A Flame in Byzantium

They kissed slowly, their lips so sensitive that they barely grazed; exquisite sensations surged through them.

He started to speak, but she stopped the words with her lips, longing to sustain their glorious, prodigal delight. "I must be squashing you," he whispered some while later.

Reluctantly Olivia let herself slip from passion to contentment. "I don't mind."

"Um." He plucked a few stray hairs from his beard off her cheek. "I can't stay in anymore," he said with regret.

Finally they rolled to the side, still together, though the intoxication of their union no longer consumed them.

"Let me move my arm," she offered, shifting so that they would both be more comfortable.

They lay together, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his thigh, the hair of his chest making patterns on her skin. Their hands were joined.

"Every time I think that it cannot be better than the last, and every time it is," he said when he was starting to drift into sleep.

She turned her head so that her lips pressed his shoulder.

"Olivia?" he whispered a little later.

"Yes?"

"In two months, I am being sent to Alexandria." There was devastation in his words.

She felt her throat tighten. "Alexandria?"

"In Egypt," he explained.

"I know where it is," she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"So anything that is going to happen has to be before then." He made an angry slash with his free arm. "I'm a toad!"

"Shhush," she admonished him.

But he could not stop. "I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't what I meant. I wanted to tell you all the things in my heart. I wanted you to know what you give to me. I didn't want to say anything about plots or Alexandria, and I did both."

Olivia moved onto her elbow and looked down at him. "It's all right, Drosos," she assured him, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.

"I was going to say something later, when we'd slept, when it wouldn't matter as much." His fingers sought her face, tracing the planes of it.

"It would matter whenever you said it." She bent her head and kissed his nipple. "And it doesn't change what we have together."

"It doesn't?" he pleaded.

"No. And you're right. You had to tell me sometime." There was a fine line between her brows, but otherwise her features were tranquil. "We'll have to make the best of the time we have."

"Can we?" His fingers stopped moving and he looked at her with an intensity that was so pure that it was like a light among them.

"It's what we always do," she pointed out with great gentleness. "At least we know what time we have. That makes us more fortunate than most."

"Does it?" He sighed and fought to get the next words out. "I need you, Olivia."

Only twice before had anyone said that to her, and one had been her husband, who had admitted it with abhorrence. The other had been a boy struggling into manhood. Neither had moved her as she was moved now. "I love you, Drosos."

"And I love you; but that's not the same thing," he said, clearly and softly.

"No." She lay down once more, her head tucked under the curve of his jaw. "It's been so long since I mattered that much to anyone. Thank you for—" She stopped.

"For?" he echoed.

"For you." Under her, his chest rose as he stifled a yawn. "Go to sleep. In the morning we will make our plans."

"But… it was so perfect. I wrecked it." He patted her shoulder, suddenly ineffective.

"Things like that can't be wrecked, Drosos, no matter what comes after." She wished she could find a way to show him that she was telling him the truth, and it hurt her more than she wanted to admit when at last he drifted into sleep with a murmured fragment of an apology.

Drosos awakened shortly before sunrise, his mood terse. After a small meal of bread and figs he was able to jest about the hour and to remark that Olivia managed better in the morning than many soldiers on campaign did. Olivia accepted the compliment playfully; she did not mention that she hardly ever slept.

* * *

Text of an anonymous letter to the physician Mnenodatos.

To the learned Mnenodatos of the Crown of Martyrs' Church, on the Feast of Saint Iakobis of Nisibis, hail from one who wishes you well.

It is known of you that you have much skill in the detection and treatment of poisons, and that is what I must consult you about on this occasion. You certainly understand why it is that I will not reveal myself, for such inquiries are often misunderstood. I have sent a messenger and will send one for your answer in a day's time.

The person I am eager to have you assess is a woman of middle years, well-born and strong, with a tempestuous and commanding manner and a fit constitution. This woman has often suffered from extreme emotions, as women will, and when episodes of this sort occur, she is likely to do herself and others an injury.

Composing draughts have sometimes been tried, and have had some limited success, but it is apparent that they are not sufficient to the problem, and something stronger is needed if any lasting relief is to be obtained.

I am reliably informed that most composing draughts are made from herbs and other substances that have elements of poison in them, but are concocted in such a way as to minimize the poison. Is there any way to make such substances more efficacious without rendering them more dangerous to the person taking them, and have them act so that the woman would not be convinced that she was being poisoned? She is the sort of woman who might believe such a thing. She often assumes that others are working against her, and for that reason it is likely that she would be willing to believe that those who have her welfare most truly at heart would instead act to her distress.

If there is anything that might aid her, please present the substance, with instructions, to the slave who will call upon you tomorrow. It is of the utmost importance that we carry out this transaction in secrecy and with discretion, for not only is the woman of an uneven temper, her husband of late has had to be careful of unseen enemies, and he would be severe with those he believed were not caring for his wife as they ought.

I have taken the liberty of sending eight pieces of Egyptian gold with my request, both to insure your prompt compliance and to reward you for your silence. You may rest assured that your substance will be treated with care and respect and nothing will be permitted to cast doubts on you or your profession.

A Sincere Friend

4

Rain scraped the walls and spattered in on the mosaic floors where the oiled parchment windows had given way under the onslaught of the storm. The room was a miserable place to sit, filled as it was with sudden, hostile draughts and the chill rattle of the rain.

Antonina offered a second cup of hot spiced wine to her visitor, then pulled her plain wool paenula more closely around her shoulders. "I am still surprised that you came to visit me," she said to Eugenia. "From your last two notes, I thought that you no longer wished the association." Since Belisarius' disgrace the two white streaks in her hair had become more pronounced but her face, in contrast, appeared more glacially serene than it had before.

"Well," Eugenia began, accepting the hot wine gratefully; not only was the warmth needed in this dreadful reception room, but she needed a little time and help to build up her courage. "I have to be sensible, as you've told me time and time again," she began.

"And you are going to be sensible," Antonina said tonelessly.

"To a degree. I must, Antonina." She took a larger gulp than she had intended and tried to swallow it without choking. "I must be careful, being a widow with limited funds. If anything were to render me more questionable as a possible wife, I might not be able to marry again, not for years."

"I know," Antonina said, and although her voice was harsh, she did understand the predicament of her friend. "I don't blame you for doing what you must. I don't even think that you are being disloyal, for you must first be loyal to the Emperor and his rulings."

"Antonina—" Eugenia began, then stopped.

"Have some of these stuffed dates. They're excellent." There was no enthusiasm in the offer, but Eugenia obediently helped herself. "You are placed in the same awkward position as most of my husband's officers are, but you are not as much a risk as they. But if you want to place yourself well, doubtless being seen here will not help you." She poured herself more of the wine but did not drink it.

Eugenia nibbled the dates and ordered her thoughts. "I am aware that you are under constraints. Like many other Konstantinoupolitans, I believe that the treatment is unfair and unnecessary, but it will take time for the

Emperor to see this. Those close to him are determined to continue this estrangement as long as possible."

"So I understand," said Antonina.

"And for that reason, if I curtail my visits, I hope you will not be too horrified by my actions, and will not be too severe in your judgment of me." This last was in a lower tone, and she dared not look too closely at her hostess.

"In your position, I would be tempted to do the same thing," said Antonina. "You have so much to lose, and certainly I do not wish you to have to endure what we are enduring now."

Eugenia cringed under this assault, but she continued to keep herself in check. "I have hopes of a ship's captain. He has eight merchantmen. While he is not as well-placed as my husband was, he is interested in wedding me. And it does not matter to him that I am still seen here. He is not part of the court and has no aspirations to be." She sighed. "He is over fifty and has a belly like a captive bear, but it is something."

"You had your sights higher at one time," Antonina reminded her.

"I still do. But if it becomes necessary, it is rewarding to know that I am not wholly without those who admire me." She tossed her head defiantly, a gesture that had been applauded when she was young and now she did out of habit.

"I would hate to see you stuck with your captain of merchantmen," admitted Antonina. "I had such hopes for you, when I could still command some interest and some respect from those within the ranks of the Guard." She sipped the wine and glanced at the torn windows.

"You have been my staunchest supporter and friend," Eugenia said firmly. "It disgusts me that we are reduced to this when you and I had such hopes. If Theodora could rise from her place, why should not I? I am in a far better position than she was, and I have some fortune to offer a husband."

Antonina held up a warning hand. "Don't speak that way. There are those who would be eager to report what you have said to others who are not your friends. It would do you more harm than simply drinking hot wine with me." She leaned back in her low chair. "It's true, but with Theodora dead, none of us dare remember what she came from. Justinian would not like to hear such things said of her."

Eugenia lowered her eyes, chastened and worried. "Theodora never made any excuses for herself."

"That was Theodora," Antonina said bitterly. "Theodora was not like her husband in many ways. She was not shamed by her past and she appreciated her rise and the favor she attained." She turned too quickly and knocked over the wine cup that stood at her elbow.

"I'll summon a slave," Eugenia said, dabbing ineffectively at it with the edge of her rosy-beige paenula.

"No; there's no saying if we'll have any privacy if you do. Here." She took one of the soft pillows and dropped it onto the wine, watching the stain spread across the linen.

"You'll ruin the pillow," Eugenia warned.

"And who would see it that would care?" She picked up the pillow and dropped it on the floor.

"Antonina, you aren't—" Eugenia cried out.

She was interrupted. "What use for us to pretend, Eugenia? The Emperor has withdrawn the favor he bestowed and for all the position my husband now has, he might as well be posted to the most remote fort in the Empire. In fact, he would think himself lucky if that would happen." She shivered and not entirely because the storm was sniffing at the walls of her house like a hungry animal.

"You must not despair," Eugenia said, repeating what her confessor had told her so many times.

"Why not? I pray that the Emperor will escape the influence of those who are my husband's enemies, but I cannot do as Belisarius does and assume that Justinian is at the mercy of those who wish him ill. I believe—and if I were a man, the belief would be treason, I know—that Justinian is jealous of Belisarius and has decided to take away his power so that he need not fear for his throne. I believe that the Emperor is petty and ungrateful and filled with spite. I believe that he wishes to disgrace my husband and to make an example of him to those who might desire to advance themselves at the Emperor's expense. I believe that nothing my husband does or says will change this and that he would have done better to have died in battle, which is what I think Justinian prayed would happen." She stopped, breathless and flushed.

"I won't repeat that," Eugenia said.

"No matter," Antonina told her with a shake of her head. "The Emperor has spies in this house and he knows all that is said here, and most of what is invented. The slaves know that if they bring a report that further impugns my husband the reward will be greater, and so they embroider everything they hear until a chance remark becomes a flagrant threat." She reached out and gave both of them more wine. "Here. It doesn't matter now. I have already unburdened myself and there is no reason to try to keep a silent tongue in my head."

Eugenia was becoming actively alarmed by her friend's behavior, and she tried to shift their conversation. "Do you think that the mourning we must observe for Theodora will last longer than a year?"

"Who is to say?" Antonina responded. "She would have limited it, but now that she is gone, there is no one to keep the Emperor from his most rigorous demands." She took a long sip of wine and clapped twice loudly. "Simones! Another jug of hot wine."

The eunuch came into the reception room and took the empty jug from the table. "Some sweetmeats as well, great lady?"

"Anything," she answered without any inflection. "Whatever the cooks wish to serve. Just so that the wine is well-spiced and hot. And see if anything can be done about that window. It's cold as a tomb in here."

Simones made a deep, insolent reverence. "Of course, great lady. And I will have a pope petition heaven bring sunshine and balmy days at once."

Antonina straightened. "If you do not wish to find yourself on a sale block, you will never speak to me again in that manner." There was no doubt that she was in earnest, and her eyes bored into him. "And my husband will know of your conduct, so that you will be watched in future. Do you understand that?"

"I understand," said Simones, aware that he had gone too far. He knew that any value he might have existed because he was in the Belisarius household, and that if ever he was sold, he would be of use to no one, and in fact might be thought a liability for his knowledge. The prospect of what could happen then made him correct his demeanor, and he went on, "I vow before God that I will not forget myself again."

"You think that because there are Guards at the door, you may show the same contempt they do, don't you?" Antonina accused him, glad to have someone she could vent her rage and frustration on in safety.

"I forgot myself," he allowed.

"And you have assumed that no one in the household would dare to correct you because of the Guard. You are the slave of this household, not of the Guard, and as long as that is so, you will show yourself subservient and obedient." She paused, satisfied at the fright she recognized in his eyes. "If you are abusive, there is the lash."

"Abusive slaves deserve the lash," Eugenia said severely as she watched Simones. "Don't they?"

"Yes," he said softly. "And when I give abuse, I will thank God for the correction you mete out to me." It was the same formula he had been taught since he was a boy, but he no longer said it like a chastized child.

"You should also thank God that you were made a eunuch," said Antonina. "Rebellion in a whole man is regarded far more seriously than in a eunuch." She indicated the ikonostasis. "Even the Saints have said so."

"Because eunuchs are more tractable?" Eugenia suggested.

Simones bowed his head, and decided to take a chance. "General Narses"—no one in the household had dared to mention Belisarius' replacement in Italy—"is a eunuch."

"Who has nephews," Antonina said curtly. "Speak that name again, and I will assure you that you will be mining copper in Syria before the week is out."

"I did not mean to give insult," said Simones mendaciously. "But there are many who suppose that a man who lacks testicles is unable to turn traitor or be of a warlike disposition. With some this is true, but not with all. I pray that the Emperor will remember this."

"Do you?" Antonina demanded.

"Yes. We are all required to pray for the Emperor, aren't we? The pope where I worship exhorts us often to ask God's especial care for the Emperor's benefit so that he might never lose the wisdom that a ruler must have, and which must come from God." He had the knack of showing correct piety, and he now enjoyed its success again. "I am filled with fault, as man is, but the Emperor is not one who can afford similar faults."

Both women murmured the required response—"Grace of God shine over us"—and then Antonina indicated the wine-soaked pillow.

"Take this away, and bring wine and something to eat. And remember that you are not exempt from the rules that govern a slave's conduct." She waited in silence as Simones picked up the pillow and started for the door. "And Simones?" she called after him. "I never want to hear you speak out again, on any matter. If you do, I will have to send you to market or give you to… someone I dislike. You do understand me, don't you?"

This time his reverence was perfect. "In all things, great lady. I am grateful for your correction."

As soon as he was gone, Eugenia leaned forward. "Do you think that you ought to keep him? He seems… dangerous."

"In a household like this one, all slaves are dangerous," Antonina sighed. "If my husband were not so much in disfavor, then I might insist that we be rid of him at once, but any slave we purchased to replace him is almost certain to be the creature of one courtier or another. Simones lacks respect, but he has been in this household for more than ten years and he is loyal. As things stand, that is worth more than conduct." She leaned back once more. "Oh, Eugenia, I am sorry that I have turned out to have so little use to you."

"You must not expose yourself and your husband to greater indignities," said Eugenia with a primness that did not match her look. "And it fills me with dismay that I must make the choice I must. I have consoled myself with the realization that if I were married, my husband would forbid me to come to visit you at all, if he were connected to the court. We would not have this chance to speak."

Antonina nodded. "Yes. And it might have been wiser if you had done that. But still, I am glad that you were willing to see me."

"I… I will not see your husband," Eugenia stipulated, her cheeks becoming flushed.

"No, of course not," Antonina concurred. "There would be no good for any of us if you did." She sneezed suddenly and wiped at her eyes. "The storm has brought illness with it."

"You should apply to one of the Greek physicians to give you a tincture for it," Eugenia advised. Greek physicians were trusted more than most, and it was fashionable to have one come to treat minor ailments. Serious disease was another matter: for that you summoned the nearest pope for his prayers and then summoned an Egyptian.

"Perhaps I ought," said Antonina. "But there are herbs here that I can use myself. I am afraid of what a physician might be bribed to give me."

"Why would anyone want to poison you?" Eugenia asked. "You have taken precautions to protect your husband, so why would anyone wish to injure you?"

"I don't know, but the Censor is a man who needs no reason beyond his whim." She coughed once and then looked up as Simones returned bearing a tray. "And hot wine. Hot wine will cure most simple ills except hangnails."

Both women were able to smile at this minor witticism, and they watched as their cups were filled again.

"I have taken the liberty, great lady," Simones said in his most neutral tone, "to request one of the cooks to make honied lamb with onions and rosemary that you like so well."

Antonina showed faint approval. "Your gesture is accepted, Simones," she said, and indicated her guest. "Be sure that there is something for Eugenia as well. My guest would not be pleased to watch me eat with nothing for herself."

"Of course," said Simones, and made his reverence as he withdrew.

"He knows he went too far," Eugenia said as soon as the slave left the room. "He's making amends, isn't he?"

"He's trying," Antonina allowed. "He also knows that if he were sold now, he would not find a master who would please him even as much as my husband does now in his current position."

Eugenia helped herself to the wine. "You must not see many visitors."

"Not welcome ones," Antonina confirmed darkly.

"Who calls on you?" She was wondering how conspicuous her own visit would be, and how much of a risk she had taken in coming.

"A few of the officers call, but they must come with a pope with the Censor's approval. Drosos has been here most often. I have seen the widows of those officers who fell in Italy and Africa." She stared at the window, angry with the storm. "The relatives who are not at court have visited me, and a few of my husband's mother's family have come. That Roman widow Olivia has been here three times. The four daughters of Aristinos Pavko have been here, but now that they are religious, they are bound by the rules of their community, and we have little we may discuss."

"That's all?" Eugenia asked, horrified at the degree to which she had exposed herself to censure.

"All that are welcome. You see how things have changed here. A year ago I would not have been eager to listen to four young women tell me why it is heretical to believe that the nature of Christ was more divine than human." She finished the wine in her cup and filled it again.

By the time Eugenia left her hostess, she was feeling reckless and light-headed. Her visit, which seemed the most terrible folly an hour before, now felt more pleasant, an adventure that had an air of heroism about it because of what it did for Antonina. Let others hesitate and worry and keep away for fear of what the Censor might say; she, Eugenia, would not be intimidated. She would visit her old friend and show that she had the same strength of purpose as Belisarius' officers. In this frame of mind, she was almost to the door, and thinking of a few pithy things to say to the Guards, when she noticed that Simones was waiting for her.

"Come to apologize to me?" she asked, her words not quite as crisp as usual. "Or do you want me to intercede for you and get you back into your mistress' favor?"

"Neither," Simones said. "I want to arrange a few things with you."

Eugenia was too astonished to be affronted. "With me? You?"

"I have to find someone who will assist me, and you are the most promising. Antonina trusts you and she wants to see you. She believes that you will not desert her as most of the others have done, and you still can benefit from her favor, which none of her other friends could." He watched her, curious to see what her reaction would be.

"What if I go back to her right now and tell her what you have said?" There was a speculative light in her eyes and she waited to hear what Simones would say.

