by Mary Reed
The emperor slumped back in his chair, as if tracing a signature on a few documents had exhausted him. “I had high ambitions for my nephew once, until that little whore got hold of him,” he said. “Euphemia hates her. Theodora wants me out of the way so Justinian can rule, and what Theodora wants, my nephew wants. He never paid attention to these street brawlers until she came along. Just because the Blues aided the woman’s family when the Greens wouldn’t, is that a reason to put the whole empire into turmoil? Is this what it’s come to, that Roman citizens should be ruled by the daughter of a bearkeeper for one of the factions? Well, I’m not dead yet. And I don’t intend to die for some time.”
Proclus removed the wooden stencil. Justin had obviously finished his labors although a stack of documents remained unsigned.
“Don’t let this matter of Hypatius keep you from your work restoring order in the streets, Theodotus,” Justin went on. “Street riots threaten the empire as much as any conspiracy.”
“I’ll skin everyone in the city alive if that’s what it takes to make the streets safe.”
“It’s not the beatings and robberies and assaults that scare people, it’s all the counting and scribbling it down,” Justin observed. “If a clerk with a kalamos hadn’t recorded it, you wouldn’t have someone like Senator Balbinus railing about how there were two murders near the Strategion and fifteen assaults on the Mese overnight. Not to mention a grocer had three bunches of leeks snatched. Citizens wouldn’t be so fearful if we didn’t keep count.” Justin’s teeth clenched as he came to an abrupt halt and reached a trembling hand down to his leg.
Theodotus reached into the pouch at his belt, took a few awkward steps forward and set a terracotta pot down on the desk in front of Justin. “Your medication for that old wound, excellency. A fresh batch. I made it only this morning.”
The emperor drew the tiny container toward him. “You have served me well, Theodotus, and I trust you will continue to do so. Now off you go to prepare for your banquet. What entertainments do you plan? It’s a pity you can’t ask Theodora to perform some of her specialties for your guests! However, I’m sure you will think of something almost as diverting.”
Chapter Four
Theodotus stationed his pair of unwanted assistants beside the gilded door of his dining room with instructions to look lively in the event of any trouble, but otherwise to remain as unobtrusive as possible.
The spacious room where the City Prefect held the lavish banquets the court expected from such high-ranking officials looked out on an inner garden. Its orderly statuary and rigorously pruned bushes and trees were now little more than silhouettes beneath a cloudless and star-sprinkled sky. In the streets, beggars were already seeking sheltered corners, preferring an empty belly and a good place to sleep to the unlikely possibility of charitable donations from those hurrying home to hot meals and warm beds.
“I don’t know about being unobtrusive.” Felix stepped back to allow two slaves carrying wine jugs to get by. “We don’t exactly blend in with the Gourd’s decorations. Well, perhaps I do, but as for you…”
He cast a quick glance behind him. The painting decorating the length of the plastered wall depicted several stalwarts engaged in fighting assorted desperate citizens of Troy. A large wooden horse stood with its belly agape, giving birth to the doom of the ancient city.
John ignored the other’s barb. It was almost preferable to the angry silence the man had maintained. He looked around the large room. How could remaining unobtrusively beside a doorway aid Justinian? What could it have to do with the death of Hypatius?
The cloying scent of exotic flowers mingled with the sweet tang of pine. Conifer branches looped in garlands around columns were echoed by ropes of greenery hung along the edges of the tables.
On the opposite side of the room, a hunting scene was depicted in full cry. A wild-eyed stag crashed through shrubbery, its pursuers so intent on its capture that they did not see the beautiful, pale figure of Diana, goddess of the chase, standing in front of a dark grove of trees in the background.
The scenes would not have been John’s choice to decorate a room devoted to pleasures of the stomach. They made an interesting combination of subjects, though. John wondered whether he and his military companion should consider themselves as belonging among the hidden warriors in the Trojan horse or among the hunted prey, or both.
Felix would probably not appreciate being considered a colleague of John, a slave and a eunuch at that. He had made his dislike for John bluntly clear during their swift walk from the Great Palace.
Felix had also made it plain that he supposed their real job at the banquet, whatever the Gourd told them, would be to act as spies on behalf of Justinian and the emperor. What could they expect to learn? It wasn’t likely that plotters would discuss their plans over dinner in this house, where walls had ears. The slaves serving Theodotus’ guests might also be selling information to certain parties whom the Prefect would have welcomed into the dungeons sooner than into his home.
John’s morose chain of thought was interrupted by the return of Theodotus. Immaculately smooth of chin and dressed in green robes, he accompanied his first guest into the torchlit room.
Trenico appeared startled to see John standing next to Felix.
“What’s he doing here?” His tone was injured and loud as if John were as deaf as the dead of Troy.
“I wish I knew!” Theodotus skewered John with a pointed stare. “Perhaps he’s keeping an eye on you for Lady Anna. But don’t worry, Trenico. A certain lady friend of yours will not be here tonight. Just as well too. You won’t be tempted to go and inspect the topiary bushes again! It’s too cold this evening.”
Trenico frowned as Felix smirked at the innuendo.
