The body in the basin groaned. Its tiny eyes blinked.
“Pull now. Pull,” ordered a broad backed excubitor. “All together. On the count of three. One. Two….”
The fat man came up out of the water and toppled forward, nearly pushing two of the excubitors to the floor. They staggered backwards like over-laden brick carriers, and dragged him out of the basin. Not dead, but still a dead weight. One yellow slipper caught on the rim. The other foot was bare.
Then the man was upright, supported by two of the excubitors. A swaying, shivering, mountain of sodden, tangled robes. The atrium was cold in January.
“Mithra!” growled the biggest of the excubitors.
John recognized the voice. “Felix.”
The bear-like man turned around. “My apologies, John. Our esteemed guest Pompeius was contemplating the goddess, sat down in the water by mistake, and couldn’t get up. Or so he says.”
One of the excubitors snickered. “He was wrapped around her like she was a whore in an alley.”
Pompeius’ thick and now decidedly bluish lips moved and finally words spluttered out. “I was merely attempting to get to my…my…feet.”
“Had a good hand hold,” the excubitor remarked.
“Trying to pull myself up….” His words slurred together. The little eyes were noticeably red in the colorless face.
Felix glared. “Get him back to his room. See he doesn’t injure himself further.”
The excubitors assisted Pompeius out of the atrium, half carrying him into the hall leading past the chapel and to the back of the house. The man’s swollen feet-one slippered, one bare-moved, but hardly touched the tiles.
John walked over to the basin and looked in. He expected to see the missing slipper. It had apparently been lost somewhere else. He didn’t much like the thought of the fat man’s yellow slipper at large in his house waiting to surprise him. Aphrodite, undisturbed, continued to spill water serenely from the shell in her upraised hand.
“That was Pompeius, wasn’t it?” John said. “One of the nephews of old emperor Anastasius. I’ve seen him around the palace occasionally. What did you mean by calling him ‘our guest’? And what are you doing here, my friend?”
Felix tugged at his beard. “Emperor’s orders. I got them straight from Narses, unfortunately.”
Before he could explain further another man whom John knew by sight edged slowly into the atrium. The man looked around nervously. Had he been standing near the entrance to the hall, watching, the whole time?
“Is it all right then? At first I was afraid rioters had got in.” Hypatius presented a stark contrast to Pompeius. An older man but without even a middle age paunch, immaculately dressed, his face would not have looked out of place on a gold coin. Only on close examination might one notice that the deep-set eyes had pouches beneath them, the square chin was rather weak, and the aquiline nose overly large. “My family and I appreciate your hospitality, John. Even if my brother has made himself a bit too comfortable already.”
“Your family?”
Hypatius glanced around again. “Pompeius and myself and my daughter, Julianna. The emperor suggested we stay with you, until the danger of rioting has passed.”
“And your wife? You are married I believe?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Mary’s well guarded at the house. I’d prefer to be home. But Julianna’s safer here. She’s an impetuous girl. She’d be out fighting in the streets. For Justinian. Caution is always the best policy.”
“That’s why my excubitors and I are here,” Felix put in. “To guard the guests, just in case.”
Hypatius nodded gravely. “Exactly. You never know. The factions might have designs on us. If you don’t object, I had better go and look after my brother.”
John didn’t speak until Hypatius had vanished down the hall. Then he sighed. “So my house is to be a prison? Why my house, I wonder?”
“Justinian knows you barely use it. I wouldn’t say Justinian is imprisoning them, though. They came to the palace as soon as the factions got restless and refused to leave.”
“Since they are the closest relatives of the late Emperor Anastasius, they must be less worried about rioters than about appearing disloyal to Justinian.”
“That’s right. They want to stick by his side so he doesn’t get the idea they’re plotting against him. Not that they’ve allayed his suspicions entirely. I was told to keep an eye on them, and make sure they don’t leave.”
John could hear the disgust in his friend’s voice. He knew it wasn’t the kind of job Felix would enjoy. For his part, John wasn’t unhappy to host the excubitor. The two men had worked together in the past but lately their official duties had kept their paths from crossing very often. Between Felix’s increasing responsibilities in the imperial guards and John’s attendance on the emperor there was barely spare time for the occasional brief conversation at a tavern.
“As far as I can tell, Hypatius isn’t the sort to venture out into the streets until he considers them perfectly safe,” John observed. “And Pompeius is lucky if he can stand up.”
“I can’t say I blame him resorting to the grape. He must feel like a grape being crushed between the emperor and the factions. The third nephew, Probus, abandoned his mansion and fled the city. Talk has it that some in the factions want to replace Justinian with one of the Anastasius line. But then, I’m sure you know more about it all than I do. The family suspects they’d be more likely to end wearing a noose than a diadem.”
“Very perceptive of them.”
John scanned the atrium. He still didn’t see the yellow slipper. What he did see were puddles of wine and water on the floor and shards from the jug. He also saw two of his female servants peering in from the hall leading to the back of the house. Another servant, an older man, stood in the opposite doorway, staring uncertainly, a bucket in one hand and a rag in the other.
“Shall we clean up, master?” asked the man.
“Yes. Certainly.”
One of the women spoke. “And you will want dinner. For you and your guests.” She helped out in the kitchen, John thought. Perhaps she was the cook.
“Fine. Prepare something special.”
“Immediately, master.” The young woman kept glancing toward Felix. She and her companion went off down the hall. John thought he heard them giggling.
The remaining servant set his bucket down in a far corner and began cleaning vigorously.
“I always feel I’m out-numbered,” John muttered. “Now, in addition to an army of servants, I also have three patricians and several excubitors as guests.”
Felix grinned. “Don’t worry, John. There’s plenty of room. You should get out and explore your house some time. You’d see.”
“Have the servant’s been talking out of turn?”
“Not at all. It’s easy to tell when rooms are never used.”
“You looked around?”
“Pompeius wandered off. He was fairly inebriated when we arrived and…well, you’ve seen.”
“Unfortunately. I’m not used to having servants creeping up on me all the time, Felix. I spent too many years sleeping in a tent with my sword at my side.”
As he spoke yet another young woman entered the atrium. He couldn’t recall her name, but her face, like the faces of all his army of servants, was slightly familiar. She looked toward him expectantly. Wanting something to do, no doubt. “The floor is to be cleaned,” he told her.
The young woman’s expression hardened. “That would hardly be appropriate. I am Julianna. The daughter of Hypatius.”
***
“I don’t want to go back to that nasty little monk’s cell they’ve stuck me in. Let’s talk in the garden.” Julianna darted away, into the dining room John seldom used. The wooden screens were shut against the winter chill. She pushed them open far enough to squeeze through. She moved so quickly and unexpectedly, John could only follow, once again lamenting the size of the house. Yet he could hardly have refused the generosity of the emperor.