A Flame in Byzantium

"You would not do that."

"If I decided it was necessary I would," he declared, knowing that he could not allow a rebellious slave to be sold to someone who might take advantage of the knowledge the slave had of him to use against him. "Any slave sold from this household will go far from Konstantinoupolis."

"I will… see you have the names, great master," the majordomo said with resignation.

"Fine. And my bath?"

"It is almost ready." He stepped backward to the door, his face slick with sweat. "Great master, no one means you any disservice."

"That is for me to determine," Athanatadies countered. He rubbed his hands together and directed his gaze toward the small ikonostasis on the far side of the room. "Do you pray?"

"At the correct hours for prayers—of course." The answer was breathless; the majordomo did not know what was coming and was worried about what Athanatadies might say next.

"When you pray, ask God to reveal my enemies to me, and to show me the purpose He intends for me." He blessed himself and watched his majordomo do the same. "Give that instruction to the household."

The majordomo made his reverence and withdrew gratefully.

Athanatadies went through the inner doors of his private apartments to the chamber where his bath was waiting. As he took off the towel, he noticed with distaste that he stank. His sweat was acrid from fear, and he washed himself diligently to be rid of that odor.

By the time he was dried and dressed again, he felt less frightened. He was informed that Panaigios was waiting for him in his private reception room, and he greeted this information with satisfaction. "Excellent. I will speak with him directly. See that he has food and drink and then do not disturb us unless there is a messenger from the Emperor. And send for Konstantos Mardinopolis. I want to speak to him tonight." He dressed himself, refusing his slave's ministrations.

The reception chamber where Panaigios waited was not the littlest one adjoining the chapel, but a pleasant room opening onto the side garden of the Censor's house. The scent of flowers drifted on the air and where the garden could be glimpsed through the half-open door the shadows were lengthening, fading from stark darkness to a softer shade. The reception room itself was gloomy.

"I came as soon as I had your message," said Panaigios as he made his reverence. "I confess I was surprised at the urgency."

"So was I," said Athanatadies, trying to maintain the calm for which he was known. "I was favored by the Emperor with an audience today, to… to hear what he has decided must be done and to learn the means to achieve his ends."

Panaigios said nothing, but he regarded the Censor with a degree of curiosity. "What did he say? that you may repeat to me?"

"He… he had many new goals," Athanatadies began, striving for an air of detachment. "His zeal increases with every new day."

"How this must be pleasing to God," said Panaigios, trying to interpret the Censor's intentions. He sensed an unfamiliar tension in Athanatadies which puzzled him.

"Pleasing to God?" echoed Athanatadies. "Perhaps. It is for other men to discover what pleases God; I am sworn to please the Emperor."

"Surely their purposes are the same." To say anything else might be construed as treason, and Panaigios had the terrible sense that he was being tested in some new way.

"So we are told," Athanatadies said. "The Emperor has decided that he wishes to post certain officers away from this city, to send them into the field once again so that they may use their military skills in the service of the Empire once again."

"Belisarius?" Panaigios inquired.

"No," came the dry response. "No, Belisarius is still confined to his house and Konstantinoupolis. The Emperor believes that for all his protestations, he is part of a group of discontented men who seek to bring him down. He believes that it would be folly to permit the man more liberty than he has now. There are others, however, who might do better on campaign. And there are… there are a few men who are not to be spoken of again." This last came out quickly. He spun as he said it, and discovered a kitchen slave standing in the doorway.

"I have brought the refreshments you ordered, great master," the slave said, trembling at the thunderous expression he saw in Athanatadies' face.

"Present them to my guest and depart," said the Censor. He stood still while the slave carried out these orders, and it was only when the slave was gone and the door closed that he spoke again. "I want you to be on guard, Panaigios."

Panaigios nodded, holding his cup halfway to his mouth. "I will do so, of course."

"More than ever. The Emperor is a stern man, an unforgiving man of strong principles and great determination. He seeks to purify his reign." He straightened up, looking toward the door. "We are either his allies or his enemies, and he will regard us accordingly."

"I am not his enemy." Panaigios put down his cup, the wine untasted.

"I did not say you are. But you must persevere and be more stringent than ever."

Panaigios swallowed hard. "You said there are those who are not to be spoken of. What have they done that they are—"

"They have displeased Justinian," said the Censor. "They have been shown to be working against the Empire." He recalled the confessions he had read, and the petitions that had been made to the Emperor for the destruction of the families of the men.

"A great crime," said Panaigios, his tone a bit distracted. "I… I know we are not to speak of them, but who are they?" He faltered. "Great Censor, what am I to do to defend the Empire if I do not know who these pernicious men are?"

Athanatadies cleared his throat. "I will tell you once, Panaigios, and then you are not to speak of it again. I warn you, if you mention these men, you place yourself in great danger and there is little I can do to protect you should you have so great a transgression. The men are all Captains: Savas, Leonidas, Fortunos Ipakradies, and Hipparchos. They, and their families, are… expunged."

"They were Belisarius' officers, weren't they?" Panaigios asked, wishing he could call the words back as soon as he had spoken them.

"Yes; Fortunos served with him in Africa, the others in the Italian campaign." He indicated the food. "You're not eating."

Obediently Panaigios took one of the dried figs stuffed with crushed almonds, but it had no taste and no savor.

"And Belisarius? What of him?"

"The Emperor demands proof before he condemns, for he is a just man." He fell silent, then resumed. "He has found no proof that makes the General part of a conspiracy."

"But his officers—"

"They claim there is no conspiracy, but they are opposed to what the Emperor has done with the army and they do not endorse his plan to reestablish the Empire as it was in the days of Imperial Roma. That is reason enough to accuse them, and their actions have shown that they are the enemies of the Emperor, so he has declared that they are not only dead men, but men who never existed." He joined his hands, staring at his linked fingers to see if they still trembled. "The Emperor has ordered me that where treason is discovered, it is to be eradicated, the traitor and all his blood, so that the poisonous growth of conspiracy may be ended."

Panaigios paled. "The families? What… how… Are they to be enslaved?"

"That is for the Emperor to determine," said the Censor in a flat voice. He saw the dark, severe eyes boring into his once more, and heard that hard-edged voice issuing orders that made his skin prickle. "I am the devoted servant of Justinian, and I will do all that he requires of me with a grateful heart and a dedicated mind."

"Amen, and God aid us in the endeavor," said Panaigios. He chose another dried fruit but could not bring himself to eat it. The fig felt as if it was lodged halfway down his gullet and if he ate anything more, it might choke him.

"I will beseech God to do so every day," Athanatadies stated. "And I will depend upon you to be more diligent than ever. You hear many things and you have those who report to you; whatever you are told that might have any bearing on this, I must hear of it at once, so that I may inform the Emperor." There were others who would tell Justinian if Athanatadies was lax in performing his duties.

What would befall him then he did not want to think about.

"Four Captains. That is very dangerous." Panaigios watched the Censor closely, searching for a clue to what Athanatadies expected of him, what he wanted from him. "I will be certain that those whose aid I have required take extra care."

"I depend on you to do that," said Athanatadies, feeling very tired. "You are to urge those you employ to be on the alert for anything that might point to treason. Tell them that no one is exempt from his duty to the Emperor and God."

"Yes, certainly," said Panaigios, determined to send for Simones before the night was over.

"Be careful of your sources, for a false accusation can be as dangerous as a true one left unspoken. The Emperor has warned me that he will not tolerate those seeking vengeance through lies. He will deal with such trickery as he would with treason." He wondered if Panaigios could hear the fright in his voice; he could smell himself again, that civetlike odor that came from fear.

"I will take care. I will examine all my assistants with care and I will do all that I can to determine the truth of what they say before I inform you of it."

"That is good," said Athanatadies. "But do not be overcautious, or delay too long, or you and I might both be taken to task for our lack of dedication." His hands were moist; he let them drop to his sides.

Panaigios took a long sip of the wine; it was no good, the fig would not budge. "I… I will have to make a few arrangements, Athanatadies."

"Make them." Now that he had alerted his secretary, he wanted nothing more than to be left to pray before his next interview. He longed for the solace of his chapel, where he could prostrate himself before the altar and its jeweled and gilded ikons, to lose himself in the ritual of worship.

"At once," said Panaigios, thinking that he would have to find time to visit Thekla once again, to learn what he could from the old holy woman.

"You must discharge your commission with circumspection," said Athanatadies. "The Emperor requires this of you, and if you are his true subject, you will be unstinting in your efforts on his behalf."

"Yes." Panaigios had more of the wine.

"I will expect to speak with you the day after tomorrow. Have something of value for me then, Panaigios, and you will be well-rewarded for it."

"I will do my utmost," Panaigios assured him. He rose from his chair and made a reverence. "I will renew my purpose with every prayer." As he left, he told himself that he would have to be more demanding of Simones. There had to be more information he could glean from the slave, and he feared that if he did not provide the Censor with what he demanded, he would fall into obscurity, and perhaps join the company of those who were no longer spoken of, who had ceased to exist.

* * *

Text of a letter from Olivia to Chrysanthos, written in Latin.

To Captain Chrysanthos, Olivia of Roma sends her greetings and makes a request of him: I know that you are in communication with your comrade Drosos, and that you have access to routes not generally open to the rest of the world. I ask that you send him my affections and my concerns, for what he has said to me troubles me, and I am worried that he is suffering.

Please say to Drosos that my love for him is undimin-ished, and that while he is filled with conflict, I long only to help him end his turmoil. I do not want him to turn away from me because he is angry with himself. I feel no anger toward him, and I do not despise him, no matter what he has done. It is Drosos I love, not the acts he is compelled to do. It is Drosos I miss, not the officer of the Emperor. It is Drosos, always Drosos, who compels me, not the orders he follows. I am afraid he does not trust me enough, that he doubts I would be steadfast in the face of all that has happened. Let him know that he has no reason to question my faithfulness. He is what I love, and my love does not fail when circumstances are against us.

I know you will be prudent in what you say to him, but I ask you to give him my love and my assurances. I want him to be certain that he is welcome when he returns and that he need not fear I will desert him.

It may be that my own situation will become more difficult than it is now, and if that is the case, I ask you to tell Drosos to have patience. I will find a way to be with him once he is in this city again. Sadly, I cannot go to him, much as I would like to, for my petition for permission to establish a household in Alexandria has been denied by the Court Censor. For the time being it appears that I am confined to Konstantinoupolis. However, this house is always open to Drosos, at whatever time, in whatever circumstances, for whatever purpose he wishes.

While it would not be wise to let this be known to any but Drosos, I trust to your discretion and prudence in how you inform him of what I have said. I am not permitted to write to him directly; I hope your friendship for your comrade-at-arms will extend to me in this case, and that you will find a way to pass these words to him.

If you do not believe it is safe to write to him, or if in writing to him, you decide it is wisest not to mention me, let me know of it so that I may find another way to reach him. I dare not say much about my concern, but it is genuine and profound. There are few men who have moved me as Drosos has, and I cannot see him in travail without wanting to ease his burdens.

Whatever your decision, I am grateful that you have read these words from

Atta Olivia Clemens

PART IIIOlivia

Text of a commendation addressed to Narses in Italy.

On the Feast of the Holy Dormition of the Virgin in the Lord's Year 549, the Emperor Justinian sends his greetings and thanks to General Narses, commanding the troops of Byzantion in Italy.

Know that with this commendation we deliver to you and your valiant men an additional two thousand troops, nine hundred horses, five Imperial wallets of gold coins and twelve Imperial wallets of silver in the hope that they will aid you in your campaign against the enemies of our state and religion.

In order to show our thanks more fully, we have given estates to three of your nephews, General Narses, and have increased your estates; our holdings in Adrianopolis are to be given to you in token of our gratitude for your tireless efforts on the part of the Empire.

Without your constant and diligent care, no doubt the lands you guard would have fallen prey to Totila and all the forces who accompany that barbarian. You have turned the tide, and for that you have the praise of the entire Empire, and you will be acknowledged as the savior of Italy. The complaints of those people who have claimed that your troops have been more rapacious than the godless invaders have been revealed as the calumny they are, doubtless the result of agents of the disgraced Belisarius who are attempting to discredit all you have done and give false praise to the former commander. We are instructing you and your men to pay no heed to these carping objections. We wish to see you add victory to victory, and we are confident that your vigorous campaign will serve to restore all of Italy to the Empire.

Your loyalty is held up as an example everywhere and we are ordering a day of public celebration with Masses and prayers as well as feasting in honor of your continuing achievements. We wish that everyone in the Empire join with us in this tribute, and we encourage your troops to show you their appreciation with favors and gifts for the superior command you show them.

May God look upon you with favor and continue to grant you the might and wisdom to restore Italy to our protection. In your valor you have no equal, neither have you any rival in our esteem. We give you every sign of our approval and gratitude.

Justinian

Emperor of Byzantion

his sigil

1

"Will you let me come in?" asked Drosos when Niklos came to the door. "Will Olivia see me?"

Niklos swung the door wide. "She'd have my skin if I kept you out. Welcome back, Captain." He kept his smile wide, although once Drosos stepped into the light of the vestibule, Niklos was shocked to see him.

"Are you certain?" Drosos asked. He had aged; there were threads of white in his dark hair, and the fretwork of lines around his eyes was much deeper. He was both thinner and softer. His nails were ragged.

"Of course," said Niklos. "Great gods, Captain, you must have a very poor opinion of my mistress if you think she is as feckless as all that."

"I never…" Drosos began seriously, then broke off. "It isn't wise to know me. I am in disgrace."

"Given those in disgrace," Niklos said lightly, "I think it must be excellent company. Come with me. Olivia is in her library." He did not add that in the last month she had removed and hidden over sixty books that were no longer permitted within the walls of Konstantinoupolis. "She will be delighted that you're here." As he spoke he led the way down the hall, indicating a new fresco as they went. "It's almost finished."

"The martyrdom of Saints Adrian; that's Natalia there, with his hand after they burned him." Drosos pointed to the anaemic figure of a young woman with a haloed hand in hers.

"The artist has also done work for the Censor, so Olivia was confident that it was acceptable to hire him for this work. It's not always safe to choose someone who's unknown." He reached the door to the library and paused. "Do you want me to announce you, or would you rather do that yourself?"

Drosos hesitated. "Let me do it. If she's angry, she'll want us to be private."

"She won't be angry," Niklos promised him, his sympathy going out to the Captain.

Drosos shrugged. With a lift of his jaw he dismissed Niklos, but it took him the length of several deep breaths to work up his courage to lift the latch. At last he opened the door, stepped inside and leaned back, closing it.

Olivia was seated at a low table, an ancient scroll rolled open on the narrow table in front of her. She had her long, fawn-colored hair held back with a wide silk ribbon, and she was dressed in Roman palla and stola, both of a soft muted green. As she heard the door close, she called out without turning her head, "What is it, Niklos?"

"It isn't Niklos," Drosos answered, his voice not much more than a whisper. The sight of her was so wonderful it almost hurt him to watch her.

She turned very slowly, her hazel eyes widening as she looked at him. "Drosos." Carefully she rolled the scroll, always looking at him as she did. Then, when this was set aside, she rose, lifting her arms toward him. "Magna Mater, you are come at last!"

Drosos moved slowly, his somber expression giving way to a faint smile as he reached her. Lingeringly he touched her face with the ends of his fingers. "God and the Prophets," he whispered as he gathered her into his arms.

They stood together, hardly moving, saying nothing with words; their bodies spoke with other voices in silent eloquence. When he finally let her go, Drosos said, "Olivia, I…"

"I'm so glad you're back," she said when he could not go on. "I've missed you, Drosos."

"I've missed you. But it isn't wise for you to see me. I shouldn't come here, but I couldn't stay away." He stared down into her eyes. "I tried to stay away."

"Why?" She took his hands in hers. "I would have been more hurt than you can imagine if you had."

"I am not safe to know," he admitted, trying without success to pull his hands away.

"Half of Konstantinoupolis isn't safe to know," she countered. "I've never let that select my friends for me."

He shook his head, refusing to be convinced. "You're already suspect because you're Roman. Letting me come here only serves to make it worse for you."

"If you stayed away, it would not be better. This way, Drosos, my troubled love, neither of us is alone. Being alone and suspect is worse than having friends with you, even if all of you are suspect." She kissed him on the cheek. "I am pleased you are concerned for me, but not if it keeps you away from me."

His eyes flickered, shifting away from hers and moving restlessly. "You ought to tell me to go."

"Why would I do that?" she asked, her face calm though she was growing more concerned as they talked.

He broke away from her. "I did a… a foolish thing. If I'd thought about it, I would have realized that it was stupid to do it, but I assumed that… I had to do something. You see how it was."

"No, I don't. Tell me, Drosos." She went to him, standing behind him and putting her arms around his waist. "Tell me. What is the terrible thing you did? And why is it so terrible."

He bit his lip, shaking his head. "It would only make things worse."

"Drosos, please. You trusted me when you wrote to me. Trust me now." She used nothing to persuade him, no wiles or tricks that he could later blame for what he did. "I want to know because it is hurting you."

Again he resisted. "If I tell you, you might have to tell others, and that would be bad for both of us."

"Drosos, I am a Roman, and as a Roman I swear to you that I will not tell anyone what you reveal to me, no matter what they require of me. You might not believe it, but there was a time when such a vow was binding and any Roman would rest his life on his honor. My family has held to the old ways and you can depend on me to treat your confidences that way. If you still would rather not speak, very well. But believe me when I say that nothing you tell me will pass beyond these walls." She rested her head against his shoulder. "Drosos?"

He broke away from her and dropped into one of the chairs. "When I was about to leave Alexandria, there had been a storm that swept in from the sea. One of my last duties was to survey the damage and make a report about it."

"Is this the thing you—"

He went on as if she had not spoken. "Alexandria is on one of the branches of the Nile. There are many little fingers of the river, and when there is a storm—and the one we had was worse than usual—some of those little fingers get even more divided, and cut up into spits and sandbars. I was out in a good-sized boat, looking over some of these sandbars. Most of them were nothing more than isolated bits of sand." His face was nearly blank, his eyes distant as if he were standing on the deck of the boat at the mouth of the Nile. "But there was one. It had been cut off from the shore. It wasn't large—no more than twice the length of the boat at most, and very narrow, and it was being reclaimed by the water more and more every hour. The water was salty there, taking as much from the sea as from the river. Nothing grew there except a few stands of marsh grass. But on that sandbar there was a cow. Don't ask me how the poor beast had got out there; the storm must have driven it, not that it matters. It was alone on the sandbar. It had been there for at least three days. It was a black-and-white cow with dark horns; I remember it so clearly. She was bawling, but there was almost no voice left, for she was dying of thirst and starvation. She was on her knees, but she kept trying to rise and to get her head out of the water. I have never seen such despair, not in battle, not in plague, not in a slave market. There was nothing for that poor, dumb creature but her suffering. I asked for a bow, so that I could kill her, but no one had anything other than a spear, and the distance was too great to be certain…"

"Oh, Drosos," Olivia said. She had taken the chair nearest his and was watching him, grief in her tearless eyes.

