A Flame in Byzantium

"I wasn't aware it concerned anyone—Drosos stayed at my villa outside Roma for many days. Your husband and the rest of his officers were there at the same time. If anything might cause suspicions, I would have thought that this would be worse." She permitted her tone to become snide but kept her eyes wide with amazement as she regarded her hostess.

"That was Roma at time of war, which is hardly the same thing as a dalliance with an officer not active on campaign." Antonina was better at the game than Olivia was, and more patient.

"No one I knew in Roma thought anything of the arrangement, nor would they have if there had only been

Drosos—or any other officer, for that matter—who had come to me at my invitation. In Roma we understand how the will of dead husbands impose on the living, and we accept that the living will find a way to comply with the dead and with life." All her life she had hated smug women, and that word summed up Antonina so perfectly that it was difficult for Olivia to maintain her pretense of good fellowship. What about the woman had so captivated Belisarius that he could ignore this behavior and dote on her as he did? No matter how long she lived, Olivia knew that she would be baffled by what the people around her did, and with whom.

"You are severe, and I think you may be teasing me. I have heard Romans claim that on the nights of the full moon, virgins sacred to the old moon goddess cover themselves in goat dung and dance through the streets. While I was never taken in," Antonina assured Olivia with a faint, condescending smile, "I knew many others who actually believed that such things happened."

In spite of herself, Olivia laughed. "Yes, I know that such tales exist, and that no one promotes them more than Romans. It is utter foolishness, but nevertheless they continue." She saw that the first pair of chariots were being led onto the sands, and she leaned forward to look at them, studying the difference in harnessing and in the chariot—it was no longer the racing quadriga she remembered from her youth, but a similar vehicle, a little smaller in size, a little heavier in weight, and more maneuverable than the quadriga had been, which was why all four horses could be attached to it without risking spills on the tight turns of the course—as well as the manner of the charioteers, who appeared to be somewhat older than the charioteers had been in Roma.

"You enjoy the races?" Antonina asked.

"If they are done well, if the quadrigae are well-matched and the teams are paired for contest." She looked at the pair being positioned not far away from her. "The bays are a good team, but I would think that they would not last as long as that other team of chestnuts. The bays are more sprinters, judging from their rumps, and the chestnuts are runners. They will not hit their full speed until the bays are starting to tire."

"Sinhareitiryiah!" exclaimed Antonina. "I see you are no novice where horseflesh is concerned."

"I have raised them for more years than you would believe. It was one of the principal businesses of my villa. At one time we also supplied mules and hennies to the army, but that was long ago, when there was not such unrest in the land. Recently we have contented ourselves with breeding horses." She discovered that she missed her villa intensely, the sound of the place, the smells of it, the rhythms of its days.

"You mean you actually participated in the breeding of horses?" Antonina for the first time appeared to be sincerely shocked.

"Well, of course," Olivia said at her most matter-of-fact. "It was my villa and my home. What else was I going to do with my time?"

"But surely there were slaves to attend to such matters," protested Antonina.

"Certainly, and a great many freed- and freemen who were in my employ. But horses were what the villa produced, and it was my responsibility to see that the work went on as efficiently as possible," She decided to take advantage of her hostess' repugnance. "It was also my work to select which stallions would cover which mares, and which of the male foals would be gelded. We had a great reputation for the quality of our horses, as your husband will tell you, if you ask him."

Antonina had recovered her composure. "You… you may certainly mention these things to those you knew in Roma, I suppose, but you would do well to keep such reminiscences to yourself when you are dealing with those who live here in this city, in the Empire; you might want to be more circumspect, since here we understand that women do not participate in such things. To say that you owned a villa where horses were raised is all very well, but to add what you did in the matter would be most unwise. Because of my husband, I can understand your position a little, but there are many wives in Konstantinoupolis, believe me, Olivia, who would be so deeply distressed to learn these things of you that they would do everything they could to exclude you from the activities of the city, and that would be most unfortunate."

"I am used to living quietly on my own," said Olivia.

"Yes, that is apparent. But here we do not leave our women so rudderless. There are matters that must be tended to, and if you are not received by the women of the city, it will make your life very much more difficult for you. You were permitted to purchase slaves without sponsorship through my intervention, but ordinarily this would not be possible. Now that you have a pope to endorse you, this is better, but it still limits what you can do and where you can do it."

There was a blare of trumpets and the race began, a five-lap course between the Blue and Green teams.

Over the eruption of noise, Olivia said, "I am capable , of handling my affairs for myself. I have been a widow for some time."

"Here that is not possible," Antonina reminded her.

"So I am learning," said Olivia wistfully as she watched the chariots make their first lap of the track: as she had predicted, the bays were ahead. "Those horses are very young," she said critically.

"They are most swift when they are young," said Antonina, repeating what she had so often heard.

"They are also least sensible. They are timid creatures for all their size, and it takes a while for them to learn sense and trust. Putting them in harness to race makes them more crazed than they need be." She sat back. "The chestnuts will win; they are better long-distance runners and they are older. It will give them the victory."

"You are certain of this, are you?" Antonina said, disliking the notion that Olivia might actually know more than she did about the races.

"Yes. Just watch and you will see for yourself." She looked at her hostess. "But don't be concerned. I won't mention the horse breeding unless there is no choice about it. And from what I have seen, there are few people here who think to wonder where any woman gets her wealth, so I suppose the matter will never come up."

"Even if it did," Antonina corrected her, "it would not be at all proper to speak to you about your funds and property. A man curious about such matters would correctly address your senior male relative, or, barring that, your sponsor. That way you need not be hampered by these considerations, which are not at all appropriate to you."

"Simply because I'm a woman?" Olivia marveled.

"It saves us all from much that is unpleasant." It was clear that Antonina did not intend to discuss the matter further.

Olivia was not willing to concede her position quite yet. "I see; a woman need not bother herself about her money or property. She need not know how much of either she has—which, in fact she does not have because she is not permitted to control it—or what is being done with it. There was a time in Roma, not so very long ago, that such things would be grounds for a lawsuit."

Antonina sighed. "Perhaps, in those days before the Church established itself, such protections were required. But no man who has confessed himself a Christian would profit from the labor of others, or abuse the trust of his—"

"Inferiors," Olivia interrupted her. "No wonder you have rescinded the rights of your slaves, since you have reduced your females to bonded servants." She held up her hands in mock submission. "It will take time for me to learn these things. For a little while, you must be content to have me chafe at the bit."

"You worry for no purpose," said Antonina and would have gone on, but there was a discreet rap on the entrance to her box. "Who is there?"

"Themistokles," came the answer, and since Olivia assumed it was not the ancient Athenian, she looked to her hostess.

"Who is this person?"

"The Empress' chief eunuch," said Antonina. She motioned to her two slaves flanking the door to open it. "God send you great blessings," she greeted the huge man who stepped into the box.

"God has blessed me already, more than ever I deserved." His voice was high and sweet and very strong. His face, almost completely unlined, gave no indication of his age, but there was a slight tracing of gray in his auburn curls. He made a deep reverence to Antonina and then to Olivia. "August lady, great lady," he said elegantly. "It is my privilege to serve the most serene and elevated Empress Theodora, and she has mandated that I come here to ask that you bear her company for an hour while the races are conducted."

It was a formal invitation, and as such would offer no delay in being accepted. Antonina inclined her head. "It is a great honor that so majestic a lady should deign to accept the simple company of women such as we are. We are all alacrity to attend her." She had risen as she spoke, and she signaled to Pope Demosthenes. "If it would not distress you to remain here, I will ask it of you."

"It would give me time to think," said the old pope, and he stared at the eunuch. "I petition heaven to bless your mistress every day of my life, and I recount her praises every night."

"She is humbly grateful," said Themistokles. He indicated the open doorway. "August lady? Great lady? if you will come with me?"

Antonina complied at once and gestured to Olivia to hasten when it appeared that the Roman woman was not going to leave the box at once. "We are expected, Olivia," Antonina told her sharply.

"I was only trying to gather one or two cushions," Olivia protested, doing her best not to sound sharp.

The crowd started to chant loudly, the rhythm rolling and pronounced, more compelling than any of the words they used.

"It appears that the chestnuts are overtaking the bays," said Themistokles and was puzzled when Antonina and Olivia exchanged quick glances. "There are those who risked too much money on the event."

"How fortunate that women are not permitted to gamble," said Olivia with a submissive sweetness that was completely foreign to her nature.

The sarcasm was lost entirely on the eunuch who only stood aside to allow Antonina and Olivia to step into the narrow hallway so that he could lead them to the Imperial box.

The passage was guarded at intervals by officers in the chain-ornamented loricae of the Guard. The air reeked of fish and cooking lamb and humanity. There was a hint of the tang of horses as well, but it was not noticeable in all the rest. The noise made the narrow hallway echo and moan like an enormous seashell held to the ear.

"What does the Empress want of us?" Olivia could not resist asking Belisarius' wife.

"I don't know. She did not inform me that she would want my company during the races, which is most unusual for her. I saw her only yesterday; I should have thought that she might then have said something to me. Such is her habit, you see."

Olivia was well-aware of Antonina's favored status with Theodora, but she checked the pointed observation that rose to her tongue. "It might be news from your husband."

"General Belisarius has made arrangements for me to receive my messages directly from him through the good work of his officers, and therefore it is not likely that Theodora would have any information that I lack. However, yes, there may be news of the campaign that has not yet reached me. That's very likely the case." Her unruffled calm reasserted itself and she moved more easily, her confidence apparent in every aspect of her bearing.

The Imperial box was more than twice the size of the one that Antonina occupied. It was all of pale green marble with the accents in gold. There were several marble chairs and three less imposing wooden chairs provided for those Theodora or Justinian summoned to the box. Theodora herself, resplendent in her jewels and gaudy silk, smiled at the reverence the two women offered her, then motioned to Themistokles. "See that refreshment is provided for my guests."

"How kind of you," Antonina enthused. "I was saying to Olivia that you provide the most tempting food for those you entertain."

"And I," Olivia said, doing her best to be diffident, "said that I almost envied Antonina the delight of your table, and could curse my fortune that made my liver so easily upset that I dare not eat in the company of others for fear I will become ill."

"Ill?" repeated Theodora, who was clearly not used to being refused, no matter how politely.

Olivia hesitated, trying to recall all the good advice her best and kindest lover had offered her over the centuries. He had been able to refuse food and drink so gracefully that those offering had been complimented. Olivia wished now that she could bring some of those elegant phrases to mind. "Most serene Empress," she began, "I am not yet as versed in your ways, or in your language, that I can explain to you what anguish I feel. You have provided an honor I could not have anticipated; to have to limit my participation galls me, yet it would be far worse if I was forced to withdraw from here because I could not remain without disgracing myself."

"How unfortunate," said Theodora, her dark eyes raking over Olivia mercilessly. "I am not used to such… intolerances."

"Then you are most fortunate, and I would thank God from my knees every hour if I could say the same thing. I pray that you never learn what I have had to learn, majestic lady." Flattery, especially such overstated and obvious flattery, appalled Olivia, but she could read a degree of approval in Theodora's narrow face.

"You must seek out an Egyptian physician; perhaps there is some medicament you have not yet encountered." She signaled to three of the young male slaves—eunuchs, also, by the look of them—to bring her meal. "Antonina," she said, some of her formality relaxing, "I decided that I did not want to pass the afternoon without company, and when I recalled that you would be here, I thought that you and your guest might be willing to spend your time here with me."

"We are overcome, Theodora," said Antonina, taking on a cozy manner. "When you made no mention of the races the other day, I naturally supposed you would have other plans for the races."

"There were others who my beloved and exalted husband wished to attend, but it has turned out otherwise, and they are all occupied with matters of state." She smiled as low tables were brought.

Below them, the chestnut team swept past the winning marker more than six lengths ahead of the bays. The crowd roared and the sound of feet thumping the stands made all conversation impossible for a short while. Theodora contented herself with watching her slaves offer food and drink to Antonina.

Finally the bray of the buccinae quieted the stands and the Captain of the City Guard presented the winner with a brass wreath made to resemble large hedge roses with exaggerated thorns.

"The people like these displays," said Theodora. "They see themselves winning. And when those they bet for lose, then it is a defeat that costs little more than the price of what was bet." She smiled at Olivia. "I understand that since these wars began, there has been little racing in Roma."

"There has been little everything in Roma," Olivia corrected her quietly.

"That is unfortunate," said Theodora. "And surely you must be overjoyed to see racing again."

"It makes me homesick," she told Theodora. "Long ago, of course, we had much more than horse racing in Roma. The Ludi Maximi were marvels that no one has equaled. Thousands participated, and they went on for three or four days." Her hazel eyes darkened with memory.

"And good Christians were killed, devoured by wild beasts while the people of Roma shouted their approval." Theodora looked severe now, and she glared at Olivia as if she might have been directly responsible.

"All sorts of people were killed, some of them less valiantly than that. To be torn apart by wild beasts is hideous, but what of those women who were raped to death by wild asses?" Olivia looked curiously at Antonina. "What of them?

"They were not…" Her words faded and she looked at Olivia with less distrust. "What happened then could happen again, under different circumstances. There are those who lack all sympathy for those who insist on living apart from the world who do so for reasons that are not religious. And there is always great curiosity about such strange behavior. Don't you think so, Antonina?"

Antonina held a cube of broiled lamb over her mouth, but rather than eat, she set it aside, addressing Theodora with her most earnest demeanor. "This is precisely what I have been trying to warn Olivia of, my most majestic Empress. It would appear that, so far, I have not been heeded, and that fills me with despair, for it is necessary that Olivia not be too lighthearted in her anticipation of these dangers."

"She's right," Theodora said, studying Olivia. "You don't appreciate how dangerous these matters can be, and if you decide to ignore the danger, you are being foolish. From what I have heard of you, you are not a foolish creature, and so I must think that you are obstinate."

"There is some truth in that," Olivia allowed, her opinion of Theodora changing slightly.

"A Captain of the army has told me that you are not the sort of woman to permit herself to be taken advantage of, either through willful malice or through inept handling." She waited for Olivia to speak, and when her Roman guest said nothing, she continued, "I think that it would be wise of you to take his warning to heart. He is not one to give himself pains except where he has given his fealty, and where that is given, it binds him unto death."

"I am aware of that, and I treasure it more than you know," said Olivia evenly.

"I thought that it was otherwise, that he had overestimated you through the depth of his feeling, but I think now that love has perhaps cleared rather than clouded his vision." Theodora sighed. "As one who was not always where I am now, I know what dangers can stalk you. You do not wish to believe the warnings you have had. Let me tell you that they are given with affection and concern."

"Very well." Olivia turned her head so that she could meet Theodora's gaze evenly. "I will not make light of any other warning, and I will take precautions, for the sake of the Captain of the army as well as for my own. I confess that your concern surprises me."

"It is as much for the Captain as for you, Roman lady. Also, you have not sought favor as many in your position have, and this intrigues me." She raised her head. "Ah. They are about to start the second race. Watch! The grays are mine."

As the next race started, Olivia sat back and wondered what the Empress Theodora might want for her warning; the things that occurred to her troubled her more than the warning had done.

* * *

Text of a letter in Latin from Ragoczy Sanct Germain Franciscus.

Hail to my treasured Olivia;

I am relieved to learn of your decision to leave Roma. As difficult as it is to leave your native earth, there are times that it is the only sensible thing to do, and not simply because you are in the middle of a barbarian invasion. Remember that we cannot afford to attract too much attention to ourselves, for that often brings inquiry that is not to the advantage of those of our blood. As much as the restrictions of Constantinople infuriate you, they are preferable to being hacked to pieces by Totila's soldiers.

The reason it has taken me so long to respond to your letter is that I am moving again. Your letter finally caught up with me after almost a year in coming. I write from Poetovio; I left Pons Saravi over a month ago and have had more difficulties and delays than any I can remember for four hundred years. At the moment I am bound for Trape-zus. I may remain there or go on to Rhagae in the Parthian Empire: this in case you decide to write again and are at a loss to know where to send the letter.

Your Captain sounds remarkable and I wish you much joy with him, but I warn you not to withhold your secret too long, for if he is so cherished that you are willing to share blood with him, then he deserves to know what stakes he plays for—in any sense. I know how difficult this can be; I remember my own doubts before I told you what would happen at your death. He will need to prepare, as you prepared, my love. From what you have told me of Constantinople, this may not be easily done.

Take care, Olivia. It would hurt me more deeply than you know if you should come to any harm. Know that you always may find a haven with me if I have one to offer, and know also that no matter where you are, my undying affection and care are with you.

Sanct' Germain through the good offices of

Huroghac, merchant from

Mogontiacum traveling to

Constantinople

9

Belisarius looked up as the fourth dispatch rider in as many hours thundered into his camp on a lathered horse.

One of his officers, an exhausted boy named Kylanthos, brought the rider to him. "General Belisarius," he said, then took up his post at the entrance to the tent.

The dispatch rider was not as scruffy as the previous three had been and this alone attracted Belisarius' attention. He rose from his narrow trestle table and came forward, "I don't know you, do I?"

"No, General," said the rider, his expression embarrassed.

"There have been so many changes of officers that I am not always sure." His apology was accompanied by a worn smile. "I hope you bring me better news than the others have done, for I am not in a good humor to sustain more disappointments."

"I bring you news from Constantinople. I landed only yesterday and have been in the saddle most of the time since then." He spoke with the zeal of a newcomer and was privately shocked when this announcement did not produce the excitement he anticipated.

"What is it this time?" Belisarius asked, hardly doing more than nodding once to show his respect for the Emperor. "Don't be upset, young man. Most of the men here have been on campaign with short rations for the last five days and we are all feeling hungry and fatigued. What message do you bring me? More delays?"

The rider's enthusiasm did not include a denial of the poor provisioning Belisarius' troops had experienced and he could not pretend that the General lacked reason for his behavior. He stood a little straighter and faced the older man. "I bring welcome news then; Captain Hyperion has landed at Rhegium with men, supplies and monies, and they are making their way northward to join with you in the attempt to take Roma from the invaders." He grinned, holding out his dispatches again. "Read for yourself."

Belisarius took the scrolls and broke the seals on all three of them. He read slowly, pausing once to say that his eyes hurt. "I've been on campaign too long, I think," he went on, glancing at the rider. "There are days when by sundown my eyes burn in my head. But for news like this, I am willing to have them turn into living coals."

The rider looked embarrassed. "General…"

"I say the same thing to my officers. Or I used to, when I could still remember who they were." He continued to read and shook his head. "More replacements. And they are all unfamiliar to me. Why does the Emperor remove my officers so frequently? How am I supposed to fight with strangers?"

"The Emperor," the rider reminded Belisarius stiffly, "does not need to account to you. If he knows that this must be done, then his will is sufficient."

