Chapter 49
Skullduggery
A chilly night in October with a mist rising from the Bosphorus to drift over the Queen of Cities, saw Pons and Cyn pick their way through the foggy streets and still alleys to the Forum of Theodosius. Both were armed, Pons with a pair of hand axes on his belt by his hips, Cyn with a dirk on his belt, his smaller crossbow slung across his shoulder with a half dozen bolts in a quiver strapped to his thigh. They were cloaked, arms concealed, incognito. All dark. No moon.
The southern, more sparse half of Pandarus’ emporium was given over to offices on the upper floors and temporary slave quarters on the lower ones. Here captive sailors awaiting ships to crew, and a few others were housed. After the April massacre Pandarus lost his best customers and had managed to avoid financial ruin by selling the families of some of those same customers - the ones who had remained hidden and avoided the initial bloodshed, only to reemerge and be captured - to Arab slavers. Those women, and children had once been held here, but the pens were now empty. All silent. Doors locked.
The northern, more highly decorated part of the emporium was well built and brightly lit with red shaded lanterns. A rap on the door. A bolt drawn back. Yellow light from the warm interior mixed with the rosy haze. A bearded face peered out.
“Oh it is you. Bring the money?”
“Do you have the girl I want?” For the past several days Pons had made inquiries with the majordomo at Pandarus’ Emporium. Any courtesan who shared the Emperor’s bed would have made a valuable source of information, but something made Pons want to insist on the girl which Cyn fancied. Initially the girl in question - the Emperor’s current favorite - was unavailable at any price. Perseverance revealed she was ill, or recovering, or off on her ‘monthly rotation.’ Persistence cracked the ‘unavailable at any price’ stance.
Other things were learned. She was renowned for her ‘flute playing.’ She also had a sister, possibly a twin, who was also a pleasure slave. And that girl was mute. “Oh no, her tongue has not been cut out. She still has her tongue. Ha ha. The things she can do with her tongue. Think of it, two identical beauties.” For a price. Once it was assured only the one girl was needed, and her nether regions were to be left as the private hunting preserve of the Emperor, negotiations began in earnest. Of particular interest was the girl’s musical ability. Could she be available - simply to play the flute? Since her place in the ‘monthly rotation’ was unimportant, a concert would be possible after all.
If Pons felt guilty about the outing, he did not show it. His motives for the evening were pure - recruit a spy to abet murder; rather than base - sex with a prostitute. For a man in his fifties he was not knowledgeable about women, much less their thoughts and feelings. Perhaps Cyn’s presence would help. He was young and handsome. The courtesan was young and beautiful. Yet if she should balk, Pons would have to silence her and they would simply walk out the door. Poor thing. She had to agree - on the spot. Or else. She could not be allowed to tell the Emperor Latins were in the city conspiring against him. Cyn, with the certainty of youth, had probably not considered the consequences of the girl making a negative decision.
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Pons showed the majordomo a purse. The Majordomo looked at Cyn up and down. “Oh, I know young Sir. He was here - drunk and loud several weeks ago with a cripple who could not keep his mouth shut either. Our girls had him quiet and the cripple stepping lively when they left though. The concert is for him then is it?”
Pons nodded. If the girl balked, the majordomo would also need to meet St. Peter as they left. The ground floor had a draped parlor where half a dozen pleasure slaves, four pretty girls and two pretty boys, lounged.
“Up the stairs to your right.”
* * *
Mariapitkee’s respite was coming to an end. There had been no vacation. A bed slave is still a slave and though she was unfit for the Emperor’s company due to the bruising on her throat - that injury was healing. The master’s steward had no trouble finding ways to keep her busy. There was always water to be fetched from the public fountains, clothing to be washed and hung out to dry, chickens to be plucked, and a thousand outer chores which needed to be done in order to make ‘Panderus’ House of Pleasure and Specialty Slave Emporium’ thrive.
However, Pandarus’ business was not thriving, it was limping along. The generous lease of his finest stock to the palace, initially so lucrative, was now - half a year on - less so. The flow of money in had dwindled, the flow of courtesans out was expected to continue. Or else. Was the merchandise being harmed? Smiles - tough it out. Pandarus had, like all citizens, been to the races and had seen the lessons being taught between the heats. He kept his mouth shut and made no complaints.
Mariapitkee kept to herself and constantly worried about how her sister was getting on in the palace. Eyrienee could cause no offense by misspeaking, but Mariapitkee felt silence held no safety. The final fading of bruising on her throat coincided with her monthly respite. She was looking forward to her final sleep, alone, before having to return to the palace. She had settled down for the evening when the steward knocked at ‘her’ door. The door led to the sparse room, little more than a large cupboard in the sunny half of Pandarus Emporium, which she shared with her sister, as well as Zoe, Maria, Eugenia, and any of the other girls who happened to be ‘off rotation.’ At least she was afforded that much dignity - a knock.
“Bring your flutes, you are wanted.”
Desprited and dejected, she followed the steward and made her way to the second floor of the brothel to one of the more opulent rooms.
“Top shelf only with this one. Try and coax some extra coin out of him. The boss will make it worth your while.”
The door opened, and there he was. The young Latin noble who had caught the mappa. Strong, broad shouldered, solid. A smile lit up her face. He had come for her.
The door closed behind her. Only then did she realize another person was in the room. An older man, he smiled pleasantly enough, but he felt sinister. The man motioned for her to sit. She did. He offered her a cup of wine. She took it. The handsome lord sat beside her, took the flutes out of her hand and set them aside. He looked into her eyes.
“We will not be needing those. We are not here for the sweet music.” The man who gave her the wine spoke. The calloused hand of the gentleman tenderly held hers. “We would like to talk. We would like to help you. Perhaps you could help us.”