A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Niklos put his arm around Zejhil's shoulder and held her as he would have held a frightened child. "No, no, Zejhil. If the Censor wishes to learn about Olivia, he will have to do more than spy on her slaves, or make spies of them. Even the Greek male slaves."

  "The man was so… malignant." She trembled. "I have not heard anyone speak so, not ever."

  "There are malignant people in the world, Zejhil. It is a pity for everyone, but it is so." He smoothed her hair back from her face. "But there have been no accusations made and until there are, even the Censor can do nothing. Olivia has kept to the laws; she has done what her sponsor has required of her, and if she—"

  "She is a friend of Belisarius and Drosos." She said this as if she expected castigation for speaking those two names aloud.

  "Yes, and she will continue to be, if I know her," said Niklos. Without seeming to do so, he guided Zejhil across the room to a wooden chair. "Sit, Zejhil."

  Obediently she did. She clasped her hands together in her lap and waited for what would come next. "I am afraid," she said simply.

  "I know," Niklos responded, and laid his hand on hers. "I wish you would trust us. Neither Olivia or I will let any harm befall you. Olivia does not require her slaves to suffer for her. If there are charges brought against her, she will free all of you before she answers them."

  "There won't be time. She will have to ask her sponsor to do that, and if she is accused, no sponsor will permit her to do that." Zejhil started to rise, then sank back.

  "It is already arranged," Niklos said quietly. "I rely on you to keep that to yourself."

  Zejhil stared at him. "What do you mean, it is already arranged?"

  "She has the writs with her sponsor's approval in her documents. She has only to affix a date and sign them." He shook his head. "I have said you could trust her. She knows that her position grows more precarious, and if she were permitted she would leave Konstantinoupolis."

  "But she is not permitted?" said Zejhil.

  "Not yet," said Niklos. There were alternate plans he and Olivia had made, but they were to be used only when all other means were exhausted: of these he said nothing.

  "Then the stranger I heard could—"

  "You have done very good work, for you have put us on our guard before the others are aware of it." He started to pace. "I want you to speak with Olivia later tonight, after most of the others have gone to bed. I will give you an order while you have your evening meal so that none of the others will pay any attention to what you do."

  "What should I do until then?" She waited as if expecting revelation.

  "What you usually do." He read confusion in her face and went on. "If you change what you do, there are those who will notice, and if Valerios has truly been approached, it may be that others have, as well. In which case, everything should appear as normal as possible to keep any potential spy from suspecting that he has been found out." Niklos studied her reaction. "I trust you will aid us?"

  "How could you doubt it?" She rose out of the chair and came toward him. "If anyone tried to hurt you—"

  He stopped her with a swift, kind gesture. "For that I am more grateful than you can imagine, Zejhil."

  Her angular face went crimson. "I—"

  "You are a very good woman, Zejhil; before you are anything else, you are a very good woman." He took her hand. "Now, go about your work, and know that our mistress and I thank you for what you have done."

  She nodded, the blush fading. "I will. And when you summon me, I will be ready."

  "Excellent. Now leave me alone. I have to think." He escorted her to the door and saw her go down the hallway; then, when she had turned the corner, he left the room and went in search of Valerios. It took some time for he was not where Niklos expected to find him.

  "What—?" Valerios burst out as Niklos stepped into the small room near the kitchen where furniture was made and repaired. He was wearing a leather apron and had a leather-headed mallet in his hand. Between his legs he held one of the cooks' benches, with two new legs just being fit into place.

  "I thought you would be in the vestibule," Niklos said as if the two men were in the middle of a conversation. "You were adding a new screen to the ikonostasis, weren't you?"

  "Yes." He hammered the mallet down on the legs. "But the cooks needed this urgently. Since the great lady wasn't as pressed for the new screen, I decided to—" He interrupted himself with his work.

  "You're an industrious fellow, Valerios. They breed you hardy in—where is it you are from?" Niklos leaned on the doorframe, arms folded.

