“I….” Vasilios forced himself to think about it, really think and then finally shook his head. “Thank you,” he said softly, “but I have lived in other people’s houses my entire life.” His eyes strayed to the small bag of coins. “I would like to try and live on my own a little, now.”
Markos opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, shook his head instead. “I understand,” he said at last, “but remember you are always welcome here.”
“Thank you.” On an impulse, Vasilios reached for Markos’s hand and held it between his own. “Thank you so much for everything.” Markos cupped the side of Vasilios’s face with his free hand and traced his fingers across Vasilios’s jaw before tilting it up slightly. He lightly brushed Vasilios’s lips with his thumb.
“You are a free man now,” Markos said, voice soft and deep, and Vasilios swallowed.
“Yes,” he said, voice equally soft, “yes I am.”
Markos’s head bent, and Vasilios let go of Markos’s hand to reach up and clutch at his shoulders. Their lips brushed together lightly before Markos sat back with a frustrated sigh. Vasilios had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Phyllis pushed the door open.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but there is a young man from the Imperial Palace here to fetch you back.”
Markos made a frustrated noise halfway between a growl and a curse. Vasilios couldn’t help but smile slightly.
“This is going to take all night.” Markos’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Literally.”
“I need to find myself somewhere to stay anyway.” Vasilios stood as well, smoothing one hand down his tunic and reaching for the small pile of clothes from off the couch.
“Have dinner with me.” Markos reached for Vasilios’s hand and clasped it between his own, but then he winced. “I’m not free, I’m afraid, until later this week, but please come and spend some time with me.”
“I would love to.” It was easy. After everything, it was so easy to say it and smile up at Markos as he did.
“Thank you.” Markos squeezed his hands lightly and then turned and headed out of the receiving room and into the hall. Vasilios scooped up his small bag of coins and followed. A young man in a military uniform, with a sword at his waist, his helmet tucked under one arm, and wearing the crest of the Imperial Guard at his shoulder, saluted Markos as Vasilios closed the door behind them.
“The Emperor and his Holiness the Bishop require your presence,” the young soldier informed Markos, who nodded.
“I know.” Markos gave Vasilios one last lingering glance over his shoulder and then followed the young soldier out of the house and into the courtyard.
“Are you staying?” Phyllis asked Vasilios as the sound of their horses hooves faded.
“No.” Vasilios shook his head. “I’m just going.”
Phyllis nodded and opened the door for him, and Vasilios passed out of the house, across the courtyard, and onto the street outside.
For a minute he stood, watching the people go past, soldiers, servants, eunuchs, and every once in a while, a dignitary from one of the well-placed households. He weighed the bag of coins in his hand for a minute and then turned and headed away from the palace and expensive walled villas and toward the rest of the city.
He still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, or where he was going to go, but he’d think of something.
14
AYDAN skittered out from under the bed in the small hours of the morning, and, startling out of sleep, Vasilios thought she’d caught a rat. He lay still, listening for any signs of struggle, prepared to leap out of bed and go for some sort of weapon. When he heard nothing, Vasilios eased out of bed.
There was a little watery moonlight coming through star-shaped holes in the iron grate over the one window he had. It wasn’t much illumination, but it was enough to allow him to light his one small lamp. Squinting against the sudden yellow glow of the oil lamp, he made out his tiny gray kitten locked in a fierce struggle with a rather large moth.
With a sigh, Vasilios fell back against the bed. He closed his eyes and pulled his blanket closer. He could get a few more hours sleep before dawn.
HE WOKE again with pale sunlight coming through the window and some cracks in the ceiling. Aydan was curled up on his chest, sleeping contentedly. He moved her off and stood, then stretched before picking up his clothes, which were folded by the bed. They were plain homespun; any linen embroidered outfit had been long sold. Squatting, he rummaged through the few containers and small baskets of food and poured some wine from its earthenware jug. He sipped it, barely noticing anymore that it was harsh, and unfiltered. When he was done, he headed out of his room and down the narrow, wooden stairs that led all the way down to the ground floor of the building he now lived in. Vasilios eased himself from step to step, not trusting the ancient wooden steps to take his full weight. He was not sure what was directly under the stairs, but his room was at the top of the building, right under the roof, and it was a long way down, even if he would only fall to the next landing. There were landings and doorways leading to other people’s equally tiny rooms all the way down to ground level. At the bottom were the nicer rooms and shop space. The front of the building Vasilios lived in was a wool shop, so when it rained the entire building smelled of damp sheep.
The stairway ended with a door that Vasilios pushed open, letting him out into a small alleyway. Vasilios headed down the alley toward the street. He would go to the public latrines first, relieve his bladder, and then see if he could find someplace that sold cheap flour.
Vasilios shook his head, mentally weighing the coins in the pouch at his waist. Maybe he’d be able to afford a trip to the public baths later as well. He might go over to Markos’s house for the evening meal like they’d planned. Markos had needed to cancel every appointment they’d made for two weeks due to demands by the Emperor, the Bishop and, it seemed to Vasilios, every high-ranking military officer in the entire army.
