Mary Reed - Two for Joy

“As it happens, I received a personal invitation from your father this morning,” John went on, unwittingly destroying at least part of Anatolius’ admiration of his powers. “So it will have to be a rather sober affair, I fear, if I am to be present in my official capacity, which I surmise is the intent.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be as lively as some banquets we could mention,” the other grinned, tossing a pebble into the pool. “Now, I have in fact already planned part of the entertainment. It’s a presentation certain to please those whose taste is refined, not to say stodgy. In short, it’s a tribute to the Muses-singing, flute playing, recitation of poetry, that sort of thing.”

“Yet doubtless there will be a few who will frown at a senator inviting actresses into his home,” John pointed out with a slight smile.

“No need to worry about that. These aren’t actresses. I’ve engaged Isis and some of her girls,” Anatolius replied airily. “Their performance will be perfectly decorous, of course. After all, you know how Isis fancies herself a patroness of the arts.”

“True enough. No doubt she’ll be happy for an opportunity to show off some of her girls’ more refined skills. Still, Anatolius, I must admit that I really don’t think that your father would have engaged such entertainers himself. What else did you have in mind? Nothing too outrageous, I trust?”

“No, of course not. There’ll be your usual mimes, jugglers, dancers, that sort of thing. But I was trying to think of something a little more unusual that would not shock the guests, and I though you might have heard of some troupe new to the city.”

John’s recent contretemps with Philo was still fresh in his mind. “Here is one suggestion,” he replied. “As you know, my old philosophy tutor is currently my guest. He has been tormenting me with a new game he brought back from Persia. Shatranj, he calls it. It’s something to do with trapping your opponent’s king. The elephant moves this many squares in one direction and the ship so many in another. I’m afraid I’ve not shown much inclination to learn to play, so I’m vague about the details, but as it happens he just mentioned the idea that he might eke out a living teaching the game at court. Now, if you were to engage him to entertain at your banquet by demonstrating it to your guests, at the same time that might perhaps assist him in finding employment. And what’s more, I do think it could be quite the talking point, without a hint of scandal attached to it. That would certainly please your father.”

Anatolius leaned forward intently. “And nobody has seen this game yet, you say? That would certainly weigh heavily with the guests, wouldn’t it?”

“The court always appreciates novelty.” John hesitated before continuing. “I should caution you, however, that it’s possible Philo may not feel inclined to accept your offer. To be blunt about it, he approached your father for assistance and was rebuffed.”

“Well, my father might turn your old friend away but I shall certainly talk to him,” Anatolius said firmly.

“If he hesitates, you might also consider mentioning that since many powerful men will be present, he may well meet someone willing to provide him with other sorts of employment. I’m certain he’s chafing at depending on my hospitality for a roof over his head-that of course is how he sees the situation, not the way I view it. I’m happy to provide him with a home for as long as he wishes, although it’s true that we do not always see eye to eye. In fact,” John concluded, “he upset Peter with a very unfortunate remark hardly an hour ago.”

“He upset Peter yesterday too,” Anatolius told him in an interested tone. “Peter was just telling me about it when he let me in. For a man of philosophy, Philo can be very tactless, I must say. Apparently he was complaining the sauce for the duck was not thick enough. Of course, Peter pointed out to him that you preferred plain food and that he was not going to go against the master’s preferences. It’s probably just as well they are both civilized men, as there are always sharp knives on the kitchen table and even cooks and philosophers must surely be hotheaded at times.”

John nodded, adding that Philo had risked all simply by venturing into the kitchen while Peter was cooking, since that was something which the servant could not abide. He would have a word with Peter, he thought, and ask him to try to be forbearing. It struck John that it was fortunate he was not married or the ubiquitous philosopher would probably also have invaded his wife’s apartments in addition to the study and Peter’s kitchen.

“How long has he been here, John? More than two weeks, isn’t it?”

John confirmed the fact, noting that Philo had arrived on the Ides of October.

“Well, now November has begun,” Anatolius replied, “And it’s a lucky month, so they say. Let’s hope so, for all of us! But however did he know where to find you?”

“Apparently my fame has spread further afield than I realized,” John replied with a frown. “He evidently heard of my good fortune at some time or other.”

“Ah, that would explain it. A teacher never forgets those of his students who do well.”

“Whether or not they did well as students.” John paused, uncertain whether to voice the thought that had come to him. There were many things he shared only with the mosaic girl Zoe, upon whose discretion he could depend completely. Strangely, the only other person with whom he sometimes shared confidences was Anatolius, probably the least discreet man John knew. “It gave me a shock when Peter called me to the door and I saw Philo standing outside,” he finally said, “for I had thought that all that part of my past life was dead, had died long ago.”

Anatolius, looking interested, asked if Philo appeared very much different.

“He looks much the same. Older, of course. More somber, certainly. The perfect philosopher. You might say he now looks truer to his vision of himself, closer to the ideal image to which he aspires. My first reaction was to tell him to go away.”

In the ensuing silence, the water trickling from the stone creature’s mouth sounded louder as it splashed into the pool beside them. There was not enough light for John to see the question he knew was written across Anatolius’ face.

“You are aware, Anatolius,” he continued, “that I am not the person I once was. I have no desire to revisit the world where that other person lived. In fact, I have made every effort to forget my former life.”

“But your past has a way of finding you, John,” Anatolius pointed out, “which is not to be wondered at considering that you live at the very hub of the world. One seeking to escape his past would do better to dwell in the desert like these hermits the Christians are always gossiping about.”

“Even hermits sometimes eventually find their way to Constantinople,” John replied ruefully.

“Well, then, you would doubtless find the far reaches of the desert yet more congenial, without so much as an occasional wild-eyed zealot to interrupt your solitude. But why do you continue to harbor that prickly old rogue Philo? Surely he knows other people here that he could stay with until he is able to get an establishment of his own?”

“I don’t believe Philo knows anyone else in Constantinople. He spent most of his life at the Academy in Athens and then in exile in the east. To tell the truth, Anatolius, I owe more than you realize to him, for it was he who taught me reading and writing and instilled some philosophy in me. Extending him hospitality for as long as he needs it is the least I can do, for while one cannot repay a kindness, one can at least pass it along by helping someone else.”