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.”
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
“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.”
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
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