Mary Reed - Two for Joy

The burly captain leaned forward to pluck a small, fragrant apple from the silver bowl set on a small ivory table in front of the couch. He examined the fruit, put it back in the bowl and then looked unhappily around the room.

It had been a long day. He had spoken with numerous officials after a mercifully brief audience with the emperor and as he placed together a rumor heard here with news reported there, adding a scrap of privileged information inadvertently alluded to elsewhere, the picture slowly forming was indeed a frightening one. He was about to say as much to Darius when the door opened and Isis swept in.

Darius rose ponderously to place an upholstered chair for her near the couch. She sank into it in a cloud of perfume and a thankful wave of a beringed hand.

“My dear Felix,” she began, helping herself to an apple. “Let us be blunt. Is it your opinion that Darius and I must now make plans concerning the safety of my house and my girls?”

Felix nodded. “Indeed it is. I was just discussing some general strategies with Darius and he agrees it would be an excellent plan to post two extra guards in the front hall as well as at the door into the back alley. And also I think it might be best to keep your shutters closed and secured at all times.”

Isis grumbled that she would be forced to buy more olive oil for the extra lamps that would thus be rendered necessary. “Still, better the expense than stones through our windows,” she concluded. “Perhaps I should also consider purchasing protection until this latest storm passes. What do you think?”

“The factions may provide such useful services, as they call it although most of us would call it extortion,” replied Felix, “but I doubt that these religious zealots would even consider accepting any such useful financial arrangement.”

“Are they so otherworldly they don’t need a nomisma or two now and then?” Isis wondered. “If so, I fear those of us who are still corporeal may be facing difficult times indeed. But who knows, all this trouble might turn out to be the sort of cloudburst that dies before it’s crossed the city walls.”

“Perhaps, madam,” Darius commented, “but may I also suggest that it would be wise to make such alternative arrangements in case it becomes necessary to abandon this house for a time? Of course, I would be honored to continue guarding you personally for as long as you wish.”

Isis glanced up sharply from cutting her apple with a silver knife. Popping a sliver of fruit into her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, you are quite right,” she finally said. “My girls all have special friends among their clients to whom they could go for temporary shelter if need be. As for myself and Darius, I wonder if I could impose upon John for hospitality if worse comes to worse?”

“I don’t think he would refuse since he has recently opened a hostel for unemployed philosophers,” Darius put in with a jovial smile. “I found one such not far off only an hour or so ago, hopelessly lost, and assisted him in returning safely to John’s house. He talked all the way there!”

Felix uttered a mild oath. “Philo! He wasn’t unemployed today, though, since he was working for me. He told me John had recommended his services. But now I doubt he was able to find much information when he couldn’t even find his way home.”

“I would not say that,” replied Darius. “In fact, he’d just stumbled on a charred corpse.”

“Corpses are a common affliction, I fear.” Isis spoke lightly but her expression betrayed fear. Fire anywhere nearby was a matter of the gravest concern. For every sturdy brick structure that Constantinople boasted, ten shoddy wooden buildings were piled like kindling around splendid forums and public buildings.

“I’ve already notified the Prefect of the discovery,” Darius said.

“Do you think it has something to do with this Michael?” Isis wondered.

“I would hardly think so,” Felix answered. “Why should he or his deity wish to inflict such a death upon some poor soul in an alley?”

Death by fire is certainly not a pretty sight,” said

Philo, between bites of one of the honey- sweetened cakes piled on the platter Peter had just set down on the kitchen table. “John, no doubt you’ll recall that Plotinus was of the opinion that of all material things, fire possesses the most splendor. However, if he had witnessed two such deaths in a span of three days I believe he might well have changed his mind.”

The heat from the cheerfully glowing brazier had steamed the window panes, obscuring their view of the waking city. With the rising wind came the clatter of carts and the cries of gulls. John sat across the table, sipping the cup of water that was all he customarily took in the mornings.

“But this beggar,” Philo rattled on, “for surely he must have been a beggar to die in such circumstances, what evil could he have committed to bring such wrath upon himself? The poor have so much less opportunity for evil doing, do they not? Could he perhaps have been a murderer? Yet the city must be full of rich and powerful people who have committed many crimes, crimes that would be beyond the capacity of a beggar and equally worthy of punishment.”

“The man started a fire for warmth on a chilly night and fell asleep too close to the flames. It is not uncommon.” John set down his empty cup.

“Now, you were telling me what you learned about the three dead stylites,” he went on. “There was Matthew, who braved the stone-throwing demons in an abandoned church, but what of the other two?” John had been horrified to learn of Philo’s adventure but since the deed was done it seemed best to attempt to derive some benefit from it.

“Well, John,” Philo began eagerly. “I haven’t imparted to you even half of all that I learned. Peter, I must say that these are excellent honey cakes. They remind me that Virgil said that a bee contains a particle of divine intelligence.”

Peter turned away from rearranging utensils and bowls on the kitchen shelves. “If he is correct then you must contain more than a particle of intelligence yourself, sir, because you have partaken much of the work of those intelligent creatures. These cakes are quite tasty, master. Perhaps you should try one.” The look he directed at Philo clearly added “before he eats them all.”

John declined politely. He found it difficult to face food before midday. “You ascertained the other stylites were called Gregory and Luke?”

“That is correct.” Philo studied the platter of cakes before selecting another. “Several of the pilgrims I interviewed knew of Gregory. He was reputedly a small landholder near Tyana. Then one day he was bitten by a snake and fell into a deep trance. His doctors gave him up for dead. Then-you will never guess-a miracle occurred. Isn’t that always the case in these tales? Anyhow, it seems he suddenly awoke but unfortunately he was paralyzed.”

As Philo paused in his narration to take another bite, Peter seized his opportunity. “Wasn’t Gregory the one they carried to a nest of snakes? A friend of mine has taken much comfort from his sermons. He’ll have to find solace at another pillar now.”

Philo frowned. “Your servant, who has so kindly interrupted us, is essentially correct, John. It seems that as soon as Gregory awoke he imparted to his grief-stricken family a vision he had had of a nest of snakes in a certain grove of trees outside the town and requested to be taken there. And when they came to the place they found it to be so, and once among the snakes Gregory miraculously recovered, there was much rejoicing and many hosannas, all that sort of thing. He stayed there, and as word spread he preached with amazing eloquence to multitudes of pilgrims who, of course, kept at a respectful distance although personally I suspect that was more because they could not rely upon another miracle should one of them get bitten.”