by Mary Reed
“So what was it, finally, that brought you here?”
“It was when I had to ask some children playing in the street why the Forum Constantine had disappeared. It had become most annoying. I would venture out and my house would move while I was gone. I could cope with that, but when the forum picked up and wandered off just because I’d gone to the baths, well, I decided to take up the monastic life. I will be happy if I never have to go out into the streets again. Although I did have a fascinating conversation with Emperor Justin once. He was out in Forum Bovis searching for his reception hall.”
Fortunatus did not smile as he spoke, even though, John thought, he must be joking. “Perhaps it’s best to stay off the streets,” John said. “They grow more dangerous all the time. This place is a safe haven, I imagine. You have not been threatened here, have you?”
“Only by the cook’s unspiced offerings.”
John looked around the enormous underground room. “Don’t you ever wish for more comfortable surroundings?”
“At first I did. When Hypatius visited me to discuss the statue, he tried to convince me to resume my former life—at least until he found out I’d donated all my lands to the church. There was nothing left to swindle me out of even if I did reemerge into the world.” He laughed.
“You find it humorous that the man was more or less a thief?”
“Not a thief, a businessman. Besides, I can laugh because who’s sitting in a comfortable and warm place polishing silver and waiting for the evening meal and who is underground, never to taste a good roasted fowl or a cup of Falernian wine again or sample the delights of an obliging young lady? Not that I am suggesting that we sample young ladies here, you understand.”
Was the man incompetent, John wondered, or merely playing at it, turning it to his advantage? Did he know something, some shred of information, that put together with other scraps would make a collection of tesserae that would somehow assemble themselves and turn into a coherent mosaic?
“You have been living here very long?”
“A year or so. It is very different. Noisier for a start. That’s to be expected with being so close to the palace and the Great Church. The food may not be so varied or lavish as that prepared by my personal cook in the old days, but it is nourishing and there’s plenty of it. Last summer I helped with the kitchen garden. My herbs were much praised. It’s a simple life. It suits me more and more as I get older. Also, when I lose my way, there is always someone at hand to help me find my room.”
He flourished his cloth. “Yes, I’m thankful to be here. Besides, although we live behind a wall, we can scarcely avoid hearing news of the goings-on in the city. Now and then, I even learn of interesting developments concerning some of my former business acquaintances. Not all of them do well, alas.” The relish with which he made his final comment revealed his enjoyment of this sad state of affairs.
John observed that such occasional tidbits of news would certainly be of interest to one who had once fought on the fields of commerce.
“Yes.” Fortunatus’ blue eyes glittered under his bristling white brows. “It’s surprising how so often they overreach themselves or invest foolishly, even recklessly. Some are extremely clever. Take Hypatius, the dead man who so interests you. He stole a choice estate right out from under my nose a couple of years ago. Persuaded the heir to sell it to him for less than he and I had already agreed.”
John expressed his condolences.
“That wasn’t as bad as the time he publicly challenged the purity of the wine I was selling. I admit it turned out not to be the exact vintage the importer had held it out to be. It was terribly unfortunate that that particular shipment was destined for the imperial kitchens. That was just before I decided to retire and enter the monastery.”
“I suppose you don’t have much opportunity to discuss such worldly matters here.”
Fortunatus agreed dolefully that this was the case.
It was becoming obvious that the man relished such discussions and did not hesitate to use the safe shelter of the monastery to make comments he might not have dared to utter outside, especially about his former commercial enemies.
“I have heard similar tales of Hypatius’ business dealings,” John said. “Yet you joined him and Dominica in donating the sculpture despite your disputes?”
Fortunatus plied his cloth over a silver and gilt box with a lid that bore a border depicting the rout of the money changers from the Temple in Jerusalem. “I did not like the man. Neither did I dislike him. No, it was because Dominica requested it. I knew her late husband. That is to say, her last late husband.”
“An impressive woman.”
Fortunatus set the box down and John saw it was a reliquary. “Impressive. That’s the word for Dominica, yes. At any rate, she had seen the work of this immensely talented young sculptor by the name of Dio. I was happy to contribute although I paid my portion of the cost directly to Dio just in case Hypatius suddenly developed honey-covered fingers when passing along my money.”
John asked why Hypatius had become involved with the project in the first place.
“He was ever a man for public good works. An art work of that sort is bound to receive attention. Of course, everyone has been talking about it for days, although not for the reason that Hypatius anticipated. I believe also that he thought it would buy him favor in heaven. When you’ve paid half the city officials to overlook this infraction or that, you don’t hesitate to attempt to bribe the Lord, do you?”
“No doubt Hypatius has discovered if it has worked,” John said dryly. “Although it is just as well that the emperor apparently didn’t know about his bribes. I’ve heard he is inexorable when it comes to public corruption.”
“Justin doesn’t seem to be aware of what is going on in his own palace these days. If you ask me, he would be far happier polishing silver here with me. It was the nephew, Justinian, who worried Hypatius. An avaricious man, Hypatius told me. He was completely opposed to Justinian’s inheriting the throne.”
