A Flame in Byzantium

"Because I am a Roman. I understand that is part of the reason I am here." She touched the fibula on her shoulder before folding her hands in her lap.

"You are here because you are guilty of great and terrible crimes." Konstantos thundered the accusation before he resumed his seat. "This good pope knows much of you."

"Does he?" Olivia asked. "I wouldn't have thought it." So it was not Drosos who had brought her here, she realized. It had to be another. "What am I supposed to have done?"

"There are three charges," Panaigios said, his voice higher than usual. He cleared his throat and read from the sheet in front of him. "You are implicated in crimes against the Church, witnessed by this pope who vows that he has seen you make pagan sacrifices, and that within your villa in Roma there are objects of pagan worship."

"Which have undoubtedly been looted by now, and so do not exist; very convenient for you, no doubt." Olivia warned herself that she must not be too reckless. These men were capable of condemning her to a slow and painful death that would be as fatal to her as to anyone else. She lowered her eyes and listened.

"There are accusations, brought by those who cannot give witness, that you smuggled goods into the Empire without paying taxes or declaring their worth. Further, it is said that you have kept illegal books in your house, knowing they were banned and aware of the implications of their presence." Panaigios read this in a fast, flat tone, head bowed.

"Again, I must ask what proof you have." Olivia kept her manner subdued. "You say that the accusations are brought by those who cannot testify. That would mean another woman or a slave, or a foreigner who is not part of the Empire. The motives of all such persons are questionable, had they the right to speak out, which they have not."

"The third charge is the most serious," Panaigios went on, glancing once at Konstantos. "It is claimed that you provided and administered the poison that brought about the death of the august lady Antonina."

Olivia was on her feet. "Ridiculous!"

"Be silent!" shouted Konstantos.

"The charge is absurd!" Olivia insisted, but she sat down as she felt Captain Vlamos lay his hand on her shoulder. "What reason would I have for such a terrible deed?"

"You are a widow," said Konstantos. "You have been a friend of the General Belisarius since his campaign in Italy."

"So it follows that I would kill his wife?" Olivia asked in disbelief.

"If you planned to take her place," Konstantos stated.

"I have refused Captain Drosos when he offered marriage." She saw the way Panaigios started at Drosos' name. "Is he among the nameless ones now?" she asked, saddened.

"Captain Drosos was an officer of General Belisarius. He would be willing to serve his General in many ways," Konstantos averred. "It would not be the first time a man held a woman for another man."

Olivia could find no words at first. "You mean that you think Drosos was my lover so that I would be able to marry Belisarius once I killed his wife? Why would Drosos help his General if he knew what I was doing? Unless," she went on more carefully, "you are looking for a way to implicate Belisarius in Antonina's death. That would be laughable."

"You have a fortune." Panaigios refused to raise his head.

"Which Belisarius controls. He has no reason to ally himself with me. He already is in a position to take every coin and all property he has secured for me." She felt the first stirring of panic and forced herself to ignore them.

"In Roma, this pope saw your villa, and in it he found certain compounds that can be used as poisons." Konstantos plucked at Pope Sylvestros' ragged sleeve. "Tell her what you saw."

"I saw Angels descending from Heaven, and each one carried a gem of a different color. All of them had wings of fire and they flew over me—" Pope Sylvestros said in a sing-song.

"Stop him," Konstantos ordered Panaigios, who tugged ineffectively at the man.

"—and their wings made the sound of great whirlwinds, and—"

"Surely you do not expect me to take these accusations to heart, do you?" Olivia tossed her head. "What purpose do you think any of this serves? You bring that… wreck of a man here, who knows nothing but that Angels have come to him. You let him speak. You mention things that have been said by those who are not permitted to testify as if that could have some bearing on the matter. Am I supposed to be so contrite that I offer a confession to you?"

"You are not to speak at all," Panaigios said, his voice going up again.

"You are a woman of dangerous repute." Konstantos pointed at her again, his arm quivering. "You are not simply a Roman whore who has traded on her profession to come to this city; you are—or you claim to be—of noble background, of a gens that would be horrified to see what you have done."

"But I tell you I have done nothing wrong," Olivia said in a reasonable manner. "I am a widow and I do not seek to marry again. My husband's Will is specific about that. I have had one lover since I came here, who was my lover before, and that is Captain Drosos, who has been posted back to the Italian frontier. You seek to make this seem disrespectful when it is nothing of the sort."

"You have herbs and spices in your house," Konstantos said.

"In that I am no different than any other house holder in Konstantinoupolis." Olivia was finding it difficult to remain in unruffled control of herself; her indignation was increasing with every word Konstantos addressed to her. "As to my few remaining Roman goods, there is nothing significant in them, unless you wish to claim that anyone with a bust of an ancestor is worshipping pagan gods." This last was a deliberate slight to Konstantos, who was known to keep portraits of his grandfathers in his private apartments next to his ikonostasis.

"You are clever, and you have Roman guile." Konstantos turned to Panaigios. "The accusation about the poisons; you have it there?"

"I do," said Panaigios, taking care not to look at Olivia, who captivated him.

As Konstantos took the pages from the Censor's secretary, he held them up, showing them to Olivia, who was too far away to read them. "Here we have a report from one who works for the Censor and the good of the Empire."

"You mean a paid spy in a household, probably Belisarius' or mine," said Olivia evenly.

"That is what a dishonest person might believe," Konstantos allowed. "This person states that you have often visited Belisarius' house."

"Of course I have; he's my sponsor." For all her outward scorn, Olivia was listening carefully, aware that this was the only accusation that might cause her trouble.

"And nothing more, or so you claim." Konstantos cleared his throat. "This person describes the number of times you have been at the house, and remarks that you have paid visits to Antonina while you were there."

"Not every time," Olivia corrected him. "I was permitted to speak with her only when she felt well enough to have a visitor, and that was rarely, since she was so ill."

"Doubtless," Konstantos said smoothly, and Olivia wondered what trap she had entered. "You." He poked the demented pope at his side. "What have you seen?"

"I saw at the house of this Roman woman, at her villa outside the walls of Roma, vials and jars and other containers of many substances that were known to be dangerous. There was Purple Slipper and Wolfsbane and hemp as well as Armenian poppies. It was said that she was known to be expert with these herbs, and that there were many who came to her over the years." He recited his information as if he had memorized it badly. "I learned from monks at a nearby monastery who keep to the teachings of Saint Ambrose of Milano. They informed me that the great lady who owned the villa was a sorceress." He fell silent, then cried out, "I am treading the way, Holy Spirit. I am reaching out to You so that You may see what I have done to make amends for my sins and crimes. I am repentant, Holy Spirit. Bear witness to my deeds."

"Yes, yes," said Panaigios, patting Pope Sylvestros' arm and trying to quiet him. "Yes, we know how you strive."

"To make amends," he insisted, his one eye fixing on Konstantos. "You promised me that I would not have to beg if I would bear witness to what I saw in Italy."

Konstantos was so angry that he found it hard to speak. "You will be silent now," he ordered through his teeth.

"In effect, this miserable man has been offered a bribe if he will speak against me," said Olivia, turning toward Captain Vlamos. "What do you think of this, Captain Vlamos? You have heard the allegations and you say nothing."

"It's not for me to say, one way or another. I am here to carry out the commands of the Censor, his officers, and the commands of the Emperor." He spoke woodenly, and he refused to look at Olivia.

"Tell me," Olivia said, addressing Panaigios, "when you questioned my bondsman, did anything he said cause you to think that I might be as sinister a person as this… this pope has said?"

"Your bondsman is your bondsman." Konstantos would not permit Panaigios to answer.