"That would not be wise," said Simones. "You might be rid of me, but another would come in my place and he might decide that Antonina is to be kept in isolation for the good of the Emperor."

"And you?" asked Eugenia, curious and becoming apprehensive.

"I know that my mistress is distressed and lonely, which is unfortunate. I know that no matter what she says, she is eager for your company and wishes that you might continue to visit her in spite of the risk that such visits entail. You do not know how devastating this has been, and you do not know how much she has longed for the Emperor to relax the restrictions against this household. But that isn't going to happen for some time yet." He watched her. "She depends upon you, although she does not know it."

"Why do you tell me this?" She was aware that Simones had no reason to sacrifice so much to Antonina, and she suspected the level of dislike the slave had for his mistress.

"Because I need assistance," he said bluntly. "I have been ordered"—he used the word deliberately—"to watch and make note of all that happens in this household. Certainly I do what I must because of the order of the Emperor and his Censor. I am in no position to do otherwise."

"And what if Antonina discovers your duplicity?" Eugenia asked with malice in her smile.

"Why should she know anything of it?" countered Simones with a distinct threat in his tone.

"Anything might happen. And then off to the copper mines?" She shrugged.

"If I am sent to the copper mines, there will be others with me." He folded his arms. "Why not assist one another? You could impress the Censor with your devotion and there is no reason that anything you said to me would compromise Antonina." Simones knew how to be persuasive. "You would advance yourself and not add to Antonina's discredit. Think of the advantage that you could have. This would be one way you might return some of the favor Antonina has shown you over the years. You would be able to inform her of your actions when the Court Censor is satisfied that her husband is not guilty of any conspiracy or has supported any plots against the Emperor. Your activities on her behalf would be re-warded and you would show Antonina that you are to be trusted and respected."

"You wheedle and tempt, don't you?" Eugenia asked, but there was a speculative turn to her face now and she did not move away from him or reprimand him for making such a suggestion.

"Hardly," he said. "I only mention this so that we might both benefit and aid this household during its troubles." He resisted the urge to smile, knowing that she would be offended by smiles.

"A woman in my position cannot take risks, slave. I have no one who can sponsor me if I am questioned or accused. I have little money, and my husband's family has some influence but not enough to influence anyone near the Censor."

"And so it would be sensible of you to think about acting on your own behalf so that you have some position and protection. It would give you access to the court again, and with the gratitude of the Censor, you can be confident of his aid in attaining your ends. He will see your merit and wish to thank you." Simones saw that there were three household slaves approaching them, and he abandoned his efforts at once. "I hope you will consider what I have said."

"I may," said Eugenia as she went toward the vestibule.

* * *

Text of an Imperial edict.

To all Christians living within the boundaries of our Empire, and to those of good conscience living elsewhere in the world, the greetings of Justinian and the Peace of God be with you.

We have prayed long for divine guidance in the matter of unchristian works, and works of heresy. We are aware that the Christ admonished us to embrace our enemies and to be sparing in our judgment of others, yet He also stated that we must be free of the Devil's work if we are to be with Him in Heaven.

To that end, we have considered the writings that are not of Orthodox Christian origin, which lead to dissension and confusion in our people, and we have consulted with our popes and metropolitans as well as other religious, and we have realized that these works, many of them well-intentioned, are the subtle and. dangerous works that lure men from Christ and damn the souls of many to everlasting suffering.

For that reason alone the works stand condemned. But there are greater considerations: these works might easily contribute to sedition and other traitorous acts, which marks them as the tools of those without Grace. Books that purport to teach and have no thought of God and salvation in them are worse than lies and deception, for their treachery lies in their seeming innocence.

Therefore we are requiring that all Christians examine their souls and review the books they possess. If what the books contain are not worthy of Christian study and if they are filled with heresies and lies, we ask that you show your devotion by burning these books and encouraging those around you to do the same with their books. We are certain that when this is done, much of the ambivalence that has caused such misfortune to the Christians of this Empire will be brought to an end, and the disputes that have led to so many unchristian sentiments and attitudes will be lessened. We are reminded that to aid those in need is the purpose of charity, and so if any of you are aware of those who are misguided and who seek to preserve their books, for whatever reason, no matter how sincere, that you attempt to persuade them to be rid of these sources of doubt and failing that leads inevitably to perdition and the perpetual torments of hell.

With the concurrence of the Court Censor and the popes and metropolitans, we wish all of you Godspeed in these great spiritual acts that will purge us all of much evil.

By our own hand on the Feast of the Evangelists at midsummer

Justinian

Emperor of Byzantion

his sigil

5

Just off the Mese there were a number of smaller markets that specialized in various ways. One was filled with jewel merchants, another was the home of leather workers. This street boasted furniture from foreign ports, some brought by sea, some carried overland along the Old Silk Road.

Niklos strolled through it, mildly curious about what was being offered. He had to meet with a chariot-builder in the next street, but was pleased to have a little time to spend in this way.

One of the stalls set up was filled with Roman goods: chests, tables, chairs, braziers, benches were all piled together in confusion; two bored slaves watched over the stall, one of them more interested in the food vendors than in selling anything from the trove.

Niklos regarded the Roman goods, an amused, ironic expression in his dark, ruddy eyes. He went to examine the nearest pile, remarking to the nearest slave, "I am the bondsman of a Roman lady, and she might wish to purchase some of your stock."

"Look at what we have," the slave offered without much enthusiasm. "There is more available."

"How much more?" Niklos inquired as he picked up a small chair and examined it.

"I'm not sure. My master and the merchant Ghornan have an agreement of sorts." He waved flies away from a dish of fruit. "Every time Captain Ghornan returns, he brings more things with him, and he and my master make their arrangements."

"Captain Ghornan sails to Italy, then?" There were not many merchants willing to take the risks necessary to do this now that the Ostrogoths had increased the strength of their navy.

"Regularly," the slave said with marked indifference. "He has never encountered serious trouble and does not expect to. It must be his Coptic heresy that makes him think that way." He reached over and took a handful of berries out of the dish. As he munched them, he went on. "Captain Ghornan is one who takes advantage of secret landings, I guess."

"Secret landings or bribes?" Niklos asked as he poked around the furniture.

"Probably both," the slave said through a full mouth. "He claims that he is not bothered."

"How fortunate," Niklos said dryly. He was about to observe that bribes always became more expensive as time went on when he noticed two wooden trunks with brass fittings. "Do you know where this Captain Ghornan gets these goods?" he asked very carefully.

"He says he buys them from homeless Romans." The slave ate more berries.

"Homeless Romans," Niklos repeated as he uncovered the two chests and studied them. "More likely he has them from Roman homes," he said.

"How do you mean?" asked the slave with a signal to his companion.

"I…" Niklos faltered. Both slaves at the stall were now watching him with suspicion. He took a short, deep breath and plunged in. "I am afraid that these two chests belong to my mistress. They were left in her villa when we came here. At the time we were assured that they would be guarded. Now, it may be that one of Totila's men commandeered the chests and then sold them, but it may also be that your Captain Ghornan has been dealing with men who are taking goods from villas that ought to be protected."

One of the slaves laughed unpleasantly. "Your mistress wants a few Roman things, and so you make this accusation in the hope that she will not have to pay the price of the things; is that it?"

"No," said Niklos, no longer attempting to be deferent. "I think that someone has taken her goods from her villa and sold them. I do not say that your Captain Ghornan is the one, but it is clear that someone has sold my mistress' goods, and that I must inform her of it."

The two slaves exchanged looks. "You will have to speak to one of the army magistrates," said the slave who was still eating berries. "That is, if there is any justification to your absurd accusation."

"My mistress had all her goods marked, and I know that these two chests have her mark." Niklos indicated the chests. "If there are other goods from the same shipment, I will have to tell the authorities."

"Marks can be added or changed," one of the slaves said.

"These marks are in the brass," Niklos said.

"In the brass?" the other slave inquired, clearly not believing him.

"Yes; it was the custom during the time of the Caesars to mark valuable property in this way. My mistress comes from an old family and has kept to the traditions." He stepped back and noticed that a small crowd had gathered around the stall. "I do not accuse your master or even this Captain Ghornan of anything. I am willing to believe that everyone involved is acting in good faith except the actual culprit who took the goods from the villa, but I do not think that the chests wandered out on their own or that they were sold entirely by accident." He addressed the slave who had finally finished eating his berries. "I will have to tell my mistress about this, and she, I know, will want to tell the authorities."

The slave glared at Niklos. "You are a foolish man," he warned. "This is not Roma, and here we do not accept the word of a slave, or a woman, for that matter. Here we demand more proof and greater authority."

Niklos decided he would not tell Olivia about this remark; she would be irritated enough as it was and this animadversion on slaves and women would enrage her. "It will be provided. In the meantime, I want you to know that I will hold you accountable for these goods. If they have disappeared between now and the time the case is reviewed, I will testify that you were in charge of the goods and that you were instructed to have them ready for inspection."

"Slaves do not testify," the other informed Niklos haughtily.

"True; bondsmen do, however, and I am a bondsman." With that, he turned and regarded the people clustered around the stall. "Every one of you will bear witness to this, if that is necessary. This is not something that can be easily forgotten or dismissed out of hand." He pointed at the two slaves. "These men are responsible for the contents of this stall. If there is any loss or disruption, the burden of that loss will be theirs."

"You're harsh, Roman," said one of the passersby.

"I'm Greek," Niklos corrected him. "My mistress is Roman."

There was a subtle shift of sympathies in the crowd, and Niklos knew that he would not have to complain without support. He smiled at the slaves in the stall. "Remember my warning."

"Your warning means nothing to us. Our master will be told of what you have claimed. The rest is up to him." With that the slave turned away and motioned for his companion to do the same.

Niklos was far from satisfied with this answer, but did not want to press the slaves for fear that he would lose the sympathy he had gained. He moved away from the stall quickly and in a short while he reached Olivia's house. He found her in her library reading.

"You look dreadful," she said as she looked up.

"I've got good reason," he said, and dropped onto the low bench across the reading table from her.

"And what reason is that?"

Niklos did not answer at once. When he did, his manner was remote, as if he were discussing events of the distant past. "You recall those two chests of yours, the ones with the brass fittings?"

As always when they were alone, they spoke in Latin, their accents old-fashioned and elegant, their phrases slightly archaic. "Chests?"

"Yes. Pay attention, Olivia. This is important." His aggravation was mixed with fondness and he touched her shoulder in a way no Byzantine servant—slave or bondsman—would dare to touch a superior. "The chests with brass fittings."

"With camphor on the inside and two drawers on one side, the ones that were made during Caracalla's reign—yes, of course I remember them. What of it?" She had set aside the book she was reading and was now watching him closely.

"I just saw them."

"What?"

"I just saw them," he repeated. "In the market. In a stall filled with Roman goods." He looked away from her, for the first time as if he were ashamed of what he was telling her. "They were for sale."

"In a stall in the market, of course they were for sale. Isn't that the purpose of a stall in the market?" She spoke amiably enough, but Niklos was not fooled.

"Olivia—"

"My things, offered for sale here. How fortunate that I will not be put to the trouble of sending for them, or requiring some account of them." Her hazel eyes had darkened and acquired a metallic glitter.

"Olivia, you're—"

"Furious," she agreed with him, favoring him with a wide, insincere smile.

Niklos nodded. "With good reason. I was appalled."

"The chests. I wonder what else?" She stared up at the ceiling so that she could avoid looking at him. "Was that all, did you notice?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

"But there were other Roman things in the stall, you said."

"Yes. All sorts of furniture. I saw some vases and braziers as well, but nothing I could identify for certain." He gave a short sigh.

"Aha." She drummed her fingers on the table. "So someone has helped themselves to what was left behind."

"It seems so," Niklos agreed. "But who it is, I have no way of discovering yet—"

"We will find out in due course," she said with determination. "And when we do, there are steps to be taken." She got up suddenly and began to pace. "I have been afraid this would happen. I sensed the possibility when we left. When Belisarius was recalled, I knew that any protection the villa might have had was lost. I've almost expected it." She touched her hair, fidgeting with the ordered arrangement of pins.

"Olivia," Niklos said, sharing her indignation, "tell me what you wish me to do."

"I suppose we had best find out how to make a complaint, and to whom. And you may be certain that you or a churchman or possibly even Belisarius will have to do the thing officially, since according to the law here, I cannot own property!" She flung a small iron stylus across the room.

Niklos retrieved it and held it out to her. "You'll want this later."

She was still too angry to be chagrined, but she took it and put it back on the table. "They are so certain, aren't they, that they will look after the interests of their women, and they cannot conceive of a situation arising where their judgment is not superior. It comes from having all those male gods. And do not remind me," she went on more sharply, "that they are all aspects of one god. I know Jupiter, Apollo and Mercury when I see them, no matter how they are got up."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Niklos assured her.

This time she looked him straight in the eye. "You're very clever, my friend, and I am grateful for that."

"You're not a dolt yourself," Niklos pointed out.

"And why does Drosos have to be gone now, I ask you. Why does he have to be on his way to Alexandria. After all those weeks of wanting to do something for me and not knowing what, he would have to be gone the one time I truly need him." She went and stared out her window; the oiled parchment had been moved aside and the scent of the garden drifted into the library.

"Then what shall it be?" asked Niklos. "Do you wish me to make inquiries?"

"Yes, but first go to Belisarius. Or better yet, I will go, and I will speak with him. He was at the villa. He will want to know what has been taken in any case." She adjusted the drape of her paenula. "I suppose I must use one of the palanquins, with the curtains drawn. It's exasperating."

"I will see that one is summoned," said Niklos.

"Yes. Thank you for that. And then arrangements will have to be made to have the stall searched thoroughly, and the storehouse of the merchant as well, I guess. What else should we do? What a tremendous amount of work." She sighed.

"Would you rather accept the losses?"

She rounded on Niklos. "Magna Mater, no! And you know it."

"Then to Belisarius first?" he suggested.

"Yes. Belisarius first." Now that she was set on a task, her manner changed. She moved with determination and there was no trace of doubt in her attitude.

By the time Niklos had found a palanquin, Olivia had changed her dalmatica and paenula so that she was more formally attired. She had deliberately chosen Roman cloth and her most Roman jewels to wear on her visit. As she stepped into the palanquin, she said to Niklos, "If there are questions from the Guard, you are to make this as official as you can. I came here with Belisarius' sponsorship, and now that my goods have been seized, I am requesting his aid in reclaiming them. They won't question that."

"As you say," Niklos concurred.

The streets were still busy and it took some little time to go from one hill to the next. The noise was particularly loud near the places where the streets were being widened and old buildings were being torn down to make way for them.

"This is worse than Traianus," Olivia complained from inside the palanquin. "What is it with men in power that they have sudden impulses to remake the world?"

"It's not a bad idea," Niklos said. "These streets are far too narrow for all the traffic and the stalls and shops as well."

"And so for the next year or two, no one can move along them at all," Olivia declared, then said a bit more contritely, "If I weren't already irritated, it would not annoy me as much. Bear with me." She continued to speak in Latin.

Niklos patted the drawn curtains. "How long have I served you? Wasn't the beginning the same year that Commodus was murdered?" He had taken a more playful tone with her, and now he chuckled. "Roma was not yet a thousand years old."

"It wasn't, was it?" Olivia asked, her voice less harsh than before. "It was the last thing Sanct' Germain did before he went—" She stopped. "If he were here, he'd deal with this and there would be no reason for us to be out here on the street going to Belisarius' house. And if we were in Roma, I could take care of the whole thing myself." A little of the gruff ness had returned, and she cleared her throat in a conscious effort to be rid of the sound. "But he is not here, and we are not in Roma but in… Konstantinoupolis, and so we must proceed as the laws require us to proceed."

"Philosophy becomes you," Niklos teased gently.

"Oh, Niklos," she said, permitting herself a rare moment of despair, "what has become of us?"

"We're almost to Belisarius' house," Niklos warned, continuing in Greek. "There are five Guards at the front of the house."

"Speak to the one who is highest in rank," said Olivia, also in Greek. "And be very respectful. They put great store by subservience here."

"It's their way," Niklos agreed, and adopted a more humble manner than he usually had. "Good Captain," he said when he had come near enough to be heard clearly, "my mistress seeks a word with Belisarius."

The Captain, a lanky young man with a narrow face and haughty attitude, regarded Niklos contemptuously. "And who is your mistress that she comes here?"

"The Roman widow, Atta Olivia Clemens. General Belisarius was her sponsor when she left Italy, and it is in that regard that she wishes to speak to him now." Niklos motioned to the chairmen to put the palanquin down. "It is a matter of some urgency, good Guardsman, and one that requires the General's attention."

The Captain laughed. "What could that be?"

"It concerns theft," Niklos said baldly. "The losses are considerable and my mistress is in need of aid and advice." He knew that this was in accord with Byzantine propriety but he disliked the unnecessary complexity of fulfilling a simple request.

"The General might not be able to do much for your mistress," warned the Captain.

"Then he will have to direct her to those who can," Niklos said, becoming impatient. "Good Captain, if you are going to refuse my mistress admittance here, then tell me at once so that we may seek out a pope at Hagia Sophia or Hagia Irene to give us the benefit of his counsel."

The Captain moved aside from the door. "What is the widow's name again?"

"Atta Olivia Clemens, widow of Cornelius Justus Silius," Niklos said accurately. He did not add that her husband had been executed during the reign of the elder Titus Flavius Vespasianus, almost five hundred years ago.

"Clemens, Clemens," mused the Captain. "Is that the one who lives alone in the house with two gardens?"

"That is she," Niklos acknowledged, somewhat surprised that the Captain of the Guard would know of her.

"And she wishes to see Belisarius about a theft?"

"Yes; I have said so already." Niklos covered his sharpness by adding, "She is very angry and has been taking out her feelings on the backs of her household."

The Captain grinned. "Romans are excessive." He indicated the door. "You and your mistress may enter, and Belisarius will be informed that you have come. If he says he wishes to see your mistress, then she will be given the chance to speak with him. Otherwise, you must leave at once. Is that understood?"

"It's understood," said Niklos, bending to assist Olivia out of the palanquin.

Simones was waiting for them just inside the door and he regarded Olivia speculatively as she came into the house behind Niklos. "Great lady, I am surprised to see you here."

"I am a little surprised to be here," said Olivia loudly enough to have her words reach the Guard outside. "But circumstances require that I speak with your master."

Simones made a belated reverence to Olivia and ignored Niklos. "I will inform him of your arrival. May I tell him why you have come?"

"It concerns my villa near Roma. He stayed there some of the time during his campaign." She gave a direct, hard stare to the eunuch slave. "That ought to be sufficient, Simones."

After a second reverence, Simones hastened away, only to return promptly with word that Belisarius would wait upon Olivia in the larger reception room. "I will claim the honor of escorting you there," he added when he had delivered the information.