"I don't know what it was about that cow. I'm a soldier," he said, sitting straighter. "I have killed men, I have been wounded, I have fought in war. I know what it is to have a horse lanced out from under me; I have watched men with their guts in their hands try to reach just one more enemy warrior. I have seen widows and children after the fight. Nothing—nothing—moved me in the way that black-and-white cow…"He looked away. After the silence had stretched between them, he said in another, more remote tone, "I wrote to the Emperor, after we burned the library. I said that I was convinced that we had made a great error in burning the books and that he had been given poor advice by those close to him, who did not know the Library and the things it contained. I thought, you see, that he had been persuaded by those around him to do this, not that he wanted it done himself. I told him if he understood what was stored there, he would have realized that destroying so much knowledge was against every virtue and aim of Christianity. Well, I might as well have ordered my Guard to drag me through the streets of Alexandria behind four maddened horses. It would have spared everyone trouble."

"Don't say that, Drosos," Olivia admonished him in a low voice.

In the light from the brazier only half his face could be seen, and it was more like a mask than a face. "You have to understand that it was Justinian who wanted the books burned. It was the Emperor who had decided that the Library was dangerous and that the things in it were a hazard no Christian dared endure. He was the one who gave the orders, he was the one who decided. It was not some clique around him; it was Justinian himself." He stood up abruptly. "So they ordered me back here, where they can keep an eye on me, and watch what I do, for now the Emperor numbers me among his enemies." He came and stood beside Olivia. "Which is why I must go."

She did not rise. "No."

He dropped to his knee beside her chair and looked up into her face. "Don't you understand, Olivia? Don't you realize that if I visit you, Justinian will consider you to be as dangerous as I am, and you will be subjected to—"

"I have already been counted among those the Emperor dislikes because I am still Belisarius' friend and I have kept him as my sponsor ever since he returned from Italy. If I see you as well, it will mean little to the Emperor. It will be yet another example of Roman corruption. He is almost as disapproving of Romans as he is of books these days." She rested her hands on his shoulder. "How can I endure your being here, in this city, and not see you? How can I be cut off from everything and lose you as well?"

Drosos regarded her with concern. "You are already at risk. If you continue to see me, the risk increases, and there is nothing I can offer you as protection."

"I do not ask you to protect me, Drosos. I want you to love me."

His arms went around her and he rested his head in her lap. "I should not stay."

"But you will?" She ruffled his hair, wishing there was less white in it.

"Since you seem determined to have me, I suppose I must."

"You make it sound an unpleasant duty." She was teasing him now, for the strength of his arms told her more than his spoken denials.

"No; leaving you would be the unpleasant duty." He lifted his head and reached to pull her mouth down to his. "I dreamed of you every night I was away from you. I thought of you each day. I would sit in my reception room, staring out at the ruins of the Library, the way you stare at a soldier's empty sleeve, and I would see your face instead of the ruins. It was the only thing that kept me from going mad."

She kissed his brow. "Drosos."

"If anything goes wrong with you, I will blame myself." He said this as much to the walls as to her.

"That's absurd," she informed him, now very brisk. "You have been gone too long and you've given yourself over to gloom and melancholy. You have permitted yourself to succumb to worry and dread."

Drosos moved back from her, his hands clasping hers. "You would, were you in my place."

"Probably," she agreed. "But you are here now, and we are together again." She rose and tugged on his arms to bring him to his feet once again. "Drosos, stay here. You can stay tonight and any other time you wish. You are welcome here as long as I am living within these walls. You will always be welcome wherever I am."

He attempted a smile without much success. "You are a lovely woman, and you are kind, Olivia. You make me want to believe that nothing else matters but that you and I are together. That isn't true, is it?"

"There are times it is and times it is not," she said, her arm around his waist as she started toward the door. "But think how desolate this place would be if you and I were not ever to be together again. It would cause me—" She pulled the door open and was startled to see one of her household slaves standing a short distance away.

The man was flustered. "I… I am on an errand, great lady."

"It must be urgent if it keeps you away from your evening meal," Olivia said with a serenity that she did not feel. "Do not let me detain you, Valerios." She stood while the slave hurried down the hall.

"He was spying on us," Drosos said, agitation coming back into his voice.

"Very likely," Olivia agreed. "And I will have to discover why and for whom, but not just now. I have other things, more important things to do now."

"You do not—" He started to move away from her. "It probably is best if I leave. I will not have compromised you too much and you and I will be able to…" The words trailed off as he gazed into her face. With a soft moan he pulled her tight against him. "I can't."

"Thank every god I've ever heard of," she whispered to his neck. "Stay with me, Drosos. It is dark and I am lonely. I have ached for you since the day you left me. I do not want to give you up now."

All at once his hands were fevered, hot and urgent in their questing and probing. "What does it matter?" he whispered against her hair, sounding like a man in delirium.

With effort she moved back so that they could walk the short distance to her private apartments. Every step of the way he touched her, his hands seeking out the flesh under her clothes. He spoke little and his words were deep and thickened, as if he had been drugged.

"Let me undress you," she offered when she had closed the door on her sleeping chamber.

"Never mind," he told her as he tore off his pallium and dragged his dalmatica over his head. He reached out for her Roman clothes and nearly ripped them off her.

"Drosos," she murmured as he swarmed over her. "We can savor this. There's no need to rush."

He paid no heed to her, his hands and mouth busy and urgent, frenzied in their quest. He pressed into her with little more than a hurried stroke to open her legs, and he rode her in ominous silence until he spasmed and pulled away from her.

Olivia lay still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, and she caught her lower lip in her teeth until she was certain she could speak clearly. "You needed—"

"So did you," he said, not looking at her.

"Why do you want to deny us what we can have?" She did not make the question an accusation; she waited for his answer.

"What did I deny?" He meant it as a challenge, but he sounded more like a sulky boy.

"Must I tell you when you know?" she asked as she rolled onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. "You tell me you remember all the times we have been together, you have dreamed about them. And you behave as if I am nothing more than your whore."

He flinched at the word which she said so calmly. "That wasn't it," he muttered.

"Then what was it?" She studied his face. "Drosos?"

He refused to look at her. "I want you. It is worse than a fire in my bones, this wanting you."

"Then why do you—"

"You are relentless, aren't you?" He faced her, something between fury and despair in his eyes. "You will not let me go. You cannot release me."

"Release you from what? To what?" she asked, pain in her voice now.

"From you. From all you are. I… I haven't the strength for it anymore. I'm not…" He touched her hair. "Did I hurt you?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"I didn't want to. But… I don't know. Something within me has… failed. There are nights when I have lain awake and thought that I was taken with disease, that I was being consumed with some vile infection."

"Oh, Drosos," she said as she stretched her arm across his chest. "How can you condemn yourself this way?"

"Why not?" he asked her. "Think of what I am, what I have done."

"I think of who you are," she told him, soothing him, wishing the cold ache under her ribs would fade. "I hear you speak and I long to find the words that would succor you."

He laughed without hope. "There are no such words. There is nothing. I am beyond mending."

"No," she protested.

"When I followed my orders, when I honored my office and my Emperor, I destroyed my honor. It's an irony worthy of one of those banned Greek plays. If I were more than the fool I am." He shifted his weight to face her. "I want to have something left of me, something that can touch you without making me feel you have been tainted by me. If that still exists, Olivia, will you help me find it? I have no right to ask, but if you won't, then it might as well go up in smoke like the rest of my honor."

Olivia regarded him solemnly. She put her free hand over his heart. "I have lost those I love to death and time more often than I want to remember. I have seen destruction overtake things of sense and beauty so wantonly that it wrung my heart to know of it. If there is a chance to save something from the ruins, then—"

"You think to save me, as a remembrance?" He made a sound that was not laughter. "You think I am worthy to serve as a token of your time in Konstantinoupolis?"

"Stop that," she said softly. "I won't have you scorn yourself."

"Who better?" He reached out and pulled her over him. "I want to give value for—"

She wrenched away from him and he was startled at her strength. "I will not be party to your mockery. I do not permit you to denigrate someone I love, even though that person is yourself." She sat up and turned to regard him seriously. "Drosos, listen to me. I do not despise you. You cannot make me despise you."

"Why not? I despise myself." He had raised his arm as if to stop a blow and it shielded his eyes from her steady look.

She ran her finger along his jaw, feeling his untrimmed beard rasp against her skin. "You are like a man with a festering wound you will not lance, and you are poisoning yourself with the humors. I wish you were free of the pain and the anguish you feel."

He lowered his arm; tears stood in his dark eyes. "God, God, so do I. But—"

Her fingers stopped his objections on his lips. "Then we will find a way. There is a way, Drosos, if you will permit yourself to find it."

"Is there?" The tears ran down his temples and he wiped them away.

"There is a way," she repeated firmly. Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Let me help you, for my sake as well as yours."

"Why for your sake?" He was trying to recover some of the dignity he had lost. "How can—"

"You have done what you have done because you have a sense of honor; I have told you I have a sense of honor, too, and it demands that I do not desert my friends in misfortune."

He sighed, his breath ragged. "There are some hurts beyond remedy."

"This need not be one, Drosos," she said, hoping fervently that it was so.

He faced her. "All right. Do what you must. I'm grateful, I suppose." As she sank down on his chest, he threaded her hair through his fingers. "It's like living silk."

She did not respond; she was listening to his heartbeats, trying to fathom the depth of his misery.

* * *

Text of a letter from Eugenia to Antonina.

To my cherished friend Antonina, Eugenia sends her greetings and the hopes that Antonina might soon recover from the affliction that has caused her such misery.

It was only recently that I learned of your continuing illness, and it brought home to me how great a value I have put on the hours we have spent together, as well as how important your good opinion has always been. I know that I have been most neglectful of you and I wish I had an adequate explanation that does not cast aspersions on my character, but I fear I have been nothing more than an overly cautious woman, and I have let my concerns for my position within society interfere with the more genuine ties of friendship. I have long assumed that there would be a time when all the misunderstandings would be ended and your family would be restored to the position it deserves to occupy, but from what I have been told, this might not be the case, and I am filled with chagrin that I have let these precious days slip by without overcoming my own cowardice.

I realize there is no reason you should want to see me again after the dreadful way I have behaved, but I hope you will show more charity than I have shown you and admit me to your company once again. It would give me great satisfaction and pleasure to have the chance to speak with you. There is no one with whom I can share confidences as you and I have, and I have missed that more than I can express to you in words.

Dear Antonina, forgive me for all my slights and my ambitions. I have been a stupid, vain woman and I have spurned a friendship that has been worth more to me than the tributes of my husband. What woman ever truly gives a man the trust that she can share with another of her sex? We pretend that this is not the case, but in our heart of hearts, the truth of it cannot be denied. For that reason if no other, I hope you will not forbid me to call upon you. I have yearned for the benefit of your good sense as well as the chance to speak plainly, which we never do with the men we know.

I hope also that perhaps you have missed my company and that you will find that my presence is welcome to you; surely there are things you wish to say that you cannot discuss with your husband, for honorable and steadfast as he is, it is not the same as the understanding I have provided in the past.

Your slave Simones will bring this letter to you and he will tell you himself how much I long to renew and restore our friendship and what great importance you hold in my life. If you do not believe what I say, then perhaps you will believe what your own slave will tell you. You should thank him for seeking me out, for until he came to me I had no idea how great was your suffering. I had attributed your retirement from the world to the misfortunes of your husband and not to your health, for which I am most heartily sorry, and I ask that you will not hold against me my lack of information, for as you know this city is alive with rumors and half-truths which distort the knowledge that would have brought me to your side long before now had I any notion of the severity of your troubles.

Let me hear from you soon, and when you tell me I may, I will come to you to ask your pardon face to face, and I will do whatever you request at whatever time you stipulate. I pray that your answer will be swift, so that I may in some part make amends for the lack of attention I have given you.

I am your friend, Antonina, and I beg you to let me have the opportunity to demonstrate that to you.

Eugenia

2

Zejhil was almost out of the garden when she heard the whisper of voices near the passage that led to the stables. At once she paused and listened, not daring to move.

"There is money in it if you will aid me," said a voice that Zejhil did not know.

"I am a slave," came the answer from a man; Zejhil recognized Valerios. "If I am caught, it could mean my life."

"You will not be caught; and if you are, you have only to say that you were working at the behest of an agent of the Censor to determine if your mistress is an enemy of the Emperor, and there will be little she can do against you."

"Who will listen to a slave?" Valerios scoffed.

"Who will listen to a woman?" asked the other. "And a Roman woman. The Emperor has said that Romans are not to be trusted and a Roman woman—"

"My mistress has been good to me."

The unknown man laughed. "What good is that if she is accused of treason?"

"She is not a traitor," Valerios said, but with less conviction than before.

"Have you proof of that? She associates with the disgraced Belisarius and she has kept Captain Drosos as her lover in spite of his opposition to the edicts of the Emperor in regard to the destruction of heretical texts. It may be that she is only foolish."

Zejhil put her hand to her mouth to stifle her indignant objections. Cautiously she moved a little closer to the passageway.

"Suppose you were to learn that others have found her to be a traitor," suggested the stranger. "What then?"

"It is not for me to say. I am a slave." Valerios raised his voice. "And there are severe penalties for suborning slaves."

"So there are. There are also severe penalties for slaves who participate in treasonous activities. Doesn't it trouble you that you might have the skin peeled off your body and you be left staked to the ground outside the city walls?"

"Go away," Valerios said, his voice now tinged with fear.

"I will reward those who help me, and I will see that those who hinder me are punished." There was a menace in this promise that made Zejhil shiver.

"Go away. You are nothing more than a slave yourself, and anything you say to me is only the word of a slave." There was the sound of hurrying feet, and then more stealthy footsteps and a soft closing of a door.

Zejhil remained where she was, unable to move from the dread that gripped her. She tried to reason with herself, to convince herself that the sinister unknown man was no danger to her or anyone in Olivia's household, but she could not stop the shudders that overcame her when she attempted to leave the garden. "I must warn my mistress," she whispered, as if hearing the words would goad her to action. Nothing changed. Only the sudden braying of an ass in the street beyond the walls gave her the impetus she needed, and she fled into the corridor that joined the kitchen.

She had tasks to finish and knew that she might be reprimanded if she did not do them, but her fear outweighed her prudence and she sought out Niklos, hoping to find him before she lost all her courage.

He was in the counting-room, a row of gold and silver coins set out in front of him, a small scale standing beside the coins. He scowled as the door opened. "What—" As soon as he saw who it was, he changed his attitude. "Zejhil. What's the matter, girl? You look as if you've dragged a bale of silk from Antioch to Damascus."

She shut the door firmly and took a hesitant step toward him. "You… you said that if I heard anything I was to tell you…"

Niklos was now very attentive. "Yes. And you have been very good in that regard. What have you heard now?" He got up from the tall stool and came toward her. "Zejhil?"

"I was in the garden," she said, motioning him away from her. "I didn't think that anyone else was there, but they were."

"Who was there?" His curiosity was turning to worry. "What did you hear, Zejhil? What did you see?"

"I didn't see anything," she said. She was bent over slightly, her arms crossed over her abdomen as if she were in pain. "I only heard."

"Are you all right? Did anyone harm you?" He ignored her warning and came to her side.

"Not harm, no. I said I didn't see them. They didn't do anything to me, but I heard them. I heard them." She looked up at him. "There was a man I did not know. He was talking with Valerios."

"Valerios?" said Niklos, more puzzled than before.

"He—the stranger—was offering Valerios money for information about our mistress. He said that if there was any trouble for him, the stranger would say that Valerios was acting for the Court Censor." She began to cry from terror. "If it is so, if the Censor is trying to impugn our mistress, then there is no hope for us and we are all doomed."

Niklos put his arm around Zejhil's shoulder and held her as he would have held a frightened child. "No, no, Zejhil. If the Censor wishes to learn about Olivia, he will have to do more than spy on her slaves, or make spies of them. Even the Greek male slaves."

"The man was so… malignant." She trembled. "I have not heard anyone speak so, not ever."

"There are malignant people in the world, Zejhil. It is a pity for everyone, but it is so." He smoothed her hair back from her face. "But there have been no accusations made and until there are, even the Censor can do nothing. Olivia has kept to the laws; she has done what her sponsor has required of her, and if she—"

"She is a friend of Belisarius and Drosos." She said this as if she expected castigation for speaking those two names aloud.

"Yes, and she will continue to be, if I know her," said Niklos. Without seeming to do so, he guided Zejhil across the room to a wooden chair. "Sit, Zejhil."

Obediently she did. She clasped her hands together in her lap and waited for what would come next. "I am afraid," she said simply.

"I know," Niklos responded, and laid his hand on hers. "I wish you would trust us. Neither Olivia or I will let any harm befall you. Olivia does not require her slaves to suffer for her. If there are charges brought against her, she will free all of you before she answers them."

"There won't be time. She will have to ask her sponsor to do that, and if she is accused, no sponsor will permit her to do that." Zejhil started to rise, then sank back.

"It is already arranged," Niklos said quietly. "I rely on you to keep that to yourself."

Zejhil stared at him. "What do you mean, it is already arranged?"

"She has the writs with her sponsor's approval in her documents. She has only to affix a date and sign them." He shook his head. "I have said you could trust her. She knows that her position grows more precarious, and if she were permitted she would leave Konstantinoupolis."

"But she is not permitted?" said Zejhil.

"Not yet," said Niklos. There were alternate plans he and Olivia had made, but they were to be used only when all other means were exhausted: of these he said nothing.

"Then the stranger I heard could—"

"You have done very good work, for you have put us on our guard before the others are aware of it." He started to pace. "I want you to speak with Olivia later tonight, after most of the others have gone to bed. I will give you an order while you have your evening meal so that none of the others will pay any attention to what you do."

"What should I do until then?" She waited as if expecting revelation.

"What you usually do." He read confusion in her face and went on. "If you change what you do, there are those who will notice, and if Valerios has truly been approached, it may be that others have, as well. In which case, everything should appear as normal as possible to keep any potential spy from suspecting that he has been found out." Niklos studied her reaction. "I trust you will aid us?"

"How could you doubt it?" She rose out of the chair and came toward him. "If anyone tried to hurt you—"

He stopped her with a swift, kind gesture. "For that I am more grateful than you can imagine, Zejhil."

Her angular face went crimson. "I—"

"You are a very good woman, Zejhil; before you are anything else, you are a very good woman." He took her hand. "Now, go about your work, and know that our mistress and I thank you for what you have done."

She nodded, the blush fading. "I will. And when you summon me, I will be ready."