"And your witness is demented," Olivia said, her control slipping away. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands and concentrated on the pain in order to master herself. "My bondsman has served me many years. He—if he were allowed to speak here, which he is not—might tell you otherwise. I admit I know some of the lore of herbs, as do most owners of villas in the country. Your own citizens probably have similar supplies, and for similar reasons. If you have decided that this is significant, there are many, much closer to the Emperor and the Censor, who must share suspicion with me." She thought, as she said it, that she might have inadvertently touched on the truth.

"You are being questioned now," Konstantos shouted. "And you are not permitted to speak."

"Then send for my sponsor and let him know of your suspicions. Or would that interfere?" Olivia got to her feet again. "Belisarius is required by law to be present if there are formal charges laid against me, since he is responsible for me. Yet you refuse to send for him. Therefore you are not making formal charges. Or if you are making formal charges, you do so illegally." She looked at the three men in turn. "You need to find someone to blame, and I am safest, for I have no family and I am a foreign woman. How convenient that I also have money that you will be entitled to claim." She turned to Captain Vlamos. "Well?"

"I must not speak with you, great lady," the Captain said in some embarrassment.

"Don't these proceedings seem irregular to you?" When she received no answer from him, she went on, "I know from Belisarius himself that you are considered an honorable soldier. I ask you now to inform him or my bondsman of what has taken place here, so that one or the other of them may begin to seek remedy for this… this travesty." She gave her attention to Konstantos once more. "That is part of your purpose, isn't it? You want to find someone guilty for the death of Antonina so that there will be no more questions about it. You think that if you accuse me, Belisarius will ask nothing about me, and you will never have to answer for your acts." She wondered if perhaps Konstantos had guessed correctly, and Belisarius, overcome with grief, would refuse to pursue her interests.

"I have heard too much from you," Konstantos said in a low, deadly tone. "You have been permitted more leeway because as a Roman we know you do not understand proper conduct. We will enter the testimony of Pope Sylvestros in our records, and we will send all to Belisarius for him to reply to the accusations. But you, you are to be detained until it is decided that there are grounds enough to review your case." He slapped the tabletop.

"O Lord, You strike in wrath and in thunder," intoned Pope Sylvestros, his hands pressed together. "I listen and I hear the sound of Your destruction promised to the sinful world."

"Make him be quiet!" Konstantos shouted, rounding on Panaigios, who had dropped the vellum sheets he held.

"I… I…" Panaigios began, then said nothing more as he pulled on Pope Sylvestros' arm in a futile attempt to get his attention.

"The thunder of destruction and the thunder of creation fill all Heaven and shake the earth," Pope Sylvestros exulted. "The tread of the Lord shakes the world and the cities fall before Him."

"If it is proven that you are a sorceress," Konstantos went on, doing his best to ignore Pope Sylvestros, "then you will be tied in a sack and thrown in the sea, which is the fate of all sorcerers and sorceresses."

"Tied in a sack and thrown in the sea," Olivia repeated with fascination and horror. Water would not kill her, and she could not drown, but she would be immobilized until her flesh gave way or she was eaten. And for however long that took, she would be conscious. "You condemn me to Hell," she said softly, with great feeling, for to her it was no more than the truth.

"It is your action that condemns you to Hell," said Konstantos with satisfaction, misunderstanding her. "We are only instruments of the Emperor who seeks to emulate God on earth with wisdom and judgment."

"That might be thought prideful," Olivia said in a thoughtful voice. "And as I recall, pride is a sin."

"You are not one to speak against the Emperor or the Lord God," Konstantos warned Olivia. He was about to go on when another man entered the room and approached him.

Both Panaigios and Konstantos made a reverence to Kimon Athanatadies, and Panaigios held out the list of charges that he had read earlier.

The Court Censor took the sheet and looked over them. "Atta Olivia Clemens," he said. "I recall we have had some questions about her. Sorcery. A grave charge." He looked at Pope Sylvestros. "Who is that?"

"A witness." Panaigios had the grace to look chagrined at this admission. "He is Pope Sylvestros."

"I recall that name. He has been shown to have committed criminal acts." Athanatadies tapped the edge of the sheet. "I trust that he is not your only witness."

The cold expression in the Censor's eyes subdued Konstantos' zeal. "We are trying to find others. We have information from those who cannot testify, and in time we will obtain access to those who can."

"See that you do," said Athanatadies. "I must defend every decision made by my staff to the Emperor." He stared blankly at the far wall. "The Emperor is determined to root out all wrongdoing in the Empire. We are mandated to act for him. But if we abuse his authority, then we are culpable." He slid his fingers over his moist palms. "Have care that you do not exceed your authority, Konstantos. And you as well, Panaigios. If you do, you will have to answer for it." He handed the vellum back to Panaigios and looked toward Olivia. "Where is your sponsor, woman?"

"That is a question I have been asking since I was brought here, Censor," Olivia answered with asperity.

"Her sponsor is Belisarius and there is reason to think that this woman poisoned the General's wife," Konstantos said, not quite defiantly.

"Is that any reason not to have him here?" Athanatadies asked, thinking what Justinian might require under these circumstances. "He should be sent for."

"At once?" Panaigios said.

"How do we explain to him?" Konstantos said at the same time.

Athanatadies did not want to make any more decisions; he had been upbraided for the last two and he was afraid of the Emperor's demands. He stared in silence at a place on the floor about halfway between him and Olivia. At last he said, "Detain her."

"What?" Olivia cried out, her reserve gone. "By what right do you 'detain' me?" She did not want to be kept in a cell again, lost to the world and conveniently forgotten. This had happened to her in the past, and in many ways it was worse than awakening in her tomb. In a cell, she had become ravenous, not only for blood but for intimacy, for the exchange that satisfied more than simple hunger.

"By right as the Court Censor," said Athanatadies, his expression rigid. "You have been accused of serious acts. Until we have more to support these accusations, I remand you into the custody of Captain Vlamos. There are quarters in this building for those accused whose cases are being investigated; we maintain them for such as you." He studied Olivia for a little while. "It will not be too unpleasant, if that is what troubles you."

"Locked up and isolated is always unpleasant, Censor," she said with hard intent. "The trappings—" She shrugged.

"There is the dungeon, if you prefer," Konstantos offered, gloating.

Olivia ignored him, keeping her attention on Kimon Athanatadies. "You will see that my sponsor is notified of your investigation and the charges against me."

"Yes; in due time." He cleared his throat and moved away from her.

"When is this 'due time' you speak of?" Olivia asked, making no attempt to disguise her sarcasm.

"It is when it is," Athanatadies said without looking around, and spoke next to Konstantos and Panaigios. "I want to be kept abreast of your findings. Do not think you are being excused from your work here. Something must be found, something more than that disgusting pope. He would be unreliable at best."

"Yes, Censor," said Konstantos. "We will continue our work."

"And see that you find testimony from those who can give it; the gossip of slaves will not be welcome, even as supporting reports. Slaves always think ill of foreign masters, and you know that as well as I do." He started toward his side door, then turned back. "You may be sure that Belisarius will begin asking questions in a few days. You had better have some answers. He may be in disgrace with the Emperor, but he is still a General and he has some authority."

"Of course, Censor," said Konstantos.

"You are not to do anything hasty. This charge of sorcery is the most worrisome. Be certain you have proof, or drop it." He did not want any of the decisions he had made regarding heretics and sorcerers called into question now, for Justinian had already indicated that he wanted to be rid of all of them at once, as he had been rid of the pernicious books at Alexandria. As Censor, it would be his task to carry out such a command, but he feared that the confusion that would result, the charges and countercharges, would lead to an unrest that the Emperor did not appreciate, and he would be unable to explain. "I do not want to be told that you have heard rumors, or that there are those who think she might be enchanting cats. Is that understood. You must be able to demonstrate your charge or you must remove it."

