The concubines were huddled together, still in their fine clothes, with their eunuchs hovering around them. Mada, the daughter of the eldest, stood and came over when she saw him with the tray.
“Tea,” he said to her. “I thought you all could use a little refreshment.”
She nodded and took the tray, looking tired and rather drawn, and Vasilios turned away, pausing once at the doorway to watch the little group before sighing and heading back down the stairs.
He didn’t get to go to bed until late that evening as well. The evening meal needed to be prepared, and then he waited upon the family during the meal and oversaw cleanup afterward. Much like the day before, he did not linger in the kitchen after his duties there were over. Instead he went straight up to his room and crawled into bed.
IT WAS the sensation of falling that alerted him to the fact that he was dreaming. For a moment, he struggled to wake up, overcome by terror and dread. Much like with the other dreams, however, all attempts to wake before the dream had run its course failed.
When he stopped struggling against the dream, he realized this time he was standing in the desert. The sun was low in the horizon, turning the sky orange and red around the edges, and there was a slight breeze that tugged at the scarf he had pulled over his head and face. He turned slowly, surprised that he could move at all, and saw the outlines of sandstone cliffs in the distance behind him.
A voice began to speak then, the voice of a girl, and Vasilios whirled, turning in a complete circle, searching for the speaker, but could find no one.
“Then an angel of the Lord came down,” the voice said, “and she was much afraid, but the angel said to her, ‘Fear not! For I bring word to you that the Lord has heard your cries, and knows of your suffering, and has made your heart strong against it,’ and then she said to the angel, ‘But how can this be, that the Lord would know of me and my suffering, for I am not one of the great saints or prophets.’ And the angel said to her, ‘Do you doubt that the Lord has longed for your love and awaits you with tears of joy and open arms? For I tell you that he has long awaited you, and even now knows you by name and calls you beloved.’”
The voice died away, and the wind picked up, blowing the sand into spirals and clouds reflecting the last light of the sun. Vasilios turned in a slow circle again but still saw no one. He turned back and watched the sun slowly sink below the horizon as the sky turn to dusky purple and gray.
He awoke feeling strange. The dream had been nothing like any of the others, not violent, sickening, or terrifying. It had possessed a strange vividness, not at all like the normal dreams Vasilios had experienced from time to time, but like actually being bodily transported somewhere else altogether. For a long time, he stared up at the ceiling through the darkness, trying to make sense of it.
Maybe it had to do with Aritê and her visions of angels, he thought finally, getting up and pulling on a lamb’s-wool robe before going to sit on the couch. He poured a cup of wine, and thought about what Aritê had told them about how she had come to live in the desert. Finally he rubbed one hand across his close-cropped hair and then down across his face with a sigh. He still didn’t know what it meant for him to see these things. Maybe he should go to Aritê or Markos, but he couldn’t think of any excuse he could possibly use for leaving the house now, not with all the upheaval and chaos. Besides, Aritê might have gone back to the desert by now, having long rid the city of the demon she had come there to exorcise. The dream might be nothing, conjured by too many hours spent in church listening to liturgy. Vasilios snorted and finished off his wine before standing and heading for the bath.
RIGHT after the morning meal, Damianos ordered Vasilios to attend him in Panagiotis’s old office so they could start going through Panagiotis’s paperwork. Most things would go to Damianos as eldest son; they already knew that. What would go to the other two sons, if Panagiotis had made arrangements for Eudoxia before his death, and how many debts were still outstanding all remained to be seen.
Vasilios started by going through all the papers one at a time, noting down all of the people Panagiotis had owed, how much was owed, when they had been last paid, and how much had gone toward repayment.
A few hours into the work, a servant knocked on the door, causing Damianos to look up from where he’d been frowning over inventory sheets. “Yes? Speak.”
“There is a woman….” The serving boy glanced nervously between Damianos and Vasilios. “Here to see Vasilios, Master.”
Damianos blinked, then turned to look at Vasilios, who kept his eyes on the floor. “Is this woman of a well-placed family?” he asked the boy.
“I….” The boy glanced back and forth between the two of them again. “I don’t know, Master, but I don’t think so.”
Damianos’s gaze immediately dropped back to the inventory sheets, and he waved one hand at Vasilios. “Go see what she wants.”
Feeling slightly perplexed, Vasilios followed the serving boy out of the room, down the hall, and through a few courtyards to arrive at the front of the house.
Aritê was standing in the center of the front courtyard, looking exactly like she had the last time he’d seen her, from her plain undyed dalmatic and scarf to her messy braid and sandals.
“Vasilios Eleni.” She turned to fix her intense gaze upon him.
“Aritê.” He bowed to her in greeting. “What may I do for you?”
“I cannot do it.”
He stared at her and blinked several times. “What?”
“Exorcise this demon,” she told him, tone calm and matter-of-fact. “I know its name, Gyllou, an old and dangerous foe indeed. We have met each other, and I have frightened it into hiding, but one does not merely cast out such powerful creatures, one drives them into the Abyss, and while my will is strong enough, that will involve opening a door, which I cannot do.”
“So,” Vasilios asked, “what will we do?”