"It is just down the hall on the left," Olivia said. "I am able to find it. Niklos will come with me." She did not give Simones a chance to argue, but went quickly to the room she had indicated.

Belisarius looked exhausted when he joined Olivia there a little later. "I've missed you," he said. "But with Antonina in poor health, and my condition being what it is, we do not often see anyone these days."

"Antonina is in poor health?" Olivia repeated, startled at the news. "When I saw her last, she was thriving."

"It has only been recently that she has suffered. Her pope tells her that it is the result of the continuing disfavor of Heaven, but I cannot believe it. I have brought so much misfortune on her, and if—" He stopped abruptly. "That isn't why you're here, is it?"

"No," she admitted, her concern not forgotten. "Niklos was in the market today and saw goods from my Roman villa offered for sale." She had not intended to state the problem so directly, but knowing now that Belisarius had many other troubles to plague him, she decided that speaking to the point was best.

Belisarius looked at Niklos. "You're certain?"

"If you had served Olivia as long as I have, you would know these things as if they were your own," he said. "I am certain."

"He would not have spoken to me unless he was sure," Olivia added.

"What specifically did you see?" Belisarius asked.

"Two chests, antiques, with brass fittings. They're most unusual." He paused. "I didn't look further. However, the stall in the market was filled with Roman goods."

"And so you assume that if the chests are there, other things may also be. You suspect that there has been some sort of a raid on the villa." Belisarius nodded heavily. "And doubtless you have good reason to think so. My officers have brought me tales that do not bode well."

"You mean that Totila—" Olivia began.

"Not only our enemies. There are Byzantines who want to pick the carcass before the Ostrogoths get there." His bitterness was ferocious and it was a moment before he could speak safely. "I'm sorry, Olivia. When I left Italy, I was told that my obligations would be honored by Narses and his officers, but… it appears otherwise."

"You've heard of other complaints?" It was not truly a question. She could read Belisarius' expression and knew that there had been others.

"Unfortunately." He lowered his head and rubbed his eyes. "I am profoundly sorry to learn of this. I'll start an official inquiry at once, of course."

"But…" Olivia regarded him with sympathy.

"Yes. You're right." Belisarius stared across the room at a blank spot on the wall. "But as I am under suspicion of conspiracy and treason, I can make no promises for the success of the inquiry. The Court Censor is convinced that I have acted against the interests of the Emperor, and therefore everything I do and say is scrutinized for possible hidden significance." He tugged at the end of his pallium. "It has even been implied that I have poisoned my own wife to direct suspicion elsewhere."

"Oh, my friend," Olivia said, and went to put her arm over his bowed shoulders.

He shrugged her away. "I am contaminated. Don't be tainted by me."

"But I already am," Olivia said at her most reasonable. "I came here with your assistance, and I come to you for aid. You were my guest in Roma, and I have been yours here in… Konstantinoupolis. Doubtless if the Censor believes that women are capable of conspiracy—which I doubt—he will have long since decided that I am not to be trusted." This time when she put her arm around his shoulder, she did not permit him to break away from her. "First, I think we must determine exactly how much has been taken from my villa, and what has already been sold."

"Didn't you hear me?" Belisarius demanded.

"Yes. And now you will listen to me." She sat beside him and kept her arm across his back. "I wish to discover what I have lost. Niklos has an inventory of the goods from the villa at my house here—which I thank you again for helping me to acquire—and a copy of this can be provided to… to whoever needs it."

"The magistrate for the Army," Belisarius muttered.

"Fine. Niklos, a copy of the inventory for the magistrate for the Army. Then it might be wise to inspect the stall and warehouse of the merchant where Niklos found the chest." Her strength surprised Belisarius when he tried once more to move away from her. "Don't you agree?"

Capitulating, Belisarius turned to her. "All right, Olivia. I'll try to arrange for the inspection. Is there anything else you want?"

Her laughter was sadder than any he had ever heard. "Magna Mater, yes. The list is so long—" She forced a half-smile back onto her lips. "But for the time being, tell me what is wrong with Antonina. Perhaps I can help."

Belisarius took her free hand in both of his. As he stared down at their interlaced fingers, he admitted, "Christos, I hope so. I'm frightened, Olivia: I'm afraid."

* * *

Text of a letter from the physician Mnenodatos to his unknown correspondent.

On the Feast of the Armenian Martyrs, the physician Mnenodatos sends his greetings to his continuing friend.

Your request for information regarding certain poisons, while no doubt necessary, nevertheless concerns me. Your generosity is most welcome, and I am grateful for all you have done for me, but I must inquire more closely into the use to which you have put this information, for if there has been any misuse of your knowledge gained through me, I am as culpable as you are, in fact, because I have given you the degree of information I have, I am more culpable in the eyes of the law.

While I have no wish to lose your assistance and friendship, I find myself in a very awkward state, since I am now in a position where I am apt to be blamed for the misfortune of another. Not only do I not know who you are, I am in no position to know who it is you have acquired this information for and to what end it is being used, and I beseech you to tell me at least some portion of what I have requested so that I will not be entirely without protection.

Your latest request comes with a most beneficent payment, one far exceeding the worth of what I have told you, and for that reason if no other, I dread what you might do. I have a wife and children to think of, good friend, and they might easily be made beggars tomorrow if you are not acting as honorably as I pray you are.

At first, it did not trouble me that you did not say who you are or in what capacity you employ the information you have obtained from me. But that was before the riots last week, and now I am afraid that those who believe that the Empress Theodora met her end by poison might search out all of us who have some knowledge of the subject and inquire into their activity. At this time, I could not prevail if such an inquiry were made of me, and that fills me with the gravest foreboding.

Come forth, I pray you, and reveal who you are and what you are doing. I give my word on the Most Holy Spear that I will not betray you, and I will accept your vow that you will not betray me. Until some such assurance is given me, I cannot provide you any more information or assistance, and I am convinced that if you examine your conscience, you will grant my requests as the reasonable protection they are.

If you decide that you cannot do this, or that you will not contact me again, know that I have your various notes and letters which I will surrender to any officer of the court who makes any inquiry whatever of me. I might not be able to identify you for them, but I will reveal to what extent you have involved me in whatever scheme you are acting upon. Naturally I would rather not have to do this, and if you act promptly and in good faith, I will demonstrate my sincerity by surrendering all copies of your notes and letters to you for your disposal in any way you see fit.

Mnenodatos

Physician

6

Thekla was over fifty and revered for her years as well as her long religious vocation. Since age eight, she had lived a virtual hermit in a cell scraped out of the city battlements facing the Sea of Marmara. It was said that the Emperor Theodosius II who had ordered the extension of Constantine's seaward battlements had intended to protect the city from the land as well as the sea, and Thekla was one of many who had brought her holiness to fortify the walls.

"But most holy woman," said Panaigios, leaning nearer the wall so that he would be able to hear the few, whispered words she would vouchsafe him, "surely you know more of the dangers facing the Emperor from those who stand nearest to him."

"That is always the most dangerous," whispered the dry, ancient voice. "Judas stood nearest Christos, they say. He kissed Him."

"But who stands nearest Justinian that might do such a thing?" Panaigios demanded. His position with Kimon Athanatadies had slipped in the last year and he was growing desperate for the means to renew his situation.

Thekla laughed, or so it seemed to Panaigios who heard the rustling sound with an emotion near awe. "You do not want to know. The righteous are vilified and the vile are exalted."

"Do you mean that the Emperor Justinian is not entitled to rule?" Panaigios gasped.

Again the laugh, and the singsong repetition: "The righteous are vilified and the vile are exalted."

"I don't know what you mean. You must speak more directly." He knew that he was challenging a venerated person who could have him imprisoned for little more than the tone of his voice. He could not stop himself from speaking. "Tell me."

"You do not want to know. You embrace your ignorance. You would not know honor if Hagios Gavrilos himself announced it to you." The old woman's wheezing words came more quickly, as if she were trying to speak her last message on a single breath. "You wallow in corruption as if you partook of the manna of Paradise. The Word of God is a whistle in the rising wind."

Panaigios glowered at the stones that separated him from the famous old anchorite and wished he had the strength of body and character to pull them down and demand that she explain herself. Instead he leaned his forehead against the stones. "Do you speak against the Emperor?"

"I speak against no one," she answered. "I speak only what God sends me to know. Leave me. You are deaf to Grace." With this condemnation she fell silent.

"Thekla." He waited and when no response was forthcoming, he repeated her name several times only to be met with silence.

"I say nothing against any man," the arid voice said as Panaigios started away from the battlements.

He paused, uncertain if he had imagined the last sounds or not, but decided at last that they were the parting words from the old holy woman. He looked up toward the walkway where the Guard patrolled, and saw two soldiers standing some distance away, apparently deep in conversation. How much had they overheard and who would they tell? he wondered.

In a short while Panaigios had reached his two Egyptian slaves who stood beside his chariot. He signaled them both to follow him as he stepped into the vehicle and took the reins from the younger slave. "I have much to think about," he told them in his most important voice.

"There was a messenger from the Censor," said the older slave. "His master wishes to see you before you return to your house."

This was a summons that Panaigios dared not ignore. "Of course," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he should be sent for in this unusual way. "I intended to report there before I went home in any case."

The two slaves exchanged glances; neither was fooled by this show of sangfroid. They fell into step behind the chariot, though the crowding on the streets was sufficient to keep their progress to a slow walk.

At the house of the Court Censor—which was a palace in everything but name—Panaigios turned his horse into the courtyard and waited while one of the armed private guards came and took the chariot in control.

"Where am I expected?" Panaigios asked, doing his best to keep the shudder he felt out of his voice.

"My master will see you in the room adjoining his chapel." The guard regarded Panaigios with an expression that was very near pity. "He has a few questions to ask you."

"Excellent," said Panaigios with an enthusiasm that he was far from truly feeling. "I have a few matters to discuss with him and this will make it possible for us to cover a number of matters now." He strode into the house, praying that his knees would not give way.

The antechamber to Athanatadies' chapel was oppressively small, with high walls and only two lunette windows well above reach. There were frescoes of the hideous death of the Thirty Virgin Martyrs who had been partially flayed and then left in the sun to die. Panaigios stared at the depiction of the blessed suffering and wished he had the courage to run.

Kimon Athanatadies emerged from his chapel some while later, his dusty dalmatica and disarranged pallium revealing that he had spent part of his time at prayers prostrate. He looked sharply at his secretary and indicated the door that led into the private part of the house. "I must speak with you."

"I am pleased to have it so," said Panaigios, lying heroically.

"Are you?" Athanatadies shrugged indicating that Panaigios' opinion made no difference to him.

"Most certainly. I have wanted recently to have more opportunity to speak with you, but there has not been the occasion, and therefore—" He broke off before he became completely lost in his sentiments.

"In here, if you will." He indicated a small reception room where an armed guard waited. "Melisandos, wait at the door," Athanatadies said to the man and closed the door so that he and Panaigios were alone. "Sit. In a while I will order refreshments."

"That isn't necessary," said Panaigios, anxious not to make his social ambitions too obvious.

"I'm hungry; I've fasted since last night." He had already taken the most comfortable chair leaving two small benches for Panaigios to choose between. "I've been busy with the matter of expunging the heretical writings of Eutyches and his followers. The Monophysitism heresy is more insidious than the Nestorian heresy, for it is easy to fall into the error that Christos partook more of the divine than humanity, and that is the grossest and most pernicious error. Anyone can see the error in thinking that Christos partook more of humanity than divinity. I have never feared the Nestorians."

Panaigios knew better than to enter into any religious debate with the Court Censor; he decided to respond safely. "I have never read suspect texts."

"Very wise, although the time may come when it will be required so that you will be able to identify heresy in its most subtle disguises, that of true faith." He leaned back. "What did you want to say to me?"

This direct question took Panaigios by surprise and he stammered as he answered. "I have taken the liberty of approaching Thekla to see if I might discover who near to the Emperor is the most dangerous."

"Thekla!" exclaimed Athanatadies. "You have been busy."

"I have been worried," Panaigios countered, not wanting to appear that he had usurped any privilege of the Censor himself. "I have spoken to officers of Belisarius in the hope that they might reveal treason or the intention to act against the Empire and I have yet to get any of them to reveal themselves."

"And so you went to Thekla. Most ingenious. And what did the venerable old witch have to say?" He laughed at his secretary's scandalized expression. "The woman might be holy but I fear she is also quite mad most of the time. And she is clever enough to say nothing that would jeopardize her situation. She is wholly dependent on the bread and water left her by religious men and women who offer charity. She will say nothing that might end that charity." He folded his hands and gazed at Panaigios apparently enjoying the man's discomfort.

"I… I wanted the benefit of… of…" He could no longer define what he had sought. He decided the whole day had been terribly unsatisfactory.

"Oh, I know you were hoping for some clue that might give you the key to the silence of the officers. But did it ever occur to you that perhaps the reason for the silence is that there is nothing to reveal?" He sighed. "As little as I wish to believe it, and as little as I am prepared to believe it, there is no evidence yet that there was ever a rebellion planned, or that Belisarius ever hankered for the purple. Still, he will be kept under house arrest and his men watched. They are clever men who have learned the virtue of waiting. They may wish to lull us into inattention and then act."

"Yes!" burst out Panaigios. "And that is what I have been trying to puzzle out. Thekla had a few things to say, and little as you may wish to believe them, I think there was substance in her warning."

"And what was that?" Athanatadies asked with very little curiosity.

Panaigios was driven to answer, convinced that he might still hold the answer to the mystery that had confronted them since Belisarius had returned from Italy. "She said that the vile were raised up and the righteous were cast down."

"So the Prophets have said, over and over. That's safe enough." Athanatadies clapped his hands and when Melisandos opened the door, he requested that fruit and bread be brought. "Bring something for this man as well," he added as an afterthought.

"I have assigned Yaspros to the matter," Panaigios went on. "I think that if anyone can penetrate the secret, he is the one. I have also enlisted a few slaves within Belisarius' house so that if there is anything that might require our attention we will know of it at once."

"Yes; sensible." Athanatadies smoothed the front of his garments. "I have a request to make in that respect."

"Yes?" said Panaigios, grateful for the interruption.

"Find out what poison it is that is being used on Antonina and how much longer it is likely to take." This was said so bluntly that Panaigios had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out in astonishment.

"Poison?" he forced himself to ask.

"What else? She was not ill until recently, and now she can no longer hold her food and often complains of burning in her vitals. That is very like poison. Her physician hasn't been able to relieve it as he might have if it were merely an aggravation of the gut." He sighed and shook his head sadly. "If that woman had not tried to press the advantage of her friendship with Theodora then she might not have had to endure what torments her now."

"I… I will make a few inquiries," said Panaigios, recovering himself enough to appear unaffected.

"And I wish to know who within the household is doing the actual administration. I am curious to discover who it is who is willing to risk the wrath of Belisarius to do this thing. Such a person might be of great use in the future, and will bear close watching in any case, since anyone willing to poison a woman of Antonina's stature is clearly a dangerous person." He tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Do you think you can do this for me, Panaigios?"

"Of course, of course," he gushed, hoping that his forced enthusiasm did not ring as hollow to Athanatadies' ears as it did to his own. "I have already made a few inquiries in regard to the household and it is nothing to make a few more."

"You're more active than you were before," Athanatadies said reflectively. "When did this come upon you?"

"I have been active in your interests for years," Panaigios said, protesting with some emotion. "You have given me the office to pursue certain of your interests on your behalf and I have done all that I might to fulfill your mandate."

"Now, there's no need to be huffy," Athanatadies soothed, his fingertips still meeting lightly. "You are always alert to any criticism, and often this is against your better judgment. I said nothing to chide you now, merely to observe that your actions would at last appear to be gathering fruit. I assume that you have already made some inquiries into the workings of the household of Belisarius, since that was required of you many months ago. In the past you have complied with my instructions promptly and I can see no reason why this case should be any different, and I know of a great many why you might wish to be especially careful where Belisarius is concerned."

Panaigios did his best to appear studious. "You have honored me with many requests, Censor, and I have striven to comply with your requirements as best I can. Certainly there have been times when this was not easily accomplished, but there are other instances when I have done all that I might to see that your instructions were carried out to the fullest."

"Who is your man in Belisarius' household?" The demand was casual, even offhanded, but Panaigios knew that if he did not answer it honestly and at once his life might easily be forfeit.

"My man there is the eunuch Simones." He tried to meet the hard gaze of Athanatadies and did not entirely succeed. "One or two others, far less significant slaves, I assure you, are also being employed to watch in minor matters."

"This Simones, is he trustworthy?" asked Athanatadies.

"What slave is trustworthy?" Panaigios countered, buying a little time.

"I am asking about this Simones. Do you trust him?" There was no suggestion in his tone that he would permit Panaigios to avoid answering him.

"To a degree, yes I do. But that is not saying a great deal." He paused, gathering his thoughts and desperately trying to guess what it was that Kimon Athanatadies wanted to know. "I know that Antonina relies on him and that he has some power in the household. I know that he is regarded with… respect by other slaves in the household. He has been reasonably cooperative with me and has only hesitated when he has been pressed to act in a way against his master's or mistress' interests. How much of this is loyalty and how much is simple survival, I do not know and have no way of telling. He has brought me regular reports, and those of the other, lesser slaves have supported what he said. I am not God, and I do not read the hearts of those I employ. I am limited to assessing what they do and how well they do it, and in this case I believe that he is doing his best to accommodate me without compromising himself with Belisarius too badly."

"Serving the staff of the Court Censor does not compromise him," said Athanatadies with austerity, then added, "but I suppose he does not yet believe this. It is a complicated thing for a slave to understand. They are simple creatures, which is why God appointed them to their role in life." He hesitated, his face so blank that he might have been one of the ikons on the wall. "You know, Panaigios, a man in your position does well to show a little zeal."

Caught off-guard by this shift in conversation, Panaigios could not keep from asking, "A man in my position? Isn't it preferable that I be dedicated to the work I am given?"

"Yes, but a man of vision and zeal might find a way to take on the tasks at their widest setting. For example, a man like you with those connections into the house of Belisarius might be in a position, now that there is a tragedy about to occur there, to seize the advantage of such sorrow and unearth the truth of this conspiracy against the Emperor. A man who guards his tongue at other times, when mourning his wife might say things that otherwise he would not. A man who was present, or whose agents were present, might then have information of vast significance that would be welcomed not only by me, but by Justinian himself." He regarded Panaigios. "You have been searching for oracles: heed this one."

"I…" Panaigios did not grasp all that Athanatadies was telling him, but he had sense enough to address the question directly. "I… am to find evidence, by any means, that will at last implicate Belisarius in a conspiracy, and you suggest that I use the occasion of his wife's failing health and death as the means to secure it."

