Four for a Boy

Chapter Eight

John followed Lady Anna as she stepped hastily into the bookseller’s shop just off the Augustaion. Her quick step resulted not so much from eagerness to discover what new offerings might be found in the brightly lit emporium as from her desire to take shelter against the feathery snow beginning to drift from a sullen sky.

“Ah, my lady.” The bookseller greeted her with a low bow. He appeared not to have noticed John at all. “It is good to see you again. And how is your father the senator?”

“Well indeed, Scipio.”

The bold odors of spice, perfume and freshly baked bread had streamed from the doorways of other establishments John and Anna had passed. The air here was scented more subtly by dusty parchment. Scipio’s scrolls and codices were arranged neatly on shelves and tables and in wall niches, as if in a library.

Anna began to warm her hands at the brazier set by the far wall. It stood as far away from the flammable wares as possible.

“And yourself, my lady?” The bookseller was a slightly built man with a shaved head. Quite young, John thought, to be the owner of such an establishment.

“I am well also, at least now that I can feel my fingers again. Have you anything to show me today?”

Scipio nodded his bald head. “Only a single item, but one that I think you’ll find most intriguing.”

He took down an ornamented box from a shelf and opened it to display a codex with an unadorned leather cover.

“It was sent to me by my brother, who often finds such treasures. An aristocrat, whom I will not name, was selling off a few valuables to satisfy the tax collector’s latest outrageous demand. Alas, the libraries always go first. Knowing your interest in gardens, I have not shown this to anyone yet.”

Anna took the proffered item. John saw it was a selection of Pliny the Younger’s letters, the first of which was devoted to describing his gardens. She scanned it eagerly. “John, is this not beautiful?”

John agreed it was.

“This is certainly of great interest, Scipio,” she said, “but I should like to consider the matter overnight. I could send a message tomorrow, if you would be willing to wait.”

The bookseller assured her that he would be more than happy to do so and politely ushered them out. A thin veil of snow had begun to whiten everything in the street, bits of broken pottery, animal dung, straw, scraps of rotted fruit, and even a scrap of parchment escaped from Scipio’s shop.

“Do you think it’s worth the price?” Anna wondered as their steps turned homeward.

“Not to a collector. The cover was plain to begin with and looks badly worn. I noticed that a few of the pages are stained. But since the subject matter interests you…if you think it has value, then it does.”

“True indeed.”

They proceeded at a brisk pace. John kept a cautious watch on the doorways and narrow alleys they passed. While he felt he should be pursuing the investigation into Hypatius’ death, Justinian’s orders, however odd, had been very clear; he was to continue with his other duties so far as possible. It had happened, for one reason or another, that his tutoring of Lady Anna had also come to include escorting her about the city on occasion.

“What value can you put on a person, John?” Anna said. “I’m not talking about slaves. Pardon me if I offended you.”

John softly pointed out that slaves were unoffendable and that no apology was therefore necessary.

Anna smiled, her plain face suddenly beautiful from its sweetness. “I spoke without thought, John. It’s hard to think of you as what…as who…you are. And now what is it that makes you look so solemn?”

How could he tell her that it was her inappropriate tone that distressed him? “I find myself wondering about Hypatius. A man of great worth, it seems.”

“If Hypatius were a book, his cover would be of carved ivory but his verses wouldn’t scan.” Anna pulled her cloak closer around her angular frame as they turned into the street on which stood her father’s house. “While we should not speak in ill fashion of the departed, the reason I say this is that he had been paying romantic attention to me for some time. Frankly, I had become very tired of it.”

John observed that was entirely understandable. A servant girl opened the house door for them and took their snow-damp cloaks.

He noticed that the atrium was darker than usual. Because of the cold weather, several folding wooden panels had been shut, closing the senator’s office off from both the garden beyond and the rest of the house.

“Some spiced wine, please,” Anna instructed the servant. “And two cups. And ask Dorotheus to send someone to light the brazier in my study. We’ll be in father’s office.”

Suppressing a surprised giggle, the girl vanished toward the kitchen.

“Father won’t mind if we wait in here until my study’s warmed up.” Anna led John into the office and motioned him to take a seat. “He’s attending a church service. Tiresome, perhaps, but necessary for a senator.”

John made no reply. Although never spoken of, it was obvious to him that Opimius was a pagan. Like a handful of other senators who remained loyal to the gods of their ancestors, Anna’s father made a show of observing the state religion. He had no other choice. However, it was exceedingly improper, not to say unwise, for Anna to refer to the matter even obliquely.

The office’s rich wall hangings and carpet seemed to hold the heat from its lamps. Anna went immediately to the brazier.

“Why don’t you warm your hands, John? You suffer from the cold just as I do. You think I haven’t noticed?”

John assured Anna he was warm enough. It made him uneasy that she should notice such a thing, or mention it. Anna sat down on an upholstered couch next to John’s chair.

“Hypatius was a friend of my father’s,” she continued. “Naturally he often visited. He was a pious man, but a man who was pious in an obvious way. He attended services daily, funded charitable works, gave the church ostentatious gifts, and so on.”

The servant entered to place a wine jug on the table beside the couch. She looked John over with obvious curiosity before she was dismissed.

