One for Sorrow (13 page)
Elsewhere in the storm-shrouded city others had gathered to consult a different sort of oracle.
The cramped palace room was as gloomy as the night outside, one of the indistinct figures squatting in the semi-darkness tended to a partially covered lantern. Acrid smoke from the almost extinguished flame filled the air. The feeble light died at the edges of the darkness in the corners, glimmered on the white of an eye, a moist lip, and cast a sheen on the water in a large bowl.
Justinian’s young page Hektor sat beside the brimming bowl, a frown on his powdered face.
“Why didn’t you get a chicken? Too scared in case it pecked you?” one of the boys jeered.
“A cook caught me trying to steal one,” Hektor replied. “Slapped me too, but he’ll regret it.”
“What did you do? Spit in his soup pot?”
“Better than that. I went back when he wasn’t looking and stuck a dead mouse in the pan of lentils he was cooking. A word in the right ear—and I’m the one to do it—and Justinian will hear about it and the cook will find himself without a head. We all know how much the imperial pair are terrified of being poisoned, and who’s to say the mouse was not poisoned first and kept handy until needed?”
The story was met by laughter from the assembled pages.
“Does a cook with its head cut off run around like a chicken with its head cut off?” someone wondered.
Clucking noises emanated from the semi-darkness.
“Shhhh,” Hektor cautioned. “Is there anyone in the hall?”
He listened until the rushing of blood in his ears seemed loud enough to drown out any other sound.
“What’s the water for?” asked Hektor’s interrogator, in a whisper this time. “Going to wash your feet? Smells like they need it!”
“It’s to tell your future, Tarquin.”
“Without a chicken to sacrifice?”
“Forget about chickens! Now, sit in front of the bowl. You have to stir it with your finger, and then I’ll interpret what the currents say. But you have to keep absolutely still or it won’t work. The rest of you, hold Tarquin tight and don’t let go until I say you can.” He paused and glanced around the ring of shadowed faces. “Otherwise demons will appear and carry you all off!”
The pages huddled around Tarquin. They were still in the heavy make-up they wore while gracing the court, but aside from that they were entirely naked. It was obvious they were no more than children.
Hektor snickered, a sound that caused more than one boy to flinch. They had all suffered at one time or another in Hektor’s hands. None of them would have changed places with Tarquin.
“Stir the water,” Hektor ordered. “What are you waiting for?”
“You’re jealous because the Master of the Offices prefers me,” Tarquin riposted. His kohl-outlined eyes glittered. “Anyhow, it’s not the right way to read fortunes. You have to have chicken guts. Everybody knows that!”
“Oh? You heard about the fortune-teller reading them for the empress at her celebration? Well, I was there, and it didn’t impress me,” Hektor sneered. “This way is much more accurate.”
“What did he tell the empress, if you really were there?”
“Tell us, Hektor,” another boy piped up.
“I don’t dare repeat it. It’s too horrible. A terrible fate. Stop wasting time, Tarquin. Stir the water. Or are you scared?”
Tarquin stared down into the bowl. “You’re not going to tell my future. You’re only going to make up a lie.”
“Swear on the True Cross, I’d never do such a thing.” Hektor made the Christian sign. He wished he’d managed to steal the chicken. Crucifying it might be an enlightening experience.
Tarquin must have seen the wild look that crept into Hektor’s eyes because he emitted a whimper and lowered his hand toward the bowl.
“Hold him tight,” Hektor said.
Tarquin stirred the water with a grubby forefinger.
“Ah, my pretty boy,” Hektor leered in what was supposed to be a basso profundo as he looked into the bowl. “Do you see that?”
“What? Where?”
“Here, you fool!” Hektor grabbed Tarquin by the back of the neck and pushed his face into the bowl. “Keep hold of him, or you’ll get the same!” he ordered the others. One boy sobbed.
“You baby!” Hektor said, pushing the struggling Tarquin’s face deeper into the water.
“You’ll drown him!”
“He won’t be much loss, and in that case his future was certainly shown in the water!” Hektor laughed and yanked Tarquin’s head up out of the bowl. “A little more fortune telling, Tarquin?”
Before his dazed victim could splutter in reply Hektor pushed his head back under the water.
One of the boys jumped up, preparing to run. “Stay there,” Hektor commanded. “Don’t alert the guards.”
The boy dropped back down, leaned over, and vomited where he sat.
Tarquin was allowed to emerge into air again.
“And now for your future,” Hektor intoned. “By Jupiter and Cybele and the Emperor of the Toads. By the left arm of John the Baptist and the talisman of all healing, in the names of Justinian and Our Lord Jesus Christ, show us what fate waits for the boy Tarquin!”
Hektor stared into the slowly settling water.
He suddenly felt lightheaded. The floor appeared to be tilting. Perhaps there was something in this soothsaying business, he thought in horror. Perhaps one of those fearsome entities he’d invoked had actually heard him and responded. His heart leapt in sudden panic.
The naked boys looked afraid, startled eyes wide in their garishly rouged faces.
“More light!” Hektor demanded of the lantern tender.