  "Thessalonica," he said, accompanying the word with two heavy blows.

  "A distinguished place with a long history," said Niklos, very much at his ease.

  "So I've heard." He tested one of the legs and glowered at it. "Is there something I have to do? If there isn't, I want to get this finished for the cooks."

  Niklos crossed one leg over the other, resting the foot on the toe of his sandal. "Yes, come to think of it, there is something you can do: you can answer a few questions."

  This time the mallet faltered in its descent. "What questions?"

  "Nothing too difficult, I imagine." His mouth curved but there was no smile in his eyes. "I understand that you had an interesting offer earlier today. Would you like to tell me about it, or would you rather I guess?"

  The mallet struck awry, the force of the impact almost pulling the bench from the grip between his knees.

  Valerios cursed, then said, "An offer? What sort of offer?"

  "I understand," Niklos said, unperturbed, "that someone was willing to pay you for information. Someone wanted to know certain things about this household and for unknown reasons was not willing to approach either our mistress or me directly." He paused, sensing Valerios' tension. "Why was that, Valerios?"

  "I…I know nothing about that. Whoever says such things is lying." His protest was far from convincing.

  "Really? You mean no one came here, saying that you would not be blamed for any ill you did because you were working for the Court Censor?" He asked this with innocence a cat would envy. "I was told you refused."

  Valerios swung the mallet and then flung it to the far side of the room. "All right!" he shouted. "All right. There was a man, a slave. He had been here before and asked about Captain Drosos. I told him that the Captain had been here. I didn't think that there was any harm in that. Everyone in the household knew about it and it's not as if the mistress has made a secret of her dealings with him."

  "Did he pay you then?" Niklos inquired sweetly.

  "Two silver coins," Valerios admitted.

  "You said nothing of it."

  Valerios shrugged defensively. "I didn't think anything of it. There was nothing secret."

  "Except the inquiry," Niklos pointed out. "Who was this man? Other than a slave?"

  "I don't know. I thought when he first came here that he was merely searching for Drosos." He righted the bench and sat down heavily on it.

  "Why would you think that?" Niklos asked, guessing at the answer already.

  "His collar had the mark of Belisarius' household. I assumed the General was concerned, what with his former officers being sent to the distant ends of the Empire." He sighed and stared down at the earthen floor. "Or that may be what I told myself when I took the money."

  Niklos' expression softened a bit. "It is a reasonable assumption."

  "I thought that would be the end of it, and since Belisarius is our mistress' sponsor, I thought that there was no harm in telling the slave that."

  "Since Belisarius is Olivia's sponsor, why would his slave have to ask you? Why would Belisarius not send a messenger directly to me or to Olivia herself?" Niklos asked.

  "Perhaps he didn't want Captain Drosos to know he was being watched," said Valerios hopefully.

  "And perhaps Belisarius has a spy in his household," said Niklos.

  Valerios looked away. "There might be."

  "Which slave was it? Describe him."
He grew more attentive though his posture did not change.

  "A eunuch. Not fat. Fairly tall. Between twenty and thirty—it's hard to guess age with eunuchs. Deep voice." He shook his head. "I should have spoken to you. I knew that at the time. But I thought it would be just the once, and the money was—"

  "And this time he offered more, of course." Niklos recognized Simones and anticipated the pattern.

  "Yes, more. And he wanted to know more. He said that I could keep the money no matter what." He coughed. "I don't want it, not that way."

  "But you said nothing," Niklos reminded him. "Neither the first time nor the second."

  "I know." This was hardly audible.

  "Has our mistress been unkind to you?"

  "No."

  "Or made unreasonable demands?"

  "No." His voice was lower.

  "Or mistreated you?"

  Valerios surged to his feet, kicking the bench aside. "You know she hasn't!"

  "Then why did you betray her?" Niklos asked, his voice quiet and sharp at once.

  Valerios shook his head and moved away from where Niklos stood. "I… I don't know."

