A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  "You would be visible there," he warned her. "And the people would talk."

  "Then we will have to take some precautions. I think that for a time I will have to be aged and ugly. That ought to keep all but the most curious away. Is there any of the walnut-juice tincture left, do you know?"

  "Darkening your hair again?" he ventured. "On that island they won't notice dark hair in the way they'd notice light brown."

  "You approve?"

  "Certainly, if that matters." He watched her. "What about a limp? You would only have to have it when you were outside the walls of the house." He cocked his head to the side. "Unless you want a large staff for the place; then it becomes riskier."

  "We'll need some staff. Anything else would be suspicious. And there are other problems, I agree." This last was said in a harder tone. "I will have to make arrangements."

  Niklos studied her. "How?"

  "I can always appear as a pleasant dream. That way there is no knowledge and no danger. At most the dreamer will recall a face, a touch, nothing more than that. It isn't—"

  "Do not tell me that it isn't hazard; there is always the chance that someone will become curious, or will denounce you out of… guilt, I suppose."

  "I try to avoid such men," Olivia said in her most sensible manner. "There are times, Niklos, that you're as bad as Sanct' Germain—not that he has any claim on avoiding risks, after what he did for me."

  Niklos got to his feet. "Well, shall I talk to the fishermen, then?"

  "Yes. Make it seem that we are destitute, that we had to leave almost everything behind in Roma, and that we cannot afford to remain here, nor can we afford the cost of filing a departure petition. The fishermen will be sympathetic at that. Oh, and add that I have been ill. That will account for my poor aptitude for sailing." Now that she had made up her mind, she showed her customary energy and clarity of thought.

  "And Drosos?"

  She faltered. "I don't know. I wish I did."

  "Would you remain here if… if it were necessary?" The concern was back in his face and his words were sharp.

  "You mean if he required it of me? How could I refuse, after what has passed between us? I might as well try to swim naked to Kythera." She indicated her shoes with the thick, earth-filled soles.

  "How much of your native earth is at the house on Kythera?" asked Niklos.

  "Enough, if the place has been undisturbed. There are three chests of it, as well as what is under the floor. It will suffice for a time." She stretched. "So it will be Kythera."

  Niklos came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. "I know you will honor the ties of blood, and I cannot and would not fault you for it, but you will have to pardon me for my concern, and for—"

  "For being my loving friend?" Olivia chided gently.

  "Among other things." He turned her to face him. "In all the time I have known you, I have never seen you as… attached to anyone as you are to Drosos. With the exception of Sanct' Germain, of course."

  "Yes, he always is the exception," she said, then went on. "There is something in Drosos that moves me. When he became my lover, he did it so… so wholeheartedly. There was no reservation, no guardedness. He was like a clear stream. Now—I don't know. But I cannot…"

  Niklos put his hand to her hair, holding her head close to his shoulder. "I know, Olivia." He kissed her brow.

  "If you would rather go to Kythera ahead of me and wait, it would—"

  "No it wouldn't," he told her.

  * * *

  Text of a letter from Mnenodatos to Belisarius.

  To the most esteemed and noble General Belisarius, the physician Mnenodatos sends his most abject apologies and sympathy upon the death of the august lady Antonina, and begs that the General will be able to forgive.

  This is a most difficult letter to write to you, not only because as a physician I have failed to render the necessary treatment to save your wife, but because I permitted myself to be party to the plan that led to this eventuality.

  I have not always felt this way. When I was first approached, little as I liked the notion, it had little meaning for me, for my family was hungry and I did not have the means to support them, no matter how great my skill.

  Sadly, I had other skills as well, and someone found them out and turned them against me, and against you. I do not know for certain who the person was who paid me to do this reprehensible deed, but I am convinced, after examining the events that have taken place, that the person is known to you and very likely attached to your household in some capacity.

  My other skills, I must confess to you, and to God, Who already knows this, is in the area of poisons, the treatment and detection of them, and their administration. It was in the latter capacity that I was paid to act, and I am dismayed to tell you that I did not question the person or the motive of the person who hired me. At the time I was willing to believe that there was good basis for the request and that you were indeed guilty of conspiring against the Emperor, and that you and your wife were enemies of the Empire and of God.

  I am aware that this is not the case, and I have thought for some time that the charges against you were at best misdirected. I have assumed that you were involved with conspirators but were not one yourself, and that for reasons of honor you would not reveal the names of those who acted against the Empire because you had fought with them and would not willingly expose them to the punishment such acts would require. Your wife said many times that you had had the chance to take action and had not done so, and that she respected you for your integrity while she also doubted your wisdom in holding off from such action.

  Women are strange creatures, General, made frail by God, and subject to the lures of sin more than men. I did not realize that your wife was so much in the throes of ambition that she attributed desires to you that were her own, although I ought to have suspected something of that nature when you were at such pains to conduct yourself with propriety.

  None of this can excuse my actions, or my willingness to cooperate with those who were eager to pay me to administer small doses of poison to the august lady Antonina with the intention of bringing about her death. I have accomplished that, but I can take no pride in it. I am shamed and appalled at what I have done, and I pray that you will not hold me accountable for her death, but will recognize that I was merely the tool of others who are more your foes than I will ever be. The money promised me has been paid and I have turned it over to the uncle of my wife with instructions that he is to administer it for her benefit and the benefit of my children.

