Seven for a Secret by Mary Reed, Eric Mayer Page A

near future. Do you remember the man’s name?”
    “Certainly. He lives not far from here. His name is Figulus.”

Chapter Ten
    “Do I remember the mosaics I made for Glykos? I wish I could forget them.” Figulus leaned forward on his stool to smooth the black curls of the smaller of two chubby infants who had crawled for cover under the table when John appeared in the doorway, shaking the rain off his cloak.
    John’s damp garments steamed in the warmth of the workshop. By keeping to the shelter of colonnades and second story overhangs, he had avoided being completely soaked by the downpour.
    “So you are, indeed, the artisan responsible for the work in my private bath? I am happy to hear it. I wish you to carry out some repairs.”
    Figulus frowned and drew his hand away from the child. The mosaic maker was a paunchy, middle-aged man, unremarkable in appearance, except for his hands whose long fingers were as calloused as those of a bricklayer. “I regret that my next few months are quite full of assignments, excellency.”
    “The repair I have in mind involves the addition of apparel and altering the, shall we say, postures of certain figures. The previous owner’s taste differed from mine and from that of my family.”
    “Ah, I see. Then as crowded as my schedule is, I’m certain I can find time to assist you.”
    The workshop was a spacious room with whitewashed walls. A youth in his twenties scooped handfuls of glass cubes from a row of barrels and sorted them into neat piles. Occasionally he glanced toward the other end of the table where John and Figulus sat.
    The heaped tesserae glowed with color, as if the glass had trapped and accumulated the dim light seeping through the windows before reflecting it back in shades from red to deepest lapis lazuli. In a corner a younger boy created a design with colored marble pieces he pressed into a damp plaster bed held in a wooden frame.
    “Perhaps it would be best to discuss the modifications at some other time, Figulus, considering the nature of the figures.”
    “Lord Chamberlain, as you see, like you I have a family. At the time of the commission I already had two sons, who are now my apprentices.” Figulus waved a hand at the young men.
    “When Glykos described what he wanted I was repelled,” he went on. “The subject matter was unfit for a Christian household. But what could I do? I needed to feed my family. To refuse the wielder of such influence would have meant the end of my career. A good career, too. The empress has praised the decorations I made for the imperial residences. But then, didn’t our Lord say we should give to Caesar what is Caesar’s? What Glykos demanded was Caesar’s, not a thing to which the Lord would lay claim. Naturally, I don’t mean to impugn our current caesar who is a most godly man.”
    John said he understood. “What might be done about the mosaic in the study? The way it changes with the light reminds me of certain members of court. Ingenious workmanship I admit, but…”
    “Offensive to any good Christian.” Figulus finished the thought, then looked down at the infants under the table. They sucked their thumbs and stared up at John with wide eyes like a pair of owls. “All things of beauty come from the Lord. Don’t you agree, Lord Chamberlain? What are the tesserae from which I form my designs? In themselves, nothing, just dull bits of glass. They shine only when they reflect the light sent from above.”
    “Which requires some skillful intervention on the part of artisans such as yourself,” John pointed out.
    “That’s true. In order for the finished mosaic to sparkle when it catches the light, the tesserae must be pressed into the wet plaster at varying angles. It isn’t surprising that a mosaic can have a different aspect at one hour and quite another earlier or later.”
    “But not often so different an aspect as the mosaic in my study can present. Where did you learn the technique?”
    “I