Seven for a Secret

Chapter Twenty

A corpse covered in wet dye would be difficult to handle without leaving some trace, even if it were secreted in a sack.

John hadn’t noticed any sign of staining in the corridor leading to Troilus’ shop.

He considered possibilities as he stood in the sunlight outside the entrance to the subterranean realm where Helios and Troilus conducted business. On the other side of the courtyard, the man John deduced was a dyer sat on a stool by the doorway to his business in the shade of a rainbow covered awning.

No one would have arrived with a body and asked that it be dyed.

However, dye might be obtained at such a place.

The dyer appeared to be enjoying the rehearsal, which had reached a point where actors were busy knocking each other over with their leather phalluses.

John couldn’t see the humor in it.

The stricken Petronia was nowhere in sight. John walked over to the man, who immediately sprang to his feet.

“Good day, sir! Welcome to the shop of Jabesh! I can supply every color under the sun and some the sun has never seen.”

Jabesh was an angular little man with glittering black eyes and a beard that was little more than a dark stain. He flapped the baggy sleeves of his tunic, upon which were sewn colored squares of every imaginable hue, apparently samples of his work, making him a walking advertisement for his craft.

There were several shades of red, but how a dye applied to white linen might compare with the same used on livid flesh, John could not say.

“I see you are authorized to work for the palace, Jabesh,” he remarked.

The dyer looked down at his hands, stained a telltale purple. “Like my father and his father before him. Though I am but a humble laborer I wear the imperial purple today. I was preparing silk on commission this morning. Are you here on court business?”

He stretched out his arm to display a multicolored sleeve. “You see here only some of the colors I offer,” he went on. “My family is descended from the very dyers who created Joseph’s many-colored coat.”

“Have you sold dye to anyone recently?”

Jabesh lowered his gaudily decorated arm. “I am a craftsman, not a merchant. If it’s dyes that are wanted, I suggest consulting an apothecary.”

“I understand it isn’t your usual line of business, but perhaps you have sold dye in special cases?”

Jabesh’s hands clenched into purple fists. “Has Troilus sent you? If you’re one of his friends, you can tell him I won’t sell purple to anyone at any price. It’s illegal. It could cost me my livelihood and my life.”

“Troilus has tried to purchase purple dye?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Did he say why?”

“No, but it was easy to guess. He wanted it on account of that woman of his. He came around wheedling me after I refused to sell it to her.”

“You mean Agnes?”

“I don’t know. I’m not interested in the names of actresses.”

“Yet you’re not averse to enjoying their performances,” John observed with a slight smile.

From the direction of the stage drifted the dull, repetitive thump of simulated gladiatorial combat with obscene leather weapons.

“I like a little culture now and then,” Jabesh admitted. “Many of the actors are men, as is proper. As for the so called actresses, you can dye a beggar purple but it won’t make him emperor.”

John kept to himself the thought that dyeing a whore purple might very well make her empress. “When did this woman approach you?”

“She’s cajoled me more than once. A few weeks ago she started to try to persuade me and I believe she would have given me what men pay her for, if I had been so stupid as to take the risks I mentioned. Finally, it would be a week ago, Troilus tried to talk me into agreeing. No one except a craftsman authorized by the emperor would have such dye. You can’t buy purple from an apothecary any more than you can pay to have your robes dyed purple.”

John asked if any reason had been given for the couple’s interest in an illegal dye.

“No, sir. My guess is she wanted to play act.”

“With the troupe? It would be just as illegal and more dangerous in public to appear in such garments even onstage.”

“Not all performances are public. She often brings costumes in, you see. The troupe uses the same old rags over and over and they have me dye them occasionally so the audience thinks it’s seeing something new. There’s more color than fabric to those costumes now. The actors might as well parade in here naked and jump into my vats before they perform.”

John wondered if, in fact, the body he’d seen had been submerged in one of Jabesh’s vats before being left in the cistern.

“Your workshop is secure?”

“Certainly.”

“You do a lot of work for the troupe?”

“Nothing beyond coloring and recoloring their rags. Every color but that reserved for the emperor. When a play requires it, I come as close to the imperial hue as the laws allow. Not very close, but close enough so that when an actor says, ‘Ah, what a lovely purple tunic you are wearing, Theodora,’ the audience grasps the idea.”

“The troupe has performed plays about Theodora?”

Jabesh glanced around and lowered his voice. “Only at private functions, sir. Not that I’ve seen any, or care to. They are vile, or so I’ve heard. Not that I know any details. I believe they call one production A Secret Account. I suspect it’s Troilus’ painted woman who pretends to be Theodora. She behaves as if she is the empress even when she isn’t on stage.”

“Why is that?” John could not imagine the dark eyed, sorrowful little girl he knew pretending to be an empress. He had to remind himself that Agnes was not Zoe.

Not really.

“She puts on the airs. There are more than a few ladies in the neighborhood who used to be members of the court and come by their airs naturally, as you might say, but none of them can match her. In any event, she has no right to pretensions. You can tell. The common sort of woman always overdoes the act. It’s not just the mincing about pretending to be better than she is. There’s the way she soaks herself in perfume.” Jabesh waved a purple hand as if to disperse a foul odor. “Do you know, it just occurred to me. Maybe she wants the dye for herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are men who would pay well to spend the night with a woman in purple.”

“You may be right, Jabesh. What about this scurrilous play? Do you have any idea where the troupe performs it?”

“No, sir, but I don’t want to make it out to be more than it is. It’s nothing but a bit of fun. Or rather, some peoples’ idea of a bit of fun.”

“The actors are your customers after all.”

“Yes. That’s right. Like all of us, they need to serve their customers. Look at this.” He grabbed his sleeve, bunched it and displayed a square of garish orange next to an overpowering green. “Have you ever seen a more hideous combination? Yet an excellent patron of mine will insist on sending these barbaric colors to wear on his finest robes, not to mention his wife’s garments and wall hangings.”

“I can believe there is an audience for performances that do not show the empress in the best light.”

“Especially around here, sir. People who have been cast out of the palace-and there are many of them-do not think kindly of Justinian and Theodora. Some like to plot revenge.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s the same as the play. Nothing, really. Something to pass the hours. You can see how they would enjoy a play that mocks their enemies. Then they go out drinking and continue acting themselves. As soon as the tavern closes they’ll storm the palace walls. But needless to say the uprising is always put off to a more auspicious time.”

“How do you know this?”

“Customers grumble in front of me. What do I matter?”

“And you say that Troilus’ friend was involved in this…play acting?”

Jabesh looked distressed. “Yes. As I said, they don’t mean it seriously. Perhaps I should have said nothing.”

“No. I appreciate your honesty. Someone I spoke with earlier was not so forthcoming. He will soon regret it.”