembled in trying to fit the rolled vellum back into its case. 'Whoever that woman was, I'll wager she's a member of the imperial family."
"The purple curtains," Arcadia noted.
"Correct. Let's go back in the direction of the inn."
"Yes, I noticed there weren't many women on the street. All those men were staring at me."
Getorius surmised, "We were recognized as strangers by our dress, but I'm pleased that Placidia's document is valid here."
"We have much to learn about eastern customs," Arcadia said. "No citizens of Ravenna would prostrate themselves for anyone in the family of our Augustus."
"Except Senator Maximin, if he thought it would help in obtaining the title of Patrician." On nearing an open space at the east end of the avenue, the broad wall of the hippodrome came into view. "Arcadia, if it's open, I'd like to look inside that stadium."
"We have time."
The couple reached the Forum of Constantine, an oval plaza with a central column of porphyry marble surmounted by a golden statue of the Christian emperor in the guise of Apollo. A side street angled away from the Mèsé and rose toward the hippodrome's higher ground. The race course was immense, its semi-circular south end supported on massive stone arches that leveled an uneven site. Two entrances were located near each end of its western face.
" The nearest gate is open," Getorius no
ted. "It's too late in the day for a chariot race, but at least we'll see the interior, a much larger course than we have at Ravenna."
Inside, the western seating tiers were in a shadow that extended across to a central spine dividing the racecourse into halves. Only the top rows of the opposite seats and the upper third of a pink obelisk caught the rays of the setting sun. Near the far end, the emperor's covered viewing pavilion was surmounted by a gilt bronze sculpture of four horses. Except for several men working near the obelisk, the stadium was vacant.
"Getorius, I've read about those Egyptian monuments," Arcadia said, "yet never saw one up close. Let's go over there."
As the couple came nearer to the course marker, it was evident that the workers were slaves shoveling fresh sand from a cart and raking it over dark stains on the ground.
Getorius said, "Let me talk to them first. It looks as if there may have been a racing accident." After a brief conversation, he returned to Arcadia. "Was I wrong! Those slaves spoke only household Latin, but I gathered that three criminals had been publicly tortured and executed earlier this afternoon."
"As amusement for the spectators?"
"Evidently so."
Arcadia shuddered. "How horrible."
Getorius eased his wife toward the obelisk. "I noticed sculptures at the monument. Let's see what they depict."
The pink granite shaft was raised at its corners on four bronze blocks, yet had been cut to make it less tall. The bottom hieroglyph was mutilated through its center. Four sides of a limestone base showed sculpted scenes of what appeared to be the emperor attending games with his family, court officials, and palace guards.
"Here's a Latin inscription telling about the raising of the obelisk." Getorius read it, then told Arcadia, "It was put up by Theodosius, the present emperor."
In a moment she called to him from the shadowed eastern side. "And here he is in the imperial pavilion about to award a victory crown. I don't really like the work...the style is stiff and no one looks very happy."
"Come around here and see this face on one of the guards. He looks like the one who questioned me. Evidently, barbarians are considered to be elite in the East."
The couple looked at the remaining sides in silence until Arcadia shivered. "It is getting cooler, but I'm chilled thinking about those tortured prisoners. Do they have a separate bath at the mansio?"
"They must, since it seems to be a new building." Getorius put an arm around his wife and nuzzled her hair. "We've had a long journey, cara, and an eventful day. A bath sounds inviting. I'll ask Fabius when we get back."
Because there were not many visitors in the city during the autumn, the clerk was able to reserve private bathhouse time for them in an hour. During May, Fabius said that Constantinople had celebrated the one hundred and tenth year of its founding and many foreign visitors had come for the celebrations.
The couple found Brisios waiting for them at the door to their room.
"Master," he said, "I hung up your tunics and that of Mistress in the wardrobe. Most are badly wrinkled."
"Thank you, Brisios, I'm sure they have fullers here," Arcadia responded. "We can have the worse ones pressed tomorrow. Did Herakles assign you a room nearby?"
"Mistress, I am three doors down the hallway."
"Good. Now we'll find out how you can eat supper with us."
He protested quietly, "I'm not hungry, Mistress."
"Nonsense, you haven't had anything since mid-day."
"The kitchen staff gave me food."
Getorius reached into his purse and handed Brisios a few copper coins. "You also need to relax, so go to the public bath. It's just past the hippodrome."
"Thank you, Master."
As their slave went back to his room, Arcadia commented, "I'm not sure about here, but at Ravenna there's a set bath hour for slaves."
"He'll manage."
"Brisios has been our gardener since we married, Getorius, yet we know so little about him."
"He works the garden, grooms the horses, and even has a dog."
"But I feel almost ashamed that I've never bothered to talk with him very much."
"He's a slave," Getorius retorted, "and we treat Brisios very well. I give him money from time to time and he doesn't wear a slave's reward collar."
"That's because I said that if he ever ran away it would be our fault and I wouldn't want you to force him back."
Uneasy about talking in too familiar a manner about slaves, Getorius suggested, "Let's bathe if we can, and rest awhile. You could find your least wrinkled tunic to wear at dinner."