"Excellent. Now leave me alone. I have to think." He escorted her to the door and saw her go down the hallway; then, when she had turned the corner, he left the room and went in search of Valerios. It took some time for he was not where Niklos expected to find him.

"What—?" Valerios burst out as Niklos stepped into the small room near the kitchen where furniture was made and repaired. He was wearing a leather apron and had a leather-headed mallet in his hand. Between his legs he held one of the cooks' benches, with two new legs just being fit into place.

"I thought you would be in the vestibule," Niklos said as if the two men were in the middle of a conversation. "You were adding a new screen to the ikonostasis, weren't you?"

"Yes." He hammered the mallet down on the legs. "But the cooks needed this urgently. Since the great lady wasn't as pressed for the new screen, I decided to—" He interrupted himself with his work.

"You're an industrious fellow, Valerios. They breed you hardy in—where is it you are from?" Niklos leaned on the doorframe, arms folded.

"Thessalonica," he said, accompanying the word with two heavy blows.

"A distinguished place with a long history," said Niklos, very much at his ease.

"So I've heard." He tested one of the legs and glowered at it. "Is there something I have to do? If there isn't, I want to get this finished for the cooks."

Niklos crossed one leg over the other, resting the foot on the toe of his sandal. "Yes, come to think of it, there is something you can do: you can answer a few questions."

This time the mallet faltered in its descent. "What questions?"

"Nothing too difficult, I imagine." His mouth curved but there was no smile in his eyes. "I understand that you had an interesting offer earlier today. Would you like to tell me about it, or would you rather I guess?"

The mallet struck awry, the force of the impact almost pulling the bench from the grip between his knees.

Valerios cursed, then said, "An offer? What sort of offer?"

"I understand," Niklos said, unperturbed, "that someone was willing to pay you for information. Someone wanted to know certain things about this household and for unknown reasons was not willing to approach either our mistress or me directly." He paused, sensing Valerios' tension. "Why was that, Valerios?"

"I…I know nothing about that. Whoever says such things is lying." His protest was far from convincing.

"Really? You mean no one came here, saying that you would not be blamed for any ill you did because you were working for the Court Censor?" He asked this with innocence a cat would envy. "I was told you refused."

Valerios swung the mallet and then flung it to the far side of the room. "All right!" he shouted. "All right. There was a man, a slave. He had been here before and asked about Captain Drosos. I told him that the Captain had been here. I didn't think that there was any harm in that. Everyone in the household knew about it and it's not as if the mistress has made a secret of her dealings with him."

"Did he pay you then?" Niklos inquired sweetly.

"Two silver coins," Valerios admitted.

"You said nothing of it."

Valerios shrugged defensively. "I didn't think anything of it. There was nothing secret."

"Except the inquiry," Niklos pointed out. "Who was this man? Other than a slave?"

"I don't know. I thought when he first came here that he was merely searching for Drosos." He righted the bench and sat down heavily on it.

"Why would you think that?" Niklos asked, guessing at the answer already.

"His collar had the mark of Belisarius' household. I assumed the General was concerned, what with his former officers being sent to the distant ends of the Empire." He sighed and stared down at the earthen floor. "Or that may be what I told myself when I took the money."

Niklos' expression softened a bit. "It is a reasonable assumption."

"I thought that would be the end of it, and since Belisarius is our mistress' sponsor, I thought that there was no harm in telling the slave that."

"Since Belisarius is Olivia's sponsor, why would his slave have to ask you? Why would Belisarius not send a messenger directly to me or to Olivia herself?" Niklos asked.

"Perhaps he didn't want Captain Drosos to know he was being watched," said Valerios hopefully.

"And perhaps Belisarius has a spy in his household," said Niklos.

Valerios looked away. "There might be."

"Which slave was it? Describe him." He grew more attentive though his posture did not change.

"A eunuch. Not fat. Fairly tall. Between twenty and thirty—it's hard to guess age with eunuchs. Deep voice." He shook his head. "I should have spoken to you. I knew that at the time. But I thought it would be just the once, and the money was—"

"And this time he offered more, of course." Niklos recognized Simones and anticipated the pattern.

"Yes, more. And he wanted to know more. He said that I could keep the money no matter what." He coughed. "I don't want it, not that way."

"But you said nothing," Niklos reminded him. "Neither the first time nor the second."

"I know." This was hardly audible.

"Has our mistress been unkind to you?"

"No."

"Or made unreasonable demands?"

"No." His voice was lower.

"Or mistreated you?"

Valerios surged to his feet, kicking the bench aside. "You know she hasn't!"

"Then why did you betray her?" Niklos asked, his voice quiet and sharp at once.

Valerios shook his head and moved away from where Niklos stood. "I… I don't know."

"Shall I tell you?" Niklos did not wait for Valerios to answer. "You thought that you might have some power, some means to control—oh, anyone—and you wanted it. Don't you understand yet that Olivia meant what she said. You are her slave, but not in the way of Konstantinoupolis, in the way of Roma, old Roma. When I brought you here, you were told how the household was to be run, and you would not believe that, and now you have compromised yourself."

"I didn't agree to help the second time." Valerios was sulking now, refusing to look toward the majordomo. "I said I would not."

"If you think that you have heard the end of it, you're very mistaken. You are a tool of the enemies of my mistress now, and that makes you dangerous." Niklos finally moved into the room. "By tonight, you will be confined to your quarters. I would do that now, but it might alert others. Certainly the rest of the slaves would talk, and that is something that my mistress cannot risk at present. So you might as well get used to my company. Until you go to the kitchen to eat, you will have it."

"And then?" There was a hardness in his voice, the rasp of long-denied anger.

"You will have your meal, of course. The others will guard you. Afterward, I will secure you." He gave Valerios a measuring look. "If you are thinking of attempting to escape, let me advise you against it. If you run away, or even try to, you will have lost any chance you might have of salvaging something for yourself. A run-away forfeits everything, and there is nothing my mistress can do to change that. You will be branded a criminal and set to hard labor—probably the copper mines or aboard ship. In either case, you will not have much left to you."

"I should have taken the money, told the slave what he wanted to know, and said nothing," Valerios grunted.

"Had you done that, you would be confined right now. Be thankful to your good angel that you did not take the money." Niklos regarded Valerios a moment, then said, "Bring the bench to the kitchen. If the cooks need it so much, they will wonder if you do not fix it for them."

Valerios obeyed, his face sullen and his movements ponderous and slow. As he left the room, he looked hard at Niklos. "I could have accused you. I could have told the slave all I know about you, and—"

"And what is that?" Niklos inquired, sounding amused in order to hide his sudden apprehension.

"I saw you." Valerios turned narrowed eyes on Niklos.

"Do what?"

"I saw you eat. You had a shoulder of goat. You… just ate it. Just the way it was." Even as he hurled this accusation, there was a tone in his furious words that hinted he did not quite believe what he was saying.

Niklos shook his head. "Have you never tested meat to be sure it was fresh and wholesome before letting the cooks have it?"

"It was raw." Revulsion made the last word much worse than it was."

"It certainly was," said Niklos. "But no one in this household has fallen ill to tainted meat, have they?" He waited while Valerios considered what he had said. "My ways are similar to the ways of my mistress."

"So you eat goat raw?" Valerios said, now more bewildered than challenging.

"Upon occasion." He stood aside so that Valerios could carry the bench out of the room. "Come. The cooks are waiting."

Valerios had one last crafty question for Niklos. "What if I tell… someone that you eat raw goat?"

"What if you do?" Niklos rejoined. "If they believed you—and the chance is they would not—they would also believe the reason for what I do. Konstantinoupolitans believe almost anything about Romans." He was able to chuckle, but it was fortunate that Valerios could not see his face.

Valerios picked up the bench. "What are you going to tell the mistress?"

"Everything. I am her majordomo." He walked close behind Valerios as they went toward the kitchen. "If I did not, I would be failing her in every way."

"What will become of me." He stopped in the entryway to the kitchen.

"That is for my mistress to decide," Niklos said, his manner expressionless. Then he indicated the kitchen. "Look. Urania is waiting for the bench."

One of the two cooks, a squat, muscular woman with a round face and rosy complexion, greeted Valerios with a shout.

"About time! Put it here. My feet ache all the way up to my innards."

Niklos nodded and Valerios, after a quick glance at him, went and put down the bench. "Next time, don't pile half the kitchen on one end of it," he admonished Urania.

She uttered a gruff oath and sank down on the bench. "How anyone is supposed to cook all day on their feet, I don't know."

Niklos indicated the two long tables on the far side of the room where the slaves were served their meals. "How much longer before the meal?"

"Not long. There are some flatbreads just coming out of the oven, if you're hungry."

"I'm not," said Niklos. "But I know that Valerios is. Let him have one and we'll wait for the others."

Urania nodded, her wide face smiling even as she grumbled. "I don't know how I'm supposed to keep up with this household." She got her baking paddle and went to the oven. Her face grew ruddy from the heat as she pulled back the door and slid the paddle in. "These are best hot."

Valerios burned his fingers when he took the flatbread Urania offered him, but he refused to drop it. He sat at the nearer of the long tables and chewed slowly on the bread, watching Niklos while the other slaves began to arrive for their food.

Only when eight of the slaves were seated and Urania was bustling among them with trays of chicken cooked with dates and olives with garlic and cracked wheat did Niklos decide it was safe to leave Valerios in the kitchen. As he hurried toward Olivia's private apartments, he wondered how many other of the household slaves Simones had approached, and what they had told him. He was most troubled that Valerios had seen him eat. The fiction he had offered might be acceptable to a slave, but there were others who would find other meaning in what he did, and that could easily lead to questions with dangerous answers and more dangerous repercussions. He set his jaw and knocked on Olivia's door, saying "It's Niklos."

She was watching him as he came into her quarters. "More trouble? Of course there is more trouble," she said for him when he hesitated.

"It might be worse," Niklos hedged.

"Indeed it might," she said sardonically. "There might be an earthquake and the house could be on fire."

"Olivia—"

She managed a rueful smile. "But fortunately, we have only to deal with spies and enemies. Tell me."

* * *

Text of a letter from the physician Mnenodatos to the person who employed him to poison Antonina.

To the man who has called himself my benefactor, the physician Mnenodatos sends his apologetic greetings and will try to explain why he must dissappoint this generous person.

You have indicated that you are not satisfied with the rate of progress of my "treatment" of the August Lady Antonina and wish that she would show more signs of debilitation. If you insist, I am able to give her more of the poison you have instructed me to use, but I warn you that there are many others who would then recognize the nature of her malady and there is an excellent chance that I would be dismissed from the service of Belisarius and be accused, if not of poisoning her myself, of being so incompetent that I did not recognize that she is suffering from such treatment. If I were taken by officers of the magistrate, or by the Guard, I would have to reveal all that I know—which is not much, I admit—about the nature of the person who has engaged and paid me to do this thing.

As to your request that a similar ill befall the General himself, I must caution you that one unaccountable illness in a household like this one occasions only sympathy; two would give rise to speculation that neither you nor I would like. It is one thing for a woman of Antonina's years and temperament to have fevers and aches and sicknesses that no physician can treat, but if her husband should succumb to the same thing, then there are those who will ask questions, and they will not be satisfied with easy answers or vague reassurances. To make the poisoning of the General acceptable, I would have to poison the entire household, slaves and myself included, so that it would appear that the food was tainted. I do not believe that this is a reasonable solution to your problem.

If you are eager to be rid of the General, then there are others who will do the deed in any number of ways you might like. Enough gold will purchase far more than a physician's skill and conscience.

Be aware that I am doing all that I may to keep my activities undetected. If I do more, it will go badly. Since you have been willing to wait this long, I ask you take the time required for the poison to do its work. There is no advantage to discovery for any of us, not even for Antonina, poor woman, for she has taken enough of the poison that she cannot be saved no matter what was done for her. I could leave here tomorrow, give her nothing more, and she would last for perhaps two years at the most, and they would not be pleasant years.

I urge you to reconsider your request. I have done all that I can, and to undertake to do more would imperil the entire venture. I say this with authority and I ask that you respect my assertion—you respected my ability sufficiently to engage me on this filthy business.

Mnenodatos

physician

3

By the time the Guard arrived to search her house, Niklos had managed to hide most of the incriminating volumes Olivia had not been able to be rid of; there were a few Roman objects that might be considered suspect, but Olivia had said that disposing of all of them might be construed as more suspicious than the possession of one or two Roman items.

"We are here on the order of the Emperor and the Court Censor," announced Captain Demitrios as he held out a scroll sealed in three places. "Your scribe will read it to you."

"My Greek is not so bad that I cannot muddle my way through your writ," said Olivia as she accepted the document. "You will watch me break the seals, Captain?"

Taken aback, Captain Demitrios exchanged glances with two of his men. "If you like. Your sponsor should be here."

Olivia regarded the Guard Captain evenly. "My sponsor is General Belisarius. If one of you will go to his house and summon him, I am certain he will come."

"General Belisarius," repeated Captain Demitrios. "He is your sponsor."

"Yes. I turned over my villa outside Roma to him during his campaign and for that he has consented to be my sponsor." She was reasonably certain that Captain Demitrios knew something of this, but she was willing to go through the ritual. "If you would rather, I will send one of my slaves to fetch him."

"He ought to be here," said Captain Demitrios uncertainly. "The General—"

Olivia clapped her hands loudly. "Niklos!"

He responded at once, coming from the smaller of the reception rooms. "My mistress?" He favored her with a full reverence that was not lost on the soldiers.

"These Guardsmen require that General Belisarius be here while they perform their duty. Will you ask him to join us. Perhaps, Captain, you will tell my majordomo what your errand is so that he may inform the General?" She did her best to keep the irony out of her voice, but did not succeed entirely. "I will ask one of my two cooks to give you wine and something to eat while you wait, Captain."

The Captain straightened up. "We will have to stand guard around the house until the General arrives. We cannot act until he has read the orders. It would be best if you did not break the seals; leave that to General Belisarius." He was clearly not satisfied with the arrangement but knew his duty.

"Just as you wish. My household is, naturally, at your disposal," said Olivia as she stepped back from the armed men. "Come with me, Niklos, and I will write a note to the General for you to deliver."

Niklos heard the anger in her tone and he hastened after her, hoping she would contain herself until they were in private. "My mistress," he said as he opened the library to her, "you have only to command me."

As soon as the door was closed, Olivia turned her blazing eyes on Niklos. "I am not allowed to authorize the searching of my own house! It is bad enough that they want to search it, but I cannot read the document! Hecate shrivel them, every one of them!"

"Hush," Niklos warned her.

"Don't you—" She broke off. "You're right," she admitted after a moment. "All right. Find me my ink tablet and something to write on. The mood I'm in, I'll settle for a torn rag." She sat down, her shoulders still angular with rage. "Hurry. I don't want the good Captain to get restive."

"Will Belisarius come?" asked Niklos.

"I hope he will send a simple authorization, if that's possible. The whole thing is already intolerable." She was working the ink cake, mixing a little water with the square block, rubbing it with a small oval section of ivory until she had enough to write with. She accepted the vellum Niklos handed her and began to write, forming the letters awkwardly since she was not entirely used to the Greek alphabet yet.

"I will tell him what's going on," Niklos promised her.

"Including, no doubt, my state of mind," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Here. Take this. Make sure you show it to that oaf of a Captain."

"I will," Niklos told her, folding the vellum once and tucking it into his wide belt. He left promptly, winking at her before he closed the door.

Olivia sat alone among her shelves, a third of them empty now that the suspect texts had been removed. She forced herself to become calm. There had been other times over the centuries when she had faced worse than this, she reminded herself sternly, and she had been able to win free. She would do it again. If five centuries had taught her nothing else, she had learned a knack for survival. Much as she felt hampered by circumstances, she knew she would find a way; she always had. By the time she left the library, she was in command of herself.

Captain Demitrios greeted her return with more respect than he had shown her at first. "We are truly sorry for this"—he paused, trying to find a delicate word for intrusion—"necessity, but a soldier is the tool of the state."

"Yes; I am aware of that," said Olivia. "Perhaps you might tell me what you are ordered to look for?"

"There are a number of things," he answered evasively. "It is spelled out in the writ. The General will explain it all to you when he gets here."

Olivia bit back a sharp retort and forced herself to say, "I trust that he will. I trust that someone will. For to be candid, Captain, I do not understand why I am being treated in this way. Everything I brought with me to Konstantinoupolis was on the shipping manifests, and they were approved when I arrived here. There were other items of mine that we found here being sold, which were identified as contraband. What else do you think I have?"

"Great lady, it is not for me to discuss these matters. I have no knowledge of the reason the Censor wishes to have your house searched." He sounded so wooden and formal that Olivia wanted to kick him, to find out if he would feel it at all.

"Then how will you know if you find what the Censor—" She interrupted herself. "I suppose all that is in the document."

Captain Demitrios set his jaw. "Precisely."

"Then, if it is acceptable to you, I will leave you to withdraw to my quarters. Post your guards as you must. I hope it is permissible for me to have one of my slaves attend me while my majordomo is on his errand?" She hated the sound of her voice and wanted to scream at herself for hypocrisy, at the same time knowing it was the most sensible thing to do.

"We will strive not to disturb you, great lady," said Captain Demitrios, relieved enough to show her a slight reverence.

"You have already done that, Captain, through no fault of your own. I am now going to strive to minimize the impact of your presence on my household." She gave him a brief, hard look, then turned and went down the hall. "Zejhil!" she shouted. "I want you to come to my rooms!"

Most of the household slaves heard Olivia's order, and three of them took it upon themselves to find Zejhil for her, so that by the time the Tartar slave reached Olivia's apartments, she was worried that something more dreadful than the soldiers had happened to her mistress.

Niklos returned a short while later accompanied not by Belisarius but by Captain Chrysanthos, who was visiting the General. "He has authorization from Belisarius," said Niklos, who had already given Chrysanthos the benefit of his view of the situation.

Captain Demitrios watched Chrysanthos open the document and listened while he read aloud the items that Olivia was suspected of having including a sizable list of banned books, several of which Niklos recognized as the volumes Olivia had found added to the ones in her shelves.

"This is quite an indictment, if it is accurate," Chrysanthos said when he had finished reading.

"There are those who have sworn that it is," said Captain Demitrios grimly.

"And if they are in error?" Chrysanthos asked, adding, "I am charged by General Belisarius to discover what will be done to anyone bringing false accusations against Olivia Clemens."

"I was not informed," said Captain Demitrios. "It is not for me to know of that."

"Then perhaps you will be good enough to deliver this note from General Belisarius to the office of the Censor. As the great lady's sponsor, he is obligated to ask these things." It was one of Chrysanthos' gifts that he had a frank and open face, one that expressed good fellowship so easily that few noticed the acute, canny eyes that missed little.

