One for Sorrow (14 page)
The gold and silver tableware being arranged under John’s supervision on the main table in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches was worth the price of any number of inns equal to the Kaloethes’ establishment, which explained why a small army of guards was posted inside and outside the elongated, two-story high building where the most important imperial banquets were held. John only wished he could explain why Justinian had ordered him to oversee a task his assistants could carry out by themselves when John had more pressing matters to pursue.
He was contemplating the placement of a gold platter big enough to hold an entire pig, a platter Leukos had once confided had cost the imperial treasury 1,440 nomismata, when a series of piercing screams echoed through the long room.
Most high officials would have looked around for their personal bodyguards, but John, still ingrained with the habits of his military days, ran immediately toward the commotion.
Near the entrance two guards were struggling to hold a skinny child who was thrashing around like an eel.
John demanded an explanation.
“This little slave seems to think he has an audience with the Lord Chamberlain,” replied one the guards.
“He’s done well to get inside the hall. Sometimes initiative is rewarded. Let the boy go.”
The guards released the boy, who seemed suddenly overcome by awe.
“S-S-Sir…I…I…”
“What is your name, boy?”
“B-B-Beppolenus, sir.”
His tunic was bloody and there were bruises and blood on his face.
“Who beat you?” John glared at the guards, who muttered their innocence.
The boy wiped his face and rubbed his hand on his tunic, leaving red streaks. “X-Xiphias, sir.”
“You’ve come to tell me your master beats you?”
“No, sir. I’m to say…I’m here to tell you….the visitor you asked Xiphias about. He did come to speak with the Keeper of the Plate. Xiphias was lying. And…and the man spoke to Xiphias.”
“Indeed?”
Tears welled up and the boy wiped his eyes, smearing blood across his face. “Xiphias doesn’t know I’m here.”
“From your appearance I see he still clings to his old habits,” John said. “I shall accompany you back.”
As the boy turned to go, his swollen lips formed a smile of satisfaction.
***
John could not be certain Beppolenus was telling the truth. On their way to the workshop he couldn’t extract any coherent details from the boy. On the other hand, John knew from his own experience that Xiphias was a violent liar.
There was the time Xiphias, in one of his daily rages, smacked John across the face with a candlestick. Then Xiphias hauled him in front of Leukos, blood gushing from John’s nose, and claimed John had hurt himself when he and another young man had decided to engage in a sword fight with candlesticks.
The accusation that the twenty-five year-old John would have stooped to such childish stupidity hurt more than his smashed nose. It was particularly ridiculous because John, a man who had fought as a mercenary, could have easily killed any of the palace-raised apprentices had he decided to attack one.
John felt long-smoldering fury over that and other incidents as he strode into the Keeper of the Plate’s office. Perhaps it was time for Xiphias to suffer for his misdeeds. John prided himself on being a fair man, and he had not taken revenge on Xiphias now that he had power to do so. However, lying to the Lord Chamberlain, who was investigating a murder….that was a serious offense.
However, Xiphias was not there.
“He ran away like a scared dog,” one of the older apprentices told John, not trying to conceal his smirk of satisfaction. “As soon as Beppolenus went to tell you, right after Xiphias finished beating him.”
“This is true, Beppolenus?”
Beppolenus chewed his lip nervously. “Well, yes, sir. It was time. I mean, I was too scared before but after he hurt me I got angry.”
Leukos and John had from time to time talked about Xiphias and so it was that John knew the man, a bachelor, lived in rooms on the edge of the Copper Quarter. The neighborhood took its name from the metal-working establishments clustered there and John had grown familiar with it during his apprenticeship, when he had often visited workshops to deliver orders from the palace.
Xiphias’ building was a four-story structure of smoke blackened brick. John was greeted in the vestibule by a withered woman, dressed in soot colored robes, who gave the impression of having been smoked herself.
“Xiphias?” she wheezed. “You must have come for the rest of his things. I hope you brought a cart.”
“Is Xiphias here?”
“If he was here, you wouldn’t be moving his things, would you?” She looked at John through clouded eyes that apparently could not discern that he was not dressed like a laborer.
“He’s gone?”
The landlady coughed, then spat on the floor. “And good riddance. After all these years, this morning he says he’s leaving. Immediately! Well, he paid me what was due, so you can get on with it.”
