A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  "Do not let the Emperor hear you say such things," suggested Belisarius. "He says that the words of a virtuous woman are more worthy than the preaching of fools. He has gained much from his wise Empress."

  It was apparent that none of the men believed this, and Belisarius was too tired to pursue the matter any further. The tallest of the delegation, a man who had remained stubbornly silent, finally said, "How many troops will you leave here, General?"

  "I can leave no more than two hundred foot soldiers and fifty cavalry. The rest must follow me to Roma before midday," he said, welcoming this apparent understanding from one of the men of Neapolis. "I will be certain that the instructions are clear to these troops. You may choose one of your number to work with the men I leave behind, and that will in turn give you the opportunity to arrange the defenses you have in whatever way most suits your purposes."

  "These troops—are they the best you can provide?" asked the youngest man.

  "If you mean, will I leave the exhausted and the wounded behind to guard you and take with me those soldiers who are in better condition and more fully equipped, then the answer must be no, for those who are wounded are not required to fight in any sense and are with our ships in the east." He sighed. "I will be at pains to find you a Tribune you can trust to do all that you require of the soldiers without spreading them too thin or putting them at a serious disadvantage. Let me point out one thing to you, and you may then do what you wish: the soldiers can create a corridor from gate to dockside, and can keep most of the people from spilling over into your city, if you will permit them to act in that way. It would be the best use of the men you have and it would limit the amount of damage you are apt to sustain during the time the Romans are in Neapolis."

  "Are those your orders?" asked the oldest suspiciously.

  "No, those are my observations. You are free to do as you wish with the men so long as your orders do not contradict those of the Emperor." He stretched. "It has been more than a full day since I slept, good citizens. Perhaps you will be content to leave this for another time?"

  "How can we leave this, when you will be gone tomorrow?" asked the one with the darkest beard.

  "There will be other men here. Most of my officers are experienced and will do what they can to make this a worthwhile time for all of you." He moved away from the narrow table. "I will instruct them to guard the city from abuse. If you will let them do the work they are trained to do, everyone will benefit, even the unfortunates from Roma."

  "And you will not have to answer for anything that goes wrong. You will be able to say that if there are problems, if there are those who are injured or in other ways harmed, that it was our actions, not yours, that brought this about. We have heard about the manner in which you of Constantinople conduct your affairs."

  "Lepidius," said Belisarius, "even if everything you say is true, and everything you believe is true and everything you deplore is true, nonetheless, Justinian is the Emperor and what he orders and demands is his by right of his rule. If you question that, you question the order of the world and the word of Heaven." He reached for a small mallet and struck a small, flat bell with it. "You will be fed while you are here, if you wish. My slaves will see to it."

  "And you?" asked the monk, clearly not satisfied with the hospitality Belisarius offered.

  "I will be attending to my duties with my officers so that they will be prepared to act for you tomorrow." He gestured to the slave who came through the door. "These men are to be given every courtesy a guest can expect. Is Chrysanthos here, or has he already gone to his men?"

  "He is still here, Master," said the slave in Egyptian-accented Greek.

  "Then let him dine with these citizens," said Belisarius in Greek.

  "Does this man speak Latin?" the youngest member of the delegation wanted to know.

  "Yes, that is why I thought of him. You will be able to understand one another. I have three other officers who are fluent in Latin as well as Greek, and they are most in demand of the men I command in Italy." Belisarius indicated the slave. "If you follow him, he will see that you are escorted to Chrysanthos."

  Most of the men were willing to depart, but the one with the darkest beard was inclined to linger, to press for more advantages than they had secured already. "I wish your assurance that if there is any trouble, you will be willing to send your troops to quell any uprising that we may have to deal with."

  "You'll have to arrange that with Chrysanthos; I will abide by the terms you make with him," said Belisarius.

  The other men did what they could to get their companion to leave with them, speaking a few words in low voices urging him to come with them to this new officer.

  "If we are not satisfied, you will learn of it," said the oldest delegate as he left the room.

  "I'm certain of that," said Belisarius, watching the door even when it was empty, as if aware of a lingering presence like an odor or the echo of a scream.

  * * *

  Text of a letter to Vigilius, Bishop of Roma and Pope of the Church.

  On the anniversary of the election of Your Holiness to the See of Santo Pietrus, the Priest Formosus of Ostia sends this report with the deepest faith and reverence.

  It has pleased Your Holiness to learn of the current state of the Church in her parent city of Roma, and it has fallen to this most unhappy of men to inform Your Holiness that the great devil and pagan Totila has made progress with his forces against this most venerable of all cities. It is his intent to tear the whole place down, or so he swears on his blasphemous gods. To this end, he has been harrying the merchants on the roads, stopping farmers bringing produce to the city, and attempting to cut the aqueducts that bring water to the people of Roma. All this has been seen and heard by many and is not the result of mere rumors and fears that are current with many of those still living within the walls of the city.

  It is of particular note that those who should be most stalwart in their duty—the religious of Roma—have fled in great numbers, and it would astonish me to find more than two hundred priests and monks in Roma to minister to the thousands of unfortunates who have remained faithful to their God and Roma.

