by Eric Mayer
Eventually, John found an unlocked box in a desk. He laid out the contents of the box on the bed. Among other things there was a silver fibula in the shape of a dolphin and a matching ring made of silver and amethyst.
Perhaps his friend subscribed to the belief, held by some, that such a gem guarded against intoxication? Here was a note of private purchases, some of them made for a woman unless Felix had taken to wearing necklaces and fine silks. Such luxuries must be expensive in this long-beleaguered city. John read over several sheets of parchment, most of them copies of orders issued by Diogenes.
There was also a passionate love letter from a woman who had not signed her name and John came close to blushing as he read it, not so much because it embarrassed him but rather that he felt embarrassed for Felix. And worried. He knew only too well how these affairs usually ended for his friend.
The letter-writer was another person he could consult, one who might well have useful information.
Whoever she might be.
And given Felix’s eclectic taste in women, she could have been anyone from a high aristocrat to a prostitute.
He sensed movement behind him and looked round.
“Excellency…” The woman who stood in the open doorway held a ceramic platter. She was sinewy and brown-skinned. Dressed in a brown tunic she might have been preserved in a smokehouse.
She introduced herself as Maxima, the household cook.
“What is it?”
“Honey cakes, sir. I had enough honey left for one last batch.”
“And where did you obtain honey?” John gestured her to put the platter on the desk.
“Eutuchyus brought home a pot a couple of days ago. Seems it was buried in the ruins of a bakery, sir.”
She hesitated at the desk and John asked if she had something further to say.
“Oh, sir. It is a pleasure to serve you, a true Roman. I am from a venerable Roman family. We’ve been engaged by the greatest households for generations. It is a terrible thing when even high army officers are Germans. It isn’t right for Romans to serve Germans.”
The cook was referring to Felix. Could her dislike of Germans extend to doing them harm? Many crimes went unnoticed or were ignored when daily life was a scramble for survival. John put the thought aside for later examination. “I can assure you, Felix is as good a Roman as I am, and by my accent you can see that I am not German.” He didn’t bother telling her he had been born in Greece. He picked up a honey cake. “I can tell just by looking at these you have had much practice in cooking them. Were they also favorites of Conon?”
Maxima said she did not know as she had only recently taken up her current position. “When offered the opportunity to cook for master Felix I hesitated, sir. Not just because he was a German. Except for Eutuchyus, all of the servants were executed when the soldiers came for Conon. What if master Felix were to suffer the same fate? But we must take our chances and trust heaven to guard us in these hard times, and so, needing work, here I am.”
“Is there more you wish to say?”
“I have a complaint to make, sir.”
Finally, John thought. She was about to reveal why she had brought the platter of cakes to him. It was remarkable how often the real reason someone wished to talk was revealed only as they were about to leave. He invited her to state her difficulty.
“Someone has been stealing our food for days. Most recently it was our last loaf. One of the servants is a thief, sir.”
“There are only three others living here, Maxima. Which do you suspect?”
She flushed with anger and her voice rose. “I cannot say, sir. But someone is creeping around the house at night stealing the very bread from our mouths. That’s bad enough, but who knows what other mischief they may get up to in the dark hours?”
John responded he would look into the matter and dismissed Maxima. He ate a honey cake. It was a strange coincidence that his favorite sweet would be offered him in such circumstances. Munching, he pondered why a house steward would be digging in a ruined bakery.
Licking his fingers, he pushed the platter aside.
He must make haste with his investigations. Based on their recent conversation, Diogenes had struck him as a cautious and suspicious man. Were he Diogenes, he would immediately attempt to confirm John’s mission was as he had stated, which would involve sending an inquiry to Constantinople.
It should not be difficult to get a single courier out of the city. Once he reached Greece, where the imperial post road still functioned, it would take only days for a messenger to reach Constantinople. Allowing time for the answer to return, providing the courier could by then find his way back into the city, John calculated he had three weeks or less to locate Felix and help him resolve whatever difficulties had driven him to ask John for help.
When Justinian discovered John had left his place of exile…well, there was little point thinking about that while there was work to done.
“You wished to see me, sir?” Eutuchyus’ pale moon of a face was apprehensive.
They were in the kitchen. Two rabbits lay on the table with a bunch of carrots and several onions, which the steward informed John were the ingredients for a stew for the evening meal. Nearby, out of sight along the corridor, Maxima was singing as she dusted, an endeavor John thought fruitless but which reminded him of his servant Peter, who had always carried out the same task to the accompaniment of quavering hymns.
“Sit down, Eutuchyus.” John took a seat on the other side of the table. One advantage of his exile was that he had no longer had to deal with these ambiguous creatures who swarmed around the imperial court.
Eutuchyus sat primly and looked warily at John over the dead rabbits.
“I wish to know about your master’s life here,” John said curtly.
Eutuchyus blinked as if he’d been suddenly struck.
“Proceed,” John ordered.
“Yes, sir.” The voice was reedy and almost too soft to hear but John felt no inclination to lean closer. “He was a stern man who spent much of his time out and about, even in the worst weather.”
