Seven for a Secret

Chapter Three

Anatolius paused at the mouth of the street and looked back into the square he had just left.

John remained standing at the base of the stylite’s column.

Anatolius wondered if he should go back. He decided John would prefer to wait alone. Anatolius’ client, on the other hand, would not appreciate waiting at all.

His way took him along a thoroughfare scarcely wide enough for two carts to pass each other. There were no colonnades and little shade. The second stories of the buildings projected outwards, almost meeting overhead in the narrower sections. Passing an archway, he walked through a sudden blast of heat emanating from the ovens of a baker or a glass maker’s furnace.

He turned off onto another, narrower, way. Two men in grimy tunics brushed by him, staggering and trailing a miasma of smoke and wine. They were night laborers who’d stopped at a tavern on their way back to whatever place they called home.

Anatolius wasn’t familiar with the area. He couldn’t recall whether he had been on this particular street and John had not led him this way on their walk to the square. Nevertheless he headed unerringly and without hesitation in what he knew to be the direction of the Great Palace. Having always lived in Constantinople, he was never lost. Perhaps it was something to do with the invisible map formed by the slope of the land, the direction of the breezes, the smell of the sea.

He had also learned to be ever alert.

Which is why the burly man about to step into a tavern did not escape his attention.

Anatolius noticed how the man turned his bearded face away quickly.

But not quickly enough.

“Felix!”

The bear-like head swung around slowly. “Anatolius! Must you announce my identity to the entire world?”

“If I’d wanted to do that I would have addressed you as Captain Felix.” Anatolius managed an uneasy laugh.

Encountering Felix in front of a tavern was never lucky. It usually proved an evil omen, like a glimpse of a lone crow perched on a garden fountain. “It’s more than likely the proprietor is already aware of your position at court, Felix,” he continued, “not to mention boasting his patrons include the captain of Justinian’s excubitors.”

“If he didn’t know before, he certainly knows now!”

At that early hour they had their choice of the few tables within the tavern. Felix sat with his back against a mosaic on the rear wall, a few strides from the door. The mosaic displayed a feast-assorted olives and cheeses, exotic fruits-an enticing pictorial menu of all that the establishment did not serve. The table could hardly accommodate both their wine cups at the same time, not that Felix bothered to put his down.

“You’re in a bad humor today, Felix. Personal troubles? A lady?”

Felix frowned. “There’s more to life than chasing women, difficult though you may find that to believe.”

“My current mistress is the law. Haven’t you heard?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies.”

“So what is it that’s troubling you, my friend?”

“Nothing. Nothing in particular, even though the plague carried off half my men and recruiting replacements is difficult to say the least. Men who like the feel of a weapon in their hands don’t relish the prospect of standing idly next to imperial doorways waiting for a riot to break out.”

“Now that the city’s coming back to life, they might not have to wait for long. We’ll be having enough riots again to suit their taste for action.” Anatolius took a sip and grimaced. “Why, we can even expect decent wine to come on the market again soon.”

Felix’s mouth formed a slight smile, barely visible under his bushy mustache. “Whenever I drink swill like this it reminds me of when I was a young soldier. I made many a day’s march on worse, I can tell you. But that was a long time ago. Justin was emperor. Now there was an emperor. A born soldier.” He looked down into his cup. “The taste’s enough to strangle the breath out of you,” he concluded with grudging admiration.

“Like John’s evil Egyptian stock. Maybe he likes it because it reminds him of when he was a young mercenary?”

“I haven’t spoken to John for a while. Have you seen him lately? I heard he sent Thomas and Europa off to your uncle’s estate.”

Anatolius let his gaze wander over the flat fruit in the wall mosaic before speaking. He knew that John wouldn’t thank him for alerting Felix to what Anatolius had already begin to think of as an embarrassing incident.

“It’s true. Thomas is thriving as uncle’s estate manager. He’s actually very shrewd in his own way.”

“But too naive in some ways. Constantinople’s different than Bretania. It sounds like the best arrangement for everyone. The city’s dangerous enough without having a family to worry about. Though the plague did thin the ranks of assassins along with my excubitors. It’s been a long nightmare, but now we’re waking up.”

