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A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

Page 38

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro


  Belisarius snorted. "You don't want a sponsor at all."

  "Yes. But if I must have one, then I would rather it be you than anyone else." She shrugged. "Do what you can. I will not hold you responsible for what others do."

  "I could request that Drosos—" Belisarius offered.

  "Drosos is in more disgrace at court than you are. And he is questionable since he is known to be my lover." She frowned, hesitating. "He is also… very much troubled. Ever since his return from Alexandria, he has been unlike himself. I… I have tried, but he—"

  "I know," Belisarius said. "I've talked with him, and he is overburdened."

  Olivia nodded in agreement. "He is not what he was. There are times I fear I will not be able to… to reach him again."

  "Is that so important?" Belisarius asked in surprise.

  "There is nothing more important," Olivia said quietly but with so much feeling that Belisarius found it difficult to look at her.

  "Yes." He rubbed his hands against his pallium. "Is there anything you would like to eat?"

  "No," she said. "I would like to be able to help Drosos, but he won't permit it. When we talk, it is as if he were a stranger, an angry, guilty boy."

  Belisarius made a curt gesture. "This is folly."

  "He cannot reconcile himself to what he has done." Now that she said it, she saw compassion and resignation in Belisarius' face.

  "And if he had not done it, he would not have been able to reconcile himself to that, either." He reached for a plum. "I do not know what more can be done for him."

  "He does not want to listen to me; will he listen to you?"

  "I don't know." He averted his eyes. "If I were able to speak to the Emperor, I might be able to find out all his reasons for ordering the Library burned. But as it is, I cannot answer the questions that haunt Drosos, and—"

  Olivia rose. "It wouldn't matter. Even if the Emperor gave his reasons to Drosos, it wouldn't end his doubts, not now." She sighed. "What does a peasant from Macedonia know about the value of books?"

  Belisarius looked up sharply, his hand raised in warning. "It isn't wise to be so outspoken in this house."

  "I have said the same thing in my own house and I am certain that there are spies." She walked toward the tall window that was open on the garden. "Your Emperor began life as a peasant. He was not much different from others, except in his ambitions."

  "In his vision," Belisarius corrected her, an edge in his voice.

  "Call it what you will; he aspired to more than the life of a peasant—will that do?" She shook her head. "He has no concept of the worth of those books, of the tradition he has ruined."

  "If the Emperor believes that the burning was necessary, then it is not for us to question him." Belisarius spoke with conviction.

  "That is what Drosos tells me, too. I can't understand. You have to forgive me," she said, turning away from the garden to look squarely at Belisarius. "You are Byzantine; I am Roman."

  Belisarius strove to make light of her words. "I allow that there are differences, but we are all Christians, and we all bow to the same altars."

  Olivia could say nothing in response; she stared blindly at the roses, hoping to quell the anguish she felt: Drosos, Belisarius, Antonina, Chrysanthos, herself; all of them were caught in a labyrinth. Her attention was caught by a bee that had strayed too deeply into the heart of a rose and had been entrapped by a spider. Now it lay in its filament-prison, enmeshed in bonds that were all but invisible.

  Belisarius spoke, but not to Olivia. "What is it, Simones?" he said to the slave who had come to the door and made a deep reverence.

  "It is your wife, General. She would like a little of your time. She apologizes for this intrusion." He lowered his head in Olivia's direction.

  "Is she—?"

  "She wishes to see you," Simones said, his tone and attitude wholly neutral.

  Belisarius was on his feet. "I will come at once," he said, adding to Olivia, "It is most improper to leave you without escort in my house, but—"

  "What nonsense," Olivia said, silencing him. "I will come with you, if you don't object, and if she is willing to see me, I would be delighted to visit with Antonina." She did not wait for him to make up his mind but followed him out of the room.

  "She might be too ill—" Belisarius warned her.

  "Then I will return to your reception room, or you may dismiss me." She kept pace with him, her attitude pragmatic, her words crisp.

