Gaius looked ashamed. “I regret striking the girl, John. I have apologized to her. But surely you don’t really think I murdered Aurelius?”
“You informed half the guests at the banquet that he was bent on ruining you by telling everyone they could be cured immediately by going to visit Michael. Your devotion to Bacchus is common knowledge, Gaius. It’s already cost you a number of your patients. You can’t afford to lose the rest.”
“That’s ridiculous, John! To murder a man, a senator, because-” Gaius’ face reddened with anger.
“Too much wine makes men do ridiculous things. Or murderous things,” John pointed out.
“Indeed? And did the senator’s most excellent wine also make me set fire to that poor girl from Isis’ house? I was certainly not responsible for either death. You’re grilling me like St Lawrence or a street vendor’s fish,” Gaius concluded plaintively, “and I considered you a friend.”
“I am your friend,” John replied quietly. “But as a physician you will know that cures necessitate investigation and investigations are not always painless.”
Gaius turned away. Grabbing a heavy pestle, he angrily pounded it down into the mortar.
“You misunderstand, Gaius,” John assured him. “I must speak to all who attended Aurelius’ banquet. I am going now to question Isis further.”
“Good!” Gaius did not look up as he ground the mixture in the mortar to smoother consistency. “And while you’re there you can inform her that her girls will have to soak their contraceptive pessaries in olive oil for a while, since I can’t spare lead ointment for them right now. On the other hand, I soon should have rue enough to mix into abortion potions. That’ll certainly please her.”
Madam Isis was outraged. “Soak them in olive oil! As if that would do any good! What’s he trying to do, ruin me?” She paused, reflecting for a moment. “Ah, I have it, John. There’s a honey seller just off the Forum Tauri. Honey can be got a lot cheaper than Gaius’ services, and it’s better than olive oil for the intended task. Since the honey seller visits my girls often, I’m certain we could arrange to exchange services. I’ll send Darius around to ask about that right away. Now why didn’t I think of this before? Think of the money I’d have saved!”
Isis was about to sweep out of her luxurious sitting room in her usual maelstrom of colored silks and exotic perfume when John stopped her. “There was another guard at the door when I arrived.”
“I sent Darius out to purchase stronger locks and more bars for the windows. Iron bars. If he’s back, he’ll be outside further securing the house.”
The madam left the room long enough to give instructions.
“Not that there haven’t been one or two of my girls who, honey or not, have been rather careless,” Isis told John upon her return. “And then there’s poor Darius, he’s absolutely distraught about Adula. Confidentially, John, he’d become very fond of the girl. Of course, she doted on him. And it was a terrible death.” She glanced down at the burns on her hands, mute witnesses to her fruitless attempts to save Adula.
John moved uncomfortably in his chair. It was padded much too amply for his spartan tastes. “Isis, I’m here to speak to you about that very girl. You say her name was Adula?”
“Yes, or at least that was what we called her. What she was called by her father, or in any event the man who claimed to be her father when he showed up at my door trying to hawk her for twice as much as I was willing to pay, who can say? He never told me.” Isis half reclined on her couch. The delicate table beside it bore its customary jug of wine and silver bowl filled with fruit. On this occasion, she did not seem inclined to sample either.
“You mentioned Darius was very fond of the girl. There was a special relationship with her, perhaps?”
“Special?” Isis laughed. “Darius frets over all of us. He’s a regular mother hen. He did admit to taking some liberties with Adula, but there’s nothing unusual in that, men are men and always will be. If it were otherwise, I’d be out of business. He’ll recover his spirits soon enough.”
“Can you tell me anything about Adula’s background?”
Isis shook her head. Her cheeks were hollower than John had seen in the years he had known her. While it was true that her thinner features hinted at the finely chiseled face that had made her a rare beauty before she “retired to a desk post,” as she liked to put it, they more strongly suggested incipient exhaustion.
“She was from one of those peasant families scrabbling to survive, or so said her father or whoever he was.”
“Did she entertain any regular clients? Any particular favorites?”
“Favorites? Well, Senator Aurelius has never frequented this house, if that’s what you’re thinking. As for his son, I’m not aware he ever visited with her. Everyone knows he’s attracted to the aristocratic type, and he’s quite willing to put down an extra coin or two for one who can play the part well,” she concluded.
John nodded, embarrassed that Anatolius’ private preferences in such matters were a well known matter of commerce in Isis’ house. “So there was no particular reason you chose her to be among those accompanying you to the senator’s banquet?”
“Nothing beyond talent and enthusiasm. Besides, it is good for a country girl to see how wealthier citizens live, don’t you think? It gives them an indication of what is possible in Constantinople. After all, we all know what Theodora was before she married Justinian, don’t we?”
John agreed, adding, “Of course, there were many men at that banquet who might have been here at one time or another, even though they all professed ignorance of your house when questioned.”
Isis waved her beringed hand. “Please, John. You know I cannot answer the questions you are about to ask. My livelihood depends upon my being discreet even when my clients are not. But I will tell you this,” she continued. “Just looking over the guests I recognized enough familiar faces to keep you busy interviewing for, well, for much longer than I suspect you have available to solve the matter.”
John asked her to recount whatever she had observed of Adula’s death. Unfortunately, Isis had been too intent on her flute-playing to notice anything until the screaming began. John made a mental note to request that one of the Prefect’s men interview the other girls who had been present. Suspecting such questioning would be fruitless, he did not wish to waste his time on it. People tended to see what they expected to see. And unexpected events, catching them unready, were seldom carefully observed.
He asked Isis once more if she were certain she had no information to offer.
She shook her head. “Nothing except that I hear that around the city it’s being said she was struck down because of her evil ways. If that’s true, I might well be next.”
John murmured that he doubted it, the sins of her house were not the worst in Constantinople by any means, and concluded with a slight smile, “Indeed, compared to some, your girls are still innocents.”
Isis leaned forward intently. “At least, they are innocent of anything but quenching the natural fires of the fleshly sort. Personally, I don’t believe those other fires had anything but a human origin and I suspect that you agree with me.”
“Of course I do, but then neither of us are Christians.”
“But how do one’s religious beliefs change deductions arising from the facts?” A shadow passed over her face. “To tell you the truth, I blame myself for it,” she said, dabbing at her suddenly wet eyes.
John looked at her questioningly.
“Isn’t it obvious what happened? There were torches everywhere, in the corridors and rooms, along the colonnade. And I insisted my girls wear those elaborate costumes. A spark must have fallen into the folds of Adula’s clothing and smoldered there until it burst into flame. And now those zealots are taking credit for what was nothing but a terrible accident!”