Mary Reed - Five for Silver

John recalled the hot, oily taste of grilled fish. Very few fishermen brought their catches to Constantinople now. Neptune’s bounty was largely unharvested.

What macabre chance had carried his thoughts from horses to fish, he wondered.

Because Neptune created the horse, his memory told him, and horses race at the Hippodrome.

“But none are so fair as the team pulling Neptune’s chariot, his horses tossing manes of gold and skimming over the sea on gleaming bronze hooves,” John said out loud.

John emerged from the gloom of a narrow alley into the light of a nondescript square near the docks. If strangers could not assist him in furthering his investigations, it might be time to seek the aid of old acquaintances.

As he had hoped, Pulcheria perched in her usual spot on the steps leading to a warehouse portico. Tripod, her three-legged feline companion, frisked around beside her, worrying at a small rat as Pulcheria braided together several pieces of red cloth. The bright strip of fabric thus created would doubtless soon join other colorful scraps ornamenting her tangled hair, complementing the rainbow of rags in which she was dressed.

It was a homely scene, more so than the bedlam at Prudentius’ house despite the fact it was outdoors.

Pulcheria looked up at the sound of John’s quick step. She smiled and cocked her head artfully, presenting him the half of her face that was still a pretty woman’s rather than the melted wax horror of the other side, the result of burning lamp oil thrown by an angry client.

“Ah, it is my friend from the palace.” She climbed to her feet and gave an exaggerated bow. “How may Tripod and I assist you today?” she asked as she took her seat on the worn steps again.

John sat down beside her. “I shall naturally make any time I take worth your while, Pulcheria.”

“Oh, I do like dealing with men from the palace. They’re always so very generous.”

John took the hint and handed her an appropriate amount. She studied it carefully with her one good eye and then, with a satisfied nod, tied the coins into the hem of the tunic she wore beneath her gaudy rags. The action momentarily revealed legs streaked with dirt.

“Ah,” she said with a sly laugh, “of late life has been so hectic I have been unable to make my accustomed regular visits to the baths.”

“Hectic, you say?”

“Yes, hectic!” Pulcheria flung her thin arms wide, setting their attached rags and ribbons fluttering and startling Tripod. “With the city in the grip of sudden and painful death, it’s hardly surprising the churches have never been so full. A friend of mine who ministers to weaknesses of the flesh in the Augustaion complains the constant singing and praying coming night and day from the Great Church is very bad for her trade.”

John ventured the suggestion that it might also be likely that such constant reminders of sin would dampen the ardor of prospective clients.

“That’s exactly what I said! It’s as obvious as fleas on a mangy dog, excellency. In fact, I strongly advised her to move to another square right away. Just so long as it wasn’t this one.”

“This is a tranquil spot compared to where I’ve been recently.”

“A rare lull. Already this morning I’ve entertained six clients. However, that’s no surprise since so long as heaven has been satisfied with prayers and a coin or two given in charity, once men are well away from all that singing and praying, it’s time for them to satisfy their bodies. Yes,” she mused, absentmindedly scratching a grubby ankle, “for some of us city dwellers, the plague has been a godsend of a different sort.”

John asked what she meant.

“For one thing, with so many lying dead in the streets beggars have been having a much easier time. The departed are less inclined to refuse the outstretched palm, aren’t they? Yes, beggars all wear new boots these days.”

Glancing at Pulcheria’s ragged garments, John observed that evidently she had not taken advantage of the unexpected bounty to be harvested in every square and alley.

“Well, excellency, I must admit I’ve borrowed a few smaller items no longer needed by their owners. Yesterday, however, I had a very distressing experience. I chanced upon a woman wearing a most beautiful garment, brilliant blue it was. Very striking. But when I turned her over, I saw it was not a wealthy stranger, but a woman with whom I had some slight acquaintance.”

Pulcheria’s expression was sorrowful as she continued her tale. “She was an elderly widow who had been forced to live on the street late in life. She’d had a very hard time, as you might imagine. Just think, excellency, those blue robes were the finest garments she’d worn in years. I wonder where she got them from. Perhaps a cast-off from some aristocratic lady, such as she’d been once? I just didn’t have the heart to take them. It would’ve been like robbery.”

She began threading the braided red strip through her dark hair. “It’s as well that the theater is closed just now. A lot of my clients used to go there and then visit me afterwards, so with the sudden rise in other business I’d certainly have my hands full.” She gave a lewd laugh.

“Your knowledge of the theater is in fact why I’m here, Pulcheria. Do you happen to know an actress going by the name of Sappho? You may have seen her in the company of the bear trainers quartered near the Hippodrome.”

“Sappho, you say? I don’t recall her immediately, I admit, but you know how it is, they change their names all the time. What does she look like?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. I’ve only heard about her from a person who wasn’t able to give me much of a description, except that this Sappho puts on airs.”

Pulcheria laughed. “If you’d told me she didn’t put on airs, I’d be able to identify her right away, since she’d be the only actress in the city who didn’t. I’ll ask around and see if I can find out anything about her for you. Ah, I see a possible client approaching. Notice the furtive look?”

She shook her head. Several of the ribbons and cloth scraps in her hair fell down in a colorful veil that partly obscured the ruined side of her face.

A portly, middle-aged man strolled slowly across the square toward them. His face was as pink as a baby’s, as if he’d just come from the baths. The buckle on his belt was silver. He appeared to be studying the empty porticos on the other side of the square with great attention and then transferred his gaze to the sky. He nodded a dignified greeting to another man who hurried past, paying him no heed at all.

Pulcheria giggled. “See? What pains he takes to declare to the world that of course he is not considering hiring a prostitute to satisfy his lust, as if anyone were thinking he was, or would even care.”

As predicted, the portly man passed in front of John and Pulcheria and then turned back suddenly and hastily tossed a handful of nummi at John. “I’ll borrow the woman. Here’s her hire.”

***

“And what did you do with Pulcheria’s fee?” Isis asked, pouring John wine. They were seated on a soft couch in her private apartment on the upper floor of the establishment.

“I’ve still got it,” John admitted. “I’ll give it to her on my way back to the palace.”

“Why didn’t you wait until she emerged from the alley?” Isis went on with professional interest in carnal transactions. Now that she had become owner rather than employee she had allowed herself to grow plump, but her soft prettiness concealed a business acumen that was one of the sharpest John had encountered.

John considered the question for a short time. “To preserve her dignity,” he finally replied. “It’s one thing to talk about her life, but quite another to…”