"Of course," Belisarius said. "But when you have been in the field a while, you will want tested comrades beside you. All soldiers feel that, since those comrades are often all that stands between the soldier and death." He lifted the scroll. "To have eight new officers is all well and good, but nine of my staff are being recalled. They none of them have been with me longer than a year, but they are the closest thing to a cadre that I have now. To learn the ways of the new ones, and for them to learn my ways will take time, and we have little of that." He finished reading the first scroll and set it aside. "Very well, I will prepare for the new officers. This is from the Censor, and I will read the words of Justinian before the Censor's."

The rider nodded, since anything else would be intolerable. "The Censor is devoted to the Emperor."

Belisarius hardly responded; his brows had drawn together and he tensed visibly as he read. "How can!…"he burst out once, but read the rest in silence.

"The Emperor is not truly pleased with the progress being made here," the rider said apologetically, revealing that he knew of the contents of the second dispatch.

"That is very much apparent," Belisarius said darkly. "He has been at pains to explain to me."

The rider folded his arms. "General, the Emperor is concerned for what has been happening here."

"That, too, is obvious." He moved abruptly to the door flap of his tent. "But it is not true that I deliberately lost Roma. If I had had the men and the supplies we could have held the city and moved Totila's army back to the north. But without men and supplies my hands were tied. If Justinian believes otherwise then he has poor advisors. Every officer who came to Italy with me was dedicated to winning back all of the old Roman Empire for Justinian. I vouch for every one of them. They desired to serve the Emperor in the field and were willing to give their lives if it were necessary to gain that end. But now, I hardly know the names of the men who carry out my orders, and we have had to wage war with insufficient food and equipment. No army can continue in that way!" He paced the small confines of his tent. "I cannot accept that Justinian does not understand this, but from what he has said to me, it is clear that he does not, or that he does not know how depleted we have been." He sighed abruptly. "I should not say this, least of all to you. I am the Emperor's General, and it is my task to carry out his orders. I have not been able to, and the reasons hardly matter, do they?"

"General," said the rider, "if there has been a misunderstanding, the Emperor is a just man and he will hear you out if you petition him."

"Yes, but he has already heard out others and anything I say will have little weight now. And that does not trouble me as much as his apparent conviction that I have not done my utmost to stop the advance of Totila, given the men and materiel at my disposal." He rubbed his fingers over his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose. "That perturbs me. I have never had my loyalty and devotion questioned before. I don't know what to do to refute these charges."

"You could take Roma again," suggested the rider with a trace of sympathy.

"That is what I have been trying to do for months!" the General burst out. "Ask my men—not the officers, for they have not been on campaign long, but the cavalry and foot soldiers who have served with me since I came here—they will tell you that we have done everything possible under the circumstances. They know, because we have fought together."

"But you have lost ground. Roma is in the hands of the enemy and two ports are controlled by Totila's men." The rider stared at the peak of the tent. "The Emperor has expressed his displeasure with good cause."

"Puppy," Belisarius chided. "You've been shaving for less than a year by the look of you, and you are trying to tell me that we have not fought with determination and valor. Go outside. Look at the men. Most of them are thin because they do not get enough to eat. Half-starved soldiers make poor warriors. Our cavalry is short of mounts and there are no remounts. We have few arrows for our archers, few lances and spears. Each man should have three swords but now the soldiers count themselves fortunate if they have two. Those are the obvious problems. There are others, less visible, that beset us more keenly than hunger."

"You will have supplies when Captain Hyperion joins you," the rider assured him. "And there will be more men. He has brought also sixty horses."

"Sixty," scoffed Belisarius. "All of sixty. Gracious." He laughed. "Sixty will almost supply my men now. It will not begin to provide remounts. This is what I meant when I said that we have insufficient men and materiel."

"What of local farmers?" asked the rider.

"Picked clean months ago, and no longer pleased to help us." Belisarius dropped back into his camp chair. "We have scoured the countryside for food and mounts and equipment and slaves. At first the farmers and landholders were willing to aid us, thinking that we would give them protection and that we would be gone soon, but it has not turned out that way, and they are no longer willing to extend themselves for us. I don't blame them. We have treated them badly. Our men have foraged and raided as rapaciously as the barbarians, and they have excused themselves because it was done to benefit the ones they stole from. Now all the farmers want is for us to be gone."

With a condemning shaking of his head the rider regarded Belisarius critically. "You have not controlled your men as you should."

"If I had tried to control my men in the way you mean, they would have starved to death," countered Belisarius. "It is an easy thing for a man with six slaves in the kitchen and a full larder to condemn what we've done, but let him live with us and try to think himself satisfied on a handful of grain and a few pieces of boiled chicken, because that is what has been feeding my men for the last twelve days. For a while we had some fresh fruit as well, but the orchards are bare now."

"My uncle told me that you were using your men as an excuse to keep from waging battle."

"Your uncle, whoever he is, has no idea of what we have been enduring here," Belisarius informed the young man.

"My uncle is Captain Vlamos of the Imperial Guard," the rider said stiffly and with great pride. "I am Linos, the second son of Linos Aristrades. Captain Vlamos is my mother's brother."

"A good family," said Belisarius. "But none of them have set foot in Italy, and they can have no notion of what has transpired here."

"They are loyal to the Emperor and defend his cause."

Linos declared, repeating a maxim.

"Yes. I am loyal and I defend him as well. Justinian wishes to restore the boundaries of the Roman Empire and that is the task he has set me. I have said from the first that if I do not succeed it not be for want of effort. If this campaign were not for the Emperor, I would have abandoned it long ago; but since it is Justinian who commands me, I will do everything I am able for as long as there is breath in my body to bring his vision to fruition." He set the second scroll with the first. "I might as well read this last one."

The scroll from the Court Censor was not as long as the other, but it contained a number of questions that the Censor requested Belisarius answer, most of them having to do with statements the General had made that might be construed as being against the wishes and orders of the Emperor. Belisarius flung the thing aside impatiently. "It's nonsense."

Linos stared in surprise. "The Censor does not deal in nonsense."

"In this instance he does," said Belisarius. "It can't be serious." He rose, stretching. "There is food of a sort, and you're welcome to eat with me, but I warn you that the fare is limited and there isn't very much of it."

"I brought my own provisions," Linos said sulkily. "I will not have to deprive anyone of a mouthful of grain."

Belisarius gave the young man a hard stare. "If that is your state of mind, you had better remain in this tent. My men are not going to be very tolerant of such temperament. Nor am I, for that matter."

"I didn't mean…"He flushed. "If my supplies would be of help, you're welcome to them." There was a grudging tone to this offer, but Belisarius decided to ignore it.

"Fine. Get whatever you have and give it to my slave Iakis. He's the tall fellow with the pockmarked face and a wedge-shaped scar on his shoulder." He held the flap of the tent up. "After we eat, I will confer with my officers.

You may join us if you wish. They will be relieved to hear your news."

Linos scowled, uncertain whether he was being mocked or not. "What use is that?"

"I don't know yet," Belisarius admitted. "But between your news, which will lift their spirits, and your current information they may be satisfied that the last year has not been in vain." He squinted against the sunlight, averting his head a moment. "Most of them are around that fire, over there. I used to spread my officers through the camp, but now, with so many unfamiliar faces, I need to keep them all in one place."

"Don't you trust them?" asked Linos, shocked.

"Not the way you might think; I do not know them well enough to rely on them without question. I don't know which of these officers reacts too quickly, which too slowly. I don't know who among them is best at night, and who is best before midday. I don't know if one of them is afraid of confinement, or fire, or serpents. I don't know who has a way with horses, or dogs, or peasants. I don't know which of them speaks Latin." He walked as he enumerated his points, pausing now and then to nod or wave to his soldiers. "For that reason, I require my officers to stay near me."

"Doesn't this irritate them?" Linos inquired.

"Not most of them, no, because they are as new to me as I am to them, and there are several of them who have never been on campaign before." He indicated the large fire surrounded by tents, most of them with slaves stationed in front of them. "This is where they are. You can see for yourself that half of them have new gear that has not seen much use. What they lack are horses to carry it, but that is another matter, isn't it?"

Four officers hastened forward as Belisarius approached their campfire, two of them armed with nothing more than short, wide-bladed glavi. They looked at the newcomer with Belisarius, all of them betraying some degree of curiosity.

"This is Linos," Belisarius said, raising his voice so that all would hear him. "He comes from Captain Hyperion who has landed at Rhegium with men and supplies for us."

A growl of approval met this announcement. "I know Captain Hyperion," said one of the younger officers. "He is very good in battle, so they say."

"And where has he fought?" asked one of the others, a trifle older than most of the officers. Another seven men had come up to the space near the fire, for although it was stifling in the heat, it was also the only sensible place to gather.

"He fought in Egypt," Linos said defensively. "He has had experience."

One of the men laughed unpleasantly. "If he has not had some before, he will get some now."

"Regimus," warned Belisarius, "wait until you see the man in action before you condemn him."

"You know the type as well as I do; highborn relatives, ambitious family, purchased promotion and all the rest of it. That's what all the officers are like now. They are puppets of the court." Regimus touched a jagged scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and ran unevenly down his left cheek. "None of them lifted a sword except to practice with slaves."

One of the younger officers bristled. "You don't know that. You're assuming that because you never heard of him that there's nothing to hear."

"Like you, Georgios." The speaker was wearing lightweight leather armor studded with iron.

"You're as bad as Regimus," Georgios snapped. "You and Regimus and Kyrillos and Daidalos and Urien are all the same; just because you've been here longest, you think that means you're the only ones with any knowledge of war and battle."

"That's right," said the armored man. "And you've yet to show me I'm wrong." He indicated Linos. "Is he any indication of what they're sending us now?"

"I don't know," said Belisarius. "I don't have a list of men being sent yet. I won't see it until we join Hyperion."

"Children," scoffed another of the older men—possibly one of those Georgios had named—"they're sending us children to lead the soldiers. Is the Emperor trying to win the war with youth instead of force of arms, do you think?"

"Urien," Belisarius said sharply, "it isn't for us to question the decisions of the Emperor."

"Does that mean you never doubt the wisdom of what Justinian does?" asked Urien. "I never thought you were a fool before, Belisarius, but perhaps I was wrong. If you don't wonder what Justinian is trying to do, then you are being duped."

Belisarius was standing very straight now and his features were severe. "That is enough. Every man is entitled to his doubts, but no one is permitted to question what the Emperor does or why he does it. Do you all understand this? I do not want to have another set of replacement officers, but I will not oppose what Justinian commands. Is that clear?"

The men said nothing but their expressions were eloquent.

Linos felt suddenly very awkward, like a man who had walked into a house during an argument. He coughed once and said, "There are new officers being posted here, of course. Most of you will be sent home or to other garrisons. The Emperor is increasing the number of his troops in Alexandria."

"Alexandria," said one of the men in disgust. "Egypt! What use is that?"

"The Emperor has decided that there are dangers in Egypt. He believes that there may be attempts to end the strength of Byzantium there." Linos spoke with authority now, having spent much of the last month hearing of these things. "The Emperor wishes to increase the soldiers in Egypt so that those who might be plotting against us will see how foolish they are and desist."

"It might make them more determined," said Belisarius in a distant tone. "But there is no way to be certain of that until the action has been taken."

"Does this mean you do not think that the Emperor has been wise?" Linos was indignant at the suggestion; he glared at Belisarius. "You are his General. How can you question what he does?"

"I'm not questioning it, and I don't doubt his decisions. Christos! if I did, I would not continue this campaign under the conditions we have faced; I could not ask it of my men." Belisarius looked around him, meeting the eyes of each officer in turn. "I only wonder, occasionally, how the Emperor's decisions are seen by others, especially those around him."

One of the officers, a young man with rough bandages covering a large area of festering abrasion, looked directly at Linos with pain-hardened eyes. "If the Emperor thinks that the officers have been taking advantage of him and have used the war to increase their positions, have him come here himself and see how we fare; share our food and our tents with us."

Belisarius held up his hand to silence this objection. "I have tried in my reports to make our predicament clear, but we are not the only ones seeking the aid of the Emperor, and he must answer the needs of all his people, not just his army in Italy."

"And you never doubt him?" Linos inquired.

"Of course; I've said so. But the Emperor is the Emperor and he must be the final authority for all of us." He indicated the poor condition of his men and the camp. "If you were here, riding with us, eating with us—"

"When we eat," muttered one of the officers but Linos did not know who.

"—and living with us, you would have to question what the Emperor commanded us to do. Any sensible man would. But that does not give any of us the right to refuse what the Emperor commands us to do. Is that plain?" Belisarius was more tired than angry, and his words carried little challenge.

"I will see that your sentiments are mentioned in my report," Linos promised stiffly.

"Oh, for the Grace of Angels!" Belisarius brought his fist down on a heap of damaged saddlery. "I am not telling you this for your report. I want you to understand what we are facing here, and why there are problems and discontent, not what you may or may not have to say when you send back your impressions."

The officers moved uneasily and a number of them whispered things to each other without any inclination to include Linos in their observations.

"If you have such uncertainty, then perhaps you would recommend another man command in Italy," said Linos.

"No, I would not." His irritation was changing to wrath. "I have been entrusted with this task and—"

"Yes, entrusted, and you have failed to do what you have been ordered to do," Linos said, made bold by the young officers standing around him.

"Anyone who thinks that this is deliberate has not been here," stated one of the Captains and was seconded by nods and words from the others. "We have nothing, and we cannot go to war with nothing."

Belisarius stopped the man. "Never mind, Gnousos. There is no way to explain this to him." He turned away abruptly and strode back to his tent.

"You might have orders to question the General," said Gnousos when Belisarius was out of earshot, "but you did it as badly as I have ever seen anyone do it. What made you think that you could challenge Belisarius in front of his officers?"

"The Emperor believes that Belisarius is making a force of his own here and that the purpose of these delays is to strengthen himself so that he can march not on Roma but on Constantinople as well and attempt to bring down the government and the Emperor to his own glory and benefit. I am saying this," he went on, "so that any of you who might be aware of such a nefarious plan might clear his conscience by informing me or Captain Hyperion of this and thereby earn not only pardon for yourself but the appreciation of the Emperor for your loyalty." He had been worried what reaction this announcement might receive and was pleasantly surprised when two men gave him quick, penetrating looks. Most of the others were hostile.

"You would do well to keep such announcements to yourself, youngster," said the scarred officer, although he was not much older than Linos. "Here we do not take well to having the General compromised."

"All of you?" Linos asked sharply.

"If there are those who disagree, they know better than to speak of it."

This warning struck home. Most of the officers turned away and on one pretext or another left Linos to himself.

Gnousos asked a question for all of them when he turned back and addressed the messenger in his most casual manner. "If the Emperor did decide to post another General to Italy, who would it be, do you know?"

"It's only a rumor," hedged Linos.

"Who?"

"They say that Narses would be the one to replace Belisarius."

This was met with disbelief and derision. "Narses? The man's a eunuch. What does he know about a long campaign like the one we have here? Who suggested Narses?"

"My uncle, among others," said Linos stiffly. "Narses might not have his generative parts but there is nothing wrong with his brain."

"Narses!" The officer folded his arms and spat. "Gnousos, how would you like serving under him?"

"It's got to be a mistake," Gnousos dismissed the notion. "They might talk about it around the palace, but no one is foolish enough actually to send the fellow here."

"Narses is the first choice," Linos persisted. He looked at the men. "And the Emperor is convinced that there is a plot among Belisarius and some of his officers to seize power. You might keep that in mind when you rush to defend him."

There was a low sound from the officers like a growl, but they all resumed their departure, taking care to pay very little attention to Linos, who gave an exasperated sigh and settled back to wait for one of the more ambitious officers to come forth with information about Belisarius' activities.

* * *

Text of a letter from Eugenia to Chrysanthos.

To the officer Chrysanthos who holds the rank of Captain at the Holy Communion barracks.

What can I have said or done that made you think I would be willing to accompany you to Africa under any circumstances whatever? What convinces you that your suit was anything more than a dalliance between us? How could you think that I would be willing to marry you?

You suggest that losing the fortune left to me by my late husband would be compensated by your battle fees and favors you believe will be forthcoming as part of the rewards of your station. How absurd you are. You have little funds now and if you should be killed in battle or maimed, then you would have nothing and I would have sacrificed what little I possess for no reason other than the dubious advantage of a bed partner. That is readily available to me; my late husband's fortune is all that stands between me and penury, and you have nothing to offer in compensation that would have any use to me.

You mention that you are planning to remain in Africa for five years. In five years any contact I have at court will be lost and whatever benefits I might be able to gain will have no more bearing than the money and glory you have yet to win.

While it is true I have enjoyed our time together and I am sorry to lose your favor, it does not pain me sufficiently for me to lose all good sense.

If you decide to continue our meetings, I will expect you to refrain from any mention of your ridiculous offer of marriage. When you return from Africa with your fame and fortune amassed, then it might be worth your while and mine to discuss marriage at that time, but certainly not before then, and not under the conditions that prevail in our lives.

Surely you will realize that you have been most capricious in your offer when you take time for sober thought. I will not be angry and will regard it as the impetuous act of an infatuated man, not a prudent officer.

From my own hand, farewell.

Eugenia

10

"You should learn to call it Konstantinoupolis," Drosos told Olivia for the third time that afternoon. "You are not in Roma anymore, you are here, and it is fitting that you should learn our ways."

"Konstantinoupolis," she said dutifully. "But in my thoughts it is still Constantinople."

"In time you will change; you'll see."

From their vantage point at the crest of the hill, Drosos could point out to Olivia every part of the city. The afternoon sun turned everything gold and brass, even the ships tied up at the wharves beyond the ramparts and grounds of the royal palace on the Sea of Marmara. At the moment, it was the ships that held his attention. "That one, with the angled sail, is from Egypt. They don't often take to sea in those boats; they use them for river traffic on the Nile, but the larger ones, like that, they occasionally bring here. By the look of it, they're carrying oil and cloth."

"And the one next to it?" Olivia asked, though she tended to find ships uninteresting since she was a very poor sailor and disliked all journeys by water.

"That is from southern Gaul, from Faxinetium, judging by the way the sails are painted. You see those cages on the deck? They probably carried some livestock with them, goats or sheep, given the size of the cages." He grinned at her. "Does seeing these ships make you long for Roma, or are you longing to travel to distant lands?"

"Roma is where I was born. Nowhere else draws me as Roma does." Her eyes grew distant. "That ship beside the Gaul?"

"From Hippo Regius," said Drosos. "In Africa."

"I know where Hippo Regius is," Olivia said but without any heat. "And I have a fair idea where most other noted cities are."

"That is unusual for a woman," Drosos pointed out.