Captain Demitrios took the note and looked at the seal. "I will report this to Panaigios when we return to the palace," he said, and was about to summon his men for the search when Chrysanthos detained him.

"I fear that the General has charged me with requiring you to deliver this to Kimon Athanatadies himself. You will do that, will you not?" He waited until the Captain agreed.

The search lasted until after sunset; in the end the soldiers carried away three ivory-inlaid chairs, two jeweled ikons, an antique table, a tall Egyptian lyre, four leather-bound books, two bolts of linen, and a marble portrait bust made more than three hundred years before of a man Olivia called her oldest friend.

"Things of value are always suspect," Olivia said to Captain Demitrios as he offered her a copy of the list of what had been removed. She made no attempt to hide her bitterness.

"I will provide Captain Chrysanthos with a copy of this list; he can take it to General Belisarius." Captain Demitrios paused awkwardly. "It is true that the General is not in favor now, but there are those who first served under him, and we do not like to see the way in which he is treated. I am sorry that this new disgrace had to come to him, after all the other slights and indignities he has had to endure. You will tell him that, will you not?"

"I?" Olivia asked. "Or would you prefer that Chrysanthos tell him?"

"It… He is your sponsor and we have taken things from your house, which he is responsible for, and it is—" He looked toward Chrysanthos. "Can you explain this to her?"

"I cannot explain it to myself," Chrysanthos said without losing his cordial manner. "I am hoping that the Censor will be able to."

The Captain of the Guard took the note as if he expected it to burst into flame. "I will deliver this. What the Censor will have to say, I cannot guess."

"He will tell you that it was necessary to do this," said Olivia. "And if it is done, then leave my house. My slaves are upset, I am upset, and you have taken some of my most treasured possessions on the pretext that they are dangerous." She indicated the door.

"The Emperor demands—" Captain Demitrios began, but Chrysanthos indicated the door.

"It is late, Captain, and there is not going to be a satisfactory justification of these seizures now. You have done what you had to do. It would be best if you departed with your men." He saw a quick gesture of approval from Niklos.

Captain Demitrios did not cavil. "I will see to your requests as if they came from Belisarius himself." He saluted Chrysanthos and left, signaling his troops to come with him as he strode away from the house.

"They're nothing more than brigands with permission!" Olivia accused the closed door.

"If you had said that to Captain Demitrios, he would have had to report it to the Censor, and that would have given him the excuse to summon you for formal questioning. I don't think that you want that to happen." Chrysanthos looked at her, waiting for her to master her temper. "I know that Drosos would not want that to happen."

She turned to him. "Drosos."

"You know what he has been like…" Chrysanthos said, his aplomb deserting him for the first time that day. "There has been nothing either I or Belisarius could say that consoles him. You are the only one. If I felt no obligation to you, I feel one to him, and I do not want you to fall into the hands of the Censor while Drosos is in such trouble."

Niklos indicated the hall toward the rear of the house. "I will see about getting the slaves fed. That is if Urania and Xanthos are not wholly overwhelmed by what's happened." He put his hand on Olivia's shoulder briefly. "Listen to the man, Olivia. He has good sense and he knows this place. You are a stranger here."

She closed her eyes in acknowledgment. "I will try," she said to her bondsman, and once he was gone, she indicated the smaller of the reception rooms. "Will you sit? I think there are enough chairs left for that."

Chrysanthos' easy smile had deserted him. "That was unforgivable. I will tell Belisarius to petition for the return of your goods at once."

Olivia looked weary as she sat down on the padded bench. "I have asked for permission to leave Konstantinoupolis; did you know? So far I've been refused, but I have continued to request permission."

"But where would you go? You cannot return to Roma, or Italy, for that matter."

"There are other places. I have a few friends left in the world and there are places I could go." She paused. "If you want something from the kitchen it might take a while to get it, but you are more than welcome."

He waved her offer aside. "There's no need. You have enough to do without worrying about me. But you sidestepped an answer, great lady. Where would you go?"

Olivia took a long breath. "I have thought I might go to Ptolemais. I have not visited Africa for a long time."

"The Copts are strong there," Chrysanthos pointed out.

"That doesn't worry me." She saw he was shocked and she said, "Your Orthodox ways are not Roman ways, no matter how hard everyone tries to deny it. The Church I… grew up with is not the same as the Church you have here. You are all Christians, but the… emphasis is different."

"But the Copts are heretics," Chrysanthos said.

"For a sensible man, Captain, you have a few blind spots—as we all do. It doesn't matter to me that there are Copts in Ptolemais; it is not likely that my friend's house there will be searched and looted."

"Looted is quite an accusation."

"Oh, very selectively looted, I'll give you that, but looted nonetheless, and in such a way that my objections place me in a worse position than complying with what the soldiers have done." The ire was back in her voice at last and she slammed her fist into the padded seat of the bench. "I wanted to fight them. I wanted to take one of the swords out of the stable, or the heaviest plumbatae I have and beat them, hurt them, for what they were doing."

Chrysanthos held up a hand in warning. "It isn't wise to say so, no matter how deeply you feel it, for there are times when such statements are repeated." He realized he had alarmed her, and he went on in a softer tone, "I will say nothing. I would not speak of what you say, for I am here as the deputy of your sponsor. I would not repeat your words, in any case, for the friendship I bear to Drosos."

Her expression softened. "You're almost a Roman in some things, Chrysanthos. I thought Belisarius and Drosos were the only ones, but you…" She reached out and picked up a small, bronze rushlight in the shape of a winged serpent. "I'm a little surprised they left this to me. I don't think they knew its value or they might have wanted it. It's Persian, very old." As she held it out, she said, "Take it, please, as a token of my thanks."

Chrysanthos was startled. "Great lady, you have no reason to do this."

"But I do," she corrected him gently. "You performed a great service for me and you've been willing to do more than you were required to do. Take the rushlight. You can use it as an oil lamp if you have a bronzeworker alter it a little."

"I would not think of changing it," said Chrysanthos as he took the rushlight. "I am… very, very grateful, great lady. I never thought you would make such an offer."

"It is my Roman nature," she said, shrugging off his thanks. "I was taught very young to acknowledge aid and service." She adjusted her paenula so that it enveloped her like a cloak. "It isn't cold, and yet I feel cold."

Puzzled, Chrysanthos asked, "Are you well?"

"In body, oh, yes. I am cold for other reasons. I am cold for desperation." She made a complicated gesture. "Until now, I have been able to hold off actions against me, but now, everything is different. It doesn't matter that Belisarius is my sponsor and that Drosos is my lover; the time will come when that will not stop the Censor from acting overtly against me."

"Surely it won't come to that?"

"It already has. You were here and you saw what was done. It is practice for what is to come. I will have to visit Belisarius soon and find a way to gain permission to leave." Or, she added to herself, she would have to arrange to leave everything behind and flee.

"I can understand why you think this might be the way things might go, but I assure you that we are more orderly, more civilized than that. You have seen the barbarians attack Roma, and it's understandable that you confuse them with us." Chrysanthos looked toward the door. "Your majordomo—"

Niklos was standing in the door. "We've restored some order in the kitchen and the evening meal is being served. The slaves are upset."

"I am upset," Olivia declared. "Thank you," she said with less feeling. "I will need to talk to them in the morning, when it is less immediate in our minds. Tell them, will you? I will speak with them tomorrow at midmorning." She almost grinned at Niklos. "Find out what they're saying among themselves that they would not want to tell me."

"Of course," Niklos answered.

"I needn't have asked," Olivia agreed.

Chrysanthos took advantage of this interruption to make a departing reverence. "You have much to attend to. I will report to Belisarius and I will tell him what you have told me, and you may be certain that it will be held in the greatest confidence. Your gift is as generous as it is unnecessary." He started into the vestibule, Niklos coming after him.

"Captain," Niklos said as he opened the door for Chrysanthos. "Do you know where Drosos is?"

A frown appeared between Chrysanthos' brows. "Not today. He has often disappeared for hours at a time. I thought he might be here, but if that were the case, there would have been no reason to send for Belisarius, would there?"

"He has not been here for three days. I'm concerned for him. My mistress is worried. If you find him, tell him what has been going on here and ask him to come soon. It would mean much to Olivia." Niklos paused. "Tell him that…"

"What?" asked Chrysanthos when Niklos did not go on.

"Tell him that he has nothing to fear from Olivia." He held the door open and made a proper reverence.

"Why would Drosos fear Olivia?"

Niklos opened his hands, palms up, to show his innocence in the matter. "He has claimed that he does. I don't know if that is serious or only his teasing, but—"

"Yes, I see," said Chrysanthos. "I will tell him, and I hope for his sake as well as the sake of your mistress that he does come soon. She is a woman of formidable control, but I think that she is more distraught than is apparent." He stepped out into the twilight street.

As Niklos closed the door, he turned to see Olivia standing in the door of the reception room. "You're eavesdropping."

"As is everyone else in this house, it would seem." She came toward him. "I want to rail at them. I want to call down plagues and curses on them and their offspring."

"But you won't," Niklos said with confidence.

"No; not yet." She indicated the ikonostasis. "At least not yet. Another time—"

Niklos looked around. "Do you intend that there be a formal complaint?"

"If I didn't, it would look more suspicious than anything else I could say or do. I will go to Belisarius myself tomorrow, and find out how he advises me to handle this. Chrysanthos has been very helpful—I did not mean to imply that he wasn't—but I will have to speak with Belisarius privately before I know what is best to do." She began to walk restlessly and aimlessly around the vestibule. "If I can discover what the reason is, then there might be a way to combat all the lies and innuendos, but as it is—"

"About leaving?" Niklos asked.

"Yes." She stopped and turned back toward him. "You are always such a sensible man, Niklos, and there are times I wonder how you deal with me." Her expression grew distant. "The clothes I mentioned?"

"I have them."

"Buy three more horses. Make sure they are swift but ordinary looking. Saddle horses, mind, not chariot horses. If we are to leave here on… short notice, we will need saddle horses as well as chariot horses." This last was for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, and Niklos caught her gesture that indicated her intent.

"Three horses. Very well." He cocked his head. "Do you anticipate needing to leave soon?"

"No, but anticipation means little in such circumstances. I will have to find a way to judge when it is best to act." She shook her head. "There was a time when I would have thrown it all away and simply headed out of trouble without a second thought. But that, my friend, would be folly. If you leave a place under suspicion, you must live with that suspicion for a very long time, and there's no telling when it might—" She stopped. "We had trouble enough in Carthago Nova. I would prefer not to have such problems again."

"I won't argue," said Niklos with feeling. "But who would have thought that smug little bureaucrat would travel so far, or remember so clearly?"

"Precisely," Olivia agreed. "And I do not want to spend another twenty-five years in Pictavi or some other equally dreadful place posing as a sybil and living in a cave. That taught me a lesson I do not need to learn twice." She attempted to make light of this. "And you would not have to spend a quarter of a century pretending to be a mute."

"Spare me that," he said with feeling. "Horses. Anything else?"

Olivia gave a warning gesture toward the doors. "Not now, not until I have spoken with my sponsor. In the meantime, I will want to have a word or two with Zejhil. Find her and send her to me, will you?"

For the benefit of anyone who might be watching, Niklos made a deep reverence. "Immediately, great lady."

She waved him away, but did not leave the vestibule at once herself; she stared at the door and wondered, as she had wondered often in the last three days, where Drosos was and what he was doing.

* * *

Text of a letter from Olivia to Sanct' Germain, written in Latin code.

To my dearest, oldest friend who ought to be in Trapezus now, Olivia sends her fond greetings.

I am sending this to your house in Trapezus in the hope that you will have returned there, or that if you have not, your servants will know where you are to be found and will send this along to you. You have been traveling more in these last several years, which is inconvenient for both of us.

But it appears that I will be doing the same thing. For some reason I have not yet discovered, I have aroused suspicions here in Constantinople and from the way things are going, I will have to leave soon or face consequences that would be unpleasant. What a simple word that is—unpleasant—when I am trying to say that I fear for my life; the life you returned to me when Vespasianus wore the purple. Was it really almost five hundred years ago? You will have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe. Five hundred years seems so long, looking at the numbers, yet how swiftly those years have gone.

I have not yet determined where I will go when I leave here, but leave here I must. I hate abandoning my house and goods; I have already left so much behind in Roma that I know I will never see again. And leaving my friends—although there are precious few of them—is more difficult than I can tell you. No, that's not true, is it? You, of all people, know how hard it is to leave friends.

Assuming I have time enough for adequate preparation, I think I will try to move toward the edges of the Empire, or to go to those parts that are Coptic. The Copts are not as eager to question the faith of everyone around them as these damned Orthodox Christians are. Of course the Orthodox regard the Copts as heretics, which might account for some of this; so long as I have the opportunity to live and move about without constant surveillance, I will be—satisfied?—content?

Niklos is making several sets of arrangements for our departure, some of them more obvious than others. He is a treasure, and when I think of him, I think also of your Rogerian, since they are the same sort. Is it their method of restoration that creates such loyalty?

When I have established myself at wherever-I-am-going, I will send you word, and I trust you will write to me from time to time. Your letters are always so welcome, so consoling. There are times they are sad, as well, for they remind me of how you brought me into your life. There are times I miss those years, and your love, so intently that my bones hurt with it. Yes, yes, do not say that it is past and that the bond continues unbroken. I know that, and I cherish it, but that does not rid me of the longing.

I am not going to apologize for the last, incidentally. I know that our love cannot be what it was before I came into your life, but that does not mean I have to deny that I miss it.

Perhaps, when the worst of this is over, there will be time to write more fully, to tell you things that I cannot yet put down in words. Until then, have care, my precious friend, my old love. This world would be far drearier than it already is if you were no longer in it.

With my enduring love, and you alone appreciate my meaning,

Olivia

in Constantinople

4

Panaigios was more nervous than the last time he had spoken with Simones. His fingers moved almost constantly, now at his pallium, now at the hem of his sleeves, now at the large, pearl-encrusted cross he wore around his neck. He indicated a small, unpadded bench and waited while Simones sat, then cleared his throat. "You have said that you have made a discovery?"

"Yes," Simones replied without any aggrandizement to the secretary of the Censor. "I sent you word of it three days ago."

"I have your note somewhere," Panaigios said, leafing through the sheets of vellum and parchment that lay on his writing table. There were even a few sheets of Egyptian paper which Simones found surprising. "Here it is. You say here that you"—he held up a strip of vellum—"have found material that would be of great value to me and to the Censor and the Emperor. You say nothing more about what this material is. Since you describe this as material, I have assumed that you have come upon a document of some sort that has some bearing on the investigation the Censor has been pursuing in regard to your master. Have I erred in any of these assumptions?"

"Not very much, no," said Simones.

"I have also assumed that you have some reason for withholding the material itself—would it be missed?" He braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "If that is the trouble, it is possible that a writ to search the house of Belisarius could be obtained from the Emperor. He is eager to learn of anything bearing on the conspiracy that Belisarius claims he has not participated in. Would this material be related to that question?" He was speaking fast and in breathless little spurts, and when he finished, he coughed once.

Simones leaned back. "I am prepared to show you something that would establish my master's role in the conspiracy. It isn't necessary to get a writ and search the house. I can put my hands on the thing at any time, and if I choose when it is to be shown, it will not be missed." He folded his hands and caught them around his knee. "I want to be certain of my position in this before I go any further. Denouncing my master is a dangerous thing, and I do not want to place myself in the position of a sacrifice." He nodded at the startled glance Panaigios threw him. "Oh, yes, I have wondered if you were going to use me as the means to be rid of Belisarius and then you would be rid of me, as well."

"It…it isn't the way the Censor… manages these things," said Panaigios with unconvincing sincerity.

"I doubt that," Simones said. "I have heard of slaves who disappear with their masters when the masters have been shown to be enemies of the Emperor. I would not say the names, for they aren't to be spoken, are they?"

"You are insolent," Panaigios snapped.

"Certainly." Simones showed his teeth. "I am serving two masters, which means that I must weigh my own interests."

"Insolent slaves suffer for it." Panaigios held up the vellum. "I have this, and it places you as my agent, if I am willing to say that you have worked on my authority. If I do not say you have my authority, then you are a slave who has betrayed his master. I will have no more insolence from you." He slammed the palm of his hand on the writing table for emphasis. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.

Simones straightened up. "I have other notes from you; I have kept them. They give instructions and they have your name on them." He folded his arms. "I have two things to discuss. I have mentioned the material about the conspiracy. I also want to inform you that my mistress continues to suffer declining health and it is not likely she will live more than a year given her problem."

"Poison," said Panaigios.

"Yes. It continues to be administered. The man who gives her the poison still does not know who has required her death. He thinks it is someone in the household, but he does not suspect me. In fact, he once asked me who might wish ill on Antonina." He leaned forward. "I have enrolled the aid of Eugenia, who was once the close friend of my mistress, to observe her and learn from her."

"You said that you had the support of a friend; was this what you meant?" Panaigios tapped his fingers on the piled sheets on his writing table.

"Yes. When I reported my intentions, you encouraged me. I have tried to be useful to you." His eyes hardened. "I want you to be useful to me, as well."

Panaigios dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "When we have learned all that we require, then a decision will be made regarding you, but not until that time." He waited. "Tell me more about this material."

"It shows that my master was part of a conspiracy. I will be happy to produce it as soon as I am assured that I will not suffer the same fate as my master and his household. I want a promise of manumission and I want the assurance that I will be paid for what I supply." He leaned back. "Until these things are arranged, I will not show you this material."

Panaigios sighed. "I cannot give you any such assurance. It isn't my place to do so. If you think that you must have some guarantee, then the Censor must be the one to decide it." He started to gather up the vellum sheets. "I will speak of this to my master."

"If you do not give me the things I ask for, the material will disappear." Simones gave another of his lupine smiles.

"What?" Panaigios stopped his work and stared at Simones. "Are you threatening to destroy proof of treason?"

"Unless I obtain what I want." Simones raised his head, his strong jaw more prominent than usual.

Panaigios stacked all the sheets together, watching his hands as he did. "Let me warn you, slave, that you are placing yourself in grave danger."

Simones chuckled. "I have been in danger from the start of this. It is nothing new to me."

"Then you have not considered your role in this. You have convinced yourself that you are indispensable to our investigation, and you are not. You are a slave and you have been convinced that your assistance—assistance, not direction—is needed in order to determine what your master's part has been in any plot against the Emperor. To imagine otherwise is a grave mistake. You are not the person who guides this inquiry, the Court Censor is, and all of us are his tools." He said the last in a lowered tone, but with an expression that was both severe and desolate.

Simones heard this out with a mixture of impatience and rancor. "You are his tool as well, of course," he said at last, intending to insult Panaigios.

