John declined the offer. He could imagine Peter’s horror at having such a monstrosity in the house, even though it had obviously been manufactured.
“Here I have an exceedingly rare artifact, Lord Chamberlain. The owner didn’t want to part with it, but his wine supplier was pressing him for payment. It’s one of the items which offend Helias. There’s another.”
He gestured toward a shadowy alcove.
John felt his skin prickle.
A soldier peered out at them.
“That’s Saint Sergius,” Troilus said. “He’s an automaton. Sadly, he no longer works although I’ve thought of having him restored. He could scare off thieves. Do you think a saint would object to guarding a shop? After all, the saints are supposed to look after us, aren’t they?”
He smiled. “I was told that after appropriate preparations, when set in motion red liquid bubbles from his shoes. It represents the blood shed when the martyr was forced to run for miles in footwear with nails inside. Even as that dreadful sight unfolds, the saint raises his hands to heaven, holding the palm branch of martyrdom. Thus may we all overcome pain and sorrow and receive our reward.”
Was the piety in his tone exaggerated?
“The frond was missing when I purchased him,” Troilus continued. “It appears that during a particularly lively social gathering, poor Sergius suffered at the hand of an intoxicated guest, whereupon his companions thrashed the careless man with the palm branch. It had come loose, but that broke it entirely.”
“These unusual goods of yours must be extremely expensive. I’m surprised you can find buyers in a spot like this,” John observed.
“Buyers find me, Lord Chamberlain. They have to find me. No one else sells what I sell. Do you know what financed me when I first set up shop? It was the nose of Zeus from Olympus. It was from a statue in that collection of Lausos I mentioned. Who knows what else might still be down here? I’ve scarcely begun to explore all the corridors and basements and cisterns.”
He seemed unconcerned about being confronted by Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain. Nor did he appear in any particular haste to reply to the question of what he was doing in John’s house. “What I’m interested in, Troilus, are the contents of that sack. I do not intend to wait further. Speak.”
“My apologies. Here, I’ll show you.”
Troilus bent down and turned the lip of the sack back, revealing the shiny head of the largest leather phallus John had ever seen. It was the length of an entire man.
“There’s Helias’ so-called body,” Troilus smirked. “It would probably distress the pious hypocrite more than a corpse. I’ve nicknamed it Polyphemus. I wager some wealthy brothel owner will pay me a tidy sum to put him on display. Or perhaps I could interest the troupe. I do a lot of business with them, scrounging up various odd items needed for their performances.” He pulled the sacking back over the obscene artifact.
“Do you know an actress from the troupe? A woman named Agnes?”
“Oh, yes indeed. She likes to try on the jewelry I have for sale, although she never buys any.”
“Perhaps you have given her some baubles?”
“What do you mean, Lord Chamberlain?”
“That she is more than a customer. That was the impression I had from Petronia.”
“You’ve been talking to Petronia? I see. For a man of your position, you do spend a lot of time in places less salubrious than the palace. If I owned that fine house of yours, I’d stay there. Well, Petronia sees things from her own perspective, but, yes, you could say that Agnes and I are friends.”
There was nothing in Troilus’ tone to indicate that he had learned about Agnes’ death, from Petronia or in any other manner. John thought it best not to say anything.
“And how familiar are you with the company Agnes keeps?”
“Not very. Except when they come to me in search of a trinket or a bit of the past.”
“Did Agnes say anything about dissatisfaction with the emperor?”
Troilus laughed. “Who outside the palace doesn’t grumble about the emperor? Or inside the palace, I imagine. You would know better than I.”
“I understand that concocting intrigues against Justinian is a popular sport? Did Agnes mention such scheming?”
“We don’t talk about politics much, Lord Chamberlain.” Troilus stared at the sack at his feet. “People like to fantasize but these dreams they cultivate of returning to the palace have as much to do with reality as Polyphemus there. The last time I saw Agnes she was recounting those rumors about Theodora’s bastard son and imagining how he might be used against Justinian.”
“One variation or another of that rumor makes the rounds every year. It’s nearly as popular as accounts of Theodora’s escapades with the geese during her acting days.”
“Exactly. So you agree with me it’s all nonsense, Lord Chamberlain? I do a considerable amount of business with former courtiers. They love to spread such scandalous reports.”
“People like Menander?”
“Yes, like Menander. You do know everyone, don’t you? Now he’s a man who’s always selling and never buying. As I was saying, these people will dwell on rumors. I suppose it adds some excitement to their lives and what else can they do being now as powerless as beggars in the streets? I say if it makes them feel better to talk about a long lost son enlisting the excubitors to depose Justinian with the blessing of the empress, well, perhaps they’ll feel like purchasing a few more valuables from me in anticipation of celebrating the great day. Particularly since the day will be a long time coming.”
“Indeed. And when did you last glimpse Agnes?”
Troilus paused for thought. A draught stirred the smoky haze in the shop as a guttering lamp threw animated shadows across the walls.
“It was the very night I hauled in Polyphemus,” he finally replied. “I hadn’t seen Agnes for a few days and wondered what had become of her. So early the next morning I went over to Petronia’s room, where she often stays. To my relief, Agnes was there. However, she rushed out not long after I arrived and I haven’t seen her since.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Actresses apparently earned more than John would have guessed.
Petronia was well enough off to live outside the smoke and fumes of the Copper Market, on the edge of the ridge overlooking the Golden Horn, almost within sight of Michri’s glassworks where John had begun his investigations. From the windows of her third floor room it was possible to see the narrow inlet to the north as well as the wave-rippled waters to the east.
The actress invited John to sit upon an oversized wooden chair, painted in a manner which made it resemble a gem encrusted throne from a distance.
John remained standing beside a bed against the wall. Pieces of statuary-busts of philosophers and small gods and goddesses on pedestals-were perched on a table and on the floor by the brazier. They were used on stage, John supposed.
Petronia pulled shut the heavy curtain that divided the room and concealed from view the second bed John had glimpsed as he entered. The curtain must have been a discarded stage backdrop. Amid its folds could be discerned an assortment of Greek temples.
“I haven’t been back to the theater since you brought me the terrible news,” she said in answer to his question. Her face was as pale and perfect as it had been the day before. The thin tunic she wore hung loosely from her shoulders, revealing the clear demarcation where the white make-up ended at the base of her slender neck.
“Someone else will have to tell Troilus if he doesn’t already know. I couldn’t bear to see his reaction when he hears…” she faltered.
John asked her gently how well the pair had known each other.
“I fear I don’t pry into my friends’ affairs, Lord Chamberlain, although I know it’s the common belief that actresses have no discretion or shame.”
“Some may think that, Petronia. I can understand that you are upset by the death of your friend. Is that why you neglected to tell me that Troilus visited you here the morning of the day Agnes died?”