“Send her to me tomorrow, Anatolius. I can inform her myself and I’d also like to reward her suitably for the aid she has rendered in making this such a wonderfully successful evening.”
As they circulated, sparing a word for this or that courtier, Senator Aurelius smiled with pride. Perhaps Anatolius would not disgrace the family name after all, despite the concerns his, Anatolius’, mother had often expressed during the boy’s somewhat turbulent youth. Thinking of Penelope, gone these ten years, brought unexpected moisture to Aurelius’ eyes. Such emotion was not for public display, and he was happy to see John enter the atrium because it gave him an opportunity furtively to wipe his brimming eyes as he turned away from Anatolius to greet the new arrival.
John apologized for his late arrival. “Unless I am ordered otherwise, I must assume the emperor still intends the Great Church to be officially dedicated in a few weeks. I am to arrange all the secular ceremonies and I fear I have been much occupied with other matters.”
“Let us not speak of those other matters tonight,” Aurelius replied.
Anatolius grinned widely. “And do enjoy some wine now that you’re here, John, although I’m afraid there’s none of that dreadful Egyptian vintage you insist on serving at your house.”
John accepted a cup from the servant who appeared at a gesture from Aurelius, commenting on the latter’s cheerful appearance.
“I’m a new man, John.” He explained the amazing improvement in his health. “Were I a credulous sort I would probably be barefoot and on my way to prostrate myself before Michael at this very moment. I’ve been regaling my friends with my cure. It makes an amusing story, don’t you think? An old pagan healed by a Christian holy man. A cosmic jest indeed! Not that I really believe it is, of course.”
“Gaius thinks you do,” John told him. “On my way in, I heard him complaining bitterly, saying you are trying to ruin him by telling people that weeks of his treatments aren’t as effective as a single touch from a charlatan.”
Aurelius was charitable. “Gaius imbibes too much upon occasion, and when he does his appreciation of humor deserts him. But if he continues to worship Bacchus so ardently, would he blame his patients for preferring to find their cures by sleeping in shrines? He will be in better spirits tomorrow and no doubt regret what he has said tonight, if he even remembers it, which personally I doubt.”
John agreed that going by past experience such would certainly be the case.
“Let’s not concern ourselves with Gaius, then. And don’t worry about your crotchety old house guest either, John,” Aurelius went on. “He’s having a marvelous time eating dried apricots and demonstrating this peculiar new game of his to some of the soberer guests in my sitting room. That was another excellent notion, Anatolius,” he added. “Not that I would actually employ someone to tutor me in such a frivolous pursuit, as I made plain to him, but I’m pleased with the interesting diversion he’s offering. Although I must admit, I wouldn’t have engaged those girls we were talking about at table.”
“They’re here to offer livelier entertainment than a board game, are they?” wondered John, giving a quick smile.
“On this occasion, no,” Anatolius grinned. “Now, John, you may have missed the prawns and partridges by arriving so late, but there are still delicacies to be admired. But only from a distance, you understand. As I was saying to my father, these ladies are as pure as Vestal virgins.”
Aurelius laughed. “Remember, my boy, I know the nature of the temple where our lady visitors reside.”
Anatolius grinned again. “Ah, but these particular handmaidens have many talents.”
“And they may need them soon. One of my colleagues mentioned to me earlier that there is some thought of proposing to Justinian that he immediately shut down all those storehouses of talent wherein such ladies as we are discussing dwell. Apparently the thought is that it might be one of the easiest ways to appease the religious zealots camped by the Bosporos.”
“Is the Senate really considering making such a recommendation?” John’s tone was thoughtful.
Aurelius said that it might well be just rumor.
“Well, be that as it may,” Anatolius said, “tonight the ladies will be showing off talents which, in their usual employment, are probably the only things they keep hidden! They will be dressed as the Muses, attributes and all, and each will give a recitation from the classics, to musical accompaniment provided by Euterpe, muse of music and joy. That is to say, by our friend Isis.”
John laughed at the very thought. “Isis? Playing on that hydra of hers?”
Anatolius shook his head. “Oh, no. No, I would have needed to engage a carter to drag that contraption over here. She has taken up playing the flute. It’s her newest pastime, apparently. Don’t worry, father,” he added quickly. “She will be veiled most modestly. No-one will recognize her, or if anyone does, they won’t be too eager to admit it.”
“My son has even had the foresight to protect the reputation of my house. I never thought to see the day!”
“If you are so pleased, perhaps you will think again about this matter of my laboring with the quaestor?”
Aurelius chuckled. “Now how could I disappoint all my guests? Your poetic imagination will be treating us to some remarkable sights and sounds this evening, but I wager that tomorrow no one will be talking about your earthy Muses, your flute-playing Euterpe, your prize-awarding pisceans or even Philo’s exotic game. No, I predict the chatterers will talk only of how an old senator’s stubborn and wayward son was transformed, as if by magick, into a man of substance by his new appointment!”
They had emerged into the peristyle surrounding the inner garden. Clusters of men strolled along graveled pathways winding around and between flower beds filled with more vases of roses whose heavy perfume sweetened the cooling air. Here and there, deep emerald sprays of ferns soberly emphasized the flaring trumpets of the pale pillars of lilies gleaming in terracotta pots. Shallow bowls of violets glowed purple against the clipped yews forming a somber background for the marble statues and busts set about the garden.
“I will address my guests shortly,” said Aurelius, “but first I must retrieve the notes for my speech. John, after Euterpe and her companions have entertained, if you would be good enough to say a preliminary word of introduction? And then after I announce your august new position, Anatolius, my guests can begin fishing.”
Aurelius made his way down the hall, glancing in as he passed by the sitting room where Philo was still entertaining several guests. The senator’s study was deserted but only because, he supposed as he picked up his notes, it offered neither entertainment nor a convenient couch upon which to rest.
The painted cupids on the walls reminded him of happier times when Anatolius was a baby and Penelope was still alive. This room was where their only child had taken his first unaided, tottering steps. Here, he still hoped, one day he would see a grandson take his first steps across the same mosaic floor on which Anatolius had played under Penelope’s fond care. How quickly the years had marched inexorably along, lately seemingly attended as much by sorrows as by joys.
Now, as the sun fell behind the rooftops of the city, the cupids were illuminated by lamplight. Some of the chubby godlings were playing musical instruments, others drove chariots pulled by donkeys. Penelope’s artistic taste had not favored the classical school of painting. Perhaps it was her influence that had made their only child so tender-hearted, so flighty, Aurelius thought. And this being so, she had spent her last years agonizing over how a poet would survive life in the palace.
This room, so full of memories tonight, was the warmest in the house except the kitchen, and since he had become an old man he had grown to detest the cold. But, although he would admit it to no man, that was not the only reason he had made it his study.