“I don’t take reassurance from slaves. Lady Anna also spoke to me about you. In fact, she has spoken entirely over much about you. She should keep her attention on the aristocratic suitors she insists on driving off. All this talk about her being too plain for anyone to want to marry is nonsense. There are plenty of men who prefer intelligence to beauty, and even more are attracted to wealth. After all, you can rent beauty very cheaply. No, that is just her excuse. What does she think she will do when her father’s gone without someone to look after her? She’s an intelligent young woman, certainly, but not at all worldly. To go about accompanied by only one slave! Such madness!”
“You have not encountered any problems moving around the city?”
“Problems?”
“You have not been approached?”
“What do you mean? Attacked?”
“Yes. Or followed?”
“Certainly not! Besides, as you see, I am well guarded when I venture abroad. However, I don’t believe you sought me out to inquire about my safety. Get on with it!”
John proceeded. Dominica had little to say about Hypatius, although her tone of voice indicated disdain for the departed pillar of the community. She had even less to impart about any connections existing between the dead man and the several names John mentioned, including Trenico’s.
“They may have had business dealings, I don’t know. My steward takes care of the details,” she concluded. “Naturally I look over the account books now and then. When my husband was alive, that was his task. Even so, it is not a bad plan for women to inform themselves about their husbands’ business affairs, if not about the other sort.” A wintry smile lightened her face briefly.
Then she made the sign of her religion. “Lord forgive me,” she murmured. “I have been blessed with fine and faithful husbands, left the most wealthy of women. I do my best to honor their memory and order my life as they would have done.”
“Indeed,” John said. “I had hoped that perhaps you could cast some light on this matter, particularly given your interest in the Christ adorning the Great Church.”
“Co-sponsoring it, you mean? I merely sent a certain sum to Hypatius. Many have said that the work is impious or that it is intended to celebrate the talent of the artist, not the glory of the subject. Yet our talents are granted us by the Lord. If He had not meant for Dio to display his talent, He would not have blessed him with it. If people want to complain about impiety they should be bitterly complaining about this planned marriage of Justinian’s.”
John observed that he had heard numerous comments.
“And impious it is! I am not referring to Theodora’s past, you understand. What I meant is that while Justinian is, thankfully, orthodox in his beliefs, Theodora is a monophysite. How can there possibly be any harmony in such a marriage? More importantly, it bodes ill for both sets of believers. Theodora has such influence with Justinian that their union will doubtless lead to monophysites flooding the church. Justinian can refuse her nothing. It’s well known at court. Most unnatural, I do believe, for is it not the woman’s place to serve the man?”
“Is it wise to speak out publicly against Theodora?”
Dominica sniffed disdainfully. “Do you mean is it wise for me, or for people generally? Some of my acquaintances are already afraid of Theodora. She has a long memory and recalls every slight she’s received at the hands of the aristocracy. No doubt in due course it will suit her on occasion to remember slights she has fabricated. I should however like to see her try to implicate a pious widow such as myself in plotting against the empire, or any such nonsense!”
John, thinking that Dominica would be a worthy foe for many, even Theodora, smiled politely.
“You find me comical, then?”
John said he did not.
The widow looked up at him from her nest of pillows. “You think I don’t know everything I say to you will go straight to your master? You’re nothing but a wax tablet on which I write words for your masters to read. They are much more likely to dispose of their tablet than to harm me.”
“That is probably so.”
“You’ve realized why Hypatius visited the sculpture in the church so often, haven’t you?”
John looked nonplussed and Dominica laughed. “Have you learned nothing about him? After it was installed, he spent part of every day at the church. He liked to watch people admiring his donation, you see. He would often engage them in conversation about its merits. Yes, he was a man who did a great deal of good and he liked to take his reward for it in this world. I certainly hope the Patriarch decides to permit the Christ to remain there. Whatever turns the minds of common folk toward heaven is commendable.”
John murmured agreement.
“There are those who find the admonitions on the curtains of my litter in poor taste,” Dominica went on. “But I guarantee they’re the only spiritual works many in the street will ever read. Provided they can read, that is.”
Dominica paused. John thought she’d decided her wax tablet had been filled until she leaned forward and spoke again.
“Pay attention to what I have told you, particularly about Lady Anna. Consider what a wax tablet looks like when it has been tossed into the fire.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Felicitations.” The white-haired Fortunatus scarcely glanced at the now dog-eared letter of introduction presented to him.
He waved his visitor to a stool beside a long table arrayed with an impressive selection of sacred artifacts. “As you see, even one as old as I can still carry out good works, in this case polishing the monastery’s silver. Yes,” he ran on without giving John time to respond, “we must keep the silver polished and our animals penned and the floor swept clean and all in order in our corner so that chaos, not to mention the Persians, does not engulf us.”
The workshop beneath the monastery had once been a cistern and could still serve the purpose were the city to come under siege, as had happened in the past. Three rows of columns with scavenged capitals displaying a hodgepodge of styles supported a vaulted ceiling. There were other tables scattered around the huge space, which smelled of torch smoke and freshly cut wood.
Lowering himself onto the stool John found himself almost at eye level with the dark stain around the nearest column. He thought uncomfortably that a hundred years ago he would have been up to his nose in water.
He leaned forward and carefully picked up a burnished chalice, turning it this way and that to examine the bands of engraved Greek lettering around its lip and foot. His labors in the office of the Keeper of the Plate had given him some knowledge of the quality of silver. This was a particularly fine specimen. Wondering who had presented it to the monastery, he set it carefully down and broached the matter on which he had come to question the man.
Fortunatus waved the paten he was polishing at John as if shooing away a horse fly. “This is one of several beautiful pieces given to the monastery by the widow Dominica. Do you see the scene engraved upon it?”
John expressed puzzlement.
“I fear, my friend, you are not attending.” The man who had once been a very wealthy merchant now wore shapeless robes of rough, unbleached wool. His hands and face matched his clothing, almost without color, while his nose and cheeks and even his brows had begun to droop like a melting candle. His eyes, John noted, were the sharp blue of shadows on snow.
“Look,” Fortunatus went on, “is this fine work not decorated with the raising of Lazarus?”
“Yes, but what-”
“Consider this. If you had been Lazarus, dead for four days but then called back from that dark journey, would you really wish to return? After all, who knows what you might find when you arrived home. Your children running screaming at the sight of your shroud and who knows what old friend of your wife being entertained in your bed?”