From her place on the bench, Olivia said, "You sound almost Roman, Censor."

"You do yourself no good speaking to me that way," Athanatadies told her, though he continued to look at Konstantos. "In ten days, I will want to have word about this woman. If there is no word, you will have to give reason why you have not done what is required of you. And if you cannot, then you will have to answer to Belisarius." With that last ominous promise, he was gone.

The reception chamber was silent; Panaigios shuffled papers.

"The earth shows worship and reverence to God," called Pope Sylvestros. "In homage to the Might of God, the people are silent."

"Then you be silent, too," snapped Konstantos. He signaled to Captain Vlamos. "You know where the detention rooms are. See that she has one of the better ones, with a good bed." He favored Olivia with a malicious smile. "That is in case you wish to entertain friends."

Olivia had been expecting some attack, and she did not respond to it. "Captain Vlamos, lead the way."

"I'm sorry, great lady," he said, "but I must bind your hands and keep hold of the thongs."

"Of course." She held out crossed wrists. She wanted to lash out with her feet and hands, then flee, but that was worse than folly. "Not too tight, I pray."

As Captain Vlamos secured the thongs, he asked, "Will this be too bad?"

"No," she said honestly. As she was about to be led away, she glanced at the three men. "When the day comes that this happens to you—and do not think that impossible—remember me." Then she nodded to Captain Vlamos and went out of the chamber toward the detention rooms at the other end of the enormous building.

* * *

Text of a letter from Niklos to Belisarius.

To the distinguished General who is sponsor to my mistress Olivia Clemens, my greetings and supplications.

Six days ago my mistress was taken by the Guard to answer questions of the Censor's officers. She has not returned home since then, and all attempts to discover what has become of her have met with nothing.

Since I am a bondsman and my mistress is a Roman there is little I can do beyond what has already been done. Therefore I have to ask that you act to find out what has happened to her and to take all measures to see that she is restored at once to her house and to your protection.

I had a few words with a Captain Vlamos, who was one of those who came to take her to the Censor, and he told me that the Censor has an accusation of sorcery against my mistress, which is not only a defamation of her character, but it places her in gravest danger with no means to refute such a charge.

Should you require it of me, I will place the resources of this household at your disposal to aid in any and all ways possible to secure the release and total exoneration of my mistress as well as demanding and receiving damages for what she has had to endure on these false and mendacious charges.

It is my belief that those who have brought these charges did so with malicious intent, for everything they have said has served to divide her from her household, her goods, and your protection. Since you have not been called, I have assumed that you are likely to be implicated by these charges or be found to be the victim of what is alleged.

Captain Vlamos has said that he will speak with you if you require it of him, for that is his responsibility as an officer of the Guard, since you are my mistress' sponsor here. I urge you to do so as soon as possible, for there is no telling what indignities might have been forced upon my mistress, who has already suffered enough in coming to this city. If the Captain will tell you what we need to know, then I will take action at once and do my utmost to save my mistress from any more travail.

I must warn you that I have been informed that sorcerers are executed by being put into a sack and thrown into the sea. I do not want to make demands of you, great General, but I am certain that neither of us wish to have that happen to Olivia. Since those executions are carried out in secret, I am afraid that we have less time to discover her whereabouts and take action than we might have under other circumstances.

While it pains me to intrude on your mourning and grief, I would rather do this than add to your losses, for that is what is likely to happen if you will not insist on some resolution of this dreadful business at once.

The Censor's officers Konstantos and Panaigios are pursuing the case for the Censor and the Emperor. They will not answer me, but they must answer you. I beg you to approach them at once, for to tell truth, I fear for my mistress more than I ever have in my life.

Niklos Aulirios

bondsman to

Atta Olivia Clemens

P.S. The slave Zejhil has asked to be permitted to aid you in any way she can. She carries this letter, and I have given her permission to remain with you and to act in any capacity you deem necessary. Certainly you may do so as Olivia's sponsor, but in case the Censor decides that there is a valid charge and attempts to seize all of my mistress' household and goods, you will be able to retain Zejhil. Listen to her, Belisarius. She has been a great help to us. With this, I include Olivia's endorsement of Zejhil's writ of manumission, along with a request that she be given thirty gold pieces when she is freed. I trust you will honor my mistress' decision in regard to this slave.

9

Shortly after Captain Vlamos left Belisarius' house, Simones requested permission to be gone for an hour, and so was not present when Eugenia arrived and begged to speak with the General.

The eunuch slave Arius admitted her and told her that his master was not to be disturbed.

"I have to speak with him," Eugenia said, her eyes brimming with tears. "He is my only hope, and if he won't see me, I have no other chance to save myself."

Arius knew Eugenia from her friendship with Anto-nina, and for that reason he faltered. Belisarius might want to see this old friend of his dead wife, but then again, the presence of Eugenia might recall his loss. Weighing these two considerations only became more puzzling, and so at last he said, "Wait here, great lady, and I will speak with my master."

Eugenia looked about the vestibule a little wildly. "Let me sit in the smaller reception room," she said, precariously near begging. "I don't want… anyone to know I am here. The matter is confidential." She held out a silver coin. "You must tell no one but your master that I have come. No one. No other member of this household."

Arius took the coin, more out of surprise than greed. "Of course, great lady." He tucked the coin under his belt and went to Belisarius' study.

"Tell her I'm busy," said Belisarius, who was deep in conversation with the Tartar slave from the Roman woman's household.

"She is weeping, General," said Anus, who assumed he owed Eugenia that much for the coin.

Belisarius sighed. "Where is she?"

"In the smaller reception room." Arms made a reverence to his master. "She is very… upset."

Zejhil rose and made her reverence. "I have more than enough to do. I will be busy for the rest of the afternoon with the tasks you have set me. You must attend to your guest, of course." Without any fuss, she withdrew.

"All right," Belisarius said with a resigned hitch to his shoulders. "Show me to her, Arius."

Eugenia was seated in the darkest corner of the room, her back to the door, hunched over. She had dressed plainly and without any of her customary ornaments and jewels. As Arius came into the room, she started, then recovered herself and rose. "I am very sorry to disturb you at this terrible time, General," she began with proper formality.

"If you disturbed me, it must be for something more than a consolation call," he said tersely, motioning to Arius to leave them alone. "You have something you wanted to say to me."

"Yes," she said, color mounting in her face. "It's very difficult. I don't know where to begin." She was hardly audible at these last words.

Belisarius took his place on the padded bench. "Shall I send for some refreshments?"

"No!" Her protest was a wail. "No. I don't want anyone to know I am here, no one in your household." She caught the edge of her paenula and began to twist it in her fingers. "I tried to tell you this before. If I could bring myself to write, it might have been easier to set it down, for I would not have to see your face while I told you." She cleared her throat, then coughed; neither effort raised her voice or her confidence. "I… I've tried to do this before, but I have been afraid."

"Why didn't you speak to your sponsor?" Belisarius asked her reasonably.

"My sponsor?" Her features crumbled under her emo-tions. "Oh, I could not. I would be cast out for what has happened, and he would never believe that I was telling the truth. He would not be able to do anything. He would not want to. There would be too much shame, and for that he would want me to suffer, not to find the answer for me." This tangled protest caught a little of Belisarius' interest.

"Are you saying that you must speak to me about one of my officers?" He knew of her unsatisfactory dalliance with Chrysanthos, but was reluctant to think that his officer would behave badly to a former lover.

"No, not… not officers. Someone… someone in your household." She put her hands to her face and wept, trying to keep from making a sound.

Belisarius rose and went to her. "Let me summon one of the slaves to—"

"No. No slaves. No." She pushed him away from her with repugnance. "No slaves!"

