Seven for a Secret

Chapter Thirty-Two

John and Anatolius waited in Figulus’ workshop for a long time before the mosaic maker appeared. Light glittered off tesserae in the barrels against the wall, and struck sparks here and there on the dark floor where stray bits of glass had fallen.

“Lord Chamberlain! Is there anything wrong? Have my workmen caused some damage?”

The mosaic maker ran a hand over his eyes. Had he been asleep? He wore only a thin, unbelted tunic. The servant who had stayed with the unexpected callers stepped away into the shadows but did not leave.

John peered around. From the little he could make out, nothing looked different from his previous visit. He hadn’t expected to barge in on a band of conspirators. He would not have been shocked, however, to have found the mosaic maker dead.

“I was able to clean a considerable portion of the mosaic today, excellency. In particular I brought out some of the details in the depiction of the Olympian palace of Zeus. If that it is not to your taste-”

“How well do you know Menander?” John cut in.

“Menander? I can’t-”

“Don’t lie, Figulus. It is not advisable. You sold him one of your special pieces.”

“Special pieces?”

“Whatever it is you call those particularly lewd mosaics. I’m aware of that part of your business. My colleague tells me you sold one to Madam Isis.” John nodded toward Anatolius. “I wouldn’t have expected a religious man and a good family man to be dealing in such wares, and certainly not selling them to brothels.”

Figulus glanced around. “Please, excellency. If you could not speak so loudly. My boys…”

“What can you tell me about Menander?”

“He’s a customer. A big, white-haired fellow, isn’t he?”

“He used to hold a position at the palace.”

“Yes, I suppose so. There are a lot of people like that living in the area.”

“Do you do business with such people on a regular basis?”

“Lord Chamberlain, I cannot answer since I don’t question my customers about their background. I suppose some may have been at the palace at one time. Many still are.”

“Including one of your customers who was found dead in my bath after you and your workmen left today. Menander.”

Figulus blinked in bewilderment. The hand holding the lamp shook, and the flame guttered and hissed as oil splashed on it. “Dead?”

“Indeed. I believe the body was taken into my house concealed in one of the sacks or barrels in which you move your plaster and tesserae.”

Figulus protested, asking surely the Lord Chamberlain did not think him guilty of murder.

“I wouldn’t have imagined you were a purveyor of lewd pictures.”

“You don’t understand…I only sell them because…well…”

“To finance a worthy undertaking.”

“Yes…but how did you know?”

“You are in the habit of making apologies for yourself, Figulus. But what exactly is this worthy undertaking? Something a disenfranchised official, like Menander, might approve? An attack on the emperor, for instance?”

A look of terror crossed the mosaic maker’s face. “Nothing like that, Lord Chamberlain.”

“What then?”

“I’ll show you.” Figulus walked hurriedly to the barrels of tesserae against the wall. Setting his lamp down on one, he pushed two others aside without any sign of exertion. They must have been empty, the pieces of cut glass piled on a false top to give the impression they were full.

The action revealed an opening half the height of a man in the wall.

“Please, excellency, follow me.” Figulus ducked through the aperture.

“Be careful, John,” whispered Anatolius.

But the Lord Chamberlain was already following the mosaic maker.

He found himself in a cramped vault sided with crumbling concrete. Underfoot were broken bricks of the sort used to fill up the interiors of walls.

A ladder extended from an uneven hole in one corner. Figulus scrambled on to the ladder and vanished downward, obviously used to the procedure. John followed, cautiously, and Anatolius came after him.

Below, a gloomy chamber led to another, similarly bare.

Then they emerged at their destination.

John was not certain of the original use of the space, which was too narrow for a cistern or warehouse but too wide to be a corridor, with a curved roof perhaps three times a man’s height. It bore a resemblance to the huge corridors leading down into the storage areas beneath the Hippodrome. The far end of the place was lost in darkness.

Here and there scaffolds hid the walls. Nearby, where there was no scaffolding, John could see mosaics.

Even in the poor light of Figulus’ lamp, it was obvious that they were as finely wrought as those in the Great Church, and they would not have been out of place there. So far as he could tell they depicted scenes from the Christian’s holy book.

A garden which looked remarkably like parts of the grounds of the Great Palace, but even lusher-the foliage so thick as to practically conceal the two figures entirely, let alone expose any of their nudity-represented the paradise from which mankind had been expelled. There was a ship, not unlike the merchant vessels to be seen in city harbors any day, but far larger, to judge from the tiny size of the animals shown on board. A weird tower, reaching up into cut glass clouds, might have been the lighthouse visible from one window in John’s house, but as seen in a nightmare. The stars scattered across the curved vault overhead would have made it resemble the ceiling of a mithraeum, except for the hovering angels.

“You see, excellency,” explained Figulus, “tesserae are expensive. I could not afford this except for those evil pictures. It is a torment to me to make them. But I am not responsible for the lusts and sinfulness of other men and here their vices are transmuted into a tribute to God’s glory.”

“This is magnificent,” exclaimed Anatolius. “But no one can see it down here.”

“The Lord sees it,” Figulus replied. “That is enough, isn’t it?”

“You should be working in one of Justinian’s new churches or at the palace,” Anatolius told him.

“Alas, I do not have the proper connections to obtain imperial contracts even though many from the palace are well satisfied with the lesser projects I have undertaken for them personally.”

“Do you know the original purpose of this room?” John asked.

Figulus shook his head. “I discovered it shortly after I bought the workshop, which was badly in need of repairs. I explored the area carefully. This room appears to be completely sealed off on its own. I took it to be a gift from the Lord. It extends for a long distance. Before I leave this world I hope to have shown the whole of the events related in our sacred writings.”

It occurred to John that given the scope of his ambition, Figulus must be hoping for a very long life indeed.

Anatolius meantime had walked up and down, inspecting the walls. He paused for a time in front of a large space where there seemed to be nothing on the wall but shadows.

Figulus bought his lamp to where Anatolius was standing. “I see you are admiring my best work, sir. This was the most difficult scene yet. I labored over it for years longer than the Lord labored over the real thing.”

“But there’s nothing here,” Anatolius replied.

John, moving closer, saw that the apparently blank wall was in fact covered with tesserae, but they appeared uniformly black.

“This is the beginning,” Figulus explained. “The darkness out of which was formed light and the world.” He began to move the lamp. As the light shifted the wall became alive.

It seemed to John that black shapes coalesced and evaporated. Vague, shadowy possibilities of men and animals and vegetation swirled and flowed across the glass. Dark smoke in a starless night.

Or perhaps it was nothing but shadows and John’s imagination.

“Mithra!” The admiring oath escaped before he realized it. He looked away from the wall, toward Figulus. If the mosaic maker had heard, he gave no indication.