"Why would Drosos fear Olivia?"
Niklos opened his hands, palms up, to show his innocence in the matter. "He has claimed that he does. I don't know if that is serious or only his teasing, but—"
"Yes, I see," said Chrysanthos. "I will tell him, and I hope for his sake as well as the sake of your mistress that he does come soon. She is a woman of formidable control, but I think that she is more distraught than is apparent." He stepped out into the twilight street.
As Niklos closed the door, he turned to see Olivia standing in the door of the reception room. "You're eavesdropping."
"As is everyone else in this house, it would seem." She came toward him. "I want to rail at them. I want to call down plagues and curses on them and their offspring."
"But you won't," Niklos said with confidence.
"No; not yet." She indicated the ikonostasis. "At least not yet. Another time—"
Niklos looked around. "Do you intend that there be a formal complaint?"
"If I didn't, it would look more suspicious than anything else I could say or do. I will go to Belisarius myself tomorrow, and find out how he advises me to handle this. Chrysanthos has been very helpful—I did not mean to imply that he wasn't—but I will have to speak with Belisarius privately before I know what is best to do." She began to walk restlessly and aimlessly around the vestibule. "If I can discover what the reason is, then there might be a way to combat all the lies and innuendos, but as it is—"
"About leaving?" Niklos asked.
"Yes." She stopped and turned back toward him. "You are always such a sensible man, Niklos, and there are times I wonder how you deal with me." Her expression grew distant. "The clothes I mentioned?"
"I have them."
"Buy three more horses. Make sure they are swift but ordinary looking. Saddle horses, mind, not chariot horses. If we are to leave here on… short notice, we will need saddle horses as well as chariot horses." This last was for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, and Niklos caught her gesture that indicated her intent.
"Three horses. Very well." He cocked his head. "Do you anticipate needing to leave soon?"
"No, but anticipation means little in such circumstances. I will have to find a way to judge when it is best to act." She shook her head. "There was a time when I would have thrown it all away and simply headed out of trouble without a second thought. But that, my friend, would be folly. If you leave a place under suspicion, you must live with that suspicion for a very long time, and there's no telling when it might—" She stopped. "We had trouble enough in Carthago Nova. I would prefer not to have such problems again."
"I won't argue," said Niklos with feeling. "But who would have thought that smug little bureaucrat would travel so far, or remember so clearly?"
"Precisely," Olivia agreed. "And I do not want to spend another twenty-five years in Pictavi or some other equally dreadful place posing as a sybil and living in a cave. That taught me a lesson I do not need to learn twice." She attempted to make light of this. "And you would not have to spend a quarter of a century pretending to be a mute."
"Spare me that," he said with feeling. "Horses. Anything else?"
Olivia gave a warning gesture toward the doors. "Not now, not until I have spoken with my sponsor. In the meantime, I will want to have a word or two with Zejhil. Find her and send her to me, will you?"
For the benefit of anyone who might be watching, Niklos made a deep reverence. "Immediately, great lady."
She waved him away, but did not leave the vestibule at once herself; she stared at the door and wondered, as she had wondered often in the last three days, where Drosos was and what he was doing.
* * *
Text of a letter from Olivia to Sanct' Germain, written in Latin code.
To my dearest, oldest friend who ought to be in Trapezus now, Olivia sends her fond greetings.
I am sending this to your house in Trapezus in the hope that you will have returned there, or that if you have not, your servants will know where you are to be found and will send this along to you. You have been traveling more in these last several years, which is inconvenient for both of us.
But it appears that I will be doing the same thing. For some reason I have not yet discovered, I have aroused suspicions here in Constantinople and from the way things are going, I will have to leave soon or face consequences that would be unpleasant. What a simple word that is—unpleasant—when I am trying to say that I fear for my life; the life you returned to me when Vespasianus wore the purple. Was it really almost five hundred years ago? You will have to forgive me if I find that hard to believe. Five hundred years seems so long, looking at the numbers, yet how swiftly those years have gone.
I have not yet determined where I will go when I leave here, but leave here I must. I hate abandoning my house and goods; I have already left so much behind in Roma that I know I will never see again. And leaving my friends—although there are precious few of them—is more difficult than I can tell you. No, that's not true, is it? You, of all people, know how hard it is to leave friends.
Assuming I have time enough for adequate preparation, I think I will try to move toward the edges of the Empire, or to go to those parts that are Coptic. The Copts are not as eager to question the faith of everyone around them as these damned Orthodox Christians are. Of course the Orthodox regard the Copts as heretics, which might account for some of this; so long as I have the opportunity to live and move about without constant surveillance, I will be—satisfied?—content?
Niklos is making several sets of arrangements for our departure, some of them more obvious than others. He is a treasure, and when I think of him, I think also of your Rogerian, since they are the same sort. Is it their method of restoration that creates such loyalty?
When I have established myself at wherever-I-am-going, I will send you word, and I trust you will write to me from time to time. Your letters are always so welcome, so consoling. There are times they are sad, as well, for they remind me of how you brought me into your life. There are times I miss those years, and your love, so intently that my bones hurt with it. Yes, yes, do not say that it is past and that the bond continues unbroken. I know that, and I cherish it, but that does not rid me of the longing.
