is visible to all. You are worth at least ten solidi.”
“How many folles is that, sir?” Cailin queried him.
“There are one hundred and eighty copper folles to each gold solidus. Eighteen hundred copper folles equals ten gold solidi, my dear,” he said with a grin. “I am almost tempted to take you back now to that foolish slave merchant who allowed you to go so cheaply for want of a little water. No, I cannot. He will howl, and cry he’s been cheated, despite the fact that I warned him. They are all alike, those people.” He stood up. “Come, we will go and show my brother Phocas that I have not lost my ability to see a perfect gem beneath the mud in the road. Isis,” he called to an attending slave. “You will accompany us.” Then he turned back to Cailin. “You will address gentlemen who enter this house as ‘my lord.’ My brother, and myself, as well. ‘Sir’ is such a provincial mode of address, dear girl.”
“Yes, my lord,” Cailin answered him, following Jovian through the house to where Phocas sat awaiting them. When she was disrobed the elder of the Maxima brothers expressed his surprise at and his approval of her newly restored appearance. She stood silent as they spoke, until finally her garment was restored to her.
“Isis,” her new master instructed the slave girl, “take Cailin to the quarters I have ordered prepared for her.” When the two women had departed, Jovian turned to his brother, an excited look upon his face. “I have the most marvelous plans for that girl,” he said. “She is going to make us a fortune, Phocas, and our old age will be secure!”
“No single courtesan, however well-trained,” his elder brother answered, “can make us that much gold.”
“This one will, and she will not have to personally entertain any of our clients. At least not for some time, brother dear,” Jovian finished. Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he sat down next to Phocas.
They were a study in contrasts, these two brothers. Although they were of almost equal height, Phocas being slightly taller, no one who did not know them would have realized they were siblings, born of the same parents. Their father had been a courtier, their mother his mistress. Villa Maxima had been her home. Phocas favored the paternal side of his family. He was slender, with a long aristocratic face made up of a slim nose, narrow lips, and deep-set dark brown eyes. His hair was dark and straight, cut medium-short, and brushed away from the crown of his head. His clothing was expensive and simple. Phocas Maxima was the sort of man who could easily disappear amid a crowd. It was said by the women he owned that he was a lover of epic proportions who could make the most hardened courtesan weep with joy. His business acumen was admired citywide, and his generous works of charity kept him in favor with the church.
His younger brother, Jovian, was his opposite. Elegant, classically educated, a slave to fashion, he was considered one of the greatest wits of his time. He adored beautiful things: clothing, women, works of art, and particularly beautiful young men, of whom he kept several to see to his every need. His dark curls in careful and deliberate disarray, he was easily recognizable at the races, the games, the circus. The success of Villa Maxima was largely due to him, for although Phocas could keep the books and see to the budget needed to run the brothel, it was Jovian’s wonderful imagination that set Villa Maxima above all the other expensive brothels in the city. Their late mother, a famous courtesan of her day, would have been enormously proud of them.
“What have you in mind?” Phocas asked him, his curiosity provoked by his brother’s particularly excitable state regarding the girl, Cailin.
“Are we not famous the length and breadth of the empire for our entertainments?” Jovian said.
“Absolutely!” Phocas agreed.
“Our living tableaux have no equal. Am I correct?”
“You are correct, brother dear,” Phocas answered.
“What if we took a living tableau a giant step further?” Jovian suggested. “What if, instead of a tableau, we staged a playlet of delicious depravity so decadent that all of Constantinople would want to view it—and would pay handsomely for the privilege. No one, brother dear, would be allowed to view this playlet at first but our regular clients. They, of course, would talk about it, intriguing their friends, and their friends’ friends.