“Why do you say ‘was’? The last time I spoke to you, you feared Felix would return as a shade. He has not been missing for long. Is there some reason you do not expect him to return?”
“No, sir. Forgive me. I was merely speaking of him with respect to his absence. But I am afraid for his welfare because Rome is dangerous and he is not yet familiar with it.”
“That would explain this.” John showed Eutuchyus a hand-drawn map of Rome he had found in Felix’s box. It was the kind of map that might be used for military purposes.
“Yes. He spent a good deal of time studying that.”
Felix had not made any marks on the map, however—no indications of any destinations, for example. “Did he ever ask you for directions to a specific place?” John asked.
“No, he simply studied it. As master, he never told me where he was going and was often vague about when he might return.”
The air was becoming hotter, heavy with the earthy smell of carrots along with the sharp odor of onions. Flies buzzed. One landed on a rabbit and Eutuchyus brushed it away with a look of disgust.
“This is a wicked city,” Eutuchyus continued in little above a whisper. “The devil creeps about where emperors once walked.”
John wondered how someone who was devout, he assumed by the cross inlaid with colored glass swinging from a silver chain around Eutuchyus’ neck, could consider the city that housed the head of the church wicked. But perhaps Eutuchyus was a different sort of Christian than Archdeacon Leon. The Christians had as many sects as the Roman pagans had gods.
“Did your master say anything to you about his mission?”
“No, sir.”
“You did not notice anything, documents perhaps? Did you overhear conversations that gave you an idea a
bout what he was doing?”
Eutuchyus’ cheeks reddened. “I do not eavesdrop on my master, sir, nor do I inquire into things that are not my business. The apostle Paul teaches us that whatever role we are assigned in life, we are to do our jobs honestly and to the best of our abilities as if we are serving the Lord himself, for so we are.”
Evidently Eutuchyus was wary about those who looked at his kind with suspicion.
“You said your master spent much of his time out and about? During what hours?”
“All hours. The master did not appear to have a schedule. More than once he was away half the night.”
“And after being away half the night how did he appear when he returned?”
“If you mean had he been to the taverns, I think not. At home he drank less than many.”
John was happy to hear that Felix had apparently been controlling his weakness for wine, if this statement was to be believed.
Eutuchyus added, “The master was generally kind to us, sir. However, he did not attend church and there was…but it is not my place to say…”
“Go on,” John ordered.
Eutuchyus looked uncomfortable. “Well, sir, he unfortunately fell into the snares of a low-born woman named Clementia. Yes. I often said to the other servants his sins with her would inevitably lead him to a bad end. As for Clementia, sir, she is a mere servant.”
John asked where Clementia could be found.
“She will not be difficult to locate, sir,” came the reply. “She still occupies her former master’s house on the Sacra Via. He was a senator, one of those unfortunates carried off by the Goths. No doubt he has already met an unimaginable fate in their hands.”
Eutuchyus’ gaze went to the dead rabbits on the table. “I do hope you like rabbit, sir. Maxima found some recipes when we were rearranging the house for master Felix. Most of them involve rabbit.”
Chapter Six
The house of the unfortunate senator was a short walk from where John was living. The street called Sandalarius brought John to the massive oval Flavian Amphitheater, where gladiatorial games had been held during the glory days of the empire. Then the Via Sacra led downhill to the Roman Forum. The senator’s two-story mansion sat behind a high brick wall across from a hill surmounted by a structure seated on a massive base faced in travertine, with a line of gray, granite columns along the side overlooking the street—the Temple of Venus and Roma, Eutuchyus had told him. Clementia might as well cross the street and live at the temple, the steward had added with a sly grin.
Judging from the way the young woman presented herself, Eutuchyus may have been right, John thought, as he was led to her by a couple of hulking German guards. The senator’s servant was plump and black-haired with gray eyes. She wore a long, pleated white gown with gold stitchery belted at the waist and caught in under her bosom. A pearl necklace encircled her throat and her hair was bound with a gold band. The servant appeared to have helped herself to her mistress’ wardrobe and her artificially flushed cheeks and ruby lips showed she had not hesitated to pilfer her employer’s cosmetics as well.
John realized that while he found her merely plump, Felix would have considered her voluptuous.
She met John in the shade of the garden peristyle. Glancing around as he passed through the building John had noticed the house appeared all but untouched by Rome’s troubles. Although the fountain in the atrium was dry, the garden had been kept up perfectly. Roses laden with blossoms and heavy with bees drooped in its strongly scented air. Marble statues from mythology stood dotted about among a riot of bushes displaying varying colors of the flower sacred to Venus.
John opened the conversation by indicating he wished to speak to her about General Felix.
Clementia scrutinized him, a slight smile on her full lips. “Is there word of Felix, sir?”
John shook his head. “I hoped you might have news. I understand you were close to Felix and visited him regularly?”