I am not going to apologize for the last, incidentally. I know that our love cannot be what it was before I came into your life, but that does not mean I have to deny that I miss it.
Perhaps, when the worst of this is over, there will be time to write more fully, to tell you things that I cannot yet put down in words. Until then, have care, my precious friend, my old love. This world would be far drearier than it already is if you were no longer in it.
With my enduring love, and you alone appreciate my meaning,
Olivia
in Constantinople
4
Panaigios was more nervous than the last time he had spoken with Simones. His fingers moved almost constantly, now at his pallium, now at the hem of his sleeves, now at the large, pearl-encrusted cross he wore around his neck. He indicated a small, unpadded bench and waited while Simones sat, then cleared his throat. "You have said that you have made a discovery?"
"Yes," Simones replied without any aggrandizement to the secretary of the Censor. "I sent you word of it three days ago."
"I have your note somewhere," Panaigios said, leafing through the sheets of vellum and parchment that lay on his writing table. There were even a few sheets of Egyptian paper which Simones found surprising. "Here it is. You say here that you"—he held up a strip of vellum—"have found material that would be of great value to me and to the Censor and the Emperor. You say nothing more about what this material is. Since you describe this as material, I have assumed that you have come upon a document of some sort that has some bearing on the investigation the Censor has been pursuing in regard to your master. Have I erred in any of these assumptions?"
"Not very much, no," said Simones.
"I have also assumed that you have some
reason for withholding the material itself—would it be missed?" He braced his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "If that is the trouble, it is possible that a writ to search the house of Belisarius could be obtained from the Emperor. He is eager to learn of anything bearing on the conspiracy that Belisarius claims he has not participated in. Would this material be related to that question?" He was speaking fast and in breathless little spurts, and when he finished, he coughed once.
Simones leaned back. "I am prepared to show you something that would establish my master's role in the conspiracy. It isn't necessary to get a writ and search the house. I can put my hands on the thing at any time, and if I choose when it is to be shown, it will not be missed." He folded his hands and caught them around his knee. "I want to be certain of my position in this before I go any further. Denouncing my master is a dangerous thing, and I do not want to place myself in the position of a sacrifice." He nodded at the startled glance Panaigios threw him. "Oh, yes, I have wondered if you were going to use me as the means to be rid of Belisarius and then you would be rid of me, as well."
"It…it isn't the way the Censor… manages these things," said Panaigios with unconvincing sincerity.
"I doubt that," Simones said. "I have heard of slaves who disappear with their masters when the masters have been shown to be enemies of the Emperor. I would not say the names, for they aren't to be spoken, are they?"
"You are insolent," Panaigios snapped.
"Certainly." Simones showed his teeth. "I am serving two masters, which means that I must weigh my own interests."
"Insolent slaves suffer for it." Panaigios held up the vellum. "I have this, and it places you as my agent, if I am willing to say that you have worked on my authority. If I do not say you have my authority, then you are a slave who has betrayed his master. I will have no more insolence from you." He slammed the palm of his hand on the writing table for emphasis. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
Simones straightened up. "I have other notes from you; I have kept them. They give instructions and they have your name on them." He folded his arms. "I have two things to discuss. I have mentioned the material about the conspiracy. I also want to inform you that my mistress continues to suffer declining health and it is not likely she will live more than a year given her problem."
"Poison," said Panaigios.
"Yes. It continues to be administered. The man who gives her the poison still does not know who has required her death. He thinks it is someone in the household, but he does not suspect me. In fact, he once asked me who might wish ill on Antonina." He leaned forward. "I have enrolled the aid of Eugenia, who was once the close friend of my mistress, to observe her and learn from her."
"You said that you had the support of a friend; was this what you meant?" Panaigios tapped his fingers on the piled sheets on his writing table.
"Yes. When I reported my intentions, you encouraged me. I have tried to be useful to you." His eyes hardened. "I want you to be useful to me, as well."
Panaigios dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "When we have learned all that we require, then a decision will be made regarding you, but not until that time." He waited. "Tell me more about this material."
"It shows that my master was part of a conspiracy. I will be happy to produce it as soon as I am assured that I will not suffer the same fate as my master and his household. I want a promise of manumission and I want the assurance that I will be paid for what I supply." He leaned back. "Until these things are arranged, I will not show you this material."
Panaigios sighed. "I cannot give you any such assurance. It isn't my place to do so. If you think that you must have some guarantee, then the Censor must be the one to decide it." He started to gather up the vellum sheets. "I will speak of this to my master."
"If you do not give me the things I ask for, the material will disappear." Simones gave another of his lupine smiles.
"What?" Panaigios stopped his work and stared at Simones. "Are you threatening to destroy proof of treason?"
"Unless I obtain what I want." Simones raised his head, his strong jaw more prominent than usual.
Panaigios stacked all the sheets together, watching his hands as he did. "Let me warn you, slave, that you are placing yourself in grave danger."