"That was not precisely what I said, but I would not stop you from interpreting my words in that way." He rose. "We are in grave danger, Panaigios. There are plotters all around us and all desire to see the Emperor cast down. He himself has said to me that he fears enemies in every corner and that he is more certain than ever that only his timely recalling of Belisarius prevented the General from acting against him."

"Yes; of course." Panaigios made himself be silent for he knew he was dangerously near babbling.

"All that is lacking is actual confirmation of these plots. Once they are in the Emperor's hands, he will be relieved for there will be necessary action required by the proofs. You do understand the problem, don't you?" He was walking away from Panaigios, his dalmatica almost dragging on the floor to hide the misshapen foot no one dared mention.

"Ah… I believe I do," Panaigios said cautiously. "You want some letter or other document that would disclose all the men involved, and their general aims."

"That would be useful," Athanatadies said. "As Antonina grows weaker, it is likely that Belisarius will be less careful, and a prudent slave might discover much. Find out for me how much longer we have to wait; remember."

"I will; I will." He was starting to sweat and his eyes stung. This was a morass, he feared, an abyss that he was sliding into that once in he would never escape. He recalled that all of Kimon Athanatadies' personal slaves were mutes and for the first time he felt the full impact of this. "I will send for Simones and get all the information I can out of him. I will send a report to you within two days. I will make certain that if there is any information at all about Antonina's health and the cause of her illness that I discover everything I can about it."

"You know, it is not impossible that a desperate man might attempt many desperate things, such as poisoning his own wife." This was said with an air of speculation and hopefulness that filled Panaigios with dread.

"No, Censor," he said firmly. "There are many things that Belisarius might do in his distress, but hurt his wife in any way is not one of them. You and I may think of Antonina as a difficult, demanding and manipulative woman, but Belisarius loves her to adoration, and he would rather run on his sword like a godless Roman than bring any harm to her. He is more anguished by her ailment than he is by his disgrace. There are many people who know this and you might persuade them that Zeus really brings rain more readily than convince them that Belisarius would have any part in hurting Antonina."

"It was a thought," said Athanatadies with a shrug. "Pity. It would have saved so much effort." He walked a little farther. "What about that Roman woman? The widow who's Belisarius' friend? What of her? Would she have a hand in this?"

"There is nothing to link Olivia Clemens with Antonina's poor health. In the last year, Antonina has spent very little time with Olivia, and if there is opportunity for the Roman woman to give her anything poison, I know nothing of it, and I doubt it would be possible to make it appear that this was the case. Olivia occasionally visits Belisarius and often inquires after Antonina, but the two women never developed any closeness and therefore the household would not be likely to support the notion that she would harm Antonina."

"Not even to have Belisarius for herself?" suggested Athanatadies.

"Captain Drosos is her lover. He has said that she has refused to marry him." He sighed, for he knew that Athanatadies did not like the answers he was providing.

"She was waiting for a better match," Athanatadies guessed.

"A disgraced General without soldiers, stripped of everything but rank and confined to the city?" Panaigios shook his head. "If she had been hankering for Belisarius, she had ample opportunity to pursue him in Roma, and all the officers say she did not. She has been enamored of Drosos from the first."

"But Drosos is in Alexandria now, isn't he? What if this is a subtle plot, one that requires a go-between, and this Olivia is the one who serves that purpose?" Athanatadies had folded his arms, although his wide, gold-embroidered pallium shoved his arms upward when he did.

"There are better go-betweens, and as far as the spies can tell, no one has been leaving messages with Olivia for

Belisarius or anyone else, not even Drosos." He leaned back. "It might be wiser to search for the culprits elsewhere."

"You would appear to be protecting these people," said Athanatadies sharply.

"No. But if you wish to bring others into the matter, it is essential—or so it seems to me—that they be plausible. There are others who would be more… acceptable conspirators than these. If Drosos were here, there might be a way, for he has often railed against what he claims is the unfairness of Belisarius' recall and restrictions. But he does not wish to go against the wishes of the Emperor or his General. If anyone was eager for a conspiracy, it was Antonina. And she… she—"

"Yes," said Athanatadies slowly. "Yes. I accept your reservations for the time being, but I must say that I still believe that there is proof of some sort, somewhere, of a conspiracy that will be acceptable and believable and will show that Justinian was not mistaken in his fears." He swung around and all but blocked Panaigios in his chair. "You know what is required."

"I do," Panaigios said tensely.

"Excellent. I expect to have your report in two days' time. Speak to that eunuch Simones and see what you can accomplish between you." He joined his hands prayerfully. "I repose great faith in you, Panaigios. Do not forget that."

Panaigios nodded, finding the burden almost too much to bear. "Censor."

Athanatadies stepped back. "You have much to do, haven't you? And it is time you were about your tasks." He waved his dismissal. "Pray for guidance, Panaigios," he recommended before he left his secretary.

As Panaigios made his way back to his chariot, he felt numb; the problems heaped upon him by Athanatadies seemed insurmountable, and he was left with the sinking conviction that if he failed to do as the Censor required he would meet a fate far more ghastly than the one Athana-tadies had planned for Belisarius. As he reached his chariot, he realized that he had never been given the refreshments the Censor had requested, and this only served to make his apprehension more acute.

As the Guards saluted him as he left, Panaigios felt he was fleeing the firely rivers of Hell.

Text of an official order from the Emperor Justinian to the garrison at Alexandria.

On the Feast of the Annunciation, the Emperor Justinian through the good offices of his Court Censor sends his greetings and commendations to the garrison at Alexandria, in particular to Captain Drosos who commands there and who is known to be devoted to us in all things.

In order that the work of Christ shall spread more quickly throughout the world, we have authorized the burning or similar destruction of all texts that are not of Christian origin and thought. In Konstantinoupolis there has been a most successful extirpation of the weeds of heresy that spring up from such writings because of the willingness of the people to aid in their own salvation. Hundreds of texts, perhaps thousands, have been cleansed in the flames, and surely the smoke that rises to Heaven from such pyres must be sweet indeed.

So far we have observed and approved the progress of these acts and have said that there is much merit for the soul in pious devotion of this sort. We are assured by those advanced in the Church that our course is in accord with the course of God.

Therefore we have decided to extend our mandate and to require that all those living within the Empire show a similar zeal to the Konstantinoupolitans who have eradicated apostasy from their midst. Now we wish the rest of the Empire to show that it is as devout and as worthy as any soul in Byzantion. To that end, we require that the institution known as the Library at Alexandria, by which we include the Mother and all Daughter Libraries with the exception of the one Daughter Library devoted to Christian writings, be burned in order to erase the taint of godlessness more completely from the world.

It is our wish that this be accomplished at Epiphany, to show the offering we bring to Christ in as pure a heart as the Company of Kings who waited upon Him in worldly submission.

With the concurrence of the Court Censor, the popes and metropolitans of the Church, we exhort all of you of the Alexandrian garrison to be firm in your purpose and to persevere in this most Christian undertaking.

By the hand of the Court Censor and at our order.

Justinian

Emperor of Byzantion

his sigil

7

Zejhil's hands were shaking as she heard the door open behind her. The vial she held slipped from her fingers and broke on the floor.

In the door Niklos Aulirios stood, his attitude uncertain, as he watched the slave struggle to hide her shock. "All right," he said after a moment. "What are you doing here?"

"I… I was sent to fetch perfume," she said lamely, and turned her large, Tartar eyes on him.

Niklos, who at first had not been very suspicious, now came into the room, closing the door behind him. "For whom?"

"My mistress…"As soon as she began, she knew she had made a mistake and she flushed.

"No, not your mistress, Zejhil. She keeps her perfumes with her in her sleeping chamber, and we both know it. You must be very nervous if you forgot that." He strolled over to her and looked down at her. "You're white."

"I'm startled," she said weakly.

"You're terrified," he corrected her, not as gently as he might have done under other circumstances. "Why is that?"

"No reason." She gave a jerk to her shoulders in an attempt to dismiss or minimize his question.

"I doubt that," Niklos said, and took her gently by the arm, turning her so that some of the light from the window reached her face. "You're up to something, and you don't like it."

"No!" She tried to pull away but found that the easy, firm grip was unbreakable.

"Yes." He could feel her tremble and he saw the sick terror at the back of her eyes. "Zejhil, tell me what you were doing in here and why."

She gave a cry and brought up her hands, palms out, as if to ward off blows. "I can't. I can't. Do not ask me!"

"Zejhil…"He let her name trail off. "Listen to me."

She had contrived to turn away from him, to wriggle as far as his hold would permit. "Let me go," she said sullenly.

"I can't do that," he said softly. "You were taking a vial of perfume from my mistress' chest. Perfume is valuable, and that might mean that you are a thief. Since Olivia has reposed trust in you, she must know of this, and at once." He saw a little of the dread fade from her face. "Or perhaps you weren't stealing at all; perhaps you were putting something in that was not here before." Until he spoke the words he had not considered this possibility, but as he said them, he became sure that was what he had seen.

As if to confirm this, Zejhil kicked up at his shin and let out a loud shriek.

"Something in," said Niklos as he quickly sidestepped her first attack and braced himself for the second. "You were told by someone to put something in the chest, weren't you? What was it and who told you?" He continued to hold her, though now he shifted his stance enough to keep her from being able to strike out at him with her fists.

"Let go!" she yelled and was turned suddenly so that her back was pressed hard against his chest and his forearm served in part to gag her.

"No, I will not," he said, still without anger. "You were supposed, to be watching the household for Olivia. She requested you do this, and we thought you were doing well. And now this."

"It's not… not—" The words were cut off again.

"You have a great deal to answer for," said Niklos, a stern note coming into his voice.

Whatever protests Zejhil wanted to register were lost against the force of his arm.

"I think we had better go carefully. If someone has suborned you, there's no saying how many of the other slaves are taking payment from outside." He moved her toward the closed door. "When I open this, if you scream, I will knock you out and carry you. Is that understood?"

Zejhil nodded wildly, trying to signal him with one of her confined hands.

"Very good," Niklos approved. "Now stand up straight and pretend that you're feeling weak, as if you were taken suddenly ill. I don't want any more gossip than necessary about this incident." He waited while she complied, and then he pulled the door open.

The hall was empty, but before they had gone more than a dozen steps, Niklos saw one of the cook's two scrubbing boys peering around the corner. A little farther on and he found the head groom sweeping the garden steps—a task that was not his—and just beyond him, one of the gardeners pretended to be busy trimming back the ornamental apple tree.

By the time Niklos got to Olivia's private apartments, he had counted no less than eight of the household, and this made him nervous in a way it would not have done six months before.

Olivia had been sorting dried herbs, but she abandoned this task as she saw Niklos come into the room, half-dragging Zejhil with him. Dressed in her old-fashioned palla and stolae, she seemed distinctly out of place in the room. "What on earth—"

"I'm afraid we're in for difficulties," Niklos said as he closed the door and latched it.

"Zejhil, what is going on?" Olivia asked, coming around the trestle table and wiping her hands on the mantele tied around her waist.

Zejhil said nothing, but as Niklos released her, she moved away from him, repugnance in her angular features. She rubbed at her wrists and glared down at the floor.

"Niklos?" Olivia addressed him with a hint of impatience. "I trust you plan to tell me what this is all about?"

Niklos did not answer at once. He leaned against the door and watched Zejhil, his expression detached and difficult to read. "I surprised her in the stillroom," he said at last. "She was putting a vial of… of something-or-another into your spice and perfume chest."

"What?" Olivia asked, clearly disbelieving. She turned to Zejhil. "Did you do that?"

For an answer, Zejhil spat and huddled against the wall, her back to Niklos. There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away angrily.

"Zejhil?" Olivia said. When she received no response, she looked to Niklos. "Tell me." Her confusion made her tone high and sharp.

"Wait." He opened the door suddenly and looked into the hall. After a little time, he closed the door softly and once more secured the latch. "I am afraid, my mistress, that we are being spied on."

Olivia gave a breathless burst of laughter. "Again?"

"This time, it appears that Zejhil has become part of it, and that changes matters." He cleared his throat. "I have tried to find out whose orders she is following, but she will say nothing."

"Nothing," repeated Olivia, her expression becoming uncertain. "How do you account for that?"

"Whoever has given her orders has impressed her," said Niklos, his eyes never leaving the Tartar slave on the other side of the room. "She is more afraid of this person than she is of you or me."

"That is unwise of her," said Olivia, and the edge in her voice caught Zejhil's attention as nothing else had, for Olivia spoke with gelid calm.

"I went to the stillroom," Niklos continued, "for the oils you wanted. I saw the door was not quite closed, which surprised me a little, but I thought one of the kitchen staff had been careless. When I went into the room, I saw Zejhil at the spice chest with something in her hands. She dropped it—I think her hands were shaking—as I came in. She has refused to explain what she was doing there or what she was putting into the chest." His ruddy eyes grew chilly. "That doesn't bode well."

Olivia nodded and touched Niklos on the arm. "I see." Her breath went out of her slowly. "I don't suppose you could take time to find the vial."

"No," Niklos said, adding, "I know I ought to have found it and brought it with me."

"Do you suppose there's any hope that it might still be there?" she asked.

"I can go look, if that's what you wish," said Niklos. "Do you want me to summon aid while I'm gone?"

"I can manage Zejhil," said Olivia, continuing to the slave directly, "I may be a woman and no longer young, but it would be a serious error in judgment to think that I am incapable of managing this situation." She made a sign to Niklos and he let himself out of the door. Olivia put the latch in place once more and leaned back, studying Zejhil.

The slave-woman looked around her, uncertain what to do. She had been prepared for confinement and chastisement, but this treatment was new to her and she had no defense against it. She moved into the nearest corner and braced herself there.

Olivia continued to watch her, her attentive attitude unchanging. Finally she spoke again. "When I asked you to watch the household on my behalf, you assured me that you would do so, not only for the considerations this brought you, but because you were truly convinced that it was wrong for those outside the house to spy on those within. It seemed at the time that you were sincere and honorable. I showed my appreciation in a number of ways, didn't I? You have funds being held to purchase your freedom, as would any Roman slave." She did not qualify that statement by saying that such rights had disappeared three hundred years ago. "I gave you my word that you would not be punished for reporting on the activities of the others and you have my promise of manumission within five years. What has persuaded you to act against these considerations?"

Zejhil shook her head, her jaw so firmly set that the muscles stood out in ridges in her face.

"You're terrified. What is the reason?" She waited, giving Zejhil every opportunity to speak, and when the silence had dragged out between them, she went on. "I give you my word you will be protected. You will not be harmed."

"You can offer no protection against them," Zejhil hissed through her clenched teeth. "You are nothing against them."

Olivia's lips lifted at the corner but no one could mistake this for a smile. "I am? Who are these formidable beings that I can do nothing?"

Zejhil retreated once again into silence.

"So you believe they are powerful enough to hear through walls," Olivia said gently. "And you believe that they will know anything you reveal and you will be punished for that." She saw Zejhil flinch. "I know; you've said nothing. This is only supposition, though your expression tells me that I am correct." She sighed. "Which means also that you are not the only one of my slaves to be pressed into the service of these nameless others. And that is very… inconvenient." She turned her head to the side. "You knew I was here, and that I would probably require things from the stillroom, yet you did this, which makes me wonder if you didn't wish to be apprehended."

"No. No, that's wrong," Zejhil cried out in protest.

"Is it?"

"No!" Her voice was higher and louder, rough with fear.

"Because," Olivia went on evenly, "you knew that it was necessary for you to have an acceptable reason not to continue your work for these others, whoever they are."

Zejhil was suddenly very still and her face betrayed nothing. She slid down the wall onto her knees, the horror of her predicament making her eyes almost chatoyant.

"So." Olivia came back toward her. "You would rather serve me than these others, but they appear more powerful to you, and so you dare not displease them." She studied the Tartar woman's face. "Eventually I will learn who these puissant beings are, so you might as well tell me now. It will be easier for both of us, and we will not have to say things to each other that we might later regret."

"I will say nothing." She stared down at the floor.

"You will, you know; in time." She looked up as Niklos came in the door, something in his hand. "You found it."

"Yes." His handsome face was grave.

"I gather that it isn't welcome, whatever it is."

"It smells of bitter almonds." He held out the broken vial to her. "Try it."

"I don't have to: I can smell it from here." Olivia's face was quite somber now, and she regarded Niklos intently. "Then something of mine was to be poisoned." Her expression hardened. "Zejhil, where were you supposed to put this?"

She shook her head repeatedly, violently.

"All right," said Olivia, attempting to calm her slave. "You are afraid of telling me even so little a thing as that. You were going to the chest with spices and fine oils, so it was for food." For an instant an ironic smile touched her lips, and then it was replaced by stern determination.

Niklos made sure the door was firmly latched. "I could force her to talk, Olivia, if you wish. You don't approve, but there are times—"

"There may be," she said, cutting him short, "but this is not one of them."

"She put poison into your spice chest," he reminded her with feeling.

"No; she tried to put poison into my spice chest, which is a different matter altogether." She put her hand on his arm. "Niklos, she's been treated badly. If we force her to speak, we will be as reprehensible as those who have forced her to act against us. And do not pretend that you disagree." She went and drew up a small bench. "What am I going to do with you, Zejhil?" she asked as she sat down beside the woman, leaving enough room on the bench if Zejhil wanted to use it.

"Sell me," she answered flatly.

"I'd rather not do that unless it's necessary," Olivia responded. "You've given me very good service, and until now you have protected my interests within my household. That means a great deal to me. I would not like to reward you with betrayal if I can avoid it; but if I am to avoid it, you will have to give me your aid, won't you?"

"I—" She looked at Niklos as if the bondsman might have a suggestion.

"I do need to know who is attempting to act against me, Zejhil. You must see that." She had no anger in her tone, and no hint of condemnation. "You are a good and sensible person, and you have loyalty. These are very worthwhile and I am pleased to have someone in my household with your virtues, but if you cannot tell me what I need to know, then something will have to be arranged, something neither of us would like." From her manner, it appeared that Olivia was discussing the arrangements of furniture in a room or the pattern of a garden's flowers instead of a threat against her life.

"I mustn't tell you anything. They will not spare you if I do, and they will do terrible things to me." She put her knuckles against her teeth.

"Terrible things. They must be desperate, these unknown men." She glanced quickly at Niklos.

"They are very powerful," Zejhil admitted reluctantly. "They insisted."

"And you are not in a position to resist them, are you?" Olivia straightened up. "And you are convinced that there is nothing I can do to prevent them taking action against you."

"You are a foreign woman," Zejhil said in a small voice.

"So are you," she pointed out. "Or is that what you mean? that I am as much at their mercy as a slave is?"

Niklos snorted. "More fools they."

"Hush, my friend," Olivia admonished him softly. "Zejhil, do you think that these men are trying to be rid of me?"