  "Shall I tell you?" Niklos did not wait for Valerios to answer. "You thought that you might have some power, some means to control—oh, anyone—and you wanted it. Don't you understand yet that Olivia meant what she said. You are her slave, but not in the way of Konstantinoupolis, in the way of Roma, old Roma. When I brought you here, you were told how the household was to be run, and you would not believe that, and now you have compromised yourself."

  "I didn't agree to help the second time." Valerios was sulking now, refusing to look toward the majordomo. "I said I would not."

  "If you think that you have heard the end of it, you're very mistaken. You are a tool of the enemies of my mistress now, and that makes you dangerous." Niklos finally moved into the room. "By tonight, you will be confined to your quarters. I would do that now, but it might alert others. Certainly the rest of the slaves would talk, and that is something that my mistress cannot risk at present. So you might as well get used to my company. Until you go to the kitchen to eat, you will have it."

  "And then?" There was a hardness in his voice, the rasp of long-denied anger.

  "You will have your meal, of course. The others will guard you. Afterward, I will secure you." He gave Valerios a measuring look. "If you are thinking of attempting to escape, let me advise you against it. If you run away, or even try to, you will have lost any chance you might have of salvaging something for yourself. A run-away forfeits everything, and there is nothing my mistress can do to change that. You will be branded a criminal and set to hard labor—probably the copper mines or aboard ship. In either case, you will not have much left to you."

  "I should have taken the money, told the slave what he wanted to know, and said nothing," Valerios grunted.

  "Had you done that, you would be confined right now. Be thankful to your good angel that you did not take the money." Niklos regarded Valerios a moment, then said, "Bring the bench to the kitchen. If the cooks need it so much, they will wonder if you do not fix it for them."

  Valerios obeyed, his face sullen and his movements ponderous and slow. As he left the room, he looked hard at Niklos. "I could have accused you. I could have told the slave all I know about you, and—"

  "And what is that?" Niklos inquired, sounding amused in order to hide his sudden apprehension.

  "I saw you." Valerios turned narrowed eyes on Niklos.

  "Do what?"

  "I saw you eat. You had a shoulder of goat. You… just ate it. Just the way it was." Even as he hurled this accusation, there was a tone in his furious words that hinted he did not quite believe what he was saying.

  Niklos shook his head. "Have you never tested meat to be sure it was fresh and wholesome before letting the cooks have it?"

  "It was raw." Revulsion made the last word much worse than it was."

  "It certainly was," said Niklos. "But no one in this household has fallen ill to tainted meat, have they?" He waited while Valerios considered what he had said. "My ways are similar to the ways of my mistress."

  "So you eat goat raw?" Valerios said, now more bewildered than challenging.

  "Upon occasion." He stood aside so that Valerios could carry the bench out of the room. "Come. The cooks are waiting."

  Valerios had one last crafty question for Niklos. "What if I tell… someone that you eat raw goat?"

  "What if you do?" Niklos rejoined. "If they believed you—and the chance is they would not—they would also believe the reason for what I do. Konstantinoupolitans believe almost anything about Romans." He was able to chuckle, but it was fortunate that Valerios could not see his face.

  Valerios picked up the bench. "What are you going to tell the mistress?"

  "Everything. I am her majordomo." He walked close behind Valerios as they went toward the kitchen. "If I did not, I would be failing her in every way."

  "What will become of me." He stopped in the entryway to the kitchen.

  "That is for my mistress to decide," Niklos said, his manner expressionless. Then he indicated the kitchen. "Look. Urania is waiting for the bench."

  One of the two cooks, a squat, muscular woman with a round face and rosy complexion, greeted Valerios with a shout.

  "About time! Put it here. My feet ache all the way up to my innards."

  Niklos nodded and Valerios, after a quick glance at him, went and put down the bench. "Next time, don't pile half the kitchen on one end of it," he admonished Urania.