  I have decided to make one last display of my ability with poisons: I have made a preparation that is both quick and not too painful. When I have finished this letter, I intend to bring about my own death. I pray that God will not regard this as the act of one lacking in faith, but will understand that I am not anxious to see what little I have taken by the courts so that my family would be left with no means of support. It is not that I wish to spare myself suffering—I will encounter enough of that in the next world so my pope assures me. At least if I end my own life in this manner, my wife and children will not be destitute. The punishments meted out by God to those guilty of the death of another will be more than anything the Censor might order, or any death the Emperor could require. Even your own sword, General, cannot equal what God will demand of me when I face Him, as soon I must.

  Your wife died very bravely. She was a woman of fortitude and determination, and under other circumstances I would have the most profound respect for her and her abilities. It distressed me to have a part in her death. I beseech you to believe this, and to believe that I would rather have blasphemed in church than been party to her demise, but the temptation at first was so great that I surrendered to it. Later, my fear accomplished what my yearnings could not do. I dreaded discovery and denouncements, and I am convinced now that the one who is within your household and has been party to this will not stop his working until you are felled by the same fate that touche
d your beloved wife.

  If you can bring yourself to pray for me, do so, for I will need the prayers of all good Christians. I am as contaminated as a house with plague and I will die knowing that there is no succor for me in this world nor the next. Pity me if there is any room in your heart for anything other than grief. I was compelled and I was weak; I did not and could not resist. You are made of sterner fibers and you have stood fast where others could not.

  I have sent a confession to the secretary of the Court Censor and I have said that someone in this household is responsible for your wife's death. It is little enough, but it may aid you in attaining some justice for the great injury you have endured.

  If I have a last wish, it is that the one who has brought you and me to this sorry place should be discovered and made to assume the entire burden of his villainy. If God listens to the prayers of sinners, this will come to pass. If the Emperor is just, he will exact vengeance on behalf of you, your wife, and me. Truth, we are promised, will be known, and when it is there is nothing that can spare me, but it will also bring down the one who has ordered this done, either in the Emperor's tribunal or in God's, and in either case, I am content.

  Until we meet again at Judgment Day before the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, I beg you will be more merciful than I had the strength to be.

  Mnenodatos

  physician

  7

  Earlier that day Belisarius had sent over some of the bounty of his garden; now a profusion of roses stood in vases and urns throughout Olivia's house. In the vestibule the air was heady with the scent of the flowers; only the kitchen and the latrine did not succumb to the fragrance.

  "Smells like a church at Easter," Drosos complained when Niklos admitted him to the house that night. He had been drinking; his customary neatness had deserted him and there were three days' whiskers above the line of scraggly beard. His pallium was wrapped beltlike around his waist and knotted once without artistry. The lines in his face looked as if they had been cut with a hatchet.

  "The roses are from Belisarius," said Niklos in an emotionless way.

  Drosos flushed. "Oh." He stood in the vestibule, looking around as if uncertain where he was. "Will she talk to me, do you think?"

  "Of course," said Niklos.

  "I've been lax in visiting her. I ought not to have. I knew I ought to see her, but there are times when…" He made a complicated gesture.

  "She has been waiting for you," Niklos said, indicating the hall that led to Olivia's quarters.

  "Don't know why," he grumbled. "Not worth her while, not now." He stumbled as if to make a point, but he followed Niklos down the dim hallway, muttering to himself as he went.

  "Drosos is here," Niklos announced when he had knocked on Olivia's door. His voice held a warning to her, a note he knew she would not miss. "Captain." He stood aside so that Drosos could enter.

  Olivia had been combing her hair, using an antique treasure the Guard had missed. She looked up, expectation in her face and worry in her eyes. "Drosos," she said, rising and coming toward him.

  He accepted her embrace unsteadily and when he had his arms around her, he used them as much for support as for affection. "Sorry to come like this."

  "Why? You are welcome at any time, in any way." She had seen at once what his trouble was, and she set to work dealing with it. "Niklos, I know it is late, but will you see that my bath is filled? Hot water, mind, and bring me a tea of rose hips and pepper."

  "At once," said Niklos, leaving her alone with Drosos.

  "I won't stay, but I had to see you," Drosos said as Olivia began to work his pallium loose. "I'm not fit to be here."

  "It doesn't matter, Drosos," she said as she finally dropped the pallium to the floor. His dalmatica was stained, and stank. "What have you been doing, love?" she asked him without accusations.

  "Been with my men, mostly. Soldiers' taverns." He hawked and spat, then looked at her apologetically. "I shouldn't have done that here, should I?"

  "Don't worry," she said, starting to pull the dalmatica over his head. "You'll have to bend over, Drosos, if I'm to get this off you without tearing it."

  He obeyed, but had to grab her waist to keep on his feet. "I slept in my clothes last night. Night before, too."