“So despite your disputes, it seems you had a number of conversations of a private nature with Hypatius?”
“Oh, it’s quite true. I used to attend dinner parties where confidences flowed freely as the wine. I could tell you statements several very prominent citizens made at such gatherings that would earn them stripes in public, if not worse. And they weren’t all about Theodora, either!”
John ignored the comment. “Would you say this discontent was organized?”
“No. I took it to be your everyday grumbling fueled by overindulgence in the grape. Bribes costing too much, taxes too high, contracts being sold on the side. However, that was a year or two ago. Often dissatisfaction takes a long time to turn into action. It wouldn’t surprise me if it did perhaps eventually come to something.”
John said nothing, allowing the flow of words to continue.
Fortunatus snapped his cloth at the air. It might have been a gesture of disdain leveled at officialdom in all its guises. “If it’s conspirators you want to talk about, interview Opimius. He seemed to know a large number of, let us say, malcontents who would just as soon Justinian did not become emperor. Why don’t you ask him about it?”
“I don’t think he would be very open with me.”
“I suppose not. Well, let me be open then. I’ve had to spend my whole life behind a mask, mouthing lies of one sort or another, but I would not honor the Lord were I to take shelter in His house and continue lying, would I? It’s been said that Justinian has purchased every senator, but it’s not so. There are those who don’t need his largesse and others who are not of the Christian persuasion, may the Lord have mercy on their souls. On the other hand, it’s true that most of the Senate wants to officially request Justin to step aside. He is only a figurehead now, or was until this mysterious illness felled his nephew, who many suspect rules from the shadows. However, there are still a number of prominent citizens who oppose Justinian becom
ing emperor. Hypatius was one and Opimius is another. And I should mention two of Opimius’ closest associates— landholders who fear Justinian’s predations—Trenico and Tryphon are of the same thought.”
He began to ramble about how he would advise the latter two to donate their land to the church before Justinian seized it and then retire to the monastery to help him polish silver rather than laying up further wealth.
John barely heard him. He had sought out Fortunatus, as he had Dominica, to pursue his new theory concerning Hypatius’ death: that it stemmed from the donation of the sculpture rather than from political intrigue. Instead what he had found was unexpected confirmation of a possible conspiracy against Justinian.
Worse, it was not information Justinian would wish to hear for it could certainly be twisted to prove he would have had a reason to want Hypatius dead. Not to mention several others. There were many in the city who still believed Justinian responsible for Vitalian’s death, even though the only evidence they could point to was that the death had benefited Justinian.
Beyond that, Anna’s father clearly appeared to be involved with those who were opposed to Justinian ever ruling. It was not just coincidence that he had been talking with Trenico and Tryphon at the baths. The latter had denied acquaintanceship with Opimius for good reason.
Fortunatus talked on, but said nothing more of consequence. Still chattering, he finally escorted John to the monastery gate. Outside, passersby hurried along, bent about their own business. John glanced back at the low building they had just left. He would welcome the opportunity to sink into its peace, he thought, as he stepped out into the world again.
“One thing more,” Fortunatus said as he held the gate open. “If you were thinking of interviewing Dio, there’s no point in going straight to his studio. He visits a friend here now and then so I happen to know that he won’t be back from Proconnesus until late today. He’s been out there for the past few days choosing marble for his next commission.”
“Do you happen to know what it is?”
“Hypatius had not begun building his final resting place, although he’d given Dio very detailed instructions for its design,” was the surprising answer. “He greatly admired the tomb the young man created for Dominica’s last husband.”
Fortunatus gave John directions to Dio’s studio. “Let’s hope it doesn’t decide to run away before you arrive,” he concluded.
He began to swing the gate shut, but John stopped him. “You say Dio designed the tomb for Dominica’s last husband?”
“Dio was the husband’s bastard son. As for me, I tend to think he may be Dominica’s offspring, but then I am just an old man who has fled the world, and glad to have left it behind.”
The gate banged shut, leaving John alone with his thoughts—among them that Fortunatus had not left the world nearly so far behind as he claimed.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When he was ushered into Emperor Justin’s private apartment, Felix saw that the most powerful ruler in the civilized world was reclining on a couch. He was eating bread and cheese from an earthenware plate.
The homely sight heartened him. He could not help comparing the frugal fare to the culinary conceits offered at the Gourd’s banquet. There was certainly something to the old saying that a man’s nature was in his nourishment.
“Ah, my excubitor,” Justin muttered around a mouthful of bread, without waiting for Felix to bow. He handed his crumb-dusted plate to the guard stationed behind his couch, who juggled with the dish one-handedly while contriving to retain his other hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Take that plate away,” Justin instructed the man irritably.
“As you direct, Caesar.” The guard eyed Felix suspiciously.
“He’s one of my bodyguards, just like you, but one who doesn’t balk at carrying out his orders,” Justin snapped. “Leave.”