  While there are many who look to the Byzantines to succor us before Totila can break through our defenses, Your Holiness must understand that it is only through their efforts that any semblance of defense has been maintained at the present, and it would not be unreasonable to prepare for worse to come, for although the great Belisarius brings his men to our aid, the force is smaller than the one that the Emperor of Constantinople promised to provide, and they are not as well-equipped as they had been represented to be. No one wishes to think of the ruin of this greatest of cities, but there can be little doubt that no matter how vigilant we are, there are many here who will suffer, and the city will not be spared entirely.

  I do not wish to make it appear that I am entirely without hope, for that would be a greater sin than the one the pagans intend to commit here. Yet I would be lax in my duty to you as a priest if I did not say it would be prudent to prepare for the worst, so that such things as sacred relics and objects of veneration may be hidden or otherwise protected from the possible ravages of the Ostrogothic warriors who are bent on destroying the city before the height of summer.

  Your Holiness would do well to fortify Monte Casino against the barbarians, and to make an official request of Belisarius to give you and your company the protection that was assured you by the Emperor Justinian more than three years ago. If the Church is to survive, it must have the aid and assistance of all who are devoted to Our Lord and His Church. Whether they are of Byzantium or of Roma, surely there can be no argument that the fate of Christianity is in the hands of those willing to take up the cause of Our Lord in the face of those who are determined to bring the Church and her city to their knees.

  What draws the pagans are the earthly treasures which have been stored up out of piety and devotion. But these are not the true riches of the Church, and while th
e pagans seek only silver and gold, they assault far more than walls to obtain it. If we fail to defend the outward gifts of the Church, it is only too likely that we will also fail to defend the spiritual ramparts as well. I pray every hour that none of this will come to pass, but while I pray, I seek out men of experience to aid in the earthly battle, and I admonish all I see to offer up their orisons to God and the Mother Maria for the salvation of our city and our souls.

  In all humility and faith, and with unswerving dedication to Your Holiness and our Church, I sign myself your most lowly Brother in Christ,

  Formosus

  Priest from Ostia

  currently with the Curia in Roma

  2

  By late afternoon the first contingent of soldiers arrived, making camp around the old villa in fields and orchards that were just coming into blossom. For novelty the old baths were fired up and many of the men boisterously used them, marveling at the depravity of the old Romans with their passion for bathing.

  "What do you think?" Niklos Aulirios asked his owner as he stared out the windows at the camp that had grown up around them.

  From her writing desk, Olivia Clemens did not answer at first; she was putting the last touches on a writ of manumission for two more slaves. Only when she had affixed both her signature and her seal did she answer. "What do I think about what?"

  "These Byzantines," her Greek majordomo replied. "I'm not sure they're better than the Ostrogoths."

  "They are better because they don't intend to raze the city," she pointed out, rising and coming to join him at the window.

  "But look at them. And you know what they have done to half the countryside. I realize that an army must eat, and that soldiers might not have the manners of saints, but that doesn't excuse the raiding and looting they've done." He had folded his arms and was looking more stubborn than usual.

  "I'm not going to argue with you," said Olivia, faintly amused by his conduct. "But this is not the first trouble we've seen, is it?"

  "No," he admitted grudgingly.

  "And with a little good fortune, it will not be the last." She continued to stare into the pallid afternoon. The light, softened by a faint haze rising from the Tibros, was kind to her face, making her appear younger than her years. Her soft, fawn-brown hair was braided and wrapped in the current fashion for widows, and she wore a paenula of wool embroidered with silk and gold thread that showed her wealth more than her manner.

  "You have a strange way of thinking, my mistress," Niklos said, beginning to smile in spite of his own foreboding.

  "It comes with the years, my friend," she said, and shook off her slight melancholy. "I want you to make sure that copies of these writs are in the hands of the monks by morning. That way, no matter what happens here, the slaves will be free and they can make lives for themselves. You'd better take the grants with you to the monks as well."

  Niklos laughed cynically. "You're not seriously asking me to put money in the hands of a servant of God and expect it to go anywhere but into Church coffers, are you?"

  "You may be right in that, Niklos," she sighed. "All right; I'll find a way to make sure each gets the money they've been promised, and the copies of the writs will be safe. Take one or two of the gold cups with you to make sure the good monks continue to care for the records we entrust to them. I'm not quite as trusting as you often fear I am."

  "And what else?" Niklos ventured. "You have most of your belongings crated and packed and ready to be moved. Does that trouble you?"

  "Of course it troubles me. Roma is my home. I drew my first breath here, within sight of the Tibros. It is part of me and I am part of it." Her expression was slightly distant as she delved her memory for the events of her long life.

  "We can still arrange for you to stay in Italy," suggested Niklos. "You don't have to go as far away as Constantinople."

  "Almost all those who can afford to leave have done so already and if I remain much longer, I will be exposed to more risks than the mere clash of Byzantines and Ostrogoths. So long as I must live with lions, I might as well find myself a good place in their dens." She laughed suddenly. "How unendurable! I sound worse than one of those Epicureans who ape the manner of their teacher without the least understanding of what he said."