  "I can tell that," she said gently. The dalmatica came off at last and she dropped it in an odorous, untidy heap near the door. "I think that I ought to send for a razor and shave you before we do anything else," she suggested, knowing it would take time for the bath to be readied.

  He rubbed his cheeks. "Is it too bad?"

  "No, not too bad. I have seen much worse," she said honestly, her mind cast back to other times and places.

  "Still," he went on, "I ought to have shaved before I saw you. The General wouldn't like knowing that I had come here in this way. Very particular, Belisarius. He wants his men to take proper care." For the first time he realized he was naked. "God of the Prophets, I smell like a sewer."

  "That's one of the reasons the bath is being readied." She was patient with him, not hurrying him.

  He ambled over toward her dressing table, frowned at it, then said, as much to himself as to her. "That's right; you don't have mirrors, do you?"

  "No," she said.

  "Vanity, that's what mirrors are for. The pope said so."

  "Which pope?" asked Olivia, glad to have found something to distract him.

  "The one at the tavern, last night I think it was. He said that mirrors were evil, and showed visions of Hell." He puzzled over this. "He was drunk when he said it."

  "Very likely," Olivia said, taking him by the hand and leading him toward her bath. "I will shave you. How would you like that." There was a determination about her that indicated she would do this whether he approved or not.

  "I need a shave," he said uncertainly as he went with her. "And a wash, even if it is vanity." He stopped, watching the two spouts that led from the hypocaust to the bath where the first streams of hot water were starting to pour. "Roman, isn't that?"

  "Yes, but then, so am I." She guided him to a bench in the alcove and there she opened a small chest where a number of razors, oil jars and scrapers were stored. She selected one and found the honing block. She worked quickly and expertly to put the proper edge on the razor.

  "We could have used you in the army," Drosos said as he watched her. "Most slaves aren't good at that. The swords lose their edges at once. You know how to do it. That'll stay sharp." He reached up to test it with his thumb and gave himself a small cut for his trouble. As he sucked the blood away, he looked at her speculatively.

  "Would you rather do this?"

  "Not especially," she said, preparing a mixture of oil and soap. "I need more than just blood."

  He laughed deep in his throat. "I know what you need."

  "I need more than hard flesh inside me, if that is what you think," she said, irritation showing for the first time. "I need… openness. Oh, for me the blood is part of it, but it is little more than bread and water if there is nothing else. It is the touching that gives it… richness." She stopped what she was doing and looked down into his face. "You have given me so much."

  The intensity of her words startled him and he looked at her in astonishment. "You… you need that of me?"

  "If you are willing to give it. I can't demand it." She began to smooth the oily lather over his face. "Hold still."

  He obeyed, his eyes on her face as she shaved him. "Never had a woman shave me before. Do you know what you're doing?" he said when she wiped the razor on a linen cloth.

  "Yes," she said, continuing with her task.

  "They're sending me away again," he told her a little later. "I'm being posted to the frontier in Italy. I have two more weeks, and then off I go."

  "So soon?" In spite of herself, she stared at him in dismay. "Do we have so little time left?"

  "Two weeks," he repeated. "I wasn't going to tell you that." His expression darkened as she finished her work and brought wet clo
ths to rinse his face. "I was going to leave, that's all, and have Belisarius tell you."

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Why not? There's nothing for me here anymore. Why stay? Why drag you down with me?" He set his jaw. "I shouldn't have come here tonight. I don't know why I did."

  "You came because you missed me." She dried his face and looked at him. "Better."

  "I miss many things," he said darkly. "I miss… pride. I miss everything." He leaned forward, his forehead touching her arm. "But I had to see you. I couldn't help myself. Please believe me, Olivia."

  "I'm glad you've come," she said, brushing his matted hair with her hand. "The bath is nearly ready."

  He got to his feet slowly. "I… I'm a disgrace."

  "Not to me," said Olivia as she shed her paenula and the Roman palla she wore under it. "The bath is hot," she warned him as she stepped into the steaming water.

  "Christos!" he swore as he joined her. "You want to cook me as well as bite me?"

  "Not at the same time," she said lightly, hoping he would take it as a joke.

  But his attention had wandered, and he merely smiled as he rubbed his cheeks. "Very close. Not bad."

  She had reached for a sponge and was filling it with water when he came up to her, touching her breast with eager, fumbling hands. "Drosos, wait just a bit."

  "Why?" He took the sponge from her hands and pulled her into his arms, his mouth hard on hers.

  There was only urgency in his movements, no care and no tenderness. He pillaged with his hands, probing and grasping.

  Olivia wrenched herself away from him. "Drosos! Stop that."

  "I don't want to." He started toward her, a beast after prey. "You want me; I want you."

  "Not this way." She reached the edge of her bath and started to pull herself out of the water, but he caught her ankle and dragged her back. She cried out in protest and the side door opened at once.

  "Get out of here!" Drosos shouted at Niklos. "This doesn't concern you."

  Niklos came into the room with a tray that held a single cup. "If you harm my mistress, you will learn otherwise," he said implacably. He set the tray down beside the pool and looked at Olivia, who had moved away from Drosos. "Do you want me to remain?"