"One way or another," the slave admitted. "Oh, mistress, I didn't want to do anything to help them. I didn't. I told them that they would do better asking someone else, but they were persistent and they said that if I did not help them, then the officers of the Censor would come here and you would be found to have possessions that are forbidden, and then you would be deprived of your house and the things that you own—"

"But if I conveniently died, that would make it possible for the household to be without taint, or something of the sort," Olivia finished for her. "They are doing this for a reason, and not simply because I am Roman."

"They think that you are aiding Belisarius. They insisted that I tell them of every visit he has made here, and what transpired during his visit." Now that she was speaking the worst of the fear was gone from her eyes. "I told them that I would do everything they required, just so that they would not do… what they threatened to do."

"If they harmed my slave in any way whatever," Olivia said and there was steel in her words, "they would answer for it, in law and in other ways."

"It isn't so simple," Zejhil objected. "They knew I had been watching the staff for you, and they knew that I reported to you, and that meant that they had others telling them what I was doing."

"Yes, that much is obvious." Niklos had come nearer and was watching Zejhil with curiosity. "What makes you speak now? Are you hoping to balance favor against favor until you find the best price?"

"Niklos, for the love you bear me, stop it." Olivia's gaze rested on him and it appeared to calm him, for he fell silent, but without the ill-contained fury he had shown before. "Do you have any notion as to who among my slaves is working for the Censor? And it is the Censor, isn't it?" This last was addressed not to Niklos but to Zejhil.

"I never said that!" Zejhil shrieked.

"It had to be someone high in government and by the sound of it someone who dislikes and distrusts Belisarius. Either the Emperor himself—which is very unlikely—or one of his courtiers had to be responsible. The courtier who has been most consistent in his actions against Belisarius is the Censor, who has no reason to trust me or anything of mine." She nodded as if to remind herself of her thoughts. "I've wondered if we would have trouble because of him, but I never thought it would be so extreme."

"Olivia," said Niklos in a warning tone.

"I am safe saying these things," she told him. "Zejhil is not going to give me away. Are you?"

Zejhil was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall. She shook her head slowly. "I will have to tell them something."

"So you will." Olivia rubbed her face with her fingertips. "You will have to make them believe that you completed your task and that there is poison in the spice chest. That must be the start." She sighed. "And then, if you are willing, find out what they are trying to prove. I wish I knew what I had done to place myself in such jeopardy."

"It may be nothing more than your friendship for Belisarius," suggested Niklos.

"Possibly, but it may also be more." Olivia stared down at her linked hands. "And in any case, we must find a way to warn Belisarius about this. He knows of other actions, but he does not know how far the machinations extend." Once again she looked down at Zejhil. "What did they threaten to do to you?"

"I… I can't tell you." The Tartar slave was appalled.

"Of course you can." Olivia watched her. "Undoubtedly rape. But what else?"

Zejhil shook her head, mute again.

"For the names of your ancestors, girl!" Niklos burst out. "Tell your mistress. She can do nothing if you will not let her. Tell her!"

"Niklos, don't hector her." Olivia waited, then said in a soft voice, "If you are frightened, I don't blame you. Only a fool is not frightened by real danger. But you need not be paralyzed by your fear. You can act against it." She remained still a short time, then sighed once more and got up. "Very well."

"They said they would rape me with swords and cut out my vitals and leave me in the market for the curs to eat. They would make sure I was alive." She said it quickly, as if by getting the words out swiftly their impact would lessen.

"How charming," Olivia said bitterly.

"They would. They are that sort." Zejhil got to her feet. "I was supposed to put the poison in the sweet spices, so that you would get a little of it every day. That way poison would not be suspected until it was too late. Even if you had someone sample your food, it would not prevent your death."

To Zejhil's surprise, Olivia chuckled. "Then I will have to give them some reason to think the plot was discovered without compromising you." She shook her head. "Slow poison. In food. Magna Mater, I'm glad I've found out about this."

Niklos grinned briefly. "In the food."

Zejhil was baffled, but could not bring herself to speak.

Olivia answered for her. "You must understand, Zejhil, that I have… a rare condition that requires I… limit my diet severely. If the Censor expects me to succumb to poisoned spices, he would wait a very long time. So, perhaps, it might be best to make it appear that the poison was discovered, but not the poisoner. Let me think about it awhile."

"They will want some results," Niklos warned.

"And I suppose they will have some," said Olivia. "But this will take careful planning. I will have to think about what must be done, and then be certain that…" The words trailed off. "If Zejhil was given poison, who knows what the other slaves being used have been given or offered. Niklos, I want you to sleep outside my door at night."

"I will," he promised her.

"And Zejhil, I want you to listen more closely than ever to what you hear." She scowled. "Why do they want to be rid of me; it keeps coming back to that."

Zejhil stood with her head down. "I know I must be punished for what I did. I accept that. But do not punish me in front of the others."

"Punish you?" repeated Olivia, startled. "Oh, for the poison, do you mean? Yes, I imagine something ought to be done."

"I'll get the whips," Niklos said without emotion.

"Don't be silly," Olivia told him. "For punishment, I will insist that you replace Pentheus as the night keeper. I will expect you to patrol the house and the garden all through the night, and during the day, I want you to clean the reception rooms and the vestibule, starting with scrubbing the floors. Every day. Until I tell you otherwise. Is that clear?"

"It is a light punishment," said Zejhil.

"Say that when ten days have gone by and I might agree." She stared at the door. "You are to return to your quarters now and remain there. You will have no meal this evening." She waited while Zejhil made a deep reverence, then motioned to Niklos to let her out of the room.

When Zejhil was gone, Niklos said, "You did give her light punishment."

"Possibly. I am giving the agents of the Censor plenty of opportunity to approach her. If she cleans the vestibule, they can find her during the day, and if she is the night keeper, they can try after dark. And then, old friend, we can find out what it is they're really after." She paced the length of the room. "For some reason, they're becoming desperate."

"And you are becoming lax," Niklos countered.

"If we weren't strangers here, I might do this another way. But we are here on sufferance, and they are already seeking reasons to be rid of us. I would prefer to be free of suspicion, but if that isn't possible, then—"

"Then we move on?" Niklos said. "But where?"

"So you do understand my problem," said Olivia. "Yes; where do we go if not here? What do we do?"

Niklos came and put his hands on her shoulders. "This was supposed to be a haven."

"Yes," she said sadly. "It was, wasn't it?"

* * *

Text of a letter from the physician Mnenodatos to Belisarius.

To the great General Belisarius, Mnenodatos sends thankful greetings and prayers for his well-being and the recovery of his wife.

I confess that your offer of employment has come as a shock: most pleasant and welcome, but nonetheless a shock. I am at a loss to know how so distinguished a hero as you came to know of a physician of my station, but I bless the name of that person and I praise him for taking my interests so much to heart.

It would afford me the greatest satisfaction to attend your wife and to serve as your household physician. Such employment is the dream of any man practicing the healing arts, and I am no different from any of my associates and colleagues who also long for the time they can be sure of their futures.

From what little I have learned of your wife's condition, she will require fairly constant care. Those with such symptoms are never certain when they will once again be seized by the terrible cramping that you described and which I witnessed for myself yesterday. I certainly share your concern. To be candid, I am not sure there is much I can offer to relieve her of her suffering, but what I am able to do, you may be confident I will make every effort to do. In cases such as hers it is most important to alleviate the immediate suffering, but beyond that the cause must be determined and a course of treatment reached that will not in any way increase the symptoms of this or any other disease.

Let me urge you to encourage all your household to pray for the speedy and complete recovery of your beloved wife, for as you are aware, nothing can happen without the aid of God. Such supplications may succeed where no medicine can.

That is not to say that the case is hopeless and only the intervention of Heaven will save Antonina. This is far from the case; your wife's health is not good but she is not in danger of losing her life yet, and with prompt action and good attention, she may recover in good time and enjoy a long life free of pain and attendant distresses. Let me emphasize this to you: at this time I do not fear for her life. To be sure, if she continues as she is going now, then my view of the gravity of her case will change, and of course no illness that so prostrates a woman can be regarded lightly, but there is much room for hope and I want you to think of my treatment in this light.

It is a great honor to have so distinguished a patient, but I trust you will not be offended in any way if I say that it would please me far more if there was no cause for us to meet. The illness of Antonina is not an opportunity for advancement, as many might see it, but an occasion for the best and most devoted service not only to the benefit of the august lady herself, but the office of physician which was elevated by having the Apostle Loukas at the head of its numbers.

At your convenience I will take up temporary residence in your house in whatever quarters you see fit to assign to me. I confess I do not know your eunuch slave Simones, but if you say that his recommendation brought me to your attention, then I will seek him out eagerly to tender my gratitude for his kindness on my behalf.

In the meantime, I ask you take what consolation you can in the knowledge that I will dedicate all my skills to ending the travail your wife currently endures, and I will strive to restore her health so that she may once again live as so august a lady ought to live.

With my prayers and thanks, by my own hand,

Mnenodatos

physician

8

Night hung over Alexandria, oppressive in its remoteness. There was a lazy breeze off the Mare Internum, blowing toward the swath of the Nile.

Drosos stood in the window of his largest reception room staring out into the darkness. Although it was late, he was still in his short military dalmatica and formal, highly embossed lorica. Only his mussed dark hair gave any indication of the distress that consumed him: it was the Feast of the Circumcision and Epiphany was five days away.

"Captain?" Chrysanthos had come into the room a short while before and was still waiting for Drosos to address him.

"I know," Drosos said distantly, not leaving the window.

"The Guard is waiting." Chrysanthos kept his words level and without feeling but this served only to mask his deep concern for his superior. "You requested they accompany you."

Drosos nodded, his broad back rigid under his ceremonial armor.

"It is after midnight," Chrysanthos said as tactfully as he could.

"The nights are long," Drosos remarked inconsequentially.

"It is the dark of the year," Chrysanthos agreed, staring at the whitewashed walls, noting the smudges above the braziers.

"The Copts are fasting tonight and tomorrow. They do not feast until Epiphany." He said the last word as if it were gall.

"Yes; I know."

"They say it's heretical of them." He stopped talking, his eyes fixed on the large buildings that loomed out of the jumble of darknesses that was the city. "God," he whispered. "He does not know what he is asking."

Chrysanthos suddenly found it difficult to speak. "Drosos. If it is so unendurable—"

"I am Captain here," Drosos said in a still voice that silenced the other man. "I have been given a command by the Emperor. I am sworn to carry it out."

"There are others who will do it if you give the word," Chrysanthos told Drosos, wishing that he would turn and face him.

"Would you!" He asked it lightly but his hands closed into hard fists at his sides.

Chrysanthos hesitated. "No."

"You are the Emperor's officer, as I am." He looked up at the remote stars. "They say God watches the stars as He watches men, to the end of the world." Under the metal of his lorica his chest was aching.

"Your escort—" Chrysanthos reminded him.

"Yes." At last he turned away from the window and his face was blank with suffering. He crossed the room to Chrysanthos. "I am ready."

"They're in the courtyard. Four of them, armed." Chrysanthos looked closely at Drosos, seeing how much he had changed from the man he knew on campaign in Italy. "Are you all right, Captain?"

Drosos met Chrysanthos' eyes. "No."

"Is there—"

"No. Nothing." Drosos moved past him, walking directly and purposefully to the door. He stopped there, and said without looking at Chrysanthos, "If you want to leave, I understand."

"Thank you," Chrysanthos said, longing to take advantage of the offer. "I will remain here for the time being."

"Um." Drosos nodded, unable to express the painful gratitude he felt at his subordinate's loyalty. "When I return… share a skin of wine with me."

"If you like," Chrysanthos said carefully, thinking that he had never needed to guard his tongue as much as he did now.

"I'll need a drink by then," Drosos said, and left the room. As he descended the stairs to the ground floor, he tried to calm his thoughts. He was the Emperor's officer and he had orders to carry out and there was nothing more to be said. He walked more quickly as he approached the escort waiting in the courtyard. "Let's get this over with," he told them as he strode to the door, letting them scramble to keep up with him.

The streets were almost empty and those few, furtive men who saw the soldiers hurried away from them, wanting nothing to do with anyone from the Byzantine garrison. Neither Drosos nor his Guard paid any attention to the others, going quickly to the enormous buildings Drosos had watched from his window.

Two Greek scholars waited for Drosos at the gates to the Library, and they admitted him with deference.

"You are most welcome," the younger said to Drosos.

"Am I?" Drosos asked, his words brittle and light. "Well, I will strive to remember that."

The older scholar regarded Drosos with curiosity and puzzlement. "Captain?"

"Pay no mind to what I say," Drosos told them. "It's late and I want to get this settled as soon as possible. I must send a full report to the Censor before we… before we start the fires."

"May God aid our endeavors," said the younger, pious ardor in his face. "This has been a long time coming. If the vision of the Emperor is to be fulfilled, we must see that temptation is expunged from the world so that we may better serve the cause of Heaven."

"Yes. Of course." Drosos motioned to his four Guards to remain at the gates. "Show me…"He was not able to finish his request.

Neither scholar appeared to notice this. "Yes, there is much to see," said the older. "If you will follow us, I will be pleased to explain this place to you."

"If you would," Drosos said, trying to be polite. He let the two scholars lead the way into the largest of the four buildings that surrounded the vast central courtyard.

"This," said the younger as they approached the largest building, "is called the Mother. It is the oldest of the libraries and was built in the time before the birth of the Christ. It has two warehouses where materials not yet catalogued are stored. We have already determined that what is in them is not Christian, and so we need have no reluctance about burning them along with the Library itself." He stepped aside so that Drosos could enter ahead of them.

"On the main floor are works of philosophy from several lands. I understand that some are from lands far to the east and that there are records about the peoples in the heart of Africa." The older scholar rubbed his hands together. "These works would lead the unwary soul to great error."

"Indeed?" said Drosos. "I am only a soldier, and I do not understand how that information might hurt the faith of one who read these works."

The younger scholar shook his head. The uneven light from the braziers made his shadow dance on the walls, huge and misshapen. "The Emperor has determined that those who pursue studies of material that is not Christian often are seduced into following areas of learning that imperil the soul. You think, as most soldiers must, I suppose, that you might have strategic reasons to want to know about… the peoples of Africa, for example. Surely you would seek out such intelligence if you were expected to campaign there."

"That had crossed my mind," said Drosos, relieved that the scholar had provided him an excuse for his reluctance. "It would make the campaign more effective if we knew what we were getting into. The same might be said of many other areas of learning, because a soldier never knows what information might give him the advantage in battle."

The older scholar chuckled. "You soldiers are such pragmatists. But I suppose you need to be."

The younger scholar was not as amused. "And for a simple military campaign you would imperil your soul. What are scouts for, if not to obtain the information you require? And they do not lead you into doubt and error as much of these records might. Think what would become of you if you or your men should be captivated by the terrible gods of the barbarians around us. You assume that this cannot happen, but we know that it can." He was leading the way down the hall. "There are texts here on plants and animals found through the world."

"Where is the harm in studying that?" Drosos wondered aloud.

"You are not aware of the subtle ways in which these texts turn the mind from the adoration of God and the veneration of his Saints," said the older scholar. "The

Emperor is aware of this, and we must praise him for his wisdom in sparing others from the dangers that are present here."

They had entered a cavernous room that was lit by braziers. Huge pigeon-hole shelves lined the walls and stood in serried ranks down the length of the chamber. Drosos stared at the mass of rolled and fan-folded scrolls that were stored around him and the breath nearly stopped in his throat.

"You see we have an enormous task ahead of us," remarked the older scholar. "Luckily there are excellent records for this room and we can identify every work here."

"So many," Drosos said dreamily.

"Yes. The oldest scroll here is a treatise on shipbuilding from Samos. From what we have determined, it was written at the time of Perikles." The older scholar pursed his lips. "They worshipped idols, those old Greeks."

"Perikles," murmured Drosos. "Can you tell me which one it is?"

The younger scholar frowned his disapproval. "It is not important that you know that."

"I was… merely curious," said Drosos. "I have never seen anything but a bronze vase from the time of Perikles." He took a deep breath but still had the sensation of having insufficient air in his lungs.

The two scholars led him through the room. "There is a smaller chamber beyond this," said the younger. "It is devoted to works on botany, for the most part. It is a pity that the authors were such dreadful pagans, attributing the properties and virtues of the plants to the activities of deities and supernatural beings instead of to the Will of God."

"You can see, Captain, that the Emperor has considered this most carefully." The older scholar indicated a narrow, steep stairway. "There are medicinal texts on the floor immediately above us, and material on jewels, metals and rare earths on the floor above that. Some of those writings come from far away and their heretical content is more obvious than in works written in the Empire."

"Medicinal texts and metals. These things can be of great value to soldiers," Drosos said trying to speak in a disinterested way.

"We can show them to you, if you require it, Captain," offered the older scholar.

"That won't be necessary." He had not intended to be harsh with these two, but the words were out before he could stop them.

"No; soldier's pragmatism," said the older scholar to the younger. "You see he is a man of good sense. He leaves these matters to those equipped to deal with them, as a good officer of the Emperor ought."

The words stung Drosos like a lash; he closed his eyes so that he would not have to look at the two men accompanying him, or at the doors into rooms filled with books. "Are the others like this?" The question was out before he could phrase it properly; he mastered himself sufficiently to give the older scholar a cool stare.

"Very similar. The Daughter Library of Christian writing is on the far side of the courtyard, if you need to inspect it." The older scholar had become slightly servile and Drosos wondered if the man felt as oppressed as he did.

Before Drosos could speak, the younger scholar said, "You will have to take every precaution to be sure that the Christian Daughter escapes the flames. If any harm should come to those sacred writings, the loss to the world would be incalculable."

Drosos did not trust himself to speak. He motioned to the two men to take him out of the building. "What do the other Daughter Libraries contain?"

"Oh, works of history and literature. A few are interesting to Christian scholars, but the Emperor has rightly pointed out that the only history any Christian needs is the history of the world since His coming. The Testaments are literature enough and philosophy enough for the soul of any man, and the writing of good Christian scholars have more merit and worth than all the pagan writings of the world. What man desires to know things that will condemn his soul to eternal torment?" The younger scholar indicated the long rows of shelving. "Think of the improvement in the world if one tenth of this mass were devoted to determining the true nature of Christ. This would be a shrine as sacred as Hagia Sophia."

"But might not there be…" Drosos began, then let his thought remain unfinished.

"You forget that few men have the wisdom to know the difference between information and knowledge, and they often confuse one with the other," said the older scholar. "A great pope or metropolitan might read some of these works without danger, but there are many others who assume they would not be led astray who would be at the greatest risk."

"Including pragmatic soldiers," said Drosos, his neck and shoulder aching now, and his heart.

"Most certainly," said the older scholar, his attitude almost comradely. "It is a sign of your virtue that you recognize this."

"Is it?" Drosos asked, feeling more desolate than he ever had in the aftermath of battle. As they left the building, he looked back at it.