“It’s true I keep in touch with him. He’s well placed and has promised to let me know if he hears anything of the master and his family. I’m taking care of their home while they’re gone. And keeping it safe.” She glanced at the two guards who had remained, lurking in the shadows nearby.
“I’ve been given to understand your relationship with Felix is more personal.”
Clementia laughed. “Oh, my! I assure you we’re not having an affair. Felix is old enough to be my father, after all. I know very well who told you that. It was Eutuchyus, wasn’t it? We all know what eunuchs are, gossips and liars and quick to put a knife in ordinary people’s backs.” She made a stabbing motion. “They’re all like that, sir. Don’t believe a word of what he says.”
John, who did not put himself in the same category as Eutuchyus, was not offended. “Even so, is it not true you were a frequent visitor?”
She moved close enough so that John could smell her perfume. Or rather her mistress’ perfume. Giving a glance toward the guards she leaned forward with an almost flirtatious gesture, and tugged gently at his robe. “Come to the other side of the garden where we can speak more freely,” she whispered.
They followed a stone walkway through the rose bushes while Clementia waved fretfully at bees which seemed to find her scent more pleasing than that of the roses. She stopped in front of a marble Venus who had been decapitated.
Clementia giggled. “The goddess of love lost her head. Very appropriate, don’t you think?”
“Felix has not been in touch for any reason?”
Clementia drew her lips into a pretty pout. “You’re a shrewd man, I can tell. There is another reason I consult Felix now and then. I need his assistance on a matter causing me increasing anxiety, sir. The fact is, I am now almost at the end of the money the master left in my keeping. Soon I won’t be able to pay guards to protect the house. They are fine and faithful men, though one drank too much one evening and thought he was beheading an invading Goth rather than Venus. But if I can’t pay them, they will find an employer who can.”
“How did you expect Felix to help you?”
“He is an emissary of the emperor, isn’t he? He knows great men. He is a great man himself and great men are wealthy. I’m sure my master will gladly pay off any loan once he returns.”
John thought it unlikely the senator or his family would ever set foot in Rome again, or even that they were still alive. He wondered if their servant, dressed in borrowed finery, ruling over a mansion, really expected them to return and how she would cope with falling back into her former position if they did suddenly reappear.
He watched her pick a rose and bury her upturned little nose in its petals. Yes, she was certainly the sort of woman Felix would find attractive.
“When did you last see the general?” John asked, struck by both the informal way in which she referred to Felix and her frankness in confessing her hope of obtaining money from him. In his view the two put together supported what Eutuchyus had told him.
“Three days ago. And now, I am told he is gone. Do you think he ventured outside the city and was captured? Or killed?”
“Did he say that he intended to leave the city?”
“No, but he was impatient with the way things were going. He didn’t like the idea we might be imprisoned inside Rome for a long time. A soldier should not hide behind walls. It was better to die with a sword in hand, or so he said on more than one occasion.”
“But he had not made any plans?”
“None that he shared with me.”
She sounded sincere enough but John was not convinced. If she had not been disguised in borrowed aristocrat’s clothing, he might have been more inclined to believe her.
She grasped his arm and looked up at him urgently. “You don’t think he’s come to harm? Surely you will be able to find him, Lord Chamberlain!”
John looked at her sharply.
; “Have I said something wrong? Felix told me all about you, sir. He said you had caught any number of criminals and traitors.”
“Don’t let the information go any further,” John said. “It would be unwise.”
“Yes, sir. Except…”
“Yes?”
“Well, it is all over the city already, that the Lord Chamberlain has arrived in Rome.”
Shadows crept silently across the city as John left the senator’s house to return to his temporary lodgings. What should he make of Clementia’s remark that everyone in Rome knew who he was? Was it any more believable than anything else she’d told him? She knew who John was, thanks to Felix talking too much.
His journey took him past a fountain into which water sluggishly flowed. A ragged man with one leg leaned on the lip of its basin, drinking. There was a tavern nearby across from the Flavian Amphitheater. Of the tavern’s scant number of patrons, more sat outside than lounged at tables within. Conversations were muted and slow and faces showed exhaustion. John placed them as laborers, except for two husky men with cropped hair and military boots. They were in the middle of an argument over their game of knucklebones as he approached. A half-empty jug of wine beside them helped explain their lively if profane discussion.
“That’s three times I’ve rolled the dog,” cried the man who had a scar running from cheekbone to jaw. “No one’s luck is that bad. These bones aren’t fair!”
“They’re the same ones I’m rolling. Put another coin in the pot. Those are the rules.”
The scarred man pounded the table with his fist, scattering the bones which, despite what they were commonly called, were, in fact, made of glass. One fell to the pavement and skittered to a stop at John’s feet. He picked it up and returned it to the players. “An excellent game for a man Fortuna smiles on, my friends. Provided he avoids over-familiarity with the embrace of Bacchus while playing!”
“You are correct, sir,” slurred the scarred man. “So I dare not invite you to participate!” He nudged his companion in the ribs and gave a raucous laugh before sliding off his bench onto the pavement as smoothly as an eel spilling from a net.