"Certainly. We are all his tools, and he is the tool of the Emperor." Panaigios waited a moment, then said more briskly, "If you have knowledge, not suspicion but knowledge, which can link Belisarius directly to a conspiracy, then you must give it to me at once, for to withhold it is a greater treason than the action that inspired it."

"What?" Simones said, for the first time frightened of the Censor's secretary.

Panaigios nodded twice. "If you do not produce this material, whatever it is, and do so at once, then you are knowingly aiding those who oppose the Emperor, and that is a treasonable act."

Simones drew back, disliking the firm attitude Panaigios was showing now. "I… I am not quite certain that I can put my hands on the material."

"You had better be, or your accusations will be relayed to your master and he can deal with your insubordination." Panaigios stood up. "You have two days to accomplish this. If you do not, then I will have to review your position with this investigation. Whatever the decision, you will not be permitted to act as independently as you have in the past, for it is obvious that like most slaves, you cannot handle any authority."

"You are wrong!" Simones said with force as he got to his feet. His face had darkened and his eyes were huge. "You came to me, and you gave me orders that required I act against my master. It was on your orders that I have done the things I've done, and you are the one who must be responsible for whatever I have done and whatever I will do." He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a long way.

"You are a slave." Panaigios stepped back. "I dismiss you until you have considered your situation closely and have made up your mind what you intend to do. I will not stop you from making any decision you wish, but I warn you now that there is very little chance you will be excused if it turns out that your allegations are false. The malice of slaves is well-known, and you are no exception to that rule." He indicated the outer door. "I hope you will not dawdle."

It took all the control Simones had learned over the years for him to leave the room without smashing his fist into Panaigios' face. He made a reverence and touched his collar in a gesture of submission, then turned sharply on his heel. "I will find the material," he vowed, wishing now that he had taken the time to plant such a document within Belisarius' house. There might not be a chance now that the Censor's men were on the alert. He cursed Panaigios and himself as he strode from the palace of the Censor.

Panaigios did not hurry to Kimon Athanatadies' quarters at once, although he was aware his duties required him to report to his superior immediately. Instead he sought out the smallest chapel in the palace and took time to pray, for he was terribly afraid. He wanted to seek out Thekla again, to listen to her strange prophecies and try to determine his course from her cryptic statements, but he knew he was being watched, and such an action now might be construed as a ploy to secure a higher position within the government, which the Court Censor would view as highly questionable. There had been too many instances lately when Athanatadies had asked Panaigios awkward things, and he knew his answers had been far from satisfactory.

By the time Panaigios rose from his knees, Simones was halfway to Eugenia's house, his thoughts growing sterner with every step he took. He was determined to show himself to be trustworthy if he had to counterfeit the proof of Belisarius' treachery himself.

At Eugenia's house he was made to wait while she prepared herself to receive him. This only served to make him more aggravated than he already was, so that when Eugenia entered her larger reception room, Simones was glowering with ire.

"Lord protect us," Eugenia said, trying to find the right note to take with Simones. "You look as if half the mules in the market had stepped on your feet."

"I don't find that amusing," Simones said, coming to her side and putting his arm around her. "Find another way to amuse me."

She became very still. "Simones, there are slaves in my house who will defend me."

"Summon them," he offered, almost eager for the opportunity to have direct conflict with someone. "I will resist, but that mustn't bother you. You would like to be fought over, wouldn't you? It would be better if those fighting weren't slaves, but that is better than nothing." He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Go ahead; summon your help."

"Not yet," she said, fearful of what might happen.

"Disappointing, but wise." He released her. "Sit down. I must talk with you."

"Simones—" she began in protest.

"I said sit down. Unless you want it known what you have done at my behest." He pointed to the smaller bench near the window. "Now."

Slowly Eugenia did as she was told. "Now what?" she asked when she had folded her hands in her lap.

"Now I must know if you have any letters or notes written by my master to you or to friends here?" He braced his hands on his hips.

"I don't think so," she said, puzzled at his remark.

"Are you certain?"

Eugenia shook her head. "It would not be proper for Belisarius to write to me, in any case, unless at the request of his wife. Since Antonina is able to read and write, there is no reason for her husband to send anything to me." She fiddled with the edge of her paenula. "I can only think of one man who received any word from Belisarius while he was here, and he has not been… to visit me for well over a year. He was one of Belisarius' officers in Italy."

"Drosos?" suggested Simones.

"No; Chrysanthos. He is going to be posted abroad soon, or so he was told by his superiors. They're doing that with a good number of Belisarius' former officers, you know. Most of them are on the frontiers, but a few have… disappeared entirely. They might as well have ceased to exist." She was twisting a section of the edge of her paenula now. "I don't remember any other—"

"Chrysanthos won't do," Simones cut her off. "He's too well-connected for my purposes. I need someone who is not highly placed and has few friends near the Emperor. It's a shame you aren't a friend of Drosos. He would be ideal. He's regarded as a rogue ever since his protest."

"I don't know Drosos, except for the few times I saw him at your master's house," said Eugenia.

"You might try to renew the acquaintance," Simones said, his tone more thoughtful.

"I doubt it," she replied. "I was never able to catch his attention. He was always enthralled by Olivia Clemens, the Roman widow who—"

"I know who she is. She occasionally visits Belisarius; he's her sponsor." He bit his lower lip as he considered. "If you were to see him again, do you think you could engage his attention, for a night?"

Eugenia shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want to. The man is dangerous to know and you, for all your talk of the Censor, cannot promise me that this would not ruin me." Her voice raised in defiance. "I have called upon Antonina, I have done what I can to find out what she knows without being too obvious. You say you do not think I've done enough, but even ill, Antonina is not a stupid woman, and if I am too persistent in my questions she will not want to speak with me. She is not going to be willing to share confidences with me forever."

"Not more than a year, in any case," Simones said with a hint of gloating.

"Don't speak of that," Eugenia pleaded.

"You could help her prepare," Simones went on, tormenting her deliberately. "You can turn her thoughts away from the world and into the realms of faith. You can urge her to be rid of the sins that plague her soul and might cast her down into the Pit. It would not be the first time that death brought truth to light."

"I hate speaking with her," Eugenia confessed. "I see her in pain and with her strength ebbing, and it is all I can do to say those things I know will please her." The fabric in her fingers had started to unravel. "She is suffering. Doesn't that bother you?"

"It bothers me that we must take such a long time or be discovered." He came to her side again. "Listen to me, great lady. I am a slave. I had half my manhood cut off when I was seventeen for no reason other than a pope preached on the joys of celibacy. Mind you, the pope was married, but he spoke of the freedom from lust that comes with the loss of the hairy eggs. So all his male slaves were castrated for their own good. You see how it has dampened my lust. I have nothing in this world. There is everything to gain and nothing to lose. Why should the death of one woman make any difference to me? Do you know how I feel when I see her lying there, her face pale and great circles under her eyes, and that pain consuming her? I know that I caused it, and that her physician doesn't know that I am the one who has suborned him. It is… magnificent to feel so." He laughed, and though his laughter was genuine, it held no trace of mirth. "Do not speak to me about Antonina, Eugenia. It means nothing to me that she will die."

Eugenia's head had drooped as she listened to him. Finally she started to weep. "You are worse than the barbarians who are slaughtering our troops."

"No," he said when he had considered it. "No, to be their equal I would have to have accounted for more than the death of one woman and the discrediting of a single man." He reached down and sank his hands into her arms, hauling her to her feet. "Look at me, Eugenia. Look me in the face and smile for me."

"Smile," he ordered, his hands tightening. "I want to see you smile."

Her lips twisted into the semblance of happiness, but she could not continue for long. "Let me go."

"Not yet. Not until you agree to help me."

"What choice do I have?" she asked bitterly. "You're determined to ruin me, aren't you?"

"Of course not," he said, making no effort at sincerity.

"You want to ruin me as well as your master and mistress. You have wanted that from the first." She threw her head back. "I wish I had the courage to spit in your face."

"It is just as well you do not. I would then have to remind you who commands here." He released her so suddenly that she staggered. "You are going to find a note. That note will indicate that Belisarius wanted his officers to join with him in an effort to overthrow the

Emperor. You may choose which of the officers you like, which ones you would like to see disappear. I think that the Censor would believe Drosos was part of the plot before he would believe that Chrysanthos was, but that is for you to decide. I want this note to be phrased indirectly, and I want it to be without date, so that it might apply to any time."

"I can't do that," Eugenia said.

"You can and you will." He caught her arm. "If I have to persuade you, I will. I might do it anyway."

"Not—" Her disgust was so great that she did not trust herself to speak.

"I think that it is time you spent another hour with me. I fear you have forgot what I can do to you." His grimace was ferocious. "You will write that note in a good imitation of Belisarius' hand and you will leave it in Antonina's quarters the next time you call upon her. You will put it in an unobvious but secret place. There are three alabaster jars of scent; one of those would do very well." He would not let her move away from him.

"I don't think I can do that," she said, her eyes wide with fear.

"Be inventive. Bring her another jar of scent, or offer to anoint her wrists or her brow. That will give you the opportunity you seek."

"No," she said, her conviction faltering.

"Yes. You will do this, and then you will tell me where you have placed the note. The rest will be for me to manage. You need not be concerned with any of it." He leaned against her, taking delight in her terror. "Think of how you will benefit once Belisarius is fallen completely and Antonina is dead. You will be recognized for your service."

"I do not want such recognition," Eugenia insisted.

"Perhaps not now, when you are caught up in the danger. But once it is over, you will change your mind. You will be proud to say you helped in unmasking a traitor. The Censor will show you favor, and that is to your advantage, isn't it?" He seized her and kissed her hard.

She pushed against him trying to break his hold. "I don't want you to touch me."

"It doesn't matter what you want," he said simply. "You will do as I order or you will suffer for it."

"I suffer for it already," she said, her mouth set.

"Really?" With one hand he ruffled her hair, destroying its smooth order. "Is all this so terrible? Do I make things so difficult for you? Do I?"

She did not answer, but the loathing in her eyes was eloquent and for the time being, it satisfied Simones.

* * *

Text of a letter from Drosos to Chrysanthos, never delivered.

To my comrade-at-arms and, I hope, my friend, I send my apologies and belated greetings.

I have not set out to avoid you, Chrysanthos, though you have good reason to think that might be my intention. I know I ought to have explained to you, but I have not been able to discuss the things that you and I endured in Alexandria. I do not want to be reminded, and it is unforgivable in me that because of my cowardice I have not been willing to speak with you since that would remind me of all that transpired.

You are being posted to the frontier, or so I've been told. That's been happening to most of Belisarius' officers, hasn't it? At least you are not one of those who has disappeared forever and whose names are not spoken except when one is very private or very drunk. I hope that you will have the opportunity to show your valor and to convince the Censor and the Emperor that you are worthy of their good opinion. You have always had mine, but that means less and less every day, and never meant much.

Those bleak days in Alexandria you did more for me than I had any right to expect, and for that I am truly and deeply grateful. I have not said it, and I might not say it again, but I want you to know that all you did made my stay there a bearable torture. If it weren't for you, I might have forgot all they have taught us about sin and opened a vein or run on my sword like an old Roman.

That is one of the reasons I can almost envy you: you are going to have the opportunity to fight again, and in battle there is always the chance of a spear in the side or an arrow in the belly or a sword through the neck. I used to think that the greatest challenge, and now I see it differently; I see the release it would bring. I haven't been able to confess this to my pope, though to be honest, I haven't tried or wanted to. I would never be able to make a pope understand why I feel the shame I do, or why I seek to be rid of myself. All that is sin, and admitting it places me among the damned. But I knew that already. I knew that as I watched the Library burn.

The Emperor was wrong to order it. For whatever reason, he demanded a deed that was worse than blasphemy. It may be that he truly believes that it was a triumph of faith, and possibly it was that. I cannot grasp it, and no matter how I try, I can see no reason for it that balances what was lost. So now, on top of my heresy, I am speaking treason. Perhaps you had better not read this, or I had better not send this. I would burn it, but I have had too much of burning already. If I forget myself and send this to you, I suggest you burn it for your own protection. Or you can take it to an officer of the Court Censor, and then Kimon Athanatadies can have a chance to persuade me I am in error. If only someone could. If only I could convince myself that I have not enough comprehension and that what I see as a failing really is a magnificent accomplishment.

The souls of the books haunt me. They are like ghosts who cry in the night, and I hear them, so many, many voices, all lost and wandering. That sounds like the words of a madman, doesn't it? It may be that I am mad, and have not realized it yet. If I am mad, then does that mean I am condemned to live with those pitiful voices for the rest of my life?

Pay no attention to me, Chrysanthos. There is no reason for you to have to listen to more of this; you already suffered more than your share of this maudlin self-recrimination I have indulged in since I carried out my orders. And after all, the decision was not mine, it was the decision of Justinian to do away with the books. I was nothing more than his instrument and by rights I have no responsibility in the act, as you had none. It is just that I saw the books and the flames that consumed them and I have become sentimental about them. I do not castigate myself for the men I maimed and killed in battle, or for the peasants that starved because my troops took the last of their chickens to keep from starving themselves. There is no sensible reason to be so distressed over the scribblings on tablets and parchment and papyrus and paper. I have indulged in useless and apostatic whining long enough and I must have exhausted your patience and the bonds of our friendship long since.

I pray you have a worthy campaign and that you gain the glory and advancement you have so long deserved, and that any stigma that remains from your association with Belisar-ius or with me is at last removed so that you can be recognized as the superior officer you are. Do not hesitate to disavow your ties to me if that will aid you. I do not want to hinder you in any way, for you have done more than I might reasonably expect of a friend and fellow-officer. And I no longer deserve the loyalty you have given so unstintingly.

When I hear from you again, if I ever do, I trust it will be to learn that you are at last given full field command and the rights and grants that go with that promotion. Never did a true soldier earn it more completely than you have. If it would not compromise you, I would offer an official commendation, but since the Emperor recalled me, a good word from me is the same as the kiss of the plague. So perhaps you may regard this letter as a private thanks and appreciation from an officer who is no longer in a position to express such things.

If I have not wholly disgraced myself, or if there truly is a merciful God in Heaven, I might be given the chance to expiate my sins on campaign again. The Saints know I would welcome it. Let me be a Captain. I do not want higher command. Let me fight and restore some of the honor I have lost, if that is possible.

You are good to let me carry on this way. You have already heard most of it. So, perhaps, I will not send this after all. There is nothing here that is new to you and there is no reason you should have to endure this again.

Still, I will sign it with my good wishes and affection and respect.

Drosos

Captain

5

Long seclusion had leeched the deep tan from Belisarius' skin and now he looked almost as pale as a pope or a metropolitan who spent his life in religious devotions. His eyes were exhausted but he moved restlessly as he led the way from his vestibule to the one reception room that opened onto his garden.

"I am relieved that you came," he said to Olivia when the formalities had been observed. "I have not been able to get any response from the Censor regarding the items that were taken from your house. For the last month the only comment they will give me about you is that the Censor has not yet made up his mind. I have no means to demand more from him."

"You have done what you can, and more than I have any right to expect," said Olivia, wishing she could say more safely. On her arrival she had been warned that there were many spies in his household; she would have to guard her tongue.

"It ought to be more," said Belisarius, his frown deepening making furrows in his face. "It shames me that I am unable to do more."

"There is no reason it should," Olivia told him frankly. "I am a foreigner here, and a woman. That the Censor does not choose to act is not surprising. There are other more pressing cases requiring his attention, I am certain." She looked up as a slave brought refreshments into the room. "Thank you, I will take nothing."

"You never do," Belisarius complained with a smile.

"If things were different I might be offended. Under the circumstances, I admire your prudence."

Olivia laughed sadly. "It isn't that I fear what you serve. You have no earthly reason to poison me. But there are things that cause me upset, and I wish to avoid them. You have known others with antipathies to certain foods, and I am afraid I am one such." There was, she added to herself, one thing only that nourished her and lately it had been difficult to acquire.

"You've told me that before," he said, making the most of the conversation while the slave was still in the room. "I am sorry, incidentally, that my wife is not feeling well enough to join us. Her malady continues. I had hoped she would recover but that hope is—" He could not finish.

"Before I leave, I would like to call upon her, if that is all right with her. It has been almost three months since I had the pleasure of speaking with Antonina and I would like to have a little time with her."

Belisarius was able to smile fleetingly at her request. "I will send word to her. Simones has been watching her since sunrise and doubtless he will want to have a meal and stretch his legs a bit. He's been very good to her."

"At a time like this, his devotion must mean a great deal to Antonina." She kept her voice neutral, for she did not want to distress Belisarius with her own misgivings about the eunuch.

"Yes. He was a gift, you know. His former master gave him to my household when his second son was made an officer at the start of my Italian campaign. The officer proved useless, but Simones has been a treasure." His gaze was directed out the window to the garden which was coming into flower. "I am growing nostalgic for war. That is a bad sign in an old soldier."

Olivia leaned forward and put her hand on his forearm. "You long for action. There is no harm in that."

"Action? Or battle, and the blood and the thrill? It is a thrill, Olivia, that first charge when it seems that you are as invincible as the waves of the sea. Later there is the clamor and the sweat and the losses, but in that first moment, it is as marvelous as taking a beloved woman." His expression altered. "Do you see those roses? I planted them myself, with a rat and a fish at the roots to make them bloom more profusely."

"They are beautiful," Olivia said truthfully, wanting to shake Belisarius.

"You're being very patient," Belisarius said to her, and when she started to speak, he interrupted her. "I know you have urgent problems, and I am not doing all that I could. You have let me speak, listening and not blaming, and I owe you more than I can repay."

"Belisarius, you don't have to—" Olivia said, hoping to spare him the embarrassment he was bringing on himself.

"I do have to," he said. "You are rightly concerned for your safety, and I talk about slaves and roses. You need my aid, and I have not given it." He cleared his throat. "All right; I will send another petition to the Censor, requesting the return of all goods taken from your house. I will ask that you be given permission to leave the city before the end of the year, and I will do all that I can to see that the requests are granted. If you do not expect a rapid decision from the Censor, I think that I will be able to obtain the documents you will need. How much of your goods I can recover is another matter."

"I don't ask the impossible, I hope," Olivia said, her eyes softening. "You have your own difficulties."

"I suppose I ought to find you another sponsor, one in better favor with the Censor, but to be honest, I would miss you, and it would be a greater capitulation than I can bear to revoke my sponsorship. As long as I am permitted to be your sponsor, I feel I have some influence, some credibility with the Imperial Court. If I lost that, it would be the same as surrendering."

"I do not want any other sponsor," Olivia said.

Belisarius snorted. "You don't want a sponsor at all."

"Yes. But if I must have one, then I would rather it be you than anyone else." She shrugged. "Do what you can. I will not hold you responsible for what others do."

"I could request that Drosos—" Belisarius offered.