* * *
Herakles had pushed several tables together so his clients could be seated with each other near the garden. They would be inside a room if the evening turned chilly. Half of the tables were not occupied, but the other diners were obviously wealthy, well dressed, and spoke excellent Latin.
Basina Bobo sat herself at the head of the table and ordered Hermias to open her medicine case. After she selected three powders, her slave sifted them into cups of colored glass, two of which she took from her husband's and Tranquillus's places, then poured undiluted wine into them to dissolve the potions.
The Nova Roma's method of serving food was adapted from street taverns, but choices were more elaborate. The kitchen doors opened onto a marble counter holding wide-necked amphorae containing several different foods. The ceramic containers were sunk into holes and heated from below by glowing charcoal. A grill set on the counter cooked lamb and pork. Fresh-caught fish from the Bosporos was a specialty. A separate counter held a selection of local wines in barrels, and vintages from Cyprus, Syria, and Judea in amphorae. A slave stood by with a pitcher of water to dilute the wine to taste; others served food, but a few wealthy diners had brought their own house slaves to wait on them.
Herakles spoke to the dining room manager, and then went around to the tables,
exchanging banter with the guests and selling packets of his kannabis leaves. After he had completed a circuit of the room, he returned as plates of food were brought to his clients.
He sat down, smiling, and waved a hand over the dishes. "You will like delicious foods of Anatolia."
"What is this yellowish slop," Basina complained. "It looks like I don't know what."
The guide's smile vanished at the woman's coarseness and he turned to Arcadia. "Perhaps, Domina, you noticed the purple 'eggs' sold by Herakleia's vendors?"
"I did. What were they?"
"We call Melidzanes. Very tender, very delicious."
Basina spit out the pulp. "I don't like it. Bobo, go bring me some real food."
"Yes, Dulceda." Her husband stood and looked around, unsure of where to go.
Maria recalled, "We would have given a gold solidus to eat a meal like this during the Visigoth blockade of Rome. Citizens actually starved during those months."
"It must have been a terrible time," Arcadia remarked.
"Alaric moved down to Rome a few months after the murder of Flavius Stilicho," Maria continued. "He was the only Roman commander we had who was capable of dealing with barbarians, and yet Honorius stupidly ordered his assassination."
"Maria, show respect!" Melodia admonished. "Honorius was our Augustus."
"To Rome's detriment," she muttered, spooning sauce over her lamb.
Melodia explained, "They claim that Stilicho wanted to make his son emperor after Arcadius died here at Constantinople."
"My husband didn't believe that for a moment," Maria countered. "And we both were horrified when Senators ordered the death of Serena, Stilichos's wife, and his son."
"True, that was tragic and unnecessary," her companion agreed.
"And Galla Placidia was in Rome at the time and did absolutely nothing to prevent it." Maria frowned at the odious recollection. "After all, they were half-sisters."
Arcadia digressed to the incident on the Mèsé. "Herakles, something strange happened earlier when we were exploring the area. A man on horseback named Libanius, h
ad a servant clearing a path for him through the crowd."
The guide sneered, "One of our 'illustrious' senators."
"He struck an old man. Getorius, tell what happened next."
"When I went to help him, a woman passing in a litter chair ordered one of her guards to question me. We think it was someone from the imperial family."
"A woman in a litter?" Herakles thought a moment. "She would hardly be the Basileia Eudokia, who travels in a gilt coach."
"Then who might she be?"
"Theodosius has three sisters." The guide paused to look around the table and change the subject. "Ladies, Presbyter. You enjoy dinners?"
"The fish is excellent," Tranquillus said. "Herakles, I wanted to ask you. The day after tomorrow is the Lord's Day. Could you suggest a church where I might celebrate the Eucharist?"
"The Great Church of the First Theodosius is nearby, as is Hagia Eirene. We shall see them tomorrow, when I take you to the sights of Nova Roma."
"Walking around all day?" Basina objected through a mouthful of bread. "I want to see a physician about my legs. Bobo, you're still here. What was the name of that fool at Napauktos who told me to go on a diet?"
"I don't recall, Dulceda."
"You're stupid as Sisyphus!" Basina snapped. "I'm sure Hermias remembers. Love," she cooed to her slave, "fix me that mint drink that settles my stomach."
Herakles was explaining some of the places they would see in the morning when Getorius noticed a tall, blond-bearded man, in a military uniform, enter the room. After he spoke to Fabius and showed a rolled-up scroll, the manager pointed to Herakle's table.
"Oh, no," Getorius whispered to his wife. "It's that guard who questioned me. He probably has an order for my arrest."
"But you did nothing wrong."
"Just the same."
After the guard came to the table, he glanced at Getorius, but stopped at Maria's place to ask, "Domina Maria Aemiliana?"
"Why, yes," she answered.
He handed her the scroll. "A message from Aelia Pulcheria Augusta."
"Pulcheria!" Melodia squealed in delight. "Read it. Maria, what does the Augusta say?"