Now Belisarius was both troubled and curious. He knew that he had interpreted the reason for Eugenia's visit incorrectly and he was beginning to think that there was something to be learned from her. "Come. I will not insist you be aided if you would rather not." He indicated a place on the other bench, but she retreated back into the shadows once more. "What is it, Eugenia?"

She shook her head, shuddering with tears and fright. "I can't."

"But if you came here to tell me something—" He approached her slowly, with care, as if she were an animal that was only half-tame.

"I have to tell you," she whispered. "I have to."

He watched her face, seeing the shine of her eyes and the gleam of tears; the rest was indistinct. "Then tell me, Eugenia."

"It's… very difficult." She trembled. "But it has to end. It has to. I can't… go on." She bowed over, her head caught in her hands and pressed to her knees.

Belisarius waited, trying to keep his imagination from building hideous scenarios to account for Eugenia's behavior. "When you are able, tell me. I will listen."

"Oh, God and Saints!" she screamed, the sound muffled by her hands. "I can't. If he finds… out. Don't tell." She looked up imploringly. "Give me your word you will not tell him."

"Tell whom?" Belisarius asked, assuming she meant either her sponsor or Chrysanthos. Her answer astonished him.

"Simones."

"Simones?" He repeated the name as if it were unfamiliar. "Why should it matter what…"He did not go on for a short while, and when he did, his words were sharper. "What about Simones?"

"He…" She found a reserve of discipline she did not know until then she had. "He came to me, oh, some time ago. He said that he would see you condemned as a traitor, that he was being paid by the officers of the Censor to find the means to discredit you completely. He said that if I confessed this to you, you would not believe me, and he would deny it."

"Simones," said Belisarius.

"He… demanded I be… I be his lover." Her voice sank and her courage nearly failed her. "He boasted of how he would bring you down, and all those who were close to you. He said he had bribed Antonina's physician to—"

"To poison her?" Belisarius asked in a low, soft voice.

Eugenia blinked. "Yes."

"There was a letter from the physician. He left it… in Antonina's room. For me." He clasped his hands together in front of him as if they were holding a sword.

"And?" Though she was frightened, for the first time Eugenia had hope that she might not be dismissed. "Was there something in the letter?"

"The physician was paid to poison Antonina," Belisarius said heavily. "I informed the Guard but nothing has happened. Now, with the other—" He stopped abruptly. "Tell me about Simones."

"He said he had to have my help, but… I don't know." She felt her face turn scarlet. "I think he wanted to have someone to command, someone he could bully and threaten. He liked that better than anything else between us." She put her hand to the neck of her paenula. "I… I thought I had to do as he ordered. I thought he would say I was consorting with a slave, and my sponsor would hear of it, and then I would be cast out for what I had done. I was afraid. You understand that, don't you?"

"I understand," said Belisarius, and for the first time, he did.

"I didn't dare refuse him. He said he would accuse me of conspiring against Antonina, that I would be judged guilty. I cannot speak for myself, and although he cannot speak against me, he could implicate me, and—" It took an effort but she stopped her rush of words. "He told me he had arranged for the poisoning of your wife. He said that he had done other things as well. He wants to bring down everyone associated with you. He is determined to… to ruin you, to destroy you. He wants to know that he arranged your downfall." She turned to Belisarius. "I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry that I let any of this happen, and that once it happened that I permitted it to continue, but truly, I did not know what to do. I didn't want to participate in what he was doing. I thought I wasn't… important enough. But—"

"But Antonina is dead," Belisarius said heavily. "And she died because of poison. I should have seen what was happening. I should have suspected. Oh, Lord God, how could I not have seen it?" He lunged away from her, his arms crossed over his body. "How could I not have known."

"General—"

"I did know. Christos, I knew." He blundered into the wall and swung around toward Eugenia. "Why didn't you come to me when it might have done some good? Why didn't you tell me when she could have been saved? Why?" He brought his arm up, and then held it, seeing Eugenia cower, her face white, her eyes glazed with fear. "I won't hurt you," he said dully, stepping back from her. "It wouldn't change anything."

"But I tried," Eugenia protested in a small voice. "I tried once to talk Simones out of what he was doing; it was the third time he came to me, and I spent as much time as I could telling him why he ought not to do what… he was doing." She said this tentatively, like a child unsure of an angry parent.

"And? What happened?" He was exhausted. All his energy seemed to have run out of him, leaving him listless and numb.

"He… exacted vengeance. He made certain I would not do that again." She lowered her voice. "He used me. I have never been used so by a man before. I… was sick, afterward."

"Simones," Belisarius said.

"He is an angry, dangerous man," Eugenia said, reciting a litany she had told herself since her subjugation had begun.

"Simones." He nodded slowly. "So efficient, so dependable. So devoted. I assumed—" He lowered his head. "Antonina trusted him. She liked him better than any other slave in the household. Whenever she… she had had a… a bad night, she would send for Simones, for he cheered her." Without warning he hurled one of the small tables across the room; it smashed and broke against the opposite wall. "Of course he cheered her. He was enjoying his handiwork."

Two slaves appeared at the door of the reception room, one of them visibly frightened.

"Leave us alone!" Belisarius ordered. "And tell those Guards watching my house that I am going to the house of the Censor. I want them to be ready." He lurched to his feet. "I have let too much get beyond me. I have not done all that Lneed to do."

"What… what will happen to me?" Eugenia pleaded, her terror returning.

"You will be safe; I give you my word on it. If I am betrayed, then that may be another matter." His smile was hard, cynical. "Who knows what Fallen Angels have flocked to the Censor's standard? It may be that I am already too late." He went to the door, saying to her as he left, "Have one of my men escort you back to your house. I think that you had better not still be here when Simones returns."

"Belisarius!" The force of her cry stopped him.

"What is it?"

"Say you forgive me. I never meant to be such a coward, I never thought it would go this far. Please. Forgive me." She reached out to him, suddenly very vulnerable and fragile.

"Forgive you? How can I do that while Simones breathes? Once he is gone, ask me again." With that he was gone from the reception room, striding toward his chambers, moving in a way that his soldiers knew better than his household. "Arius! I want my white dalmatica and my gold pallium set out. At once. I want a basin to wash and I want oil for my hair. Now!"

The eunuch slave hurried after him. "I will have it done, master. At once."

"Order the roan harnessed to my triumphal chariot and have two of the horsemen accompany me. Mounted. On the matched bays. Give the order while I prepare." He slammed his private door closed on Arius and began to undress.

In less than an hour, he was ready to leave his house. Since he was no longer permitted to bear arms, he had arrayed himself with every honor presented to him for his military achievements. His chest flashed and glowed with jewels and gold. He had donned his golden wreath presented to him for his victories in Africa, and he carried the three bound staves that were the sign of his rank. As he climbed into his chariot, he nodded to the two mounted slaves who flanked him. "Don't get ahead of the Guard. They'd be insulted."

The older of the two, a grizzle-haired veteran from Emisis, touched his left shoulder with his right hand in salute. "Do we go ahead of you, master?"

"Either side of the chariot." Belisarius indicated the places. "Don't hurry. Give them plenty of time to know I'm coming." There was a grimness about his mouth and his eyes narrowed as he spoke.

The two slaves exchanged glances, but said nothing, putting their mounts into movement at the walk, taking care to observe the form their master required.

Little as the two Guards liked it, Belisarius ordered this small procession to go past two of the largest markets and the front of Hagia Sophia where the workers were laboring to complete the new basilica on the foundations of the old. From within the building came the sound of chanting that faltered as Belisarius passed the open narthex. Behind them hundreds of people followed, but at a safe distance.

The Guards at the gate of the Censor's palace blocked the way with their spears until Captain Vlamos was found. He came out of the main doors, a sword in his hand, and looked up at the chariot and Belisarius.