A shaft of light from the sunlit street had crept up the wall to illuminate an ornate bowl filled with bright orange and green striped melons of a sort Anatolius had never glimpsed, even on Justinian’s banquet table.

“A nightmare,” agreed Anatolius. “I’ll never forget seeing grass growing in the streets, dwellings deserted, a smell all the perfume at the palace couldn’t have conquered from the dead piled as high as if they’d stormed the Great Gate armed only with their teeth and nails.”

“Give me a clean death, that’s what I say,” Felix muttered. “A soldier’s death, not rotting from some vile disease. When I saw the plague ravaging the city I prayed to Mithra that I should not be carried away while lying in a soft bed, having accomplished nothing. Your words are eloquent! It sounds as if you’re composing verse again.”

“No, what I am composing is mostly wills. The plague reminded a great many people of the need for one.”

“What an age we live in! Tragedy only inspires lawyers to scribble more documents. We have no Homers.”

“Only those who fancy themselves Homers.”

Felix grinned. “You’re thinking of Crinagoras, aren’t you? I hear at his latest reading a member of his unfortunate audience flung a cabbage at him. Hit a senator instead. Some passing beggar grabbed the cabbage before it had stopped rolling. Ran out of the place as if demons were after him. I suppose it became his evening meal. I don’t blame him. I’d rather have a cabbage than a poem any day.”

“Then you’d better avoid the baths this week. Crinagoras is planning another public appearance.”

Felix stated it was a source of amazement to him that Crinagoras had not been set upon by disgruntled lovers of literature and carried off to be drowned in the tepidarium. Then he finished his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you know, wine always tastes better in a tavern than a well appointed atrium or an imperial reception hall? It was in taverns I learned to drink. Wasn’t born to the palace. That’s why I seek out places like this.”

“I thought it might be to avoid anyone at the palace seeing you drinking, my friend, considering your history. Are you sure there isn’t some woman troubling you?”

Felix grunted. “No. I am over that sort of thing. Like you. Don’t worry about Bacchus and me either. We’ve made a truce. The line’s been drawn. But you haven’t told me what you’re doing in this part of the city?”

Anatolius had set his empty cup down preparatory to leaving. He would have to hurry now to meet his client on time. He realized he was a bit lightheaded, the result of the raw wine, a lack of breakfast, too little sleep, and too much exercise so early in the morning. He thought of the two unsteady men he’d seen after leaving John.

Obscure squares in the Copper Market were hardly places for unguarded Lord Chamberlains. It did not matter if he had fallen victim to someone’s idea of a jest, for the city was rife with real dangers.

A bunch of purple grapes stared at Anatolius over his companion’s broad shoulder. He blinked and the face in the grapes went away. He could imagine a few more cups of wine and they might start speaking to him.

What if John insisted on pursuing the ridiculous matter further? Besides, Felix was bound to find out when the prankster began bragging-if indeed that’s all it was.

Anatolius leaned forward and whispered, although they were alone in the tavern except for the proprietor. “Felix, I rely upon you to treat this as confidential, but who do you think John met the other day?”

“What do you mean? Some envoy perhaps? A Persian? A Goth?”

“No! I’m not talking about his job. It was Zoe from the mosaic in his study!”

“That’s impossible!”

Anatolius nodded. “That’s what I told him. And when we went to meet her again as arranged, she didn’t appear.”

Felix scratched his bearded chin. “John should consult a physician for a concoction to correct his humors. They must be unbalanced if he’s starting to imagine things. What do you make of it? If John’s in danger I should-”

“It’s nothing but a prank. I’m certain of it.” Anatolius immediately wished he’d said nothing. Mithra! He had as a bad a weakness for talking as Felix did for wine.

He recalled how he’d seen John last, waiting alone. He could imagine his reaction if a contingent of armed excubitors dispatched by Felix came rushing into the square.

“Forget I said anything, Felix. I can assure you, John’s in no danger at all.”