by Mary Reed
Anna colored slightly and introduced the two men without alluding to John’s lowly rank.
John gave a small bow and murmured a polite greeting. The man seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps he had glimpsed him at the palace.
While Anna and Avis exchanged pleasantries John surveyed the room. One corner had been partitioned off, but otherwise its large expanse was filled with birds.
Birds flew around the high-ceilinged space, perched along the branches of trees growing in barrels and tubs, fed from piles of grain or fruit, their bright colors airborne jewels with one or two somber, dark-plumed birds making a gloomy contrast among them. John noted that while the fruit and grain available to the feathered residents was in copious supply, Avis’ tunic was threadbare.
The birds’ excited chattering sounded loud in a space which was bright despite the dark clouds outside since such light as entered the rows of windows around its perimeter was reflected and magnified by bone-white walls.
Anna and Avis finished their exchange. Anna strolled among the room’s swooping denizens, a delighted smile on her face, oblivious to the occasional splattering of white which joined similar droppings on the floor.
“Be careful,” Avis cautioned. “My servants will be up later to clean, but it can become rather slippery. Step into my study.”
Avis’ study was a tiny, walled-off space with an artificial ceiling. A many-paned window, large as that in a real lighthouse, presented a vertiginous view of the Golden Horn.
John’s gaze was drawn not to the view, but rather to a table on which a thin, marble slab held the bones of two large, fan-like wings. Laid out in an arrangement he imagined echoed their natural placement, the bones were obviously in the final stages of being reattached to each other with thin, bronze wires. Several scalpels and probes lay between the slab and a platter holding a similar sized wing. The rest of their former owner was nowhere to be seen.
Most of the remaining space on the table was taken up by piles of codices and sheets of parchment scribbled with diagrams and calculations, onto which birds had dropped their own comments. Several empty cages and a small wooden carving of a raven sat below one window, next to a pair of boots and a chest.
“I see you find my scientific efforts of some interest.” Avis sounded eager. “Do you know anything about our avian friends?”
John admitted that he did not.
“Except, perhaps, for enjoying a chicken for your evening meal now and then?” Avis chuckled. “Did you ever notice how remarkably tough their sinews can be? If only I could find something as strong.”
Anna laid her hand affectionately on the man’s arm. “How go your labors since I last visited? I see you have almost accomplished wiring the raven’s wing together.”
Their host nodded rapidly. “As you say. Once I have it entire again I think I shall be able to calculate how it bears such a large bird aloft. From there, who knows?” His voice trailed off wistfully.
Anna patted his arm reassuringly, but said nothing.
Avis insisted his unexpected visitors examine his drawings. They consisted mainly of minute renderings of wing articulations of various types of birds, doubtless drawn from life or, more accurately, from death. As sheet after sheet was displayed for their admiration and astonishment, John wondered if the man allowed his birds to die natural deaths, or if he hastened their ends as needed.
Avis opened the chest. “Here is something you haven’t seen, Anna.”
“How beautiful!” she exclaimed as he set a tiny, silver stork on his worktable.
“It belonged to my son.” Avis caressed the bird’s head tenderly. “It was a gift for his first birthday.”
The world of sadness in the man’s voice and eyes told John that the boy was gone from his father. Departed to seek his fortunes or gone forever? Anna’s murmured condolences provided the answer.
Wiping tears from his faded blue eyes, Avis returned the bird to the chest. He walked over to a corner where a rough linen cloth concealed some object nearly the height of a man. “The last time you visited me, I believe I mentioned I had made a working model. I haven’t tested it yet.” Avis’ voice wavered. “Although it is my intent to do so as soon as I have gone over all the calculations and measurements one more time.”
Avis waved away a raven that had just found its way into the study, and then pulled the cloth off to reveal what was unmistakably a set of artificial wings. They were crude compared to the bones he had been wiring together. Closer examination revealed that they were constructed of thin, wooden slats, their joints held together with twists of wire. Silk, stretched taut, covered the upper surface. On the undersides, at the length of an arm, were two loops.