  "It isn't correct," was the only observation he made to her suggestions.

  "I don't care if it is or is not," she told him. "Your wife needs your help." She halted at the door to Antonina's apartments and stopped Belisarius. "Believe me, my friend, I am sorry that you are in such travail. I am sorry that your wife is ill. You will not offend me if you give her trouble precedence over mine; if you did not, I would be displeased."

  "Thank you," he said, and went through the door that Simones held open for him. "I will find out if she is willing to see you."

  "Your august lady is not able to rise from her bed," Simones said to Belisarius, pointedly ignoring Olivia.

  "Let me speak with her," Belisarius said, directing this to Olivia. "I will return directly."

  "If you like, my master, I will bear a message," Simones volunteered.

  "No," said Belisarius. "If Olivia has questions, it is for me as her sponsor to answer them." With that, he entered his wife's quarter, indicating that Simones should wait with Olivia.

  "My mistress suffers much with her disorder," Simones informed Olivia in his most daunting manner.

  "I understand that she has been failing; it saddens me to hear of it." What would Simones think, she wondered, if he knew how many times she had expressed similar feelings over the centuries? What would Simones do if she described all the losses she had endured in her five hundred years. "It is always difficult to lose those we love. Both your mistress and master have grief in their hearts."

  Simones glared at her.

  In a short while Belisarius returned. "Antonina would be pleased to speak with you for a time, Olivia. You must not be too upset by her appearance. She has lost flesh and her pain has… changed her." He led her through the door, closing it on Simones. "Come." In an undervoice he added, "I am grateful to you for doing this. Many of her friends have ceased to visit her and that has been as hard a burden as her illness."

  Olivia nodded once. "They are afraid," she said.

  "Why should they fear? If there were contagion here, others would be ill, but it is only she." He paused at the door to Antonina's room.

  "They are afraid because they fear their time will come," said Olivia gently. "It isn't the illness, it is the inevitability that terrifies them."

  Belisarius regarded her uncertainly. He pressed the latch and opened the door. "My dear wife," he said as he approached Antonina's bed, "Olivia Clemens has come to see you."

  "You are welcome, friend of my husband," Antonina said, more cordial than she had ever been; her voice was low and harsh, no longer musical.

  "God give you a good recovery, August Lady," Olivia said with formal kindness.

  "It will be God and God alone who does," said Antonina. She was indeed much changed. Her dark hair was now the color of tarnished silver, with a wide swath of chalk white through it. Her skin, always pale, had turned almost lunar, and there were deep hollows in her cheeks; her eyes were sunken but enormous and shiny with fever.

  "Then we will pray for you, all of those who know you and care for you," said Olivia, aware that the woman was in agony.

  "We're grateful for your prayers," Belisarius said when Antonina said nothing to Olivia.

  "I have heard that you had goods taken from your house," Antonina said, making the information a challenge.

  "Unfortunately I have been suspected of illegal activities and the Censor desires to clear up the matter before deciding on my petition to leave the city." Olivia watched Antonina as she spoke, a question unspoken in her eyes.
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  "You wish to leave Konstantinoupolis?" Antonina said with astonishment. "How can you prefer to live in another place?"

  "I am a stranger here," Olivia said simply.

  "Where would you not be a stranger?" Antonina inquired. She was breathing a bit too fast and a dull flush had spread over her cheeks.

  "Roma, of course, but that isn't possible," Olivia said with an ironic smile. "You have been most gracious to me, Antonina, and I thank you for all you have done. Yet I know that I must find another… home." She moved a little nearer the bed.

  "What foolishness," said Antonina, glancing to her husband for agreement. "Why have you agreed to this."

  "Because she has been subjected to interferences. I know that she does not ask this capriciously." He sat on the bed beside his wife. "How are you, my dearest?"

  "I endure," she said fatalistically. "The physician has given me another potion, but—" She did not bother to finish.

  Olivia was more attentive than before. "Your physician? You are attended by a physician?"

