A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  She did not rise. "No."

  He dropped to his knee beside her chair and looked up into her face. "Don't you understand, Olivia? Don't you realize that if I visit you, Justinian will consider you to be as dangerous as I am, and you will be subjected to—"

  "I have already been counted among those the Emperor dislikes because I am still Belisarius' friend and I have kept him as my sponsor ever since he returned from Italy. If I see you as well, it will mean little to the Emperor. It will be yet another example of Roman corruption. He is almost as disapproving of Romans as he is of books these days." She rested her hands on his shoulder. "How can I endure your being here, in this city, and not see you? How can I be cut off from everything and lose you as well?"

  Drosos regarded her with concern. "You are already at risk. If you continue to see me, the risk increases, and there is nothing I can offer you as protection."

  "I do not ask you to protect me, Drosos. I want you to love me."

  His arms went around her and he rested his head in her lap. "I should not stay."

  "But you will?" She ruffled his hair, wishing there was less white in it.

  "Since you seem determined to have me, I suppose I must."

  "You make it sound an unpleasant duty." She was teasing him now, for the strength of his arms told her more than his spoken denials.

  "No; leaving you would be the unpleasant duty." He lifted his head and reached to pull her mouth down to his. "I dreamed of you every night I was away from you. I thought of you each day. I would sit in my reception room, staring out at the ruins of the Library, the way you stare at a soldier's empty sleeve, and I would see your face instead of the ruins. It was the only thing that kept me from going mad."

  She kissed his brow. "Drosos."

  "If anything goes wrong with you, I will blame myself." He said this as much to the walls as to her.

  "That's absurd," she informed him, now very brisk. "You have been gone too long and you've given yourself over to gloom and melancholy. You have permitted yourself to succumb to worry and dread."

  Drosos moved back from her, his hands clasping hers. "You would, were you in my place."

  "Probably," she agreed. "But you are here now, and we are together again." She rose and tugged on his arms to bring him to his feet once again. "Drosos, stay here. You can stay tonight and any other time you wish. You are welcome here as long as I am living within these walls. You will always be welcome wherever I am."

  He attempted a smile without much success. "You are a lovely woman, and you are kind, Olivia. You make me want to believe that nothing else matters but that you and I are together. That isn't true, is it?"

  "There are times it is and times it is not," she said, her arm around his waist as she started toward the door. "But think how desolate this place would be if you and I were not ever to be together again. It would cause me—" She pulled the door open and was startled to see one of her household slaves standing a short distance away.

  The man was flustered. "I… I am on an errand, great lady."

  "It must be urgent if it keeps you away from your evening meal," Olivia said with a serenity that she did not feel. "Do not let me detain you, Valerios." She stood while the slave hurried down the hall.

  "He was spying on us," Drosos said, agitation coming back into his voice.

  "Very likely," Olivia agreed. "And I will have to discover why and for whom, but not just now. I have other things, more important things to do now."

  "You do not—" He started to move away from her. "It probably is best if I leave. I will not have compromised you too much and you and I will be able to…" The words trailed off as he gazed into her face. With a soft moan he pulled her tight against him. "I can't."

  "Thank every god I've ever heard of," she whispered to his neck. "Stay with me, Drosos. It is dark and I am lonely. I have ached for you since the day you left me. I do not want to give you up now."

  All at once his hands were fevered, hot and urgent in their questing and probing. "What does it matter?" he whispered against her hair, sounding like a man in delirium.

  With effort she moved back so that they could walk the short distance to her private apartments. Every step of the way he touched her, his hands seeking out the flesh under her clothes. He spoke little and his words were deep and thickened, as if he had been drugged.

  "Let me undress you," she offered when she had closed the door on her sleeping chamber.

  "Never mind," he told her as he tore off his pallium and dragged his dalmatica over his head. He reached out for her Roman clothes and nearly ripped them off her.

  "Drosos," she murmured as he swarmed over her. "We can savor this. There's no need to rush."

  He paid no heed to her, his hands and mouth busy and urgent, frenzied in their quest. He pressed into her with little more than a hurried stroke to open her legs, and he rode her in ominous silence until he spasmed and pulled away from her.

  Olivia lay still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, and she caught her lower lip in her teeth until she was certain she could speak clearly. "You needed—"

  "So did you," he said, not looking at her.

  "Why do you want to deny us what we can have?" She did not make the question an accusation; she waited for his answer.

  "What did I deny?" He meant it as a challenge, but he sounded more like a sulky boy.

  "Must I tell you when you know?" she asked as she rolled onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. "You tell me you remember all the times we have been together, you have dreamed about them. And you behave as if I am nothing more than your whore."

  He flinched at the word which she said so calmly. "That wasn't it," he muttered.

  "Then what was it?" She studied his face. "Drosos?"

  He refused to look at her. "I want you. It is worse than a fire in my bones, this wanting you."

  "Then why do you—"

  "You are relentless, aren't you?" He faced her, something between fury and despair in his eyes. "You will not let me go. You cannot release me."