Avis proceeded to describe the mechanics of his invention, his face beaming. John heard little of it. He suddenly remembered where he had seen Avis.
He was the man with whom he had collided while pursuing Victor into Viator’s warehouse.
***
“It’s a terribly sad story, John,” Anna said when she and John had left the tower. “Avis told me he once lived on the coast not far from the city. He was quite well-to-do then and owned more than one villa. That was many, many amphorae of lamp oil ago, as he put it.”
“He had a son, one now dead?” John inquired.
“Yes. This son was a scholar and very interested in the old mythologies. Harmless enough in itself, but unfortunately it seems that eventually he took the notion to fly.”
“Like Icarus?”
“Like Icarus,” Anna confirmed. “So he constructed some sort of device, perhaps with wax and feathers as is related in the ancient story, and jumped off the cliffs near his father’s estate. He paid for his attempt with his life. After that, his father took the name of Avis and has devoted most of his wealth and all of his time to studying birds and their method of flight. His quest has taken over four decades now.”
She sighed. “Avis persists, not because he wants to be the first man to soar into the sky, but rather because it was a passion with his son. By carrying on with the work he keeps his son’s memory alive and the boy close to him. Besides, he says, he would prefer to think the boy had not died in vain.”
They had come to a spot where a gap in the warehouses allowed a view across the Golden Horn. Anna leaned on the seawall and gazed toward the tiny buildings and trees visible on the far shore.
John stood beside her. “To give up one’s life to achieve what anyone can see is impossible seems a useless death, Lady Anna.”
“Is a thing impossible just because all the world insists it is?”
He observed that surely flying was the province of birds.
“You think we are not the equals of those gulls circling over the water?” She paused. “Beyond that, what would Avis be without his quest?” she went on. “Just another self-indulgent, wealthy man. One of the sort who spend their lives scrambling over one another for money or power, like quarreling dogs. And whichever wins out, what is accomplished? The victor is still just a dog.”
John made no reply.
Anna glanced up at him. “Is there any work of man which did not begin as nothing more than an idea? How can someone who dreams of flying be of lesser worth than one who has no dreams? I try to believe all things are possible.”
John looked away from her solemn gaze. Clearly Lady Anna had intended the visit to Avis to be instructional or inspirational. Just as clearly, a slave could not throw off his shackles any more easily than a free citizen could jump into the air and take flight. Anna’s inappropriate interest in him was a danger to both of them.
“Do you believe Avis will ever try out that contraption he showed us?” John finally asked.
“Yes, I do, John,” Anna replied softly. “When Avis is ready to go to join his son, then he will strap on his wings.”
Chapter Twenty-One
John found Felix lounging on a bench set under a stand of pines overlooking the palace’s seawall. Afternoon sunli
ght glittered on the restless water.
Felix looked around at the sound of approaching boot steps. “Am I late for our meeting? Or is there yet more trouble brewing? It’s bad enough Viator managed to escape us.”
“I’m early,” John replied. “I asked at the barracks where I might find you. Senator Opimius just relieved me of my tutoring duties.”
Felix scratched the stubble on his jaw. It had not grown enough to conceal the cut and the angry bruise where the snowball had hit. The jaw was obviously too tender to withstand the ministrations of a razor. “That will be trouble for both of us once Justinian finds out. You won’t make much of a spy, peering in through the senator’s windows. What did you do to bring this calamity down on us? Who did you hit?”
“Nobody.”
“Then why did Opimius dismiss you?”
“He somehow got the notion I was in the habit of escorting Anna on tours of the docks. From that he deduced I probably took her around various seedy tenements and dark alleyways.”
“Somehow?” Felix spit over the seawall. “You mean someone’s been putting poison in his ears!”
John was surprised at his reluctant partner’s genuine anger.
As soon as John and Anna had returned from visiting Avis that morning he’d sensed something was awry. No one looked in his direction or offered the usual greetings as they passed through the kitchen.