He peered down at the bowl. The eddies squirmed like living things. Surely it must be an effect of the smoke-induced tears welling in his eyes?
“What do you see?”
“Go on, you can’t see nothing in a bowl of water!”
“Be quiet!” Hektor’ voice quavered. “It’s like listening to thunder to tell the future. Look there, see, waves.”
He became aware of a powerful presence. Someone or something was looking down at him from a great height. He hadn’t meant any harm. It had all been a joke. He hadn’t even remembered exactly what the old soothsayer had chanted. Or had he? The uneasy feeling that he was being watched grew stronger. The currents in the water formed shapes. There, a face…a familiar face…it was…no…it couldn’t be…and yet…it was….
“Hektor!”
He leapt up wildly at the sound of his name. Startled boys scattered, screaming.
A hand grabbed Hektor’s bare shoulder and spun him around.
Hektor gasped. He was looking up into the scowling face of the Lord Chamberlain who, without benefit of chicken entrails or thunder, well knew the destiny of pretty powdered boys who grew into manhood, but was too kind to reveal it.
By the time Hektor had dressed his fright had apparently faded. He slumped on a couch in the nearby room to which he had been led and regarded the Lord Chamberlain with sullen contempt.
His look reminded John that while most court pages left imperial service upon attaining manhood, a number stayed on in other employment at the palace. He wondered briefly if Hektor might take that path, and possible future ramifications if he had already made a bitter enemy of him. Such calculations were never far from the minds of those who wished to survive at Justinian’s court.
“What do you want with me?” the boy snarled. “I know it’s not the usual reason. Not you!”
John shut the door. The room was simply furnished with the couch, a stool, a low table on which a lamp burned, and a wooden cross on one wall. There were no windows. John pulled the stool to the couch and sat down.
“Were you at the empress’ gathering the other night, Hektor?”
“Most of us were. I’ll tell Theodora you’ve been asking about her.”
“I’m sure you will.” John ignored the boy’s insolence. “What went on that night?”
Hektor shrugged. “Nothing much. The usual things.”
“Dining, entertainment?”
“Are you sure I can’t do something for you, Lord Chamberlain? I’m very obliging. Is there anything anyone can do for someone like you?” Hektor reached out and stroked John’s knee.
John brushed the boy’s hand aside angrily. Hektor smirked.
“I’ve been told there was a soothsayer there,” John continued, keeping his voice even. “Is that true?”
“Perhaps. I don’t remember.”
“You will remember to whom you are speaking, Hektor. No doubt there are powerful men at court who would protect you to conceal their secrets. Unless, of course, you are merely silenced, for a dead tongue can tell no tales. But I advise Justinian, who has condemned the sort of services you provide, and I am afraid your friends, if that is what you call them, won’t dare to defy their emperor if he decides to grant me your pretty little head on a stake.”
Hektor’ fists clenched but he said nothing.
“Now,” John continued, “tell me about the soothsayer.”
Hektor glared, but answered immediately. “The charlatan? For one thing, the smelly old goat had his wrinkled paws all over one of the whores there.”
“You mean he didn’t prefer little boys? What about his readings? Did he tell anyone’s future?”
“Theodora wanted her fortune told.”
“Using a chicken’s entrails?”
Hektor nodded. John wondered if the woman for whom Ahasuerus had mentioned providing such a reading had been the empress herself. He would have to speak to the soothsayer again. He asked Hektor about the chicken used for the empress’ reading.
“Theodora sent one of the guards to the kitchens for it. The knife must have been quite blunt, since the chicken squawked a lot.” Hektor smiled.
“I presume the reading was conducted in a more decorous manner than your own?”
“If you mean were Theodora and her guests naked….”
John’s warning look stopped Hektor in mid-sentence.
“Do you remember what the soothsayer said?”
“The old goat told her she would be rich. An easy prediction, her being the empress.”
John’s attention was drawn to the door. There was muted shuffling outside; the other pages were probably taking turns to eavesdrop.
“Did you see the captain of the excubitors?”
“Yes. He and his guards were ogling the women. I could have strangled the empress myself for all the guarding they were doing.”
“Who else?”
Hektor shrugged again. “Your usual prissy courtiers and puffed-up officials. And a flock of whores. Some of them dressed like virgins!”
“What about the entertainment?”
“Jugglers, mimes, some poor whiny poet, dwarves. The usual rubbish. Then there were two women, acrobats.”
“Acrobats?”
“They were doing handstands and cartwheels, things like that.”
John frowned. “Two women, you say.”
“I guess you would call one a girl. The other was an older woman. I heard someone say they were performing with a traveling troupe.”
Then Cornelia and Europa had attended Theodora’s gathering. John felt cold. Perhaps it was just the soaked clothing that clung uncomfortably to his back and shoulders.
Lounging even lower on the couch, Hektor was beginning to regain his courage. “Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes, Lord Chamberlain, “ he suggested sweetly.