Felix felt a glow of pride at the emperor’s words. For an instant he forgot the chagrin that had been building inside him for the past few days as he talked endlessly to various people, never daring to say exactly what he meant, nodding politely at the palpable lies he was offered. It had made him feel as if he was an obsequious palace bureaucrat rather than a military man. He remembered now that however unpleasant his duty might be, the man he served had once been a soldier too.
When they were alone, Justin’s voice fell to a tired whisper akin to parchment sheets rustling in a breeze. “What have you been doing, Felix? Do you have anything to report yet?” He made no effort to conceal a grimace of pain as he leaned back.
Felix outlined the investigations he and John had carried out. Put into words and presented to the emperor, their efforts sounded futile, even ludicrous.
Justin waved his prominently veined hand. “No, no. The words these people speak aren’t worth a clod of dirt. I’m not interested in what they told you. What I want to know is what did you learn? What did you observe? What do you make of the situation?”
For a moment Felix could not speak. He could hardly believe that the emperor was asking for his opinion. Finally he said, “To begin with, Caesar, there are more axes to grind at court than there are in to be found in all the woodworkers’ shops in the city.”
“I have numerous axes myself. Mine are extremely sharp and very useful for removing heads from shoulders.”
“As you say, Caesar. However, it would appear that the majority of those to whom we spoke were more intent on fomenting difficulties than in aiding our inquiries.”
“This colleague of yours, Justinian’s eunuch. Has he said anything about my nephew?”
“I regret that I’m not certain what you mean.”
Justin shifted ponderously on the couch, his lips compressed into a tight line. A large crumb clung to the moist corner of his mouth. Felix had the fleeting impression that the man was not so much living within his big body as being crushed under its dead weight.
“Slaves always talk to each other. The palace is full of gossip. Do you think I don’t know what is being whispered behind my back? What about this notion Justinian’s got into his head, that I’m planning to accuse him of having a hand in the murder of Hypatius?”
“Justinian’s man watches me, I watch him. He has revealed no more to me about his master than I have revealed to him about you.”
“Oh, nicely said! Proclus should recruit you to work in his office. Very well. What are they saying about me in the streets? That’s what really matters, as Euphemia advises me.”
Felix felt sweat trickling down his back. A shade had just walked into the room.
Justin fixed him with a rheumy glare. “I asked you a question. Why are you looking like that?”
Felix cleared his throat. His gaze was drawn to the crumb hanging from the emperor’s lip. He forced himself to look away. “I have heard nothing unusual.”
“The mob isn’t whispering against me? That’s how it always begins. In the streets, in the forum. Like a festering wound down in the leg whose poison creeps nearer to the heart with every passing day. Blood flows in some stinking alley and before long armed men are breaking into the emperor’s bedchamber to murder him.”
“You are much respected, Caesar,” Felix assured him.
“However, the Gourd has contained the unrest,” Justin went on, ignoring his comment. “A good man at his work. Proclus recommended him to me. Yes, he knows how to handle my nephew’s precious Blues. Personally, I’d like to set him loose on the actress.”
“There are many who oppose Theodora, both on the streets and at court,” Felix offered truthfully, happy to be able to tell Justin at least one thing he might want to hear.
Justin scowled. “My dearest Euphemia detests her and refuses to remain in the same room if their paths should cross by accident. Whatever can Justinian find to love in Theodora, the world’s whore? But young men tend to be ruled by their loins, not logic, and she has certainly had plenty of practice in the art of seduction.”
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br /> As Justin spoke he turned his head slowly until he was staring directly at the door. Felix was struck by an irrational fear that it was about to open to admit the dead Empress Euphemia.
“Caesar, about my mission. It is always a good plan when going into battle to be armed with detailed orders and—”
“But you have had your orders! Investigate the murder of Hypatius. Watch the eunuch while he works. Keep your eyes open, and your ears.”
Felix made a bow.
“Now, hold that pot for me.”
Felix looked at Justin in confusion.
The emperor gestured weakly at the plain ceramic vessel sitting on the floor at the side of his couch.
“My night soil pot. I wish to relieve myself. Yes, you could tell the time by me. I drip like a water clock.”
“Caesar, I—”
“You’re embarrassed for your emperor. Understandably.” Justin grimaced. “I don’t need a physician, Felix. What I need is a plumber.”
***
John sat on the edge of his pallet and tried to organize his thoughts. He had been certain Hypatius’ death was somehow connected with the sculpture. Not that there had been any obvious reason. It was simply a feeling he had, that bits of information were about to fall together to form a coherent whole.
He tended to take sudden leaps into the darkness of doubt. Usually he found what he half expected. This time, though, he had, perhaps, jumped in the wrong direction. Fortunatus’ words, coupled with the group of men John had seen at the baths, clearly damned Opimius as one of the political intriguers Justinian feared. And what did that mean for Anna?
Should he warn her? Use the servants’ entrance as she’d suggested? Perhaps he should see if the sculptor Dio had returned. Even if that avenue of investigation seemed fruitless, it would get his feet moving. As soon as his feet stopped his thoughts seemed to come to a halt.