Opimius was pacing the atrium. The senator’s features were livid with anger, but he did not speak until Anna had gone into her study.
“John,” he said without preamble. “I will no longer require your attendance here. You will leave my house immediately. Furthermore, do not ever attempt to return or to contact my daughter again.”
“Senator Opimius…What…?” Had Opimius deduced that Justinian might have sent John to spy on him? Was his anger because he had something to conceal? Those had been John’s first confused thoughts. Then Opimius, unable to contain his rage, began thundering at him about his gross negligence.
“You put my daughter in harm’s way! Didn’t you hear me when I told her she was no longer to go about the streets with you? And taking her to the docks. The docks! Wasn’t there some handy den of cutthroats you could have introduced her to while you were at it? Or a riot? You should know how she romanticizes everything! Trying to impress her, were you? Oh, I’m sure she thought it was a great adventure. Where’s your sense? I’d have said you were thinking with your gonads if you had any! Don’t even bother trying to deny it! Trenico told me everything.”
John had said nothing. How could he defend himself? Call the senator’s friend Trenico a liar? A slave’s word against that of an aristocrat? It would only have made the situation worse.
Felix was staring out to sea. “Do you ever think of Greece?”
It struck John as a strange question. “I try not to.”
“It’s been a long time since I was in Germania. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever see it again. Perhaps we were barbaric, but at least we didn’t grow villains as thick on the ground as they are here. If you ask me there are as many dangers at court as in the city streets. I wouldn’t have chosen to work with you, but I know you wouldn’t subject the Lady Anna to danger.”
John stared out over the dancing swells with less enthusiasm than his companion. He did not care for deep water.
Felix looked pensive. He fingered his jaw. He was almost able to grasp the stubble growing there. “It’s good for thinking, tugging at whiskers. Perhaps I’ll keep them.”
“What is it you’re thinking about?”
Felix heaved himself off the bench. “Viator. Now that he’s dead we can catch up to him. Gaius once told me that those who die in the streets or on the docks are usually taken to the hospice.”
***
The Hospice of Samsun was even more crowded than on their initial visit. Extra pallets were crammed into each of its already cramped rooms. Without exception the staff looked ill themselves. Wan and harried, they scurried along corridors rendered nearly impassable by patients lying on the soiled floor. The stench of urine burned the nostrils.
Inquiries for Gaius led them to a room where the odor of herbs emanating from shelves that occupied one wall masked the general stink. The physician reclined in a corner, which might have seemed inexplicable except for the presence of the wine jug next to him.
Felix muttered a curse. “He’s drunk!” He tapped Gaius’ side with the dirty toe of his boot.
Gaius awoke and muttered groggily. “Yes, yes, right away. Is the baby’s head visible yet?” Bloodshot eyes peered up at them. “Just taking a little break. I need one every now and then. Haven’t been out of this place in a week.”
“Gaius, we must talk to you,” Felix said loudly.
The stout physician winced and sat up.
“Be good enough to talk more quietly, Felix,” he muttered. “The Furies are fighting a battle in my head and I can scarcely see straight. I’ve got to deliver a beggar’s baby any instant.”
“You’ll need steady hands for that,” John observed, helping him up.
“And probably plenty of opiate as well. The mother’s just a child. We’re starting to run out, but what can you expect?” Gaius picked up his wine jug and shook his head ruefully over its emptiness.
“We’re here to ask about a man named Viator,” Felix began. “He’s dead already, not one of your patients. He was found at the docks so I’m betting he was brought here.” He described the man briefly.
Gaius let out a morbid chuckle. “Ah, that’s Viator, is it? Yes, he’s here. Who could forget someone that size? The Gourd’s men didn’t tell me who he was, only that their master wanted to know what killed him. They also ordered that anyone who came to claim the body should be detained.”