"Drosos is in more disgrace at court than you are. And he is questionable since he is known to be my lover." She frowned, hesitating. "He is also… very much troubled. Ever since his return from Alexandria, he has been unlike himself. I… I have tried, but he—"

"I know," Belisarius said. "I've talked with him, and he is overburdened."

Olivia nodded in agreement. "He is not what he was. There are times I fear I will not be able to… to reach him again."

"Is that so important?" Belisarius asked in surprise.

"There is nothing more important," Olivia said quietly but with so much feeling that Belisarius found it difficult to look at her.

"Yes." He rubbed his hands against his pallium. "Is there anything you would like to eat?"

"No," she said. "I would like to be able to help Drosos, but he won't permit it. When we talk, it is as if he were a stranger, an angry, guilty boy."

Belisarius made a curt gesture. "This is folly."

"He cannot reconcile himself to what he has done." Now that she said it, she saw compassion and resignation in Belisarius' face.

"And if he had not done it, he would not have been able to reconcile himself to that, either." He reached for a plum. "I do not know what more can be done for him."

"He does not want to listen to me; will he listen to you?"

"I don't know." He averted his eyes. "If I were able to speak to the Emperor, I might be able to find out all his reasons for ordering the Library burned. But as it is, I cannot answer the questions that haunt Drosos, and—"

Olivia rose. "It wouldn't matter. Even if the Emperor gave his reasons to Drosos, it wouldn't end his doubts, not now." She sighed. "What does a peasant from Macedonia know about the value of books?"

Belisarius looked up sharply, his hand raised in warning. "It isn't wise to be so outspoken in this house."

"I have said the same thing in my own house and I am certain that there are spies." She walked toward the tall window that was open on the garden. "Your Emperor began life as a peasant. He was not much different from others, except in his ambitions."

"In his vision," Belisarius corrected her, an edge in his voice.

"Call it what you will; he aspired to more than the life of a peasant—will that do?" She shook her head. "He has no concept of the worth of those books, of the tradition he has ruined."

"If the Emperor believes that the burning was necessary, then it is not for us to question him." Belisarius spoke with conviction.

"That is what Drosos tells me, too. I can't understand. You have to forgive me," she said, turning away from the garden to look squarely at Belisarius. "You are Byzantine; I am Roman."

Belisarius strove to make light of her words. "I allow that there are differences, but we are all Christians, and we all bow to the same altars."

Olivia could say nothing in response; she stared blindly at the roses, hoping to quell the anguish she felt: Drosos, Belisarius, Antonina, Chrysanthos, herself; all of them were caught in a labyrinth. Her attention was caught by a bee that had strayed too deeply into the heart of a rose and had been entrapped by a spider. Now it lay in its filament-prison, enmeshed in bonds that were all but invisible.

Belisarius spoke, but not to Olivia. "What is it, Simones?" he said to the slave who had come to the door and made a deep reverence.

"It is your wife, General. She would like a little of your time. She apologizes for this intrusion." He lowered his head in Olivia's direction.

"Is she—?"

"She wishes to see you," Simones said, his tone and attitude wholly neutral.

Belisarius was on his feet. "I will come at once," he said, adding to Olivia, "It is most improper to leave you without escort in my house, but—"

"What nonsense," Olivia said, silencing him. "I will come with you, if you don't object, and if she is willing to see me, I would be delighted to visit with Antonina." She did not wait for him to make up his mind but followed him out of the room.

"She might be too ill—" Belisarius warned her.

"Then I will return to your reception room, or you may dismiss me." She kept pace with him, her attitude pragmatic, her words crisp.

"It isn't correct," was the only observation he made to her suggestions.

"I don't care if it is or is not," she told him. "Your wife needs your help." She halted at the door to Antonina's apartments and stopped Belisarius. "Believe me, my friend, I am sorry that you are in such travail. I am sorry that your wife is ill. You will not offend me if you give her trouble precedence over mine; if you did not, I would be displeased."

"Thank you," he said, and went through the door that Simones held open for him. "I will find out if she is willing to see you."

"Your august lady is not able to rise from her bed," Simones said to Belisarius, pointedly ignoring Olivia.

"Let me speak with her," Belisarius said, directing this to Olivia. "I will return directly."

"If you like, my master, I will bear a message," Simones volunteered.

"No," said Belisarius. "If Olivia has questions, it is for me as her sponsor to answer them." With that, he entered his wife's quarter, indicating that Simones should wait with Olivia.

"My mistress suffers much with her disorder," Simones informed Olivia in his most daunting manner.

"I understand that she has been failing; it saddens me to hear of it." What would Simones think, she wondered, if he knew how many times she had expressed similar feelings over the centuries? What would Simones do if she described all the losses she had endured in her five hundred years. "It is always difficult to lose those we love. Both your mistress and master have grief in their hearts."

Simones glared at her.

In a short while Belisarius returned. "Antonina would be pleased to speak with you for a time, Olivia. You must not be too upset by her appearance. She has lost flesh and her pain has… changed her." He led her through the door, closing it on Simones. "Come." In an undervoice he added, "I am grateful to you for doing this. Many of her friends have ceased to visit her and that has been as hard a burden as her illness."

Olivia nodded once. "They are afraid," she said.

"Why should they fear? If there were contagion here, others would be ill, but it is only she." He paused at the door to Antonina's room.

"They are afraid because they fear their time will come," said Olivia gently. "It isn't the illness, it is the inevitability that terrifies them."

Belisarius regarded her uncertainly. He pressed the latch and opened the door. "My dear wife," he said as he approached Antonina's bed, "Olivia Clemens has come to see you."

"You are welcome, friend of my husband," Antonina said, more cordial than she had ever been; her voice was low and harsh, no longer musical.

"God give you a good recovery, August Lady," Olivia said with formal kindness.

"It will be God and God alone who does," said Antonina. She was indeed much changed. Her dark hair was now the color of tarnished silver, with a wide swath of chalk white through it. Her skin, always pale, had turned almost lunar, and there were deep hollows in her cheeks; her eyes were sunken but enormous and shiny with fever.

"Then we will pray for you, all of those who know you and care for you," said Olivia, aware that the woman was in agony.

"We're grateful for your prayers," Belisarius said when Antonina said nothing to Olivia.

"I have heard that you had goods taken from your house," Antonina said, making the information a challenge.

"Unfortunately I have been suspected of illegal activities and the Censor desires to clear up the matter before deciding on my petition to leave the city." Olivia watched Antonina as she spoke, a question unspoken in her eyes.

"You wish to leave Konstantinoupolis?" Antonina said with astonishment. "How can you prefer to live in another place?"

"I am a stranger here," Olivia said simply.

"Where would you not be a stranger?" Antonina inquired. She was breathing a bit too fast and a dull flush had spread over her cheeks.

"Roma, of course, but that isn't possible," Olivia said with an ironic smile. "You have been most gracious to me, Antonina, and I thank you for all you have done. Yet I know that I must find another… home." She moved a little nearer the bed.

"What foolishness," said Antonina, glancing to her husband for agreement. "Why have you agreed to this."

"Because she has been subjected to interferences. I know that she does not ask this capriciously." He sat on the bed beside his wife. "How are you, my dearest?"

"I endure," she said fatalistically. "The physician has given me another potion, but—" She did not bother to finish.

Olivia was more attentive than before. "Your physician? You are attended by a physician?"

"An excellent and pious man. My slave Simones found him for me and has watched over me while this Mnenodatos has administered his treatments." She leaned back against the cushions piled behind her. "I am alive today, I think, because of the skill of this man."

"Truly?" Olivia said. "That is an impressive recommendation. It takes a gifted healer to earn such praise."

Belisarius caught the hard note in Olivia's tone, and he glanced at her in surprise. "Olivia?"

"There are a few matters I must discuss with you before I leave," she said smoothly to him. "You are generous, Antonina, to permit me to take up your husband's time. I thank you for the consideration you show me." She emphasized this with a slight reverence to the woman in bed.

"He is a comfort to me. My husband is always steadfast." She patted his hand, and then said in a very small voice, "I did not know until recently how great a strength he is."

Olivia found it hard to speak. "You… you are fortunate to know this now. Many another has…"As her words faded, she made an odd, protective motion with her hands.

"It has been solace to me," Antonina went on, speaking entirely to Belisarius. "If you were not here, I would be long in my grave."

"Antonina—" Belisarius said, trying to moderate her emotions, concerned about the hectic brightness in her eyes and cheeks.

"It is true, it is true," she said, her grip on his hands tightening with convulsive strength. "You are my good angel, and I thank God and His Mercy for making me see this at last." Her face grew more pinched, but she went on talking. "I was angry with my blessed husband, do you see? I was certain that he had failed me when he was removed from command and returned to this city. I thought that he had been part of a conspiracy and that it had not succeeded and he had been found out." She gave a dry, hacking cough.

"Dearest wife, you need not say any more," Belisarius told her, stroking her hair and overcome with regret.

"It is good that I do. I have wanted to tell someone for so long. You are this lady's sponsor and you have said that she is not one to repeat rumors and gossip. Besides, who does she talk to? You? Drosos? You both know this." She stopped, breathless.

"You need to rest," Belisarius said, looking to Olivia for support.

"If you are too tired to speak, great lady," Olivia said in response to Belisarius' unspoken plea, "I will come another time, when you are feeling better."

"That will not happen, I fear," said Antonina, resignation in every aspect of her posture.

"You cannot be certain," Belisarius insisted. "Your physician is devoted to you. He will find a way to restore your good health."

Antonina looked at Olivia. "He is still my good angel, isn't he? That is why I am ashamed when I think of how I harbored cruel thoughts of him, and when he was in greatest need, I behaved more despotically than any barbarian prince might." She was exhausting herself, but she went on, her determination growing as her strength waned. "He has done everything anyone could hope for. He has comforted me, he has cared for me, he has stayed up with me when I could not sleep, and he has seen I was not disturbed when I could. He has never flagged in his aid, and his constancy has filled my heart to bursting. How could I think this man capable of any deceit, to me or to the Emperor? What made me assume that he would ever abjure his vows, to me or to anyone else? He has shown me his love with his duty."

"My love, please," Belisarius protested affectionately.

Antonina leaned back. "I wish I could tell the Court Censor these things."

"If there are spies in your household, one of them might," Olivia said, and got the worn smile she had hoped for.

"Yes, there are uses for spies, I suppose," Antonina said listlessly. "And if they will report this to Athanatadies, I will be satisfied."

"They might," said Olivia. "It depends on who is spying." She looked at Belisarius. "I do not wish to overstay my welcome. Let me have a moment of your company and then I will leave you to your wife." She made a reverence to Antonina. "I will pray for you, great lady, and I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to take up your husband's precious time."

"Be careful, Olivia," Antonina warned, her words just above a whisper.

In the hallway, Olivia glanced swiftly to see if they were overheard. "I must speak with you. Come out to my palanquin. I do not want listeners."

Obediently Belisarius fell into step with her. "She is in great pain, you know."

"Yes," said Olivia, steel in her tone. "I am amazed she is able to endure so much."

"My wife has always been a woman of mettle," Belisarius said. "From the first time I met her, I thought that I had rarely seen such substance in a woman."

"And she has courage," said Olivia. They were almost to the door, and the vestibule was empty. "You say she has a physician: are you satisfied with his treatment?"

"He works constantly to alleviate her torment," Belisarius said as they stepped out into the sunlight.

"And what has he done about the poison that is killing her?" She said it bluntly, her intention to shock him.

"Poison?" He shook his head. "He has said that this is not poison, but a corruption of her vitals."

"It probably is, and it is caused by poison." Before Belisarius could object, Olivia went on, "Give me some credit, my friend. I am a Roman and I have seen more of plots and poisons than you can imagine. Your wife is being poisoned slowly, so that it will not be suspected by you or by others. I can understand your doubt, but I cannot understand her physician not knowing what kills her. The course of the malady is clear enough; her breath is tainted with poison, and her eyes are changed because of it. There is something very wrong and you must act if you are to save her."

Belisarius stared at her in disbelief. "I… I appreciate your concern, but you cannot be right. Her physician came with the highest recommendation. Simones searched him out, and would not accept any but the most skilled for her." He touched her arm. "I am grateful that you tell me what you fear, but I doubt that this case—"

"Your doubt might speed her death," Olivia said directly. "I do not want to distress you more than—"

"I know. You are a sensible woman." He indicated the palanquin. "I will send an escort home with you."

"That isn't necessary. If you wish to please me, do something about the physician attending your wife." She accepted his dismissal with philosophical grace. "Thank you for hearing me out. I trust you will receive me again soon."

"When there is something to tell you, I will." He inclined his head in response to her slight reverence, then turned and went back into his house, his head still lowered, his steps heavy.

Olivia watched him go, remorse tugging at her; she had wanted to aid Belisarius, but now she feared she had added to his distress. She got into the palanquin, for once relieved that the curtains had to be drawn.

* * *

Text of a dispatch to the commanders of the Byzantine navy.

To the valiant men who captain our warships, the Emperor sends his blessings and prayers for a successful encounter with the naval forces of the Ostrogoths.

As we enter the Lenten season in the Lord's Year 551, all of the Empire puts its trust and faith in you, and prays that you will prevail over the ships that are being launched against us by the infamous Totila and his barbarians. It is fitting that at this time of the greatest sacrifice you undertake our defense, for surely in going to battle now, you emulate the courage of Our Lord in facing the trials that brought Him to the Cross.

As He was raised up to glory, we are confident that you will also be raised up. As He passed through the rigors of Hell and fled the tomb, so we are filled with hope that you will pass through the battles that must be the test of your superior purpose and might to emerge without blemish to the acclaim and praise of all men within the bounds of the Empire.

For those who have worried about the cost, fear not that this will impede you. Three new taxes have been levied and the popes and metropolitans have been urged to ask for additional donations to your efforts. If you are willing to risk your lives, then it is fitting that there are a few who will expend their wealth to aid you in your quest for victory.

We admonish all of you to be stalwart in your faith and determined in your purpose. You are brave men, all of you, and it is fitting that you should go onto the ocean with the certainty and pride that sets you apart from others and reveals to you and to the Empire that there is no price we are not willing to pay to bring about your triumph.

You are not only the officers of our Empire, you are the officers of God, for you fight against pagan barbarians who are attempting to rend the world into tatters where all will be cast into Hell. You save not only your ships and yourselves when you prevail, you save the Empire and the Kingdom of God on earth.

Justinian

Emperor of Byzantion

(his sigil)

6

A full moon rode at the crest of the night sky, its pallid shine turning Konstantinoupolis into a monochrome sketch of domes, walls and shadows. From one of the Basilian monasteries came the sound of chanting, and along the walls of the city the night Guard was changed. Those few men on the streets kept to the deepest darkness, their errands demanding concealment and surprise.

Niklos was almost to the second square tower when he heard swift footsteps behind him. He slipped into a shallow doorway and waited while his pursuers came abreast of him.

There were three men, one of them carrying a wooden cudgel and the other two holding knives. They moved efficiently, spread out in the street, their shoes tied in rags to muffle their sounds. The largest of the three men made a signal to the others and they slowed down, their actions more stealthy than before.

When the three men were past his hiding place, Niklos stepped out and followed the men along the street; he carried a glavus in each hand, the wide-bladed weapons catching the shine of the moon on their newly honed edges.

Just as the three men reached the entrance to the Church of the Resurrection, one of them turned. He saw Niklos and would have cried out to warn the others, but did not dare to alert the Guard to their presence. He crouched low, his knife swinging up as Niklos moved in, one glavus slicing toward the thief's shoulder. Deftly he turned the blade on the quillons of his knife, and he might have been able to attack if Niklos had carried only one weapon.

As his right glavus swung away, the left cut in hard and low, catching the thief in the thigh, gouging through flesh and striking bone.

The thief shrieked, and his companions turned, prepared to fight. The first man fell to the paving, narrowly missing a pile of dung. He clutched his leg in a fruitless attempt to stanch the blood that pumped from the deep wound he had been given.

The man with the cudgel raised his weapon as he advanced, bringing it down in front of him, aiming not for Niklos' swords but for his arms and shoulders; this disabling blow ought to leave their opponent helpless.

Niklos sprang backward, out of range of the cudgel, both glavi held ready to stop an attack.

The second man with a knife was moving against the buildings on the other side of the street, sliding in the darkness, to outflank Niklos.

As the man with the cudgel swung again, Niklos leaped at him, choosing the thief's most vulnerable instant—when his cudgel was low and he had not yet been able to swing it into position for another blow. His left glavus bit deep into the man's shoulder, penetrating just under the collarbone. The man howled and staggered away from the blade.

The third man hesitated, and then, seeing his chance, rushed in, his knife held to strike Niklos low in the back. But he had forgot his comrade who lay bleeding, and in his haste, he tripped over the other's arm. Cursing, stumbling, he blundered into Niklos' right blade, taking it along his ribs.

In the next street there was the sound of running, and Niklos did not wait to discover who might be approaching. He grasped his swords and raced away from the three wounded men.

"That was an impressive display," murmured the merchant from Tyre who had agreed to meet with Niklos that night.

"I thought they might have already found you," Niklos said as he stopped to wipe the blood away.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing to speak of," Niklos assured him. "But I want to get off the street."

"Of course." The merchant opened the door where he had been waiting and led Niklos into a courtyard. "I have been given the use of this house by another merchant, a Konstantinoupolitan who is currently on a voyage to purchase fine cloth and copper. I have extended the same courtesy to him when he has been in Tyre."

"And when do you return to Tyre?"

"I plan to leave in little less than a month. I was told that you might wish to travel with me at that time." He indicated a bench beside a fountain. "Sit. We will discuss your requirements in comfort."

Niklos made a reverence. "You're gracious."

"It is not difficult to be gracious to a man who is willing to pay forty pieces of gold to leave the city." He smiled, his teeth blue-white in his gray-seeming face. "It must be important."

"I and my… companion are eager to depart. There is a question of removing certain belongings that we are prepared to abandon for the opportunity to be gone." He waited. "You have arranged such departures before, or so I have been told by those who are reliable in these matters."

"Yes," the merchant said slowly, relishing the word. "But I am curious about the risk I might be taking. It is an easy thing to say that you are being treated unjustly; it might be that you are truly a criminal." He stroked his short beard and went on, musing aloud, "It might be more sensible to inquire at the office of the Censor to learn why you are so willing to pay me to get you out of here."

"You may ask what you want, where you want. Surely I am not the only Roman who has decided to leave this city. Romans are not welcome here, and there are many who strive to make our presence a trial for everyone. Rather than wait for the Censor to determine what of my possessions are acceptable, I prefer to abandon the lot of them and seek refuge in a place that is less unfriendly. I have fled Roma already. I am prepared to leave Konstantinoupolis on the same terms." He deliberately let his Latin accent become stronger. "There have been edicts of late that have resulted in the seizure of Roman goods. Before I have to give up what little I was able to save, I want to be away from here."