John took a sip from his wine cup. Orange lamp light flickered around the rim. He suggested that Hypatius’ activities were not unworthy.

“As you say.” Anna drained her cup. “However, there are those who do good deeds for the sake of the doing and those who do them for the sake of being known for their charity.”

“Still, charity is charity.”

Anna smiled at him again and John looked down into his wine.

“I suppose you are right, John. Perhaps I do him a disservice. He was a regular visitor here for years. I never felt that I got to know him very well or much about him except that he was very wealthy and his business interests were many and varied. And, as I said, he pawed at me when father wasn’t looking.”

“You did not want to know him well?”

“Father would have been happier if I had. In fact, he would have been positively ecstatic if I had become that old hypocrite’s wife. Fortunately for me, Hypatius did not have the opportunity to propose I be thus honored.”

“Did you think he intended to?” John finished his wine. Before he realized it, Lady Anna had picked up the jug and began to refill his cup.

John felt his chest constrict. He could hardly draw his cup back and allow the wine to spill onto the senator’s fine carpet. He looked at Anna, questioningly, and she fixed her gaze on him. Her eyes were unremarkable yet he could not look away. His cheeks prickled as if all the lamps in the room had suddenly flared up into raging bonfires.

Anna poured the wine slowly until his cup had been filled. She was not very adept at such duties. A trickle ran down the side of the vessel and puddled on the table top.

“Hypatius intended to hold a banquet next month, and hinted he intended to make an announcement of some import during it. I thought it might have to do with me, I admit, and had been dreading it.” She sighed. “I am not certain. He was, after all, a wealthy man. He did not need my attractive dowry. He could have bought himself some woman as beautiful as a sculpture of Helen.”

“But he was paying you unwanted attentions,” John managed to say.

She pursed her lips. “Perhaps he thought he was being kind. No, a rich man like him would not wish to take as wife someone plain as I am. I’m sorry if I sound cross, John, but everyone seems to believe they know what is best for me. Or, rather, what father has told them is best for me. Everyone wishes to please father. He has convinced a widow of his acquaintance, a redoubtable woman indeed, to counsel me on how a single woman of wealth conducts her affairs. I suppose this would be in case I remain obdurately single should father die. A few months ago Dominica, that’s her name, suddenly began visiting more frequently. At first I thought she had her eye on father! Then she started taking me aside for little talks.”

“I am familiar with such well-meant lectures,” John said. He couldn’t help but remember the advice Dorotheus had insisted on giving. It was not proper for a lady to converse in such manner with a slave. Yet how could a slave properly tell a lady that? To his dismay Anna plunged ahead.

“And now there is the matter of Trenico.”

John scowled, but remained silent.

“His wealth is, it seems, not unlike the Christian’s Lord, something one must take on faith. Lately there are fewer believers amongst his creditors. Father tells me that Trenico’s dropping broad hints about marriage and dowries. That’s as far as it’s gone.”

“You will be hoping then that he does not mention any upcoming banquets of great import.”

“I trust not. I know Trenico well enough to realize that marriage would not put an end to his romantic liaisons with ladies of the court, not to mention those in lower strata of society. Not that I would criticize his being attracted to a woman of a humbler class. We are all of the same flesh, after all.”

John was saved from finding a reply by the hollow sound of the stout front door being banged shut, closely followed by raised voices in the atrium. Quick steps sounded and Senator Opimius stamped into his office, brushing snow from his hair.

Anna’s father was as plain as his daughter. Of average height, his pale features seemed rather too small and crowded together. He could have been mistaken for one of the hundreds of minor functionaries populating the palace’s administrative offices.

“Anna. Always at the lessons, I see. John, fetch me wine.” His voice trembled.

Anna handed her cup to the senator. “Here, father, take mine. There’s more wine in the jug. I can see something terrible has happened. What was it?” Senator Opimius took the wine and sat heavily in the chair John had hurriedly vacated.

“Please remain, John,” Opimius told him. “This concerns you also. By great good fortune, you brought Anna home without mishap, but she will not be venturing out again without at least three bodyguards. Do you hear that, Anna? I just escaped grave injury myself.”

“Injury…?”

Opimius took a gulp of wine before speaking. “We were attacked by a ruffian. Or a demon. In that narrow way that runs between the Church of Eirene and Samsun’s Hospice…Yes, yes, I know it was foolish to cut through there, but I was anxious to be home. This man, this demon, appeared from thin air and flew at us like a wild beast. I’ve never seen such rage on a human face…The slave escorting me fought him off but-”

“There’s blood on your sleeve,” Anna interrupted, panic in her voice. “Let me-”

Opimius shook his head. “It’s not my blood, Anna. Dorotheus defended me.”

“Dorotheus?” Ann’s voice was a barely audible whisper.

Opimius looked at his daughter and John saw that the senator’s eyes were glistening. “Anna, if only your mother were alive. She would know how to tell you, how to make it…” He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. The gesture was terrible nevertheless. “Dorotheus is dead.”

In the ensuing silence John could hear excited voices from somewhere deep inside the house and the faint sizzling of oil burning low in one of the office lamps.

Anna let out a hoarse sob and John stiffened with horror.

Unseen by her father, Anna had clasped John’s hand.