"It will take care to burn it safely," the younger scholar warned him. "It is just as well that the burning is being left to you and your soldiers or it might be disastrous."

"Yes; disastrous." The lorica Drosos wore felt as if it had shrunk, compressing his chest in its brass embrace.

"We will see that you are given every assistance," the younger scholar promised him. "You and your men have only to tell us what we must do and we will perform your orders to the best of our abilities."

"How many are you? scholars who are willing to assist in the burning," asked Drosos.

"Some have refused, which is to be expected. We have kept a list of their names to pass on to the Court Censor and the Emperor for whatever action they believe is appropriate." The younger scholar cleared his throat.

"There are forty-eight of us; there are several hundred scholars here, but most of the Coptic scholars have refused to help on the grounds that this is an Alexandrian monument and they are not willing to diminish it, even at the hazard of their souls. Since they are heretics in any case, we have taken no notice of them."

"Will they resist us, do you think?" Drosos asked, hoping that he might find an excuse for disobeying the Emperor's orders in opposition from the Copts.

"They have said they will not," the younger scholar said with pride. "They have admitted that their allegiance to the Library is as much vanity as dedication and they are willing to stand aside if we agree to keep the Christian Daughter intact."

"We have spent over a month attempting to persuade them to join us, but they are not willing," said the older scholar as he led the way across the courtyard to the second-largest building. "All the documents in this Daughter are in foreign tongues—nothing in the walls is in Latin or Greek."

Drosos stared up at the stone front of the Foreign Daughter and he had to bite his lower lip hard to keep from weeping. "How many manuscripts are stored here?"

"They say there are over twenty thousand, but I assume that is a boast," said the older scholar. "Perhaps twelve thousand at the most, or so I believe. This Daughter has one small warehouse, but it is two streets away, and you will have to arrange for that to be burned at another time. It is too dangerous to try to control two fires at the same time, or so your officer explained it to me yesterday."

"Two fires—yes, two fires are much too dangerous," said Drosos, hardly hearing the words.

The younger scholar indicated the Third Daughter. "This Library has two large warehouses directly behind it, but they front on the leatherworkers' market, and so it will be tricky to keep the burning from spreading."

"My men will see to it," Drosos declared, wishing fervently he did not have to listen to any of this. "I will send a contingent of Guardsmen to you tomorrow after-noon and you can show them everything that will have to be protected." He gazed around the courtyard, thinking for a wild moment that there might be a way to protect all of it, or perhaps a few of the warehouses. Surely the loss of one building would be enough to satisfy the Censor. He imagined all the arguments he might put forth, and abandoned the notion at once. His orders were specific and if he failed to carry them out, he would be disgraced.

"Captain?" the older scholar ventured.

"I'm sorry," said Drosos, coming back to himself. "I was attempting to assess the—"

"—the magnitude of the task," the younger scholar supplied enthusiastically. "Yes, it must be a challenge to find the most effective means to burn such large buildings."

"A challenge," Drosos echoed as if he did not comprehend the word.

By the time Drosos left, the moon was down and the streets were wholly deserted. He set a brisk pace for his Guard and would not speak to them as they made their way back to the small palace where the Byzantine garrison was housed. Once there, he dismissed the soldiers and went back to his reception room, black despair in his heart.

"Captain." Chrysanthos shook his head and got unsteadily to his feet, a yawn concealed behind his hand.

"Chrysanthos," Drosos exclaimed angrily. "What are you doing here?"

"You wanted me to stay," Chrysanthos reminded him sleepily.

"And I wakened you." His face showed no emotion.

"I was drowsing," Chrysanthos admitted. "But I'm awake now."

Drosos had gone to the window, drawn by the dark mass of the Library. He stood as if transfixed by the sight, though it. was now impossible to make out anything more than an irregular shape where he knew the buildings to be. "Only one will be left when we're through," he said after a little time.

Chrysanthos heard the pain in Drosos' words and had no anodyne to offer. "At least there will be one."

"They'll probably be rid of that, one day," Drosos said unhappily. "It's like that, once the burning starts."

"Captain." He was not sure Drosos had heard him, but he went on doggedly. "Captain, you asked for wine. I brought two skins with me. They're right here."

Drosos turned heavily. "Wineskins." He laughed harshly. "Why not?"

"And I have two cups," Chrysanthos said, taking them from a narrow shelf by the door. "Choose the one you wish."

"Oh, I leave that to you," Drosos said, coming away from the window at last. "Just so long as you keep it full. I want to be drunk as a barbarian whore." He threw himself down into his chair and looked at Chrysanthos expectantly.

"On good Cypriot wine?" Chrysanthos pretended to be scandalized at the suggestion.

"On any wine," Drosos said with determination. "God, God, God, I want to forget tonight." He sighed suddenly and deeply.

"Drosos—"

"Pour the wine," he ordered. "When we've drained a cup or two, I might say something. But then it will only be maundering, and it won't matter; you'll be drunk, too, and you won't care what I say." He braced his arm on the table at his side. "Hurry up there, Chrysanthos."

As Chrysanthos poured out the first generous measures of wine, he said, "Did you take that Egyptian slave to bed with you at last?"

Drosos stopped in the act of loosening the buckles that held his lorica and said, "I decided against it. She's tempting enough but… I never trust a slave in bed. Who knows why they're there?"

Chrysanthos held out the larger of the two cups to Drosos and lifted the other. "Well, here's to forgetfulness."

"Amen," said Drosos as he took the cup. He drank greedily, a little thread of wine sliding down his chin from the corner of his mouth. He wiped this away on his cuff. "No, I changed my mind about the Egyptian girl."

"You miss your Roman widow," Chrysanthos said, making the suggestion a teasing one; in Drosos' mercurial mood he did not know how he would react to such a remark.

"Yes," he said after taking a second draught. "That is just what I need," he told Chrysanthos.

"The wine or the widow?"

"Either. Both." He picked up the cup a third time but did not drink at once. "She would understand."

"Then it's a pity she's not here," said Chrysanthos, feeling his way with his Captain.

"Yes, a great pity." He drank and held out his cup for more.

They sat together until the sun came up; gradually their words became slurred and indistinct and their thoughts no longer held together. But though Drosos drank with single-minded determination, the anguish remained at the back of his eyes and nothing he could do or say touched it.

* * *

Text of a letter from Captain Ghornan to Pope Sylvestros.

To Pope Sylvestros, currently in Puteoli, Captain Ghornan sends greetings and thanks for his perseverance.

The tables and chests you found for me when we last dealt together have brought a higher price than we expected, and I have paid the monies to your wife's family, as you requested. You will find that they are more pleased with your absence now than they were a year ago.

However, I must warn you that the Emperor has ordered that more inspections for contraband be carried out on ships landing in Byzantion, and therefore I am considering marketing our goods elsewhere. There is a good market in Nicopolis which is not as profitable as that of Konstantinoupolis, but has the advantage that there are very few questions to answer and no soldiers to seize questionable items. It might mean that we do not realize as much gold, but we will have our hands and our ears which means much to me.

You mentioned that you found a villa near Vivarium that has eight fine chairs inlaid with ivory. That would be a treasure, but something that distinctive might be too risky for us just now. We've had some cargo identified as smuggled, and we had better save those until later. If you still have space in that warehouse in Ostia, it might be worth taking the chairs there and storing them for a while until a suitable market may be found for them. The same is probably true of those statues you mentioned, although shipping them is difficult. As to your suggestion that we take the last of the couches from that villa near Roma, I would recommend that you stay away from there for the time being since I have learned that the owner was able to identify some of the pieces when we offered them for sale in Konstantinoupo-lis.

It might be wisest if you were to return to your church in Konstantinoupolis for a short while. Your continued absence might create more questions than you or I wish to answer, and I for one do not want to come under suspicion, for then we will all have to be circumspect in a way that has not been necessary before. When you return, you need only claim that the battles in Italy were too costly for you to be able to continue your ministry without great risk. It might be fashionable to court martyrdom, but your metropolitan will endorse your prudence if you are not foolish about it.

The jewels you discovered in the villa near the Via Valeria are more promising than some of the other discoveries you have made, for they are small and it is not likely that the owners survived the onslaught of Totila's men. You can put the jewels into large barrels and fill the rest with grain or some other anonymous substance and the chances are excellent that it will go undetected through the inspections that are being imposed upon us all. You can indicate that you are bringing grain or something similar to your family or the poor who come to your church and it is certain that you will be unscathed.

Let me also remind you that once you are back with your wife and your church that it will be necessary for you to have a consistent tale to tell them all. You can prepare that in advance, but once you have decided on it, you must memorize it and hold to it, or there are those who will be prepared to leave your name with the officers of the Censor and then you would be in a very bad position. As harsh as the magistrates are being with sailors accused of smuggling, they are more severe with popes who take advantage of their cloth and calling to turn the service of their faith to profit. In your case, they might want to make an example of you. Guard yourself well, you Orthodox heretic.

As soon as it is safe, we will deal together again, but not, I think, in Konstantinoupolis. If you think of a market we might exploit, let me know of it.

This by my own hand and with the recommendation that you not keep it in your possession for more than a day or two since it would go hard for us both if it were discovered,

Ghornan

9

When Eugenia came into the vestibule of her house she was startled to discover Simones waiting for her. "Is… has something happened to your mistress?" she asked, unable to account for his presence and wanting her majordomo to hear whatever it was that the eunuch had come to tell her.

"She is doing much the same," said Simones as he made a reverence to Eugenia.

"The General then? Has there been a change in his condition?" She felt puzzled and worried and when she spoke again, her words came faster than before. "You are disturbing me, Simones."

"Perhaps you might spare me a little time, great lady." He sounded so self-deprecating that Eugenia nearly called him insolent.

"I have other tasks," she said, starting to move away.

"It is important, or I would not have come." He looked at her directly, without any apology. "There are some questions that I hope you will answer for me."

"What questions are those?" Her voice was sharp.

"They are only for your welfare, great lady. You need not fear my motives." He glanced at her majordomo. "If you were to grant me a little time and privacy… ?"

"Oh, if you're determined," she said, her mouth turning down with irritation. "The smaller reception room is this way." She indicated the way as she said to her majordomo, "Isa, leave us alone until I send for you.

There is more than enough work for you and the others. Tend to that while I discover why this slave has come."

"As you speak it is done, great lady," said Isa, making his reverence and withdrawing quickly.

"Very well; tell me." Eugenia was following Simones down the hallway, her patience already wearing thin.

"That is my intention," said Simones as he entered the smaller reception room and closed the door behind Eugenia so that they were alone. "You have not called at the house of my master of late."

"Your mistress is ill," said Eugenia bluntly.

"My mistress is no longer influential," Simones corrected her. "If she had kept her position, you would not have let her illness keep you away."

"Of all the brazen—" Eugenia began indignantly.

"Great lady, if you insist on these performances we will accomplish little." Simones had folded his arms over his wide, muscular chest and he waited while she turned startled eyes on him and fell silent. "You have not come to see Antonina, and she finds this troubling."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but she understands my predicament. She would tell you that herself." Eugenia smiled beguilingly. "If that is what you were sent to tell me, I'm sorry to tell you that Antonina and I have—"

Simones moved a few steps closer to Eugenia. "I think it would be very wise of you to resume your visits."

Eugenia laughed in disbelief. "You think that, do you? You? A slave?"

"Yes. It would be sensible for you to write Antonina a letter, telling her that you have heard that she is not well and that you wish to spend some time with her in spite of the risk you run in terms of making the match you wish to have."

"You are not to speak to me that way!" Eugenia ordered him.

"I will speak to you as I wish," said Simones with contemptuous calm. "And you will listen to me and thank me for what I tell you."

"What nonsense are you—" Eugenia was angry and she spat out the words quickly, her face ugly.

"And you will be rewarded for what you do." He was unperturbed by her outburst.

"By you?" she scoffed.

"By the officers of the Court Censor," said Simones, and waited while Eugenia considered his statement.

Eugenia started toward the door and then stopped. "The Court Censor?"

"Yes."

"What would a slave like you be doing to aid the Court Censor?" She had intended this to be sarcastic, but instead the tone was speculative. Her soft vixen's face grew crafty, almost predatory.

"Think of who I am, great lady, not what I am." He gave her time again. "There are many who want to know what transpires in the house of Belisarius, and there is no direct way they can find out. A man in my position knows many things and the officers of the Censor know this."

"But a slave—" she said with less certainty.

"Who better? You do not think that the Censor finds his servants only among those who are free. I might not be able to testify before magistrates, but what I learn can make investigations possible, and there are others to swear to the accuracy of what I say." He came closer to her, standing less than an arm's length from her. This was a serious breach of correct behavior and was reason enough for Eugenia to have him whipped. "Listen to me, great lady. You and I, working together, can do much. And we will be rewarded."

"If you think I would conspire with a slave, Simones," she warned him, her breath coming faster, "then you have a poor opinion of my character."

Simones laughed outright. "Be as indignant as you want; you will aid me or I will see that the shadow that falls over Antonina falls over you as well."

"You're threatening me?" Her head came up and her gentleness disappeared.

"No, great lady. A slave would never threaten one such as you. I am telling you what will happen, keeping you informed as an honorable slave ought to do." He made a malicious reverence to her. "Do not suppose that I won't, or that I will not be believed."

"You're ridiculous. If this weren't so absurd, I would have you thrashed for offending me." She moved away from him, pulling the folds of her paenula more closely about her.

"Go ahead, if you are willing to throw my assistance away," he offered her with mock generosity. "But you might reconsider, great lady. Who else is there who can aid you now? You are a widow and your means are limited. You have only your sponsor, and he cares little for what happens to you as long as your husband's estate is protected. You have no lover just now—ever since you dismissed Chrysanthos you have not had a lover for more than a few days. Your means are straitened and your prospects are not good." He revealed these unpleasant truths in a conversational way, strolling toward her as he spoke. "You could make good use of the Censor's gratitude. There would be money, undoubtedly. There would also be introductions and endorsements. You do not need me to tell you the advantages that would bring you. You are not going to be lovely forever, and you should keep that in mind when you deal with me."

Eugenia had turned slightly pale at Simones' recitation, but she rallied. "You talk as if I were about to become a pauper and a hag at once."

"Not at once," he said, speaking with great care. "But suppose you were implicated in the conspiracy that my master is suspected of leading? What then? Do you think you could find anyone but an ambitious merchant to marry you? And do you think your sponsor would continue to pay for your support if he thought you had dishonored your husband's memory?" He let his hand trail down Eugenia's arm. "What would you do then, great lady?"

"There is no conspiracy," Eugenia said, pulling away from his touch.

"If the Censor and the Emperor say there is a conspiracy, then, great lady, there is one." He reached out for her again.

"Don't," she snapped.

He sank his fingers into her upper arm. "You can earn the good opinion of the Emperor or you can lose all favor. It is up to you."

"And presumably to you," she added. "Let go of me."

"All in good time, great lady," said Simones, and he smiled at her. "They did not make a girl of me, Eugenia. There is still enough man left of me that you and I could both derive benefit from it." He held her firmly as she tried to rake his face with her nails. "That is foolish."

"Release me!" She struggled in his grip.

"Not just yet, Eugenia." His hands tightened painfully. "You will have bruises if you persist. Stand still and listen to me."

She tried to kick him, but in the long, trailing folds of her garments the impact made little impression. "You cur! You offal!"

"Eugenia," he said as he dragged her close against him. "You will be my ally or you will be nothing."

Whatever additional insults she had been about to speak were silenced. She closed her eyes. "You are humiliating me."

"Good," said Simones. "That is a start." He bent his head and kissed her. "You can do it better than that."

"Please," she begged.

"You will be my ally," he repeated. "You will do what I require of you when I require it, and in the end you will be rewarded. Think of it, Eugenia. You will have a comparatively short time of this—perhaps a year at most—and then you will be free to find yourself another husband, and to enjoy the favor and approval of the Emperor. You will not need a friend like Antonina used to be to obtain introductions and other favor." This time he kissed her with calculated fervor; he opened her mouth with his tongue and he pressed her against him. Only when he felt her respond did he stop.

"You disgust me," Eugenia said.

"You'll get over it," he informed her. "Wait and see; you may even come to like me." He slid his hand down her arm and grasped her hand, drawing it between them. "There; is that enough for you?"

She tried to pull her hand away. "You're very large."

"When they docked me, they left the best part." His expression was smug. "There are great ladies who prefer eunuchs like me. We are the safest lovers. You will never get a child off of me, and I will outlast any whole man, who eventually spurts and withers." He smiled. "Do not try to hurt me, Eugenia. If you do, I will hurt you."

Her eyes were bright with fear and another unnamed and unadmitted emotion. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I need your help. And I have wanted you a long time." At last he let her go. "You had better consider everything I have said. Everything."

"But… what…" She rubbed her arms where his hands had been.

"Think of the advantages I offer you. Or do you think that a mere eunuch slave cannot do the things I have said?" His face darkened. "Well?"

"You are being unkind to me, Simones." She said this wistfully, a little of her languishing sensuality coming back into her manner.

"I will be worse than unkind if you refuse to work with me. I will make you regret your refusal more than you can imagine."

"Threats are not very lover-like," she said, her smile more a rictus of fear than the tantalization she intended. "If you want my aid, you might ask for it differently."

"I do not want it; I need it." He looked down at her. "You are hoping you will enthrall me as you have other men, but I am not like them. I am a slave, and I do not find captivity enjoyable. Such things are only attractive to those who are free to walk away from them."

Eugenia looked away from him. "And you will make a slave of me."

"If you care to think of it that way," he agreed. He approached her. When she flinched, he deliberately took her face in his hands. "It will not go well if you show me your repugnance so plainly, Eugenia. Take a lesson from me and learn to appear complacent." He bent and kissed her again, this time harshly, so that she felt his teeth against her lower lip.

This time she broke away from him and chose the narrowest chair in the room to sit on. "You expect me to betray my friend. You want me to be a spy. And you want me to be your whore."

"Yes," he said baldly.

"And if I do not cooperate, you will do everything you can to destroy me." She said this very calmly, but she could not look at him as she spoke.

"Yes."

"So you are saying that it is you or the gutter." She flung the words at him, daring him to contradict her.

"Yes; that is precisely what I am saying." He came and stood directly in front of her so that she was blocked in the chair and could not escape. "You will do what I ask when I ask it and you will not question me. You will comply with my instructions, no matter what they are, and you will do so without complaint. Do you understand?"

"You're gloating." She held her paenula closed.

Simones bent down so that his face almost touched hers. "It does not matter if I am. It is my right, if I wish to exercise it."

She swallowed hard, and when she spoke, her voice trembled. "Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?"

"What?" He laughed as he reached out and pulled her from the chair, pinning her against him with his arms and holding her. "You will have to show me a little more emotion, Eugenia. You must make me believe you are pleased that I have taken notice of you, or I might be tempted to forget our arrangement and see you made a beggar."