  "An excellent and pious man. My slave Simones found him for me and has watched over me while this Mnenodatos has administered his treatments." She leaned back against the cushions piled behind her. "I am alive today, I think, because of the skill of this man."

  "Truly?" Olivia said. "That is an impressive recommendation. It takes a gifted healer to earn such praise."

  Belisarius caught the hard note in Olivia's tone, and he glanced at her in surprise. "Olivia?"

  "There are a few matters I must discuss with you before I leave," she said smoothly to him. "You are generous, Antonina, to permit me to take up your husband's time. I thank you for the consideration you show me." She emphasized this with a slight reverence to the woman in bed.

  "He is a comfort to me. My husband is always steadfast." She patted his hand, and then said in a very small voice, "I did not know until recently how great a strength he is."

  Olivia found it hard to speak. "You… you are fortunate to know this now. Many another has…"As her words faded, she made an odd, protective motion with her hands.

  "It has been solace to me," Antonina went on, speaking entirely to Belisarius. "If you were not here, I would be long in my grave."

  "Antonina—" Belisarius said, trying to moderate her emotions, concerned about the hectic brightness in her eyes and cheeks.

  "It is true, it is true," she said, her grip on his hands tightening with convulsive strength. "You are my good angel, and I thank God and His Mercy for making me see this at last." Her face grew more pinched, but she went on talking. "I was angry with my blessed husband, do you see? I was certain that he had failed me when he was removed from command and returned to this city. I thought that he had been part of a conspiracy and that it had not succeeded and he had been found out." She gave a dry, hacking cough.

  "Dearest wife, you need not say any more," Belisarius told her, stroking her hair and overcome with regret.

  "It is good that I do. I have wanted to tell someone for so long. You are this lady's sponsor and you have said that she is not one to repeat rumors and gossip. Besides, who does she talk to? You? Drosos? You both know this." She stopped, breathless.

  "You need to rest," Belisarius said, looking to Olivia for support.

  "If you are too tired to speak, great lady," Olivia said in response to Belisarius' unspoken plea, "I will come another time, when you are feeling better."

  "That will not happen, I fear," said Antonina, resignation in every aspect of her posture.

  "You cannot be certain," Belisarius insisted. "Your physician is devoted to you. He will find a way to restore your good health."

  Antonina looked at Olivia. "He is still my good angel, isn't he? That is why I am ashamed when I think of how I harbored cruel thoughts of him, and when he was in greatest need, I behaved more despotically than any barbarian prince might." She was exhausting herself, but she went on, her determination growing as her strength waned. "He has done everything anyone could hope for. He has comforted me, he has cared for me, he has stayed up with me when I could not sleep, and he has seen I was not disturbed when I could. He has never flagged in his aid, and his constancy has filled my heart to bursting. How could I think this man capable of any deceit, to me or to the Emperor? What made me assume that he would ever abjure his vows, to me or to anyone else? He has shown me his love with his duty."

  "My love, please," Belisarius protested affectionately.

  Antonina leaned back. "I wish I could tell the Court Censor these things."

  "If there are spies in your household, one of them might," Olivia said, and got the worn smile she had hoped for.

  "Yes, there are uses for spies, I suppose," Antonina said listlessly. "And if they will report this to Athanatadies, I will be satisfied."

  "They might," said Olivia. "It depends on who is spying." She looked at Belisarius. "I do not wish to overstay my welcome. Let me have a moment of your company and then I will leave you to your wife." She made a reverence to Antonina. "I will pray for you, great lady, and I thank you for your kindness in allowing me to take up your husband's precious time."

  "Be careful, Olivia," Antonina warned, her words just above a whisper.

  In the hallway, Olivia glanced swiftly to see if they were overheard. "I must speak with you. Come out to my palanquin. I do not want listeners."

  Obediently Belisarius fell into step with her. "She is in great pain, you know."

  "Yes," said Olivia, steel in her tone. "I am amazed she is able to endure so much."