John got to his feet, pushing the stool away more violently than he had intended. It crashed against the wall. The wooden cross, jarred loose, fell. Hektor clamped his hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
John walked out quickly, ignoring the cluster of pages gathered across the corridor in an all-too-obviously innocent game of knucklebones. He hoped the rain was still pouring down. He needed cleansing.
In the first light of morning, the Inn of the Centaurs lay quiet save for a repetitive dripping, a reminder of the previous night’s storms and the roof’s woeful lack of repair. So it was that Mistress Kaloethes, prodding the embers in the kitchen brazier, was immediately alerted by the creak of leather and heavy footsteps to the passing of someone down the hallway. She looked out.
“Thomas!”
Caught at the door of the inn, he turned with apparent reluctance, his face growing as red as his hair.
“Mistress Kaloethes! I thought everyone would be sleeping this early. I was trying to leave quietly. Not permanently, of course,” he added, flustered. “You can see I haven’t got my baggage. I’ll pay you in advance.” He fumbled at the pouch on his belt.
The innkeeper’s wife emitted a piercing laugh. Her chubby face was as red as Thomas’ beard. Her bright color stemmed not from embarrassment but from her customary liberal application of rouge.
“Your word is good here, Thomas. It’s a pleasure to have a guest of your quality. An emissary from a king’s court. Some of our other guests, well, they’re not the sort I prefer. But I hope you can draw your sword more quickly than coins from your pouch!” She gave another loud laugh.
“I hope so, for I am trained in war, not commerce, lady.”
“Lady? Well, well, you are a silver-tongued rogue!”
“My apologies, but I really must be on my way.”
“Always out and about, aren’t you?”
“Constantinople is a most interesting city.”
“Have you seen the old soothsayer in your travels?”
“Ahasuerus? Not this morning. Is he causing you trouble?”
Mistress Kaloethes waggled a fat finger in Thomas’ face. “I’m not the sort who would disparage my guests, Thomas, but let’s just say he eats like a winning horse at the Hippodrome but pays like a loser.”
“He’s an old man. Just forgetful. If I see him I’ll remind him about his debts.” Thomas backed out the door. Mistress Kaloethes watched him make his way hastily across the gleaming puddles in the courtyard.
He exchanged greetings with the innkeeper who was staggering in, burdened with a large sack.
As soon as Kaloethes was indoors, his wife fell into his wake, a plump dolphin pacing a trireme. She did not, however, emulate the dolphin’s traditional bestowal of good fortune.
“How did it go? A good night?”
Master Kaloethes dropped his sack on the kitchen table.
“Well?” His wife persisted shrilly. “I expect that swindler of a tax collector will be back with his hand out again today.”
“People have been celebrating. They’ve spent a lot. They don’t have much left.” The innkeeper wiped away the sweat on his forehead with his meaty hand. New beads popped out immediately. His sack, which had not lightened during his rounds, was exceedingly heavy, stuffed with everything from saints’ bones to kitchen utensils.
“So? You spoke to a lot of people?”
“People are tired after the celebrations. They have headaches, bellyaches. Give me some wine.”
She ignored his request. “They were interested in your wares, though?”
“No,” he snapped, wearily sitting down to engulf a stool beside the kitchen’s open window.
“You fool, you missed your chance!”
“People say a lot of things, but when it comes to parting with good money, that’s a different matter.”
“I hope those ruffians you pay to help out have better luck selling to the gullible, otherwise you can have the pleasure of talking to the tax collector.”
Kaloethes picked up one of the polishing rags his wife had been using and wiped his forehead. “Sometimes I wish I’d never got mixed up with that bunch. Who knows what they’re up to? Look, this collector’s new to this quarter, isn’t he? Do you think he’d accept a gift?”
“He might. On the other hand, he might tell the prefect.”
The ensuing silence was filled by the sound of the water that dripped steadily from a spot near the middle of the ceiling.
“The place is falling to ruin,” wailed Mistress Kaloethes. “And now we have guests who don’t pay. I don’t know what you expect me to do.”
“Keep fewer silks in your chest, for a start.”
Mistress Kaloethes’ porcine eyes glared. “Those are necessary. If you aspire to deal with the better classes you must dress to their standards.”
“It’s all very well to aspire to standards but I still say we should keep a few girls upstairs. There’s always a market for the natural pleasures.”
“I wouldn’t call what some of them get up to natural! I’d never stoop to that kind of business anyway.”
“Naturally I wouldn’t expect it of you personally.”
“I should think not! I left the theater a long time ago. And besides, how do you think you’d compete with the Whore of Babylon next door?”
“She isn’t next door.”
“Well, she’s near enough so I can hear that dreadful contraption of hers moaning whenever I set foot in the courtyard.”
“I’ve been exploring possibilities with some of her girls.”
“Exploring possibilities? A nice phrase to use to your wife. You ought to plead in the courts of law. I suppose you think I don’t know you’ve been over there?”
“As I just told you, I’ve been talking to several of the girls about moving here.”
“How dare you insult me by even considering bringing those disgusting whores to live under our roof! You’ll ruin what little reputation I have left, you bastard!”
Mistress Kaloethes grabbed a plate and her husband raised his hands to fend off flying tableware.
