Eugenia lowered her eyes, chastened and worried. "Theodora never made any excuses for herself."
"That was Theodora," Antonina said bitterly. "Theodora was not like her husband in many ways. She was not shamed by her past and she appreciated her rise and the favor she attained." She turned too quickly and knocked over the wine cup that stood at her elbow.
"I'll summon a slave," Eugenia said, dabbing ineffectively at it with the edge of her rosy-beige paenula.
"No; there's no saying if we'll have any privacy if you do. Here." She took one of the soft pillows and dropped it onto the wine, watching the stain spread across the linen.
"You'll ruin the pillow," Eugenia warned.
"And who would see it that would care?" She picked up the pillow and dropped it on the floor.
"Antonina, you aren't—" Eugenia cried out.
She was interrupted. "What use for us to pretend, Eugenia? The Emperor has withdrawn the favor he bestowed and for all the position my husband now has, he might as well be posted to the most remote fort in the Empire. In fact, he would think himself lucky if that would happen." She shivered and not entirely because the storm was sniffing at the walls of her house like a hungry animal.
"You must not despair," Eugenia said, repeating what her confessor had told her so many times.
"Why not? I pray that the Emperor will escape the influence of those who are my husband's enemies, but I cannot do as Belisarius does and assume that Justinian is at the mercy of those who wish him ill. I believe—and if I were a man, the belief would be treason, I know—that Justinian is jealous of Belisarius and has decided to take away his power so that he need not fear for his throne. I believe that the Emperor is petty and ungrateful and filled with spite. I believe that he wishes to disgrace my husband and to make an example of him to those who might desire to advance themselves at the Emperor's expense. I believe that nothing my husband does or says will change this and that he would have done better to have died in battle, which is what I think Justinian prayed would happen." She stopped, breathless and flushed.
"I won't repeat that," Eugenia said.
"No matter," Antonina told her with a shake of her head. "The Emperor has spies in this house and he knows all that is said here, and most of what is invented. The slaves know that if they bring a report that further impugns my husband the reward will be greater, and so they embroider everything they hear until a chance remark becomes a flagrant threat." She reached out and gave both of them more wine. "Here. It doesn't matter now. I have already unburdened myself and there is no reason to try to keep a silent tongue in my head."
Eugenia was becoming actively alarmed by her friend's behavior, and she tried to shift their conversation. "Do you think that the mourning we must observe for Theodora will last longer than a year?"
"Who is to say?" Antonina responded. "She would have limited it, but now that she is gone, there is no one to keep the Emperor from his most rigorous demands." She took a long sip of wine and clapped twice loudly. "Simones! Another jug of hot wine."
The eunuch came into the reception room and took the empty jug from the table. "Some sweetmeats as well, great lady?"
"Anything," she answered without any inflection. "Whatever the cooks wish to serve. Just so that the wine is well-spiced and hot. And see if anything can be done about that window. It's cold as a tomb in here."
Simones made a deep, insolent reverence. "Of course, great lady. And I will have a pope petition heaven bring sunshine and balmy days at once."
Antonina straightened. "If you do not wish to find yourself on a sale block, you will never speak to me again in that manner." There was no doubt that she was in earnest, and her eyes bored into him. "And my husband will know of your conduct, so that you will be watched in future. Do you understand that?"
"I understand," said Simones, aware that he had gone too far. He knew that any value he might have existed because he was in the Belisarius household, and that if ever he was sold, he would be of use to no one, and in fact might be thought a liability for his knowledge. The prospect of what could happen then made him correct his demeanor, and he went on, "I vow before God that I will not forget myself again."
"You think that because there are Guards at the door, you may show the same contempt they do, don't you?" Antonina accused him, glad to have someone she could vent her rage and frustration on in safety.
"I forgot myself," he allowed.
"And you have assumed that no one in the household would dare to correct you because of the Guard. You are the slave of this household, not of the Guard, and as long as that is so, you will show yourself subservient and obedient." She paused, satisfied at the fright she recognized in his eyes. "If you are abusive, there is the lash."
"Abusive slaves deserve the lash," Eugenia said severely as she watched Simones. "Don't they?"
"Yes," he said softly. "And when I give abuse, I will thank God for the correction you mete out to me." It was the same formula he had been taught since he was a boy, but he no longer said it like a chastized child.
"You should also thank God that you were made a eunuch," said Antonina. "Rebellion in a whole man is regarded far more seriously than in a eunuch." She indicated the ikonostasis. "Even the Saints have said so."
"Because eunuchs are more tractable?" Eugenia suggested.
Simones bowed his head, and decided to take a chance. "General Narses"—no one in the household had dared to mention Belisarius' replacement in Italy—"is a eunuch."
"Who has nephews," Antonina said curtly. "Speak that name again, and I will assure you that you will be mining copper in Syria before the week is out."
"I did not mean to give insult," said Simones mendaciously. "But there are many who suppose that a man who lacks testicles is unable to turn traitor or be of a warlike disposition. With some this is true, but not with all. I pray that the Emperor will remember this."