Gaius led them along the corridor, treading unsteadily between the arms and legs splayed in their path. They descended two flights of stairs, ducked through a low brick archway, and then into a cavernous room. Gaius clumsily struck a light to the lamp sitting on a sweating stone ledge beside its door.
Felix let out a grunt of surprise. The icy place was a barracks for the dead. A score of bodies reposed on marble slabs. Only a few were decently covered.
“We’re still hosting some of the guests sent here by the Gourd after that business at the Strategion,” Gaius said. Evidently the freezing air had somewhat revived him.
He patted the closest chunk of stone. “These were part of a defective shipment, donated to us by none other than Viator. That’s why I was chuckling. I wager he never thought he’d end up laid out on one of them. Apparently the marble was destined for a private bath house at the palace. Now it serves a humbler class.”
He drew a sheet back from the face of an enormous mound.
“That’s him,” Felix said. “What did the Gourd’s men say?”
“Nothing much. They’d dragged him out of the water. Mind you, he wasn’t drowned, but stabbed in the back. I can understand that. Who’d attack a man this size from the front? I’d say it was a robbery. He’s well known and reputed to be wealthy.”
“His son hasn’t claimed the body?” John put in.
“No. If he has a son, he had better hurry up, otherwise his father will be buried by strangers tomorrow. I don’t expect to see him. He would be here by now if he were going to come at all.”
Back upstairs they were greeted by the wail of a child. The thin sound crept into the higher register and then ended abruptly.
“Could that be the infant you’re supposed to be delivering?” Felix inquired.
Gaius shook his head. “No. It’s a little girl brought in this morning. An accident. Dislocated shoulder. One of my assistants has been trying to manipulate it back into place. Let’s hope she’s lost consciousness this time so he can get the job done properly. Now I must go and see how my pregnant patient is doing. You’re reporting back to the Gourd, I imagine. Tell him I will send him an official report on the matter of Viator as s
oon as I run out of patients to treat.”
***
The Prefect’s offices were located in the drab, seemingly endless administrative warrens that formed as much a part of the Great Palace complex as its lavish dining and reception halls, gardens, and luxurious private residences. Anyone traversing its anonymous hallways might be traveling to any of a hundred destinations on the palace grounds. As it happened, John and Felix caught sight of Trenico just as he emerged from the Prefect’s office.
The aristocrat turned smartly on his heel and veered away down the corridor. From his quick glimpse, John thought Trenico looked exceptionally startled.
A strapping guard eyed them coldly as they entered the outer office until a brief order from Felix in the name of the emperor led to an announcement of their presence.
The doorway leading into the Prefect’s inner chambers was open and the man stamped out, wiping his hands on his shirt. He was in a foul mood, which turned fouler still after he impatiently heard their information concerning the cause of Viator’s death.
“Now you’ve told me, I expect Gaius won’t bother putting kalamos to parchment,” he rumbled. “I agree with him. It was obviously a robbery, but that won’t stop fools from wagging their tongues about it. Let me catch them at it and I’ll see they have the wag yanked out of them on the spot.”
John wondered why the Gourd would care if the death of Viator were laid at his door. Wouldn’t such rumors enhance the ruthless reputation he cultivated so assiduously?
“If you hadn’t blundered at apprehending the man when he was right within your grasp,” Theodotus went on, “he would have told us everything by now, including where Hypatius’ murderer is hiding.”
“Even though the man suspected is his son?” Felix said.
The Prefect laughed. “Believe me, he would have revealed all we wanted to know, son or not. However, since you are here and I have been instructed to make use of your services. I have a new task for you. One of my informants tells me that some Blues are planning to make trouble in the Augustaion tonight. They never learn their lesson, do they? But I have a little surprise for them. My men will be hidden around the area to grab them as soon as they start assembling, before they even know what’s happening. Find yourselves a good hiding place near the Augustaion. One of those foul alleys would be ideal. Just make certain you don’t get into conversation with any of those kind-hearted ladies who inhabit so many of them.” His leer was most unpleasant.