  "My wife has always been a woman of mettle," Belisarius said. "From the first time I met her, I thought that I had rarely seen such substance in a woman."

  "And she has courage," said Olivia. They were almost to the door, and the vestibule was empty. "You say she has a physician: are you satisfied with his treatment?"

  "He works constantly to alleviate her torment," Belisarius said as they stepped out into the sunlight.

  "And what has he done about the poison that is killing her?" She said it bluntly, her intention to shock him.

  "Poison?" He shook his head. "He has said that this is not poison, but a corruption of her vitals."

  "It probably is, and it is caused by poison." Before Belisarius could object, Olivia went on, "Give me some credit, my friend. I am a Roman and I have seen more of plots and poisons than you can imagine. Your wife is being poisoned slowly, so that it will not be suspected by you or by others. I can understand your doubt, but I cannot understand her physician not knowing what kills her. The course of the malady is clear enough; her breath is tainted with poison, and her eyes are changed because of it. There is something very wrong and you must act if you are to save her."

  Belisarius stared at her in disbelief. "I… I appreciate your concern, but you cannot be right. Her physician came with the highest recommendation. Simones searched him out, and would not accept any but the most skilled for her." He touched her arm. "I am grateful that you tell me what you fear, but I doubt that this case—"

  "Your doubt might speed her death," Olivia said directly. "I do not want to distress you more than—"

  "I know. You are a sensible woman." He indicated the palanquin. "I will send an escort home with you."

  "That isn't necessary. If you wish to please me, do something about the physician attending your wife." She accepted his dismissal with philosophical grace. "Thank you for hearing me out. I trust you will receive me again soon."

  "When there is something to tell you, I will." He inclined his head in response to her slight reverence, then turned and went back into his house, his head still lowered, his steps heavy.

  Olivia watched him go, remorse tugging at her; she had wanted to aid Belisarius, but now she feared she had added to his distress. She got into the palanquin, for once relieved that the curtains had to be drawn.

  * * *

  Text of a dispatch to the commanders of the Byzantine navy.

  To the valiant men who captain our warship
s, the Emperor sends his blessings and prayers for a successful encounter with the naval forces of the Ostrogoths.

  As we enter the Lenten season in the Lord's Year 551, all of the Empire puts its trust and faith in you, and prays that you will prevail over the ships that are being launched against us by the infamous Totila and his barbarians. It is fitting that at this time of the greatest sacrifice you undertake our defense, for surely in going to battle now, you emulate the courage of Our Lord in facing the trials that brought Him to the Cross.

  As He was raised up to glory, we are confident that you will also be raised up. As He passed through the rigors of Hell and fled the tomb, so we are filled with hope that you will pass through the battles that must be the test of your superior purpose and might to emerge without blemish to the acclaim and praise of all men within the bounds of the Empire.

  For those who have worried about the cost, fear not that this will impede you. Three new taxes have been levied and the popes and metropolitans have been urged to ask for additional donations to your efforts. If you are willing to risk your lives, then it is fitting that there are a few who will expend their wealth to aid you in your quest for victory.

  We admonish all of you to be stalwart in your faith and determined in your purpose. You are brave men, all of you, and it is fitting that you should go onto the ocean with the certainty and pride that sets you apart from others and reveals to you and to the Empire that there is no price we are not willing to pay to bring about your triumph.

  You are not only the officers of our Empire, you are the officers of God, for you fight against pagan barbarians who are attempting to rend the world into tatters where all will be cast into Hell. You save not only your ships and yourselves when you prevail, you save the Empire and the Kingdom of God on earth.

  Justinian

  Emperor of Byzantion

  (his sigil)

  6

  A full moon rode at the crest of the night sky, its pallid shine turning Konstantinoupolis into a monochrome sketch of domes, walls and shadows. From one of the Basilian monasteries came the sound of chanting, and along the walls of the city the night Guard was changed. Those few men on the streets kept to the deepest darkness, their errands demanding concealment and surprise.

 

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