“Find someone who can.” Aritê looked at him as if he might be slightly stupid.
Vasilios bowed his head. “I am not sure what you wish my role in this to be?” Or why she’d come alone for that matter. Where were Markos and Patros?
“You are gifted with the sight,” Aritê said. “If God is to reveal who will open the door for me, then it will be through you.”
“Aritê, Amma.” Vasilios went to his knees then, bowing his head. “I would assist you in this in any way I am able, but the master of this house has died, and there is no way I will be able to leave to attend to anything, no matter how dire. This you must do without me.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then Aritê knelt in front of him, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “I understand your fear,” she said. “I understand what it is like to be owned, and to feel helpless against worldly needs and powers.” She reached out and touched the back of his hand gently with what was left of hers. “My father was a cruel man, Vasilios, but he was also a rich and powerful man. He kept me locked away in his house, almost my entire life. He married and beat one woman after another, and when I refused to marry my own half brother, he cut off both of my hands so no man would want me but the one he chose. So I know what it is to live in fear.” She stood again, a smooth, practiced motion. “You do as you must, but know one day, Vasilios, you must make a choice.”
“I don’t have a choice.” He kept his eyes down and didn’t look up at her.
“Maybe not now, not yet,” she said, “but there will come a time when you will have a choice, and then you will need to choose between being the obedient eunuch or trusting in God and letting what happens, happen after that.”
She made it sound so simple. Vasilios clenched his hands against the ground as a wave of helplessness and anger washed over him. Dimly, he heard her turn and make her way back across the courtyard. The front gate swung open and then shut, and Vasilios remained kneeling on the ground for a few long minutes. Finally he stood, smoothing one hand down the front of his tunic, and then turned back to attend
to Damianos in the office once more.
THE next few days, Damianos and Vasilios worked through Panagiotis’s papers and started paying off Panagiotis’s outstanding debts. On the third day, the kitchen ran out of honey, and no one had the good sense to go out and get more until Eudoxia sent one of her own eunuchs to find Vasilios and ask why there had been no honey for the morning meal.
Vasilios pulled his scarf over his head and headed out. Down the hill, toward the docks, there was the market Vasilios usually frequented when he needed to buy household goods.
“A small jar today,” he told the bent, wizened woman under her red canopy selling honey out of large earthen jars. “I’ll be sending someone along later this week for a larger jar.”
She nodded, picked up a dipper, and poured honey into the jar he’d brought with him. “I heard about your master,” she said, voice cracked and wheezing, and then she shook her head. “May his soul rest in peace and a blessing on your household during these troubled times too. I’m assuming your mistress is well?”
“Yes, thank you, coping as well as can be expected,” Vasilios told her, tone polite, and she held the jar out to him.
“A follis, my dear.” She smiled at him toothlessly.
“That’s too much.” Vasilios shook his head. “Two nummus.”
She clicked her tongue at him. “A pentanummium.”
“All right.” He dug one out of the purse at his waist and handed it over to her.
“Thank you kindly.” She immediately pocketed it. “And come back anytime.”
He nodded and headed back up the street toward the house. Two soldiers passed him in full uniform, riding on horseback, a street away from Panagiotis’s villa. Vasilios watched them go by and wondered what Markos was doing now. Maybe they’d found the person Aritê needed to open the door for her. He hoped so. He hadn’t had any dreams of the creature or of anything at all for that matter, and hoped that was a good sign.
Walking up the street past the huge houses with their guarded gates, he thought about Markos, his easy smile and the way he’d touched Vasilios gently and with tenderness when Vasilios had been so exhausted and hurting. He wanted to bypass the house entirely and keep walking up the hill to Markos’s own home. Vasilios thought the guards would probably let him in, as would Phyllis, although he didn’t think she liked him. Markos might be there, Vasilios might be able to see him, to sit and talk, if briefly.
He didn’t, of course, and instead turned into the gates of Panagiotis’s house and crossed the courtyard into the house itself. He delivered the honey to the kitchen and then headed back toward the office. He was almost to the door of Panagiotis’s office when he heard the raised voices.
“I do not agree with you.” It was Eudoxia’s voice, and she sounded calm but not at all happy.
“It is not your choice to make, Mother.” Damianos did not seem happy either, and he was also quickly losing his calm.
“Obviously, because if it was, I would not be making it.”
Vasilios turned to go and tend to something else, not wanting to get between them if they were fighting.
“Vasilios is too valuable,” she said.
In the hall Vasilios froze, cold dread slowly creeping over him. He knew he should walk away; it was not his place to hear this. After all, he would have no control over what happened either way. He could not move, though.
“I am telling you plainly, this is a mistake. This is a misuse of your assets. A court would have good reason to rule in your favor on this matter,” Eudoxia continued, and Vasilios heard Damianos sigh.
“Father was clear. Vasilios would go to Anthimos as his inheritance. I am not taking my own brother to court over this. Anthimos gets nothing else aside from Vasilios. Besides, Vasilios may be what Anthimos needs to finally get his affairs in order.”
“You could sell him,” Eudoxia suggested. “General Markos has made inquiries. He would give you a handsome price.”