"What is your purpose for coming, General?" he asked with respect; Belisarius might be out of favor with the Emperor, but the Byzantine soldiers regarded him as their greatest hero.

"I must speak with the Censor or with his officers. At once. It concerns a crime, and a… negligence on the part of his staff." He looked directly at Captain Vlamos. "Will you let me pass? As you see, I am unarmed."

"The Censor is at prayers," the Captain said, for the first time disappointed in the Censor.

"I will wait. I do not wish to interrupt his devotion." He secured the reins of his chariot and stepped out of it. "If one of your stablehands will see to my horse?"

"Yes." Captain Vlamos clapped his hands sharply, and as soon as one of the Censor's slaves responded, he issued a number of orders. Then he stood while Belisarius came up to him. "It is an honor to be of help, General."

Belisarius' face had grown craggy in the last few years, and his hair was almost white; in his splendid dress he was as imposing as a metropolitan at the high altar. His attitude was stern as he spoke to Captain Vlamos. "There have been accusations laid here that I have information to disprove. What is troubling is that no one told me of the accusations, though they concerned both my dead wife and the Roman woman I sponsor. The Censor owes me a little of his time and some clarification." He was no taller than Captain Vlamos, but he seemed to tower over the Guard officer.

"I…" He looked around, then motioned to the Guards who had accompanied Belisarius to step back out of hearing. "I know something of this."

"Tell me."

"I… I heard the accusations brought against the Roman lady." He looked around hastily, to be certain they were not overheard. "One of the articles against her stated that she… she had a hand in your… wife's death."

Belisarius gave an impatient wave to his hand. "I know she did not; I know precisely who is responsible, and I have a statement to support what I say." He moved, standing now with his feet apart and braced, as if he were preparing to attack. "I require some explanation about all of this. I have to know who suborned one of my slaves to work against me."

"It's a bad business," Captain Vlamos said, his lorica feeling much too tight.

"And it must be settled."

"Yes." He indicated the door. "I will summon an escort. It is necessary; you understand." This last was an apology and both men realized it.

The reception room was neither the grandest or the meanest; it had two tall ikonostases flanking three narrow windows that looked out on a sluggish fountain. Three padded benches were arranged around a low, square table. Neither Belisarius nor the three Guards who accompanied him sat down.

Captain Vlamos had spoken to the majordomo, informing him that the General's task was urgent. He doubted that he could hurry the Censor, but he felt obliged to try. When the majordomo suggested that wine and fruit be brought for Belisarius, Captain Vlamos declined. He remained with Belisarius and the two officers who served as the General's escort, saying nothing, growing more agitated as time dragged on.

When Kimon Athanatadies finally entered the reception room, Captain Vlamos was prepared to upbraid him for the long delay, but he was held in check by Belisarius, who saluted the Censor.

"I am sorry to have to disturb you, Censor," he said as if the wait had not been insulting. "I know you are busy on the Emperor's behalf."

Athanatadies gave a guarded nod. "I strive to discharge the tasks he sets me."

"Yes; I know from my campaigns how strict his expectations can be," Belisarius went on, as if greeting a foreign envoy. "It is one of the demands made on those willing to rise as high as you have."

"What is your intention?" Athanatadies asked, trying to gain control of their encounter.

"Why, to assist you in one of your investigations," he said blandly. "If you had notified me of it, I would have been able to spare you time and effort, and perhaps you would have apprehended a criminal before he could do more damage." He looked around the room, indicating the Guards. "Would you rather speak privately? I am not permitted to carry weapons."

This last, instead of reassuring Athanatadies, made him more restive. He knew that if Belisarius wished, he could dispatch him with nothing more than his hands. "Captain Vlamos, dismiss your men, but remain with me."

When the two Guards were gone, Captain Vlamos posted himself at the door, protecting the Censor and the General from spies and each other.

"What is it you wish to say?" Athanatadies inquired as he sat down on the largest of the padded benches.

Belisarius went to the windows, positioning himself between the ikonostases, the light behind him so that the

Censor could not see his face clearly. "I want," he said in a light, neutral tone, "to see justice done for once."

"For once?" the Censor demanded.

"Let's not waste time in debate, Censor. You have accused the Roman lady I sponsor of several crimes, including the murder of my wife. The physician who was responsible for her death left a confession—a copy of it was sent to you—that indicated he had been corrupted by a member of my household, a slave. I have learned which slave it is, and that he claims to be working at your request. He believes that he cannot be blamed or punished for any of the wrongs he has done because he has been assured that you will protect him."

Kimon Athanatadies smoothed the loose ends of his pallium. "I am not certain I understand you."

"I thought I spoke plainly," said Belisarius. "Is this slave of mine spying for you, or one of your officers? If so, did you give him permission to have my wife killed? Because if you did"—his voice was suddenly soft and cold—"I will see you die for it."

"I would never authorize such a sinful thing," Athanatadies protested smoothly. "If your slave thought he would be allowed to act in that way, he was mistaken. If he did anything at all." The last was an afterthought.

"The physician said he did."

"Oh, yes, the confession you claim was sent here. I do not recall seeing it. I will have to ask my officers; they deal with so much that occasionally something is overlooked." He hoped that Belisarius was far enough away from him not to smell the sharp sweat that betrayed his fear.

"Such as a murder confession." Belisarius made his tone light again. "I am certain that if you search for the document, you will find it. Then you can start to dismiss the charges brought against Atta Olivia Clemens. And when that is done, you will tell me what punishment will be given to my traitorous slave."

Athanatadies coughed delicately. "Which would you rather have: the Roman woman free, or the slave condemned and punished?" For the first time since he entered the room, Athanatadies felt he had some power, and it almost made up for the trepidation that had gripped him.

"What?" Belisarius stared at the Censor. "What did you say?"

"Would you rather free the Roman lady or punish your slave? It's a simple matter of choosing one or the other."

"Are you offering me a bargain?" Belisarius said in disbelief. "I come for justice and you barter with me?"

Athanatadies put his fingertips together. "General, the Emperor is determined to be rid of the Roman influence in this city. He is not inclined to look indulgently on crimes when a Roman is implicated. He is also determined to punish erring slaves. A man who is in your position will not do well by asking too much of Justinian; he regards you with suspicion already and it would not take much for him to decide you are actively his enemy. If that happens, then neither your slave nor the Roman woman will get what they deserve." He paused, giving Belisarius time to consider.

"You will do one, but not the other?" Belisarius asked harshly.

"I can see no way to do both," Athanatadies said.

"What you mean is that you will not act in both cases. You refuse to risk your position, and because I am in disfavor you are free to abuse your trust." He studied Athanatadies. "You enjoy this. You are reveling in your authority. It pleases you to be despotic."

"Those words could be fatal, General." Athanatadies sat straighter, one hand clutching the crucifix that hung around his neck.

"But there is no witness to them," Belisarius said gently. "Is there, Captain Vlamos?"

"I heard nothing disrespectful, General," said the Captain of the Guard.

"You will answer for this insolence, Captain," Athanatadies warned.

"Then I will have to reveal the offer you have made. I don't think it would be appreciated." His face was blank and he spoke in a monotone, but all three men understood.

"Since you insist," Belisarius said evenly, "we will strike your noxious bargain. But I warn you, Athanatadies, that your victory will be Pyrrhic; this is only the first skirmish—you have yet to enter battle."

* * *

Part of a series of clandestine orders from Kimon Athanatadies to the Guard Captain in charge of detained suspects.

In regard to the apostate pope called Tomus, the Censor in the name of the Emperor requires you to strip him bare in the narthex of Hagia Sophia and batter him with workmen's mallets until no bone within him is left unbroken. He is then to be hung from ropes in the narthex where those Christians of catechumen status may see the consequences of the loss of faith.