Tonight, though, it might actually happen. Vasilios couldn’t help smiling at the thought. If he was going over to Markos’s, he would want to bathe. On the other hand, the public baths did cost money, and he didn’t know when he’d find work. Mulling over his options as far as bathing, he turned down the road that led to the latrines closest to his building by the east gate.
IN THE end, he could not afford all the flour he wanted. Still, he did purchase enough to make a little bread. He got back to find someone had let Aydan out into the tiny walled space in between his building and the next. It was more of an alley than anything at all. He hunted her down, and took her back inside as she glared at him balefully.
He stopped by his room briefly to gather up some cooking things before carrying them and Aydan up the short flight of stairs to the rooftop. The roof of his building, like all lower-class buildings, was wide and flat, with a waist-high wall around the edge.
There were already people up there, as always mostly women and children. They sat together in little groups across the expanse of the rooftop, cooking, since cook fires were not allowed in their actual rooms. Other women were washing clothes, chatting with each other or sponging down their children from basins of water.
Vasilios made his way over to a woman who knelt in front of a small coal fire in a metal grate, watched by twin babies, a young girl, and a boy.
“Hello, Mualla.” He smiled at the children as the young woman turned to him.
“Vasilios, come join us.” She smiled at him, and he put Aydan down, and the young boy immediately began trying to coax her to come sit in his lap. “Are you going to go looking for a job again today?” she asked, and he nodded, putting his food down next to hers. She started going through it and adding anything that was needed to the morning meal she was already cooking.
“I plan on going around to a few people who said they’d pass on the word about me to anyone who needed an accountant or bookkeeper, maybe someone to manage their household.” He shrugged, squat
ting down next to her and reaching out to tickle one of the babies’ round bellies. “I don’t have many skills beyond that. I’m not trained in a trade, after all, and unfortunately most people who need someone to keep their books or manage their households aren’t going to bother paying someone to do what one of the household eunuchs could do for free.”
“Nonsense.” She flipped bread off of the griddle onto a clean cloth. “You have skills and experiences lots of merchants could use. Besides, not everyone can afford to pay so much money all at once to buy a eunuch. Something will come up.”
“I hope so.” He stood as the babies began to fuss, picked them up, and balancing one on each hip, bounced them a little. “What about you? Has there been any sign of a job for you yet?”
Mualla shook her head, stirring a small pot of sweetened porridge. “No. No one wants a servant with children to care for, it seems, especially young children or children who require extra care.”
“I hope you find something,” Vasilios told her. “I’ll pass the word on for anyone looking for a cook.”
Mualla smiled up at him at that and then turned toward where the children were playing on a blanket spread across the ground. “Ela,” Mualla called to her daughter, “come and help me with the yogurt.”
“I can,” Vasilios offered, and Mualla snorted.
“I’ve seen you cook. You’re all right chopping vegetables, but beyond that, Ela has more skill than you.”
Six-year-old Ela smirked at him as she reached for the earthen jar with the yogurt Vasilios had purchased the day before. “The yogurt looks good, though,” Mualla told him. “And the apricots will go well with it, thank you.”
“You cook for me so often, it would be stealing not to give you what I have.” Vasilios smiled as he bounced the babies on each hip. Then he turned to the boy who had gotten Aydan to curl up in his lap. He was small for his age, thin too, his arms and legs twisted in on themselves by sickness. Being mindful of the babies, Vasilios knelt next to him.
“You’ve finally convinced her to make friends with you, Murat?” Vasilios smiled at him, and Murat beamed back. “Maybe I should get you your own little cat.”
He ruffled Murat’s dark hair.
“I like her eyes.” Murat peered at Aydan’s mismatched green and blue eyes, and Vasilios laughed.
“Well, that’s good if you ever get a cat of your own, then. They give kittens with two-colored eyes away for free.”
“Why?” Murat frowned up at him.
“Some people believe it brings bad luck,” Vasilios told him.
“But your cat has two-colored eyes,” Murat pointed out, voice serious, as if Vasilios might have missed this.
Vasilios shrugged. “I believe we make our own luck.”
“The food is done,” Mualla told both of them.
Ela passed around fresh bread, and sweetened grain with yogurt and dried fruit. Vasilios sat next to Murat, helping him eat, while Mualla took the babies back, laying them on the blanket beside her as she ate.
“Are you really a eunuch?” Ela asked.
“Ela.” Mualla was blushing. “That’s not a polite thing to ask over a meal.”
“But some of the neighbor girls were saying he was,” Ela told her. “They said that’s why he wears the metal in his ears, and that he must come from a fancy house because eunuchs only live in the fancy houses.”
“I am a eunuch,” Vasilios told her, ignoring Mualla’s flustered looks. “I used to live in a large house that belonged to a rich man, it’s true, but not anymore.”
“Why?” Ela scrunched her face up, trying to understand.
“Because I wanted to leave,” Vasilios told her. “I was a slave then, and now I am free, and I can go where I please. Also there were people there who wished to hurt me, so I left.”
Ela thought about this for a while, as Vasilios helped Murat eat.