"Simones, please." She was weak with dread.

"And to show you how much faith I put in you, I will tell you something that will shock you. Antonina is dying of poison." He saw her shock. "You will say nothing to her or to anyone about it. If you do, you know what fate awaits you. I will say that I said I feared she was dying of poison, and that will be sufficient. You cannot testify and neither can I, so nothing we have to say will reach the magistrates."

"Why do you tell me this?" she whispered.

"To let you know that I can and will do all that I say," he said with such calm ruthlessness that Eugenia shuddered.

"Are you poisoning her?" She knew the answer but was filled with a hideous fascination. In a remote part of her mind she wondered if this were a dream, a convincing nightmare that would leave her melancholy and exhausted.

"Indirectly," he said.

"Christos have mercy," she murmured.

"Better to appeal to Him than to me," Simones said, releasing her just enough to have one hand free to fondle her breasts through her garments. "Where are your private chambers?"

"I—"

"Where are they?" His hand tightened.

She cringed. "Must it be today? Won't you let me prepare?"

"You are prepared enough. If you succeed in sending me away now, the next time you will think you can do it again, and it will be more difficult for both of us; I would probably have to beat you into submission—and do not doubt that I would—and that is not a good way to begin. Tell me where your private quarters are."

She had not realized how large a man Simones was, nor how strong. Her throat was tight and dry and she felt as if she might be getting a fever. "It is… along the hall on the left. There are two doors with golden latches. The second is the room you want."

"How plaintive you sound," he jeered as he lifted her into his arms.

"My slaves—" she began, shamed at the thought of gossip.

"I will say you are faint if anyone has the audacity to ask." Holding her easily he strode to the door, deftly working the latch open before striding into the hall.

"What if I scream?" she asked, desperation making her reckless.

"I will make you sorry you did. I will begin by throttling you until you faint. After that, I will be certain you tender me a profound apology. Slaves know about such things, great lady. I give you my word it would be a lesson you would not forget." He was moving quickly but without apparent haste.

"Why do you want to do this? Why do you degrade me this way?" She felt tears well in her eyes and she hated herself for the weakness she revealed.

"What is degradation to a slave? We are born to it, and it is our fate to die as we were born. God has mandated that we have this station in life without recourse. You say we are born degraded." He was almost at the door of her private chambers. "Have you ever considered your slaves?"

"I give them the best care I can, but I am not wealthy. I see that they are housed and fed and treated well when they give good service." She lifted her chin but was appalled at the whine she heard in her protestations.

"How good of you," he said angrily as he threw the door open. "You think you are doing well because you don't abuse your slaves."

"My pope has said that a good Christian does not mistreat slaves, for they have their purpose appointed by God just as we have ours." She repeated this in a small voice, sounding almost like a child.

"And you listen and obey." He lowered her onto the bed. "You know nothing about obedience. Not yet. You will learn, Eugenia, and you will thank me for it, for it will buy you more freedom than it will buy me."

"No—" she whispered, trying to hold on to her garments as Simones kicked the door closed.

"Another time you will do this on request," he said coldly. "This time, you require a demonstration." He took the neck of her paenula and dalmatica in his hands and with a sudden wrenching pulled both garments apart.

Eugenia shrieked, aghast at what was being done to her and at the power Simones used, for the silk and wool were not easy to tear.

"Don't resist me, Eugenia; it will be worse for you if you do." He held her with the ends of her garments, staring down at her. Then, abruptly, he tugged one end of the clothing and almost wrenched it away from her.

"No!" She tried to bring her hands to cover herself, but they were still trapped in the sleeves of her dalmatica. She squirmed and pulled, but she was quite effectively trapped.

"Very pretty," Simones approved.

"Take me if you have to, but not this," she pleaded.

"A few lunges and it's over?" he suggested sarcastically. "You forget how it is with eunuchs like me. A few lunges will accomplish very little. We take a long time to be satisfied. I will see you spitted and I will hear you scream before I am finished with you."

She struggled but to no avail.

Still holding the wreckage of her garments, Simones sat beside her, staring at her critically. "I am going to determine if you please me."

"Simones—"

"You," he went on conversationally, "will say nothing. You will do as I tell you silently." He weighed her breast in his hand as if he were selecting a cut of lamb. "Firm enough." He pinched the nipple twice. "A trifle small, but probably adequate."

"This is intolerable!" she screamed softly.

Simones struck her casually, his hand open. "I said you would be silent. If you disobey again, I will have to find some way to correct you with force."

"Don't." She was still with fright as soon as the word was out.

"That's better," he approved, and loosened the belt he wore in place of a pallium. "If you struggle, I will be rough with you. I hope that won't be necessary." He tugged his dalmatica up around his waist and moved over her.

"Not yet," she implored, her body feeling leaden and cold.

"Open your legs for me."

Shuddering, she complied.

It went on forever, his body pressing hers, his intrusion seeming to be endless. Once it crossed her mind that if she had wanted this man, if he had been a chosen lover, she would feel bliss now, for his incredible endurance would bring her more satisfaction than she had ever experienced. But it was Simones who mounted her, who pillaged her. Every thrust was like a blow and their joining like a beating.

"Eventually you will give in," he told her in deep pants. "You will not resist me."

"No."

"Yes," he insisted.

Eventually she shrieked, but it was not from fulfillment or culmination; she shrieked her outrage.

* * *

Text of a letter from Drosos to Olivia.

To my dearest, cherished Olivia, Drosos sends his greeting and love on the occasion of Passion Sunday, in the Lord's Year 549.

My friend Chrysanthos will bring this to you. Destroy it when you have done reading it, and tell no one what I have said, or you will expose us both to great dangers and I have brought enough grief into the world without adding to it. I would not burden you this way, but there is no one else who I trust enough and who is not bound by oath to report what I say. Do not be angry with me for adding to your risks, Olivia. I do not think I could say such things to anyone but you, and if that is dangerous, I can think of nothing that would make amends for doing this.

I suppose by now you will have heard about the Library. The popes here were celebrating as if they had triumphed over Satan himself. I have heard them offer prayers of thanksgiving, and I cannot join with them. All those books! When they showed them to me, I couldn't believe that anyone could want to burn them. How I hate the look of that word: burn. I despise it. I loathe what it means. It's all gone, all of it; all the information, all the thoughts, all the words, because the men who wrote them did not worship Our Lord. What does the growing of a plant have to do with that? The popes have tried to explain it to me, and I have wanted to understand, oh, God, God, I have wanted to understand. There has to be a reason that it happened. If I gave the order to destroy all those books for nothing more than Justinian's whim, how can I live with honor?

The Emperor has said it was good to do this, that it would cleanse the world and would take away temptation. He is not like other men, for God has elevated him and made him our Emperor, and for that he is given wisdom to be the Godly leader of the Empire. He sees more and knows more. I have wanted to serve him and to live as a proper soldier does. Though I believe Justinian was misled by the enemies of Belisarius, I must assume that in this matter he speaks with clarity of vision and complete authority.

Then why am I unable to comprehend his intentions? Why is it that every time I look out the window and see those blackened heaps of stone I can sense the rebuke in them, and I am sickened by what I have done? Why have I no sense of victory that the others have? What is wrong with me? Why have I disgraced myself in this shameful way?

Olivia, I long to be with you. At night I dream of you, and the times we have been together. I want you with me. I long for you. I have asked to be returned to Konstantinoupolis, but so far no answer has been given to my request. It is too much to hope that you have taken no other lovers, but I pray that you have not come to prefer another to me. I hope that you will still welcome me, for when I return I will seek you out as avidly as a stag in rut. There has been no woman like you, ever. I have tried others, but all I want is you. Take me back when I come. If you turn me away, I could not endure it. I would rather the worm consume my vitals than you turn me away.

Chrysanthos will give you news of me if you ask him. He has worried and fussed over me for weeks on end. He is a good man, Chrysanthos, and he will speak plainly if that is what you wish. Do not worry that he will report what you say. He has sworn that he will never speak of what I have told him, and that he will extend this vow to you. Not even the Emperor could demand that he abjure his word, you may be sure of that.

Olivia, what purpose has the burning served? I think of everything lost, gone. It was a stilling of voices, as if it were men we burned and not words. I will fight in battle and kill if that is my fate, but this was worse than slaughter and I fear I am a butcher or a murderer. Why is the purpose of this act hidden from me? Why do I see myself as smirched with a stain that will never leave me? The popes say that this is the greatest act of the Emperor, that we are closer to Heaven for being rid of these pernicious books. Why, then, do I feel so much closer to Hell?

Pray for me, Olivia, and let me love you when I return, no matter when it is that they will finally permit me to leave this place. Olivia, let me come to you then. I am in a wasteland here, and you are the spring in the desert. If you have chosen another lover, or if you have married, then there is nothing for me in Konstantinoupolis and I might as well be sent to the battle lines again.

I wish there were something I could fight. I am a soldier, and I might find expiation in battle. The popes say that I am wrong to feel this contrition and that I have no fault, but my soul carries a heavy burden and I do not know how to put it down. If I could vanquish an enemy, I might believe that I have restored myself.

You are all that is left to me now, until the Emperor sees fit to send me elsewhere or I come to understand what purpose I have served in ordering those damned fires lit. You are sense in an insane world, Olivia. You shine like a comet in the skies. I will love you until the blood is gone from my veins and the breath from my lungs.

Remember, destroy this. No one must see it, for your sake as well as mine.

With my devotion and passion

Drosos

10

Zejhil held out two small, golden cups. "I found them in the pantry, next to the glass vessels. I didn't recognize them and I thought you'd better have a look at them."

Niklos took the cups. "They're not ours. I wonder where they came from?" He turned them over, examining them with a critical and practiced eye. "Very good quality, about two hundred years old, I'd guess. Very definitely Roman, but I know that Olivia never had anything like them."

"Why would—" Zejhil interrupted herself. "Someone wants to implicate her."

"As being in league with smugglers, I'd guess," Niklos concurred. "Doubtless you're right." He looked down at the little cups as if he expected them to burn him. "Olivia has gone to church. She's been doing that more recently; she wants to rid herself of some of the stigma of being foreign."

"If this is what someone is doing to her, she will have to try harder," Zejhil said, trying to sound cynical.

"That she will," Niklos said without humor. "I wonder what else has been hidden about the house?"

"You don't think there's more, do you?" Zejhil was not able to conceal her shock.

"If someone wants to make a case for her having things she ought not to have, two gold cups aren't enough. Anyone might have a few things they had forgotten or misplaced, even gold cups. Therefore, if this is part of a plan, there must be other things here. Unless they have just started to act, in which case we may have a chance to surprise them in the act." He gave the cups back to Zejhil. "Put these back where you found them."

"Why?" She was surprised at the suggestion.

"Because whoever put these in the pantry will know that we are aware of what he is doing if he finds they are missing." He tapped the rims of the cups together in ironic salute.

"Are you certain it is a he?" asked Zejhil.

"No. And neither are you." He faltered. "Zejhil, if you do not want to do anything more, I would understand and so would Olivia. It was one thing to assist us in gathering information about the household, but if we have reached a point where someone is attempting to do more than that, you have very good reason not to continue to cooperate."

"I am a slave," she explained.

"You are: a slave to a Roman lady," Niklos said. "She follows the old ways."

"I don't understand."

"There was a time when slaves had rights. Olivia Clemens remembers that time." Niklos took Zejhil by the elbow and pulled her into an alcove. "If anyone comes, I will kiss you. No one will think that remarkable. Now tell me what else you have discovered."

"Very little," she admitted. "Phaon, the new gardener, has been asking questions, but there is nothing strange in a slave doing that when he comes to a household. And the cook has been doing some snooping; it may be curiosity, but it may be something more than that. The laundryman has spent more time in the house than in the washing shed, but the weather is—"

Niklos wrapped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to hers. His hands moved expertly over her and he was startled to discover he was enjoying himself. When the carpenter was out of sight, Niklos released Zejhil with reluctance.

Zejhil was breathing unsteadily. "I… I forgot what I was saying." Her cheeks reddened with her admission.

Niklos ran one finger along her cheek. "It's all right; I'll wait until you remember."

She caught his finger in her hand. "No. You must not."

"Why not?" he asked. "Do I offend you?"

"It's not that," she said, looking away from him. "It would not be permitted if our mistress knew of it. Slaves are not—"

"You don't know Olivia," Niklos said, deeply relieved.

"She is mistress."

"She is also Roman." Niklos let his hands rest on her shoulders. "She will not choose for you, Zejhil, if that is what troubles you."

"She is mistress," Zejhil repeated stubbornly.

"You make her sound like a monster." He dropped his hands. "Tell me the rest. We'll talk about this later, when you've had a chance to think."

"When you've had a chance to think," Niklos reiterated. "You don't have to decide anything now." He deliberately took a step back from her. "Have you noticed anything else in the household? Has anyone said anything to you that you find questionable?"

She shook her head slowly. "Nothing specific," she said in an apologetic manner. "There have been a few comments that might be significant, but slaves learn to keep their council."

"You gossip," Niklos reminded her.

"That's different. Everyone in the household knows that the mistress has occasional lovers but that she is most fond of that Captain who was sent to Alexandria. They say that she has strange ways, Roman ways, and a few of them have said that they worry because they have not seen her eat, ever. The rest don't care one way or another as long as we're fed, which we are." She laughed once, the sound hard and breathless.

"Is that all that matters to you?" Niklos was saddened to hear these things from Zejhil, but not surprised.

"A few are curious about her shoes. They say that the soles are too thick." She dared to look at Niklos. "Why is that?"

"She prefers them that way," Niklos answered evasively. "You think something, Zejhil. What is it?"

"I have no reason for my feelings," she warned him. "It is just a…a feeling I have. Sometimes it seems to me that Philetus has been too attentive to his duties, and doing all his work on the walls near where the mistress is. He does very beautiful work, and the murals he paints are lovely, but there is… a lack in him, as if he were hidden away behind that pious mask he paints on the faces of his Saints." Her eyes watered. "I don't want to get him into trouble for no reason."

"You won't," said Niklos, permitting himself to put a comforting hand on her arm. "When Olivia returns from church, will you come to her and tell her what you have told me? I will have to speak to her in any case, but it would be best if you were willing to answer her questions."

"And you will treat me as you did before?" She had intended this as a feeble joke, but Niklos responded with great seriousness.

"Listen to me, Zejhil: you are not to be afraid of me. I am Olivia's majordomo, and I am proud of that, but I am a bondsman, not a slave, and she would not abuse that. She would not abuse slaves, either, but you don't believe that."

"She is mistress." This time when she said it, Zejhil was less remote than before. "She is better than most, I agree, but she is mistress."

Niklos accepted this. "I will come for you when Olivia is back."

"Why do you call her Olivia and not great lady or my mistress?" Zejhil asked, as she had been wanting to for more than two months.

"We have been together a long time, and during that time, her fortunes have fluctuated. We've become… friends." He knew he could not tell Zejhil that his association with Olivia spanned more than three centuries.

"But she holds your bond," Zejhil pointed out.

"Yes. I don't mind. She would not have objected to my leaving her service at any time, and I can easily afford the price of my bond, but the arrangement suits us, and as long as it does, I suppose it will continue." He smiled.

"Are you her lover?" Zejhil blurted out the question before she could stop herself.

"When I first met her, I was. For three nights only." If he had not been, he reminded himself, he would be nothing more than a heap of bones in Saturnia. "She… she saved my life." He had only the vaguest recollection of the day he had died, but his memory of his restoration was vivid; it was the first time he had ever seen Sanct' Germain who had reanimated him.

"Oh." Zejhil looked down, as if his feet were of intense interest to her. "And now?"

"You mean are we still lovers? No, not for a long time." He slipped his hand under her chin and deliberately turned her face toward his. "And she does not require that I live like a monk. It isn't her way."

Zejhil fixed her eyes on a spot behind his head. "She is a courtesan, that is what all the household says. They whisper about the men who come here, and they talk about Captain Drosos, but—"

"My mistress is a widow," Niklos said, in his most formal tone. "I did not know her husband, but I have heard little good about him. She does not wish to marry again, and she does not want to live wholly retired from the world. If that makes her a courtesan, then you are the one who calls her that, not I."

Zejhil was more embarrassed than before. "I did not intend to"—she glanced down the hall at the sound of footsteps—"I will do as you ask. I will speak to her when she returns. And Niklos, I do not care, truly I do not care, if she is or is not a courtesan. She is a good mistress."

"That she is," Niklos agreed. He raised his hand as one of the three women employed to make, care for, and repair clothing approached. "Ianthe," he said to greet her.

"Majordomo," she responded, her face expressionless; she gave no indication that she had seen Zejhil at all.

"I don't like that woman," Zejhil muttered. "She wheezes when she walks."

"She isn't young, and her hot blood is congested," said Niklos. "One can see that from her coloring."

Zejhil shook her head vehemently. "It's more than that." She moved away from Niklos. "I will come. I'll tell our mistress what I know. You can believe me. I will not fail."

"I know that," Niklos said, hoping that his smile would give her courage. "You are a good woman, Zejhil."

"If that matters," she said, and hurried away.

By the time Olivia returned, Niklos was all but chewing on the cushions from impatience. He sought her out at once and gave her as blunt an account as he could, including his response to Zejhil.

Olivia listened to this with interest. "Good," she said after a moment. "You have done well. I want to know more about this suspect contraband. I don't want you to bring me the cups—I'll go see them for myself, later tonight. For the time being I want to know how far this has gone. As to Zejhil herself, that is encouraging."

He could not hold back a burst of laughter. "Only you would express it that way, Olivia."

"Well, it is. You were afraid that once you were restored that you would not be all that you were."

"And I'm not," he said without rancor.

"That is not because you were brought back." She gave him a roguish, rueful glance. "You ought to have tasted my blood before you faced that mob. It would have saved all of us a lot of trouble." It was an old, teasing argument with them, and Niklos shrugged elaborately.

"I was shortsighted; what else can I say?" He met her eyes, the worry back in his face. "I'm troubled, Olivia."

"Yes. Whatever we have been caught up in, it is escalating." She walked over to a large Roman chest standing next to the window. "We will have to search the house tonight, all of it. I want to find out what has been brought into this house. Perhaps then we can determine who is doing it, and why."

Niklos paced down the room. "And then what? You can't go to the magistrates, and if you did, they would pay no attention."

"I can go to Belisarius. He may be out of favor with the Emperor, and he might be kept in close check, but he is still the most respected General in the Empire, and that counts for something. He will advise me."

"You need more than advice," Niklos warned her.

She gave a helpless gesture. "I realize that. But I must begin somewhere." Her demeanor changed as there was a knock on the door; she looked now as if she were discussing nothing more important than ordering replacement parchment for the windows.