In regard to the musician Narsissos, his tongue is to be cut out and he is to be branded on the arm and the chest so that all will know he fouled his mouth with libelous and unholy songs. Also, the fingers of his right hand are to be broken so that he may no longer pluck a lyre.

In regard to the traduced slave Simones, he is to be taken to the public courtyard of the Censor's house where he is to be flayed in strips, so that his skin will hang in tatters from him. Let care be taken that he not die too soon, for when he is flayed, he is to be left for the curs to devour.

In regard to Pope Sylvestros, who is demented: let him be immured in one of the cells in the new extension of city walls where his prayers may strengthen the fortifications and where he will be no harm to anyone. Further, let him be visited often to hear what he is saying. If it is treasonous, then his cell must be walled up entirely.

In regard to the Roman sorceress Olivia Clemens, she is to be held for twenty-one days, until the next full moon, at which time she is to be sewn in a sack and taken into the Sea of Marmara. The boat is to leave the east end of the Bucolean Harbor at the end of the first quarter of the night. Because this is a dangerous sorceress, the sailors are to be told in advance that she is not to be listened to or believed.

In regard to the desecrater of tombs, the heretic Pthos, he is to be sewn into the skin of a fresh-killed goat and taken to the highest Guard tower on the city walls at dawn, and left there exposed to the sun for three entire days, at which time his corpse is to be thrown to the swine to eat, said swine then to be used to feed other heretic suspects.

In regard to Szoni, the smuggler of condemned books, he is to be taken to the main portal of the Emperor's Forum where he is to be flogged with parchment lashes until he dies.

10

At sunset Captain Vlamos came to Olivia's cell for the last time. He stood in the door, not quite certain what to say. "I have to tell them you will be ready," he said unhappily.

"I am not ready at all," Olivia said in a tranquil way. "I do not want to be… executed." She wondered what the Censor would think if he knew what a long and agonizing death he had ordered for her. She sighed and glanced toward the small, high window where a little fading light glowed. "Was it a fine day?"

"Very clear," said Captain Vlamos. "The night should be the same."

"Full moon," she sighed. "Will they let me keep my garments and my shoes?"

"If you request it, yes, if they are very simple. You may wear a dalmatica but not a paenula." He shifted to his other foot, disliking his task more with every passing moment.

"Then I do request it. I am not wanton." She went to the low pallet which had served as her bed. "Will Belisarius be notified?"

"He has been already," Captain Vlamos confessed. "I sent him word myself. He requested it—"

"You needn't apologize," Olivia told him with a faint smile. "I'm grateful to you." There was a very slim chance, she thought, that Belisarius would inform Niklos, and if Niklos learned of her fate, he would do everything he could think of to aid her.

"It's not enough for gratitude," Captain Vlamos said, not able to look at her. "If it had been up to me, I would not have issued the orders. It was the Censor's doing. He had to prove to Belisarius—"

"I know," Olivia said, cutting him short. "And he certainly has. At least Simones didn't escape; that's something."

"The Emperor would not—" Captain Vlamos began, then broke off. "Belisarius has filed three petitions on your behalf. He has said that all the charges against you are lies and that it is only the self-serving interests of those close to Justinian that have made it possible for this to happen." He looked at Olivia with remorse. "They would not permit me to testify."

Olivia did her best to look unconcerned. "It was good of you to make the offer. There are many others who would not, who did not."

"Do you blame them?" Captain Vlamos asked.

"Not really," Olivia said. There was an unreality to her situation. After so many, many years, she could not make herself comprehend that it was ending. This time it would be the true death, not that other. The five centuries she had survived were over. She shook her head at the idea; it was not possible.

"Great lady?" said Captain Vlamos.

"It's nothing," Olivia responded. "I… was remembering. There won't be much more time for memories, will there?"

"If it had been my decision, you would have left this place the day we brought you here." He paused. "I knew Captain Drosos before he went to Alexandria. He told about you, a little, and I thought he was a very lucky man."

Olivia lowered her head. "Thank you, Captain. And when Drosos returned, what then?"

"He was not himself," Captain Vlamos said with difficulty.

"Yes." She turned away, but said, "If you know where he is, tell him what happened, will you? If Belisarius does, it will be too painful for him. You need not say more than a few words. You might mention that I would never forget him." Then she shook her head. "No; don't say that. It would only trouble him."

"Great lady, I will be back… shortly." He was finding it impossible to speak.

"I will be here, Captain Vlamos." Her hopes were fading, but she was determined not to let him know it. She stared at the locked door when he left, as if the power of her eyes alone could open it. Then she lay back on the pallet and let her thoughts drift.

When had it been, that time when she was convinced she would die? Three hundred years ago? Commodus or Servius called himself Caesar then; Olivia was living in Ravenna, and there had been a riot. The reason for the riot escaped her, and she could not bring it to mind. She had been trying to return from the emporia where she was expecting goods to be delivered. She was by herself in an open chariot, and when the crowd began to throw rocks, she had been more worried for her horses than herself. And then she saw two men dragged from their chariots and trampled, reduced to a terrible flattened smear on the cobbles, and she knew that unless she was very careful and unusually lucky, she would suffer the same fate. She had pulled the chariot to the side of the road and cut the harness. She had ridden her lead horse through the streets at a gallop, her legs holding tight and her hands holding both reins and mane in a tangle. She had been cut and bruised, but she had escaped. If Niklos had not taught her how to handle horses so well, she would have been lost.

There would be no chariot, no horse for her now. She was facing water, the one irresistible force. At least, she thought in ironic consolation, it would be night, and they would let her keep her shoes, so that she would be able to swim, at least for a little while. Eventually she would lose strength, and when the sun rose, it would sap her vitality, and she would sink, to lie in the depths, paralyzed by the water.

As she forced her mind to other thoughts, she became aware of a distant voice singing one of the chants of Saint Ambrose. She listened to the droning melody with half her attention, and then sat up, for the first time realizing what the text of the chant was: "Lord God lend Your protection to those who venture on the deep waters." A single spurt of laughter escaped her before she was able to control that impulse, and she chided herself for clinging to forlorn dreams. The chant was repeated, and this time Olivia took heart from it.

"I am… not dead." The sound of her words in the little room startled her; she sounded resolute, determined. "All right," she said, "until the crabs nibble my toes, I—"

The distant chant changed to one in praise of the Virgin Mary and began with the words "Magna Mater."

"Very well, Niklos," Olivia said to the dim light of the little window. "I will not succumb yet." She stretched out on the pallet, her apprehension and fear belied by her apparent languor.

By the time Captain Vlamos returned, she had worked out a skeleton of a plan. It was so inauspicious that at another time she might have found it absurd; now she hoped that she would have enough good fortune to attempt it.

"Are you… prepared?" Captain Vlamos was more upset this time than he had been earlier.

"I hope so," said Olivia, getting to her feet unsteadily.

Captain Vlamos reached out to her, pity in his heart. He let Olivia lean against him. "You have courage, great lady, but there is no shame in faltering at a time like this."

"You're very kind, Captain," she said, stepping back to adjust the single wide sash she had tied around her waist. The little ornamental dagger she had removed from his belt was concealed as swiftly and as efficiently as she had taken it. "Do you have the sack with you?"

"It is in the rear courtyard." He indicated the two torches in the hall. "You will have a full escort that far; two of my men will walk with us."

"But you are in no danger from me," she said pleasantly. "I do not know my way about this place. If I escaped I would not know where to go, and most likely you would need to find someone who would help me while I was lost." She went ahead of him into the hall. "Tell me one thing if you can, Captain Vlamos."

"If I can," he agreed.

"I left writs of manumission for my slaves—have they been honored?"

