“But John, I was the one chiding you just now for going about unguarded. You see, we think alike. Who wants a guard underfoot all the time? As I was saying the other day, I’d like to see your private bath restored. Then I wouldn’t have to go out so often, would I?”
John smiled. “As it happens, I’ve traced the artisan responsible for the mosaics. Considering how lewd they are, they may require some modification in addition to repair.”
“I think not. They’re finely crafted and nothing is shown that would embarrass either of us. Peter could be instructed to avoid the room if it is offensive to him. I can clean it myself. And the hypocaust doesn’t function any more, except as a good place for rats to nest.”
“I will engage for someone to look at that also.” John brushed an errant gray hair away from Cornelia’s face. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
Chapter Sixteen
John wished to talk to Opilio, the sausage maker Alba had mentioned, but he decided to talk to Figulus first.
Although he had spoken with the mosaic maker about the repairs he desired, he had not made final arrangements and it seemed to John that investigations would be better served by giving Cornelia something pleasant to contemplate, rather than brooding on the possible dangers posed to him by looking into a murder. Then too, he supposed the refurbishment might serve as an apology to Cornelia for the obvious distress his investigations were causing her.
A servant asked John to wait in the doorway of the workshop. After a while Figulus’ wife appeared. John had not seen her during his initial visit. She was stout and her prematurely gray hair made her look too old to be carrying a red-faced whimpering infant under each arm. She was also exceedingly short, shorter than Figulus’ older boys, who were ostensibly poring over tesserae scattered across a work table but casting sidelong glances at the visitor.
John stated his business above the mewling of the squirming infants. The mosaic maker’s wife looked displeased. John couldn’t tell whether it was with him or the infants or both.
“I am afraid it is not possible to speak with Figulus right now,” the woman said. “He’s out on a job. Is it some…special…work you’re interested in?”
“Yes, I suppose you would call it that.”
The woman looked John up and down. Mostly up, given her stature. “I thought you might be one of…those customers.” She glanced over her shoulder and glared meaningfully at the boys, who complied with their mother’s unspoken order as slowly as they dared and slunk out of the workshop. “If you want to see some examples of the special work, it would be best to return during the evening, sir. We keep them locked up, because of the children.”
One of the infants swiped at John with a pudgy hand, fell far short, and reached out again. The other seemed more interested in trying to grab his mother’s hair.
“I’ve seen examples of the work,” John said. “In fact, they cover the walls of my bath. I’ve spoken to your husband about repairs. I merely need to make arrangements for it to be carried out.”
“I see…well…” Figulus’ wife slapped lightly at the fists of the reaching infant and then pushed the hands of the other away from her head. “You can find him right across the street from the law courts. He has an important commission there.”
***
“Yes, Lord Chamberlain, by the time I’ve finished this will be a lavatory fit for any magistrate or even the City Prefect himself.”
Figulus stepped down from the marble bench that ran the length of the long, narrow room. The openings in the bench had been covered with boards. Several workmen were busy in a far corner, making a blue sky, or perhaps a sea, out of tesserae. The smell of wet plaster almost masked the usual odors.
“I am to do the more detailed work,” Figulus explained. “The magistrate who hired me specified that in particular.”
“Will these pictures change their character with the light?” John asked.
“Oh, no. The magistrate simply wanted a more attractive place for lawyers to deliberate. You know how uninspiring these public lavatories can be.”
John did not mention he avoided such facilities whenever possible.
He saw that the work was half completed. The theme was classical. There was Hercules cleaning the stables. Next to him Sisyphus rolled his stone up the mountain.
The mosaics were an improvement on the graffiti scratched into the unfinished walls. No doubt many of the witticisms involved lawyers and magistrates or Theodora, or all three. Presumably the glass tesserae would be more difficult to deface.
“Most impressive,” John remarked politely.
Figulus beamed. “Thank you, excellency. I am hoping that citizens will feel an urgency as they pass by at the very thought of what awaits them in here.”
“Doubtless more than a few citizens on their way to the courts will feel the need to stop and admire your workmanship, Figulus. Now, I trust you will have time to for those repairs I asked about?”
“I can spare a few days and one or two workers right away and meantime I have some experienced men I can trust to carry on creating the clouds and mountains here.”
“Your business appears to be thriving.”
“The Lord has been generous to me,” the mosaic maker said with a smile.
“Your wife seemed to think I was a customer of another sort.”
Figulus stopped smiling. “What do you mean?”
“She thought I had come to look at some special work of yours. I suspect the sort akin to that on my walls. Do you have much call for that sort of work?”
“Only as is necessary, Lord Chamberlain. It pays well and I have expenses. My understanding was that you were not interested in work of that nature?”
“I am not. Simply curious.”
Figulus’ smile returned, but it did not appear very convincing. “Very well then. When would you like me to start on your bath?”
***
Opilio’s shop was not far from the courts. John bent his head to avoid the sign that graphically declared the wares for sale within. Cut into the shape of a giant sausage, it jutted far out into the colonnade, almost certainly in contravention of the ordinances. It looked as if the sign maker had repainted something intended for a brothel. Or perhaps it merely appeared that way to John thanks to a sleepless night. He could not shrug off such nights as easily as when he was younger.
At least he had managed to convince Cornelia that his morning’s destination, on a broad, busy thoroughfare just west of the Augustaion, posed minimal danger to unguarded Lord Chamberlains.
Not that it was far from where he had been the day before. He could see the timbered roof of the Church of the Mother of God, rising over the surrounding buildings, a few streets, and innumerable dank alleys, away.
The interior of the shop smelled of savory and cumin. A stout old man, bent and balding, with massive forearms, put down his funnel and gave a twist to the casing he’d been stuffing.
“You’re the man from the palace,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you! I’m surprised you’re alone.” He dropped his half completed sausage into the pile of empty intestines heaped on the counter, some dangling onto the floor.
“You say you were expecting me?”
“Don’t worry. The sausages are ready. Do you intend to carry them back by yourself?”
“You seem to have mistaken me for someone else. Are you Opilio, the owner of this shop?”
“That’s me. And you work for the emperor, don’t you?”
“True enough.”