“Are you telling me Byzos is dead?”
Scipio scowled. “Certainly. Why do you think this work of his is a collector’s item? He’s the one in the far corner. He died last night.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“The plague shall not have me! Let it but place its black talons upon my shoulder and I shall cast myself into the waves to join my beloved!”
Anatolius glared at the expostulating Crinagoras, uncertain whether his companion was making an observation or rehearsing his performance for Theodora’s banquet. From the fact he spoke in Latin rather than Greek, he guessed it was a rehearsal, not that Crinagoras did not have a tendency to lapse into Latin at the drop of a poetic impulse.
“If you don’t let me enjoy the country air in peace, I’ll give you cause to cast yourself into the waves!”
The country air smelled of manure from the stables where they’d just left their horses, but it was still a relief compared to the stench of death and burning in the city.
“Now you’ve fallen silent for a space, isn’t that a blackbird? You don’t usually hear them in the middle of the city.”
“The blackbird sings also for the dead.” Crinagoras released a sigh like a dying breath. “Try to remember that, will you? I’ve left my tablet at home.”
Crinagoras’ tireless tongue had made the relatively short ride out to Blachernae feel very long indeed. Though it lay on the outskirts of Constantinople, the place gave the impression of being deep in the countryside.
Anatolius remarked that since imperial banquets were normally held in perfumed and gilded surroundings, the location was a novel one.
“I would far rather attend such an event in comfort at the palace,” Crinagoras replied, “but we must endure whatever the empress orders. No doubt my recitation will serve to distract her guests from their vexatious surroundings. It’s a pity you were not asked to recite, Anatolius.”
The other shrugged.
Crinagoras turned the conversation to other matters. “We can certainly expect superb fare. I predict at the very least pigeons’ wings fricasseed in wine, honey-sauced lamb, several rich sauces, and exquisite sweetmeats. I do hope there will be poppy seed pastries, they’re one of my favorites. And the wines, Anatolius, the wines! Why, by all I hear we’ll soon think Bacchus himself is in charge of the imperial cellars!”
Crinagoras talked on about the expected gustatory delights as they followed a pebbled path through a wood composed largely of oaks. Scraps of purple silk fluttered from branches, marking the route to the repast.
While Anatolius was familiar with imperial whims, which could hand an orator gold coins or his own head with equal impartiality, he still considered the idea of an outdoor banquet unusual. There had, of course, been the unforgettable occasion when Justinian held a reception on several ships tied together on the largest lake in the palace grounds. A grin flickered across his face as he recalled how the glittering event had been cut short by a strong wind which had suddenly sprung up and precipitated Theodora’s indisposition. It was just as well, he thought, that on that occasion John had not been present. Given the latter’s loathing of deep water, he might have found himself more ailing than the empress.
Reminded of his friend, he wondered if John had made any progress in his search. His speculations were interrupted by Crinagoras.
“Bear!” the poet cried.
“For a main course? At a court banquet? Surely not. Then again, with an appropriate sauce-”
“No. No! There’s a bear!” Crinagoras staggered backward, practically into Anatolius’ arms.
Anatolius heard the rustle of undergrowth and the crack of breaking branches. A dark shape loped through the cedars. An enormous black bear. It came to a halt, blocking their path.
Crinagoras spun around, prepared to run. Anatolius grabbed his shoulder. “Be still.”
The beast unleashed a rumbling growl.
Crinagoras made a tiny, keening noise, like a dying rabbit.
There were shouts from the surrounding woods. Crashing, the clash of metal on metal. The bear’s head swung toward the racket, its flanks heaved, and it lumbered off with deceptive speed, vanishing into the trees on the other side of the path.
Almost immediately an excubitor appeared from the direction in which the bear had come. He was banging two metal pots together. Other guards appeared, all similarly armed with cooking utensils. They plunged after the bear, yelling and clanking.
Trailing the pack came Felix. The bearded captain’s booming obscenities could not conceal the truth that his weapons were a copper night soil pot and a soup ladle.
“I suppose bears flee bad language,” observed Anatolius.
Felix launched into an even viler oath, then stopped. “Mithra! My quiver seems to be empty! Not to mention I’m getting hoarse. But you seem to have grasped the situation, Anatolius. We have been ordered to chase Theodora’s pet away, without ruffling its fur. It doesn’t like loud noises. I hope.”
“Is this the bear from the menagerie? I thought you were supposed to let it loose in the countryside?”
“According to Theodora this Imperial estate is the countryside.”
“Well,” muttered Crinagoras, “there are plenty of trees for the bear to lurk behind if it wants to ambush anyone.”
“Bears don’t usually bother with people, not even plump poets,” Felix informed him. “It’s the smell of food for the banquet that’s attracted it.”
“But having a bear roaming the grounds. Isn’t that dangerous?” Anatolius wondered.
“The emperor and empress never go out for a stroll without an armed guard,” Felix reminded him.
“But what about guests, or anyone who might wander in by mistake?”
Felix glared into the trees. The sound of the chase had nearly faded away. “Yes, as for such folks, that’s Theodora’s idea of humor. ‘How was your walk? Oh? I thought I’d mentioned my bear!’” The excubitor gave his night soil pot a couple of half-hearted bangs with the ladle and trudged away after his men.
“Oh my,” groaned Crinagoras. “All that glorious food awaiting us and now I have the most dreadful stomachache.”
They continued more slowly, finally emerging from the wood into a meadow that sloped down from the back of the imperial residence. An enormous purple canopy had been erected in the center of the open space. Diners were already seated at a long table under its shade.
Anatolius could tell that this was what passed, at court, for an intimate gathering. There was a subtle difference in the indecipherable buzz of conversation. The guests were all members of Justinian and Theodora’s inner circle, Latin speakers, like the emperor and empress, and unlike most of the population. The emperor, he understood, would not be in attendance, which made the gathering one of Theodora’s affairs.
An attendant met the newcomers and showed them to their seats.
“What is this?” Crinagoras stared down at his three-legged stool. “Are we expected to milk goats? Where are the couches? I’m not so certain I care much for the country, Anatolius.” He lowered himself gingerly.
“On the other hand, you should be extremely honored to be sitting so near the head of the table.” Anatolius pointed out a gilded and plushly cushioned chair set a few arm-lengths away.
As he did, an imperial carriage rattled around the side of the residence and pulled up next to the canopy. As everyone stood, Theodora emerged from her conveyance.