Four for a Boy by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer Read Free Book Online

resembled a crown.
    ***
    As the dinner party progressed, John kept as close an eye, and ear, on the guests as his appointed station allowed. Scraps of conversation drifted over to him. The talk grew louder as more of the City Prefect’s fine wine was consumed.
    Occasionally Felix vanished to patrol the garden. Or so he said. John wondered briefly if the excubitor had received orders about which he knew nothing or simply wanted to get away from his undesired companion for a while and had seized upon a fine excuse to do so.
    John had to admit that Theodotus kept a fine table. Because of his work in the office of the Master of the Plate, his attention was drawn less to the culinary dainties offered than to the coruscating array of silver, gold, and glass tableware on which they arrived. He would not have given these ostentatious treasures a second glance in the past. Now, however, since his survival at the palace depended on successfully performing the duties he had been assigned, he had taken a close and prudent interest in such things.
    He had eventually come to enjoy the work. Plates, jugs, cups, table settings, and banquets were more easily ordered than life. Especially life in the corridors of the Great Palace.
    The evening wore on. John glanced repeatedly into the bowl of the large clock set in a corner.
    The level marking the hours fell so slowly the water might have been frozen.
    The conversation surged and ebbed like the murmur of the sea. Every so often a few distinguishable words floated to where John stood.
    A guest who had emptied his wine cup more times than was wise remarked how odd it was that Theodotus had tactlessly chosen to outfit his servants in blue. After all, wasn’t it the Blues who were terrorizing the city?
    “Why do you think he’s called the Gourd?” replied his neighbor. “He’s not exactly the brightest man in the empire, you know.”
    “Ah! I thought he got the nickname from the monstrous shape of his head,” a third man chimed in.
    The origin of the City Prefect’s nickname launched a lively debate.
    John turned his attention elsewhere. He heard little of consequence.
    Someone worried about Justinian’s illness. Two matrons, seated near enough for John to overhear their lowered voices, argued over the merit of the controversial sculpture in the Great Church. If they mentioned the man who had died at its base, John missed their comments.
    As the guests ate and chatted, two girls serenaded them with flute music. Now and then they accompanied an older woman whose voice was a light, sweet soprano. The sound reminded John of his youth, when those working in the fields would sing as evening drew near, to honor the land and its bounty and celebrate their impending freedom from toil for a few hours. The recollection made him unexpectedly homesick. He reminded himself that he had no home now.
    Here, those who never toiled complained to one another that the suckling pigs had been boiled too long, the fish not smoked long enough, and that the fruit soaked in wine was overripe. However, John noticed, they consumed it all readily.
    The sighing trill of flutes ended and, in the sudden silence, heads turned toward the far end of the room as Theodotus rose to his feet. His splendid green robes were a contrast to the rough shirts and tunics he normally wore.
    “The entertainment I promised is about to begin,” he announced. “But first a very special culinary treat will be brought in. Which reminds me. I believe you’ll have noticed that my servants are all dressed in blue. This is to remind you that although the streets are infested by Blues today, before long you’ll be as safe outside as you are among my blue-garbed slaves.”
    Felix, who had resumed his post after one of his excursions around the garden, gave a soft grunt of contempt. He and John watched curiously as covered salvers were set in front of the diners.
    “Please feel free to enjoy this unusual delicacy, my friends,” Theodotus