Damianos made a derisive noise. “I would never sell Vasilios. Father never would and I am no fool either. He is a valuable asset to our line. I will give him to Anthimos as Father wanted, and he will help put Anthimos’s household back in order. Who knows? Perhaps a miracle will happen and Anthimos might learn something. If he does not, I will take Vasilios back once Anthimos has had his fill. Either way, I would never sell something so valuable.”
Out in the hall, frozen in place, Vasilios’s thoughts went to white noise before he began to panic. He squeezed his eyes shut. No, the thought ran through his head over and over again, No. Damianos wouldn’t—couldn’t. Panagiotis would not have. Vasilios had striven to be good, to be perfect even. He had not been foolish enough to expect his freedom at Panagiotis’s death, but he hadn’t expected this either. For surely Panagiotis had known of Anthimos’s proclivities toward cruelty, coupled with the fact that he hated Vasilios. Damianos must know, so why was he allowing this? Anthimos had hated him since Anthimos had been a boy, hated the fact that Vasilios, a mere eunuch, could grasp and excel in the world of business and trade, while Anthimos struggled.
“If you send him to Anthimos, you do so without my blessing,” Eudoxia said.
“Luckily,” Damianos said, his voice cold, “I do not need your blessing, Mother, to carry out my father’s affairs.”
Vasilios finally moved and headed back up the hall. He hardly noticed anything as he made his way up the stairs to his own room and sank down onto the couch there. All this time since Panagiotis had died, he’d thought, stupidly now it seemed, that he would be safe. He was valuable and he would go to Damianos, probably move into his household, and things would be much the same. Now this. Vasilios tried to grasp the fact that he might be sent to Anthimos, and failed. Numbness settled over him like ice with swirling panic underneath, and he sat staring at the table without really seeing it until someone knocked on the door.
Immediately the numbness broke, and his legs began to shake even as he stood, his hands sweating so badly he had to wipe them on his tunic before answering the door. It was a serving boy on the other side.
“Master Damianos wishes for you to attend him in the office,” the boy told him, and Vasilios nodded jerkily and headed down the stairs again. Every step felt leaden, and Vasilios forced himself the last few feet and pulled open the door.
It was a relief to go to his knees once inside the room, since his legs were shaking so hard he doubted he would be able to stand. He bowed his head and stared at the floor, hearing Eudoxia shift restlessly on the couch.
“My father made a decision regarding your future before his passing,” Damianos told him. “Even as with my father’s passing, you would fall to me as the eldest son. However, in his will he chose to give you over to Anthimos.”
Vasilios stared at the floor fisting his hands under the folds of his tunic so hard the knuckles went white.
“I have already sent word to my brother, and his household will expect you by the evening,” Damianos said. “You may choose two sets of clothes to bring with you and your writing and bathing things so my brother will not be inconvenienced buying new ones for you at such short notice.”
Vasilios continued to stare at the floor. There was a long-drawn-out silence, during which Damianos obviously expected Vasilios to say something, but Vasilios said nothing because he could think of nothing to say. “That is all. You may go and pack.” Damianos waved his hand in dismissal.
Vasilios didn’t say anything. He bowed and then left the room. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Sinking down onto the couch again, he stared at his hands clenched in his tunic, as wild ideas of possible escapes flitted through his head. Maybe he was overreacting; maybe it would be all right. Even if Anthimos disliked him, Vasilios was valuable, and Anthimos must respect that and would not possibly do anything to lessen Vasilios’s value.
Still feeling numb and overwhelmed, he stood and started collecting his writing and bathing things. He chose the blue-and-gray outfit he’d worn when Markos had visited many
weeks ago. Then he hesitated, wondering if he would be allowed to bring another outfit or whether the one he was wearing constituted his second. After a moment’s thought, he picked another set of clothes anyway, plain cotton this time, undecorated and practical.
His things packed, he sat on the couch, staring blankly around the room he’d lived in for almost a decade, before a servant came for him. It felt almost like he was floating, like he was watching someone else, as he followed the serving boy out of his room and down the stairs, through the halls, and toward the front courtyard.
“Vasilios?” Bröndulfr asked, eyeing Vasilios’s bag as they passed one another in the hall.
Vasilios didn’t say anything because once more he could not think of anything to say.
There were two guards Vasilios didn’t know in the front courtyard. He stepped toward them anyway.
“Vasilios Eleni?” one asked, and Vasilios nodded. “We’re here to escort you to Master Anthimos’s house.”
Vasilios nodded again, and the guard turned away from him and toward the gates. Once they were out on the street, the first guard led while the second walked behind with Vasilios in the middle. Vasilios wondered if they did so because they expected him to run. Instead he walked quietly between them.
It was not a far walk. Anthimos’s house was further down the hill, closer to the docks and the west side of the city. The house itself was smaller than Panagiotis’s of course, more the size of Markos’s house, whitewashed with a red tiled roof. The tile work in the front courtyard was a striking red and black, with a fountain that filled the space with the soft sound of falling water.
The front door of the house opened as the front gates shut behind them, and Vasilios forced himself to look up enough to see who was coming toward him. He blinked at Nereida, small and round in a dark-green tunic, with her dark curls piled artfully on top of her head.
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