Mary Reed - Seven for a Secret

It had begun to rain harder. He could hear it drumming on the roof. A gust of wind blew rain into the enclosure. Steam rose from the hot earth at the base of the kiln.

John expressed polite admiration for the tesserae and dropped them back into the basket.

“If it is to be a large job, I will need some time to prepare,” Michri said. “And for certain colors, I can’t be sure I can obtain the proper ingredients. On the other hand, I still have cakes of glass in certain hues ready to be cut.”

“It would be a small undertaking. I understand you’ve supplied tesserae for years. Do you recall who created the mosaics in my house? It was about ten years ago. The tax collector Glykos owned the house at the time. I’d like to engage the same artisan for some repair work.”

Michri’s face wrinkled in thought and then he grinned. “I can assist you, Lord Chamberlain! I remember that job well, small as it was, because it required many of the tesserae to be prepared in a peculiar manner, oddly shaped and painted on one facet. When the mosaic maker insisted that such tesserae could be set into the mortar in such a way as to show different scenes according to the lighting, I was skeptical, but apparently his method works since I hear he’s done several others since.”

“It does indeed, Michri. The effect is startling. I will arrange for you to visit and see for yourself in the near future. Do you remember the man’s name?”

“Certainly. He lives not far from here. His name is Figulus.”

“Do I remember the mosaics I made for Glykos? I wish I could forget them.” Figulus leaned forward on his stool to smooth the black curls of the smaller of two chubby infants who had crawled for cover under the table when John appeared in the doorway, shaking the rain off his cloak.

John’s damp garments steamed in the warmth of the workshop. By keeping to the shelter of colonnades and second story overhangs, he had avoided being completely soaked by the downpour.

“So you are, indeed, the artisan responsible for the work in my private bath? I am happy to hear it. I wish you to carry out some repairs.”

Figulus frowned and drew his hand away from the child. The mosaic maker was a paunchy, middle-aged man, unremarkable in appearance, except for his hands whose long fingers were as calloused as those of a bricklayer. “I regret that my next few months are quite full of assignments, excellency.”

“The repair I have in mind involves the addition of apparel and altering the, shall we say, postures of certain figures. The previous owner’s taste differed from mine and from that of my family.”

“Ah, I see. Then as crowded as my schedule is, I’m certain I can find time to assist you.”

The workshop was a spacious room with whitewashed walls. A youth in his twenties scooped handfuls of glass cubes from a row of barrels and sorted them into neat piles. Occasionally he glanced toward the other end of the table where John and Figulus sat.

The heaped tesserae glowed with color, as if the glass had trapped and accumulated the dim light seeping through the windows before reflecting it back in shades from red to deepest lapis lazuli. In a corner a younger boy created a design with colored marble pieces he pressed into a damp plaster bed held in a wooden frame.

“Perhaps it would be best to discuss the modifications at some other time, Figulus, considering the nature of the figures.”

“Lord Chamberlain, as you see, like you I have a family. At the time of the commission I already had two sons, who are now my apprentices.” Figulus waved a hand at the young men.

“When Glykos described what he wanted I was repelled,” he went on. “The subject matter was unfit for a Christian household. But what could I do? I needed to feed my family. To refuse the wielder of such influence would have meant the end of my career. A good career, too. The empress has praised the decorations I made for the imperial residences. But then, didn’t our Lord say we should give to Caesar what is Caesar’s? What Glykos demanded was Caesar’s, not a thing to which the Lord would lay claim. Naturally, I don’t mean to impugn our current caesar who is a most godly man.”

John said he understood. “What might be done about the mosaic in the study? The way it changes with the light reminds me of certain members of court. Ingenious workmanship I admit, but…”

“Offensive to any good Christian.” Figulus finished the thought, then looked down at the infants under the table. They sucked their thumbs and stared up at John with wide eyes like a pair of owls. “All things of beauty come from the Lord. Don’t you agree, Lord Chamberlain? What are the tesserae from which I form my designs? In themselves, nothing, just dull bits of glass. They shine only when they reflect the light sent from above.”

“Which requires some skillful intervention on the part of artisans such as yourself,” John pointed out.

“That’s true. In order for the finished mosaic to sparkle when it catches the light, the tesserae must be pressed into the wet plaster at varying angles. It isn’t surprising that a mosaic can have a different aspect at one hour and quite another earlier or later.”

“But not often so different an aspect as the mosaic in my study can present. Where did you learn the technique?”

“I discovered it for myself. I found that by cutting the facets at certain angles, and painting one side…but I must not waste your valuable time, Lord Chamberlain. Please believe me when I tell you while some of my patrons have asked me to put my skills to the most vile use yet I have had many worthy commissions. In one of the Patriarch’s private chapels Lazarus opens his eyes when a lamp filled with holy oil is lit and set before it. If I may say so, I am particularly proud of that creation.”

Figulus sat with his hands in his lap, long fingers intertwined as if he were ready to pray.

Those were the hands which had given birth to Zoe.

“I’ve spent hours admiring your work,” John said. “During the daytime of course. Do you recall when you made those particular mosaics?”

“I remember exactly. It was in the sixth year of Justinian’s reign. I finished the very day the Blues and Greens rioted against the emperor. Both factions poured out of the Hippodrome and fought in the streets. I feared for my life all the way home. It isn’t something easily forgotten.”

“You had already finished the mosaic in the bath at my house?”

“Yes, during the summer. When I heard what Glykos wanted for the study I delayed, hoping he’d change his mind. I became indisposed. I found several urgent commissions in other parts of the palace. Finally he refused to believe me when I explained that the winter was not the best season for that kind of work, that the plaster might not set correctly. He would not be swayed. So I began on a chilly day in January and finished the day the riots began. Or at least I thought I had finished.”

John asked him what he meant.

Figulus glanced in the direction of his older sons, who continued their tasks. He looked down at his clasped hands uneasily. “I regret I will bore you with my reminiscences.”

“Not at all, Figulus. I have always been fascinated by the mosaic in my study. Tell me what happened.”

“Very well. As I said, I believed I had finished my repulsive commission from Glykos. As soon as I was back home, my wife and I knelt and thanked the Lord I didn’t need to venture outside again. As the light faded we saw mobs surging through the street below our windows. When night fell it was worse for then of course we could see nothing. More than once the house door creaked and rattled as someone tried to get in.”