“I think you’ll enjoy my cook’s offerings, however,” his host went on. “I selected some elaborate dishes. A bit too elaborate for my tastes, but you know how it is. The court likes its streets policed by a man with good taste. If it’s chicken stuffed with chestnuts and fried veal garnished with asparagus they want, then it’s veal and chicken they’ll get. Not to mention fig cakes gilded with gold leaf. Have some wine.” He gestured toward jugs on the nearest table. “In fact, I order you to drink. You’ll be glad you’ve fortified yourself when you see the entertainments I’ve got planned.”
Trenico spoke through a mouthful of honeyed almonds he’d scooped up from a silver dish. “Surely not that abominable dwarf mime Theodora is so fond of? Or the dancers from that other low woman’s establishment you keep telling me about. What is her name? Nefertiti? Something Egyptian, anyhow. They’re all too risqué for a public dinner party.”
Theodotus emitted a coarse laugh. “You sounded hopeful when you said that. Don’t you have enough ladies without me having to show you some more? Or are the rumors wrong?”
“I was thinking of your own welfare, Theodotus. What if Justinian heard about such diversions?”
“He will. Theodora is attending.” A swift glance at John and Felix conveyed Theodotus’ thoughts on others who kept Justinian informed. “It was his suggestion that I invite her. A suggestion from Justinian isn’t much different than an order from the emperor.”
Trenico gulped down the last of the almonds and expressed surprise in a slightly choked voice.
“Oh yes,” Theodotus continued amiably. “Yes, I’ve had a lot of help with my guest list. Add a slave here, a future empress there, and how about an excubitor while you’re at it? Is this my own house or not? And you never know what sort of twisted report Theodora will carry back to Justinian. So watch your manners and keep a guard on your tongue. You, my friend, are a guest I chose myself. I would hate it if I were ordered to haul you off to the dungeons. Or if it were suggested I do so.” He laughed.
Felix gave John a meaningful look as a servant dressed in blue hurried in to inform his master that more guests had arrived.
“I must go and greet them,” Theodotus said. “Remember now. For
tify yourself! By direct order of the City Prefect!”
Trenico’s expression remained carefully neutral as he watched his host lumber off. Turning then to the men standing by the door he gave a sly grin.
“Well, John, we seem to keep running into each other. Not surprising, though, is it? Although we are of different worlds, we occupy the same world. There’s an epigram in there somewhere. And who will you be reporting to, I wonder? The mistress I am aware of? A master I don’t know about? Both?”
John bowed slightly. “I attend here under orders of Theodotus to stand guard along with this excubitor.”
“Of course! The head of the city policing force is in great need of eunuchs to protect him in his own home, as the world and his brother knows. I would not have taken you for a military man, but then you are a man of many talents. Or so my dear Anna tells me. Very well, I am certain someone of your abilities will be able to fetch some wine for a superior.”
John felt heat rising in his face and struggled to control his expression as he followed Trenico’s order. He did not want to allow the man the satisfaction of seeing the anger he had aroused.
As Trenico wandered off to converse with other guests who were now filing in, John glanced toward Felix. Now his lips did narrow and his jaw clamped reflexively, almost painfully. The big German was grinning. He obviously enjoyed John’s discomfiture.
“Laugh at me all you want, Felix,” John said in a low, furious voice. “But you would have had to obey that perfumed fop too if he’d ordered you to pour his wine.”
Felix’s expression darkened immediately. He had no opportunity to respond, however, since a cluster of guests was now entering the room, led by Theodora. Resplendent in white silk, she wore an ornamental gold circlet that very much resembled a crown.
***
As the dinner party progressed, John kept as close an eye, and ear, on the guests as his appointed station allowed. Scraps of conversation drifted over to him. The talk grew louder as more of the City Prefect’s fine wine was consumed.
Occasionally Felix vanished to patrol the garden. Or so he said. John wondered briefly if the excubitor had received orders about which he knew nothing or simply wanted to get away from his undesired companion for a while and had seized upon a fine excuse to do so.
John had to admit that Theodotus kept a fine table. Because of his work in the office of the Master of the Plate, his attention was drawn less to the culinary dainties offered than to the coruscating array of silver, gold, and glass tableware on which they arrived. He would not have given these ostentatious treasures a second glance in the past. Now, however, since his survival at the palace depended on successfully performing the duties he had been assigned, he had taken a close and prudent interest in such things.
He had eventually come to enjoy the work. Plates, jugs, cups, table settings, and banquets were more easily ordered than life. Especially life in the corridors of the Great Palace.
The evening wore on. John glanced repeatedly into the bowl of the large clock set in a corner.
The level marking the hours fell so slowly the water might have been frozen.
The conversation surged and ebbed like the murmur of the sea. Every so often a few distinguishable words floated to where John stood.
A guest who had emptied his wine cup more times than was wise remarked how odd it was that Theodotus had tactlessly chosen to outfit his servants in blue. After all, wasn’t it the Blues who were terrorizing the city?
“Why do you think he’s called the Gourd?” replied his neighbor. “He’s not exactly the brightest man in the empire, you know.”
“Ah! I thought he got the nickname from the monstrous shape of his head,” a third man chimed in.
