Read Online Seven for a Secret by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Reed, Eric Mayer
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archway and saw a torrent of flame rushing between the colonnades toward us, like water pouring though an aqueduct. As I leapt out into the street, the flames reached a lamp oil shop.
“I came to my senses on my knees, halfway across the Mese. I couldn’t remember being propelled through the air or landing. The explosion had littered the cobbles with shattered bricks. I have thought about it often, and have come to believe the extreme heat made the oil boil and the pressure building up in the sealed amphorae caused them to explode. I started to stand up and couldn’t. The edge of my cloak was caught beneath a column which had toppled over. The Lord had spared me being crushed. I gave silent thanks.”
“You suppose you were spared so you could finish the mosaic?” John asked. “Now, what was it that Glykos wanted done?”
“I will explain, Lord Chamberlain. But first I must describe the miracle. It wasn’t merely that I was allowed to live. You see, I had been carrying a quantity of tesserae in a wicker basket. As I got back to my feet I realized I no longer held the basket. It lay some distance away. Empty. And I knew there were none at the tax collector’s house for, supposing I was finished, I had taken the unused tesserae away with me.”
“The tesserae must have been scattered all over the street by the explosion?”
“That’s right. Just as I was about to despair I noticed a glint on the pavement. Around my feet and stretching out on all sides constellations winked, reflecting light from the burning shops. I plucked up a dark red cube of glass. Then three blue cubes. A curling line of green led to a handful of yellow. I scrambled around gathering what I could from the grimy stones. I managed to find a pitifully small portion of what I had brought. No matter, the servants urged me on.”
The events Figulus had described struck John as lucky rather than miraculous but he did not say so. “Did you reach the palace without further incident?”
“Yes. Except there was an angry crowd outside the palace walls. Blues and Greens joined in thunderous imprecations against Justinian, interspersed with chants of ‘Victory, Victory.’ As I struggled to force my way forward, I heard shouts which sent a shiver through me. ‘Glykos! The tax collector! Death to Glykos!’”
The doomed tax collector had arranged for Figulus to be admitted to the palace grounds. He was waiting in his study—John’s study—staring out the window across the square below, Figulus said. John wondered if he had been watching for excubitors to emerge from the barracks opposite, waiting for the men who would escort him to his execution.
“If Glykos had not had the windows shut against the smoke, he might have heard the crowd crying for his head,” Figulus said. “He held a cup of wine. The watery light of dawn had driven the pagan gods from the peaceful country scene on the wall behind him.”
“And what was it he wanted you to do?” John asked. He had never noticed anything in the mosaic that had given the impression of being an afterthought or a repair.
Figulus, who had been speaking quietly, lowered his voice even further. “The foul man insisted I add a portrait of his daughter to the mosaic. I was horrified. You are familiar with the nature of the work. What man would place his daughter in a scene of such surpassing evil?”
John offered sympathy.
“Yet what could I do?” Figulus replied. “I am merely an artisan. Who am I to judge the whims of my employers? While I chipped away the corner of the mosaic and applied the setting bed, Glykos had the girl summoned. She was wide-eyed and silent. A grave little girl. I believe she was too young to know exactly what was about to befall her father but old enough to feel something was wrong. Now here is the strange thing. I had never attempted a likeness. How could I capture hers? And in a few brief winter hours, in a cold room that smelled of fear and ashes?”
Figulus
“I came to my senses on my knees, halfway across the Mese. I couldn’t remember being propelled through the air or landing. The explosion had littered the cobbles with shattered bricks. I have thought about it often, and have come to believe the extreme heat made the oil boil and the pressure building up in the sealed amphorae caused them to explode. I started to stand up and couldn’t. The edge of my cloak was caught beneath a column which had toppled over. The Lord had spared me being crushed. I gave silent thanks.”
“You suppose you were spared so you could finish the mosaic?” John asked. “Now, what was it that Glykos wanted done?”
“I will explain, Lord Chamberlain. But first I must describe the miracle. It wasn’t merely that I was allowed to live. You see, I had been carrying a quantity of tesserae in a wicker basket. As I got back to my feet I realized I no longer held the basket. It lay some distance away. Empty. And I knew there were none at the tax collector’s house for, supposing I was finished, I had taken the unused tesserae away with me.”
“The tesserae must have been scattered all over the street by the explosion?”
“That’s right. Just as I was about to despair I noticed a glint on the pavement. Around my feet and stretching out on all sides constellations winked, reflecting light from the burning shops. I plucked up a dark red cube of glass. Then three blue cubes. A curling line of green led to a handful of yellow. I scrambled around gathering what I could from the grimy stones. I managed to find a pitifully small portion of what I had brought. No matter, the servants urged me on.”
The events Figulus had described struck John as lucky rather than miraculous but he did not say so. “Did you reach the palace without further incident?”
“Yes. Except there was an angry crowd outside the palace walls. Blues and Greens joined in thunderous imprecations against Justinian, interspersed with chants of ‘Victory, Victory.’ As I struggled to force my way forward, I heard shouts which sent a shiver through me. ‘Glykos! The tax collector! Death to Glykos!’”
The doomed tax collector had arranged for Figulus to be admitted to the palace grounds. He was waiting in his study—John’s study—staring out the window across the square below, Figulus said. John wondered if he had been watching for excubitors to emerge from the barracks opposite, waiting for the men who would escort him to his execution.
“If Glykos had not had the windows shut against the smoke, he might have heard the crowd crying for his head,” Figulus said. “He held a cup of wine. The watery light of dawn had driven the pagan gods from the peaceful country scene on the wall behind him.”
“And what was it he wanted you to do?” John asked. He had never noticed anything in the mosaic that had given the impression of being an afterthought or a repair.
Figulus, who had been speaking quietly, lowered his voice even further. “The foul man insisted I add a portrait of his daughter to the mosaic. I was horrified. You are familiar with the nature of the work. What man would place his daughter in a scene of such surpassing evil?”
John offered sympathy.
“Yet what could I do?” Figulus replied. “I am merely an artisan. Who am I to judge the whims of my employers? While I chipped away the corner of the mosaic and applied the setting bed, Glykos had the girl summoned. She was wide-eyed and silent. A grave little girl. I believe she was too young to know exactly what was about to befall her father but old enough to feel something was wrong. Now here is the strange thing. I had never attempted a likeness. How could I capture hers? And in a few brief winter hours, in a cold room that smelled of fear and ashes?”
Figulus
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