"You're used to another kind of woman," said Olivia a trifle distantly. "In Roma, it was expected that we have some education, since we would have to be able to handle our own affairs."

"Scandalous," said Drosos, teasing her.

She was used to this and refused to respond to his jibes. "It would not be so unfortunate a thing if more of your women here knew a little more of the world." She said it tranquilly and smiled at him as he reached out to touch her hair.

"Let's see: you know most of the palace grounds, don't you? And the Hippodrome is obvious enough. Hagia Sophia and Hagia Irene… Now, show me something in Roma that is as splendid as the dome of Hagia Sophia. You've been down the Mese—I saw no street in Roma so fine."

"You did not see Roma at her best," Olivia reminded him.

"You were fortunate to find a house so near the Augusteum, and in so pleasant a location. For many, even those with sufficient funds, such a place would not be possible." He had mentioned this before and spoke of it now reflectively as he gazed out at the city.

Although the worst of the heat was over the day was still uncomfortably warm and the smell of the place was intense and pungent.

"Come, Drosos," Olivia said as she held out her hand. "I will agree that this is a beautiful setting and were I not a Roman I might well count myself blessed for being able to live here."

"You're shameless, that's what it is." He took her hand in his and walked with her back toward his chariot. "You ought to let me order a palanquin for you."

"Why? You could not show me your precious Constantinople if I were hidden by curtains." She used the Latin word deliberately.

"Konstantinoupolis," he corrected her.

"If you insist." She climbed into the chariot and waited while he gathered up the reins. As he set the vehicle in motion, she shifted her balance with practiced ease. "How long will it take us to get back to my house?"

"Not very long," he said. "We will be there before sunset, if that concerns you."

"Not particularly," she said, not entirely honestly. "I find the day enervating and I long for a bath." Her Roman-style tub was sunk in her native Roman earth and was especially restorative to her.

"You Romans and your infernal, eternal baths." He did not sound condemning as he spoke and he smiled in anticipation.

"You may curse all you wish if you will join me." She watched as a train of heavily laden camels went past them toward the gate that was in the west end of the city but opened on the road to the east, at the edge of the Black Sea.

"Horrible beasts. They spit." Drosos was in a buoyant mood but Olivia could also sense a restlessness, a discontent that lay under his ebullience. "I've ridden them. They sway like a ship in heavy seas."

"How delightful," Olivia said with a laugh. "I will leave them to you and I will keep to horses and chariots, if it's all the same to you."

The streets were more crowded now, and the press of humanity slowed their progress. Drosos held his team to a slow walk, remarking as he did, "These two are used to the city, God be thanked. If I brought my blacks here, I'd have to bring two slaves to lead them, otherwise they'd bolt."

"And then?" asked Olivia. "Where could they go in this crush?"

"Knowing my blacks, they'd try to go up the walls or over the men in the streets." Little as he liked to admit it, even this team of duns was fighting his control.

"Only the men?" Olivia asked with exaggerated innocence.

"Stop that," Drosos said, starting to laugh. "I can't keep my mind on what I'm doing."

The last part of their journey, once they were away from the streets feeding the Mese, went more easily and they reached her house while the sun still hung in the western sky. As Drosos turned his chariot and team over to her grooms, he pointed this out to her.

"You see, even when we must go slowly through the market, we can make good time."

"True enough." She smiled at Niklos Aulirios who opened the door for them. "Have you had any messages brought to me?" It was a regular inquiry and she did not give him her full attention.

"There was a footman from Antonina not long ago. He brought an invitation for a reception she plans to give her husband's returning officers," said Niklos. "I said that if you were able you would attend out of respect for those defending your home."

She smiled at Niklos. "You are a treasure, my friend."

Drosos, who had overheard this, looked outraged. "They have replaced his officers again?"

"Apparently," said Niklos, indicating the smaller reception room off the vestibule. "Will you be sitting here, great lady?"

"After bathing, perhaps," said Olivia.

"What has got into the Emperor's mind?" Drosos demanded of the ceiling. "He removes the officers again and again and again and then he becomes angry because there are no victories."

"He might not understand," Olivia suggested gently, guiding Drosos toward the rear of the house where she had had her bath built.

"He ought to understand. It's important that an Emperor understand." He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned toward Olivia, his face darkening. "Unless he is determined that Belisarius have no victories, and then everything he has done becomes sensible."

"It may be," she said, talking as if to calm an excited child. "But you yourself have warned me that there are factions at court that are so tangled in plot, counterplot and conspiracy that no one can think himself safe there." She was able to get him moving again.

"Even so, this is a military matter, not part of court life." He had made fists of his hands and he walked with such determination that Olivia hoped all the doors between here and her bath were open so that Drosos would not have the opportunity to kick them open.

"Military or court, each wields power and those who love power will embrace one as readily as another. Chide me for being Roman if you like, but admit that we Romans know something about playing with power."

"That changes nothing," Drosos declared, his brown eyes growing hot. "If Justinian seeks to restore the Empire to what it was, he'll have to do better than change Belisarius' officers every time someone at court farts."

"If you are certain that he is misled, why not petition him and ask that he hear your views?" They had reached the end of the hall that ran the length of the house, and the door leading to the bath was closed. Olivia adroitly stepped in front of Drosos and opened it.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.

"I'm not being ridiculous," she protested. "Drosos, you are a Captain of the army and you have some knowledge of the whole Italian campaign. Your perspective might be needed if the Emperor is not to be swayed by those who have ambition and family interests to color their advice."

He shook his head several times. "It isn't that simple. This is Konstantinoupolis, and here there are forms that must be served if one wishes to penetrate the court. I would have to speak to the Captain of the Guard. I know Vlamos. He's not a bad sort, but his family is a nest of vipers and they are all eager to see the rest of the nephews and sons and husbands advance. He will give favor to them before he listens to me."

They had entered the main room of the bath where the holocaust warmed the water of the calidarium giving the whole chamber a haziness from steam that was faintly perfumed. There were brushes and robes set out on benches by the tall arched windows that were covered with oiled parchment. Now that it was sunset, they glowed a deep russet. There were four braziers in the room, all lit, lending their brightness to the steam.

"Would you like me to undress you?" Olivia offered.

"No," said Drosos. "I will manage." He began by tugging the end of his pallium free and starting the complicated process of unwinding it. "These things are the very devil, aren't they?"

"I have seen other garments as difficult. Remember the togas of Roma; most men hated them, in part because donning them and taking them off was so involved." She had already loosened her paenula and set the tablion aside. Her dalmatica was looser and more flowing than the Roman version of her youth had been, and she was able to pull it off over her head with ease before Drosos had finished disentangling himself from his pallium.

"You are a beautiful woman," he said, stopping his task and staring at her.

"Generous praise," she responded.

"No praise." He unwound the last part of his pallium and tossed it aside into a disordered heap. "You are lovely."

"And you are besotted." She walked to within two steps of him. "For that I am more grateful than I can say."

"If I were besotted, I would agree with you and be your slave, and I'm neither of those things." He reached out and fondled her breast. "I love your skin."

She smiled. "Just my skin?"

"Right now, just your skin. In a little while, I'll love all of you, the way I love your voice and your wit while we're out on the hills." He was content to keep the distance between them. "Do we have to bathe?"

"Magna Mater! yes, we have to bathe." She laughed but it was clear that she would not be dissuaded.

"More Roman decadence, I suppose," he sighed, mocking both of them. "How can I learn to endure it?"

"You've managed thus far," she reminded him, and went to the edge of the pool.

Her calidarium was oblong, three times her height on one side and twice her height on the other. When she stood upright, the water rose to just above her waist. There was another pool, more than twice the size of this one, a tepidarium where she swam when she was by herself. Both the calidarium and tepidarium were decorated with mosaics of Roman design and she knew that Drosos found them faintly shocking, since they were all of wholly secular subjects.

"Why do you Romans insist on baths?" Drosos asked as he dropped the rest of his clothes onto the bench.

"Because it is pleasant to be clean, and because baths are delightful."

"They glorify the flesh," Drosos said, not able to make this as condemning as he might have wished.

"Yes, they do," she said from the middle of the heated, perfumed water. "Come and glorify it with me."

"You are incorrigible," he said as he dropped into the water, splashing with gusto and embarrassment. "Why is it so necessary that you maintain your Roman ways, Olivia?"

"Do you mind?" She studied him playfully, flicking her fingers and sending a little spray at him.

"No, not really." He moved toward her. "Those tales you told me at your villa. I liked them. All those stories about Nero and Titus and Traianus, you'd think you'd been there."

"And if I were?" She said it easily, almost teasing him. "Suppose I had been there? What then?"

"You would be so old and wrinkled that…" His response faltered and he started to laugh. "You're doing it again, making yourself sound ancient."

"And if I were?" Behind her lightness there was firm purpose.

"Then you would not be a natural creature," he replied, sensing the underlying thrust of her question.

"In Roma I said I was not." She watched him carefully.

His laughter was less certain this time. "Are you being capricious?"

"I had not intended to be," she told him, tossing her head with a hint of defiance.

"Then why these hints? Why do you want it to seem that you are so—"

"Alien?" she interjected.

"Roman," he corrected her sternly. "In this city, being Roman is sufficient; if you tell others the outrageous things you've told me, they might not understand, and that would lead to more difficulties than you've had already."

"What I have said to you is only between us." She sighed.

"That's wise," Drosos assured her. "Others might believe your stories."

"Don't you?"

"I believe you are determined to remain as Roman as possible. I wish I knew why."

"Ordinarily I might not," she answered him seriously. "If matters were different I might strive to be much like all the others here. But my only hope of retaining even a scrap of independence is to continue to be a Roman, for if I am not, then the Church and the government will so restrict my actions that life here would quickly become… intolerable to me. As it is, they are willing to regard me as merely eccentric—"

"For the time being," Drosos warned her. "If you do not guard your tongue."

"—and that permits me a few… excuses that I would not be allowed if I were too willing to be Byzantine."

"That can be dangerous," Drosos remarked affectionately, coming toward her. "If it should be decided that you are too Roman and too eccentric, there are those who will do many things that—" He stopped just before he touched her. "Do not tell them the tales you told me, about the old days of Roma, or how you live. For me. Keep silent." He put his arms around her. "You are like a creature of the sea."

"So are you." She let Drosos and the water support her, feeling the subtle return of energy from the Roman earth that held the bath.

"But you only swim here," he said. "Only here."

"Well, I am not like some urchin, who swims in the sea," she said, making light of her own fear. Water without the protection of her native earth would sap her strength faster than the rays of the sun if she took no precautions against them.

"Nothing about you is like an urchin. You're a bit of a hoyden, riding in an open chariot through the streets where everyone can watch you, but that is Roman of you, isn't it?" He nuzzled her neck, lifting her to him. "Like this scandalous bath."

"You like all the scandalous things I do," she reminded him, and returned his kiss with ardor.

"I like you, and some of what you are is scandalous." he corrected her when he could, and moved her away from him a bit, not wanting to be finished with her too quickly.

"A fine distinction, but I like it," she said. Her skin was growing rosy from the heat and the light of the braziers cast a ruddy glow over the water and their wet bodies.

"The pope at headquarters would find all of this very disturbing." He sank down so that only his head was above the water.

"Then don't tell him," she suggested, pleased that he no longer resisted her Roman ways.

"Is that what they tell you in Roma; do not confess to your priests?" He flicked water at her and chuckled as she returned the favor.

"They tell us many things in Roma; they always have. It is understood by many that if confessing would put a burden on the priest, then one must trust that God will be compassionate, since He has made man the creature that he is." She slid down beside him and reached out to him. "Why talk of priests and popes?"

"You worry me, Olivia, when I come to my senses." He sounded amused but there was trouble lurking at the back of his large brown eyes. "I fear that I will bring you… problems."

"How could you do that? And why?" Her tone was light and playful; her hands moved over his body, darting and light as fish.

"It might happen," he said, his mood darkening. "I might say something, or someone might spy on us—that happens more than you would think—or there could be rumors."

"What rumors? Who is to start them?" She moved closer still and her touch became more insistent.

"Everyone talks, everyone whispers. And you are a foreigner, a Roman—"

"A decadent Roman," she corrected him, catching the lobe of his ear gently in her teeth.

"I'm not joking, Olivia," he said, trying to be stern without much success.

"I know that, and I am hoping to change your mind, at least for a little while." Her hair was damp now and there were soft curls forming around her face, making her seem as young as a girl. "Even if you are right, there is nothing we can do about it right now. So long as we are together, we can take pleasure in each other." She kissed his mouth softly, her lips barely parted. "Drosos?"

"We must speak of it eventually," he insisted, making a valiant last attempt to hold her off from him.

"And eventually we will. For the time being, there are other things we can do." Her kiss was deeper this time, and when their tongues touched, she slid her arms around his chest and brought her legs up around his waist.

With a happy groan he embraced her, his objections fading from his thoughts, and for some little time there were only the sounds of their passion and the splashing of the water in the low and burnished light.

When they finally emerged from the bath, languor had touched them both. They smiled as they pulled on the robes that waited for them, and they found excuses to reach out to each other frequently.

"Here; I'll tie that for you," Olivia offered as Drosos took up the long sash.

"Nothing complicated," he said, handing the long narrow band of silk to her. "That pallium was enough for tonight."

"Don't worry," she said, efficiently crossing the sash over one shoulder and then around his waist. "See? As simple as you'd find on a honey-seller's slave."

"Am I to take it that I am your slave?" he inquired with feigned hauteur.

"No; I do not want anyone who comes to me through compulsion." Her answer was serious, but her face was filled with joy.

"You could become that to me, you know." Again the worry was back in his eyes.

"Then we must take care to keep variety and novelty in what we do and how we do it," she said. "You do not want us to turn all we have into nothing more than a frenzied routine, do you?

"You speak as if it has happened to you," he said, still troubled.

"Yes, it has," she said candidly as she indicated the door. "Come. Niklos will have supper set out for you—nothing too heavy. He said that the cooks have bought some excellent fish, and that with olives and garlic should be waiting in my private reception room." She walked a little ahead of him, turning now and then to look at him.

The house glowed with braziers; her private reception room was no exception. The promised meal waited on a low brass-topped table, and a flask of wine stood open beside the serving dishes. There were two large vases filled with flowers, and before the small ikonostasis a thread of incense curled up toward the ceiling, smelling of sandalwood.

"This is more Konstantinoupolitan than Roman," Drosos said as he sat at the single place laid. "But this refusal to dine with your guests… when I am the only one."

"Romans often did not dine with their guests, but served them and saw to the pleasure of those who reclined on couches at their invitation," she said, then added, "and you know my habits too well to continue to question them."

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of resignation, but he said to her, "Olivia, think of what your slaves say."

"They say I am a Roman widow, which is entirely correct. They say that I run my household in the Roman manner, which is also true. They say that I do not live as most women in this city live, and I do not dispute that. What else can they say that might trouble you?" She poured wine into a silver cup and held it out to him. "Here."

"I prefer you to the wine," he told her, his eyes darkening with the remnants of his passion.

"If that is what you want, then you may have it, but after you have eaten, if you please."

He capitulated with an easy smile. "Are all Roman women so determined?"

"Those who have lived as long as I have are," she said, her eyes fixed on her distant memories.

"You are not going to start on that again, are you?" He was taking the flat bread on the nearest plate and stopped in the act of breaking it in half. "You always do your best to make it seem that you were around when Roma was founded."

She smiled. "Well, I won't claim that," she said, and moved the small dish of salt nearer to him.

"Good. I wish you would forget the whole thing." He dipped the edge of the bread in salt when it was broken. "You can be quite impossible."

"Thank you." She leaned back to watch him eat. "And you; how do you think of yourself, Drosos? You are fairly young to be a Captain, aren't you?"

"For a man with the few connections I have, yes I am," he said between bites. "If my family were better allied, then it might be different, but since my greatest advocate has been Belisarius, I have found my promotions in war, not in court."

"And Belisarius?" she asked.

"He is the finest General in all the Empire," Drosos said with total conviction. "He was fortunate enough to marry Antonina, and gain the good opinion of the Empress through her. Not that he did not already have the confidence of Justinian, or the marriage would not have been tolerated." He had helped himself to more of the wine.

"And what will this gain you, if the Emperor continues to deal with Belisarius as he has been doing for the last two years?"

"You are the most persistent female," Drosos chided her with laughter. "What is it that makes all you Romans think that you invented politics?"

"Didn't we?" she asked sweetly.

"The Greeks did," he corrected her. "And they knew better than to permit their women to take part in them." He broke off another section of fish. "If you continue to pursue these questions, there are questions that will be asked of you that you will not want to answer," he said, growing serious again.

"Why?"

"You are a foreign woman and you are not willing to live properly," he said. He stopped eating to look at her with great concern. "You are here on tolerance; you admit that yourself. You cannot yet return to Roma, for the war there is worse than it was when you left. What use is it to endanger yourself more than you already have?"

"I don't see that discussing politics will make my life any worse," she said, but with less determination than she had shown at first. "Are you really convinced that it could be dangerous?"

"Yes. I wish you would believe that and be careful," he replied. "I would not like to see you come to any harm, Olivia. You are much too important to me."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "All right; I'll try to control my urge to explore politics, at least for the time being."

"That's not good enough," he objected.

"As long as you are here, I will do what I can, but if you are posted to… oh, to Nikopolis or Patara or Syracusa, then it might become prudent for me to find other sources of information. As it is, I will fully expect you to keep me informed of anything that might impinge on me to any degree. Will you do that?"

"If you will give me your word that you will not enlist others in this project," he said, finishing the last of the wine. "I am certain that you could be very unhappy if you came under the scrutiny of the Court Censor. You may believe that or not as you wish, but I am a Konstantinoupolitan and I have seen how determined the Censor can be. There are whole families living in obscurity because one member aroused too much suspicion and it tainted everything that the others said and did." He scooped up some of the fish with the bread. "You have an excellent cook."

"So I understand," she said.

"Well?" he asked after a little silence.

"I will keep everything you've said in mind," she promised, and clapped her hands to summon Niklos Aulirios with the sweetened fruit pulp offered at the close of the meal.

* * *

Text of a letter from the slave Simones to the secretary of the Court Censor, Panaigios Chernosneus.

To the most excellent Panaigios Chernosneus, secretary of the Court Censor, with full dedication and respect, hail upon the Eve of Lent in the Lord's Year 547.

True to your instruction and the good of the Empire, I have carried out your most recent instructions and have examined the books and similar writings currently in the possession of my master the General Belisarius who is at present still in Italy. The volumes I have examined are in s the General's house here in Konstantinoupolis and are available to any who wishes to venture into the reading room. None of them are under lock and key and those few books that are remain so more for reasons of market value than content, as in the case of the copy of the Edicts of Constantine dating from the time when the capital was moved from Roma to this city. The texts are in Latin and as I am not familiar with that language, I can say little of the contents but that they appear to be complete and from what I can learn of Andros, the slave caring for the library, there is no reason to suspect that they contain anything other than what their titles indicate.