“I’m here to speak with Xiphias, not to move his possessions. Where has he gone?”
“Did he tell me? Of course not, the ingrate. Didn’t I put up with his friends, in and out at all hours? Not that he didn’t make it worth my while.”
“He had a busy social life?” John couldn’t imagine that. It had always struck him that Xiphias hated humanity in general. Then again, he probably didn’t consider slaves and eunuchs and underlings quite human.
“Well, he was a single man, you know,” the landlady observed.
Apparently Xiphias had not only fled his workplace but also his residence as soon as Beppolenus ran off to see the Lord Chamberlain. Perhaps John had been wrong to doubt the boy’s story.
“Show me Xiphias’ rooms.”
The landlady cackled. “I don’t know how you’re going to move anything without seeing them. You’re a slow one, aren’t you? But I don’t suppose they employ you for your brains.”
The rooms were on the first floor and looked out onto a walled garden behind the building. They were well furnished. If much had already been moved out the place must have been extremely cluttered. John questioned the woman further.
A couple of men had loaded up a donkey cart.
“When was this?”
“Right before you arrived. I don’t know how you didn’t see them. You must be blind.”
“Mithra!” John muttered under his breath.
He raced outside. There were the usual crowds beneath the colonnades, some hurrying, others loitering in front of shops. The air was heavy with smoke and the sounds of the city.
There was little chance of catching up with Xiphias. Nevertheless, John started down the street, moving away from the palace on the theory that a fleeing man’s first inclination would be to put as much distance as possible between himself and what he feared.
John’s boots slapped loudly against the cobbles as he dodged wagons and horses. It was easier to navigate around the congested and slow-moving traffic than through the crush of pedestrians.
He overtook a covered litter borne by four hulking slaves. As he went by he caught a glimpse of the curtain opening a crack to allow a heavily powdered and rouged face to gape in amazement at what must have appeared to be a wealthy aristocrat gone mad.
He had spotted a high-sided donkey cart swerve abruptly into an alley, the driver applying the whip.
Was it Xiphias? Had he spotted John coming after him?
John managed a burst of speed and as the cart completed the turn and began to accelerate, he caught up, gained a handhold, and pulled himself on to the cart.
As he crashed down, toppling crates, he realized instantly that his pursuit had been in vain. This wasn’t the cart carrying Xiphias’ belongings.
Brushing feathers off his garments, he cursed, his oaths drowned by a cacophonous cackling.
He was certain that whatever Xiphias kept in his rooms it had not been chickens.
Anatolius gave no thought to Leukos’ murder or John’s investigation as he strolled with Europa.
He had gathered his courage and called on her at the
Anubis
. As soon as she agreed to accompany him on a tour of the city the unpleasant musings which had been competing for his attention the past few days were temporarily banished.
They had already visited the Church of the Holy Wisdom and the enormous bronze gate leading into the palace grounds, and now they had come to an obelisk at whose base sat a crone surrounded by birds in wicker cages.
She plucked boldly at Anatolius’ cloak. “Buy one of my pretties for your lady?”
Europa glanced at the bedraggled birds. Her mouth set firmly in a thin line. Anatolius noticed with a shock how she favored her father in mannerisms as well as in looks. He picked up a cage. “A partridge. Some keep them as house pets.”
“It’s a pity to see a free creature caged,” Europa said.
“Shall I buy one for you?”
“Only if you let it go!” came a voice from behind them. It was a large, redheaded man Anatolius did not recognize. “You must be the Lord Chamberlain’s friend Anatolius,” continued the stranger. “I’ve seen you at the palace. I am Thomas.”
Anatolius set the birdcage down. “Oh yes, the emissary from Bretania. John mentioned speaking with you.” He concealed his annoyance. “May I introduce you to Europa? She is one of the bull-leapers currently performing at the Hippodrome. I am showing her the sights of Constantinople.”
Thomas made a slight bow. “I am glad to make your acquaintance. I regret I cannot show you my native land, Europa. This poor uncivilized city suffers by comparison.”
Anatolius glowered at the interloper.
Thomas grinned and clapped a beefy hand on Anatolius’ shoulder. “You must take the humor of us barbarians with a grain of salt, lad.”
Anatolius shrugged away from the man’s hand. “Being a visitor, you may not realize that over familiarity is not encouraged here.”
