31
In the evening, Nikolaos said, “You are tired. Why not make the reading easy tonight? No Greek. We’ll read from the book Boethius gave you. What is it called?”
“Aristotle’s Categories.”
“Ah, yes. It’s in Latin. It will be a light read.”
They went to the library and settled down.
Argolicus held the small leather book in his hand. His mind flooded with memories of Rome. Boethius and his noble coterie. His own countless sessions resolving disputes. The two brothers who tricked him. How they had seemed friendly, inviting him to a party. And then got him drunk—his one and only time—and fleeced him at dice. How, he, in a small-minded way had delayed the settling of their estate claim.
“I’m not as noble as Proba and Ebrimuth think I am,” he said.
“You are human,” Nikolaos said. “Wasn’t
