John wondered if the young man’s experience had upset his humors. It was understandable if it had.
Hektor flung his arms wide. “Yes, Lord Chamberlain, the Lord cast a sinful court page into the pit and a Christian emerged. I intend to enter the church, for am I not a living example of how even the most miserable sinner among us can be saved?”
Justinian’s court was Christian and men could advance as far on piety as by their looks. Hektor’s intelligence was certainly still intact, John thought. “The truth is you were found intoxicated and unconscious in some gutter or other and mistaken for dead,” he said, recalling what Felix had told him about Hektor’s recent behavior. “Do you really believe anyone at court will believe you’ve become a fervent Christian?”
“It has always amazed me what people will believe, Lord Chamberlain. Besides, as you see, I wear the marks of my sincerity.” He ran a slender finger across his blistered face. The fingernail still bore a trace of colored polish, the last vestige of the pretty court page he had been.
Hektor’s character, however, had not been affected by his terrible experience.
“We shall see. Now, concerning Hypatia-”
Hektor grinned. “She told you I proposed marriage? I am flattered you would personally visit to give me your congratulations. Of course, I’m a few years younger than she, but vastly older in experience. In fact, I believe your friend Anatolius was already composing letters for the Master of the Offices at my age.”
“I will strongly advise Hypatia against any such union, Hektor.”
“And destroy her happiness? I am surprised at your jealousy! Why, I even gave her my ring as a token of my intentions.”
“Hypatia is free to choose her own husband, but don’t think you can use her as a means to gain access to my household. I’m well aware of your enmity toward me.”
“And if Hypatia marries me?” the young man replied insolently.
“Then she will leave my employ immediately.”
***
Outside the hospice, the Augustaion was sunk in an orange twilight. Night never descended entirely anywhere near the Great Church, with its hundreds of lamps shining through scores of windows.
John walked away from the direction of the Great Palace. He did not care to return home yet. He stuck to the center of the Mese, avoiding its shadowed colonnades. No stars were visible in the sky. Here and there smoke ascended in columns, glowing in the city lights.
He arrived at the semi-circular courtyard housing Isis’ establishment, the gilded Eros outside announcing the business conducted therein.
Zeus opened the door and gestured John inside with a grandiose wave of a gold-painted, wooden thunderbolt.
John, a swift glance encompassing the spectacle before him, from the crown of a well-curled gray wig to the gilt-encrusted sandals adorning large, pale feet, handed his blade to the father of the gods.
The doorkeeper looked highly embarrassed as he placed it with other weapons ranged neatly beside the door.
“Well, Thomas, you certainly appear to have risen in the world since I last saw you. As far as Olympus, in fact.”
“You followed me, didn’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I merely decided to call on Isis. What are you doing here? Presumably you have a good reason for impersonating Zeus?”
Thomas flushed, heightened color clashing with his gray wig and red mustache. “I’ve been contemplating my future, John, and I thought it was time I followed a more regular calling. I’d never contemplated working in a place like this, but when I visited Isis yesterday to…er…renew our acquaintanceship, she offered me the post. I thought well, why not?” He frowned. “I never anticipated it would involve having to dress up in this ridiculous costume.”
He paused as light footsteps announced the arrival of the madam. “John! I thought I recognized your voice. What do you think about our new doorkeeper? With Zeus guarding us, how can we fail to prosper?”
Thomas, scowling fiercely, contemplated his flimsy sandals.
“Do I take it that you’ve decided to change your decor to emulate Olympus?” John asked as he and Isis retreated to her private apartment.
“Not yet.” She seated herself on the well-stuffed couch and gestured to him to help himself to wine and sweetmeats. “I’ve dressed my girls as assorted goddesses to see if there’s enough interest to justify all the expense of redecoration. It’s going to be costly, what with a certain amount of gilding and a few appropriate busts and statues and perhaps even a mosaic or two.”
“When you told me you were contemplating a religious theme I thought you had in mind something Christian.”
“I did. Almost everyone in Constantinople’s thinking about heaven right now. So it occurred to me it might be a popular theme. Then I thought, no, Zeus is a much more interesting deity from my point of view. Very lusty, for a start. Fortuna must have sent you, because I was going to ask Thomas to convey a message when he returned home.”
Home. The word leapt out at John. It had not occurred to him that his house was serving as a temporary home to Thomas and Europa. The notion seemed vaguely unsettling, akin to the queasiness he always felt when crossing deep water. “Has one of your girls heard something useful to my investigation?”
“Not yet, I fear. Rather I have a question for you, concerning a man called Aristotle of Athens.”
John arched his eyebrows. “Fortuna has indeed smiled on you, Isis. I spoke to him not long ago.”
“Excellent! As I mentioned, if I redecorate I’ll be in the market for appropriate statuary and busts. Well, it so happened that during a recent visit one of my girls’ regular clients mentioned he’d just purchased an antique marble of Aphrodite in the embrace of Adonis from this Aristotle at a very reasonable price, given its apparent age and the quality of the workmanship.”
“Apparent age?”
Isis laughed. “Yes, it seems Aristotle has a fine trade in forged antiquities. The client, who seemed very knowledgeable, indicated the process involves burial of the statues for some time in pits well supplied with donkey urine and cow manure.”
John nodded. “He’s right. Aristotle’s garden is graced, if that’s the right description, with just such a pit. He claims he’s been collecting it because he’s planning to venture into tanning leather in due course. Manure would be easy enough to obtain. I’d heard tales about him burying a body in the middle of the night. Now I see there is a much less sinister explanation than this might suggest. However, why would your patron mention this strange information?”
“You may well ask, John. I certainly did, and in questioning my girl discovered it was not so much the fellow boasting about his knowledge or using it as an indication he could afford artifacts of that sort, but rather the fact that this statue he purchased had inspired him. He wished for its pose to be recreated in the flesh for his enjoyment.”
“Surely not an uncommon request in a house dedicated to Aphrodite?”
“True enough. However, it transpired that the immortals were performing an act you won’t see on public display among the sculptures decorating city squares or the baths or gymnasium. That being the case, Aristotle sounds like a man who deals in exactly the kind of works I may need, forged or not. So what I want to know, John, is where can I find him?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sound of John’s footsteps followed him as he departed homeward from Isis’ establishment. Away from its warm lamplight and quiet voices, it was difficult to believe there was anyone left alive in the city.
John reflected that the only apparent result of his investigations so far had been to assist Isis in obtaining erotic statues from a forger of antiquities. If, indeed, she decided to do business with Aristotle. He had counseled against it.
Isis had chuckled and patted his arm. “You declare he’s not to be trusted? He’s in a suspect business? What would I know of such things, is that what troubles you? I am not the innocent child you remember from Egypt, John.”