the sauce for the duck was not thick enough. Of course, Peter pointed out to him that you preferred plain food and that he was not going to go against the master’s preferences. It’s probably just as well they are both civilized men, as there are always sharp knives on the kitchen table and even cooks and philosophers must surely be hotheaded at times.”
John nodded, adding that Philo had risked all simply by venturing into the kitchen while Peter was cooking, since that was something which the servant could not abide. He would have a word with Peter, he thought, and ask him to try to be forbearing. It struck John that it was fortunate he was not married or the ubiquitous philosopher would probably also have invaded his wife’s apartments in addition to the study and Peter’s kitchen.
“How long has he been here, John? More than two weeks, isn’t it?”
John confirmed the fact, noting that Philo had arrived on the Ides of October.
“Well, now November has begun,” Anatolius replied, “And it’s a lucky month, so they say. Let’s hope so, for all of us! But however did he know where to find you?”
“Apparently my fame has spread further afield than I realized,” John replied with a frown. “He evidently heard of my good fortune at some time or other.”
“Ah, that would explain it. A teacher never forgets those of his students who do well.”
“Whether or not they did well as students.” John paused, uncertain whether to voice the thought that had come to him. There were many things he shared only with the mosaic girl Zoe, upon whose discretion he could depend completely. Strangely, the only other person with whom he sometimes shared confidences was Anatolius, probably the least discreet man John knew. “It gave me a shock when Peter called me to the door and I saw Philo standing outside,” he finally said, “for I had thought that all that part of my past life was dead, had died long ago.”
Anatolius, looking interested, asked if Philo appeared very much different.
“He looks much the same. Older, of course. More somber, certainly. The perfect philosopher. You might say he now looks truer to his vision of himself, closer to the ideal image to which he aspires. My first reaction was to tell him to go away.”
In the ensuing silence, the water trickling from the stone creature’s mouth sounded louder as it splashed into the pool beside them. There was not enough light for John to see the question he knew was written across Anatolius’ face.
“You are aware, Anatolius,” he continued, “that I am not the person I once was. I have no desire to revisit the world where that other person lived. In fact, I have made every effort to forget my former life.”
“But your past has a way of finding you, John,” Anatolius pointed out, “which is not to be wondered at considering that you live at the very hub of the world. One seeking to escape his past would do better to dwell in the desert like these hermits the Christians are always gossiping about.”
“Even hermits sometimes eventually find their way to Constantinople,” John replied ruefully.
“Well, then, you would doubtless find the far reaches of the desert yet more congenial, without so much as an occasional wild-eyed zealot to interrupt your solitude. But why do you continue to harbor that prickly old rogue Philo? Surely he knows other people here that he could stay with until he is able to get an establishment of his own?”
“I don’t believe Philo knows anyone else in Constantinople. He spent most of his life at the Academy in Athens and then in exile in the east. To tell the truth, Anatolius, I owe more than you realize to him, for it was he who taught me reading and writing and instilled some philosophy in me. Extending him hospitality for as long as he needs it is the least I can do, for while one cannot repay a kindness, one can at least pass it along by helping someone else.”
Anatolius agreed that that was so. As Justinian’s secretary he certainly understood the value of literacy. “For after all,” he continued, “had it not been that you could read and write, when you arrived at the palace as a slave all those years ago you would not have had the opportunity to put your foot on the ladder that eventually led to your being appointed Lord Chamberlain.”
“There is more than that,” John said quietly. “Let me explain. You know how I was captured by the Persians.”
Anatolius nodded. “The gods should be ashamed for allowing such a fate to befall a young man seeking only to buy silks for his lover.”
John gave a grim laugh. “Or at the very least the gods might have given me a map showing the location of the border, so that I would not have strayed over it. But then again, quite a few others had also been caught, between ambushes and skirmishes. But we became a burden and would have been killed except that Fortuna at least decided to show some kindness and sent a band of traders, to whom we were of some value if properly prepared. And thus was it done, and I became…a eunuch.”
He had paused before spitting out the last two words. Now he sighed. Why was it so difficult for him to name the reality with which he lived every day, one that could never be changed?
“That part of the story you know,” he said, forcing himself to continue. “But I have not told you what happened after we were sold to the traders. We set out for a large settlement, a long march away. But when we arrived, already half starved because supplies were not always easy to come by in that wild country, it was discovered that a contingent of captives from an overrun border city had just arrived. So there was no shortage of slaves for sale.”
John paused and directed his gaze up to the sky, where bright stars were peering through high, wispy clouds. He continued to gaze at them as he resumed speaking in a near whisper. “We were assembled at the edge of the encampment and forced to kneel in the dirt. The leader of the traders addressed us, saying that since they could neither sell us nor feed us, we were to be freed. First, however, we were to sign an official acknowledgment of our debt to their merciful and magnanimous ruler and so on and so forth.
“He then made his way with kalamos and parchment along our ranks. Thanks to Philo I was able to sign my name. Almost all of the others, being illiterate, made only their marks. When the charade was done, all who could not write were beheaded on the spot.”
He heard Anatolius’ quick intake of breath.
“Those few of us who were literate were of course extremely valuable, so well worth the bit of gruel necessary to keep us alive until we were finally sold,” John concluded quietly. “So as you see, Anatolius, I owe my life to Philo’s tutoring.”
Darius, doorkeeper for Madam Isis, hurried along a marble-floored corridor in his employer’s establishment. It led from an entrance hall where the gold leaf decorating the capitals of Corinthian columns gleamed almost as brightly as the many coins that changed hands during commerce within the house.
He could not help feeling anxious now that darkness was drawing in. True, nightfall meant an increase in business but it also heralded more dangerous possibilities. Thus the bullish man bit back alarm when he knocked on the rosewood door of Isis’ private sitting room and it swung open unaided to reveal a plump woman seated on a softly cushioned couch as she worked intently on her account book.
Tugging his black, curly beard in agitation, Darius stepped into an atmosphere so thick with incense it blanketed the smell of the perfume drenching his beard and long wavy hair. It was only when the door thudded shut that the woman noticed him and set down codex and kalamos next to the silver fruit bowl on the table beside her.
“You must keep your door locked, madam,” he scolded. “I might have been an assassin.”
“According to my accounts we don’t seem to have that many disgruntled customers, Darius,” she replied. “Besides, you’re always nearby.”
“I can’t be everywhere at once! And there is much unrest in the streets on account of the strange deaths of those pillar sitters. Unrest outside inevitably finds its way inside, just like bad smells.” He drew breath. “But you summoned me?”
The woman seemed lost in thought, caressing the thin gold marriage band she wore in Egyptian fashion on the middle finger of her left hand, although whether as a remembrance of her past or merely as a disguise she had never revealed. “Do you think this stylite business will dampen our customer’s appetites?” she finally asked.
The big doorkeeper looked surprised.
“You have been with me for a long time,” Isis said with a smile. “I would value your opinion. But before you give it, please sit down.” She patted the couch beside her.