The origin of the City Prefect’s nickname launched a lively debate.
John turned his attention elsewhere. He heard little of consequence.
Someone worried about Justinian’s illness. Two matrons, seated near enough for John to overhear their lowered voices, argued over the merit of the controversial sculpture in the Great Church. If they mentioned the man who had died at its base, John missed their comments.
As the guests ate and chatted, two girls serenaded them with flute music. Now and then they accompanied an older woman whose voice was a light, sweet soprano. The sound reminded John of his youth, when those working in the fields would sing as evening drew near, to honor the land and its bounty and celebrate their impending freedom from toil for a few hours. The recollection made him unexpectedly homesick. He reminded himself that he had no home now.
Here, those who never toiled complained to one another that the suckling pigs had been boiled too long, the fish not smoked long enough, and that the fruit soaked in wine was overripe. However, John noticed, they consumed it all readily.
The sighing trill of flutes ended and, in the sudden silence, heads turned toward the far end of the room as Theodotus rose to his feet. His splendid green robes were a contrast to the rough shirts and tunics he normally wore.
“The entertainment I promised is about to begin,” he announced. “But first a very special culinary treat will be brought in. Which reminds me. I believe you’ll have noticed that my servants are all dressed in blue. This is to remind you that although the streets are infested by Blues today, before long you’ll be as safe outside as you are among my blue-garbed slaves.”
Felix, who had resumed his post after one of his excursions around the garden, gave a soft grunt of contempt. He and John watched curiously as covered salvers were set in front of the diners.
“Please feel free to enjoy this unusual delicacy, my friends,” Theodotus smiled.
A rustle of movement filled the room as the guests lifted lids from salvers, followed by audible gasps and the rattle of lids being set hastily down. No one spoke.
John leaned forward slightly, looking over the shoulder of the nearest diner.
Steaming on the salver in front of the man was half a large, baked gourd.
“Now it is commonly said these things are inedible.” Theodotus sounded almost gleeful. “They are bitter and tough, not to mention misshapen. People make fun of those who grow them. Why bother to nurture such an ugly vegetable, they ask. My cook protested at the very notion of cooking them. But you know me. When I order a thing done, I expect it done.”
A single, sharp caw of laughter cut through the ensuing silence. It was Theodora.
“Eat,” Theodotus said. “Enjoy yourselves. I order it.”
Cowed, the diners dutifully ate their unexpected course. John imagined that no matter how the concoction tasted, most of the guests were having a hard time swallowing the insult with which it was seasoned.
Before long, Theodotus clapped his hands sharply. Instantly two burly attendants entered the room, carrying between them a glowing brazier. They placed it in front of Theodotus and departed.
“As you’ll see, I also ordered my cook to prepare another surprise for you.”
The pair of attendants reappeared, this time bearing an iron cauldron hanging from a stout pole. They began to circle the dining room, displaying its contents to the guests. A few diners shifted in their seats to move away, as if alarmed. As it passed by, John could see that the mixture in the cauldron was still bubbling.
“Done to perfection!” Theodotus’ enormous head bobbed with satisfaction. “Not that it takes much skill to boil pitch.”
An acrid smell overpowered the delicate scent of the room’s now wilting flowers. Guests leaned this way and that to obtain a better view. A careless elbow knocked over a wine cup. Its dark contents ruined silk robes worth half of a laborer’s lifetime earnings.
Finally the cauldron, its circuit complete, was hefted onto the burning brazier.
Theodotus looked down at the roiling, viscous substance in the cauldron. “Good. Let’s be certain it stays hot. Now, perhaps, it is time to prepare another dish. I am indeed a man of many talents, as I believe I have overheard some of
you kindly remark.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing short, brawny arms.
“Honored guests, friends, and Theodora, I promised entertainment and I am a man of my word. You have all seen the pitch bubbling. Can you imagine its effect on living flesh? And how delicate would be the flavor of something so freshly cooked?”
A murmur ran through the crowd as a servant appeared with a caged dove. Theodotus grasped the short chain fastened to the top of the cage and swung it out over the boiling pitch.
There were scattered cries of alarm.
“What? So squeamish? Haven’t you just partaken of the delicate cooked flesh of creatures similar to this bird? Or perhaps even its family?” He let a short length of chain play out and the cage dropped toward the cauldron, stopping short of its rim.
The agitated bird flapped its wings against the bars of its prison.
More protests filled the air.
“Theodotus, perhaps you could spare the sensibilities of the ladies?” Trenico called out.
Theodotus paused, as if to mull over the suggestion. Then he yanked the cage away from the bubbling brew. “You’re right.” He beckoned Felix to him. “Take the creature outside and give it its freedom.” He handed the cage to the excubitor.
John remembered the cold outside. He thought of Dorotheus’ observation that freedom often meant freedom to starve—or freeze.
Theodotus gazed down into the cauldron again. “It would be a shame to waste such a fine pot of boiling pitch. No, my friends, you will still have your entertainment except that rather than our poor winged friend I will instead plunge a hand into this cauldron.”
A buzz of surprise and speculation rose around the table.
