“If I were to set you free, would you show your claws?” Hektor asked the bear, darting around the side of the cage and jabbing his branch sharply into the bear’s face. The animal snarled more in dismay than anger but the boy at least got a glimpse of the long yellow teeth that had torn out a human throat. He wondered, idly, what it would feel like to take a man’s life. He felt certain he would appreciate the experience more than a bear ever could.
Still bored, Hektor bid farewell to the animal and wandered away in the afternoon sunshine, eventually venturing into that part of the palace Justinian used for his offices, a place where there was seldom much call for pages.
As he strolled along the corridor, the boy’s thoughts wandered back to his thwarted interrogation of the hateful cat, which had now transformed itself in his imagination into a heavily disguised spy, a cunning and evil foe to be dealt with most severely when apprehended. But his daydreaming ceased abruptly when he saw Theodora emerging from one of the offices.
Hektor quickly retreated around a corner to the shelter of the nearest doorway. As skilled as he was at being conspicuous he had an even better facility for hiding, both exceedingly useful talents at the court in conjunction with a well-developed instinct for knowing when, where and in which circumstances to employ each.
Theodora, he was certain, did not notice him as she swept away in the other direction. He immediately crept around the corner and moved stealthily back through the trail of her perfume to the room from which she had emerged.
What Hektor saw when he peeked inside made him forget the nefarious spy disguised as a cat. There sat Anatolius, looking dazed. Anatolius, of course, was just a harmless fool, but the fool’s eunuch friend John had spoken most impertinently to Hektor on more than one occasion.
The eunuch had made a grave mistake, the boy thought, his mouth tightening at the humiliating recollection of those slights. Hektor might yet be young but he knew much. He was aware, for instance, of Theodora’s deep enmity toward John. It sprang, he suspected, from jealousy. How often had he had seen her glare at John as he departed after a private conference with Justinian, her angry look touched with panic? After all, she had made it plain to all that the emperor’s opinion was for her alone to influence. What the emperor truly believed, what actions he intended to take, these were in the nature of marital secrets. Yes, the empress would certainly richly reward the person who found a means to end the unseemly intimacy between her husband and the eunuch John. That was something else Hektor knew.
So it was with special interest that he observed Anatolius sitting at his desk copying something. It was not an unusual task for a secretary, but Hektor’s court-sharpened instincts immediately detected something amiss. Perhaps it was the man’s posture or possibly a subliminal hint of his sour, nervous sweat.
Hektor peered more intently around the door post. There was a blotch of spilt ink on the corner of the document Anatolius was rapidly copying. Moving quietly back down the corridor, the boy smiled to himself. He would wait for Anatolius to depart and then read whatever he had been transcribing. Perhaps he would discover something that could be used against him and his friend the eunuch. Yes, he thought, he would obviously have to keep a close eye on John’s movements for the next few days. Suddenly, he was no longer bored.
Chapter Nine
Senator Aurelius beamed with satisfaction as he strolled through his atrium with Anatolius. The banquet was underway. Around the central impluvium sat graceful vases holding huge bunches of the white roses sacred to Venus. The splendid garments of his guests captured the sweet scent of juniper garlands woven with leaves of ivy and grapevines, those ancient symbols of hospitality, looped around the doorways. The happy sound of his well-fed guests’ conversation and laughter swirled around them. Yes, the scene was perfect. How could it not be? That morning the senator had finally passed his painful bladder stone.
“Anatolius, I am well pleased with your efforts,” Aurelius commented, nodding benignly at a cluster of senators discussing the yields of their vineyards. “The menu was completely appropriate, restrained but with a hint of exotica. I was especially impressed by the various wildfowl in plum sauce, not to mention the braised lamb. And the entertainments the same, no dwarfs dancing on the table knocking jugs flying or stepping into the platters, for example.”
For the first time in days the senator was seeing the world through eyes unclouded by pain. “The roast venison was particularly well received, I noticed,” he continued. “Did you steal away imperial cooks and do I thus face financial ruin for the honor of benefiting from their labors?” He gave his son a paternal smile, intended to remove any sting from his words.
Anatolius reddened. “I borrowed the services of John’s cook to oversee the kitchen for this occasion, father. He was more than happy to oblige. John prefers the plainest of foods, but Peter does enjoy the occasional challenge to his culinary skills.”
Father and son had paused by the impluvium. Glancing into it, Aurelius was startled to see golden fish swimming in the clear water.
Anatolius followed his gaze and smiled proudly. “A little surprise for later. Toward the end of the evening, your guests can try to catch them and the person who succeeds in capturing the one with the black spotted tail will be presented with a small golden fish suitable for wearing on a chain.”
His father regarded him with affection. “It appears that the poet can imagine something other than mooning over lost maidens,” he said. “It will certainly be more than interesting to see Senator Epirus, for one, trying to land a fish, especially after one too many cups of wine. Or better yet, Gaius. He’s already intoxicated enough to pay the fee for one of those imperial cooks you didn’t hire.”
Anatolius reminded his father of the strange fortune-telling rhyme that John had once mentioned, something about one meaning sorrow and two, joy.
“Could it not equally apply to wine?” he continued. “For certainly two cups bring merriment but not enough to provoke the uninhibited sort that leaves the Furies in the head and scandalous stories circulating around the court next day.”
They continued their tour of the crowded house. The noise was intense, but it was the sound of voices loud with enthusiasm rather than raised in anger. The senator smiled when he saw that now the house slaves had cleared away the remains of the banquet there was, in fact, a dwarf dancing on the long dining room table, tumbling and tripping for an enthusiastic audience. Nearby, a group of acrobats twisted themselves into impossible positions for knots of amazed guests.
Aurelius noted with approval that his son had sensibly employed Felix and several excubitors in the event of any sort of unpleasantness, but had instructed them to circulate quietly, dressed as guests. He complimented Anatolius on his arrangements, and, again, upon the carefully chosen floral decorations.
“About those tubs of linden trees. I was just explaining to Senator Epirus that they represent the legend of the hospitable Philemon and Baucis. Ever the cynic, he said that he doubted we are acting as unwitting hosts to Zeus and Hermes, however powerful many of our guests may be. But surely the palace gardeners needed some persuasion to loan such choice items?”
“Oh,” Anatolius shrugged, “I happen to know one of them, and she was happy to assist. Her name’s Hypatia and she also provided the very choice pears Peter baked for us, not to mention the excellent vegetables. She’s an accomplished herbalist as well, and indeed I had asked her about a potion for your infirmity. Fortunately now I shall be able to tell her that it will not be required.”