As to volumes that could be considered questionable, there is a text in Persian, which I am told my master does not speak but which Andros reads well, on the practical treatment of wounds in battle and at field stations. The entire purpose of the work is to provide those reading it with methods to limit the damage of bleeding, broken bones, deep injuries and infection. Andros has said that the master has looked at it from time to time and once declared that it was superior in the matter of herbs for packing fresh wounds. If there are other reasons for this interest, I do not know what they are, nor do I imagine that they are significant.

There are three books in Latin on the breeding and training of horses, with emphasis on quality of bones and hooves as compared to speed. Since General Belisarius has often expressed his opinions on the quality and condition of the horses he has purchased it is not surprising that he would keep this in his records, though the Censor has declared that the nature of the material covered is not fitting for a true Christian to read. It is my belief that if the General were aware of this, he would find less offensive texts in regard to horses.

The Censor has indicated that books originating in the lands east of the Black Sea are especially questionable, and it is my understanding that there are four books in the library that were brought along the Old Silk Road, although I do not know which was their place of origin, nor have I been able to locate such volumes, although Andros has told me that they do exist and that they are valued by our master in that they have to do with the various methods of battle used by peoples inhabiting the lands that the Old Silk Road traverses. It is his opinion that he must be prepared to counter every possible attack, and for that reason he has actively sought out all material he can find on the subject of war and its conduct. He has prided himself on discovering more material than most of those other officers of his rank who serve the Emperor. Since I do not know which these are and if I did, I would not know how to study what they say, I can only take the word of Andros and repeat to you what I have been told.

There are six Egyptian books, very ancient, on fortifications and the methods of siege which General Belisarius has had occasion to show to me in the past, and which I have asked Andros to indicate. I am aware that these are regarded as being more questionable than some of the others because of the heretical practices of the Egyptians who claim to be Christians. Since these texts are said to be older than the coming of the Lord, then it would seem to me that most of what they say is not so much colored by the vile distortions of the Egyptians as we know them today, but far more the product of the old Egyptians, who were the ones who held the people of Moses and so terribly abused the captive Israelites during the time they were made slaves of the Pharaoh Emperors, and this I can well imagine might be detrimental to true faith. Upon your order I will have these volumes removed and brought to you for examination and review so that any heresy that might have been taught in these writings may be identified and its influence expunged.

In devotion of purpose, I am always at your service and the service of the Empire which all of us, including my master, serve.

By my own hand

Simones

slave of the General Belisarius

11

It was a sullen morning, with enormous dark clouds piling up over the water and crowding over the city. The air was heavy with them; the streets felt their weight.

Three Guards surrounded Niklos Aulirios as they made their way through the breathless silence toward the grounds of the palace. They had said little since they presented themselves at Olivia's house, but it had been enough to fill the majordomo with gnawing fear.

"This is the bonded servant of the Roman woman," announced the oldest of the Guards as they brought him to one of the side gates in the palace walls.

"He is expected; bring him." The lavishly dressed eunuchs led the way into the palace, apparently taking delight in finding the darkest and most twisting corridors to reach their destination, and when they arrived at the vaulted room with an ikonostasis at both ends, they indicated the Guards should remain.

"It is always uncertain when one questions a foreigner," said the largest eunuch in a high, shrill voice.

"My name is Niklos Aulirios," he said a little too loudly. "My name is Greek."

"And you admit that you have lived in Roma since you were a boy, and that you have no sense of being Greek," said the eunuch bluntly. "It is fitting that we speak with you before we extend our inquiries to your mistress."

Niklos fell silent at once, his mind working furiously as he tried to think of some way in which to warn Olivia. He dreaded what the next hour would bring and he could think of no way to divert the attention of the Censor from her. He lowered his head and took up the position he knew the Censor's staff would regard as prayer.

"It will not be long. If you are seeking solace, your prayers had better be short ones." That was the second eunuch, who had a face so beautiful that it was a shame it was wasted on him and not given to a girl.

"Thank you," said Niklos with outward humility and concealed anger. "I have faith that God will hear my petition no matter how brief it may be."

"Indeed." The second eunuch exchanged glances with his colleague. Both nodded once and the younger one stepped up close behind Niklos. "What do you pray for?"

"Compassion," he said. "Deliverance."

"Deliverance? From the Court Censor who is the devoted son of the Church?" mocked the eunuch, his horror tinged with malign glee.

"No, deliverance from my enemies and the enemies of my mistress," Niklos said, doing his best to keep his anger under control, remembering the many times he had given way to it and had bitterly regretted doing so later.

"What enemies does a simple majordomo have?" asked the larger eunuch.

"I do not know; that is why I pray to God to deliver me from them since it would appear there is nothing I can do alone." He kept his head bowed over his hands.

"There is nothing we can do alone, ever. They teach you heresy in Roma, you Roman with a Greek name." The larger eunuch cocked his head to the side and regarded Niklos with expectant patience. "Is your mistress similarly misled?"

"I do not speak of faith to my mistress," said Niklos, holding himself more rigorously in check.

"Too presumptuous? It might save her soul, and what then? Does not the welfare of her soul exceed the bounds of propriety?" The smaller eunuch was definitely enjoying himself now, goading Niklos with practiced ease.

"If I could be certain that what I had been taught of salvation was utterly true and that my understanding of it was perfect and my explanation of it was completely clear and without error on my part in telling of it and without error in what was heard, then I would not let the limitations of propriety keep me from addressing anyone, my mistress, any pope, the Emperor himself, with what I knew. But my knowledge is imperfect and I do not speak with the tongues of angels, and so I will remain as I am and strive to learn more that one day I might come to such understanding, if it is the will of God that I do." He wanted to rail at them, to accuse them of harassing him and his mistress, of conduct so improper that everyone would be disgusted if they knew of it, but that would only serve to put him in greater danger, as well as causing Olivia more distress than what she suffered already. He bowed his head and added, "I therefore must commend myself to God and the Holy Spirit and pray that they will read what is in my heart since I doubt I can speak it clearly enough for you to comprehend it."

"Humility, and from a Roman," marveled the larger eunuch.

"From a Greek bondsman," corrected the other. "You can tell he's Greek by the eloquence."

One of the Guards giggled.

"Greek or Roman, I observe the dictates of Christianity," said Niklos sharply.

"Curious wording," observed the smaller eunuch. "He observes the dictates of Christianity. He does not profess his faith."

"That is something that only God can know," said Niklos. "I do what I can to live as a good Christian lives, I strive to do evil to none and to aid those I can, I pray for guidance, but does that make me a Christian? Not if what I have been taught is true, and only the state of my soul—which I cannot know, being a man—reveals whether or not I am Christian." He decided he had better not continue this argument, or he might be regarded with more hostility for daring to interpret Christianity and its teachings.

"Very facile," said the smaller eunuch. "They are great politicians in Roma, aren't they? I hear that the Bishop of Roma has regular debates on doctrine, as if that were required of the popes of the Church."

"I am not privy to what the Bishop of Roma does or does not do," Niklos said. "I listen to the priest who preaches, or who preached at the villa of my mistress, and from that I try to gain understanding."

"And favor?" suggested the larger eunuch.

"I wasn't aware that such was the purpose of being a Christian, except the favor of God." It was a sharper answer than he had given before and as soon as he said it, he knew he had overstepped the bounds.

"A sharp-tongued servant is a disgrace to a household," stated the larger eunuch with a significant nod toward the Guards who remained in the room. "If you were a bondsman in this household, you would be whipped for your insolence."

"My mistress does not flog her servants except for criminal acts," said Niklos, attempting to show humility again. "It is her practice to encourage our speaking out so that complaints may be dealt with before they become so significant an issue that they cannot be resolved."

"When that happens, the slave is sold," the smaller eunuch declared. "That is how it is done here."

"But my mistress, as you have said and as I have said, is a Roman lady, and it is her practice to conduct herself as a Roman." Niklos looked at the Guards. "Have either of you served in the Italian campaign?"

The Guard with scarred knuckles answered. "I served there for a year."

"Then you will vouch for what I say," said Niklos. "The Romans are not like you Konstantinoupolitans, and they have other standards for their dealings with their slaves and servants. I am used to those ways, as is Olivia Clemens, and we are not yet accustomed to the manners of this city." He looked to the Guard once more. "You have seen Roma? You know how Romans live?"

"I have seen Roma, but the people were leaving in droves and everyone said that the times were remarkable." He cleared his throat. "Still, we heard enough and saw enough that I will agree with what you say; the Romans do manage servants and slaves in ways that we do not." He addressed the eunuchs. "He is freespoken, but it is not so strange in a Roman."

The larger eunuch glared. "You may be correct, but that does not mean that suspicion is therefore diverted from the Roman woman, or from this bondsman." With that declaration, he folded his arms and fell silent.

"Why do you seek to defend your mistress?" demanded the smaller eunuch, then stopped himself as the door opened and a tall, elegant man came into the room. He was partially bald and so thin that he appeared to be perpetually in profile, his body angling away from his hips as if he were slightly bent. His face was lined but expressionless. Both eunuchs made him a deep reverence.

The tall man paid them no heed but directed all his attention to Niklos Aulirios. "I am Konstantos Mardinopolis," he announced, as if the name carried impact.

"You are not the Censor," said Niklos.

"No, but I am his nearest associate," said the tall man. "He has entrusted me with this inquiry." He indicated the eunuchs. "You may be certain that these faithful servants will bear witness to what we discover."

"How fortunate," said Niklos, his face revealing nothing of his misgivings.

"In other circumstances we would conduct this through the eunuchs themselves, but since your mistress is a lady of dignity and fortune, it has been decided that my presence is required." He took a seat at the long table and ostentatiously unrolled a sheet of vellum. He then set out an inkstand and a stylus. "I will make notes of what is said and the eunuchs will sign what I have written if they judge it to be accurate for what has passed between us."

"May I see your record, as well?" asked Niklos.

"It will be read to you," Konstantos said. "You will find that is enough protection." He looked up, his features still set and without any feeling. "That will suffice, won't it?"

"If you put down what is said accurately and completely, I do not see why it should not be." He straightened himself and waited. "I am at your disposal."

Konstantos did not speak at once, but took his time in writing the circumstances of the examination on the sheet before him, unaware that Niklos was able to read what was there. "It has come to the attention of the Censor that your mistress has made the acquaintance of the Empress Theodora."

This was not the question Niklos had anticipated, and he was startled enough to stammer when he answered. "S-she has, through the wife of Belisarius."

"That would be Antonina," said Konstantos unnecessarily. "And we are aware that when they met, the Empress Theodora made reference to enemies that might attempt to discredit your mistress. Perhaps you will tell us who these enemies are."

"If I knew, I would. I am my mistress' majordomo, but I do not share her confidences," he lied. "If she has knowledge of enemies, she has not told me of them. I do know that she was surprised by the warning, and took it much to heart because it came from the Empress herself."

"If you do not know what enemies these are, why did your mistress heed the warning?"

"Would you not heed a warning from the Empress?" countered Niklos. "To do less would be insulting to Theodora."

"That is true. Yet since your mistress has taken no additional action, we must assume that she does not believe that the warning was genuine." He stopped speaking to write. "What can you say to that?"

"I do not know what my mistress has decided. It is not for me to question her." He made a sign of protection.

"Why do you speak so?" asked Konstantos as blandly as possible.

"To do anything else would be disrespectful and improper." He stared at the stylus as it moved over the vellum and he wanted to correct the words that appeared there, but dared not. "It is important to remember that I am her bondsman," Niklos went on, still reading upside down. "Here in Konstantinoupolis you are more stringent about these things than are most Romans; surely you know that I would be exceeding my station to require any explanation of my mistress in regard to her conduct in this or any other matter."

"Surely," murmured Konstantos.

The questioning continued for most of the afternoon, and when Niklos was finally escorted back to Olivia's house he was more shaken than his demeanor revealed. He dismissed the Guards with aplomb that was far from genuine, and took care to wait a while before seeking out Olivia, for he was convinced that at least one of the household slaves was spying for the Censor or one of his officers.

"You were gone quite a while," said Olivia when

Niklos finally answered her summons to wait upon her in her reception room.

"Yes," he agreed.

"For good reason, I suspect," she said casually, having caught his slight warning gesture as he entered the room.

"The officers of the Censor were seeking information," he said carefully.

"About me as well as you?" She was certain of it but knew enough not to make this too apparent.

"Yes, and to discourage any comments on the early life of the Empress Theodora." This had been part of the inquiry and Niklos knew he was safe discussing it.

"Oh, you mean the rumors one hears about public dancing and harlotry," said Olivia with faint laughter. "It is always thus, isn't it, when a woman who is not born noble catches the fancy of an Emperor. No one takes such gossip seriously."

"That is what I said," Niklos told her, making a sign to let her know that they were being overheard.

"I hope so. Think of all the tales you have heard about me over the years. You are my majordomo and you know how I spend my time, and with whom, and yet you have been told of my many lovers, most of whom I have never met. I trust you made it clear that I put no stock in such… speculations. I assume it comes from envious fools who do not know how fine a woman Theodora is, or how great is Justinian's love for her."

Niklos nodded encouragement. "I hope I conveyed some of your thoughts. There was also some concern about your life before you came here."

"The same questions as you were asked about Theodora?" guessed Olivia.

"To some extent. The Court Censor is aware that Drosos is your lover, but there has been some hint that there are many others and that you are nothing more than a loose woman who has tricked everyone into believing you are noble." It was one of the questions that Konstantos had repeated in many forms and Niklos knew that it was important to still such speculation.

"Let them go to the tombs by the Via Appia and see those of the Clemens and my husband's family; Clemens and Silius are old and exalted names in the history of Roma, and I can show documents going back to the time of the Caesars that prove my claims." She sounded more indignant than she was—her greatest emotion was cold fear.

"Sadly, there have been so many records destroyed thanks to the raids of Totila's army it may be no longer possible to produce the proofs you mention," Niklos said, lifting one brow to let her know that this was the story he had held to. "Ever since we learned that the villa had been gutted, I have lost all hope ever to find your family records again."

"Ah," she sighed, her relief more genuine than the distress she tried to show. "It is sad to see so many things lost. The villa… how I will miss it."

"And the material you have lost—that is important, too." He leaned forward and said in an undervoice, "Olivia, you are in danger. Be careful what you say."

"Yes, it is important," she said, cocking her head toward the door. "There are other estates that I will probably never recover. How fortunate that my late husband will never learn of this, for he was a man of great pride, as were all the Silii."

"Will you make an effort to recover the estates?" Niklos already knew the answer but wanted Olivia to answer it for the benefit of whoever was listening.

"I doubt if Totila will honor my request, but once his forces have been routed, then I hope that the Bishop of Roma will accept my petition and see that my lands are restored." She paused. "At least in Roma I may still present such petitions in person. Here I would have to wait until my sponsor chose to act on my behalf."

"Mistress, I beg you, do not challenge the order here." He made a gesture to encourage her to go on.

"It is not for you to tell me what to do, Niklos, and you would do well to remember this. I have not made it any secret that I am dissatisfied with the restrictions that have been placed upon me since I left Roma, and I will not pretend that I have come to terms with the position in which I find myself. You may be right and it might be prudent for me to make my peace with the requirements of this city, but I cannot. I am a Roman woman, I am a nobleman's widow and I am not accustomed to the hindrance I find here." She saw Niklos motion for more, and so she went on. "If there are no other means to regain my property, then I suppose I must accommodate the laws here but it galls me."

"Mistress, be cautious," said Niklos, again gesturing to her for more objections.

"Why? Because it is inconvenient for you, or for some of the Byzantines? What is it to me if there are popes in this city who believe that it is improper for women to have property of their own? You tell me to bide my time, but I wonder to what purpose. I hold your bond, Niklos, and as long as I do, you are beholden to me. I will not tolerate opposition and insolence from you." She brought her hand down on the small table beside her low chair. "Keep that in mind, you arrogant Greek."

Niklos gave her a thumbs-up as he said, "Mistress, I think only of your welfare."

"You think only of your own welfare, you mean. You are trying to curry favor with the officers of the Court Censor. I will not have it."

"You're wrong, mistress," he said, flashing her a smile. "I would never do such a—" He broke off and moved silently to the door, waiting. "Whoever it is has left."

Olivia's manner changed as abruptly as Niklos'. "How bad is it?"

"We must be very careful, and we must be always on guard. There are spies everywhere." He sat down opposite her. "They are going to make inquiries about you in Roma."

"I have no worries there," said Olivia. "There are enough people to testify that I have been living as a widow for some time, and I think that the Bishop of Roma has some of the old records on my land claims, since I have leased sections of it to the Church from time to time." She took a deep breath. "I'm glad I did that, now."

"The Court Censor is afraid that you might be part of a conspiracy," Niklos went on.

"Magna Mater, who could think such a thing?" Olivia asked the ceiling. "What would I gain from it, and who would I conspire against?"

"They think that everyone associated with Belisarius might be aiding him in overthrowing the Emperor," said Niklos with a slow shake of his head.

"That's ridiculous," said Olivia. "I can't take such ideas seriously." She hesitated. "Yes, I can."

"Then do so," warned Niklos. "And be aware that whatever you say might be reported."

"Accurately?" she asked at once.

"I don't know," admitted Niklos. "Most of what was recorded of the examination I had this afternoon was put down in more or less true form, but there was a slant to it, just in case. I think they are preparing material in case they need it."

"Why?" said Olivia.

"Because they are trying to discredit Belisarius. He is too popular with the army and the Guard. Justinian is not a fighting man, and there are those who say that if the Empire is to be restored it will be through battles and conquest. For this they will have to have a soldier on the throne. At least that is what the Court Censor appears to think." He leaned back. "These questions were slipped in between those about your genealogy and rumors about the Empress Theodora, and yet the answers I gave to them were more completely recounted than any others."

"Ah," said Olivia. Her hazel eyes grew tired. "I wonder why—Who will benefit if Belisarius is discredited?"

"Those close to the Emperor. In that I think your friend Drosos is correct. There are factions at court that strive for power that they cannot have if Belisarius remains where he is; he must be brought down so that they can gain access to the army through various officers. If the eunuch Narses does indeed replace Belisarius, then there are many who could take advantage of this change and see men of their family advance in the ranks and in military influence." Niklos rubbed his jaw. "I used to think that Roma was bad, but they are amateurs compared to these Byzantines."

Olivia got up from her chair and began to pace. "I can't let them inquire too closely. If they ever found out all there is to know about me, they would have me stoned in the marketplace, and once my spine was broken, I would die the true death at last."

