“When I arrived, there were fellows hauling things in so I just followed them,” the visitor protested. “There was nobody at the door and the furnishings are so sparse, I thought the Lord Chamberlain must have moved out while the work was under way.”
“And you are…?” Cornelia demanded.
“My name is Troilus. I am a dealer in antiquities and curiosities, which is why this mosaic so intrigues me. I only wish I owned such a wonderful piece of art.”
“The Lord Chamberlain is not here.”
Peter lifted the knife he used to chop onions. “Shall I see the villain out, mistress?”
“No, we’ll both escort him out. I will tell the Lord Chamberlain you called, Troilus. I’m sure you will be hearing from him very soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You entered my house uninvited. I will have an explanation.”
At the sound of John’s voice, Troilus looked up from the bench in front of his shop upon which he was arranging a display of glassware. His face went as white as his hair. “Lord Chamberlain!”
“You seem startled, yet I am told you didn’t appear concerned when you were discovered trespassing.”
“I didn’t hear you. You walk very quietly. Naturally I was startled when you addressed me.”
The ensuing silence was broken by the hollow drip of water.
When John arrived, the grating in the corridor wall next to the sundial maker’s shop was open. A torch by the entrance partially illuminated the sub-basement beyond. In the middle of the cavernous space sat Troilus’ establishment, a rambling, ramshackle conglomeration of planks, bricks, and canvas.
The sub-basement had once been used as a cistern, judging from the dark water stains rising to shoulder level on the widely spaced granite columns that vanished overhead into a smoky fog of darkness. Fallen columns, mostly shattered, were strewn across the puddled concrete floor.
“Lord Chamberlain, I presented myself at your house because my neighboring merchant told me you wished to interview me, and naturally I thought it would be permissible to-”
“If you think it acceptable to enter a dwelling without authority, why do you keep this business locked up when you are away?”
“But there were workmen going in and out,” the other protested. “I meant no harm.”
“Those in the house had no way of knowing that. I could have you prosecuted, particularly since you invited yourself to sample my wine.”
“Your wine? I mistook it for a jug one of your servants had forgotten.”
“After you had sampled it.”
“Not at all. The aroma of that kind of Egyptian wine is quite distinctive to those who are familiar with it.”
The color had returned to Troilus’ face, along with the arrogant demeanor Cornelia had described. He was not, as she had thought, old. His hair had grayed early and he had the prematurely lined skin of a hermit newly arrived from the desert.
“Then you would steal from the servant but not from the master?”
Troilus set the molar-shaped flask he had been holding on the bench displaying his wares, next to a trio of hexagonal green glass jugs decorated with flowers in wheel cut lozenges. “I should think a servant owns nothing in his master’s house, Lord Chamberlain. Perhaps I could interest you in some of my glassware? Take anything you want as payment for the wine. You could use another wine cup perhaps?”
“I could, if the cup can explain to me why you were dragging a large sack in here late one night last week.”
Troilus shrugged. “I’m a merchant. I deal in goods. I’m often to be seen dragging sacks. My task is easier than that set Sisyphus since it’s all downhill to my shop. My customers drag their purchases back up into the light.”
If Troilus had expected a smile from John, he didn’t get it.
“Have you been robbed, Lord Chamberlain? I assure you I never deal in stolen goods. Not knowingly. I purchase my wares from respectable people and sell them to the same.”
“This sack was about as long as I am tall. You were seen with it eight days ago, around midnight. What did it contain?”
Troilus laughed. “Now I understand! Helias has been spying on me again. Isn’t that right? It’s on account of my antiquities. Not everyone admires glorification of the human form or understands pagan beliefs. I’ll wager he told you I was dragging a corpse. Do you think he invented that tale on the spot? It’s a favorite slander of his. He even brought the City Prefect here once. Nothing came of it.”
John requested details.
“It was years ago. He’s harassed me for that long. I’d move rather than put up with it, but what other place could suit me so well? As you see, I have room to expand down here. We’re standing in what’s left of Lausos’ palace after it burnt down sixty or so years back. After I moved in, I came across some excellent pieces from that famous classical collection of his and they gave me a good start on my business venture.”
“Indeed. And I suppose you aren’t paying anyone rent either. However, I haven’t come to inquire about your business. I would advise you to think carefully, because if you can’t answer my questions you might have time to reflect on it in a much darker place than this. Now, about the sack Helias described. What was in it?”
“How could I forget that purchase? Step inside and I’ll show you.”
John ducked to avoid the lintel of the crooked doorway. Inside, a miasma of smoke glowed in the light from lamps scattered amidst haphazard piles of goods. It was akin to standing in the cargo hold of a wrecked ship or for that matter in Menander’s cluttered room. In fact, many of the items on display might well have been purchased from Menander. Hadn’t the actress, Petronia, told him that Menander was well known to the troupe which worked practically on Troilus’ subterranean doorstep?
“I needed a roof over my merchandise,” Troilus explained. “The vaults are in disrepair, and when it rains, it’s like a waterfall down here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll retrieve the object that inflamed Helias. I shall not be long.”
Troilus vanished into a back room.
John looked around. A dozen amphorae of varying sizes, most notably one suitable for transporting the wine supply for a Dionysian banquet, sat against one slanting wall. A plain wooden stool nearby displayed an ivory triptych with a Biblical scene. Perched beside it-and John suspected it was not by accident-was a bronze candlestick in the form of a naked Aphrodite, hands above her head, standing in a frozen froth of wavelettes.
Other offerings on sale included clay lamps of lewd design encrusted with representations of male organs. On a low table decorated with insets of ebony and mother of pearl sat bronze combs, cooking pots, and statues of pagan deities. A tray of jewelry invited the eye to untangle its carelessly heaped contents-finger rings, some displaying enamel bezels, a gold chain necklace threaded with garnets, silver wire earrings with pearl pendants, and a child’s green glass bracelet.
Had all this merchandise been legally obtained, as Troilus claimed, or had his stock been stolen from homes abandoned when their owners fled the recent plague?
An item John would not have expected to see in any business caught his attention.
The large skeleton stood in a cobwebbed corner. The back end had belonged to a horse, but grafted to the front were the bones of a man. Closer inspection did not immediately reveal the means by which the parts had been fastened to each other. However, the man’s thigh bones could be discerned, welded in some manner to the larger equine bones. The human bones, especially the legs, appeared deformed and eaten away in spots, whether in the course of their marriage to the remains of the horse or from disease John could not venture to guess.
“I see you admire my centaur.” Troilus had returned, hauling a sack of the size Helias had described. “Might you be interested in purchasing such a rare and unusual curiosity? It would cause much comment if you displayed it in your atrium.”