"Do you?" Antonina demanded.
"Yes. We are all required to pray for the Emperor, aren't we? The pope where I worship exhorts us often to ask God's especial care for the Emperor's benefit so that he might never lose the wisdom that a ruler must have, and which must come from God." He had the knack of showing correct piety, and he now enjoyed its success again. "I am filled with fault, as man is, but the Emperor is not one who can afford similar faults."
Both women murmured the required response—"Grace of God shine over us"—and then Antonina indicated the wine-soaked pillow.
"Take this away, and bring wine and something to eat. And remember that you are not exempt from the rules that govern a slave's conduct." She waited in silence as Simones picked up the pillow and started for the door. "And Simones?" she called after him. "I never want to hear you speak out again, on any matter. If you do, I will have to send you to market or give you to… someone I dislike. You do understand me, don't you?"
This time his reverence was perfect. "In all things, great lady. I am grateful for your correction."
As soon as he was gone, Eugenia leaned forward. "Do you think that you ought to keep him? He seems… dangerous."
"In a household like this one, all slaves are dangerous," Antonina sighed. "If my husband were not so much in disfavor, then I might insist that we be rid of him at once, but any slave we purchased to replace him is almost certain to be the creature of one courtier or another. Simones lacks respect, but he has been in this household for more than ten years and he is loyal. As things stand, that is worth more than conduct." She leaned back once more. "Oh, Eugenia, I am sorry that I have turned out to have so little use to you."
"You must not expose yourself and your husband to greater indignities," said Eugenia with a primness that did not match her look. "And it fills me with dismay that I must make the choice I must. I have consoled myself with the realization that if I were married, my husband would forbid me to come to visit you at all, if he were connected to the court. We would not have this chance to speak."
Antonina nodded. "Yes. And it might
have been wiser if you had done that. But still, I am glad that you were willing to see me."
"I… I will not see your husband," Eugenia stipulated, her cheeks becoming flushed.
"No, of course not," Antonina concurred. "There would be no good for any of us if you did." She sneezed suddenly and wiped at her eyes. "The storm has brought illness with it."
"You should apply to one of the Greek physicians to give you a tincture for it," Eugenia advised. Greek physicians were trusted more than most, and it was fashionable to have one come to treat minor ailments. Serious disease was another matter: for that you summoned the nearest pope for his prayers and then summoned an Egyptian.
"Perhaps I ought," said Antonina. "But there are herbs here that I can use myself. I am afraid of what a physician might be bribed to give me."
"Why would anyone want to poison you?" Eugenia asked. "You have taken precautions to protect your husband, so why would anyone wish to injure you?"
"I don't know, but the Censor is a man who needs no reason beyond his whim." She coughed once and then looked up as Simones returned bearing a tray. "And hot wine. Hot wine will cure most simple ills except hangnails."
Both women were able to smile at this minor witticism, and they watched as their cups were filled again.
"I have taken the liberty, great lady," Simones said in his most neutral tone, "to request one of the cooks to make honied lamb with onions and rosemary that you like so well."
Antonina showed faint approval. "Your gesture is accepted, Simones," she said, and indicated her guest. "Be sure that there is something for Eugenia as well. My guest would not be pleased to watch me eat with nothing for herself."
"Of course," said Simones, and made his reverence as he withdrew.
"He knows he went too far," Eugenia said as soon as the slave left the room. "He's making amends, isn't he?"
"He's trying," Antonina allowed. "He also knows that if he were sold now, he would not find a master who would please him even as much as my husband does now in his current position."
Eugenia helped herself to the wine. "You must not see many visitors."
"Not welcome ones," Antonina confirmed darkly.
"Who calls on you?" She was wondering how conspicuous her own visit would be, and how much of a risk she had taken in coming.
"A few of the officers call, but they must come with a pope with the Censor's approval. Drosos has been here most often. I have seen the widows of those officers who fell in Italy and Africa." She stared at the window, angry with the storm. "The relatives who are not at court have visited me, and a few of my husband's mother's family have come. That Roman widow Olivia has been here three times. The four daughters of Aristinos Pavko have been here, but now that they are religious, they are bound by the rules of their community, and we have little we may discuss."
"That's all?" Eugenia asked, horrified at the degree to which she had exposed herself to censure.
"All that are welcome. You see how things have changed here. A year ago I would not have been eager to listen to four young women tell me why it is heretical to believe that the nature of Christ was more divine than human." She finished the wine in her cup and filled it again.
By the time Eugenia left her hostess, she was feeling reckless and light-headed. Her visit, which seemed the most terrible folly an hour before, now felt more pleasant, an adventure that had an air of heroism about it because of what it did for Antonina. Let others hesitate and worry and keep away for fear of what the Censor might say; she, Eugenia, would not be intimidated. She would visit her old friend and show that she had the same strength of purpose as Belisarius' officers. In this frame of mind, she was almost to the door, and thinking of a few pithy things to say to the Guards, when she noticed that Simones was waiting for her.
