Mary Reed - Four for a Boy

“Felicitations.” The white-haired Fortunatus scarcely glanced at the now dog-eared letter of introduction presented to him.

He waved his visitor to a stool beside a long table arrayed with an impressive selection of sacred artifacts. “As you see, even one as old as I can still carry out good works, in this case polishing the monastery’s silver. Yes,” he ran on without giving John time to respond, “we must keep the silver polished and our animals penned and the floor swept clean and all in order in our corner so that chaos, not to mention the Persians, does not engulf us.”

The workshop beneath the monastery had once been a cistern and could still serve the purpose were the city to come under siege, as had happened in the past. Three rows of columns with scavenged capitals displaying a hodgepodge of styles supported a vaulted ceiling. There were other tables scattered around the huge space, which smelled of torch smoke and freshly cut wood.

Lowering himself onto the stool John found himself almost at eye level with the dark stain around the nearest column. He thought uncomfortably that a hundred years ago he would have been up to his nose in water.

He leaned forward and carefully picked up a burnished chalice, turning it this way and that to examine the bands of engraved Greek lettering around its lip and foot. His labors in the office of the Keeper of the Plate had given him some knowledge of the quality of silver. This was a particularly fine specimen. Wondering who had presented it to the monastery, he set it carefully down and broached the matter on which he had come to question the man.

Fortunatus waved the paten he was polishing at John as if shooing away a horse fly. “This is one of several beautiful pieces given to the monastery by the widow Dominica. Do you see the scene engraved upon it?”

John expressed puzzlement.

“I fear, my friend, you are not attending.” The man who had once been a very wealthy merchant now wore shapeless robes of rough, unbleached wool. His hands and face matched his clothing, almost without color, while his nose and cheeks and even his brows had begun to droop like a melting candle. His eyes, John noted, were the sharp blue of shadows on snow.

“Look,” Fortunatus went on, “is this fine work not decorated with the raising of Lazarus?”

“Yes, but what-”

“Consider this. If you had been Lazarus, dead for four days but then called back from that dark journey, would you really wish to return? After all, who knows what you might find when you arrived home. Your children running screaming at the sight of your shroud and who knows what old friend of your wife being entertained in your bed?”

John found himself debating whether the man had reached that age where he had begun wandering in places unseen by others that were nonetheless real to him.

“I have no wife,” he said carefully, “and am still alive so you will have to explain your point further, I fear.” He couldn’t help recalling the reception when he himself had arisen Lazarus-like from Justin’s dungeon.

The old man began to work his polishing cloth more vigorously. “Not one for parables? I will be plainer. When a man is dead is it fruitful to dig him up again by going about asking impertinent questions? Especially someone as respected as Hypatius?”

“Is he respected in this particular religious community?”

“Certainly. He was exceedingly generous. Ostentatiously generous, to be honest. Before I retired and entered this foundation, I knew him as a businessman first and foremost, one with whom I often crossed swords. Usually he got the better of me.”

“Could it have been financial wounds from those battles which brought you to this place?”

“No single wound, my friend. I never wanted to be a rich man. Accumulating wealth is an unpleasant task and retaining it is even worse. Yet what choice does one have? Either a man is rich or he has a foot in the gutter. It doesn’t take long after that to tumble head first into it. So I did what was necessary. You might say wealth was the cross I had to bear.”

Fortunatus sighed again. “And the worst of it was the lying. Look at this old face. White as a shade’s, and why? Because the sun never touched it through the mask I had to wear all my life. Smiling and lying to all the other masks with whom I dealt.”

“So what was it, finally, that brought you here?”

“It was when I had to ask some children playing in the street why the Forum Constantine had disappeared. It had become most annoying. I would venture out and my house would move while I was gone. I could cope with that, but when the forum picked up and wandered off just because I’d gone to the baths, well, I decided to take up the monastic life. I will be happy if I never have to go out into the streets again. Although I did have a fascinating conversation with Emperor Justin once. He was out in Forum Bovis searching for his reception hall.”

Fortunatus did not smile as he spoke, even though, John thought, he must be joking. “Perhaps it’s best to stay off the streets,” John said. “They grow more dangerous all the time. This place is a safe haven, I imagine. You have not been threatened here, have you?”

“Only by the cook’s unspiced offerings.”

John looked around the enormous underground room. “Don’t you ever wish for more comfortable surroundings?”

“At first I did. When Hypatius visited me to discuss the statue, he tried to convince me to resume my former life-at least until he found out I’d donated all my lands to the church. There was nothing left to swindle me out of even if I did reemerge into the world.” He laughed.

“You find it humorous that the man was more or less a thief?”

“Not a thief, a businessman. Besides, I can laugh because who’s sitting in a comfortable and warm place polishing silver and waiting for the evening meal and who is underground, never to taste a good roasted fowl or a cup of Falernian wine again or sample the delights of an obliging young lady? Not that I am suggesting that we sample young ladies here, you understand.”

Was the man incompetent, John wondered, or merely playing at it, turning it to his advantage? Did he know something, some shred of information, that put together with other scraps would make a collection of tesserae that would somehow assemble themselves and turn into a coherent mosaic?

“You have been living here very long?”

“A year or so. It is very different. Noisier for a start. That’s to be expected with being so close to the palace and the Great Church. The food may not be so varied or lavish as that prepared by my personal cook in the old days, but it is nourishing and there’s plenty of it. Last summer I helped with the kitchen garden. My herbs were much praised. It’s a simple life. It suits me more and more as I get older. Also, when I lose my way, there is always someone at hand to help me find my room.”

He flourished his cloth. “Yes, I’m thankful to be here. Besides, although we live behind a wall, we can scarcely avoid hearing news of the goings-on in the city. Now and then, I even learn of interesting developments concerning some of my former business acquaintances. Not all of them do well, alas.” The relish with which he made his final comment revealed his enjoyment of this sad state of affairs.

John observed that such occasional tidbits of news would certainly be of interest to one who had once fought on the fields of commerce.

“Yes.” Fortunatus’ blue eyes glittered under his bristling white brows. “It’s surprising how so often they overreach themselves or invest foolishly, even recklessly. Some are extremely clever. Take Hypatius, the dead man who so interests you. He stole a choice estate right out from under my nose a couple of years ago. Persuaded the heir to sell it to him for less than he and I had already agreed.”