audience’s hootings. Three goose impersonators burst out from behind the troupe of actors. Each manipulated the long, flaccid neck of a plucked and rather desiccated fowl.
“Ah, but philosophy is a merciless teacher,” cried the narrator. “I would rather pluck my eyes out like Oedipus than witness this sorry example, this spectacle of degradation. Is there not a Roman citizen among you who would spare our future empress this indignity? A coin or two. I beg of you. Feed the starving actress before she is further befowled.”
A few bits of copper flew out from the onlookers. The narrator called for more contributions, but the scanty rain soon abated. He paused and then whirled around, directing attention to one of the darker shop doorways.
A misty shape materialized in the dimness and then a stocky, dwarfish figure rushed out. It was totally white and wore a crown. The figure ran toward the recumbent empress, leaving a faint trail of the flour that covered it.
“May heaven preserve us,” thundered the narrator. “It is the shade of the Empress Euphemia!”
The diminutive phantom leapt acrobatically into the air and came crashing down on Theodora in an explosion of grain and flour. The two men dressed as women began a hissing, mewling battle, much to the crowd’s delight.
Felix laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. Despite John’s urgings he refused to budge until the epic had been finished, with the doughty Euphemia ousting the terrified Theodora, and then delivering a bombastic homily on morality.
“A good morning’s work,” John muttered as the crowd finally began to disperse. He and Felix approached the narrator as he counted a handful of coins, and made the usual inquiries.
The actor tugged at his beard, pulling it down around his neck, and scratched his chin. “A Blue, you say, but an enormous fellow? A regular Hercules?”
Felix confirmed that they were searching for such a man.
“Did he have an oddly crushed sort of nose?”
“Yes, that’s him!”
The actor shook his head. “Sorry, sirs, I haven’t seen him.”
Felix’s eyes blazed, but as he opened his mouth to retort, the actor held up a hand and smiled. “Forgive my jest. I have seen him, but not lately and not around here. He was in our audience once. We were working up near the northern harbor at the time. Or was it the southern? I can’t recall. I just remember seeing this huge man looming in the crowd. Such a man could have an excellent career in the theater, you know. He’d be perfect for a giant or Zeus. Any hero for that matter, even the emperor.”
Chapter Ten
The broad-shouldered and highly perfumed man who answered Felix’s rap at Madame Isis’ door took the excubitor’s sword and the short blade that John carried before allowing them inside.
The day had been long and fruitless. Felix had finally suggested they come here. “There’s more information to be found at Isis’ place than there is marble on Proconnesus,” he’d said.
The atrium’s floor, with its intricate scenes of entwined carnality, left no doubt as to what sort of establishment they had just entered. It was equally obvious by his accent, curly beard, and long, wavy hair that its doorkeeper was Persian. For John, the Persian and the erotic mosaic created a painful juxtaposition.
“We’re here for some wine and conversation, Darius.” As Felix spoke a girl dressed in white, hair crowned with a chaplet of interwoven flowers, rose gracefully from a gilded couch that sat beside a statue of Venus in the embrace of Mars. She padded toward them on bare feet.
Felix frowned. “I don’t have the coins for more right now, I fear. They’re right when they say if you don’t have a nummus for a sausage it’s better not to be hungry!”
“Well, Darius, it seems we have been favored by a visit of two gentlemen from court.” The girl smiled sweetly at John and Felix, and then raked them with a shrewd, appraising glance.
“In this instance I fear we
“Ah, but philosophy is a merciless teacher,” cried the narrator. “I would rather pluck my eyes out like Oedipus than witness this sorry example, this spectacle of degradation. Is there not a Roman citizen among you who would spare our future empress this indignity? A coin or two. I beg of you. Feed the starving actress before she is further befowled.”
A few bits of copper flew out from the onlookers. The narrator called for more contributions, but the scanty rain soon abated. He paused and then whirled around, directing attention to one of the darker shop doorways.
A misty shape materialized in the dimness and then a stocky, dwarfish figure rushed out. It was totally white and wore a crown. The figure ran toward the recumbent empress, leaving a faint trail of the flour that covered it.
“May heaven preserve us,” thundered the narrator. “It is the shade of the Empress Euphemia!”
The diminutive phantom leapt acrobatically into the air and came crashing down on Theodora in an explosion of grain and flour. The two men dressed as women began a hissing, mewling battle, much to the crowd’s delight.
Felix laughed until he had to wipe his eyes. Despite John’s urgings he refused to budge until the epic had been finished, with the doughty Euphemia ousting the terrified Theodora, and then delivering a bombastic homily on morality.
“A good morning’s work,” John muttered as the crowd finally began to disperse. He and Felix approached the narrator as he counted a handful of coins, and made the usual inquiries.
The actor tugged at his beard, pulling it down around his neck, and scratched his chin. “A Blue, you say, but an enormous fellow? A regular Hercules?”
Felix confirmed that they were searching for such a man.
“Did he have an oddly crushed sort of nose?”
“Yes, that’s him!”
The actor shook his head. “Sorry, sirs, I haven’t seen him.”
Felix’s eyes blazed, but as he opened his mouth to retort, the actor held up a hand and smiled. “Forgive my jest. I have seen him, but not lately and not around here. He was in our audience once. We were working up near the northern harbor at the time. Or was it the southern? I can’t recall. I just remember seeing this huge man looming in the crowd. Such a man could have an excellent career in the theater, you know. He’d be perfect for a giant or Zeus. Any hero for that matter, even the emperor.”
Chapter Ten
The broad-shouldered and highly perfumed man who answered Felix’s rap at Madame Isis’ door took the excubitor’s sword and the short blade that John carried before allowing them inside.
The day had been long and fruitless. Felix had finally suggested they come here. “There’s more information to be found at Isis’ place than there is marble on Proconnesus,” he’d said.
The atrium’s floor, with its intricate scenes of entwined carnality, left no doubt as to what sort of establishment they had just entered. It was equally obvious by his accent, curly beard, and long, wavy hair that its doorkeeper was Persian. For John, the Persian and the erotic mosaic created a painful juxtaposition.
“We’re here for some wine and conversation, Darius.” As Felix spoke a girl dressed in white, hair crowned with a chaplet of interwoven flowers, rose gracefully from a gilded couch that sat beside a statue of Venus in the embrace of Mars. She padded toward them on bare feet.
Felix frowned. “I don’t have the coins for more right now, I fear. They’re right when they say if you don’t have a nummus for a sausage it’s better not to be hungry!”
“Well, Darius, it seems we have been favored by a visit of two gentlemen from court.” The girl smiled sweetly at John and Felix, and then raked them with a shrewd, appraising glance.
“In this instance I fear we
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