  "You don't want to go, do you?" Niklos persisted.

  "No, if it were possible to remain in safety. But since it is not, then I'm… resigned. I will go to Constantinople, to the house that Belisarius has arranged for me, and when the army is at home, I will entertain this Drosos and do my best to be as inconspicuous as possible." She held out the parchment sheets to Niklos once again. "Please, Niklos, take these to the monks and bring me the sigil of the abbot, or whatever superior they have now, so that I can give proof of the transaction. We can squabble later, when we're safe."

  "As you wish, my mistress," Niklos said, making a reverence to her that just missed being insulting. He took the parchments and strode to the door. "I'll send Kosmos to guard you while I'm gone. I don't trust those soldiers to be respectful."

  Olivia chuckled. "No more do I, but they're likely to look for female slaves rather than the owner of the villa who is also known to be the hostess of their General."

  "You put more store in that than I do," Niklos warned as he started across the smaller of the two atria of the villa.

  It was not long before Kosmos appeared in the door, his manner as humble as his body was formidable. He lowered his head and kept his eyes averted. "Niklos sent me, great lady," he said softly.

  "He said he would," Olivia agreed.

  "And the General Belisarius has returned. His horse has just been taken to the stables." For Kosmos this was a long speech, and as he concluded it, he appeared to be slightly out of breath.

  Olivia gave Kosmos her full attention at this. "General Belisarius. Only he?"

  "There are officers with him," said Kosmos.

  "I will see them shortly, in the main reception chamber. Have flowers brought there, and send Hogni and… oh, I guess it had better be Hogni and Beltzin, to wait on them. They will want to have wine and meat as well as washing basins." To Olivia, this seemed woefully inadequate, for when she was young, nothing less than a full bath—calidarium, tepidarium, frigidarium—and a massage with costly oils followed by a nine-course banquet would be considered a proper welcome for so august a man as Belisarius.

  "Very good, great lady. But you will be left alone, and that is what Niklos required I not allow to happen." Again he was sounding breathless.

  "I give you my word that I will manage, and that I will be able to fend for myself. Besides, I must do something about my clothes or I will be more improper than they are." She went briskly toward the side door. "I am going now to my private quarters, and if you will see that Fisera joins me there, that will ensure I am not alone and you will be able to complete the commission I have given you." As she watched him go, she wondered if she had made a mistake in freeing him. Kosmos was not used to living on his own, and in these troubled times, she feared he would become prey to the first scoundrel who came across him.

  She stopped these ponderings as she reached the door of her private suite of rooms. Always when she stepped through the door, she felt herself on the brink of the past. It pleased her to indulge in a sense of nostalgia; this afternoon she had to admit that there was a pang of something more. She stared at the frescoes on the wall, at the furniture and the ornaments she had gathered together here, and knew that as many of them as she took with her to Constantinople, it would not be the same, and that she would not find them as appropriate, as comforting as they were here, where they belonged. They were Roman; so was she. Here she was on her native earth and there she would be a stranger. Nothing would alter that, and she knew she would have to reconcile herself to it.

  There was a gentle rap on the door on the far side of the room and this brought Olivia out of her reverie. "Yes?"

  "It is Fisera, mistress," said the slave.

  "Enter, Fisera,
" she said, speaking more briskly and moving with renewed vitality. This was not the time to be distracted, she reminded herself as she admitted the slave. There was too much to do.

  Fisera had brought two long pallia with her, one of a rich deep-rose color embroidered all over with golden medallions, the other a strange shade that was almost not any color—a shadow tone between gray and tan and green—ornamented with dark brown silken embroidery and with accents picked out in seed pearls. She stopped, staring at Olivia. "Oh, mistress," she said in a faltering way.

  "Tomorrow I am no longer your mistress, Fisera, and you do not need to call me your mistress any longer." She gave her a heartening smile. "Come, Fisera, don't be troubled. There is no reason for me to doubt your devotion, whether you wear a collar or not."

  "You have been most kind to me, mistress," said Fisera with genuine feeling.

  An expression that was not quite a frown passed fleetingly over Olivia's face. "Have I? I hope so. It was my intention, but that often counts for little."

  Alarmed by this sudden change in Olivia's manner, Fisera reached out and touched her arm. "Have I offended you, mistress?"

  "No," said Olivia, her demeanor changing again. "No, of course not. I was remembering the past. I've been doing a lot of that recently. I must be… getting old."

  "You are young forever, mistress," Fisera said, more in wariness than flattery.

  "I have that sort of face," said Olivia.

  "Perhaps more than that," murmured the slave-woman. "I have been in your household for more than eight years and I have not noticed a change in you. There are those, not close to you, who have hinted that you must practice the magical arts of the old days, when sorcery was used by the witch Messalina." She said this last with her eyes averted.

  "Messalina was hardly a witch: she had the misfortune to be married to that pervert Claudius, and that—" She heard the sound of her voice and broke off. "I cannot believe that Messalina used any arts but her own womanliness to lure her husband."