Mary Reed - Two for Joy

“How do you suppose the emperor’s soldiers would fare against their foes were they to go into battle barefoot?” Kalus railed at them. “At least Justinian knows the value of a good shoemaker.”

“The emperor can always find more shoemakers if he needs them,” growled Felix.

“You questioned those senators right away,” Kalus complained. “Epirus, now, when did he leave? I am worth twice what he can boast, yet he already sleeps in his own warm bed. I have an army of craftsmen under my command. I employ six eunuchs at my summer villa alone.”

“You are free to go,” John said curtly, wondering if the man was trying to be provocative or was just extremely careless in his manner of speaking.

Felix glanced questioningly at John as the shoemaker marched off. “He didn’t say anything about the girl, you notice. Should I summon him back?”

John shook his head tiredly. “I don’t think we need hear anyone else tell us one instant they were listening to Calliope’s recitation and the next Adula was on fire. As if by magick, or as if the hand of God had struck her down, or she was consumed from within, whichever way they wished to put it.”

Hearing John repeat the same descriptions they had been listening to all night, Felix admitted he supposed that John was right.

Looking around the garden which had seemed so festive only a few hours before, John noticed a small bird perched on one of the ivy garlands decorating the peristyle. For the bird it was a morning like any other. Its world was no different. It was fortunate indeed, John thought. The subtle political maze through which the court moved changed each time a person of rank died. What had once been an open path might be blocked, a former barrier perhaps removed. What had the senator’s death changed? It was too early to ascertain.

The bird took flight, vanishing into the sky, and John, wishing he could fly off as easily, forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Nor do we need anyone else to assure us that they never left the public rooms, Felix,” he said, “not to mention that of course they had no notion of where Aurelius had gone, let alone which room he used for his study. Was it a politically motivated murder, do you suppose?”

Felix scratched his unruly beard. “Aurelius’ death? The method would suggest it. It’s been my experience that the ambitious resort to the blade only after lawyers and poisons have failed.”

“Poison also suggests premeditation. But what of the girl Adula?”

“A obvious diversion, most probably inspired by the fiery deaths of those stylites.”

“There’s also the senator’s diplomatic mission to be considered. There may well be some in this city who would prefer not to see any negotiations at all carried out. But it could also have been a purely personal affair,” John suggested.

“You’re thinking of Gaius, aren’t you? I heard him arguing with Aurelius myself. But we both know Gaius is a drunkard, not a murderer.”

John nodded agreement. “However, I fear he can be a violent drunkard. I have noticed his servants bruised on more than one occasion and I suspect he beats them when he is in the arms of Bacchus.”

“Not praiseworthy, perhaps, but violence toward a slave can’t be compared with violence toward a senator. The former is an owner’s prerogative, after all.”

John admitted that that unfortunately was true.

“You might as well suspect that old man you’ve been harboring,” the excubitor captain continued. “He was grumbling bitterly about Aurelius to anyone who would listen. A foolish man for a philosopher, if you ask me. Athens must have been a safe place indeed for his tongue to have survived to such an age.”

“I’ll caution Philo again about that when I get home. He certainly poses a danger, but only to himself.”

Felix nodded and called out an order to one of his men.

“I’ll keep guards at the outer doors while we search the house, John, but the rest of my men can go back to the barracks now that we’re almost done here.” He paused. “Thank Mithra that Anatolius’ mother did not live to see this.”

“As you say, Felix,” John replied. “But before I leave, I must attempt to speak with Anatolius again.”

The youthful servant Anatolius had left to guard the study door replied to John’s query as he had to all those made earlier. The master was in mourning and wished to be alone with his thoughts.

As the youth recited the rote message his gaze darted back and forth as if he were looking for a place to hide. Clearly he was terrified of offending the Lord Chamberlain. However, he remained at his station by the door.

“I must respect his wishes, of course,” John told him. “What is your name?”

The servant looked even more terrified. “It’s Simon,” he stammered.

“Well, Simon, when I do finally speak to your master I shall tell him that you carried out a difficult task very diligently. He will be pleased, and since he is now head of the household, this tragic night may well serve to start you on the way to a bright future.”

To John’s surprise Simon’s face clouded with disappointment before he replied, his voice breaking. “Pardon, your highness sir, but I had hoped the old master would free me in his will.”

“Yes, of course. He may just have done so,” John told him, then added gently, “But there are thousands of freed men in this city who labor at far worse jobs than serving a man like Anatolius.”

Before the servant could reply, a strident voice echoed from the entrance hall, demanding that Senator Aurelius come out of hiding without delay.

John arrived at the hall to find Felix arguing with a man whose patrician features were familiar to everyone at the palace. And not only his features. Senator Balbinus’ orations were renowned for being as noisy as the slapping of thongs against the oracular brass plate at Dodona.

“As I have been trying to tell you,” Felix was saying, “the senator will not be seeing anyone again. He is dead.”

Senator Balbinus abruptly ceased fulminating and his face settled into a frown. John noted the dark smudges under the eyes and the half-healed wound, a long scratch, running along one cheekbone.

“It’s true that we had our differences of opinion,” Balbinus said, “but still, I am very sorry to hear this most shocking news. A great loss to the senate and to the empire. But if I may inquire…”

“There will be an official announcement in due course,” said John. “And now tell me, senator, what business did you intend to conduct here at such an early hour?”

“It was of a personal nature.” Balbinus’ hand moved to the nascent scar on his cheekbone. Catching the glance exchanged between the other two men, he blustered on red-faced. “The streets become more unsafe every day. A couple of Blues set upon me within sight of the Chalke. The factions grow bolder by the hour. Where are those engaged to protect good citizens like me?”

“I’m sure those ruffians took to their heels when you unleashed your oratory at them,” snapped Felix, taking the senator’s question as a personal insult.

Balbinus ignored his remark. “Please extend my sincere condolences to his son. He is a most astute young man, for a poet.”

After Balbinus departed, Felix made as if to spit his disgust but looked at the artfully patterned tile floor and refrained. “There’s one who’ll obviously be happy to deal with the son rather than the father,” he said tartly.

“There are plenty of others like him,” observed John. “They might be surprised when the time comes.”

“I hope so,” sighed Felix. “But I wouldn’t bet on it. If I were still a betting man, that is.”