“Vasilios,” she said finally, “what is a eunuch? Because it’s just that the others said you weren’t really a man because you are a eunuch, but you look like a man to me.”
“Ela…,” Mualla said, sounding truly mortified. Vasilios ate some more bread and thought about the question.
“In some ways, I am still a man,” Vasilios said. “And in some ways, I am not. In many ways, I still think of myself as a man, but often, I and other eunuchs are grouped with women and girls, like at the public baths, for instance. Most of the time, though, I think eunuchs are a little bit of neither and a little bit of both.” He set his empty bowl aside and finished helping Murat eat as Ela mulled over what he had said.
“Sweetie, stop bothering Vasilios with questions and come help me wash the dishes.”
“It’s all right. She wasn’t bothering me,” Vasilios said and then made to rise. “And I can wash. You cooked, after all.”
Mualla shook her head, smiling. “Just look after Murat and the babies for me.”
Vasilios nodded and then turned back to the twin babies and Murat, who still had Aydan in his lap.
“Would you like to keep her company while I’m out today?” he asked Murat, who nodded eagerly. “If your mother is all right with it, that is.”
He turned back to where Mualla and Ela were cleaning up the cooking things. “Would you mind if Murat had Aydan for the afternoon?” he asked.
“It’s all right with me.” Mualla shrugged, looking up briefly. “We should really think about getting a cat ourselves, keeps the rats away.”
Vasilios nodded. “That’s why I got her.” He tousled Murat’s hair again, and Murat smiled up at him, trying to snuggle the kitten close. “Watch her while I’m away.”
THE afternoon of speaking with people about a possible job yielded nothing more than sore feet and a growing sense of desperation. As the sun began to sink in the sky, Vasilios headed back to his room. The last few times he and Markos had tried to meet, there had always ended up being an apologetic young soldier with a message waiting outside his door. Vasilios tried not to get too excited as he walked. Markos could have had to cancel again, after all. If a message wasn’t waiting for him, though, then he’d scrape together some extra coins and go to the baths.
Climbing the stairs to his room, Vasilios stamped hard on any excitement and prepared to see the young soldier in uniform leaning against the wall next to his door. There was no one there, though, and Vasilios stared at the spot where the soldier usually was, before shaking himself and pushing open the door to his room. He sat on his bed and counted the coins he still had left, trying to estimate how much he’d spend on food and rent for the next few weeks. It would be easier if he knew how much longer he was going to be out of work. He sighed, tucking the coins away again. He secured his coin pouch back to his belt and headed back out of his little room and to the closest of the public baths.
PROBABLY what he missed the most was having his own bath, Vasilios thought sometime later, walking through the streets toward the hill on top of which the great Imperial Palace perched, shining white and gold in the sunlight. Bathing in public was something he was still getting used to, perhaps even more so, because he bathed on the women’s side. Passing one hand over his covered head to make sure his scarf was on straight, Vasilios wove between groups of people hurrying between open-air markets and shops and wagons pulled by oxen. His hair was getting long, no longer close-cropped to his head in the way he preferred. Now it was beginning to get a little bit of a wave and curl to it. He could not afford a haircut right now, though. He would have to deal with having curls until he could.
The soldier at Markos’s gate must have recognized him, even though Vasilios did not recognize the young soldier.
“Vasilios Eleni.” The young man grinned wide. “Come in, the General is expecting you.”
“Thank you.”
He knocked twice, and when the door opened, he blinked to see Markos standing there, smiling at him.
“Hello and come in.” Markos held the door open, and Vasilios entered the house, pulling his scarf off as he did.
Markos was wearing a short tunic and Northern-style trousers, and he closed the door behind them both. “I’m sorry we’ve not been able to meet earlier,” Markos said, leading the way down the hall toward the garden. “The Emperor has required my attention almost constantly the last few weeks while he decides where to send me next.”
That brought Vasilios up a little bit. He realized he hadn’t given much thought to the likely reality that Markos would be ordered away from the city soon, to somewhere probably on the outskirts of the Empire, maybe for years. He frowned and looked over at Markos as they entered the garden. The table had been set up again, this time with a modest selection of food appropriate for the evening meal.
“Where do you think you will go?” Vasilios asked, not sure he really wanted to know.
“I don’t know yet.” Markos reached out taking Vasilios’s hand in his. “Maybe back to the western border, maybe not.”
Vasilios tightened his grip on Markos’s hand briefly. The western border was at the very edge of the Empire, far enough that even exchanging letters would be difficult and any posting there would be a long one. He tried to put the matter out of his mind and concentrate on their time tonight.
“The food looks delicious.” Vasilios let go of Markos’s hand, and sat at the table eyeing the mutton, grilled eggplant with barley, crumbly cheese, grapes, bread and wine.
“Phyllis made it.” Markos frowned and looked as if he was about to say something else but bit his lip instead.
Vasilios served himself, trying not to take too much of the meat, fresh fruit, and vegetables, which had been hard to come by recently. The wine was delicious too, and he refilled his cup.
“So, Hypnos tells me you’re living by the east gate now,” Markos said, and Vasilios nodded.
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