Turning back to the bird seller, he dropped several coins into her dirty palm. “How many of your poor captives will this ransom?”
The old woman gazed at the coins in amazement. “These would free every partridge in Constantinople.”
“Be quick about it then.”
She began opening the doors of the cages. The dispirited birds seemed not to notice their chance for freedom, remaining perched or huddled where they were.
Europa brushed past Anatolius and removed one of the partridges. Cradling it in her hands she drew it up to her face. “Have you forgotten the sky?”
She tossed the bird high into the air. For an instant the poor creature seemed about to fall back to the ground, but its wings flapped weakly, then picked up a stronger beat. And suddenly it had cleared the top of the obelisk.
Its escape seemed to rouse its former companions. The air was alive, then only a few floating feathers remained as partridges scattered up into the sky above glittering domes and roofs.
“Shall we walk down the Mese, or perhaps you would like to see a collection of statues in a forum not far from here?”
“I’d much rather walk and see the sights and the people than look at a collection of old statues,” the girl replied, still looking toward the sky. She glanced at Thomas. “But since Anatolius is showing me around,” she said to him, “why don’t you accompany us?”
Her invitation struck Anatolius as much too eagerly offered. “John tells me you are on an important mission of state, Thomas. I’m sure you have no time for sightseeing.”
“There is always time for beauty,” the other replied.
Anatolius noted that Thomas’ gaze was not directed at the busy street. It was with a heavy heart that he led his two guests away, across the Forum of Constantine and on up the Mese toward the Forum Theodosius.
As they neared it, Europa stopped to stare raptly at a bronze pyramid. “What is this?”
Grateful for a chance to display his knowledge, Anatolius pointed out the various animals, plants, and birds decorating the monument. “The ornaments symbolize spring,” he lectured. “It was erected by the order of Theodosius, the second emperor of that name that is, and it seems some of the figures came from a pagan shrine.”
Thomas leaned back, hair cascading past the nape of his neck, and squinted up at the female figure pivoting back and forth atop the pyramid. “The wind’s moving the woman to and fro. Do the people here believe a woman is so fickle as to change direction with every breeze?”
“Not at all. The decorations represent spring, when all the world renews itself. The female, then, must be the Mother of All.”
“I see. Well, still, it is true that there are many women who are fickle. I remember one time when I was in Crete—”
“You know Crete?” Europa looked up at Thomas’ ruddy features with the exile’s hungering gaze. “You have been there recently?”
“Only a few months ago, after I left Cyrenaica and before I journeyed to Syria.”
Anatolius sensed the redheaded foreigner was bent upon passing him in the race for Europa’s interest, akin to a charioteer wielding his whip on the final circuit of the Hippodrome. “I hear Crete is a lovely island and has produced many things of great beauty. Let’s continue. There is something I think will particularly interest you, Europa.”
They had not gone far when three men embroiled in a noisy argument erupted from an alley. Two of the brawlers were squat men wearing the flour-bedaubed tunics of bakers. The third was dressed in the rough garments of a laborer.
Anatolius stopped short, preparing to call for assistance. The urban watch were never far off. Thomas’ beefy hand went to his sword hilt. Europa, however, simply skipped nimbly around the melee, hardly glancing at the three combatants.
It was apparent that the trio were a danger only to themselves, but, as he carefully sidestepped them, Anatolius felt renewed admiration for the self-possessed young woman. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he reminded himself. Someone who dealt with charging bulls would not likely be intimidated by an acrimonious public discussion.
“Europa,” he said. “We are almost there. If you will cover your eyes?”
The girl obliged, giving Anatolius an excuse to take her by the arm. Trailed by Thomas, he steered her under an arch and into the Forum Bovis, where he led her to the foot of an enormous bronze.
“Now you can look,” he instructed, hand lingering on her arm.
She opened her eyes. They widened. A broad smile settled on her face as her gaze wandered over the huge bull’s head which gave the forum its name.
“How beautiful! You must bring mother to see this too!”
“A beautiful beast,” said Thomas, in what sounded like sincere admiration.
Anatolius glanced at him with interest. When had Thomas seen him at the palace? Was this meeting a coincidence or could Thomas be following him for some reason? Surely not.
He turned his attention back to the young and attractive bull-leaper.