Mary Reed: Six for Gold

“It’s boiled gull,” he accused.

“Well, if you must be so crude…” Francio was hurt. “Do you know how hard it is to keep a respectable table these days?”

Indeed it was, Anatolius thought, when a self-confessed epicure offered his guests noxious weeds and seabirds drowned in garum sauce.

Thomas attacked the repast with gusto.

“You and Thomas appear to be getting along well,” Anatolius ventured.

“I feel fortunate to have him as a guest. He’s already given me several banquets’ worth of excellent anecdotes. You know how it is at court, a good story can be more valuable than gold. My servant Vedrix is getting jealous.” Francio inclined his head toward the young wine server stationed at the door and added in a whisper, “He thinks Thomas is competing with him for my affections.”

Anatolius glanced at the servant. He was a dark, sturdy, sullen fellow outfitted in classical style, resembling a young man who had stepped out from the painting on an ancient Greek vase.

Thomas dropped his heavy silver knife and wiped his rust-colored beard with the back of his hand.

Anatolius decided it was time to question Thomas again. “Could we speak in confidence? Could Vedrix leave the room?”

Francio instructed the man to do so and then turned to Anatolius. “My servants are very discreet, but I always humor my guests. Well-known for it, in fact. What did you want to discuss?”

“Thomas has of course explained why he requested temporary lodgings with you?”

“Oh, yes, and it’s all very exciting! However, he hasn’t revealed how it came to be that he found himself in the Hippodrome at that particular time.”

“That’s what I’d like you to clarify, Thomas.”

“It’s as I told you a few days ago, Anatolius. I heard about an employment opportunity while I was guarding Isis’ door.”

Fidgeting like an impatient child, Thomas recounted how he had overheard a loose-tongued servant bragging to one of the girls at Isis’ establishment about his master’s plans to surreptitiously obtain a fabulous relic that would astound the city.

“I’ve never heard such braggarts as I’ve heard in that place,” Thomas concluded.

“Who was this servant?” asked Anatolius.

“Isis won’t allow the names of any of her guests to be bandied about. He was a young man, but completely bald. He and Antonina were standing in the corridor and she kept rubbing his head. For good luck, or so she said,” Thomas sniggered.

“You doubtless hear a lot of fascinating stories at your work. It must be like having a vast library of human experience at your fingertips.” Francio sounded wistful.

Thomas nodded. “Standing by the door all night, unless a brawl breaks out there’s not much to do but listen. My ears pricked up when I heard mention of a relic. As I’ve told you, I’m somewhat of an expert there.”

At Anatolius’ prodding, and despite numerous interruptions from Francio, Thomas recounted how Antonina had finally been persuaded, although still refusing to provide a name, to identify her customer as belonging to Senator Symacchus’ household. Thus had Thomas found his way to the senator’s door.

Anatolius saw clearly what had subsequently happened. “So in short, you offered to sell the senator your services in obtaining this relic, not to mention keeping your mouth shut about it afterwards? From the senator’s viewpoint, it was as much a threat as an offer!”

Thomas scowled. “I thought it was a very reasonable one, and so did the senator. However, as I said, he was cautious. That’s why I was given a certain little item I showed you a few days ago.”

“Take his word for it, Anatolius,” said Francio. “The man’s memory is perfect. He can describe to you every bit of armor worn by every foe he’s killed.”

“And probably each man’s eye color as well. It’s time I returned to John’s house. Francio, are you taking all the precautions I advised?”

“I think I can see my house is properly guarded.”

“Thomas, keep trying to remember anything that might be useful. If you recall something, Francio will get word to me. You must remain hidden for now.”

“How is Europa?” Thomas asked.

“Well enough.” Anatolius didn’t mention he had not spoken to her. He turned to Francio. “Thanks for your assistance. I count it a great favor.”

Francio spooned the remaining sauce off his plate. “As Publilius Syrus put it,” he replied with a grin, “treat friends as if they may one day be enemies.”

Anatolius looked surprised.

“Not you. It’s what’s on my spoon.” Francio flourished the silver utensil. “I commissioned a set of them, to be decorated with various quotations. It’s to stimulate dinner conversation, should it lag.”

“Are they all taken from Publilius Syrus?” Anatolius wondered.

“Yes. Originally I engaged a court poet for the job. One Crinagoras. Do you know him? Unfortunately, to accommodate the length of his verse my guests would have been forced to eat with spears.”

Anatolius chuckled. “Thank you again, my friend.” He picked up his own spoon and read its lettering. “I am advised that accepting favors sells my freedom. It’s all very puzzling. I suppose I should try to talk to Felix next. I feel quite lost.”

Peter trudged through the network of alleyways behind the harbor in Alexandria, clutching his satchel to his chest. He had crept out of the hostelry before dawn. Now the sun beat down on his uncovered head. The sparse gray hair covering his scalp felt hot to the touch. The master and mistress would have missed him hours ago, though he had planned to accomplish his mission before they realized he was gone. Now, no doubt, they would be worrying about him.

Peter had not loosened his protective grip on his satchel all morning. The bag contained silks he had packed before their hasty departure. There had been no time to prepare properly for the journey, but silks could be folded small, were light, and, being of great value, were easily converted to coins. It had been kind of Nikodemos to return the boat fare, but judging from the cost of their first night’s lodgings in Alexandria, the sum regained would not be nearly enough to cover their needs.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to find any establishments dealing in fine fabrics. Perhaps that was not surprising so close to the docks. Nonetheless he was amazed he had not, at least, run across a brothel whose employees and patrons might be interested in his wares. Or so he supposed. Now elderly as well as devout, Peter’s experience of brothels and their inhabitants was some years behind him.

Aside, that is, from infrequent exchanges with John’s old friend Madam Isis, who occasionally visited John to chat about former times. She, like John, had once lived in Alexandria, or so she claimed. Surely Isis would know where to find a brothel in this city even after being away from it so many years?

She might have lived near the docks, he thought, might even have purchased items from the now old men he saw everywhere, squatting beside their merchandise.

Their stock in trade was mainly edible, even if barely so in some cases-sticky dates and figs encrusted with dust, pungent onions marred by an occasional rotten patch, cucumbers displaying small fuzzy patches of gray mold, and cabbages wilting from the heat.

Peter emerged into sunlight and crossed a busy square. Brightly clad men, hawk-nosed and wavy-haired, squabbled over bunches of leeks and radishes and baskets of coriander. Half-naked children teased thin, scavenging mongrels. Swirling clouds of droning, fat, black flies hovered over everything, crawled on the face of an infant held in its mother’s arms, tracked across slices of melon oozing sweet liquid. The air smelled of rotted and fermenting fruit. The scene might have been just off the Mese in Constantinople, except for the throngs of long-legged ibis strutting about, hopefully sticking their curved beaks into piles of debris littering the gutters.