“Oh, yes,” Leonidas’ eyes lit up. “I study every travel account I can find. As soon as there’s time and money, we’ll go. Well, as soon as there’s time. I suppose I’ve spent as much on studying as several trips would have cost.”
“He knows Strabo by heart,” Helen said. “He can tell you how long it should take to ride between every way station from here to Jerusalem, along five different routes.”
“Six now, and I’m starting to plan a seventh-” He broke off. “But I will not bore you, my friend. You have seen the world. Rather than prattling on about my plans I should be asking you about the adventures you’ve had.”
“My travels have not always been pleasant.”
“I suppose not. Of course, everyone in Megara knows of you. When a native of a place such as this rises to the post of Lord Chamberlain, news soon reaches us.”
“From the attitudes I’ve encountered so far, I would rather they didn’t know who I was or what post I held.”
Leonidas waved a hand in dismissive fashion. “We don’t all share the same attitude. There are troublemakers everywhere. Diocles, for instance. The rascal’s been spreading rumors since he left your employment. There is great deal of enmity toward you in Megara. I happened to be in the marketplace the other day when your servants were attacked. I had been doing my best to defend your reputation. Little good it did. Are they all right?”
“Yes. Fortunately.”
“Leonidas,” said Helen. “Show your old friend your work.”
Leonidas reddened again. “Helen, I’m sure he doesn’t-”
“Of course I should like to see it!”
“I’ll light the lamp.” Helen hurried through the doorway in the wall opposite the row of windows. By the time John and Leonidas had stepped into the tiny windowless room it was illuminated brightly.
“You remember my bedroom?” Leonidas asked.
“How would I forget a room painted with scenes from the Odyssey?” The Cyclops, the cannibalistic Laestrygonians, Aeolus and his winds, shades from the underworld, but not the sirens or Circe or Calypso. It was a room for a young boy.
“It was our son’s too. But now it is mine again.”
Tables of all kinds and shapes and every number and arrangement of legs stood against the walls. For an embarrassed instant John was afraid Leonidas was going to tell him he collected tables. Then he noticed displayed on a single-legged stand a model of the pyramids, and next to it, on a marble slab supported by four lion’s legs, the Parthenon.
“You see this?” Leonidas directed John’s attention to a miniature re-creation of a high wall featuring a wide gate. “This is Troy, or the walls, at least. More accurately, improved walls. For several years now I have been pondering how the city might have been better defended and making adjustments to my model as they come to me. What I wanted to show you first, though, was my Constantinople.”
Helen moved away from the largest table, allowing John the view gulls enjoy looking down on the Great Palace and its tiered gardens, the Great Church, part of the Mese.
“It’s nothing but clay and paint, a little marble, plenty of wood, brick. Just bits of everything.” Leonidas’ voice rose with excitement.
“It is remarkable,” John said and meant it. “And amazingly accurate so far as I can tell. Though I have never flown over the capital to be able to look down on it. Where did you find your descriptions?”
“I’m always on the lookout for any kind of travel writing or history or treatise on architecture. And I’ve arranged interviews with visitors from the capital and people who have journeyed there. I hope that you will be able to assist me. I would like to try my hand at the Great Palace.”
“I can describe the grounds and buildings to you in detail, when there’s time.”
Helen smiled with evident pride. “Any emperor can expand the empire but how many men could shrink it to this size?”
Seeing the couple standing there looking down on the tiny city, John recalled the statue of Zeus he still had to inspect, and couldn’t help comparing Leonidas and Helen to Zeus and Hera gazing down from Olympus.
“Who could want anything more?” Leonidas observed, displaying the uncanny ability he’d always had of seeming to read John’s thoughts. “From our little home, Helen and I can see to the ends of the world. And I actually know the emperor’s Lord Chamberlain and a man who will, one day soon I wager, be raised to bishop. I have been blessed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alexis led John into the monastery library. John could hardly recognize him. The unruly hair of the impulsive young prankster John remembered had receded, revealing the broad forehead of one who thinks deeply. The perpetually flushed cheeks had grown hollow, the full lips, spouting every kind of juvenile outrage, were narrowed. What struck John most were the eyes, once gleaming with mischief, now vague and staring as if focused on some distant vision. The face might have been formed by years of living on prayer under a desert sun, but so far as John was aware, Alexis had never left the comforts of Megara.
“And so you have returned after all these years,” Alexis said. “When we were boys, who would have thought we would take such different journeys?”
They sat at a long table piled with codices and many scrolls, most of obvious antiquity. There was as much papyrus as parchment. The sun, near setting, had tinted the walls of the whitewashed room gold, now gradually turning to orange.
“Some of our holdings have taken equally long journeys, and I think you will find looking at a few of great interest.” Alexis turned to address the young monk who had entered bearing a polished wood box. “There you are, Stephen. Yes, that’s the box I want. Some of the greatest rarities I keep under lock and key,” he explained to John. “And this is Leonidas’ son. Stephen, our visitor is an old friend of your father’s and has just come from his house.”
“I am honored to meet you.”
At Alexis’ instruction, Stephen began to light lamps in the wall niches.
Alexis pulled a ragged sheet of parchment from the box, holding it to catch the last light from the windows.
“Yes, this is the document I mentioned. A few lines on the worship of Demeter in this area, written by an anonymous monk some centuries ago. There is nothing left but this badly decayed piece of parchment. Nevertheless, it is fascinating if fragmentary. Perhaps you could read it aloud to refresh my memory?”
John took the brittle sheet and began to read. “The goddess’ daughter stolen by…pigs driven into a chasm…remains later retrieved for certain rites…initiation…torchlit procession…sacred basket an important ritualistic artifact…little is known of mysteries of the higher grades…”
Fragmentary was a charitable description, John thought.
“There is great antiquarian interest in these old religions,” Alexis tucked the sheet gently back into the box. “Though spending so much time poring over ancient texts has made my eyes dimmer than they should be at my age. Stephen, you may return this to my study now.”
The younger monk retrieved the box with a deferential nod to John.
“What is the situation with the hospice?” Alexis asked Stephen. “Are you able to accept Crassus’ father yet?”
“We are still short of spaces. You know how it is. I would not wish to overcrowd the charges we already have.”
“Certainly not. But Crassus has been a generous benefactor. Couldn’t we use one of the temporary beds we keep for our own brothers when they fall ill?”
“I suppose so, but we’ve already turned most of them over to hospice residents.” Stephen replied. “We have one or two poor souls who seem to be failing. Perhaps the Lord in his wisdom and mercy will make room for Crassus’ father soon.”
After the young man left Alexis said, “An exemplary young man. When I learned that the son of our old friend Leonidas had decided to devote his life to the Lord, naturally I invited him to join us at Saint Stephen’s. And I have not regretted it. I don’t know what I would do without him. All the unfortunates he cares for, the sick and elderly, arrive and depart faster than I can keep track. I depend on him to do so.”