"You and your companion," said the merchant.

"Yes; I and my companion." He regarded the merchant steadily. "If you are not prepared to help me, say so, and I will have to search out another."

The merchant chuckled. "Do you believe that you will find another? Don't you realize that you are under suspicion, as are all Romans?" He toyed with a small dagger that depended from the wide leather belt that held his ample girth. "You haven't yet accepted the seriousness of your position here, and for that you are going to suffer." He shook his head. "No, no, my poor Roman friend, you have more to contend with. You say you want to leave because of a desire to retain a few possessions. If you do that, you will be fortunate indeed. You might well lose your life, and that makes our bargain a more critical one."

"Critical?" Niklos repeated as if he were unaware of the purpose of this threat.

"For one thing," the merchant went on as if Niklos had not interrupted him, "you are likely to have to leave everything behind, and so the only gain I will be able to make is the fee you pay me when I take you aboard my ship. That means that I will have to raise the price, for my risk is greater, and the punishment I would suffer for giving you aid is worse than having my nose and ears struck off." He raised his hand to tick off his other objections on his long, fat fingers. "So I must have more for my own danger. Then there is the matter of smuggling you out of the city, and that will require more effort than we had discussed before, and for that I think you would agree it is reasonable that I demand a handsome price to pay for the various arrangements I must make, the extra men I must employ and the Guards I will have to bribe. Then I might have to appear before the Censor when I return, for I will come back to this city even if you will not, and that is another risk which I think deserves recompense." He grinned. "I think that eighty pieces of gold for each of you—you and your companion—is a reasonable figure."

"It's a fortune," Niklos said flatly.

"Oh, hardly that. A high price, certainly, but we are agreed, aren't we, that there is a greater hazard than first seemed the case." He combed his fingers through his beard. "You are not thinking clearly. It is because you are afraid. Once you consider all that I can do for you, you will decide that what I ask is reasonable. And, of course, if you refuse to pay me, I will have to inform the office of the Censor that you have attempted to bribe me to take you out of the city without permission. It would be necessary for me to make such a report, for who knows what the slaves of this household might have learned, or what the master will demand when he comes back?"

"Very neat," said Niklos, who was not at all surprised at the duplicity of the merchant.

"Not neat, simply pragmatic. I have to make my business worth my time and effort. You are part of my business." He clicked his tongue. "I am a simple man, and I know very little about politics and the cause of the Church. I seek only to do my work and to obey the laws of the land. There are times when it is apparent that the law might be incorrect, and in such instances I try to make allowances, but not if those allowances place me at a disadvantage."

"Naturally not." Niklos sighed. "I have only thirty gold pieces with me. That was what I was told to bring."

"It will do for a start." He held out his hand, and when Niklos handed over the leather case, he tucked it into his belt, making it vanish as a street entertainer would make beans vanish beneath cups.

"I will bring you more tomorrow night," he said in discouraged resignation.

"The night after; tomorrow night I am to hear Mass at Hagia Sophia." He straightened up. "I am permitted to listen to the Mass in the narthex. In another year, I will be permitted to enter the church itself with those who take Communion."

"I am sure you will receive great benefit from it," Niklos said sarcastically.

"A man must think of the future," said the merchant. "And that includes the welfare of his soul." He sighed. "I will have to have at least sixty more gold pieces then. You can give me the rest when you board my ship. We will have plenty of time to arrange this as soon as I have the other sixty pieces." He stood up. "It is very late. I must retire if I am to begin arrangements tomorrow. These things take very careful planning, and that demands time." He made a small reverence to Niklos. "You are a sensible man, Flavius. If you think about it, you will come to the most reasonable decision."

"Or you will give my name to the Censor?" Niklos added.

"I cannot endanger myself without reason," he said, making it sound as if he were a victim of fate.

"Naturally," said Niklos, getting to his feet. "And you know that I am unable to haggle, given my circumstances."

"Haggling is for the marketplace," said the merchant. "You are not here to bargain, Flavius, you are here to arrange an illegal escape." He put his hands over his paunch. "Night after tomorrow. The same time. I will be here. I hope you will not keep me waiting, for I am a man who needs his sleep."

"Of course." Niklos started for the door in the wall. "I trust I haven't inconvenienced you in coming tonight, since you tire so easily."

"What an amusing fellow you are, Flavius," said the merchant with a low, popping laugh. "No, a bag of gold is always soothing to me. Doubtless if you can supply what I need next time I will be content." He held the door ajar as Niklos slipped into the street. "Be careful; there are thieves abroad."

"What would they take from me?" Niklos asked as the door was closed.

Olivia was in her book room, reading by the light of three Roman oil lamps when Niklos returned to her house. He closed the door and made a sign to her as he approached her, watching her set a volume of Petronius aside.

"They would not approve of this," she said, one hand on the first page. "I'm sure that Athanatadies would want to burn this himself."

"Athanatadies or Justinian," Niklos suggested. They were both speaking Latin, aware that none of the household slaves knew the language. "Both those men—"

"Justinian does not like to soil his hands," Olivia said with distaste. "He prefers others do the deeds." She leaned back in her chair, slipping the poems inside a ledger of household accounts. "Well?"

"The merchant will be delighted to fleece us and if I am not mistaken, he will then go to the Censor or one of his officers and inform them that one of the exiled Romans is trying to leave the city illegally. That way he will collect the monies I have paid in addition to the rewards offered to those who inform against criminals." He leaned back, bracing his shoulders against one of the large cabinets. "The ploy is obvious but neat. Any complaint against him would constitute a confession."

Olivia nodded. "Did you pay him?"

"Of course. You told me to. I wanted to throw the… gold in his face."

This time when she spoke, she had a suggestion of a smile in her eyes. "How much gold did you give him, really?"

"Nine pieces, in case he opened the wallet. Under the nine pieces there are leaden coins." He gave her an answering grin. "He thinks he has duped Flavius, but—"

"Was that the name you used? Flavius?" She raised her brows, "Why on earth?"

"I remember you lived when the Flavians ruled. Nothing more." He put his hands on his hips. "He will inform, make no mistake. If there were a Flavius here, we would have to warn him."

"So what do we do now?" She frowned. "That man was our last lead."

"We'll find others." He moved away from the cabinet and came over to the table beside her. "You might speak to Drosos."

"If I knew where he was."

In the silence, Niklos shook his head. "No word still?"

"No."

He said nothing as he moved one of the small benches to the other side of the table. "Do you want me to find him?"

She was staring into the middle distance, seeing nothing. "If he doesn't want to be here…"

Impulsively Niklos reached across the table and put his hand over hers. "Olivia—"

"He's bleeding," she said in a small, distant voice. "He is wounded and bleeding." Her focus came back to the room and to Niklos. "Oh, not literally. For him that would be no real problem. He's a good soldier and he expects to be injured from time to time. This is something else, much worse. Nothing he has done before has… damaged him."

"And you can't leave him in pain, can you?"

"No. Not after—" She brought her hand up to shield her eyes, as if the little wisps of flame from the lamps were suddenly too bright.

"But what can you do for him?" His concern made his words rough, but the touch of his hand became more gentle.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I cannot abandon him. I have his blood in me. There is an obligation in that, for he has loved me knowing… what he loved. I… I am no longer entirely separate from him."

Niklos lowered his head. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "No."

"You have only to ask it." When his warm brown eyes met her hazel ones he repeated, "You have only to ask."

"I wouldn't know what…" Her sigh was as much from aggravation as from hurt. "The blood binds me, Niklos, but you are not bound."

Niklos chuckled once, mournfully. "No, blood does not bind me; I am not as you are. But life binds me, Olivia. If it were not for you, I would be nothing but a pile of bones. You were the one who restored me."

"No," she corrected him. "Not I; Sanct' Germain restored you."

"But you asked it. You were the one who—" He broke off and when he spoke again, it was in a different, tender tone. "I was nothing more than a horse trainer. You had no reason to intercede for me. I wasn't your lover any longer, only a freedman in your household. But you saved me when I was dead."

"Sanct' Germain saved you," she insisted.

"Because you asked it." He looked directly at her. "It isn't a debt, not as other debts are, because it can never be paid. I am not grateful, not as gratitude is understood. I am… beholden to you."

"I don't—" she began, trying to move her hand away.

His grip tightened. "No, you don't require it. I remain where I am because I wish to. It isn't your bond, it's mine." He let her hand go, but she did not move. "So. Do you want me to find Drosos for you?"

"Not yet." She bit her lower lip. "I am hoping that he will come of his own accord. If he does not, then I suppose we must act."

"As you wish," he said, letting go of her hand at last. "I will try the wharves again, if you like, and see if there is anyone willing to carry two people out of this impossible place, no questions asked."

"I suppose it will be necessary," she said, rising. "It's foolish, but I have a foolish desire to be cleared of suspicion. I want to be… exonerated. It offends me to have so many ill things said of me, for no reason other than I am a Roman woman."

"If they knew what else you are…" Niklos made a cutting gesture with his fingers.

"Then we must hope that they never learn. I am not ready to die the true death yet." She took the ledger with Petronius concealed in it, replacing it in its pigeonhole.

"Do you think Drosos might—?"

"Might speak against me?" she finished for him. "It is possible, I suppose. He could decide that he needed to purge himself, and this would be one way." She linked her hands behind her neck and rolled her head back. "If he does, then there will be more trouble than—"

"You have a house on Kythera," Niklos said, deliberately stopping her.

"Yes," she said, a bit surprised that he mentioned it. "I haven't been there in centuries."

"It is still standing, although it needs some work." He folded his arms. "I spoke to a fisherman from there, and he told me all about the house; all it took was a few leading questions and he recited everything that is known about the place, including the local conviction that the place is haunted. The monks in the monastery above the harbor have records of the house, so you would not have any difficulty claiming it."

"If it is still unoccupied, then…" She turned to him. "What made you think of that house?"

"Honestly?" he asked. "Seeing that fishing boat and hearing the men speaking with the Kythera dialect." He turned his hands over, palms up. "I'd like to say it was inspiration or some such thing, but it was nothing more than chance. You haven't been there in a long time. The last time you were there," he went on more somberly, "was while I was learning to live with the… changes of my restoration."

She nodded. "I remember."

"That raw chicken?" Suddenly he laughed, a great, unfettered sound. She could not resist him, and in a moment they were laughing together.

"Do you recall that peasant with the two spotted goats?" He could hardly speak, but he gasped out the words. She nodded helplessly as he guffawed.

When they had recovered, and even the residual giggles had faded, Olivia folded her arms and regarded Niklos thoughtfully. "Perhaps a fisherman is the answer. We wouldn't get as far away as I might like, but Kythera could be the answer, at least for a little while. It would remove us from danger, and I doubt anyone would think of looking for us there. Who hides on Kythera?"

"You would be visible there," he warned her. "And the people would talk."

"Then we will have to take some precautions. I think that for a time I will have to be aged and ugly. That ought to keep all but the most curious away. Is there any of the walnut-juice tincture left, do you know?"

"Darkening your hair again?" he ventured. "On that island they won't notice dark hair in the way they'd notice light brown."

"You approve?"

"Certainly, if that matters." He watched her. "What about a limp? You would only have to have it when you were outside the walls of the house." He cocked his head to the side. "Unless you want a large staff for the place; then it becomes riskier."

"We'll need some staff. Anything else would be suspicious. And there are other problems, I agree." This last was said in a harder tone. "I will have to make arrangements."

Niklos studied her. "How?"

"I can always appear as a pleasant dream. That way there is no knowledge and no danger. At most the dreamer will recall a face, a touch, nothing more than that. It isn't—"

"Do not tell me that it isn't hazard; there is always the chance that someone will become curious, or will denounce you out of… guilt, I suppose."

"I try to avoid such men," Olivia said in her most sensible manner. "There are times, Niklos, that you're as bad as Sanct' Germain—not that he has any claim on avoiding risks, after what he did for me."

Niklos got to his feet. "Well, shall I talk to the fishermen, then?"

"Yes. Make it seem that we are destitute, that we had to leave almost everything behind in Roma, and that we cannot afford to remain here, nor can we afford the cost of filing a departure petition. The fishermen will be sympathetic at that. Oh, and add that I have been ill. That will account for my poor aptitude for sailing." Now that she had made up her mind, she showed her customary energy and clarity of thought.

"And Drosos?"

She faltered. "I don't know. I wish I did."

"Would you remain here if… if it were necessary?" The concern was back in his face and his words were sharp.

"You mean if he required it of me? How could I refuse, after what has passed between us? I might as well try to swim naked to Kythera." She indicated her shoes with the thick, earth-filled soles.

"How much of your native earth is at the house on Kythera?" asked Niklos.

"Enough, if the place has been undisturbed. There are three chests of it, as well as what is under the floor. It will suffice for a time." She stretched. "So it will be Kythera."

Niklos came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "I know you will honor the ties of blood, and I cannot and would not fault you for it, but you will have to pardon me for my concern, and for—"

"For being my loving friend?" Olivia chided gently.

"Among other things." He turned her to face him. "In all the time I have known you, I have never seen you as… attached to anyone as you are to Drosos. With the exception of Sanct' Germain, of course."

"Yes, he always is the exception," she said, then went on. "There is something in Drosos that moves me. When he became my lover, he did it so… so wholeheartedly. There was no reservation, no guardedness. He was like a clear stream. Now—I don't know. But I cannot…"

Niklos put his hand to her hair, holding her head close to his shoulder. "I know, Olivia." He kissed her brow.

"If you would rather go to Kythera ahead of me and wait, it would—"

"No it wouldn't," he told her.

* * *

Text of a letter from Mnenodatos to Belisarius.

To the most esteemed and noble General Belisarius, the physician Mnenodatos sends his most abject apologies and sympathy upon the death of the august lady Antonina, and begs that the General will be able to forgive.

This is a most difficult letter to write to you, not only because as a physician I have failed to render the necessary treatment to save your wife, but because I permitted myself to be party to the plan that led to this eventuality.

I have not always felt this way. When I was first approached, little as I liked the notion, it had little meaning for me, for my family was hungry and I did not have the means to support them, no matter how great my skill.

Sadly, I had other skills as well, and someone found them out and turned them against me, and against you. I do not know for certain who the person was who paid me to do this reprehensible deed, but I am convinced, after examining the events that have taken place, that the person is known to you and very likely attached to your household in some capacity.

My other skills, I must confess to you, and to God, Who already knows this, is in the area of poisons, the treatment and detection of them, and their administration. It was in the latter capacity that I was paid to act, and I am dismayed to tell you that I did not question the person or the motive of the person who hired me. At the time I was willing to believe that there was good basis for the request and that you were indeed guilty of conspiring against the Emperor, and that you and your wife were enemies of the Empire and of God.

I am aware that this is not the case, and I have thought for some time that the charges against you were at best misdirected. I have assumed that you were involved with conspirators but were not one yourself, and that for reasons of honor you would not reveal the names of those who acted against the Empire because you had fought with them and would not willingly expose them to the punishment such acts would require. Your wife said many times that you had had the chance to take action and had not done so, and that she respected you for your integrity while she also doubted your wisdom in holding off from such action.

Women are strange creatures, General, made frail by God, and subject to the lures of sin more than men. I did not realize that your wife was so much in the throes of ambition that she attributed desires to you that were her own, although I ought to have suspected something of that nature when you were at such pains to conduct yourself with propriety.

None of this can excuse my actions, or my willingness to cooperate with those who were eager to pay me to administer small doses of poison to the august lady Antonina with the intention of bringing about her death. I have accomplished that, but I can take no pride in it. I am shamed and appalled at what I have done, and I pray that you will not hold me accountable for her death, but will recognize that I was merely the tool of others who are more your foes than I will ever be. The money promised me has been paid and I have turned it over to the uncle of my wife with instructions that he is to administer it for her benefit and the benefit of my children.

I have decided to make one last display of my ability with poisons: I have made a preparation that is both quick and not too painful. When I have finished this letter, I intend to bring about my own death. I pray that God will not regard this as the act of one lacking in faith, but will understand that I am not anxious to see what little I have taken by the courts so that my family would be left with no means of support. It is not that I wish to spare myself suffering—I will encounter enough of that in the next world so my pope assures me. At least if I end my own life in this manner, my wife and children will not be destitute. The punishments meted out by God to those guilty of the death of another will be more than anything the Censor might order, or any death the Emperor could require. Even your own sword, General, cannot equal what God will demand of me when I face Him, as soon I must.

Your wife died very bravely. She was a woman of fortitude and determination, and under other circumstances I would have the most profound respect for her and her abilities. It distressed me to have a part in her death. I beseech you to believe this, and to believe that I would rather have blasphemed in church than been party to her demise, but the temptation at first was so great that I surrendered to it. Later, my fear accomplished what my yearnings could not do. I dreaded discovery and denouncements, and I am convinced now that the one who is within your household and has been party to this will not stop his working until you are felled by the same fate that touched your beloved wife.

If you can bring yourself to pray for me, do so, for I will need the prayers of all good Christians. I am as contaminated as a house with plague and I will die knowing that there is no succor for me in this world nor the next. Pity me if there is any room in your heart for anything other than grief. I was compelled and I was weak; I did not and could not resist. You are made of sterner fibers and you have stood fast where others could not.

I have sent a confession to the secretary of the Court Censor and I have said that someone in this household is responsible for your wife's death. It is little enough, but it may aid you in attaining some justice for the great injury you have endured.

If I have a last wish, it is that the one who has brought you and me to this sorry place should be discovered and made to assume the entire burden of his villainy. If God listens to the prayers of sinners, this will come to pass. If the Emperor is just, he will exact vengeance on behalf of you, your wife, and me. Truth, we are promised, will be known, and when it is there is nothing that can spare me, but it will also bring down the one who has ordered this done, either in the Emperor's tribunal or in God's, and in either case, I am content.

Until we meet again at Judgment Day before the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I beg you will be more merciful than I had the strength to be.

Mnenodatos

physician

7

Earlier that day Belisarius had sent over some of the bounty of his garden; now a profusion of roses stood in vases and urns throughout Olivia's house. In the vestibule the air was heady with the scent of the flowers; only the kitchen and the latrine did not succumb to the fragrance.

"Smells like a church at Easter," Drosos complained when Niklos admitted him to the house that night. He had been drinking; his customary neatness had deserted him and there were three days' whiskers above the line of scraggly beard. His pallium was wrapped beltlike around his waist and knotted once without artistry. The lines in his face looked as if they had been cut with a hatchet.

"The roses are from Belisarius," said Niklos in an emotionless way.

Drosos flushed. "Oh." He stood in the vestibule, looking around as if uncertain where he was. "Will she talk to me, do you think?"

"Of course," said Niklos.

"I've been lax in visiting her. I ought not to have. I knew I ought to see her, but there are times when…" He made a complicated gesture.

