Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

As they passed along corridors formed by the orderly ranks of stone, the importer reached out ham-like hands to touch here orange-veined yellow marble, there a slab of purple and white, just as a fond father might absentmindedly pat the heads of his children.

“Yes, gentlemen,” Viator went on, “I can assure you that the very idea is absurd, despite your eyewitness account.” His gaze rested briefly on John. “Oh, Victor’s been known to get into mischief now and then, but he’s just a high-spirited lad. So are most of the Blues.”

Felix observed gruffly he would differ with that characterization, based on the Blues who had crossed his path.

Viator bridled. “If you’re talking about the riots, there’s many a citizen who says that Quaestor Proclus is behind all this strife in the streets. Ask around, and you’ll soon see I’m telling the truth.”

John, thinking that few citizens would admit to any such thought when questioned by men under the feared Gourd’s command, asked the importer why Proclus would foment strife.

“Why? Because the manufacture of scapegoats is a profitable business. Especially if the profit someone seeks is the furtherance of his own ambition.”

Viator caressed a marble slab displaying striking striations of white and pale green. “I tend my business and leave others to tend theirs. You see this piece of marble? It’s for the tomb of a wealthy merchant whose fortune was made in vegetables. He was once a grocer’s assistant, and before that he sold onions in the street. As you can see, the pattern in this slab resembles an onion. I rather anticipate that the tomb itself will be domed, again like an onion. As with myself, the merchant began humbly and rose through love of his wares. In his case, onions, in my case, stone and marble. There are those who wake up every day and check their account books. I prefer to visit my warehouse and admire the beauty it contains.” The importer of marble warmed to his theme.

“Yes,” he went on, “I began as a common laborer in the building trade. After two or three years, the owner of the business gave me permission to take away unused concrete at the end of the day. After that, I worked for him during daylight hours and then at night I became an itinerant mender of concrete. I went around the city with an old bucket containing whatever had been left over. Naturally, I had to be persuasive, but it’s surprising how often a steward or a tenement owner needs a small repair to a crack in a wall or a crumbling step.”

Felix, interested in the tale despite himself, asked how Viator had moved into the marble business.

The importer smiled. “It happened that a shipment of marble intended for a job on which I was working for the business owner I mentioned was rejected as unfit for the purpose. Not the shade specified, or some such defect. Seizing my chance, I bought the marble and so began the rise to my present position. However, I was only able to purchase it because I had money earned by hauling those buckets of concrete about the city for years. There’s a lesson in that for us all, as I have often pointed out my son.”

“Speaking of jobs and marble, new emperors always love to refurbish the capital,” observed Felix. “You must be looking forward to Justinian being crowned. It could well mean a lot of extra trade for you.”

“Not at all,” Viator said. “I wish Justin a long life. He’s a man with dirt under his fingernails. Just the sort of man I admire, in fact. He too has humble origins. Besides which, I don’t need any more business right now.”

Felix expressed admiration for Viator’s success.

The big man nodded happily. “Have you walked on the new flooring in the Baths of Zeuxippos? My marble was under your feet! I’m certain you’ve wagered on the races at the Hippodrome at some time or another. When you did, your backsides enjoyed new benches made from stone I imported. Or perhaps you’ve lingered in the shade of the new portico in the Forum Bovis? Its columns were born from marble shipped from this very warehouse.”

“You’re all over the city, it seems,” Felix replied. “Rather like the Gourd himself.”

Having complied with Felix’s request to show them around his warehouse, Viator started back through the maze of artificial cliffs. At the front entrance, John’s gaze fell on the open crate Viator had been examining when they arrived. The marble it held was black.

“Imported all the way from Greece,” Viator explained. “It was ordered by a man of some influence. Let’s say he’s a senator who shall remain anonymous. It is intended for a private purpose. Some say he intends to build a shrine to a blasphemous deity whose name a Christian would not dare to whisper. As it happens, I know better. It’s for a statue of the Nubian slave he keeps as a concubine.”

“A fascinating trade indeed,” replied Felix. “However, more to the point, where did your son go after he rushed in here?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot tell you. He knows he is not to bother me when I’m busy and he could see that I had just opened this crate.”

“Do you have any idea why he would have been at the Great Church?”

“Apart from worshipping there, you mean? Well, he said he wanted to see this work of art everyone’s talking about.”

“Interested in such things, is he?”

Viator puffed out his substantial chest. “No, not at all, but he was very proud that I was responsible for bringing in the material used for it. It was another special order. The purest white marble from Proconnesus, and I don’t mind telling you it was an expensive affair. Naturally, I gave a little bit of a discount. It’s very good for business to be connected with such a project. Word gets around, you know.”

The importer continued at some length about the merits of the sculpture and the material from which it was made before John and Felix managed to escape.

Felix shook his head in consternation as he and John retraced their steps along the docks. “To listen to that man’s boasting, you’d think he’d cut the marble from the quarry with his own hands, swum back to Constantinople with it tied on his back, and then chiseled the thing personally.”

“It’s not a bad thing to take pride in one’s work,” said John. “Although it strikes me that the longer he talked, the further away his son was able to get. I feel sorry for the father, but a murderer is a murderer. If it wasn’t Victor who actually struck down Hypatius, he was certainly in the company of the culprit. I almost hate to say so, but now we should inform the Gourd we know the identity of the man I saw running from the Great Church.”

“I’ve had men executed for such incompetence!”

The City Prefect stamped back and forth in the corridor outside his office, too angry to stand still. His misshapen forehead was coated with droplets of sweat, the poisonous distillation of his rage.

“You’re telling me that you saw a man you personally identified as one of those murdering bastards and you allowed him to escape?” He came to a halt in front of Felix and stabbed a blunt finger at the excubitor’s chest. “Why didn’t the pair of you arrest him on the spot?”

“With respect, Prefect,” Felix answered in even tones, “we have not been given authority to arrest anyone. We could only have interrogated him.”

“A good excuse. You prize pair weren’t about to pursue a fellow the size you describe. Or was it a case of bribery?” When the Gourd’s big head swiveled toward John, the terrible asymmetry of his skull was obvious. Someone who didn’t know better might have said the man had suffered a horrific injury, one sure to prove fatal.

The Prefect wiped his dripping forehead with a rough shirtsleeve. “We’re not senators or courtiers. We don’t have time to lounge about and debate philosophy while the city burns. Take as many men as you need and arrest father and son immediately. We’ll have the truth out of them before the sun rises again.”