"We could leave Konstantinoupolis." The suggestion lacked any conviction.

"So soon after arriving? That would attract more attention than we have already." She halted, her eyes fastened on the ikonostasis. "I wish I could find a way to profess my conversion to the religious life, but it isn't practical."

Niklos laughed. "No, a vampire is not often welcome in a religious retreat. And you would be noticed, after a while."

Reluctantly Olivia joined in the laughter. "And I doubt I could convince anyone it was my way of taking communion, although in a way, it is."

"That would be worse than the rest." He met her eyes seriously. "You must be careful, Olivia. It grows more and more dangerous for you here."

"And elsewhere," she said. "I wish we had not left Roma, but I know it was necessary."

"Yes," said Niklos. "And while we are here, I will do what I can to be alert. If I knew who in the household was spying on you, I would do what I could to keep watch over that person and be sure that the information he got was carefully controlled."

"But you don't know, and neither do I. And if we are too obvious in trying to find out, it will only serve to make matters worse for us both." She touched his arm affectionately. "We are strangers surrounded by enemies," she said softly. "We must depend on one another more than ever."

Niklos nodded gravely. "You can rely on me, Olivia."

"And you can rely on me, Niklos." She gave a sudden, fleeting grin. "What mere mortal has a chance against the two of us?"

"Do you want me to make a list?" he answered without a trace of humor.

Outside there was a sudden shouting in the street and the rush of footsteps. Both Olivia and Niklos listened with hushed alarm.

"No," she said when the footfalls were gone.

"Nor I," he agreed.

In a distant part of the house, they heard a door close softly.

* * *

Text of a letter from Antonina to Eugenia.

In anticipation of the festivities to come, Antonina sends her warmest greetings to Eugenia and wishes to tell her how pleased she is that Eugenia will be able to attend the celebration that will take place in eight days.

Naturally, most of the guests will be officers of Belisarius, recently returned from the Italian campaign. It is appropriate that they have such distinction for their action on my husband's behalf, and doubtless I will be able to learn more of what has transpired since I had my last letter from my husband.

Not to be too blatant, Eugenia, this will give you a wonderful opportunity to meet men of rank and ambition who are sensible to the realities of court life and the lives of those close to the court. There are certain to be officers who are of a good age to marry who seek a woman with some skill in court matters and proper conduct for the level of society to which they all aspire. There may be a few, also, with better connections than either of us may easily boast of. Those will be of special interest to you, I am sure, and you will do well to come a trifle early so that we may see who among those who have accepted will be most interesting to you. Since you are to serve as my companion, there is no bar to your addressing any of the guests, or to being the first to speak if that is what you wish to do.

Lamentably, Empress Theodora will not be with us. Her health is not what it should be, and her physicians are forbidding her almost all public appearances. I have heard it said by certain malicious and unwise persons that she is paying the price of her early debauchery, and that the illness that is overtaking her is the result of all she did before she became the love of the Emperor. Even if this were true—and it is never wise to think the worst of the Empress, no matter who she is—it is most shortsighted of those speaking against her to do so, for if she recovers, or if Justinian learns of these allegations then the results might be severe.

On that note, let me advise you to be very circumspect in what you say about Theodora. Not only are there spies everywhere, but considering the circumstances, you will be well advised to keep your opinions to yourself, no matter what they are, for until it is established how ill Theodora truly is, no statements about her can be thought safe.

You were wise to break off with Chrysanthos when you did, but of course you will see him here at the celebration. If there should be any trace of awkwardness, you have only to seek me out and I will deal with him appropriately.

At my husband's request, I have asked Olivia Clemens to come, and she has accepted. We will do what we can for her, but she insists that she is not searching for a husband. But then, she has taken Drosos for her lover, and doubtless for the time being she has little need of one. If her sponsor should question her choice, then it might be different, for she could find her money withheld on the grounds that she is using it immorally. That might prove drastic, and all she need do then would be to marry Drosos and put her fortune in his hands instead of her sponsor's, but so far she has shown herself reluctant to do this.

I want to advise you to wear something in light red with a good deal of gold and pearls. Not only is this most fitting in terms of the occasion, but I have learned that Justinian has said that he considers wearing pearls to be a tribute to his wife, and if that is the case, we are in an excellent position to make the most of this without seeming to be courting favor. Also, have your hair dressed with restraint; it is sometimes thought frivolous of widows to be too extravagant, at least that is what Theodora told me the last time we spoke, which was ten days ago. She had some very good advice that I will pass along to you. She said that few men really admire caprice except in a brief infatuation. If a woman seeks to secure a marriage contract then she must show herself sensible and determined for the good of her husband and those around him. We have discussed this before, of course, but I think that you do not always bear it in mind, and that is a mistake, my dear Eugenia. You continue to put men to the test with sudden and outrageous demands, and this cannot help you in your search. Try to be a little less fanciful in your dealings with men, especially these men, for it serves you ill to imagine more than has been offered. You might see if Drosos is willing to become intimate with you, for if he is not going to marry Olivia, he might as well marry you, for he stands in my husband's good favor and is a man of promise as well as some little fortune of his own.

We will speak of this further when you come, and in the meantime, select your most luxurious clothes of red and gold, and let me advise you to wear the pearl-inlaid tablion, the large one with the rubies in the sigil of Christ.

This by messenger at midafternoon with my affection,

Antonina

wife of General Belisarius

12

By sunset Pope Sylvestros had reached Ostia, and as he waited to pass through the Porta Romana, he watched the carrion birds feast on the bodies of Ostrogoths hanging from the city walls.

"Name?" demanded a grizzled officer, grubby, unshaven and red-eyed.

"Pope Sylvestros," he answered. "From Constantinople."

"Business, Priest?"

"I am here to speak with a ship owner," Pope Sylvestros answered vaguely.

"Pass," grunted the officer.

At another time Pope Sylvestros might have taken time to criticize the laxness shown by the officer, but not now; he was not eager to be more closely questioned about his purpose here in Ostia. Meekly he did as he was ordered, and found himself in the narrow streets of the old port city.

At the far end of the old wharves there was a tavern known as The Seagull. It had been there more than three hundred years and had established its own particular fame among the sailors who made up its patrons.

Pope Sylvestros waited there at an evil-smelling table by the smaller fireplace. He held a cup of wine which he had been nursing long enough to earn him several nasty glances from the landlord, but he refused to buy more and fuddle his wits before his meeting with Ghornan, whose ship was supposed to have made port with the incoming tide. He felt in his sleeve for the fiftieth time for the lists he would offer the Captain.

"Food, Priest?" snarled the landlord.

"I am correctly addressed as 'Pope.'" He wished God had bestowed a more impressive face upon him, but knew that his very ordinary features aided him in his work.

"Pope or priest, you have the same appetites as the rest of us; you're as venal as the next man, but you wrap it in homilies."

"I pray God will forgive your impiety," said Pope Sylvestros, his nervousness making his words sharp.

"Impiety!" jeered the landlord. He lifted a large cup to his mouth and drank deeply. From the rosy state of his nose and cheeks, this was a habit with him. "You meeting a Byzantine ship?"

"Yes."

"Totila gives rewards to those who sink Byzantine ships," the landlord said with satisfaction, adding as he watched Pope Sylvestros bless himself, "You priests are all alike. You think that prayers and gestures make a difference. Any idiot can mumble—most of 'em do—but no one thinks that God does more than look after them in their affliction. Except for the likes of you." He started to laugh at his own bitter humor.

"In Constantinople you would not dare to speak so disrespectfully of the servants of God." Pope Sylvestros was deeply indignant and he was not willing to overlook the landlord's challenge.

"If I pour you another tot of wine, will you turn it into water to spite me?" suggested the landlord.

"That's blasphemy, even in Italy."

The landlord filled his own cup with the dark, raw wine that was standard fare at The Seagull. "Who's to report me—you?"

In order to silence the landlord—and because he was growing increasingly anxious—Pope Sylvestros tossed him a silver coin and ordered more wine.

"Been away from home long?" Now that he had money in his hand again, the landlord assumed a mendacious cordiality. He tested the coin in his teeth and counted out half a dozen dissimilar copper coins in change, flipping them in the air and showing the stumps of his teeth as Pope Sylvestros scrabbled to retrieve them. He was still hunkered down on the floor when the door to the tavern swung open and a squat-bodied sailor surged into The Seagull. He bellowed for wine and looked quickly around the room as if expecting to find armed men behind the tables and benches.

"I am Ghornan," he announced to the room, daring anyone to contradict him.

"That is your good fortune," was the landlord's laconic response. He poured wine into a large-sized cup and held it out to the newcomer. "Three standard copper pieces; I don't care where they came from if the weight is right."

Ghornan pulled the coins from the folds of the narrow pallium wound around his waist. "Here. And this had better not be watered." He slammed down the coins, and without waiting for the landlord to put them in the small scale at the end of the counter, he trod the width of the room to stare down hard at Pope Sylvestros. "Are you the one I'm supposed to meet?"

"I am Pope Sylvestros," he admitted, his voice going higher with each word.

"You've lost flesh. I was told you were portly. You ought to go home to your wife." He straddled the bench. "The Bishop of Roma doesn't like his clergy to marry. So far, he hasn't been able to stop it." He stared hard at Pope Sylvestros. "What information do you have for me?"

"I…" He touched his sleeve but also inclined his head toward the landlord. "If we were more private…"

"Oh, you needn't worry about Gordius here. He knows that if he repeats a word of what he overhears, he'll have a second smile by morning." He drew his fingers across his own throat to illustrate his meaning.

"But there might be others who would pay to know what I tell you and that could lead to…"

With an ostentatious display of exhaustion—a yawn, a rubbing of his large, firm belly, a scratching of his chest—the landlord left his post behind the counter and made his way out of the taproom.

"You peawit," said Ghornan. "Now he's suspicious and there's no telling what he might decide to do with what you tell me." He gestured with disgust and drank off his wine. "He'll listen now, or his slaves will. Either way, I'll have to kill him before I leave."

"I didn't intend—" Pope Sylvestros started.

"Whatever you intended, the harm's done now." He slammed his cup down. "What you have had better be worth the trouble you're causing; that's all I can say."

"It is, Captain." Reluctantly Pope Sylvestros drew his lists from his sleeve and spread the sheets out on the table. Though the light in the tavern was poor and the pope's handwriting spidery at best, the two men poured over the pages and at the end of reading the first sheet, Pope Sylvestros could see the greedy interest in Captain Ghornan's eyes. "There is something worth a risk or two here, don't you think?" he could not resist prodding.

"True," agreed Ghornan as he got to his feet and poured himself another generous serving of wine. "How far are these villas, did you say?"

"The nearest is half a day's walk, the walls are still standing, and although the north side of it was put to the torch, most of the building is intact, including everything inside it." He had lowered his voice, leaning forward so that Captain Ghornan could hear everything he said.

"Half a day," mused Ghornan. "And what is left there would make it worth our while? Where are the Ostrogoths?"

"They've been and gone. They took the livestock, not the treasure." He cleared his throat. "There isn't much furniture; I think the owners must have removed some of it when they fled. There is some jewelry, and quite a lot of personal items, such as mirrors and perfume jars. I noticed some garments in a press; I don't think any of Totila's men knew enough to look there—"

"Too personal. They might be identified," Ghornan said, dismissing them.

"There are two chariots, wood covered with brass, very fine looking. I don't know if it's practical to take them both, but if you brought mules we could harness them to one of the chariots and use it to carry some of the heavier goods."

"Such as?" said Ghornan, revising his contemptuous opinion of Pope Sylvestros a little.

"The wine stored under the kitchen floor, for example. Some of it was taken, but a great deal remains, most of it in good condition. The owner had an excellent collection. And who is to say who owns what bottle of wine?" He held out the first page for Ghornan's review and studied the second one. "This villa is not very promising, but there are one or two good paintings that might be removed. There is also a good-sized alabaster vase that could bring a very high price."

"Paintings are usually not worth much," said Ghornan, not interested. "And they're easily identified."

"These are old, and one of them shows the destruction of the lost city of Pompeü under Vesuvius. That ought to make it worth more than paint." Pope Sylvestros ran his finger down the page a little farther. "Here's something quite remarkable: three rosewood chests, all in good condition, one with brass platters in it. I found them behind the tack room in the stables; I guess the owners had intended to pack them and then changed their minds."

"That's more the kind of thing I'm looking for," said Ghornan with a speculative smile. "Chests, furniture, household goods of special quality and workmanship. The chariots are tempting, and I think that if we can find chests of good value, it might be worth a little extra." He tapped the table, his hands hard on the planking.

"There was one villa, then, east of the city. I understand that General Belisarius himself stayed there for a while. It was owned by one of those imposing Roman widows, and must have several fortunes, judging by what was left there. Even after Totila's men went through the place, I found many treasures left in it." He coughed. "It is a little farther away than you said you wished to travel, but I think you'd find it more than justifies the additional time and effort. I made a partial inventory, in case you thought you'd like to risk it."

"You know what they're doing to looters in Roma these days?" Ghornan asked. "You saw the Ostrogoths on the walls coming in, didn't you? I'd just as soon keep my hands and my skin, thank you." He glared at the smoke-blackened beams. "It would have to be really special for me to take that kind of chance." With a speculative lift to his brow, he waited for Pope Sylvestros to speak. "Well?"

"Look at the list for yourself," said Pope Sylvestros, sliding two of the sheets toward him. "Everything I found is catalogued here, and you may be sure that there is more. This is superficial. There were over two hundred volumes in the library, and she must have taken many more with her. Some of them were very old, and that might—"

"Books are dangerous," Ghornan reminded him. "No telling when they might be banned, and then they become more hazardous than a scorpion." He ran his finger down the page, his lips moving as he read. "If this plum is so ripe, what makes you think that we'll be the only one after it?"

"Most of the folk who live near the villa will not enter it for any reason. They say that it has a strange reputation. Even those who do not dislike it treat the place with the greatest respect. The owner was said to be a sybil, and some of the very old peasants insist that she had lived there since they were children." He paused. "I could say prayers for the repose of unquiet spirits. If there are ghosts, they will depart."

"We Copts," Ghornan exclaimed indignantly, "have better sense than to rely on ceremonies for all eventualities. You Byzantines have complicated worship until it is nothing more than a theatrical performance. Chalices and ikons!" He stopped his tirade with an effort. "Still, if you would rather exorcise the villa before we loot it, I will not deter you. If this place has one half the booty you show here, one industrious night might be worth everything. And if the peasants think that it is an unwholesome place, that could be to our advantage. They will attribute what we do to whatever demon they think lurks there, and we will not be hampered." He rubbed his chin. "In fact, let us take care to make it appear that there are restless spirits there. No sense in making this more risky than necessary."

"And if there are such spirits?" Pope Sylvestros could not resist asking.

"We are good Christians, aren't we?" Ghornan asked. "What have we to fear from the Devil? I'd worry more about the owners' wrath than what Hell might do."

Pope Sylvestros blessed himself. "Apostasy," he muttered. "You risk worse than anything the magistrates might sentence."

"And what of the owner?" asked Captain Ghornan with elaborate courtesy. "This widow, where is she and what will she think if we help ourselves to her treasures?"

"She has left Italy. They say that she went to Constantinople, and perhaps she did. No matter." Pope Sylvestros waved his hand to show what a minor consideration she was. "Even if we are found out, what can a Roman widow do to us? I know that her sponsor is a pope and he will not act against another member of the Church simply because a few of her things were taken."

"You're counting on a lot," grumbled Ghornan.

"No, I'm not," said Pope Sylvestros with intensity. "In the very unlikely event she discovers what has happened here, how can she trace this to us? All we have to say is that we bought the goods from a reputable merchant, and there's an end to it."

"You hope," said Ghornan at his most daunting. "And if she can convince someone that something must be done, where does that leave us?"

"Who might she convince?" asked Pope Sylvestros with genuine bewilderment.

"You said that General Belisarius used the villa. She might persuade him that something is amiss. Let me tell you right now that I have no intention of getting on his wrong side. My work is much too dependent on his—"

Pope Sylvestros interrupted Ghornan with a conspiratorial smirk. "Word has it that the General will not be in Italy much longer. The rumors are that the Emperor is displeased with the progress of the campaign and suspicious of Belisarius' motivations and is going to remove him shortly."

"I have heard those rumors; Belisarius is still here." Ghornan finished his wine. "There are others who will be on watch for contraband of all sorts. This could be a trap for us; did you ever consider that?"

"Yes, but I don't think so. There are palaces in Roma that are bound to be traps, for their contents are famous and many would recognize them if anyone were foolish enough to take them. I have no desire to have my hands cut off and my arms flayed, either. So I say that we go to this villa and take what we want from it. I doubt if anyone would be able to prove that we had taken the items ourselves, and that is what would condemn us." He made a blessing over them. "The magistrates are reluctant to accuse popes and monks of wrongdoing. If you are working with me, then you are shielded by my cloth."

"Are all popes as cynical as you?" Ghornan asked with a hint of admiration.

"Not all of them are as poor, and few know how to take advantage of opportunity when it presents itself," said Pope Sylvestros severely. "It is not as if I am helping you steal from Byzantines. These are Romans, and you know what godless pagans they are."

"And that is all the excuse we need?" suggested Ghornan.

"It is not an excuse," Pope Sylvestros insisted. "I would never assist anyone in taking goods from a true Christian, but these Romans still have temples to their gods, and they think to mislead us all by declaring that they are now churches. None of us are fooled."

"So you are actually helping the Church by seizing these goods?" Ghornan laughed. "Very well, tell me some more about this widow's villa. Is it all on the list here?" He looked over the two sheets with more care, his eyes growing large with avarice. "What's this?" He pointed to an item on the second page of notes.

Pope Sylvestros glanced at the entry in question. "Oh. Yes, that was very strange. Fourteen chests filled with earth. One of the slaves told me that twenty just like them had been shipped to the widow in Constantinople." He scowled. "I wonder what kind of pagan rites she enacts with that earth?"

"Pagan rites?" Ghornan asked, heavy brows rising.

"What else would she require it for?" Pope Sylvestros twitched with indignation. "Rites of fertility, no doubt, or some other abomination." He indicated another line on the list. "This might interest you: twenty-eight platters of silver. They were in a storeroom along with those large brass tubs. Two barrels of sweet oil, and a whole chest filled with spices, which could be worth a great deal. The chest itself is an old one, all antique lacquerwork with brass fittings. It might be as much as four or five centuries old, and there are some who would like it for that reason alone."