"Belisarius has petitions with the magistrates. It is assumed that they will be granted. That way there will be fewer questions asked about… this." He signaled the soldiers'to fall in, one ahead of and one behind them.

"That pleases me," said Olivia truthfully. No matter what happened to her, she wanted to believe that she had treated her slaves the way a Roman matron ought to. Especially Zejhil, she added to herself, for her loyalty and bravery.

"Is there anything… you want me to say? To anyone?" Captain Vlamos could not look at her as he extended this offer.

"Tell Belisarius that I know he has done more than anyone could expect of him, and that I thank him for what he has done. There is no one else in… Constantinople I wish to bid farewell." She did not try to keep track of the turns the soldiers took, nor the placement of doors and halls. No matter what happened to her, she would never return to this place.

By the time they reached the rear courtyard, Captain Vlamos was visibly distressed. "You do not have to sew her in until just before you throw her overboard," he told the men who waited for them. "Let her have that at least. She is not a sack of onions."

The naval officer, an old man with a puckered scar where most of his ear should have been, shrugged. "If the orders don't say otherwise, it's all one to me."

"Olivia?" Captain Vlamos said, looking at her with sadness. "There is nothing more I can do."

She made him a reverence. "You have done more than you know, Captain Vlamos; this last is more generous than—"

He turned on his heel and walked away, unable to remain any longer.

The two soldiers who had served as escort exchanged looks that the pale brilliance of moonlight rendered inscrutable. "We might as well get to it," one said to the other.

"She goes in this cart," the naval officer said, indicating a rickety contraption pulled by a weary donkey. "There will be six men on the boat. She'll be over the side before the monks start to sing for the souls of the dead." He indicated a heap of rough cloth in the cart. "There's the sack. Do you put her in or do I?"

The Guards did the work quickly, their hands clumsy but not unkind. "We're sorry, great lady. None of us thought it would come to this."

"We'll say prayers for you," the other promised.

"I will certainly need them," said Olivia as she felt them adjust the drawstring around her neck, tightening it enough to make it uncomfortable for her to struggle or move too quickly.

"When you get to the place where you do it, loosen this and draw it tight over her head," the taller Guard told the naval officer.

The sack fitted tightly and Olivia could not easily move her arms to discover if the little dagger was still in place. She told herself to bide her time, that she would have enough opportunity for that later, when the boat was under way. One thing encouraged her; since her head was left uncovered, it was not likely she would be left in a hold or put under a deck. So long as she was not too closely watched she would be able to get to the dagger before she was dropped into the water. Her only difficulty would be resisting the intense seasickness she invariably felt aboard a boat.

The streets were almost deserted and the donkey cart was incongruously protected by an escort of six well-armed soldiers. As the decrepit cart rattled down to the Bucolean Harbor, Olivia rolled in the back of it, unable to keep her balance or to brace herself against jolts and turns.

Another contingent of soldiers was waiting at the docks, and they unloaded Olivia from the back without speaking. Two of them carried her aboard a dorkon, its angled lanteen sail still furled.

"There she is, boatmaster," said the shorter Guard. "Handle her gently. She's a great Roman lady, this one, and we're sorry she came to this."

The boatmaster hitched up one shoulder. "They warned us she was a sorceress and that she might try to work her wiles on our boat. Some of the men were for having a last go at the lady, but I said that we'd take no chances with the likes of her." He spat copiously and called on several Saints to protect him. "For it is a bad business, having such a creature aboard."

"You won't have me aboard for long, boatmaster," Olivia reminded him, and resigned herself to rough handling.

"Take her aft," the boatmaster ordered. "There's some chickens in crates. We're bound for Rhodes when we've finished this job."

The soldier obeyed promptly and none too gently. When one of them swung Olivia around so that her shoulders struck two of the crates, he only grunted and shifted his grip on her.

Olivia was starting to experience the vertigo that being on water gave her which not even the Roman earth in her shoes could entirely counteract. She struggled in her bonds to face the front of the boat, knowing the hypnotic effect the sea would have on her. She was oddly pleased to see that there were several small fishing boats out, torches in their sterns, wide nets flung across the sea like the mottled pattern of moonlight. At least, she thought, they will have to get beyond the fishermen before they drop me overboard. The notion was comforting in its silliness, and she discovered that she was almost smiling.

She knew that this levity could be dangerous, but for the moment she welcomed it.

The sailors cast off with a minimum of fuss, and the sail opened like a night-blooming lily as the boat moved away from the wharf. The sailors made it evident that they were not going to pay any attention to Olivia, taking care not to get too near her as the boat edged out into the Sea of Marmara.

Silently the dorkon moved away from Konstantinoupolis, going slowly in order to maneuver through the fishing boats. Even the luff of the sail was muted; the bow whispered through the water as if wanting to keep its passage secret. No calls, no signals from the fishermen disturbed the dorkon as she began to pick up speed, leaving the fishing boats bobbing like fireflies over the moon-flecked water.

They were moving at a good pace when the boatmaster resigned the tiller to his next-in-command and brought two men aft with him.

"We might as well do it now," the boatmaster said as he approached Olivia.

She froze, her hand almost on the dagger hidden in her belt. "Now?"

The boatmaster went on as if she had not spoken. "We'll slack off, slow down and make sure she's in the water. No telling what a sorceress like this might do."

"Boatmaster," Olivia said, speaking forcefully. "I wonder if I might make a request?"

He struck her across the face with the back of his hard, thick hand. "You're not to talk. We were warned about that."

Already slightly dizzy from being on the boat, Olivia fought nausea as she tried to steady herself. Then she fell to the deck and her fingers closed on the dagger.

The boat was slowing down, and it began to rock more as she was brought around, wallowing in the rise and fall of the waves.

"Get her up and over," the boatmaster ordered. "Now. Before she can do anything."

"But we're supposed to tie the sack again, over her head," one of the sailors protested.

"If you want to take that kind of chance, you're free to, but I wouldn't open that sack. She might conjure anything out of it, and who knows what would become of us all. I say throw her in now. The Censor won't know or care unless someone tells him." There was a threat in this last, and two of the sailors made signs against the Evil Eye.

Olivia's brief rush of elation was lost before it had begun; she was wrenched to her feet, then hoisted into the air and flung away from the side of the boat to a host of blasphemous oaths. She struck the water, and for a short time was so disoriented that she dared not move. Eventually her head broke water and she caught a glimpse of the dorkon drawing away from her. She tried not to stare after it, knowing that would only serve to sap her fading spirits to no purpose. The dorkon's wake was froth in the moonlight, then drifted and was lost.

With a terrible effort, Olivia worked her knife out of her belt, trying not to thrash with the struggle. Part of the time she was able to breathe air, occasionally she was under the water, and it stung her nose and lungs, adding to the discomfort and confusion that was gradually overwhelming her. She fumbled with the knife and it dropped to the bottom of her sack; it took her far too long to retrieve it, and when she did, her whole body was lethargic, so that any movement at all was a grueling ordeal.

She brought the knife up to the cord around her neck, but could not cut it. Disheartened, she let herself drift for a little time, then resolved to make another attempt. This time she tried to cut the sack itself. One, two, three times she poked at the rough fabric without success. On the fourth jab, which she noticed was weaker than the others had been, the tip of the knife snagged on a heavy slub in the weave, and as she tried to pull it free, a large tear opened like the mouth of an exotic sea creature. Sobbing, choking, Olivia renewed her efforts, and at last she had ripped away all but the small section of the sack that held the cord around her neck like a bizarre wreath.

She was out of the sack, but her body was exhausted; the earth in the soles of her shoes was wet, steadily losing its potency. Only the power of the night gave her any resistance to the insidious somnolence that tempted her. It would be so easy to stop fighting, to yield to the seductive lure of the water, to drift away from all the turmoil and the pain and the strife.

