fallible. He had been a trifle daunting before, although he realized it only now. He found himself smiling. "Did you know a family named Agallon in Nicea?" He asked the question before considering it.
Anastasius thought for a moment. "I remember my father mentioning a name like that. He treated many people."
"He was a physician also?" he asked.
Anastasius looked out across the water. "Yes. He taught me most of what I know."
He had stopped, but Giuliano sensed that there was more, an intimate memory that was so sweet, it was painful to bring it back now when the reality was gone. "Did you learn willingly?" he asked instead.
"Oh yes!" Suddenly Anastasius's face came alive, eyes bright, lips parted. "I loved it. From as far back as I can remember. He had no interest in me when I was born, but as soon as I could speak, he taught me all kinds of things. I remember helping him in the garden," he went on. "At least I imagined I was helping. I expect I was far more of a nuisance, but he never told me so. We used to tend the herbs together, and I learned them all, what they looked like, smelled like, which part to use, root or leaf or flower, how to harvest them and keep them safe and from spoiling."
Giuliano envisioned it, the small boy and his father teaching him, telling him over and over, never losing patience.
"My father taught me, too," he said quickly, memory sharp. "All the islands of Venice, and the waterways, the harbor, where the shipyards were. He took me to see the builders, how they laid the great keels and attached the ribs, then the timbers, and the caulking, how they seated the masts." It was the same thing, a man teaching his child the things he loved, the skills he lived by. He remembered it so clearly, always his father, never his mother.
"He knew every port from Genova to Alexandria," he went on. "And what was good and bad about each."
"Did he take you?" Anastasius asked. "Did you see all those places?"
"Some of them." He remembered the close quarters of the boats, feeling seasick and shut in, then the strangeness and the excitement of Alexandria, the heat and the Arab faces, and language he did not understand. "It was terrifying, and wonderful," he said ruefully. "I think I was petrified with fear more than half the time, but I would rather have died than said so. Where did your father take you?"
"Nowhere much to begin with," Anastasius replied. "Mostly to see old people with congested chests and bad hearts. I remember the first dead one, though."
Giuliano's eyes opened wide. "Dead one! How old were you?"
"About eight. Can't be squeamish about death if you're going to be a physician. My father was gentle, very kind, but on that visit he made me look at what had killed this patient." He stopped.
"And what was it?" Giuliano tried to picture a child with Anastasius's solemn gray eyes and delicate bones, that tender mouth.
Anastasius smiled. "The man was chasing a dog that had stolen his dinner, and he tripped and fell over it. Broke his neck."
"You're making it up!" Giuliano accused.
"I'm not. It was the beginning of a lesson in anatomy. Father showed me all the muscles of the back and the bones of the spine."
Giuliano was startled. "Are you allowed to do that? It was a human body."
"No." Anastasius grinned. "But I never forgot. I was terrified he'd be caught. I drew a picture of everything, so I'd never have to do it again." There was a sudden sadness in his voice.
"Were you the only child?" Giuliano asked aloud.
Anastasius looked momentarily taken aback. "No. I had a brother... have a brother. He is still alive, I believe." He looked disconcerted, annoyed with himself, as if he had not meant to say that. He looked away. "I have not heard from him for some time."
Giuliano had no wish to pry. "Your father must be proud of your skills if you treat the emperor." He meant it as a simple observation, not flattery.
Anastasius relaxed. "He would be." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did not speak for a while, then he turned his back to the sea. "Is Agallon part of your family? Is that why you look for them?"
"Yes." Giuliano had no thought to lie. "My mother was Byzantine." He could see instantly from Anastasius's face that he understood the conflict.