Anatolius grabbed more poems from the basket and consigned them to the fire.
“In times like these, writing poetry is frivolous.”
“Homer might disagree, but what of your duties as Justinian’s secretary? There’s nothing frivolous about writing proclamations for the emperor. What will he say to the Armenian ambassador without you?”
“Obviously I’ll still be at Justinian’s disposal, not that he needs me. Remember, I was given the position because I’m a senator’s son.”
“Most of us at court are senators’ sons, but we’re not all as talented as you.”
Anatolius took the basket and upended it over the brazier.
Francio flicked ashes from his garment. “A lawyer! I give your new occupation a month, and that’s being generous!”
“What did you want to see me about, Francio?”
“I intended to ask you to dinner. I’ve planned a fine menu.”
“With the plague still raging? I wouldn’t have thought there was enough food left in the city to make a decent meal!”
“The shelves of the city may be empty, Anatolius, but nature’s larder is still full. Yesterday it was venison. Tonight, we shall feast on pheasant.”
“You’ve hired someone to poach in the emperor’s preserves?”
“What do I know about hunting? For all I know the deer might have come out of the Marmara, and the delectable crane I had the night before could have been snared wandering the docks or crossing the Forum Bovis. I don’t ask those who supply my needs.”
“You’re still trying to eat every creature mentioned in the Natural History?”
Francio wrinkled his forehead and tapped his ruined nose. “An excellent notion. I’ll have to consider that after my current project. At present, I’m recreating Trimalchio’s feast. You know the one. A wild boar stuffed with live thrushes, and wearing a liberty cap. A nice touch! I must not forget the liberty cap. First, however, I must obtain a wild boar.”
“Isn’t that somewhat ambitious?”
“Do you think so? If Justinian can reconquer Italy, I can manage to recreate a mere banquet. In connection with which, I am having some difficulty finding tooth powder.” He coughed and waved floating ashes away. “I believe I’ll return home and try my hand at composing verse. With all the smoke and ashes in here, I must have inhaled quite a bit of your genius by now!”
“You’re welcome to try. Poetry never did me any good. Nor anyone else.”
Anatolius glanced into the cooking pot set beside the brazier. The pot was filled with a mixture of honey and poppy seeds, now ruined by the flecks of ash that covered its glistening surface, not to mention rapidly gathering flies. Evidently it was one of Peter’s confections, removed hurriedly from the heat and abandoned.
“Come to dine anyway,” Francio replied. “I imagine you’ve worked up quite an appetite burning your past. But why skulk in here using the Lord Chamberlain’s brazier? Isn’t yours up to the task?”
“I thought it would be prudent to stay here in case someone has designs on John’s house. I wouldn’t be surprised, given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances are these? Has something happened to the Lord Chamberlain? Not the plague?”
Anatolius offered his visitor a glum smile. “No. No, John is well. Or as well as possible, considering he’s on his way to Egypt.”
Chapter Five
John leaned carefully against the rail in the stern of the Minotaur. He did not look down into the swirling water. The sight of such depths made him uneasy.
Instead, he stared over the undulating and treacherous surface back toward Constantinople. Already the shapes of individual buildings heaped on its peninsula were becoming obscured by distance. Only the dome of the Great Church and the customs house rising from its tiny island at the mouth of the Bosporos were still recognizable.
He had come to consult Peter, who looked worriedly away from the birds swooping in the ship’s wake. “I hope the morning meal was acceptable, master. Bread was all I could obtain. Plain fare to be sure, but nourishing enough. There’s many in Constantinople would be glad of it right now.”
John thought his servant looked tired. Peter’s hands, gripping the rail, appeared more gnarled than they had while stirring the pots on the kitchen brazier. How old was Peter? John realized with some surprise that he did not know either Peter’s age or where he had been born.
“It was perfectly acceptable, Peter, thank you. Now I wish to ask you a few questions. Did Thomas return to the house before you and Cornelia departed?”
“No, but we didn’t expect him back yet, since he’s working at night for Madam Isis.” Peter’s lips puckered around the name “Isis” as if it were an unripe olive. As a devout Christian, he did not approve of prostitutes, or even of those, such as Thomas, who served as doorkeepers for such establishments.
John’s opinion of Thomas was darker still.
Peter made the sign of his religion and continued. “Forgive me, master, for speaking ill of your daughter’s husband, but consider the job he holds. It’s not a proper profession for a member of the Lord Chamberlain’s family.”
John didn’t point out that Isis was a good friend of his, as Peter well knew. However rigid Peter’s morality, he always found a loophole for the behavior of his employer. If John had been a Christian expecting to face the judgement of a demon tribunal on the ladder to heaven, he would have wanted Peter there to serve as his defender.
“You haven’t noticed anything odd lately, Peter? Thomas didn’t bring anything unusual into the house or perhaps mention unfamiliar names?”
“I try not to take notice of the personal affairs of those I serve, master.”
“A commendable trait, Peter, but if you should remember anything out of the ordinary, let me know immediately.”
“I will pray to remember anything useful I may have overlooked. It would be helpful if I knew what it was you suspected Thomas-”
John’s sharp look cut him off. “Now, tell me what happened when Captain Felix arrived.”
Peter frowned, adding another layer of wrinkles to the abundant creases in his brown face. “It was not long after dawn, and I’d risen to prepare the morning meal. There was a knocking at the house door that would have awakened the dead. At the time I didn’t realize you weren’t at home.” He cast a reproachful glance at John.
“Well, as you now know, I had been unavoidably detained on imperial business.”
“That’s not how Captain Felix put it, master.”
“What did he say?”
“Most of his comments I would prefer not to repeat. Captain Felix has an inventive turn of phrase when he’s angry, and I say that as an old army cook. Anyhow, just as I was going downstairs to attend to the door, the mistress appeared. She looked very worried and said you had been gone all night.”
There was no need to elaborate on what unexpected absences could mean at the palace. The gilded corridors at the center of the empire were more dangerous than the most squalid of the city’s alleyways.
Peter continued his account. “Captain Felix almost knocked me down when he burst into the house. He was furious. He told us you’d been exiled for murdering a senator, and that you’d been caught red-handed with the body.”
John was silent. He could feel the deck shifting with the swell, but kept his gaze fixed on the receding city. No doubt the murderer of Senator Symacchus was still there, as well as those who might be able to reveal the murderer’s identity.
“Not that any of us believed the accusation, master,” Peter went on. “I don’t think the captain did either. He told us if we were fast enough we could catch this ship. The mistress instructed Europa to seek Anatolius’ help, and then we left.”
John was silent.
Peter frowned. “It is my opinion that if certain people knew Captain Felix had alerted us to your departure and the name of the ship taking you away, he would be in, well, a very difficult position.”