“I was certain almost all of Erinna’s poetry was lost to the ages, Scipio. Who could this gem possibly belong to? The emperor?”
“No. It belongs to a dealer in…such things. He brought it to me. The bits of the old scroll, that is.”
“How fascinating.” Crinagoras peered at his thumb. “Yet, I seem to have picked up some fresh ink from handling it…”
“Yes, well, being of great age some of the verses were exceedingly faint, you understand, so I was asked if I would highlight the writing a little here and there, to make it more legible. You cannot appreciate beauty if you cannot see it, can you?”
“A very poetic comment, Scipio,” Crinagoras observed with approval.
“You never know what’s going to happen next in this city,” Thomas grinned. “There’s no end to wonders here!”
“Quite so.” Crinagoras rubbed his smudged fingertips together. “Now what about my offer, Scipio?”
Scipio rubbed his scalp. It seemed less a nervous gesture than a sign of an incipient headache. “Parchment has gone up in price, you know,” he replied doubtfully.
“And why would that be, if people aren’t reading very much?”
“Perhaps it’s due to all those wills being made,” remarked Thomas.
“That may well be so,” replied Scipio. “How about this, Crinagoras? Jot some of your poetry down. Any old scrap of parchment will do. Then I’ll keep them on hand, and if anyone wants to purchase one it can be copied out nicely. I’ll be happy to keep a selection of your work on hand for my customers’ perusal. I’ll only charge you a nomisma.”
“What? You want a nomisma, even though you won’t have a proper copy on sale?”
“But you see, when anyone does ask for a copy I’ll split the profit with you.”
“I don’t know, Scipio. I’d have to think about it.”
Looking unhappy, Crinagoras walked from table to table, eyeing their offerings. He plucked a ragged piece of parchment from an enameled box full of similar sheets and scowled at the sign propped up nearby. “What does this mean, Scipio? Your sign says ‘Pre-inspired writing materials.’ What’s that?” He held the sheet up and squinted at it.
“Oh, it’s just something I offer at a reduced price. For poor poets. That’s to say poets with more inspiration than means.”
“I’ve heard poor poets tend to be poor poets,” put in Thomas.
Crinagoras suddenly reddened. “But…but…this was one of my epigrams! I can still see the words. You’ve scrubbed the parchment, Scipio! You’re selling my work as cheap writing material!”
“Pre-inspired parchment, my friend,” Scipio corrected him. “It helps to get the imagination going. The poet doesn’t have to supply the whole of the inspiration himself, because the parchment has already been imbued with previous genius. Think of it as a collaboration between you and some lesser writer, if you will.”
He snatched the scrap from Crinagoras’ trembling hand. “Besides, this particular parchment being in the box was a mistake,” he went on. “I shall have to rid myself of that bumbling assistant, I can see. This was never intended to be sold as writing material. It was…that is to say…I merely felt the verse was so strong, its emotions so overpowering, that, well, I thought it best to lighten the writing a little, to protect the reader’s sensibilities. Now, about that offer we were discussing…”
Crinagoras sniffed, then sneezed. He wiped his suddenly streaming eyes and sneezed again. “Yes, yes. I’ll bring you some poetry to keep on hand for copying, Scipio, but I’m only paying you half a nomisma. How much extra work can it be to keep a sheet or two of parchment sitting about on a shelf? Now I must leave. The scent of these flowers is overpowering. Where did you get the notion to fill the place with such heavily perfumed blooms? I much prefer the smell of ink and dust.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Yes, Lord Chamberlain, children can sometimes be troublesome.” Archdeacon Palamos looked sorrowful as, with a wave of a pudgy hand, he directed an urchin approaching with a jug of oil toward a flickering lamp suspended from an ornate silver stand.
“He’s one of our young orphans,” he went on with a fond smile. “Alas, there are so many in Constantinople these days that I fall into despair thinking of them being left all alone to fend for themselves.”
John offered a compliment on the ecclesiastical care given freely to the sick and helpless. “I shall endeavor not to detain you too long from your good works. Speaking of which, I hope this will be of some assistance.” He proffered a suitable amount.
“Most kind, Lord Chamberlain.” The man’s bow was impeded by his ample stomach, noticeable despite his voluminous robe.
There was an unnatural pallor to Palamos’ face. He looked perfectly at home among the bones and scraps of desiccated cloth and flesh that had at one time or another been mistaken for part of a departed holy man. As he’d approached John, moving through isolated pools of lamplight, he’d resembled a phantom.
“You were inquiring about Nereus’ will. It’s so sad that such a good friend has departed and died, worse than that, vexed to his soul by that troublesome son of his. Even so, he still remembered the unfortunate with his generous gift to the church.”
John had recognized Palamos. He had met him briefly years before, but the recollection was not mutual. Much had changed since then and the lighting in the crypt of the church was extremely poor. “Nereus left a legacy to the church?”
“He did.” Palamos peered first into a large box filled with irregular bundles tied with cords and then examined several dusty baskets whose contents John could not make out. Crates lined the walls, vying for space with more baskets and bundles. The air was thick with a sharp incense composed of dust and mold.
“And the son?”
“The legacy to the church reduced the estate to a small plot of poor land to the west of the city, holding the ruins of the house where Nereus was born. He stated he was leaving it to Triton because that was all he himself had inherited, so that his son could have the benefit of making a fortune by his own labors. Just between us, Lord Chamberlain, I believe the young man was fortunate to get even that.”
“I understand Triton had been involved with an unsuitable woman?”
“Unsuitable is hardly a strong enough word. An actress, a friend of bear trainers! We all know the way such women earn a few nomismata extra, don’t we? Every night I pray my dear parentless boys will escape the fleshly fish hooks dangled by such low women. They drag such innocents down, straight into the clutches of the demons of lust, and then it is eternal agony and for what, I ask you, for what?”
“Could you describe who was there when Nereus made his will?”
“Nereus was frantic, poor man. There was a great deal of confusion and difficulty finding the required number of witnesses.” Palamos gazed up at the shadowy ceiling, recalling recent events. “I had gone to offer him spiritual comfort, having heard he had been taken ill. He asked me to assemble witnesses. I discovered his house steward, whom he had specifically requested, was himself too sick to attend. However, his assistant, Cador, a man from Bretania and well trusted by his master, was able to take his place.”
Palamos knitted his brows and glanced up again as if invoking heavenly aid for his memory.
“It was dreadful, Lord Chamberlain, seeing my dear friend sinking so fast.” A vague smile flickered across his face. “Dear me, that could almost be the sort of jest a callous person would make, given Nereus’ shipping interests. To return to your question. Also present were a couple of men I did not know, these being a cart driver and that obscene simpleton who has been running about the city lately holding himself out as being a holy fool. Can you imagine the dreadful anguish of being on your deathbed with a pair like that standing next to it?”
An outraged tone crept into Palamos’ voice. “Do you know, this so-called holy fool started telling what he considered humorous anecdotes, despite my pleas to respect the situation. Why, the more I protested, the more lewd they became!”