Opilio came out from behind the counter, brushing his hands on his greasy tunic. He was short, his lack of height entirely due to bowed legs which appeared to be half the length one might have expected judging by his torso. “The sausages are in my storeroom. I shall get them right away. They are of finest Lucanian variety, the sort they make in southern Italy. The same kind Augustus enjoyed. Yes, I hear Justinian’s entertaining a Persian high-up and wants to remind the foreigner of Rome’s great traditions.”
He chuckled. “It’ll remind him how Justinian’s taking back Italy from the barbarians too. Once he’s done with Italy, he’ll get after Persia. I hope I live to see it. Nothing says Glory of Rome like a succulent Lucanian sausage.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t come for sausages, Opilio. While it is true I work for the emperor, I’m not a servant.”
The other gaped at John and then asked him what in fact he did.
“I am Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain.”
Opilio guffawed. “And I’m the famous eunuch general Narses! I like a fellow who has a sense of humor. Would you lift your boot?” He bent over in awkward fashion. “You’re standing on a casing.”
The sausage maker must have noticed the fine workmanship of John’s boots or possibly the subtle gold thread worked along the hem of John’s cloak, because when he straightened up, one end of the errant intestine in hand, his formerly ruddy face had turned as white as if someone had cut his throat and hung him up to drain his blood.
“I apologize, excellency. An honest mistake. I would never wish to insult our great emperor. I am the staunchest of supporters.”
“No matter, Opilio. I can see the humor in being mistaken for a servant when I venture into the streets.”
The color began to return to Opilio’s face. “Well, then, how can I assist? I have it! You are here to purchase sausages for yourself. Why, the empress herself praised my wares! Or so I hear. I have not spoken to her personally, although perhaps it is an everyday occurrence for you, excellency? Perhaps that is where you heard of me?”
John smiled. Anatolius had once got into trouble for including both the empress and sausages in the same verse. That information he kept to himself. “I am often summoned to her presence, Opilio, but not daily. She has not mentioned your sausages to me.”
Opilio looked disappointed.
“I wish to talk to you about a young woman named Agnes,” John continued.
Opilio frowned. “Agnes?”
“I understand she was your brother’s daughter?”
Opilio slapped the length of intestine he was holding down on the counter. “It’s true, Lord Chamberlain, but I haven’t seen her for a long time. She was always an ungrateful child. She refused to help with my work. Wouldn’t deign to do even the simplest of the jobs. Clean the entrails? Oh no, far too nasty. She was used to a life of wealth and privilege. Girls like her don’t dirty their fingers on the nasty insides of pigs, although they’re happy enough to have those insides on their dinner plates. Agnes was always willful, but she grew worse after her mother died.”
“Comita is dead?”
“Yes. She went to the Lord almost three years ago.”
The sorrow in his tone was unmistakable. “I can tell you were fond of her,” John observed. “My condolences.”
The sausage maker looked away. “I don’t want you to think I am concealing anything from you, excellency. We were to be married. She used to say the family of a sausage maker would never starve. But she left me for my brother. He was a clerk at the palace at the time. Ruthless, greedy, and underhanded. It was obvious he would do well for himself and so he did. And after all, living on the palace grounds is not the same as occupying a few rooms near the Copper Market with the smell of smoke and worse always in the air. As she said, making sausages is such a low occupation.”
From the way Opilio said the final words it was apparent that they were as fresh in his memory as if they had been spoken an hour before, even if he had repeated them in his thoughts ten thousand times.
“Yet you took mother and child in, so I am told.”
Opilio shrugged. “They were my brother’s family. And to be fair, Glykos had sent much custom my way. We used to joke that those at the palace felt safe eating my sausages since the tax collector’s brother wouldn’t be inclined to poison them. Particularly since their demise would have resulted in a decrease in tax revenues. As it turned out, I now own a perfectly respectable home, although hardly a mansion. I might have had a mansion too, if my brother hadn’t fallen out of favor. I was about to be given a contract to provision the army. Yes, Lord Chamberlain, there can be gold in entrails, if a man is not too dainty to seek it.”
John observed that the loss of the contract must have been distressing.
“What is a mansion worth? What was my brother’s house worth to him in the end? I’d prefer to live with pigs and eat from their trough in a world where Comita still lived.” Opilio dabbed at a watery eye. Then his lips tightened. “It’s as well she died. She never had to see what Agnes became. An actress, which is to say a whore. I did my best, but when her mother died, I couldn’t control her. Who was I but the poor, rejected, younger brother of her father?”
He sighed. “Why should she heed my advice or respect my commands? Before long she was going about in the lowest places with the lowest personages. She was seen at theaters-or what she called theaters-and in the company of so called actors and actresses. Then she suddenly seemed to have money. I confronted her. She denied earning it in the common way, but had no other explanation. A man in trade must be careful of his reputation, excellency. Wagging tongues have ruined many a business. Seeing she could support herself, by whatever vile artifice, I turned her out.”
John said he understood. “And you have not seen her for some time?”
“No, excellency. It’s been months now. Nor do I ever care to see her again. She has my brother’s blood in her.”
What would Opilio think if John told her his errant niece was dead? Would he be pleased? More likely he would immediately regret all he had just said. John decided not to tell him yet. The fewer who knew Agnes had been murdered the fewer would be alerted to his investigation.
He questioned Opilio further but the sausage maker had nothing of consequence to add. He said that Agnes had rarely mentioned the names of her disreputable acquaintances.
“Did she mention a man named Menander? I am told he was a patron of the theaters.”
Opilio shook his head. “I’ve already told you, excellency, she said little to me about her acquaintances. I made it plain to her I did not want to know. As for the theaters where she claimed to perform, they were usually nothing more than some public or private area taken over temporarily, as far as I could gather. You will understand I had no desire to seek them out.”
“I may return in a few days,” John said. “Meantime, try to think if there’s anything else you can tell me. Before I go, there’s one more thing.”
“But I’ve told you everything. My old head is as empty as these poor casings awaiting my funnel.”
“I don’t want to question you further, Opilio. I’ve decided I’d like to purchase some sausages after all.”
Chapter Seventeen
Although Opilio at first insisted that he had not wanted to know about the unwholesome places Agnes frequented, John’s interest in his wares, especially at the exorbitant price quoted, assisted the sausage maker’s memory.
Thus he learned Agnes had let slip a location where reprobates of her sort often congregated to put on what they were pleased to call performances.
Following Opilio’s directions, John soon found himself on the long narrow street leading to the square where Agnes had approached him.
A strident cry caused him to look up. A raven rose from the top of the wooden cross on a nearby roof. Then another raven appeared and another. John counted them. Seven.