Niklos opened the door and admitted Zejhil. "You're here in good time," he said to the Tartar slave. "Don't be concerned."

Zejhil was clearly apprehensive, but she was also very determined. She spent a good portion of time answering the questions Olivia put to her and making a few observations on her own.

"I am grateful to you, Zejhil," said Olivia, handing the woman five silver coins. "You have certainly been diligent, and I appreciate that more than I can tell you."

Zejhil, who had never held so much money in her hands in her life, stared as if she expected the coins to disappear. "My mistress, I do not know—"

"It is little enough. If it were permitted here, I would happily give you your freedom, but for that, sadly, I need the approval of a pope, and they do not often agree to the freeing of slaves." She folded her arms, irritated at the degree of helplessness that engulfed her.

"My mistress—" She reached to take the hem of Olivia's paenula to kiss it, and was amazed when Olivia pulled the garment away.

"Magna Mater! What is the matter with you, girl?"

Olivia burst out, frustration showing in every line of her body. "You don't have to do this; by rights, I should show that courtesy to you." She rounded on Niklos. "By tomorrow morning I want a complete accounting of everything you find that you have any reason to suspect might have been placed here to implicate me or any member of this household in illegal activities."

"And Belisarius: do you still intend to ask him for help?" Niklos asked skeptically.

"I realize you don't approve, but he is the only ally I have while Drosos is in Alexandria, and he—" She did not go on, for the anxiety of the letter Chrysanthos had brought to her clandestinely was too keen.

"Olivia?" Niklos asked, sensitive to her moods.

"It's nothing," she said in a tone that did not convince him. "Truly, Niklos."

He said nothing; as he went to Zejhil's side, he promised himself that he and Olivia would have to discuss Drosos, for something was wrong. He took Zejhil's hand in his.

"Niklos," Zejhil said, trying without success to pull away from him.

"I'm not going to let go," he said gently.

"It isn't for you or me to decide."

"And if it were?" said Olivia. "Tell me, Zejhil, what would you want, if it were up to you? Do you want Niklos? Do not fear to speak honestly to me, and pay no attention to him."

"It isn't my choice," Zejhil said in a small voice.

"Pretend it is," Olivia suggested. "Tell me."

Zejhil gave a little shake to her head. "I don't know."

"Then, Niklos, I suggest that you give her time. She cannot be pressed," Olivia said, and indicated their hands.

He let go. "All right." There was an odd light at the back of his russet eyes. "For now."

"Oh, stop it," Olivia said, and turned her attention to Zejhil. "Do nothing you do not wish to do." She then walked away from Niklos and Zejhil. "I hope that once we find out what is being done here and why that we will have no more trouble here. I am not eager to have to move again."

"If it were permitted," Niklos said with emphasis. "You would need a sponsor, wouldn't you?"

"I would find one," Olivia said with what she hoped was confidence. "Belisarius would do that much for me."

"If it's allowed," Niklos cautioned.

"You're always so optimistic," Olivia reprimanded him, and then held up her hands. "No, I didn't mean to show contempt, Niklos. I am apprehensive, and it makes my tongue sharp."

"I know," said Niklos, and took it upon himself to change the direction of their conversation. "When do we start our search? Do we wait until all the household is in bed, or do we start now?"

Olivia nodded in a businesslike way. "You're right; we ought to settle that." She glowered at the ikonostasis. "I will go to the library now. After church it would not be thought strange for me to read. Providing I read the right books," she added dryly.

"Do you think they will have placed condemned books in the library?" Niklos asked.

"It would not be a difficult thing to do," she pointed out. "And the way things are, it would simplify the accusation—apostasy is worse than smuggling. And they could be rid of me without having to deal with Belisarius, for he would have no means to defend me."

Niklos signaled Zejhil to leave, and as soon as she was gone, he regarded Olivia thoughtfully. "Very well, are you going to tell me what has put that crease between your brows?"

"Everything," she said comprehensively.

"Drosos."

"Yes," she admitted. "His letter—I fear for him."

Niklos waited for the rest.

"We are not welcome here. Simply because we come from Italy and have been friends of Belisarius, they want to be rid of us, and use us in some way against him." She sighed. "I suppose we had best make some arrangements that will allow us to leave Konstantinoupolis quickly and… without fuss."

"Also without goods and money," Niklos stated.

"We have been without goods and money before. Or have you forgot?"

"How could I?" He came and stood in front of her. "Olivia, please, I ask you for your sake as well as mine, be prepared. Have a safe-conduct. You know that Belisarius will do that for you, and there isn't a soldier who will not honor it unless Justinian countermands it. Will you do that?"

"All right," she said slowly.

"It goes against the grain?" he said fondly.

"You know it does." She made a disaster of her smile. "It has to be done, though, doesn't it?"

"It would be best."

"And it would be best to search the house, and all the rest of it; yes, I know, I know, I know." She hit her fists against her thighs.

He stopped her, confining her hands in his. "Olivia, if you'd rather remain here, I will not—"

Before he could say object, she cut in. "Oh, yes you will. Fortunately for me." She returned to the chest and retrieved her writing materials. "If you'll wait a bit, I'll have a note for you to carry to Belisarius. I hope you'll be permitted to give it to him. If the soldiers insist on taking it, then request to see the General. They aren't supposed to prevent that. Make sure you inquire about Antonina."

He listened, and when she gave him the note, he promised to return as swiftly as possible. "Where will you be?"

"In my reading room. With all the furor about heretical books, I can't imagine our enemies would pass up so promising an opportunity." It was the first time she had admitted that she had active enemies and it chilled Niklos to hear her use the words. "It is rare enough for women to read, and to make matters worse, most of my books are in Latin." Her hazel eyes did not shed tears, but there was a look to her that was worse than weeping would have been.

"Olivia—" Niklos said tentatively.

"Go on. Take the note to Belisarius. Do it quickly; I want this over with as soon as possible."

He had the good sense not to argue. "As you wish." He made her a reverence and left her.

She stood alone in the room after he had left, and in spite of the determination she had shown Niklos, she wavered. She was more overwrought than she was aware until that moment. All along, she told herself, she had assumed that her situation would change, that in time she would be accepted or at least tolerated by the Byzantines. Now all hope of that was gone for her and she knew she would have to look elsewhere for the safety she had so orectically yearned for. She had a brief inclination to flee Konstantinoupolis at once, to leave everything behind and set out for Olbia, or Tarraco, or Alexandria.

Alexandria. And Drosos. She steadied herself and set her jaw. She would inspect her books first, making a record of any that were not hers. Then she would confer with Niklos and together they could come up with some means of protection that would last until Drosos returned.

There were no mirrors in her room, but Olivia had long since learned to arrange her clothes and hair without them. Her fingers made minor adjustments in the arrangement of pins that held her coiffure in place, then refastened her tablion at her shoulder. Satisfied, she squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall. It was not far to her book room but she felt as if she had crossed the desert to Aelana when she opened the door.

By the time Niklos returned with a safe-conduct hidden in the folds of his garment, Olivia had found fifteen banned texts in her shelves, and was less than a third of the way through her library.

"How bad is it?" Niklos asked, looking at the scrolls, rolled and fanfolded, a few bound in heavy leather, that were laid on the table.

"Four of these are considered worse than heretical, and this one"—she held up the largest of the leather-bound volumes—"is said to be blasphemous. The others are simply Roman, and might be questioned because they were not written by Christians. I wonder if I ought to be rid of my copy of Pliny as well?"

Niklos shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Olivia."

She cleared her throat. "Yes. I wish… I wish that I could save these, for when Drosos comes back. It isn't much, but it might help ease…" She made an impatient gesture. "What did Belisarius say?"

"First, that he is sad to learn of this. He feels responsible for the suspicion that falls on you. He assures you that he will do everything he can to aid you, but he isn't certain that he can do much, not anymore."

"The safe-conduct is enough," said Olivia. She looked down at the books, and said on impulse, "Hide these. There must be some place in this house that we can use safely, without the slaves knowing of it."

"Where?" He sounded reasonable enough, and that alone irritated her.

"Anywhere. Under the plants in the garden, if that would not ruin them. Under the roof. I don't know." She stared at them. "We can't simply get rid of them, for then it would be known that we had them."

Niklos gathered the books up in his arms. "I will arrange something. Perhaps in the large chariot, somewhere."

"Fine. All I ask is you leave enough of my native earth there to give me a little protection." She looked thoughtfully at the shelves. "I must finish this task tonight. I hope there are not too many more of these. The gods alone know what we'll do with them."

"Would you want me to burn a little incense?" Niklos offered, trying to lighten her thoughts.

She gave him a look of mock horror. "Aren't we in enough trouble already?"

Neither of them laughed.

* * *

Text of the confession of Pope Sylvestros to the Guard of the Court Censor and the secretary of the Metropolitan Daidalos.

I, Pope Sylvestros, once of the Church of the Patriarchs, now in disgrace and ruin, do, with the good aid of the officers of the Censor, state the full extent of my crimes which only recently were brought to light by the piety of good citizens who questioned my right, under sumptuary laws, to have glass vessels in my house.

The suffering that has been meted out to me by the officers of the Guard with the advice of the secretary of the Metropolitan is surely well-deserved, for a pope who has strayed from his vows falls further than those who are not bound by oaths to Heaven. I, forgetting my sacred estate, strove to acquire wealth and goods the better to enhance my position in the world—the vainest of false hopes. Not the squeezing with knotted wharf ropes nor the peeling of the flesh from my feet suffices to make amends for what I have done, and will answer for before God when He chooses to bring me to the Throne of Judgment.

With an heretical Copt, I have worked to steal goods from houses left abandoned and ruined in Italy. I have aided in selecting these houses and in storing goods. I have advised the said Copt where the best valuables are to be found, what guard if any was on them, and where we might dispose of them to our mutual profit. For this I am deeply sorry and I repent the greed that brought me to such a loss of Grace.

During my pilfering, I noticed that many of the Romans still live with tributes to the old, pagan gods of the Caesars, and that they show these tributes honor. Incense was found in front of portrait busts of ancestors and in alcoves and niches devoted to the pagan deities that these benighted peoples worshipped and continue to worship. I believe there is not a Roman alive who is a true Christian, for all the protestations we have heard. I am convinced that they are all caught in apostasy, including the Bishop of Roma, who most certainly has shown his lack of faith in God in his flight from Roma in the face of the enemy. What true Christian would leave so sacred a place if he had any trust in God? And if he has no trust in God, he cannot call himself a Christian.

I know that I have made myself wholly unworthy of anything but the most ignoble fate, and I accept that with a willing heart, for I despise those acts that brought me away from the Love of God, and I welcome the cleansing punishments I have received and those yet to be inflicted. That I so totally rejected what I knew to be the truth is inexcusable, but I do in part account for it by the heathenish climate of Roma. I was seduced by the damned place, and thinking that I was salvaging Christian goods for Christians, I was led astray.

Beware of Romans. They are pernicious and all of them are liars. Their faith is false, their piety is deception, their devotion is nothing more than convenience. They are treacherous and forever searching out new opportunities for sin. Do not be deluded, as I was, by their subtle treachery. Be on guard at all times against them, and where you encounter them, watch with care for the sanctity of your own faith, for they are the great corrupters and will contaminate you.

I have provided a partial list of everything I have aided the Copt to steal and smuggle, as well as what monies I have been given for my acts. The money itself must, of course, be given to Holy Church, and I surrender all my earthly goods and the goods of my wife to the Church of the Patriarchs in token recompense for the shame my actions have brought them. I know that my soul is in the Hands of God and that no act of mine will bring it again to Grace but that God wills it. For traducing the laws of the Church and the Emperor, I have doubly betrayed the sacred vows of my calling and of my nation, and for that I have erred beyond forgiveness. Yet, in the most humble emulation of the Apostles, unworthy and corrupt as I am, I beseech you to spare my life that I might end it in beggary for the Glory of God and fitting homage to the Emperor in my repentance.

Pope Sylvestros

(his mark)

since he is unable to sign

By the hand of the secretary of the Court Censor, Panaigios, with the signatures and marks of the witnesses, and the marks of the torturers of the Censor's Guard. Authorization is given for making ten copies of this document, and for its distribution at the discretion of the Metropolitan Superior and the Emperor Justinian.

11

As he hurried from the small audience chamber, Kimon Athanatadies strove to conceal the trembling of his hands. He had to use all his control not to run, and for once he did not pause to speak to the Guard officers who flanked the doors. God in Heaven, what would satisfy Justinian? He closed his hands, tightening them into white-knuckled fists; his stride increased and he did his best to hide his near-panic with a scowl.

Captain Vlamos was at the Guard station at the front of the various public chambers in the palace. He glanced up at the Censor as Athanatadies rushed into the vestibule. "That was a swift conference," he said, making conversation.

"It was," Athanatadies said tightly.

"Did he give you more orders than usual?" He was used to the Censor's severe appearance, but his expression was more dire than on other occasions.

"Yes," Athanatadies said, wanting to get out of the palace and back to his own luxurious house, away from the orders and demands of the harsh man who ruled the Empire.

"He's still mourning Theodora," Captain Vlamos said. "You can't blame him for his grief."

"Of course not," Athanatadies said swiftly.

"Is there anything more you need to do here, or do you want me to send the slaves for your chariot?" He interpreted the distress of the Censor as impatience.

"My chariot, at once." He barked out the words, and then did what he could to modify the tone. "There are so many things to do—"

"I don't envy you the work you do, and that's a fact," said Captain Vlamos as he signaled one of the slaves near the far door. "The Censor's chariot."

"It is an honor to labor for the Empire and the Glory of God," said Athanatadies, his emotions giving heat to this statement.

"There's many another who would not be as diligent as you are," Vlamos insisted. "The Emperor is well-served by you, no doubt about it."

Kimon Athanatadies almost demanded that Captain Vlamos tell him outright what it was he wanted rather than listen to more of this flattery, but instead he made a gesture of dismissal. "Those who wish to serve greatness must rise to the occasion."

"Just what I have said to my nephew," Captain Vlamos agreed with enthusiasm. "He is finishing his studies with the Metropolitan Odilos and is an eager young whelp. I have given my word that I will do what I can for the lad. Perhaps you have a suggestion you could give me?"

"Suggestion?" He wanted to tell Captain Vlamos to send his nephew far from Konstantinoupolis into the service of some district magistrate, to record harvest weights and trade agreements for all his life long, and be thankful for it. There was no safety, no protection at court. Anyone might fall at the Emperor's whim. "Is he ambitious?"

"He's a young man," Captain Vlamos chuckled. "He sees himself in ambassador's robes by the time he's thirty. I've told him that for such a thing to happen, another plague, like the one we had seven, eight years back, would have to come along." This was clearly intended to be amusing and the Censor did his best to smile.

"Is he capable, this nephew of yours?" He knew the answer before the Captain spoke.

"So his tutors have always said, not that I set much store in that. But the fellow does read and write Latin as well as Greek and has some knowledge of Persian."

"He would do well to keep that last to himself," Kimon Athanatadies warned Captain Vlamos. "The Emperor has recently taken a dislike to the Sassanid rulers and any reference to Persian is not welcome unless the Emperor speaks of it. Tell your nephew to confine himself to Latin and Greek."

Captain Vlamos was a bit startled. "Very well. And I thank you for your good advice."

"Tell the boy, if you wish, that in a year, if he has not found someone else to sponsor him, to come to me. He must try other routes first." And there is no telling, Athanatadies added to himself, if I will still be Censor a year from now. The way things were going, Justinian might decide to send him to the most distant outpost of the Empire, or order him to live in a hermit's cave.

"That's very good of you, Censor," Captain Vlamos said with feeling. "I didn't mean to ask for so much."

"You didn't; I offered it." He saw that the slave had returned. "My chariot has arrived." His head was beginning to throb and he could not bring himself to recite all the proper phrases of leave-taking. "I trust you will excuse me: I have much to do."

"God send you His aid," Captain Vlamos called after him, too pleased with the suggestion Athanatadies had made to be offended by his informality.

The streets were terribly congested; not far from the palace four buildings were being demolished and traffic had to find its way around these obstructions. Athanatadies swore silently and comprehensively at the delays, urging his driver to make all progress. "If you cannot go faster, I will get out and walk."

The slave holding the reins was aghast. "You cannot. A man of your position must not—"

"Then hurry," Athanatadies snapped. He had no intention of getting out of the chariot, but he felt the need to press someone—anyone—to relieve the sick dread that had taken hold of him.

"I will do everything I can," said the slave. "If you needed to move quickly, why did you not ask for an escort of Guards?"

This petulant question was rewarded by a sharp blow on the shoulder. "I do not permit my slaves to be insolent. You will remain silent for the rest of the way."

The slave complied at once, and kept his eyes fixed just ahead of the horses' ears.

When at last Kimon Athanatadies arrived at his house, he was more exhausted than he would have been had he walked three times the distance. There were smudges of dirt on his fine silk garments and his shoes were fouled with horse and camel dung. He bellowed for his majordomo, and when that middle-aged eunuch appeared, Athanatadies issued several brisk orders. "Send for Panaigios. I want to speak with him within the hour. I will need to have several documents delivered by Guard this evening. See that the officers are ready. I want to bathe. See that a change of clothing is made ready for me. At once."

The majordomo made a very deep reverence and hastened away to do Athanatadies' bidding.

In his private chambers, the Censor stripped, shivering though the air was warm enough. His terror was like a fever, making his flesh alien to him. "Be calm," he said firmly, his hands locked together. "Think. You must think."

In a short while, the majordomo informed Athanatadies that his bath was ready. "There is a slave to assist you," he informed his master, then went on, "There has been comment on your bathing."

"Who has said anything?" Athanatadies demanded, his precarious grip on himself loosening.

"Slaves will talk," was the evasive answer.

"Who?" Athanatadies pressed. "Which one has said anything, and what has been said?"

"I don't know," the majordomo said, becoming more self-effacing with each word. "It means nothing. Slaves talk, great master, and they say silly things."

"What do they say?"

He sighed. "A few wonder why a Christian must wash so often. I don't recall who brought it up. One of the household slaves was puzzled, for his former master bathed infrequently and required the rest of his household to emulate him."

"I want the name of any slave who has remarked on this. I want the names tonight. If you do not bring them to me, they will not be the only ones I sell." He had wrapped a length of cotton cloth around him and he tugged at the ends of it for emphasis.

"Great master, it is not important what they say." His voice, already high, turned to a squeak.

"It is always important. Understand that. I will have no slave who will not mind his tongue. I have enemies. All men in high places have enemies. A slave that speaks against me, be he houseman or gardener, has allied himself with my enemies. I will not tolerate that. Tell them." He glared at his majordomo. "If you do not aid me, then I will see you gone from here, and you will serve some magistrate in Aguntum."

"That is outside of the Empire!"

Athanatadies nodded with feigned satisfaction. "It is."