Ghornan rubbed his stubbled chin. "The Spairei Krohma already has a little cargo consigned for the voyage back to Constantinople; we can take the most salable items from this villa, and if that goes well, then we can return for more on my next trip. In the meantime, if you find any other villas that are promising, and that have not been the headquarters for the army, make a note of them. I think that we might be fortunate if we can keep from becoming too greedy, or taking too much from one place. We must loot with discrimination." He belched laughter at his own humor.

"We are not looting," said Pope Sylvestros.

"No? What would you call it?" He gave the pope a friendly thump on the shoulder. "Conversion? Donation?" This time he did not laugh. "Whatever hypocritical reason you have, embrace it if it salves your conscience. And continue to find likely sites for our activities."

Suddenly he lunged to his feet and battered open the nearest door. Beyond the landlord stood, his stained mantele caught in his hands, his face guilty. "Well, well, well, what goes on here?"

"Nothing, Captain. Nothing. I was only curious to know if you had finished your business so that I could resume business."

"For only the two of us? Your tavern isn't very popular these days. Could it be that you were hoping to augment your earnings by applying for a reward as an informant?"

"Never!" the landlord said stoutly as his ruddy face turned hideously pale.

"Ah!" Ghornan was shorter than the landlord, and not as stout, but he was strong as the trunk of an oak tree, and he flung the man across the room with less effort than most would have thought possible. "You craven. You don't even lie well." He strode over to the counter and helped himself to another cup of wine. As he drank, he regarded the landlord, saying at his most affable, "You know, I once caught one of my sailors trying to sell off part of my cargo. I took some of the rope from the sails and I had it soaked in pitch, and then I stuffed it down his gullet and up his ass. It burned quite a while."

The landlord was gulping for air, his eyes wild with terror. "I swear, Captain, by the Mother of God, that I never intended to do—"

"I think," Ghornan went on as if he had not heard the landlord, "that this time I might wrap the rope around the body a couple of times, just to speed things up."

The landlord scrambled to his feet. "You would never do such a thing, not with a priest to watch you."

"What do you think this pope would do? How could he stop me if I decided to act?" He glanced from the landlord to Pope Sylvestros and back again. "How could he stop me?"

With a choking cry, the landlord bolted from the room.

Pope Sylvestros had risen. "He will inform against us."

"Oh, no he won't. I have four crewmen waiting outside; they'll catch him for us. I'll tend to him later." He came and sat back down opposite the pope.

"What… what will you do to him?" he asked uncertainly.

"Do you really want me to tell you?" was the sardonic response. When Pope Sylvestros faltered, Ghornan picked up the pages from the table. "Come. Let's decide what we're going to take this time."

Numbly Pope Sylvestros nodded and turned his mind away from the landlord's fate to the prospect of possible riches.

* * *

Text of an announcement sent throughout the Byzantine Empire.

To all subjects, citizens, and slaves of the Emperor Justinian; your attention, prayers, and devotions are required to mourn the death of the Empress Theodora, who passed from worldly travail into bliss on the feast day of Saint Felix of Nola, after enduring with fortitude the ravages of disease.

Coming so soon after the Feast of the Nativity, her death in this world is seen as especially blessed and more than silences the calumnies that have been spoken of her while she lived and grew in grace as the beloved wife of Emperor Justinian. Any person so lost to faith and charity who believes and repeats all or any part of the lies that have been spread about the virtuous Empress Theodora risks his body in this life and his soul in the next. Empress Theodora rose from her obscure beginnings through her innate kindness and goodness, and it was God's approval that brought her to the throne and bed of the Emperor Justinian.

Anyone discovered defaming the memory of this most blessed Empress will face the full weight of civil and ecclesiastical justice, and the only mercy that will avail so malignant a person then will be the Mercy of God.

For one year the Byzantine Empire will mourn for Empress Theodora. Those who do not observe this period will come under rigorous scrutiny.

By the order of

Kimon Athanatadies

Court Censor

at the behest of

the Emperor of Byzantion, Justinian I

PART IIDrosos

Text of a letter from Antonina to her husband Belisarius.

To my esteemed and beloved husband on the Eve of Good Friday, hail and embraces.

With Theodora dead, there is nothing more I can do on your behalf with Justinian. He has refused to receive either me or those officers—notably Drosos and Chrysanthos—who have continued to support you, and in fact it appears that their constancy has fed his suspicions that you are gathering men around you for the purpose of overthrowing him and assuming the throne yourself.

If you have any such plan, my husband, this is the time to act, for I would be astonished if you were permitted to remain in Italy until the end of Spring, given the Emperor's current state of mind. While you have never confided such ambitions to me, I would certainly support you in any advancement or endeavor you wish to undertake, and doubtless you have as worthy a claim to leadership as has Justinian. You have always been loyal, and I do not mean to impugn your loyalty, but there have been those in the past who have professed themselves loyal to the Empire and not to the Emperor. If this is truly the case with you, you are now at that time when action is necessary or you will lose the day and the chance you seek, should you seek it at all.

I am gratified, naturally, that you depend on my affection for your strength, and your avowal of love and continuing passion is most flattering to a woman of my age, but for the moment, let us turn our attention to more pressing matters. There will be time enough later for tenderness and kisses. Now we must take care to minimize the damage that has been done so that you do not lose all credibility at court and thereby endanger yourself even more than is currently the case.

You would do well to send word to all your officers, current and former, that you are devoted to the Emperor and his vision of a New Roma. That is essential if you are not to be implicated in treason before the year is over. When you have done that, I suggest that you do your utmost to expand the area you control in Italy and show your zeal when you do. This may not do much in the long run, and it could strain your supplies and men again, but you must believe me: Justinian demands a victory or he will hold you personally responsible. Once that happens your time in his good graces is over entirely.

Let me tell you now that you are being foolish to plan to live quietly until the worst of this is past. You must not entertain such thoughts even for a moment. Without success and a great display of military prowess, all the lies that have been told of you will be accepted as true and you will be powerless indeed. If Justinian orders you back to Konstantinoupolis, you may be sure that it is to keep watch over you and to undermine any base of power you may have established.

Yes, you may be confident that my care and affection continues unabated no matter what is thought of you. I would be a poor wife if I allowed anything else to color my conduct. If you are exiled, then it is fitting that I accept exile with you, or enter the Church, which I do not intend to do. I know that you will always be a good husband to me, and will never disgrace our union in any way.

That, however, is not sufficient after all you have done for the Empire and the ungrateful Emperor who has chosen to assuage his grief for his beloved wife through measures even more stringent than ones he has taken previously. It is not wise to observe this, perhaps, but there is a severity in Justinian's nature that without Theodora's presence might prove to be a trial to us all. He is a demanding man and what he requires of his people is more extensive than most of them realize. Without any influence with the Emperor, you are the one he is going to vent his feelings upon, and it is time to prepare, one way or another, for that day.

You have an opportunity granted to few. It is for you to act or to fail now, not in some later time when the issues are clearer, for then you will not have access to the men and supplies that are around you now. Do not reject my suggestions out of hand, my husband. They are made for love of you and the Empire.

By my own hand

Antonina

1

It was a contrived meeting, one that Simones had taken great pains to make appear both accidental and fortuitous. The fish market was so busy that everyone elbowed and shouted and shoved in an effort to reach the stalls where the various fishermen had set up slabs to show their catch. In such a setting, two important household slaves might expect to find each other trying to purchase the same sole.

"You are the majordomo to the Roman widow, aren't you?" asked Simones, feigning doubt.

"Yes; Niklos Aulirios," he said with a gesture that indicated he was willing to permit Simones to purchase the fish.

"Oh, that's right. You're Greek. I think the reason I didn't place you at first was that I can't remember that you aren't as Roman as your mistress." He handed over the coins to the fisherman without haggling and told the man where the sole was to be delivered. "See that you send it at once; my mistress wishes to serve it this evening and it must be properly prepared."

"You're part of Belisarius' household, aren't you?" asked Niklos as he moved away from the front of the booth. He shaded his eyes against the spring sun and watched as the eunuch made his way to his side.

"Yes. It is not so great an honor as it once was, but what slave is free to choose his master?" The philosophical tone was belied by the discontented set of his mouth.

"Or what bondsman, if it comes to that?" retorted Niklos as he indicated a booth where chilled wine mixed with honey and fruit juice was being sold. "I have a few pieces of copper. Join me."

"You're being generous to a stranger," said Simones, hardly able to believe that their meeting was going so well.

"I am the stranger here. And I am curious about your mistress. Olivia Clemens has not had the pleasure of entertaining your mistress recently, and I was curious why." He found a bench and sat down so that the shadow of the nearest wall fell across him.

"My mistress has not gone out much since… recent events." Simones sighed. "Even her good friend Eugenia has not been in the great lady's presence of late."

"Has the General returned yet?" asked Niklos politely, although he knew that Belisarius had come back to Konstantinoupolis more than a week ago.

"Yes; at the Emperor's insistence, there was no official welcome." Simones ran his tongue over his lips, then wiped his brow with the cuff of his sleeve.

"From the rumors, welcome would not be the word for it," Niklos suggested, raising his hand to signal one of the serving slaves of the wine merchant.

"Sadly there is a rift between the General and the Emperor," said Simones at his most neutral. "The Emperor fears that the General has become too used to command and wishes to expand his conquests." He watched Niklos carefully. "Those who are Belisarius' friends are of interest to the Emperor, of course."

"Why of course?" asked Niklos innocently, although he knew the answer before he asked his question.

"Because the Emperor wishes to know that he is secure," said Simones, doing his best to control his impatience.

"Bring us two of your nectars," said Niklos to the slave who approached them. "And if there are any of those little cakes, one or two of them would be welcome, wouldn't they?" This last was to Simones.

"They are tasty," he said curtly, wanting to guide Niklos back to the matter at hand. "It is good of you to offer."

"Nonsense. It is good to find someone who is so cordial."

In a Konstantinoupolitan Simones would have suspected that so gracious a remark hid sarcasm, but coming from Olivia's bondsman, he was confident that there was no ulterior message in the few words. "I would be your friend, Niklos, if you would allow it. There are real advantages in my friendship."

"Are there?" He took the two cups the serving slave brought and handed the youth three copper coins. "For the drink and for your trouble."

"You Romans are always very free with money for slaves," Simones observed critically.

"It is a Roman custom, and my mistress keeps to Roman ways." He gave the larger cup to Simones. "Long life and favor to the Emperor and our mistresses," toasted Niklos, though he only tasted the nectar before he set the cup down.

"Of course," Simones seconded, taking a deep draught of his drink. He wanted to resume control of their conversation without appearing too obvious. "About your mistress. She knew Belisarius in Roma, didn't she?"

"Yes. She gave him the use of her villa when she left and she received much assistance from your mistress for this." He looked at Simones. "And surely you know this."

"Some of it. A man in my position cannot question his owner too closely." He tried to be self-effacing, but did not succeed entirely.

"Then you are aware that the friendship had its origins in Roma," Niklos declared. "And you must know that my mistress owes your master a debt of gratitude for all he has done to assist her now that she lives in this city."

"I would have thought that such an honor belonged more to Drosos," said Simones with asperity before he could stop himself.

"Well, Drosos is Belisarius' Captain, isn't he?"

"Yes," Simones agreed with polite savagery. He brought his rising temper under control. "Does that mean that Belisarius took her as a lover?"

"Saint Stephanos, no," Niklos said with a laugh, his dark, reddish eyes dancing. "My mistress rarely consorts with men who have wives. There have been very few exceptions to the rule in all the time I have been with her."

"And that has been for a while, I gather," Simones prompted smoothly.

"Longer than you would think possible," Niklos confirmed with a touch of irony in his voice.

"And… you must forgive me for asking this, but I do not mean disrespect." He stared down into the cup. "She is actually a widow, is she, and not simply a courtesan who has taken a convenient lie to cover her sins." His face grew sharp, almost predatory, but he did not realize that Niklos saw.

"She was widowed before I became her bondsman," said Niklos truthfully, not adding that he had been with her for more than two hundred years. "Her husband was found guilty of treason and other crimes. For that reason alone, she was not eager to marry again."

"Such acts stick to wives, don't they?" Simones said with a contemptuous turn of his mouth.

Niklos said nothing but signaled for a second drink for Simones. "Forgive me if I do not have another," he said to Antonina's eunuch slave. "I have a poor head for wine."

"Sensible to know your limits," Simones said as if he approved; he made a note of this weakness with a sense of satisfaction.

"So my mistress tells me." He gave two more coins to the slave and waved the youth away.

"About your mistress," Simones continued ruthlessly, "how is it that she prefers to live as she does?"

"She is a Roman, my Greek friend, and she lives as a Roman woman of the highest class lives. If she would rather not be a wife, that does not make her a whore because she is not a religious." He smiled at reminiscences Simones could not share. "There were times when her life would have been religious, but these things change."

"Do not say that where officers of the Court Censor can hear you. Kimon Athanatadies is not known for his sense of humor." Now Simones took a firmer stance with Niklos. "You apparently are not aware of how different things are here in Konstantinoupolis. In Roma perhaps it is not a serious matter to question the ways of the Church. Here, the Emperor is no cynic whose faith is an act of politics. He is a man of true devotion, and his court is the same. If you wish to pass unscathed, then you will have to mend your ways."

"Is that what you have been trying to tell me?" asked Niklos with an appreciative grin. "I have been wondering what is your purpose in talking with me. You are worried that my mistress might say or do something unwise, and I am grateful that you, or more correctly your mistress, I suppose, are concerned on her behalf." As he spoke, letting himself rattle on foolishly, he watched Simones, looking for some indication of what Antonina's slave actually sought. "Yes, I suppose my mistress is a little stubborn about how she lives. Romans are like that, you know. They must always be Roman, no matter how inappropriate it might be. I have wondered myself if it would be best to keep to the old ways here, but I am a bondsman, and it is not my place to correct the behavior of my mistress. Still, if things are as you imply, then I must do something to encourage her to reconsider." He stopped and pointed to the second cup. "You're not drinking, Simones. Isn't this to your liking?"

"It is pleasant," snapped Simones, his patience almost exhausted. "You seem to think that this is nothing but an entertainment."

"Oh, no; I wouldn't make so grave an error," he said with mockery in the back of his eyes. "You are trying to give me a message that has to do with my mistress. I realize that."

Simones started to rise, then thought better of it. "You have a little of the jist of it," he said with no attempt to make his words cordial. "But you don't grasp the ramifications. If your mistress continues as she is now, she might well come under close scrutiny. Those who have been of assistance in any inquiry will escape the worst of the results of such scrutiny. If she is questioned, your prior assistance will be weighed in determining what culpability you share with her."

Niklos stared, amazed at the blatant threat Simones offered. He had expected pressure but not coercion. "I am a bondsman, and there are laws that limit what I may do," he said cautiously.

"There are laws that supercede your bond," Simones declared. "There are the laws of the Emperor and God which no bond can overrule." He faced Niklos squarely. "There are also laws that reward true service to the Emperor and God by the ending of bonds. It is something to consider."

"It is," Niklos agreed somberly. "Let me understand you; if I give information on my mistress before an inquiry is "made into her actions by the Censor, that will be a factor in what treatment I, as her bondsman, receive, if judgment goes against her."

"In part, yes," Simones said, his face set in a ferocious smile.

"And, of course, if I make reports, it might increase the chance of the inquiry being undertaken at all," Niklos went on in a conversational way. "So if the judgment went in her favor, I would be the one blamed for bringing false testimony against my mistress and abjuring the terms of my bond."

Simones came close to snarling. "It isn't the way it is done here."

"Isn't it?" Niklos asked. "Well, you will have to forgive me if I require a little time to think this over. I have already spoken with a few of the Censor's officers, and your reminder, while well-meant, comes at a time that fills me with doubt." He rose abruptly. "I don't know why so many of you want to discredit my mistress, but you will not have my help in doing it."

"Consider the alternatives before you make such a rash decision," Simones warned him. "You have as much to lose as she does, and for a man of your position, the methods we use might be more than you want to endure."

Niklos' eyes were distant as he regarded Simones. "I have listened to men like you before, Simones. You cannot bear it that Olivia has her own life and her own ways. You refuse to let her be. Well, though I am only a bondsman and nothing more than her majordomo, I will not abandon her, especially to jackals like you and the men you serve." He deliberately reached down and tipped over his cup which was almost full. The contents ran over the bench and splattered onto the pavement.

"You're an arrogant fool," spat Simones.

"A thing I have learned from you," Niklos said sweetly. "I have listened to all your advice, and now I will give you some of mine: leave Atta Olivia Clemens alone. She harms no one. She is living within your laws. She has no ambition to seek power here. If you force her to change, you will regret it."

"Will I?" Simones growled. "You know nothing of it."

"And if you persist in these attempts to suborn me, I will inform not only my mistress, but I will request that she inform yours. I do not think that Antonina would welcome so deceitful a slave in her household." He turned on his heel and strode away into the market, leaving Simones to curse him.

By the time he reached Olivia's house, Niklos was no longer satisfied that he had managed his meeting with Simones as well as he had thought he had at first. He entered his quarters in a thoughtful mood which darkened steadily with the day, so that by nightfall, he was filled with melancholy foreboding.

It was after most of the household had retired that Niklos sought out Olivia in her study where she was passing the night reading.

"You look terrible," she said as he entered the room, and her words were only half in jest.

"I'm not surprised," he said, sitting down across from her. "I fear I have done you poor service this afternoon."

"Impossible," she said affectionately as she set the old scroll she had opened aside. "What's troubling you?"

"Simones, Antonina's eunuch," he said, the words tasting spoiled in his mouth.

Olivia waited, her hazel eyes on his. She said nothing, but her attention was apparent in every line and angle of her body. Her silence was patient and unawkward, for she and Niklos had too many years together for her to need to urge him; he would speak in his own time.

Finally the story came out, a bit disjointed and with occasional digressions, but recounted accurately and without too much apprehension coloring the tale.

"The Censor and now Simones. What do you make of it?" Olivia asked when Niklos was finished.

"I don't know, but none of it pleases me." He folded his arms, sighing heavily. "I assume that if they are attempting to enlist my aid against you that there are other spies in the household."

"That's likely; we expected it," she said serenely.

"I don't like it," he said.

"Nor do I."

He lunged to his feet and began to pace. "What are we going to do?"

"What can we do? We will have to wait and find out why we are suspect, and of what, and by whom." She stared up at the ceiling. "It may be nothing more than Belisarius. Now that he has been recalled and stripped of command, there are vultures waiting to pick over his carcass. If they are seeking more ways to discredit him, they will have to find someone other than me to aid them."

"And if it isn't Belisarius?" asked Niklos.

"For the time, we will have to assume that it is," Olivia decided. "I am Drosos' lover, Drosos is Belisarius' Captain; I provided housing for Belisarius in Roma and I am here under his sponsorship. That is more than reason enough for the Court Censor. I am a Roman widow. Spying on me is a simple thing and the risks are minimal."