"She has been waiting for you," Niklos said, indicating the hall that led to Olivia's quarters.

"Don't know why," he grumbled. "Not worth her while, not now." He stumbled as if to make a point, but he followed Niklos down the dim hallway, muttering to himself as he went.

"Drosos is here," Niklos announced when he had knocked on Olivia's door. His voice held a warning to her, a note he knew she would not miss. "Captain." He stood aside so that Drosos could enter.

Olivia had been combing her hair, using an antique treasure the Guard had missed. She looked up, expectation in her face and worry in her eyes. "Drosos," she said, rising and coming toward him.

He accepted her embrace unsteadily and when he had his arms around her, he used them as much for support as for affection. "Sorry to come like this."

"Why? You are welcome at any time, in any way." She had seen at once what his trouble was, and she set to work dealing with it. "Niklos, I know it is late, but will you see that my bath is filled? Hot water, mind, and bring me a tea of rose hips and pepper."

"At once," said Niklos, leaving her alone with Drosos.

"I won't stay, but I had to see you," Drosos said as Olivia began to work his pallium loose. "I'm not fit to be here."

"It doesn't matter, Drosos," she said as she finally dropped the pallium to the floor. His dalmatica was stained, and stank. "What have you been doing, love?" she asked him without accusations.

"Been with my men, mostly. Soldiers' taverns." He hawked and spat, then looked at her apologetically. "I shouldn't have done that here, should I?"

"Don't worry," she said, starting to pull the dalmatica over his head. "You'll have to bend over, Drosos, if I'm to get this off you without tearing it."

He obeyed, but had to grab her waist to keep on his feet. "I slept in my clothes last night. Night before, too."

"I can tell that," she said gently. The dalmatica came off at last and she dropped it in an odorous, untidy heap near the door. "I think that I ought to send for a razor and shave you before we do anything else," she suggested, knowing it would take time for the bath to be readied.

He rubbed his cheeks. "Is it too bad?"

"No, not too bad. I have seen much worse," she said honestly, her mind cast back to other times and places.

"Still," he went on, "I ought to have shaved before I saw you. The General wouldn't like knowing that I had come here in this way. Very particular, Belisarius. He wants his men to take proper care." For the first time he realized he was naked. "God of the Prophets, I smell like a sewer."

"That's one of the reasons the bath is being readied." She was patient with him, not hurrying him.

He ambled over toward her dressing table, frowned at it, then said, as much to himself as to her. "That's right; you don't have mirrors, do you?"

"No," she said.

"Vanity, that's what mirrors are for. The pope said so."

"Which pope?" asked Olivia, glad to have found something to distract him.

"The one at the tavern, last night I think it was. He said that mirrors were evil, and showed visions of Hell." He puzzled over this. "He was drunk when he said it."

"Very likely," Olivia said, taking him by the hand and leading him toward her bath. "I will shave you. How would you like that." There was a determination about her that indicated she would do this whether he approved or not.

"I need a shave," he said uncertainly as he went with her. "And a wash, even if it is vanity." He stopped, watching the two spouts that led from the hypocaust to the bath where the first streams of hot water were starting to pour. "Roman, isn't that?"

"Yes, but then, so am I." She guided him to a bench in the alcove and there she opened a small chest where a number of razors, oil jars and scrapers were stored. She selected one and found the honing block. She worked quickly and expertly to put the proper edge on the razor.

"We could have used you in the army," Drosos said as he watched her. "Most slaves aren't good at that. The swords lose their edges at once. You know how to do it. That'll stay sharp." He reached up to test it with his thumb and gave himself a small cut for his trouble. As he sucked the blood away, he looked at her speculatively.

"Would you rather do this?"

"Not especially," she said, preparing a mixture of oil and soap. "I need more than just blood."

He laughed deep in his throat. "I know what you need."

"I need more than hard flesh inside me, if that is what you think," she said, irritation showing for the first time. "I need… openness. Oh, for me the blood is part of it, but it is little more than bread and water if there is nothing else. It is the touching that gives it… richness." She stopped what she was doing and looked down into his face. "You have given me so much."

The intensity of her words startled him and he looked at her in astonishment. "You… you need that of me?"

"If you are willing to give it. I can't demand it." She began to smooth the oily lather over his face. "Hold still."

He obeyed, his eyes on her face as she shaved him. "Never had a woman shave me before. Do you know what you're doing?" he said when she wiped the razor on a linen cloth.

"Yes," she said, continuing with her task.

"They're sending me away again," he told her a little later. "I'm being posted to the frontier in Italy. I have two more weeks, and then off I go."

"So soon?" In spite of herself, she stared at him in dismay. "Do we have so little time left?"

"Two weeks," he repeated. "I wasn't going to tell you that." His expression darkened as she finished her work and brought wet cloths to rinse his face. "I was going to leave, that's all, and have Belisarius tell you."

"Why?" she asked.

"Why not? There's nothing for me here anymore. Why stay? Why drag you down with me?" He set his jaw. "I shouldn't have come here tonight. I don't know why I did."

"You came because you missed me." She dried his face and looked at him. "Better."

"I miss many things," he said darkly. "I miss… pride. I miss everything." He leaned forward, his forehead touching her arm. "But I had to see you. I couldn't help myself. Please believe me, Olivia."

"I'm glad you've come," she said, brushing his matted hair with her hand. "The bath is nearly ready."

He got to his feet slowly. "I… I'm a disgrace."

"Not to me," said Olivia as she shed her paenula and the Roman palla she wore under it. "The bath is hot," she warned him as she stepped into the steaming water.

"Christos!" he swore as he joined her. "You want to cook me as well as bite me?"

"Not at the same time," she said lightly, hoping he would take it as a joke.

But his attention had wandered, and he merely smiled as he rubbed his cheeks. "Very close. Not bad."

She had reached for a sponge and was filling it with water when he came up to her, touching her breast with eager, fumbling hands. "Drosos, wait just a bit."

"Why?" He took the sponge from her hands and pulled her into his arms, his mouth hard on hers.

There was only urgency in his movements, no care and no tenderness. He pillaged with his hands, probing and grasping.

Olivia wrenched herself away from him. "Drosos! Stop that."

"I don't want to." He started toward her, a beast after prey. "You want me; I want you."

"Not this way." She reached the edge of her bath and started to pull herself out of the water, but he caught her ankle and dragged her back. She cried out in protest and the side door opened at once.

"Get out of here!" Drosos shouted at Niklos. "This doesn't concern you."

Niklos came into the room with a tray that held a single cup. "If you harm my mistress, you will learn otherwise," he said implacably. He set the tray down beside the pool and looked at Olivia, who had moved away from Drosos. "Do you want me to remain?"

"Bring two drying sheets from the chest by the door." she said, knowing that Niklos would use that time to assess the problem.

Drosos had consumed half the contents of the cup before he realized it was not wine but the mixture Olivia had ordered earlier. He emptied the last of it into the water. "What is this dreadful stuff?"

"It might help you feel more yourself," Olivia said with care.

"I am fine," he protested, and then his whole demeanor changed. "No." He lowered his head and began to sob deeply, wrenchingly. When Olivia started toward him, he pushed her away. "Don't."

From the edge of the pool, Niklos gave Olivia an inquiring look, and accepted her sign to leave her alone with Drosos. He withdrew silently, remaining in the hall, ready to answer any summons.

At last Olivia was able to get close enough to Drosos to take his hands in hers. "Oh love," she said, kissing his hands, holding them when he tried to pull away.

"Why don't you leave me alone?" he demanded when he could speak at all.

"Because I love you; because part of you is part of me." She said it evenly, calmly, all the while watching his eyes.

"God and the Angels, you're not pregnant?" he protested.

"No. No, that isn't… possible."

He sighed, his breath shuddering. "Well, we're spared that." He took her by the shoulders and shook her, but gently. "I am disgraced. Can't you understand that? I am unworthy."

"Not to me." She kissed him, just his lower lip. "You are Drosos. That is enough."

"Am I? Is it?" He moved away from her. "I must have been more drunk that I thought I was to come here. I swore I wouldn't visit you."

She did not move after him. "Why? To make yourself more miserable than you are?"

"To save you from sharing my disgrace," he said. "I don't want you to be—"

"Yes, you've told me before," she said as she came to his side. "But that means little to me. I am suspect already. You can make little difference in that." She took his hand again. "Drosos, stay with me tonight."

He scowled. "So you can get what you want from me?"

"Yes; because you will have what you want from me." She ignored the bark of angry laughter he gave. "If you want this to be the last, so be it. I will be sad, but that would be the case whenever you left me, however you left me."

His dark eyes could not meet hers. "What is the point? I will be gone soon."

"There are a few things I want to say to you," she told him, swallowing hard against the grief that was chilling her.

"You mean the tales you told me before, about living after I've died? That fable about the blood being the elixir of life? You're as bad as the popes, with their promise of life everlasting if you drink their wine." He launched himself out of the bath and reached for a drying sheet. "Lord God, how I have missed your body." He stared down at her. "All right. I'll stay. We'll have this one last time."

His tone and his attitude were not promising, but Olivia got out of the bath and wrapped herself in the other drying sheet. "If nothing else, you can rest in a clean bed."

"So I can. That's a luxury I won't have again once I reach the north of Italy." He let her lead the way back to her bedchamber. "You're as fine a woman from the back as from the front," he said, patting her rump.

Olivia glanced back at him, not knowing how to evoke the response she longed for. She nodded toward her bed. "I'll take what you have on."

Drosos tossed it across the room, on top of his dalmatica. "Let the slaves tend to it, or that arrogant bondsman of yours." He reached out, pulling her drying sheet off her. "I will miss you, Olivia," he said as he stared at her. "You could use a little more breast—but they come with children, don't they?" As he said this, he brushed his hands over her nipples. "They're pretty; it doesn't matter that they aren't very big."

Olivia listened to him in growing apprehension. She caught one of his hands in hers. "Is that all you want of me?"

"Bigger dugs? No, not all." He grabbed her. "It would be the best thing in the world to get lost in you and stay lost. That's what I want. But I will settle for what I can have." This time his kiss was more skillful, and Olivia let herself respond, hoping to feel a similar accessibility in him. He took her face in his hands and held her for his second kiss. "I never knew any woman like you and I will never know another."

By the time they sank together onto the bed, Olivia had been able to evoke a sporadic contact with him, but she felt him flee this intimacy even as his frenzy for her body increased, and her passion for him was tinged with despair. There had been so much between them, and now he eluded her, shut her out of his soul as his body covered and entered hers.

His release came quickly, seizing him like a palsy. His fingers clutched her as if her flesh would save him from being shaken to bits. He rolled off her and away as quickly as he could, and huddled in the folds of the soft woolen blanket.

Olivia lay with the taste of him on her lips and abjection in her heart. She knew that he would not permit her to reach him again; he would never offer the wholehearted access he had once given unstintingly. She knew, also, that it was not contempt for her, but detestation of himself that held him back, and the pain of that knowledge was cold and keen as a knifeblade.

Drosos sat up suddenly, his hand clapped to the little thread of blood that ran over his collarbone and down his chest. "Christos! You did it again!" He rounded on her, his other hand closed in a fist.

"Drosos?" She was fighting off the anguish that threatened to take hold of her.

"You bit me! You drank my blood!" He heaved himself out of the bed.

She raised herself on her elbows. "But I've always—you haven't objected—"

"You're unnatural!" he bellowed.

"Drosos—"

"Monster! Monster!"

Seriously alarmed, she got out of her bed and took a hesitant step toward him, one arm out.

"Keep away, monster!" He reached for the heap of his clothes and drying sheet and flung them at her. "Stay back!"

"I won't—"

"Monster!" His voice had risen to a shriek. "Vampire!"

She stopped. "But you know that," she said softly. "From the first you knew that."

"Fiends of Hell, I did!" He reached the door latch and yanked it open. "Keep off me, you, or I'll dash your brains out." Naked, he went into the hallway, tugging the door closed behind him.

Olivia stood alone as she listened to his hasty footsteps outside the door. He would find another place in the house to sleep, and later she would see that he was covered. Terrible desolation swept through her, and she went down on her knee to gather up the cloth he had thrown at her. Slowly, automatically, she made a bundle of it and placed it by the door so that it could all be washed in the morning. She moved the way a doll might move, her tragic eyes blank, her thoughts in such turmoil that she could not sort them out yet. She added the bedding to the other bundle, and then sat on the uncovered mattress, trying to keep from capitulating to the despair that clawed at her heart.

"There have been worse times," she whispered, the words making no sense to her. There had been awakening in her own tomb. There had been the day that Regius discovered her with his son. There was the time that she had been trapped in a burning cottage, when she was sure that she would die the true death. There had been Zaminian who had run her through with his sword six times, but never touched her spine. All of them had been more dire than this. But they were in the past; the immediacy of her debacle overwhelmed her. The loss of Drosos engulfed her.

Some little time later she was shocked out of her misery by a loud crash from somewhere near the front of her house.

Gathering one of her bed-curtains around her, Olivia rushed out into the hall. Her sight, keener than others at night, let her find her way quickly and easily to the reception room off the vestibule.

Drosos had come there to drink the wine kept for visitors, and he had consumed two amphorae of it. Now he lay where he had fallen, amid spilled wine and overturned roses.

* * *

A commendation from the Emperor Justinian to his naval fleet.

To the men who have achieved so great a triumph over the ships of Totila, we send our grateful commendation for the superb triumph you have achieved.

The Ostrogothic ships are vanquished and you all share in this victory. Each of you will know the extent of our gratitude in our prayers and our public thanks. For every man who participated in this great campaign there will be a commemorative coin struck and distributed. To all officers there will be greater rewards, which will be heaped upon them and their families.

All those who have been in this battle will be honored in a great Mass at Hagia Sophia, and upon the consecration of the entire great basilica, another Mass will be offered, so that the building will be made a more holy monument by the addition of the names of these valiant men who have defended our land from the predations of Totila and have discharged their duty to the Empire with greater valor than has ever been shown before.

There are many tributes that an Emperor values above the riches and treasures of his realm, and a victorious navy is one of them. You have given us more than any Emperor could want, and for that we bless your names and give thanks to God for your courage and might.

From this time on, all men who set out to sea to conquer the ships of Totila may count themselves excused from taxes levied for the benefit of our warriors, either on sea or land, for a greater measure than gold has already been paid, and we disdain to require more of you. Every officer who was part of this undertaking is relieved of taxes on all chariots, palanquins, and boats owned by his family in recognition of the officer's service in our cause.

In this, the Lord's Year 551, we offer up praises to God, His Son and the Holy Spirit for the success of the enterprise, and admonish all loyal subjects within the bounds of the Empire to join with us in this celebration, for surely we are delivered for the purpose of Christian vindication throughout the world.

Justinian

Emperor of Byzantion

(his sigil)

8

The reception hall in the Censor's house was three times the size of the vestibule, and lined with benches and writing tables. There were three other benches at the center of the room reserved for those about to be questioned by the Censor, for this clearly was not a room intended for anything so frivolous as social entertainment.

Both Panaigios Chernosneus and Konstantos Mardino-polis were waiting for the Guard escort to arrive. Between them huddled a figure more like a collection of sticks held together with rags than a man. One of his eyes was fever-bright, the other was missing entirely. His hands were wrapped in strips of filthy cloth, but the shape of these improvised bandages suggested that part of his fingers were missing.

"When is Captain Vlamos supposed to be here?" Konstantos asked, irritated at being kept waiting. It was one thing for Panaigios to suffer these delays; he, Konstantos, was of too high a position to warrant such treatment.

"His slave said that he was leaving the house immediately. He said there had been no resistance." Panaigios folded his arms. "I suppose there is some reason they are not here yet."

"There had better be," Konstantos said, his eyes hot.

"Perhaps there has been another procession for the returning ships," Panaigios suggested.

"Then Captain Vlamos should use other streets." He lifted his head as one of his eunuchs came to the door. "What is it?"

"The Guard escort has turned the corner, master. They will be here shortly. Are the Guards to be offered refreshments?"

"Later," Konstantos said, waving the eunuch away.

The slave made a deep reverence and left.

Panaigios hoped that Konstantos might offer him a glass of fruit juice or wine, or even a little water, but he knew better than to ask for it. He concealed a sigh and leaned back, bracing himself against the wall. "Do you think this will take long?"

"Not very long. We have this worthy pope's sworn statement, and he will confront the woman," said Konstantos, nudging the pathetic creature between them. "You will not require long, will you?"

Pope Sylvestros rolled his one eye toward the ceiling. "I have called to Heaven from the depth of my agony and I was shown the path of retribution. I was shown the way of righteousness and my soul rejoiced."

"Will that be enough?" Panaigios asked.

"If the Emperor is satisfied, you and I are not entitled to question him." Konstantos drummed his fingers on the table. "The Censor requests that we deliver our findings to him personally, so that there will be little gossip. There are those whom the Censor does not wish to know of these proceedings."

"Of course," said Panaigios, more fretful than before.

"Be pleased you are serving here," Konstantos recommended. "You and I both stand to advance through this investigation."

Panaigios nodded, feeling sweat gathering on his chest and under his arms. "It is always an honor to serve the Emperor."

Both men heard the front door open and the sound of many voices. Pope Sylvestros started to wail and slid back against the wall as if seeking to make himself invisible.

Captain Vlamos was the first into the enormous reception room. "In the name of the Emperor Justinian, we have carried out our duty," he announced formally.

"Where is the culprit?"

Olivia Clemens stepped around the Captain. "I am not a culprit and I will be grateful if you will not use such words until you have some basis for them." She was dressed in Roman splendor and her carriage was confident and regal.

"She! It is she!" screamed Pope Sylvestros, raising his covered hands as if to ward off a blow.

"Who is that unfortunate wretch?" Olivia asked; if his behavior caused her any alarm, there was no outward sign of it.

"He is among those who accuse you," said Konstantos, distaste in his long features. "And it is most improper for you to address any of us directly."

"Since I have been forbidden the right to summon my sponsor, I can think of no alternative. Incidentally, why have I been forbidden to have Belisarius here?" She glanced from Konstantos to Panaigios. "Or am I not allowed to have answers, either? If I am not, then these proceedings are apt to be difficult for all of us."

"Your deportment is shameful." Konstantos had half-risen and was pointing his stylus at her.

"You expect that of me, from what the Captain has told me. Was it that poor creature beside you, or another who said I was without virtue?" She dared not speak Drosos' name for fear that her calm would desert her. He had been gone for over a month, but she had learned a little of him from Belisarius, most of which distressed her as much as their final night together had.

"You flaunt your godlessness in our faces?" said Konstantos in outrage.

"No," Olivia replied, and sat on one of the hard benches. "I flaunt nothing."

"You come here in Roman dress—" Konstantos began.