Only the distant motion of the torches on the fishing boats held any fascination to her, and she clung to that with some small, committed core of herself. If they could float, so would she! Her arms ached whenever she moved them, her head was muzzy, her legs might as well have belonged to someone else for all the sense she had of them. Her knife was gone, dropped some time—she did not recall when—while she strove to escape from the sack. She focused her dwindling attention on the fishing boats and hoped that morning would not come too soon.

Dazed, demoralized, she floundered, sometimes keeping the torches in sight, sometimes not. There were fewer of them, she thought. Most of the fishermen must have their catch and were now returning to the land. She tried to paddle toward them, but the effort was too great.

But it did seem to her, she thought when she was not filled with chaos, that a few of the boats were nearer. One of the torches seemed to be growing larger, and she made a last, pathetic effort to swim toward it. She splashed ineffectively, and for a short time she slipped under the surface again.

When she rose and was able to clear her head a bit, she noticed that one of the fishing boats had come quite near, and was moving back and forth over the sea. She watched it, bemused, her body no longer able to move.

She was gazing up into the immensity of the night, caught by the beauty and vastness of the sky, the constellations no longer clear to her, when something brushed her outflung arm.

Olivia let out a hoarse yelp, then whimpered as a darkness loomed between her and the stars.

"For Poseidon, will you give me your hand, Olivia?" Niklos ordered in an undervoice.

Although she was certain that none of this was happening, that she had actually sunk to the depths of the sea and was lost in a pleasant dream, she did her best to humor herself, and with tremendous exertion, was able to wag her hand out of the water.

Niklos grabbed it, muttering a string of obscenities that would have awed the boatmaster. He was desperate with worry, and took little care about how he got her aboard. Dragging first her arm and then her leg, he wrestled her over the side and onto the rough planks. He wrapped four stout ropes around her, securing her to the mast. All the while he watched her, distracted with apprehension.

"Zejhil!" he commanded, keeping his voice low since he was aware how well sound carried over water.

The Tartar woman came from the shallow hold. "You have her?"

"Yes," he said, and the word itself made him giddy. "Bring that rolled mattress. Wrap it around her. And then head for Cyzicus." He rose from his task and went to the high tiller set aft in the boat.

Zejhil obeyed, her impassive features only once revealing the alarm she felt. "She is half-drowned."

"But only half," Niklos pointed out, letting himself laugh for the first time in days. He kept his eye on the shore, but his attention was more on Olivia than the line of darkness at the edge of the bright sea.

Near dawn, Olivia turned her head. "Niklos?"

Though the word was little more than a croaking whisper, Niklos beamed at her.

"Where…"

"We're going to Kythera." He glanced down at Zejhil asleep in the bottom of the boat. "You?"

"I'll… heal." She leaned back against the mast. "This mattress is soaked."

"So were you," he pointed out, leaving most of his feelings unspoken.

"That hymn—?"

"I gave a donation to three monks; I said it was for a relative feared lost at sea. They accepted the donation." He secured the tiller with cords, then came to her side. "Shall I take the mattress away?"

"Not yet. I still need it." Her voice was faint but each word was steadier, less strained.

"All right." He beamed at her. "Tell me about it later. There's plenty of time."

Her answering smile was weary and her chuckle ended in a cough, but at last she said, "Yes, centuries. Thanks to you."

Niklos put his hand on her stringy, matted hair. "Just returning an old favor." As he got to his feet, he said, "Sunrise soon."

Olivia turned her head to the stern of the boat and saw the first tarnished glow at the rim of the sea. As she watched, it brightened and smoldered, as if distant Constantinople were on fire. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she had turned, facing the bow again, and the pallid moonpath spread over the wrinkled sea.

* * *

Text of a letter from Chrysanthos to Belisarius, delivered to Konstantinoupolis three weeks after the General's death.

To the great and admirable Belisarius, greetings from the godforsaken out-post Colonna Romanum where Chrysanthos now commands, by default as much as promotion.

It has been more than three years since I have written, and almost nine since I have seen you. For the lack of letters, I ask pardon, but there has been so little to tell. Out here, we are cut off half the time, and the rest of the time we are so bored that there is nothing to report except for the number of flies biting the horses. Ever since Totila was killed, and then his heir Teias, we've had few skirmishes even at outposts like this one. Until two months ago.

Drosos was posted to Mons Falconis, which is a three day ride from here. He was second-in-command to Solonios, nephew of the Exarch Narses, and I do not need to tell you how Solonios got his position, do I?

Yes, I say was. Drosos was killed six weeks ago. Mons Falconis got cut off and Solonios would not order an attack or send anyone for reinforcements, for fear of what his illustrious uncle would say. Drosos took it upon himself to remedy that, and with Fabios, Leonidas' son, rode around the enemy lines. Fabios arrived here, wounded and half-baked with fever and we did what we could for Solonios and his men.

Drosos wasn't so lucky. He was thrown when his horse was lanced, and the barbarians caught him. They staked him out, still bleeding, and then rode to the charge over him. There wasn't enough left to give him proper burial. If he hadn't disobeyed Solonios, none of the men would have survived, and so he had what he told me last year he no longer deserved: an honorable death.

I am sorry to have to send you this news, especially since it is my understanding that in your battles with the Huns last year you were badly wounded yourself. The rumor is—and I hope it is not true—that you have been blinded. It is bad enough to have lost Drosos; to know you cannot fight again would be too much for this old soldier to bear. Let me hear from you much sooner than you have heard from me, with news that you are thriving now that you have saved Konstantinoupolis and are once again in some favor with Justinian.

Is it true that Kimon Athanatadies was found guilty of heresy and hanged on a butcher's hook across from Hagia Sophia? I could not believe it when the story reached here. I hope that it is so, and that he suffered long and hard for all he had done. If it isn't so, I might well be the one hanging on a hook when I am posted back to Konstantinoupolis at the end of next year, but I doubt if it would bother me as much now as it would have when I left there nine years ago.

I hope that the next time I write to you, it is with good news, and the invitation to dine with me upon my return. It is an honor I look forward to with joy and gratitude. Until then, my respect and my affection is with you; it is heartening to know you have been vindicated at last.

Though I am remiss at letters, I am still very much your friend

Chrysanthos

Captain (still)

Epilogue

Text of a letter to Olivia from Sanct Germain.

To my long-treasured Olivia, Sanct Germain sends greetings from Naissus, and thanks her for sending news of her travels.

So you are going to Alexandria now that Justinian is finally dead and his nephew Justin rules in Constantinople. I hope you have not decided to do this out of devotion to Drosos' memory. You tell me that you want to find out what is left of the Library and to try to salvage any of the texts that might have escaped the fires. That, I probably need not remind you, is dangerous work; high risk for a dubious reward.

You told me once that Drosos called you a monster and that you did not know how to convince him you are not. Olivia, he was right. We are are monsters, Olivia, never forget that. But we need not be monsters simply because we are.

Some time soon, I, too, hope you can return to Roma. I know how hard it is to be drawn by your native earth. Why else would I be in a place like Naissus? In less than a month I will be back in my native mountains, and they will restore me in ways I need not explain to you.

I am pleased to know that Niklos Aulirios is still with you. His sense can stand you both in good stead, for often you have more courage than sense, which is one of the many reasons that I loved you while Nero wore the purple and love you now, and will love you when both of us are nothing more than dust.

Take joy in living, Olivia, else the burden is too great for even you to endure, and loss of you would grieve me more than any other loss I have sustained in all my years.

In this, the Lord's Year 566, you have my love, as you have had it for the last half millennium

Sanct Germain

(his seal, the eclipse)