“From what affliction did he suffer?”
“He was born without the use of his legs. He grew up a helpless beggar, sitting in doorways. It’s true, for I passed by him many times, before the miracle.”
John inquired if the miracle had involved a melon.
Peter wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “It was a whole cart load of melons, master. It was early in the morning but Zachariah had already taken up a spot at the edge of the market where he had been eking out his living for some months. The place was filled with merchants and farmers. Many had come to know the poor crippled man who was not blessed as they were with the ability to labor long hours for his sustenance. A rickety old cart, too heavily laden no doubt, hit a rut as it passed where he lay against the wall. The axle snapped, the cart tipped, and an avalanche of melons came rushing directly at Zachariah.”
John hefted the remains of the melon he had been eating. “I would hardly think even a cart load of these would pose much danger.” He tossed the rind into the gutter.
Peter frowned. “But master, imagine the shock of seeing them all rolling at you if you were unable to escape. But that is when the miracle occurred. Without even thinking about it, Zachariah leapt up and raced to safety. He’d been healed. It’s true! There were many in the market who witnessed his cure.”
“I see.” John recalled the story the mosaic maker Figulus had related concerning the spilled tesserae. “The streets of the city must be filled with miracles for those who can see them. I would never have thought produce a convenient means of divine intervention.”
“The hand of the Lord is everywhere,” Peter replied. “You have perhaps heard about the glass manna?”
John indicated he had not.
“An amazing tale, master!” Peter beamed. “A starving beggar, searching near the palace walls for scraps to eat, came upon baskets full of the finest banquet fare. There was fish and bread and fruits in endless variety, or so he thought. Ah, but on closer inspection he discovered this food was like none he had ever seen before. It was made entirely of glass. The man immediately fell to his knees and gave thanks.”
It must have been the fruit Michri had mentioned, John thought. He didn’t tell Peter it had been Theodora, and not the Lord, who was responsible for its appearance outside the palace. “And why did a starving man give thanks for baskets of glass food? Perhaps he was thankful he hadn’t bitten into it before he noticed what it was?”
“But this food was beautifully made and highly unusual! He sold it off piece by piece to dealers in such things, and so the glass food filled his belly for far longer than the same amount of real food would have.”
Peter might well have had many more miracles to relate, but they had arrived at Opilio’s shop and John left the old servant to stand guard beneath the wooden sausage.
***
Opilio was rearranging baskets of links that sat on the floor in front of the counter.
“You lied to me again.” John said without preamble.
Opilio raised his balding head in alarm. “Lord Chamberlain! How good to see you once more!” His expression gave lie to the words.
“I seem to be meeting with you more often than with Justinian, Opilio. Unfortunately, it is because you persist in refusing to tell me the truth.”
The stout sausage maker straightened up with a grunt. “I can’t imagine what you mean, excellency.”
“You said you hadn’t seen Agnes for a long time after you banished her from your house. In fact, you saw your niece less than a month ago.”
Opilio gaped at John. “But how…”
“Because less than a month ago you made a delivery to a courtier named Francio.”
“Yes. I’m helping to provision a large banquet.”
“While you were in his kitchen you overheard a piece of gossip. It concerned a certain chamberlain.”
Opilio rubbed the bristles on his chin. “Something about a chamberlain…a Lord Chamberlain…” His face sagged into a look of horror. “Not about you, excellency? You aren’t the Lord Chamberlain who…who…?”
“Who what, Opilio? Who talks to the wall? This is the third time I’ve spoken to you. Your refusal to be truthful suggests I’m now talking to the wall in this shop. I will have some answers now.”
“Please, we should speak in private.” Opilio gestured toward the archway behind the counter.
The room beyond smelled of herbs and spices, of savory, rue, and coriander. Bundled leaves and lengths of stalks hung from its ceiling and walls. It was a short time before John became aware of another underlying odor-a repulsive stench which came from stained and scarred wooden tables laid out with an array of sharp-edged devices such as might be seen in a surgery or a torturer’s chamber, the skinned carcasses dangling from hooks, the iron pans brimming with offal. The work room opened on to a courtyard which contained fire pits and crude smoking sheds made of planks. A pair of plump pigs lay in a small pen.
The large gold painted cross nailed to the back wall of the courtyard struck John as incongruous. If sheep and goats and pigs envisioned an afterlife they must believe themselves destined for a heaven quite different from this sausage manufactory.
He wasn’t surprised that Agnes, having grown up on the palace grounds in the house John now occupied, had not wanted to work in such a place.
A boy was sloshing lengths of entrails in a tub of water, cleaning out their contents, the very job Opilio had complained about his niece refusing. The sausage maker ordered the lad to mind the shop.
“You can see, Lord Chamberlain, that the birth of my delicious sausage is no more beautiful than any other birth.” He waved flies away from his face. “As to that absurd and disrespectful verse. Such gossip does not bear repeating.”
“You have repeated it, Opilio, and in front of Agnes. It is the only way she could have learned about the mosaic and whenever you saw her, it could not have been long ago.”
Opilio paled. “She hasn’t been spreading that tale around, has she?”
“Then you admit she got that verse from you?”
“I…er…well, I meant it as a lesson, excellency. An illustration of the depravity of the sort of people with whom she insists on associating. If our glorious emperor should discover such disrespect…” He clapped his hands together. When he opened them a enormous green fly dropped lifelessly to the floor. “That will be the end of you, just like that, I told her. But the foolish girl will never listen.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard worse. How often do you see Agnes?”
Defeated, Opilio shrugged. “Not often. She comes and goes. When she has nowhere else to stay, she turns up here. She is my niece, after all, the daughter of Comita. If Agnes had been our daughter, rather than my brother’s, she would have grown up differently.”
John could understand why the sausage maker had not been able to disown his niece entirely.
“Opilio, I regret having to tell you. Agnes is dead.”
Opilio looked at John mutely. The buzzing of flies sounded louder.
The sausage maker shook his head. He slumped down on the stool where the boy had been sitting to clean casings.
“She was found a little more than a week ago,” John went on. “I have been looking into the matter.”
“Looking into…but why…what happened? Was it an accident?”
“It appears she was murdered.”
Opilio made the sign of the Christians. “I warned her many times, excellency. Thank the Lord her mother was spared hearing this. Perhaps they are reunited. Heaven is merciful, even to actresses. More merciful than I was.” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“You were correct to warn her against the life she took up and the associations she made.”
“Was it to do with those foolish plots her friends were always chattering on about?” Opilio’s tone was suddenly fierce. “If it was, I’ll make sure-”
“Justice is for the emperor to dispense but you may be able to help its administration. You said you did not recall the names of any of Agnes’ acquaintances, but then again you didn’t remember talk of intrigues the first time we spoke. It may be that a name or two has come back to you. Troilus, perhaps? He was a close friend of your niece.”