  "Release you from what? To what?" she asked, pain in her voice now.

  "From you. From all you are. I… I haven't the strength for it anymore. I'm not…" He touched her hair. "Did I hurt you?"

  "Yes," she admitted.

  "I didn't want to. But… I don't know. Something within me has… failed. There are nights when I have lain awake and thought that I was taken with disease, that I was being consumed with some vile infection."

  "Oh, Drosos," she said as she stretched her arm across his chest. "How can you condemn yourself this way?"

  "Why not?" he asked her. "Think of what I am, what I have done."

  "I think of who you are," she told him, soothing him, wishing the cold ache under her ribs would fade. "I hear you speak and I long to find the words that would succor you."

  He laughed without hope. "There are no such words. There is nothing. I am beyond mending."

  "No," she protested.

  "When I followed my orders, when I honored my office and my Emperor, I destroyed my honor. It's an irony worthy of one of those banned Greek plays. If I were more than the fool I am." He shifted his weight to face her. "I want to have something left of me, something that can touch you without making me feel you have been tainted by me. If that still exists, Olivia, will you help me find it? I have no right to ask, but if you won't, then it might as well go up in smoke like the rest of my honor."

  Olivia regarded him solemnly. She put her free hand over his heart. "I have lost those I love to death and time more often than I want to remember. I have seen destruction overtake things of sense and beauty so wantonly that it wrung my heart to know of it. If there is a chance to save something from the ruins, then—"

  "You think to save me, as a remembrance?" He made a sound that was not laughter. "You think I am worthy to serve as a token of your time in Konstantinoupolis?"

  "Stop that," she said softly. "I won't have you scorn yourself."

  "Who bette
r?" He reached out and pulled her over him. "I want to give value for—"

  She wrenched away from him and he was startled at her strength. "I will not be party to your mockery. I do not permit you to denigrate someone I love, even though that person is yourself." She sat up and turned to regard him seriously. "Drosos, listen to me. I do not despise you. You cannot make me despise you."

  "Why not? I despise myself." He had raised his arm as if to stop a blow and it shielded his eyes from her steady look.

  She ran her finger along his jaw, feeling his untrimmed beard rasp against her skin. "You are like a man with a festering wound you will not lance, and you are poisoning yourself with the humors. I wish you were free of the pain and the anguish you feel."

  He lowered his arm; tears stood in his dark eyes. "God, God, so do I. But—"

  Her fingers stopped his objections on his lips. "Then we will find a way. There is a way, Drosos, if you will permit yourself to find it."

  "Is there?" The tears ran down his temples and he wiped them away.

  "There is a way," she repeated firmly. Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Let me help you, for my sake as well as yours."

  "Why for your sake?" He was trying to recover some of the dignity he had lost. "How can—"

  "You have done what you have done because you have a sense of honor; I have told you I have a sense of honor, too, and it demands that I do not desert my friends in misfortune."

  He sighed, his breath ragged. "There are some hurts beyond remedy."

  "This need not be one, Drosos," she said, hoping fervently that it was so.

  He faced her. "All right. Do what you must. I'm grateful, I suppose." As she sank down on his chest, he threaded her hair through his fingers. "It's like living silk."

  She did not respond; she was listening to his heartbeats, trying to fathom the depth of his misery.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Eugenia to Antonina.

  To my cherished friend Antonina, Eugenia sends her greetings and the hopes that Antonina might soon recover from the affliction that has caused her such misery.

  It was only recently that I learned of your continuing illness, and it brought home to me how great a value I have put on the hours we have spent together, as well as how important your good opinion has always been. I know that I have been most neglectful of you and I wish I had an adequate explanation that does not cast aspersions on my character, but I fear I have been nothing more than an overly cautious woman, and I have let my concerns for my position within society interfere with the more genuine ties of friendship. I have long assumed that there would be a time when all the misunderstandings would be ended and your family would be restored to the position it deserves to occupy, but from what I have been told, this might not be the case, and I am filled with chagrin that I have let these precious days slip by without overcoming my own cowardice.

  I realize there is no reason you should want to see me again after the dreadful way I have behaved, but I hope you will show more charity than I have shown you and admit me to your company once again. It would give me great satisfaction and pleasure to have the chance to speak with you. There is no one with whom I can share confidences as you and I have, and I have missed that more than I can express to you in words.

  Dear Antonina, forgive me for all my slights and my ambitions. I have been a stupid, vain woman and I have spurned a friendship that has been worth more to me than the tributes of my husband. What woman ever truly gives a man the trust that she can share with another of her sex? We pretend that this is not the case, but in our heart of hearts, the truth of it cannot be denied. For that reason if no other, I hope you will not forbid me to call upon you. I have yearned for the benefit of your good sense as well as the chance to speak plainly, which we never do with the men we know.

  I hope also that perhaps you have missed my company and that you will find that my presence is welcome to you; surely there are things you wish to say that you cannot discuss with your husband, for honorable and steadfast as he is, it is not the same as the understanding I have provided in the past.