"Then you want me to do nothing." Niklos was growing angry. "What happens if the Court Censor decides to imprison me? What then? How do I account for what I am? And what if he imprisons you?" This last question was flung out with passion, but as soon as it was spoken, he changed, coming toward her with sympathy in his face. "By the Horses of Poseidon," he said contritely. "I didn't intend—"

Olivia had turned her face away, but now she looked at him and there was grief in her eyes. "It's all right, Niklos. You're right, I suppose. And if I am wrong, if I underestimate the risks, then you and I have a great deal to lose, and it is not merely our lives. We've already lost those once." This last was an unsuccessful joke. "Please, at least chuckle for me, or I will become as morose as you are."

"I'm… I'm sorry, Olivia. I can't." He looked down at her. "There are times I despair."

"And I." She got up and came to his side. "Niklos, if you think we must take greater precautions, then I will abide by your decision. You may be wiser than I about this. I dislike this place, its reek of holiness and condescension so much that I might misjudge our danger by my very dislike." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "That time in Caralis, when the ship had been blown off course."

"I remember." Now there was a hint of amusement in his response.

"I overlooked the most obvious danger because I was so utterly miserable and furious. This might be the same thing, and if it is, it would be unforgivable of me to ignore it. Only fools and cowards make the same error twice."

"Since you're neither of those, then—" He put his arm around her and patted her shoulder. "I think what we need most is our own spy in the ranks; what do you say?"

She sagged against him and then straightened. "I would like to say that I leave it up to you, but that's no answer. Very well. I agree, as little as I want to. One of the slaves will have to be taken into our confidence, at least to some degree, and we will have to find some means to establish the slave's reliability." She moved away from him. "It's all so petty, when you think of it."

"Whether it is or not, it could cost more than either of us wants to pay," Niklos reminded her.

"True." She fell into a musing silence. "Do you have any recommendations about a slave?"

"No; do you?" He had learned long ago to trust her sense about people, for her impressions were always more accurate than his. "Tell me."

She did not answer at once, and when she did, her tone was slightly remote. "That Eastern woman, I think. Zejhil is her name. The one who comes from Vagarshapat, if that's the place I think it is."

Niklos regarded her with interest. "Why her? The rest of the slaves treat her oddly. They don't trust her."

"That's why, in part," Olivia said. "She will be under less suspicion because she is already thought strange." She looked at him and shook her head. "You don't really understand, do you?"

"No," he admitted. "But I know that you do, and that's sufficient."

"I'm grateful for your confidence," she said lightly. "I will want to speak to her in the morning. See that she is sent to me before the first meal. I don't want the summons to start gossip."

Niklos was deeply relieved. The worry had not left him, but he no longer felt that he and Olivia were floundering, at the mercy of the shifting Imperial tides that had claimed so many others. "Very well, I'll see that she is sent to you. For what purpose?"

"Oh, to inspect my clothes. Something must need mending." She reached down and picked up the scroll. "I was hoping that we might have respite here, but I was wrong."

"Olivia—" Niklos began.

She rolled the scroll tightly. "I used to think that there would come a time when I would not have to live with…oh, with fear and anger around me, poisoning the world. I thought there would be good fellowship and sensible actions because we would grow wiser and more caring." She put the scroll back in its pigeon hole, then glanced over at the small ikonostasis. "I feel as if all our time is spent in terrible darkness, and that if we are fortunate, from time to time we stumble into a little light. If we are not too frightened of what we see, we huddle around it, like traders in the desert at their fires. But most are terrified or blinded, and they seek the darkness again, preferring that to—" She shook her head. "Forgive me."

"Always," said Niklos, more moved by what she had said than he wanted to admit.

This time her smile was genuine. "You're too good to me, old friend."

"Me? Never." He came to her side, kissed her cheek, and went to the door. "Zejhil, tomorrow morning."

She nodded. "I suppose I must." She turned away and did not look back again when she heard him close the door.

* * *

Text of a letter to Olivia from Sanct Germain.

To my most cherished Olivia, hail from Perath.

Your letter reached me after five months, which is good time, or so I am informed. For the next year I will be here at Perath and can be reached at the House of Foreign Scholars. I hope you will send me word of how you are, for you seemed unhappy with your life in Constantinople, and that saddens me. You have already endured so much, and to have that haven denied you grieves me more than I can tell you.

How good to know that Drosos is with you. He may not be able to compensate for your vexation, but surely you find some consolation in his company. Love given so honestly is rare indeed, as you and I both have cause to know. It has been many, many years since I knew such intimacy; thinking back, I cannot recall such profound rapture since you and I were lovers. Treasure your Captain Drosos, Olivia.

You say that you suspect Belisarius will be removed from command, and you believe that it is foolish. Of course it is. But are you surprised, you who saw the Year of the Four Caesars and knew Tigellinus? If Belisarius is the man you say he is, no Emperor could tolerate having him in power; as it is he is a living rebuke to Justinian.

This hardly provides the comfort I wish I could give you, and for that I rely on your understanding. There are so few things I can offer at this distance, and that distresses me. Still, in spite of it all, this brings you my enduring love.

Sanct Germain

his seal, the eclipse

by the good offices

of Brother Petros

on pilgrimage to Roma

2

Captain Vlamos strove to hide his embarrassment. "I have to take your sword as well, General," he said to Belisarius as he and his men waited in the vestibule of Belisarius' house.

"Why? Who is there for me to use it on but myself?" Belisarius asked with a bitter laugh. "Or is that Justinian's fear? Does he think I will deprive him of my shame?"

"It isn't wise to speak so to us, General," Vlamos said stiffly. "The Emperor has given his orders and we are his sworn officers. There is nothing—"

Belisarius held up his hand to stop this confession. "I am also his sworn officer, little as he believes it." He reached down and unbuckled his sword. "Take it. It's only a symbol, but that is enough. The Emperor has already taken my personal guard, and he has restricted my movements."

"General." Vlamos held the sword as if he expected it to strike of its own accord.

"Well, he is Emperor and I am his General, no matter what he believes, and I will be his General unto death."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. "I will do what I am able to, and I will strive to understand what it is that he wishes of me."

"He wishes your loyalty, General," said Vlamos, delivering this statement with the stiffness of one repeating a lesson by rote.

"Then he has his wish," said Belisarius, suddenly weary and out of patience with the ceremony. "I have always been loyal, and I will always be loyal. It sorrows me that the Emperor is not aware of this, but I can do little but protest. Those who have told the Emperor anything else of me lie. Those who have sought to have me removed from command for fear that I might use my position against Justinian do so without justification." He folded his arms. "Will you inform Justinian of this?"

"We are to give our report to Kimon Athanatadies, and he will present a report to the Emperor," Vlamos said, being as meticulous as he could. "I am only Captain of the Guard; I cannot address the Emperor directly."

"That's new," said Belisarius, surprised at the information. "How long has this been the case?"

"A year." He looked away from Belisarius, fixing his gaze on the murals of martyred saints. "It has been determined that the Emperor requires… less interference from those who are not of true importance to the Empire."

"That's a mistake, especially if the Censor thinks that the Captain of the Guard is not important to the Empire," said Belisarius dryly. "He could come to regret that decision one day."

"Is that meant—" Vlamos started.

"As a word of caution, nothing more. If a man does not think those who guard him are important, he invites problems. I was thinking of the Caesars who were overthrown by the Praetorian Guard, who watched over them."

"We are not Praetorians," Vlamos pointed out uneasily.

"No, but Justinian might err as the Caesars did," Belisarius said. "It would grieve me if that were to happen." He glanced at the other officers with Vlamos. "Is that all, or is there something more we must do before this is over?"

"I must announce to your household what is and is not permitted here now that the Emperor has removed your command and your personal guard." Vlamos coughed, the only display of emotion he permitted himself.

"Must it be the whole household, or can I limit it to the majordomo, who will give orders to the rest?" He thought it galling that he would have to face his slaves at this time; it was sufficiently degrading to be denounced before soldiers; to have the terms of his disgrace announced to his slaves was intolerable.

Although Vlamos had been told to give the orders to every member of the household, he said, "The family and majordomo will suffice." He would deal with his reprimand—and there would surely be one—later.

"Very well." He clapped his hands. "Simones! Arius!" The summons was sharp and loud as orders on a battlefield. "Come here. Bring your mistress and her aunt. And my brother." For the first time in his life, he was grateful that he had no children, and that as a bastard, he could not directly dishonor his father.

Vlamos and his men waited in silence while the summoned members of the household came to the vestibule and stood in front of the murals of the suffering holy men.

Simones and Arius stood apart from the rest, both attentive, both curious. They knew that Antonina was consumed with rage at the way Justinian was treating her husband, and both wondered if she would be able to contain her wrath during the proceedings. Both slaves waited as Captain Vlamos prepared to recite the Emperor's mandate.

"General Belisarius," Vlamos declared with almost no inflection. "You are required to give up your command and all claims to command. You are to surrender your personal guard and all personal support of those guards. You will be permitted to maintain your house and your fortune in the manner you wish as long as you do not have guards or the support of guards as part of it. You are not to receive any military officers without the presence of a pope or an officer of the Censor in attendance, and any defiance of this requirement will bring with it an assumption of treason on the part not only of General Belisarius but of the officer in question. If the General is as devoted to the Emperor as he insists, he will be at pains not to implicate his officers in any possible guilt. The members of General Belisarius' household may not consort with members of the households of other military officers but in the presence of a pope or an officer of the Censor. This restriction includes all female members of the household in their dealings with the females of other households."

Antonina gave a short, stifled cry, but said nothing more. Her aunt, a little, wizened creature in a simple dark brown paenula, reached over and put her hand on Antonina's arm.

"There is not to be written communication of any kind between General Belisarius and any military officer," Captain Vlamos went on, "except if it has been read and copied by an officer of the Court Censor. Any communication that is clandestine will be assumed to be treasonous, and will result in imprisonment of the officer involved in the communication."

"Is that all?" Belisarius asked when Vlamos fell silent.

"For the time being," Vlamos answered. "I'm sorry, General. I have to say it that way."

"I'm sorry too, Captain," said Belisarius heavily. "All right, you may tell whomever-it-is you report to that I have heard Justinian's strictures and I will abide by them, though I maintain now, as I have from the first of this regrettable misunderstanding, that there is no need for the Emperor to take these precautions, and I will pray God every day that the Emperor will come to know this for himself." He made a small reverence to Captain Vlamos. "Thank you for discharging your duty."

"You should curse me," Vlamos said with feeling.

"What would be the point of that?" Belisarius asked. "Take what you must take and leave me. I would like to spend some time alone with my family." He nodded to Antonina and his brother.

"Of course," said Captain Vlamos, and barked a command at his men. "We must post a guard at your door, so that we may know who comes here, how often, and when."

"Certainly," said Belisarius, already turning away from the soldiers. "Come into the private reception room, Lysandros; we must talk."

Lysandros set his jaw and glared at his older brother. "I have little to say to you, Belisarius."

"But I have a great deal to say to you," said Belisarius, his face darkened with sorrow. "When I have done, you may say what you like."

"And what of me?" demanded Antonina, who had contained herself as long as she could and was now filled with indignant fury.

"Let me have a short time with Lysandros, my delight. You and I have many hours to spend together; Lysandros returns to Nicaea in the morning, and who knows when we will speak face to face again?" He watched the door of his house as Captain Vlamos and the Guard soldiers left. "Anus, Simones, one of you close that, will you?"

Arius busied himself with the door; Simones went to Antonina. "Great lady, would you want a cup of honied wine?"

"I would want a cup of hemlock and gall," she said in a hate-thickened voice. "I want poison and acid and instruments of torture to exact vengeance."

"My niece," said her aunt in a small, distressed voice.

"To think that this could happen!" Antonina burst out, and then began to weep in great, angry sobs, refusing to be comforted. "I am going to my quarters," she informed the air, shrugging off the ineffective consolation of her aunt.

"Your wife is overwrought," observed Lysandros as Belisarius closed the door.

"She is also in despair, and I am the cause of it," Belisarius said.

"You are the cause of misfortune for all of us," Lysandros accused him. "You ought to have thought of that before you embarked on your schemes."

Belisarius looked steadily at his brother. Lysandros was eight years his junior, and had had a different father; the two brothers had little in common except the blood of their mother. "I had no schemes, except those aimed at running Totila's army out of Italy. Believe that or not as you wish. It is the truth."

"Then why does the Emperor confine you in this way? Why are you relieved of command and your personal guard? What sort of innocent do you think I am, brother?" Lysandros put his hands on his hips, which were already growing ample.

"I don't think you are innocent, or foolish, or any similar thing," Belisarius said carefully. "But I hope that you have some faith in me yet, for our mother's sake if no other."

Lysandros laughed and the sound was mirthless. "Then you are the one who is foolish. How could you have let this happen? I have already been told that I can no longer sell my horses to the army because of you. That accounts for more than half my earnings, and I am to lose it because you could not act in time to preserve your rank." He turned so quickly that he overset a brazier.

As the iron tripod clattered to the floor, Belisarius went to right it. "I am the Emperor's General, Lysandros. That is all I am."

"You mean you are not a husband and a brother? You're just a General?" He hurled his words like clubs and took a perverse satisfaction when they struck.

"I am all those things," Belisarius said quietly as he steadied the brazier. "And it seems I have failed at all of them."

Lysandros snorted. "Penitent, too. Doubtless I should tell you now that you are forgiven for all the misfortune you have brought down on everyone. But I am not deceived by your ways, brother. You aspired to the purple and you failed to grasp it for yourself, and now you are taking refuge in contrition. No one accepts this false front you show to the world. All the world knows you are guilty of treason and we are amazed that our Emperor should show you the clemency he does. If I were in Justinian's position, I would see you flayed on the steps of Hagia Sophia, and would hang your skin from the palace gates."

Belisarius listened to this without interruption; only the quickening of his breath revealed his feelings. "Is that the lot?"

"How can you face me? How can you face your wife, who has been your staunchest ally at court for all the years you were in foreign lands?" He slammed his fist into his open hand. "By all the Saints in the calendar, if I were she, I would despise you."

"You despise me enough for you both," said Belisarius. "You may speak of yourself to me, but you are not to say anything for Antonina." He read astonishment and guilt in his brother's face. "You have traded on our relationship for years, and now you are about to lose that which I made possible. You are entitled to disappointment, even anger, but you are not permitted to drag my wife into this dispute."

"Belisarius—" Lysandros blustered.

"No, you have had your opportunity, and now I will have mine. I have had to listen to more accusations and calumnies in the last two months than I have heard in all my previous years, and you now will have to hear me out." He hooked a thumb into his belt. "You think—because it is the current myth bruited about the court—that I was on the verge of rebelling against the Emperor, and it was only the swift action of the Censor that prevented me from attacking Justinian. That is not and never was the truth. I have never aspired to the purple, as you claim. I have had all that I could deal with in fighting to reclaim the old Roman Empire for Justinian. I was satisfied to be the first General of the Emperor, and I was content to follow his orders to the best of my abilities and to the extent that my men and supplies made possible. I was and am now loyal to the Emperor. I am not a traitor. If I must live this way in order to satisfy the Emperor of that, then I am content to do it, and pray only that I will have the chance to show that everything I have said is true."

"And the spies will tell the Censor," jeered Lysandros.

"If there are spies they can tell whom they wish. It is the truth. Understand that, Lysandros, if you understand nothing else." He turned on his heel and went to the door. "If there is nothing else, I will leave you. I am sorry that you must suffer because of me, but you chose to prosper through our relationship, and so it haunts you now."

"Wait, Belisarius," Lysandros called less certainly.

"Why? So that you can revile me more?" For the first time there was anguish in his voice.

"I… If what you've told me is true," Lysandros said to his brother's back, "then I grieve for you, for you have truly been destroyed by your own honor."

"But you think otherwise," Belisarius said, and left the room. He stood in the hallway for a moment, his emotions in turmoil. This was worse than walking over a battlefield after a victory and seeing the ruined, broken men whose lives purchased it. He ground his teeth together, wishing that he trusted himself to get drunk and end the pain for a few hours.

Simones stood a little farther down the hall, and he hesitated before speaking. "Master, your wife… your wife desires your company."

"In a moment," said Belisarius, not confident he could remain calm with her.

"She is eager for you," Simones informed him.

"In a moment," he repeated. He indicated the door behind him. "My brother is about to depart. I pray you, give him escort."

This was not what Simones hoped for, but he made a reverence. "At once."

"See that he has an appropriate gift. Something suitable. I suppose a dozen brass cups will do." He rubbed his chin, and wished he had the excuse of shaving to postpone what he knew would be a harrowing time with Antonina. He gave a sour smile, that he who had fought armies in Italy and Greece and Africa should falter at an hour with his wife. With that thought to goad him, he went to Antonina's private quarters.

"My husband," Antonina said when Belisarius had made his reverence to her. "My husband, what has happened to us?"

"I wish I knew," he said, thinking how beautiful she was, and how much it hurt him to see her so distressed. He went and wrapped his arms around her, saying softly, "The only comfort I can find in this is that I can be with you, beloved."

She pushed against his embrace. "What is the matter with you? Have you lost all your mettle?"

He strove to hold her, needing her nearness to assuage the other losses he had been forced to accept. "Antonina, please."

"Do not beg me, my husband. I am your wife, and yours by rights. For the Lord of Hosts, take something, if it is only me. You are without any steel." She broke away from him. "How dare Justinian do this to you? How dare he forget all you have done to advance him? If Theodora were still alive, this could never have happened." She dashed her hand over her face as if to banish her furious tears.

"I have asked myself that, Antonina, and I have no answer." He watched her, an ache like a festering wound burning in him. "Antonina."

"Do not speak to me! Do not do anything. I have endured all the words I ever want to hear." She reached to the nearest ikon and flung it across the room. When Belisarius reached out his hand to restrain her, she turned on him, her mouth square with ire. "What use are the Saints? What use is your precious honor if we are driven to this disgrace? Why must you be blameless? Why didn't you plot against the Emperor if this is to be the reward you have?"

"For your own sake, Anton—" Belisarius began, then broke off as Antonina threw herself on him, her hands raised and her nails poised as talons to rake his face and gouge his eyes.

"Coward!" she shrieked. "Fool! Fool! Fool!"

Striving not to hurt her, Belisarius struggled to hold Antonina and pin her arms to her sides. "Antonina," he panted. "Beloved. Wife. My most dear."

Her nails scored his neck before she was restrained. "I hate you," she hissed. "I hate you."