"Come to apologize to me?" she asked, her words not quite as crisp as usual. "Or do you want me to intercede for you and get you back into your mistress' favor?"
"Neither," Simones said. "I want to arrange a few things with you."
Eugenia was too astonished to be affronted. "With me? You?"
"I have to find someone who will assist me, and you are the most promising. Antonina trusts you and she wants to see you. She believes that you will not desert her as most of the others have done, and you still can benefit from her favor, which none of her other friends could." He watched her, curious to see what her reaction would be.
"What if I go back to her right now and tell her what you have said?" There was a speculative light in her eyes and she waited to hear what Simones would say.
"That would not be wise," said Simones. "You might be rid of me, but another would come in my place and he might decide that Antonina is to be kept in isolation for the good of the Emperor."
"And you?" asked Eugenia, curious and becoming apprehensive.
"I know that my mistress is distressed and lonely, which is unfortunate. I know that no matter what she says, she is eager for your company and wishes that you might continue to visit her in spite of the risk that such visits entail. You do not know how devastating this has been, and you do not know how much she has longed for the Emperor to relax the restrictions against this household. But that isn't going to happen for some time yet." He watched her. "She depends upon you, although she does not know it."
"Why do you tell me this?" She was aware that Simones had no reason to sacrifice so much to Antonina, and she suspected the level of dislike the slave had for his mistress.
"Because I need assistance," he said bluntly. "I have been ordered"—he used the word deliberately—"to watch and make note of all that happens in this household. Certainly I do what I must because of the order of the Emperor and his Censor. I am in no position to do otherwise."
"And what if Antonina discovers your duplicity?" Eugenia asked with malice in her smile.
"Why should she know anything of it?" countered Simones with a distinct threat in his tone.
"Anything might happen. And then off to the copper mines?" She shrugged.
"If I am sent to the copper mines, there will be others with me." He folded his arms. "Why not assist one another? You could impress the Censor with your devotion and there is no reason that anything you said to me would compromise Antonina." Simones knew how to be persuasive. "You would advance yourself and not add to Antonina's discredit. Think of the advantage that you could have. This would be one way you might return some of the favor Antonina has shown you over the years. You would be able to inform her of your actions when the Court Censor is satisfied that her husband is not guilty of any conspiracy or has supported any plots against the Emperor. Your activities on her behalf would be re-warded and you would show Antonina that you are to be trusted and respected."
"You wheedle and tempt, don't you?" Eugenia asked, but there was a speculative turn to her face now and she did not move away from him or reprimand him for making such a suggestion.
"Hardly," he said. "I only mention this so that we might both benefit and aid this household during its troubles." He resisted the urge to smile, knowing that she would be offended by smiles.
"A woman in my position cannot take risks, slave. I have no one who can sponsor me if I am questioned or accused. I have little money, and my husband's family has some influence but not enough to influence anyone near the Censor."
"And so it would be sensible of you to think about acting on your own behalf so that you have some position and protection. It would give you access to the court again, and with the gratitude of the Censor, you can be confident of his aid in attaining your ends. He will see your merit and wish to thank you." Simones saw that there were three household slaves approaching them, and he abandoned his efforts at once. "I hope you will consider what I have said."
"I may," said Eugenia as she went toward the vestibule.
* * *
Text of an Imperial edict.
To all Christians living within the boundaries of our Empire, and to those of good conscience living elsewhere in the w
orld, the greetings of Justinian and the Peace of God be with you.
We have prayed long for divine guidance in the matter of unchristian works, and works of heresy. We are aware that the Christ admonished us to embrace our enemies and to be sparing in our judgment of others, yet He also stated that we must be free of the Devil's work if we are to be with Him in Heaven.
To that end, we have considered the writings that are not of Orthodox Christian origin, which lead to dissension and confusion in our people, and we have consulted with our popes and metropolitans as well as other religious, and we have realized that these works, many of them well-intentioned, are the subtle and. dangerous works that lure men from Christ and damn the souls of many to everlasting suffering.
For that reason alone the works stand condemned. But there are greater considerations: these works might easily contribute to sedition and other traitorous acts, which marks them as the tools of those without Grace. Books that purport to teach and have no thought of God and salvation in them are worse than lies and deception, for their treachery lies in their seeming innocence.
Therefore we are requiring that all Christians examine their souls and review the books they possess. If what the books contain are not worthy of Christian study and if they are filled with heresies and lies, we ask that you show your devotion by burning these books and encouraging those around you to do the same with their books. We are certain that when this is done, much of the ambivalence that has caused such misfortune to the Christians of this Empire will be brought to an end, and the disputes that have led to so many unchristian sentiments and attitudes will be lessened. We are reminded that to aid those in need is the purpose of charity, and so if any of you are aware of those who are misguided and who seek to preserve their books, for whatever reason, no matter how sincere, that you attempt to persuade them to be rid of these sources of doubt and failing that leads inevitably to perdition and the perpetual torments of hell.
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