Ah. Claudius weaves that information in with what he knows, what he's been told and what he's surmised -- about Asmodean under all his names, his ambitions for immortality, his ambitions for his art. And with what he knows of Sagramore, too. "They likely began as remembrances. His intention was compassion, for these musicians and their memories, for the man he loves. But to me he only spoke of crimes.” There’s a flickering ember of the fury he felt, but it’s cooled. He can touch it now, examine it, but he still mislikes it. He can’t possibly know, he tells himself. He never told Sagramore the whole sordid story. It isn’t that his pain means less than that of people in the past. Because that was the pain of innocents.