  She uttered a gruff oath and sank down on the bench. "How anyone is supposed to cook all day on their feet, I don't know."

  Niklos indicated the two long tables on the far side of the room where the slaves were served their meals. "How much longer before the meal?"

  "Not long. There are some flatbreads just coming out of the oven, if you're hungry."

  "I'm not," said Niklos. "But I know that Valerios is. Let him have one and we'll wait for the others."

  Urania nodded, her wide face smiling even as she grumbled. "I don't know how I'm supposed to keep up with this household." She got her baking paddle and went to the oven. Her face grew ruddy from the heat as she pulled back the door and slid the paddle in. "These are best hot."

  Valerios burned his fingers when he took the flatbread Urania offered him, but he refused to drop it. He sat at the nearer of the long tables and chewed slowly on the bread, watching Niklos while the other slaves began to arrive for their food.

  Only when eight of the slaves were seated and Urania was bustling among them with trays of chicken cooked with dates and olives with garlic and cracked wheat did Niklos decide it was safe to leave Valerios in the kitchen. As he hurried toward Olivia's private apartments, he wondered how many other of the household slaves Simones had approached, and what they had told him. He was most troubled that Valerios had seen him eat. The fiction he had offered might be acceptable to a slave, but there were others who would find other meaning in what he did, and that could easily lead to questions with dangerous answers and more dangerous repercussions. He set his jaw and knocked on Olivia's door, saying "It's Niklos."

  She was watching him as he came into her quarters. "More trouble? Of course there is more trouble," she said for him when he hesitated.

  "It might be worse," Niklos hedged.

  "Indeed it might," she said sardonically. "There might be an earthquake and the house could be on fire."

  "Olivia—"

  She managed a rueful smile. "But fortunately, we have only to deal with spies and enemies. Tell me."

  * * *

  Text of a letter from the physician Mnenodatos to the person who employed him to poison Antonina.

  To the man who has called himself my benefactor, the physician Mnenodatos sends his apologetic greetings and will try to explain why he must dissappoint this generous person.

  You have indicated that you are not satisfied with the rate of progress of my "treatment" of the
August Lady Antonina and wish that she would show more signs of debilitation. If you insist, I am able to give her more of the poison you have instructed me to use, but I warn you that there are many others who would then recognize the nature of her malady and there is an excellent chance that I would be dismissed from the service of Belisarius and be accused, if not of poisoning her myself, of being so incompetent that I did not recognize that she is suffering from such treatment. If I were taken by officers of the magistrate, or by the Guard, I would have to reveal all that I know—which is not much, I admit—about the nature of the person who has engaged and paid me to do this thing.

  As to your request that a similar ill befall the General himself, I must caution you that one unaccountable illness in a household like this one occasions only sympathy; two would give rise to speculation that neither you nor I would like. It is one thing for a woman of Antonina's years and temperament to have fevers and aches and sicknesses that no physician can treat, but if her husband should succumb to the same thing, then there are those who will ask questions, and they will not be satisfied with easy answers or vague reassurances. To make the poisoning of the General acceptable, I would have to poison the entire household, slaves and myself included, so that it would appear that the food was tainted. I do not believe that this is a reasonable solution to your problem.

  If you are eager to be rid of the General, then there are others who will do the deed in any number of ways you might like. Enough gold will purchase far more than a physician's skill and conscience.

  Be aware that I am doing all that I may to keep my activities undetected. If I do more, it will go badly. Since you have been willing to wait this long, I ask you take the time required for the poison to do its work. There is no advantage to discovery for any of us, not even for Antonina, poor woman, for she has taken enough of the poison that she cannot be saved no matter what was done for her. I could leave here tomorrow, give her nothing more, and she would last for perhaps two years at the most, and they would not be pleasant years.

  I urge you to reconsider your request. I have done all that I can, and to undertake to do more would imperil the entire venture. I say this with authority and I ask that you respect my assertion—you respected my ability sufficiently to engage me on this filthy business.