  Your slave Simones will bring this letter to you and he will tell you himself how much I long to renew and restore our friendship and what great importance you hold in my life. If you do not believe what I say, then perhaps you will believe what your own slave will tell you. You should thank him for seeking me out, for until he came to me I had no idea how great was your suffering. I had attributed your retirement from the world to the misfortunes of your husband and not to your health, for which I am most heartily sorry, and I ask that you will not hold against me my lack of information, for as you know this city is alive with rumors and half-truths which distort the knowledge that would have brought me to your side long before now had I any notion of the severity of your troubles.

  Let me hear from you soon, and when you tell me I may, I will come to you to ask your pardon face to face, and I will do whatever you request at whatever time you stipulate. I pray that your answer will be swift, so that I may in some part make amends for the lack of attention I have given you.

  I am your friend, Antonina, and I beg you to let me have the opportunity to demonstrate that to you.

  Eugenia

  2

  Zejhil was almost out of the garden when she heard the whisper of voices near the passage that led to the stables. At once she paused and listened, not daring to move.

  "There is money in it if you will aid me," said a voice that Zejhil did not know.

  "I am a slave," came the answer from a man; Zejhil recognized Valerios. "If I am caught, it could mean my life."

  "You will not be caught; and if you are, you have only to say that you were working at the behest of an agent of the Censor to determine if your mistress is an enemy of the Emperor, and there will be little she can do against you."

  "Who will listen to a slave?" Valerios scoffed.

  "Who will listen to a woman?" asked the other. "And a Roman woman. The Emperor has said that Romans are not to be trusted and a Roman woman—"

  "My mistress has been good to me."

  The unknown man laughed. "What good is that if she is accused of treason?"

  "She is not a traitor," Valerios said, but with less conviction than before.

  "Have you proof of that? She associates with the disgraced Belisarius and she has kept Captain Drosos as her lover in spite of his opposition to the edicts of the Emperor in regard to the destruction of heretical texts. It may be that she is only foolish."

  Zejhil put her hand to her mouth to stifle her indignant objections. Cautiously she moved a little closer to the passageway.

  "Suppose you were to learn that others have found her to be a traitor," suggested the stranger. "What then?"

  "It is not for me to say. I am a slave." Valerios raised his voice. "And there are severe penalties for suborning slaves."

  "So there are. There are also severe penalties for slaves who participate in treasonous activities. Doesn't it trouble you that you might have the skin peeled off your body and you be left staked to the ground outside the city walls?"

  "Go away," Valerios said, his voice now tinged with fear.

  "I will reward those who help me, and I will see that those who hinder me are punished." There was a menace in this promise that made Zejhil shiver.

  "Go away. You are nothing more than a slave yourself, and anything you say to me is only the word of a slave." There was the sound of hurrying feet, and then more stealthy footsteps and a soft closing of a door.

  Zejhil remained where she was, unable to move from the dread that gripped her. She tried to reason with herself, to convince herself that the sinister unknown man was no danger to her or anyone in Olivia's household, but she could not stop the shudders that overcame her when she attempted to leave the garden. "I must warn my mistress," she whispered, as if hearing the words would goad her to action. Nothing changed. Only the sudden braying of an ass in the street beyond the wall
s gave her the impetus she needed, and she fled into the corridor that joined the kitchen.

  She had tasks to finish and knew that she might be reprimanded if she did not do them, but her fear outweighed her prudence and she sought out Niklos, hoping to find him before she lost all her courage.

  He was in the counting-room, a row of gold and silver coins set out in front of him, a small scale standing beside the coins. He scowled as the door opened. "What—" As soon as he saw who it was, he changed his attitude. "Zejhil. What's the matter, girl? You look as if you've dragged a bale of silk from Antioch to Damascus."

  She shut the door firmly and took a hesitant step toward him. "You… you said that if I heard anything I was to tell you…"

  Niklos was now very attentive. "Yes. And you have been very good in that regard. What have you heard now?" He got up from the tall stool and came toward her. "Zejhil?"

  "I was in the garden," she said, motioning him away from her. "I didn't think that anyone else was there, but they were."

  "Who was there?" His curiosity was turning to worry. "What did you hear, Zejhil? What did you see?"

  "I didn't see anything," she said. She was bent over slightly, her arms crossed over her abdomen as if she were in pain. "I only heard."

  "Are you all right? Did anyone harm you?" He ignored her warning and came to her side.

  "Not harm, no. I said I didn't see them. They didn't do anything to me, but I heard them. I heard them." She looked up at him. "There was a man I did not know. He was talking with Valerios."

  "Valerios?" said Niklos, more puzzled than before.

  "He—the stranger—was offering Valerios money for information about our mistress. He said that if there was any trouble for him, the stranger would say that Valerios was acting for the Court Censor." She began to cry from terror. "If it is so, if the Censor is trying to impugn our mistress, then there is no hope for us and we are all doomed."