At that, the strength went out of him and he released her, standing without resistance as she scratched and struck him. Only when this gave way to high, keening wailing did he act again. Tenderly he drew her to him, holding her, smoothing her hair, whispering to her. "I can bear the rest, if I must. I will bear it. But I cannot endure to give you pain, Antonina, and your disgust of me is more than I am able to stand. Hush, hush, my dearest, my only beloved. All the rest can be borne, but not your odium. Antonina. Antonina."

Finally she recovered enough to speak without screaming vituperations. She looked at the blood on his face and shoulders, at the rents in his clothing. "Did I do that?"

"It doesn't matter," he said, kissing her brow.

"Did I?"

"Yes." He met her eyes steadily. "You were very angry."

"Yes." Some remaining fire flared in her face, then faded quickly. She let him support her and take her to her bed. "I must sleep," she murmured.

He said nothing, waiting for her invitation which did not come. As he dismissed her body slaves, he watched closely but covertly. "Do you need anything from me?"

"I have already had more from you than ever I sought," she said with consuming bitterness. "I will have to have time, Belisarius. So much has happened." This last was vague and she did not look at him.

"Antonina?" He held out his hand to her. When she did not take it, he let it fall.

"Tomorrow," she said distantly. "Tomorrow, perhaps, we will talk. When I am more myself." It was a dismissal, and he recognized this.

"Very well. Tomorrow."

As he went to the door, she said after him, "Perhaps."

* * *

Text of a letter from Pope Sylvestros to Captain Ghornan.

To the heretical Copt Ghornan for whom I still entertain a certain admiration, hail from Pope Sylvestros, currently in Roma.

Your information about our most recent venture has given me renewed hope in our current enterprise, and I cannot help but believe that if we continue our efforts, we might well do far more than we currently anticipate, given what we have accomplished. It seems to me that a little determination and zeal might provide the impetus your last letter had so little of. While I admire your prudence, I do not think that this is the time for hesitation. Everything has gone so well that I cannot but assume that it will continue to go well for us, no matter what you fear.

I find it ironic that you, who were so determined at the beginning of our project, are now the one who preaches caution and contentment with what we have achieved.

In this regard, let me say that there are still many valuable things to be gained in areas we have been before. We have not, by any means, exhausted the possibilities of our venture as defined in the past, and were we to continue as we have begun, there is no reason to suppose that we would not reap the rewards of our efforts. You have advised that we take time to assess what we have gained, and I concur, but you see this as a point where we might suspend our activities; I see it as the first real spur to us to be more determined than we have been.

You say you are worried at what might befall us because of our partnership, but why should anything unfortunate happen? You are concerned that some authorities could become curious about the achievements we have, and I agree that a little more circumspection about the projects would not hurt us, but I also believe that we must consider the larger benefits we stand to gain from our dealings, and weigh that against the hazards of official objections.

This is not to say that I am unaware of the risks. I know that what we do may be frowned upon by some of those in Roma, but there are those in Konstantinoupolis who will be delighted with our efforts and who will urge us to continue.

We are admonished in scripture to turn ourselves to the labor that we do best and to do it with dedication and determination. It is not unreasonable to assume that what we have accomplished thus far has been due to our determination, and if we only persevere, we might look forward to many more such successes. Before you reject the new venture out of hand, consider the possibilities in this light and you will have to come to the same conclusion I have reached, that there is enough treasure here to justify the things we must do to claim it.

Think of your well-being and you will see that I am right. I pray that you will reconsider and join with me in this expansion of our previous activities. It would pain me to think I might have to search out another to aid me in this worthy pursuit; that would merely serve to increase the danger to all of us, and I cannot think that you would want that.

I will be waiting for you at the villa where we discovered the chalcedony jars. I will be there for a period of ten days, and if at the end of that time you have not come there, I will conclude that you are no longer interested in what we have done and will at that time begin the task of seeking out other assistance.

With prayers that you will be guided by me and continue to champion the work I have begun here, I send you my blessings and a list of those items you will find interesting.

Pope Sylvestros

at the villa of the Gracchi

north of Roma

near Capena on the Via Flaminia

3

"They denied me entrance!" Drosos fumed, his eyes hard with indignation. "They would not let me see him."

Olivia trailed her hand in the fishpond and sought for the right words to console him. "It isn't your fault, Drosos."

"Of course it's not my fault," he concurred, flinging the parchment scroll he had been given halfway across the garden. "It's the damned Censor and his clique that are to blame, and they will answer for it, believe me." He paced down the wide stone path, then came back to her. "Aren't you going to say anything more? Just that it's not my fault?"

"What can I say? I am as distressed as you are; it is a dreadful state of affairs, and I wish it were otherwise. But words do not change these things." She watched the flickering shine of the fish under the water lily pads.

"No, they don't," he agreed, trying to be fair. His disappointment lessened. "You wouldn't want to try to gain entry to Beh'sarius' house yourself, would you?"

She turned, not quite smiling. "I am not prohibited from seeing him, but I am not allowed to carry any messages to him, or bring any writing to the house." It was only two days since she had paid her first visit to Belisarius since his return from Italy, and she was still shocked by the reception she had received at the hands of the Guard who were posted there.

"You could tell him a few things from me, couldn't you?" Drosos suggested, putting his hand on her head and starting to loosen the pins that held her complicated hairdo in place.

"I might," she said, her voice softening as the first lock fell on her shoulder. "If I were caught doing it, I would be prohibited from seeing him again."

"You're clever. They wouldn't catch you," Drosos said belligerently. "Tsakza!" he cursed, kicking at the path, his manner changed from teasing and sensual to restless dissatisfaction in an instant. He dropped one of her hairpins and let it lie at his feet.

"But if they did," she went on, unflustered by his behavior, "I would cease to be much use to you or to him. Drosos, I do not want to see you cut off from your friend."

"My General," he corrected her, moving away from her, her hair forgotten. He paced through her garden.

"Your friend," she insisted gently. "Drosos, if you had a tail it would be lashing. Come back and let us see if there is a way we might reach Belisarius without endangering him or you or me."

"You just said there isn't," he reminded her, close to sneering.

"I said that if I were caught giving him a message I wouldn't be allowed to see him again, and that's another matter entirely." She took the last of the pins from her hair and shook it loose. "Drosos, please."

"They've made a prisoner of him, but they dare not lock him up. The people wouldn't stand for it." He folded his arms and stopped beside her fishpond.

"Whether the people would or wouldn't, the Court Censor isn't going to test his power with Justinian quite yet. As displeased as the Emperor is with Belisarius, he isn't ready to be rid of him entirely, or you can be certain that he would already be locked in a cell or have been condemned as a traitor."

"You learned that in Roma, did you?" Drosos asked her, relenting.

"It's a familiar pattern, you'll allow that." She indicated a place beside her. "Sit. We'll think of something between us."

"You're a lascivious creature, Olivia," he said, not accepting her offer.

"Yes, but right at the moment I am a political one." She sat straight, and even with her fawn-brown hair cascading down her shoulders and back, everything about her implied business and reason. "You will not be happy until we have some tenable solution, and I would rather you be happy while you are with me. So we will consider what is to be done."

Drosos went back to the fishpond. "I don't want you enmeshed in my snares," he said slowly. "I don't mind risking disgrace for myself, but I don't want to bring it on you."

"That's very kind of you," she said, her sincerity more genuine for its simplicity. "And if you were nothing to me, I would not act with you in this, for all that Belisarius befriended me in Roma. However, you are dear to me, and he is my friend, and there is no reason for me to hesitate."

"You're not Konstantinoupolitan. That is always a factor, and it puts you at a disadvantage, no matter how you want to assess this." He had changed again, becoming more determined. "Still, we might arrange something, if you're sure you are willing to do this."

"Magna Mater!" she burst out, exasperated. "Drosos!"

"All right; all right. I'll assume for the time being that you are going to aid me. But I want it understood that if we cannot think of something that is at least reasonably safe that you will stay out of it. They might hesitate at condemning Belisarius, but you're not as distinguished as he; Athanatadies would not balk at confining you. Or worse." His eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't like that, Olivia."

"Nor would I," she agreed. "And I know that you're right. We'll have to work out a prudent way to manage."

She was serious enough, but amusement tinged her voice.

"A prudent conspiracy," he said, and snorted once with laughter.

"Why not?" She rose and went to his side. "What do you want Belisarius to know?"

He looked at her, a little startled by the bluntness of the question. "Isn't this place a little…"

"Niklos and Zejhil are watching us, which ought to prevent anyone else from listening. We're as safe here as we're apt to be most other places. Here, if there is someone listening or watching, we will know of it." She looked at the wall enclosing the garden. "I'm not certain there isn't an urchin in the street with his ear open wide, but that might be the case anywhere, and if that is how we must think, then no one would be safe saying anything anywhere."

"You're made your point," he sighed. "Very well, if you trust your slaves, I suppose I will have to trust them, too. But don't forget that loyalty is purchased with the slave." He said this last with stern cynicism.

"Niklos is a bondsman, not a slave," she reminded Drosos. "Now, what are we to tell Belisarius?" she went on, returning them to the problem.

"I want him to know that if he has any need of his officers for any reason whatever, he has only to get word to me, and we will come to him, and the Pit take the Guard set to watch him." He spoke softly but with emphasis, each syllable rapped out as if he were giving orders on a battlefield.

"You mean that if the rumors are true and Belisarius seeks the purple for himself, you and many of his officers would support him," Olivia said.

"Yes."

"He has said all along that he has no such aspirations," she pointed out.

"I know. I also know that he never thought he would be under house arrest. Ingratitude like that can change a man." He shook his head. "It's the Censor, I know it is. Justinian would not be so unreasonable if he understood.

He's the Emperor, and he is not unjust. I am loyal to him, but I have a greater loyalty to Belisarius. The Emperor… the Emperor does not have men around him who recognize honor, and therefore they advise him unwisely. Justinian would not treat Belisarius this way if he had a few soldiers close to him. He would realize that Belisarius is his champion, and he would reward the service that he has been given in the past."

"But you would support an action on Belisarius' part to overthrow the Emperor?" Olivia asked.

"If nothing else were possible. I would not want to bring Justinian down. He is Emperor. But if there were no other way to remove the Censor and that clique from the Imperial Court, then I would pray to God to forgive me for acting against Justinian. I hope it never comes to that. I hope that there are ways to be rid of men like Athanatadies—he is puffed up with that name of his, thinking he is already illustrious—without having to act against Justinian."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then the sooner it is done, the better for all of us. It would be possible to depose Justinian without imprisoning him, or worse. I do not want the Emperor's blood on my hands, even indirectly. There could be no greater dishonor. It's one thing to dispose of those men who are corrupt and ambitious, but no soldier can rise against his Emperor and think himself worthy of his rank."

"He may be your Emperor, but he's not God, Drosos," Olivia said, chiding him a little.

Drosos responded seriously. "The Emperor is more than the rest of us. He would not be where he is if he were nothing more than a man. Justinian is… an officer of God, and for that reason alone we who are sworn to uphold his reign would imperil more than our lives if we abused his trust. The rest of the court is as fallible as we are, and they are subject to the sins of men. But the Emperor…" He did not finish.

"The Emperor is a man like other men, Drosos," Olivia said very quietly.

"No." He took a deep breath. "I don't expect you to understand. You Romans have had to watch your Church crumble along with the power you had. You don't see that God has taken it from you because you were not willing to find those men who could serve Him as well as the state." He moved away from her. "I know that Belisarius would tell you the same thing."

"Which is why he has not protested his treatment any more than he has?" suggested Olivia. "For those of us who remember the Caesars, this appears strange." She tilted her head and looked at him speculatively.

"They were corrupt and corrupting, men without faith and without the power of God to support them." He touched the cross that held his pallium. "The world was in terrible darkness before Christ redeemed us."

Olivia was silent, not knowing what to say. She had watched the development of Christianity with mixed emotions which in the last century had become increasingly apprehensive. She stared down into the water, watching for the movement of the fish and hoping that Drosos would not insist on discussing his religion with her, for inevitably he would disagree with her.

"You are a Roman," he said again, some little time later.

"As you are well aware," she said, trying to make her voice lighter than her heart.

"Yes. I like that in you. I can say things to you that I could not possibly say to a Byzantine." He reached out and took one soft curl in his fingers. "You do not judge me, do you?"

"Not in the way you mean," she said.

He laughed, not understanding her. "And you are not like the women I have known."

Her smile was stunning. "I should hope not."

"You are not like anyone I have known before." He let her hair go, the fine strands pulling slowly across his palm.

"I know that." She had a fleeting thought of the man she now thought of as her first lover, and recalled how he had cautioned her to keep her secret even when she assumed revelation would be welcome.

"We are so easily loathed, Olivia," he had said in great sorrow. "We are feared and despised, and then it is a simple matter to… be rid of us. Keep your nature to yourself, for your own sake." Looking at Drosos, sensing his turmoil and his desire, she admitted to herself that Sanct' Germain had been right. "Why is that?" Drosos' question cut into her memories.

"It's… my nature," she said slowly and with great care.

"Your Roman nature," he ventured.

"If you like." It was not an answer she wished to give, but one she had learned long ago. There was, deep within her, a yearning to be without guile, to tell Drosos everything about herself—her life and death, five hundred years before, her life since then, the truth of her nature—and she knew that if she did, he would be lost to her. She was amazed to discover how much that mattered to her; she saw Drosos through new eyes.

He rubbed his chin, his thumbnail rasping against his beard. "You are worried about talking to Belisarius, aren't you?"

"Not really," she said. "If he is willing to talk, then I'll know it fairly quickly and that will be all right. If he isn't, then he and I will merely talk like the friends we are. He will apologize for the ruin of my villa and I will tell him how much it saddens me to see him in his… predicament."

"I did mean everything I said," he told her, speaking quickly. "I want him to understand that. For him I would risk perdition, but for no one else."

"Drosos, if Belisarius is as devoted to the Emperor as you are and for the same reasons, he will not permit you to act on his behalf. He might not permit it in any case, for he is protective of his men." She wanted to move closer to him, to offer him what little comfort she could, but she remained where she was, watching him.

"Yes," he said, frowning. "But I must try; I have to find out. You understand, don't you?" This last was a plea, and she felt his anguish.

"I understand. And I will do what I can. Trust me, Drosos. I will find out whatever you need to know, and I will not expose you or Belisarius or myself to any risk beyond the risk of speaking to a man in disgrace." She held out her hand. "Is that enough, Drosos? Will that suffice?"

"I don't know," he said ruefully. He stared at her, respect in his deep brown eyes.

"You're honest, at least," she said, waiting for him to touch her.

"You are willing to take a great chance for me," he said as if aware of it for the first time.

At another time she might have shrugged this off, finding an easy dismissal, but there was something in his face that stopped her. "I value you more than the risk, Drosos."

"I never…"He took three hasty steps toward her. "I didn't realize what…"

"Then you weren't paying attention," she teased him.

"Do you believe that?" he countered, his hands on her shoulders. "Do you?"

"You were paying attention to other things," she said, her eyes half-closed as she studied him. "You have had so many things on your mind."

"You're a sorceress," he said, his hands holding her more tightly.

"No," she said, "and that is one jest that might be dangerous."

He nodded, sobered. "I wish it weren't so. You're enchanting. Will that do?" He pulled her to him, his lips against her brow. "What is it about you? Why do you possess me this way? What makes you so much more than any other woman?"

She wondered briefly if she ought to answer him, but she could not bring herself to do much more than say, "Why are you unlike other men? Why do I prefer you to anyone else?"

He kissed her abruptly, his mouth hard on hers, his arms confining her. As he drew back, he would not release her, but kept his grip on her, as if he feared she would escape him.

"Drosos," she said softly, and kissed the corner of his mouth for punctuation. "Do not fret."

His expression relaxed a bit. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Isn't it?" She slid her arms from around his waist and lifted them so that her hands touched at the back of his neck. "You are so mercurial."

"Me?" he said with surprise. "I'm steady as a rock. Mercurial!" he scoffed.

"You are, you know," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper.

"It's because of you. You do things to me, make me feel things, and then I don't know myself anymore." He was not desperate now, but there was a look to him that would have brought tears to her eyes had she been able to weep.

"That's a wonderful gift to give me," she said, and this time kissed him with passion, leaning into him so that she could feel his body through his clothes.

He was breathing more quickly when they moved apart, and as she stepped back, he kept one hand on her, as if parting from her was unbearable. "Which room?" he asked as she started toward the door.

"Mine, of course," she said, smiling back at him. "There are fresh roses and a vial of perfume and sweet oils in my room."

"Decadent. So decadent." He made the word an endearment.

"Roman," she concurred.

"Roses and perfume and oil," he said as they entered the hallway.

"Yes."

He stopped and drew her to him again, his lips lingering on hers, then brushing her cheek, her eyes, her hair. "Why didn't I do this when I first arrived?" he wondered aloud.

"Because you didn't want to," she said honestly.

"More fool me," he murmured, his hands fumbling with her paenula. "You don't have anything on under this, do you?"

"No," she admitted.

"Shameless, too." He nuzzled her neck, then gently caught her earlobe between his teeth.

"Careful," she warned him playfully.

"Why? you do it to me."

"That's different," she said, moving back a step and taking his hand. "Come. We don't want to entertain the servants."

He laughed aloud. "Of course not," he said, trying to sound prim and failing.

At the door of her bedroom, they kissed again, more intensely, tongues exploring, hands spread wide and moving over backs and shoulders. "For love of—"

"You," he finished for her.

"Of Aphrodite," she corrected, although it was not what she had intended to say at first. "Inside, and get out of those clothes. You are going to madden me if you make me wait too long for you."

"Will you rage and pull out your hair?" he prompted.

"No, I will seize heavy objects and throw them at you," she promised. "Inside."

Chuckling he allowed himself to be tugged through the door, and once it was closed, he reached to her tablion to unfasten it. "Let me. I want—" He could not speak of what he wanted; his eyes were eloquent, his hands explained, his mouth formed a poetry that was more sublime for its lack of words.

Olivia, carried by his passion, felt a wonderful stillness about her, a rapture that was so complete that it suspended both of them with its enormity and its tenderness. She opened all of herself to him, so that when he entered her he penetrated much more than her body. It was the sweetest de.lirium to move with him, to know his savor and weight, his fervor, his ecstasy. She was imbued with his ardor, discovering an awe within herself that had remained inaccessible until now.

As Drosos plunged into release, Olivia found her fulfillment, and so immense was their joy together that her special appetite was gratified almost as soon as her mouth touched him.

They remained as they had been, flesh held by flesh, now unmoving, neither willing to sacrifice their intimacy by separating even to lie in each other's arms.

Olivia looked up into his face, her desires so replete that she could say or do nothing that could add to her bliss. She could feel a thin ribbon of sweat down her ribs and another on her shoulder, and wondered idly if it might be hers as well as his. Damp tendrils of hair clung to her face and the smell of their passion blended with the scent of the roses around them.