Six for Gold

Chapter Four

Anatolius never heard the footsteps on the stairs.

He was concentrating on his task. One after another, he removed parchments from a reed basket on the kitchen table and dropped them into the brazier flames. He prodded the fire with an iron poker. A few half-burnt scraps spiraled upwards along with the sparks.

When a hand reached over his shoulder to catch one of the smoldering remnants, he turned in surprise.

“Francio!”

“I’ve been all over the palace looking for you. I was about to try the dungeons. I thought the emperor must’ve had you locked up. Then I heard you were at the Lord Chamberlain’s house.”

The visitor was short and muscular, with lumpy features, a narrow forehead, and cropped black hair. As usual he was perfectly turned out. This morning, he appeared in robes of variegated greens embroidered in pearls, and over all a short, yellow cloak decorated with a portrait of Dionysius.

He looked like a slave who’d stolen his master’s clothes.

Anatolius, by contrast, was slim, his classical features framed by dark ringlets. He scowled at his aristocratic friend. “Where did you hear I was here?”

“You know me, my ear’s always to the ground or the floor tiles. Nothing goes on at the palace that I don’t know about.”

Francio tapped the side of his nose with a stubby finger. The habitual gesture drew attention to the organ’s flattened state. Anatolius had been given to understand it had been broken by a horse, but had noticed the explanations offered depended on the credulity of each listener. “What do you think you’re up to, Anatolius?”

“I’m cleaning out my palace office.”

Francio peered at the singed document in his hand. “Beauty More Stealthy,” he read. “How could you possibly destroy your poems?”

“It’s only ink and parchment, Francio.”

“But it’s about a woman!”

“She’s gone.”

“So you burn your memories of her?”

“My memory of her is part of me. I don’t need poetry to remember.” He snatched what was left of the poem from Francio’s hand, crumpled it, and thrust it back into the brazier.

Finding the bundle of old poems had upset his humors more than he realized.

“Is the rumor true? Are you bent on becoming one of those lawyers?”

Anatolius grabbed more poems from the basket and consigned them to the fire.

“In times like these, writing poetry is frivolous.”

“Homer might disagree, but what of your duties as Justinian’s secretary? There’s nothing frivolous about writing proclamations for the emperor. What will he say to the Armenian ambassador without you?”

“Obviously I’ll still be at Justinian’s disposal, not that he needs me. Remember, I was given the position because I’m a senator’s son.”

“Most of us at court are senators’ sons, but we’re not all as talented as you.”

Anatolius took the basket and upended it over the brazier.

Francio flicked ashes from his garment. “A lawyer! I give your new occupation a month, and that’s being generous!”

“What did you want to see me about, Francio?”

“I intended to ask you to dinner. I’ve planned a fine menu.”

“With the plague still raging? I wouldn’t have thought there was enough food left in the city to make a decent meal!”

“The shelves of the city may be empty, Anatolius, but nature’s larder is still full. Yesterday it was venison. Tonight, we shall feast on pheasant.”

“You’ve hired someone to poach in the emperor’s preserves?”

“What do I know about hunting? For all I know the deer might have come out of the Marmara, and the delectable crane I had the night before could have been snared wandering the docks or crossing the Forum Bovis. I don’t ask those who supply my needs.”

“You’re still trying to eat every creature mentioned in the Natural History?”

Francio wrinkled his forehead and tapped his ruined nose. “An excellent notion. I’ll have to consider that after my current project. At present, I’m recreating Trimalchio’s feast. You know the one. A wild boar stuffed with live thrushes, and wearing a liberty cap. A nice touch! I must not forget the liberty cap. First, however, I must obtain a wild boar.”

“Isn’t that somewhat ambitious?”

“Do you think so? If Justinian can reconquer Italy, I can manage to recreate a mere banquet. In connection with which, I am having some difficulty finding tooth powder.” He coughed and waved floating ashes away. “I believe I’ll return home and try my hand at composing verse. With all the smoke and ashes in here, I must have inhaled quite a bit of your genius by now!”

“You’re welcome to try. Poetry never did me any good. Nor anyone else.”

Anatolius glanced into the cooking pot set beside the brazier. The pot was filled with a mixture of honey and poppy seeds, now ruined by the flecks of ash that covered its glistening surface, not to mention rapidly gathering flies. Evidently it was one of Peter’s confections, removed hurriedly from the heat and abandoned.

“Come to dine anyway,” Francio replied. “I imagine you’ve worked up quite an appetite burning your past. But why skulk in here using the Lord Chamberlain’s brazier? Isn’t yours up to the task?”

“I thought it would be prudent to stay here in case someone has designs on John’s house. I wouldn’t be surprised, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances are these? Has something happened to the Lord Chamberlain? Not the plague?”

Anatolius offered his visitor a glum smile. “No. No, John is well. Or as well as possible, considering he’s on his way to Egypt.”