Mary Reed: Seven for a Secret

“I could not allow that, Peter. You have been a loyal and excellent servant and deserve some time to rest in the sunlight when you grow old.”

“You will forgive me saying so, master, but I am a free man, not a slave, and I may leave your employment if I wish.”

John finished his wine and set down the cup. “We will discuss this some other time, Peter. Right now, there is something else I wish to talk to you about. I know you are always discreet and I appreciate that.”

A smile added new wrinkles to Peter’s face. “Thank you, master.”

He left the brazier and resumed chopping.

John paused, seeking the best way to frame his question without casting aspersions on his servant’s loyalty. “It concerns the mosaic in my study and the girl Zoe. As you know, I sometimes talk to her.”

Peter hesitated. “I have heard you speaking out loud, if that’s what you mean.”

“This worries you,” John went on.

“I would not question you, master. After all, I sing to myself.”

“But I know that my speaking to Zoe distresses you.”

A look of horror clouded Peter’s face “Master! I wouldn’t criticize you to anyone! Is that what you believe? I never talk about you or the mistress! What goes on in this house is nobody else’s business. The court is a dangerous place and there are always those looking for information they might use for their own evil purposes.”

Such as the fact the Christian emperor’s Lord Chamberlain was a practicing Mithran, John thought. “I am sorry to have had to raise the matter,” he replied. “My talking to myself, as you put it, is innocent enough, but I wondered if you had voiced your concern to anyone. I could understand it if you had.”

“I assure you, master, I have done no such thing.”

“I believe you. Yet the fact is somehow this habit of mine has become known to strangers.”

Peter flushed with anger and flourished the knife he had been using. “They are talking about it on the public streets you mean? How dare they? But how could anyone know, master? Who would say anything?”

“It might have been a friend who let it slip,” John mused.

Peter’s expression brightened. “Ah. Well, if I may say so, master, young Anatolius can be indiscreet, and Captain Felix too, sometimes, well, after a cup too much wine. And then there are a number of courtiers who would be only too happy to make you a figure of fun.”

Considering John employed one servant and entertained few visitors, it was difficult to think of more than a handful of people who might have overheard his conversations with the mosaic girl, let alone discovered the name by which he called her.

“They say the very walls of the palace have ears,” Peter went on, as if reading his thoughts.

“They might,” John replied, “but can they talk as well?”

“Of course I haven’t mentioned Zoe to anyone! Furthermore, I’d be extremely annoyed if I didn’t realize you had good reason to question me.”

Anatolius gestured at his desk, piled with documents and scrolls. “With all the legal work brought about by the plague, I’ve hardly had time to speak to the servants let alone gad about the city gossiping about my friends behind their backs.”

He picked up a scroll and waved it in John’s direction. “I must get this summons delivered today. An old acquaintance of my father’s has engaged me to bring a case against an estate. It involves the deceased children of deceased parents and competing guardians, some dead, not to mention grandchildren, several of whom might actually be alive. Or perhaps not. As you know, we have four months to conclude these cases one way or the other, before they are thrown out. It could take that long to find enough competent witnesses to swear to the pertinent documents. And, needless to say, our opponent will cry forgery in any event.”

“Not as easy as going down to Avernus,” John observed.

“No. More like trying to return.” Anatolius gave a rueful laugh as he stared down into the jumble of documents. Following his gaze, John saw the image of a skull staring back from the tiled desk top.

Anatolius shoved a leather bound codex over the fleshless visage. “That was father’s idea. He thought a man should surround himself with reminders of his mortality. What I say is mortality’s perfectly happy to tap you on the shoulder and remind you when the time comes.”

“The cupids at least bring a note of joy.” John nodded toward the nearest wall, decorated with cavorting godlets playing musical instruments or driving chariots pulled by donkeys.

Anatolius smiled. “Yes. You’ll recall this was my mother’s reception room, and after she died father made it his study. I must admit I’ve noticed some of my clients looking askance.”

“You hadn’t thought of meeting them in another room?”

The suggestion appeared to surprise Anatolius. “I suppose I could move my study if I wished. You know, this place still feels as if it is my parents’ house. Not mine. I expect it always will. Perhaps I should ask old Bony for his opinion.”

“Who is he-or was he?”

“That’s what I named the skull when I was a child. Do you imagine you’re the only one who talks to inanimate representations? I used to have nightmares about old Bony. I’d hear a sound in the night and put my head under my coverlet. I imagined it was the skull, pulling itself up out of the tiles and rattling down the hallway after me. What kind of decoration would you choose for a lawyer’s office, John?”

“Probably plain plaster. Are you certain you didn’t mention Zoe to anyone? We all have a little too much to drink at times and some of us become garrulous.”

Anatolius refused to be offended at the implication. “If intoxication’s involved, the main suspect would be Felix. How long would I have lasted as Justinian’s private secretary if I gave away secrets every time I drank?”

“A lover perhaps?” John persisted. “One’s reserve often gets lost in the bedroom.”

“I’m sure it’s just what a woman wants to hear, John! Do you know, my little sparrow, you remind me of the girl on the Lord Chamberlain’s wall. The one he talks to at night. Why, I can tell you the most amazing things about the Lord Chamberlain. He loves grilled swordfish and-”

“I concede the point, Anatolius! Setting aside the question of the name for now, then, first I want to find out the identity of the murdered woman. After that, I’ll be able to work backward to those responsible.”

“Maybe she died in a brawl with a client. That’s a common enough end for some.”

“Perhaps, but that’s irrelevant to the matter in hand. You see, Anatolius, I’ve always been convinced that, because of its individuality, the girl in the mosaic was a portrait of an actual person, perhaps the artisan’s daughter. If the mosaic maker is still alive, and I can find him, he might know who the model was.”

Anatolius pondered the notion. “It’s a long time since the mosaic was created. It was in the house when you acquired it, as I recall.”

“That’s right, a little less than ten years ago. The previous owner lost the place after the riots. He lost his head as well.”

“Aside from so much time passing, those riots claimed a lot of lives and lately the plague has cut a swathe through the populace,” Anatolius pointed out. “I wouldn’t roll the knucklebones on your chance of finding the man you want to interview. I could ask one of the imperial clerks to consult the archives, given the house is on the palace grounds. There might be some record of payment for the work.”

“Unless the previous occupant personally paid for the work. More importantly, I don’t want to alert anyone at court to my investigation. It’s purely a private matter.”