Simones chuckled. "I have been in danger from the start of this. It is nothing new to me."
"Then you have not considered your role in this. You have convinced yourself that you are indispensable to our investigation, and you are not. You are a slave and you have been convinced that your assistance—assistance, not direction—is needed in order to determine what your master's part has been in any plot against the Emperor. To imagine otherwise is a grave mistake. You are not the person who guides this inquiry, the Court Censor is, and all of us are his tools." He said the last in a lowered tone, but with an expression that was both severe and desolate.
Simones heard this out with a mixture of impatience and rancor. "You are his tool as well, of course," he said at last, intending to insult Panaigios.
"Certainly. We are all his tools, and he is the tool of the Emperor." Panaigios waited a moment, then said more briskly, "If you have knowledge, not suspicion but knowledge, which can link Belisarius directly to a conspiracy, then you must give it to me at once, for to withhold it is a greater treason than the action that inspired it."
"What?" Simones said, for the first time frightened of the Censor's secretary.
Panaigios nodded twice. "If you do not produce this material, whatever it is, and do so at once, then you are knowingly aiding those who oppose the Emperor, and that is a treasonable act."
Simones drew back, disliking the firm attitude Panaigios was showing now. "I… I am not quite certain that I can put my hands on the material."
"You had better be, or your accusations will be relayed to your master and he can deal with your insubordination." Panaigios stood up. "You have two days to accomplish this. If you do not, then I will have to review your position with this investigation. Whatever the decision, you will not be permitted to act as independently as you have in the past, for it is obvious that like most slaves, you cannot handle any authority."
"You are wrong!" Simones said with force as he got to his feet. His face had darkened and his eyes were huge. "You came to me, and you gave me orders that required I act against my master. It was on your orders that I have done the things I've done, and you are the one who must be responsible for whatever I have done and whatever I will do." He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a long way.
"You are a slave." Panaigios stepped back. "I dismiss you until you have considered your situation closely and have made up your mind what you intend to do. I will not stop you from making any decision you wish, but I warn you now that there is very little chance you will be excused if it turns out that your allegations are false. The malice of slaves is well-known, and you are no exception to that rule." He indicated the outer door. "I hope you will not dawdle."
It took all the control Simones had learned over the years for him to leave the room without smashing his fist into Panaigios' face. He made a reverence and touched his collar in a gesture of submission, then turned sharply on his heel. "I will find the material," he vowed, wishing now that he had taken the time to plant such a document within Belisarius' house. There might not be a chance now that the Censor's men were on the alert. He cursed Panaigios and himself as he strode from the palace of the Censor.
Panaigios did not hurry to Kimon Athanatadies' quarters at once, although he was aware his duties required him to report to his superior immediately. Instead he sought out the smallest chapel in the palace and took time to pray, for he was terribly afraid. He wanted to seek out Thekla again, to listen to her strange prophecies and try to determine his course from her cryptic statements, but he knew he was being watched, and such an action now might be construed as a ploy to secure a higher position within the government, which the Court Censor would view as highly question
able. There had been too many instances lately when Athanatadies had asked Panaigios awkward things, and he knew his answers had been far from satisfactory.
By the time Panaigios rose from his knees, Simones was halfway to Eugenia's house, his thoughts growing sterner with every step he took. He was determined to show himself to be trustworthy if he had to counterfeit the proof of Belisarius' treachery himself.
At Eugenia's house he was made to wait while she prepared herself to receive him. This only served to make him more aggravated than he already was, so that when Eugenia entered her larger reception room, Simones was glowering with ire.
"Lord protect us," Eugenia said, trying to find the right note to take with Simones. "You look as if half the mules in the market had stepped on your feet."
"I don't find that amusing," Simones said, coming to her side and putting his arm around her. "Find another way to amuse me."
She became very still. "Simones, there are slaves in my house who will defend me."
"Summon them," he offered, almost eager for the opportunity to have direct conflict with someone. "I will resist, but that mustn't bother you. You would like to be fought over, wouldn't you? It would be better if those fighting weren't slaves, but that is better than nothing." He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. "Go ahead; summon your help."
"Not yet," she said, fearful of what might happen.
"Disappointing, but wise." He released her. "Sit down. I must talk with you."
"Simones—" she began in protest.
"I said sit down. Unless you want it known what you have done at my behest." He pointed to the smaller bench near the window. "Now."
Slowly Eugenia did as she was told. "Now what?" she asked when she had folded her hands in her lap.
"Now I must know if you have any letters or notes written by my master to you or to friends here?" He braced his hands on his hips.
"I don't think so," she said, puzzled at his remark.
"Are you certain?"
Eugenia shook her head. "It would not be proper for Belisarius to write to me, in any case, unless at the request of his wife. Since Antonina is able to read and write, there is no reason for her husband to send anything to me." She fiddled with the edge of her paenula. "I can only think of one man who received any word from Belisarius while he was here, and he has not been… to visit me for well over a year. He was one of Belisarius' officers in Italy."
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