“Vasilios Eleni?” Her tone made it sound like a question, so he nodded a little hesitantly.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I was told you were coming.” She smiled a pretty smile that made dimples appear in both cheeks. “Come in. Let me show you around and let you put your things in your new room.”
She led the way inside the house and down the hall. “Our receiving room is to the left, and the dining room to the right here.” She pointed to the doorways as she went, and Vasilios did his best to memorize them. “My husband’s office is here, and down here is the kitchen.”
She stepped down a set of three stone steps and pushed open a door into a little kitchen with an open doorway leading out into a small garden. Three servants were bustling about, an older woman and a boy and a girl who could have been her children. They turned to stare at Vasilios and Nereida for a moment.
“Here, I’ll show you your room.” Nereida walked into the kitchen and then opened another door that led up a narrow wooden set of stairs.
The room at the top of the set of stairs was small, with a bed and a wooden chest obviously made for clothes, and a small window with a wooden grate over it. The ceiling was low enough that Vasilios had to bend a little as he stepped into the room.
“My husband said you should sleep in the kitchen with the other servants,” Nereida said. “But I thought it would be nice for you to have a room. I know it can’t be as big as your old one, but at least it will be a little private.” Vasilios put his bag down and then turned and knelt in front of Nereida. “Thank you,” he said, and found he meant it.
“I know this must have been sudden for you,” Nereida said. “Damianos just sent word to Anthimos yesterday, and the household isn’t as big as you’re used to, but I am glad that you are here.”
“Anything I can do to serve,” Vasilios told her, and Nereida laughed.
“Oh no, don’t be so formal. We used to have lots of eunuchs when I was growing up and my father was still alive. The thing I always liked best about them was how I always had someone I could talk to.” She gave him another smile, this time a little shy. “I hope we can be like that. I miss having someone to talk to, sometimes.”
Even though she was his mistress and he should have kept his eyes on the floor, he looked up at her anyway and smiled. “I would like that as well.”
“Good.” She smiled back. “It’s time to start dinner now, I think. Would you like a little time to unpack, or would you like to go down and I can introduce you to the kitchen staff? There are only the three servants.”
“I can go down and help start making dinner,” he told her, and she nodded and led the way back down the stairs.
“This is Irene and her daughter Eva and her son Joachim.” Nereida introduced them, when they were back in the small kitchen. “Everyone, this is Vasilios. He is a eunuch who Lord Damianos sent to us from Lord Panagiotis’s estate.”
Vasilios bowed to all three of them, painfully aware that he was dressed from head to toe in finely spun and woven lamb’s wool while they seemed to be wearing some form of homespun. “Since I am a newcomer to this household, I hope I can count on your wisdom and guidance.”
Irene gave him a skeptical look but nodded. “You better come and help chop the vegetables for dinner,” she told him. “The master doesn’t take it well if dinner’s not ready when he gets home.”
He nodded, walked over to stand beside Eva, and picked up one of the kitchen knives. It had been a long time since he’d cut vegetables, but it wasn’t a skill one really forgot. After a moment or two, Nereida turned and left. Everyone worked quietly around the kitchen, tending to their own pieces of preparation for the evening meal. Vasilios concentrated on cutting vegetables. He listened to the sound of the wind moving the leaves of the trees in the garden right outside and birds making small noises to each other. The evening meal was mutton, boiled with herbs and mushrooms, vegetables simmered in broth, and bread. Simple and plain, but it didn’t take Vasilios more than a few minutes of watching Irene move around the kitchen to realize she was a skilled cook.
When the preparations for the evening meal were complete and everything was simmering over the fire, Vasilios ducked up the stairs and changed into his plainer clothes. He was going to do more manual work than he had realized, since the household staff was so limited. Dressing practically was going to be important. He made a mental note to ask Nereida if he could purchase more homespun outfits, since the clothing he had was not at all suited for this sort of work.
He heard the sound of a horse out in front of the house when he came back down from his room, and Nereida appeared in the hallway and beckoned to him. “My husband has arrived home. Come and greet him.”
All of Vasilios’s uneasiness returned, but he followed Nereida down the hall and out into the front courtyard. Anthimos was dismounting his horse as they entered the space, and Vasilios glanced up at Anthimos’s handsome features, framed by dark curls. Then he went to his knees on the tile.
“So you came,” Anthimos said, and Vasilios kept his eyes down, but he could feel Anthimos’s gaze on him. “Damianos said he was sending you to me.”
“Yes, Master.”
Anthimos walked in a slow circle around him, and Vasilios kept his eyes pinned to the ground. “You are supposed to teach me to attend to my business. Or so Damianos tells me,” Anthimos said, and Vasilios clenched his hands, but didn’t say anything.
Anthimos snorted, and then Vasilios heard him walk back to his horse and lead the animal around him toward the stables to the side of the house. After a long moment, Vasilios rose and looked over at Nereida who gave him a small smile.
“That went well,” she said, and Vasilios didn’t say anything at all.
HE DREAMED that night for the first time since he’d dreamed of the voice in the desert. They were not prophetic dreams this time, not the strange vivid ones, but plain, ordinary, fitful dreams like the ones he’d had when he’d been younger. They kept him awake, feeling uneasy and afraid for most of the night.
The next day, Joachim showed him the pump out in the garden where the servants bathed with a bowl and a rag. Vasilios spent most of the day chopping wood, something he hadn’t done since he’d been a boy.
He stripped off his tunic so he was bare from the waist up, and worked through a small pile of wood for the kitchen until he’d gotten used to using the axe. The swing and “thunk” when it bit into the wood caused a vibration he could feel all the way up his arms. He liked the exercise at least.
Anthimos hadn’t spoken to him since the day before in the courtyard. He did not ask for Vasilios to assist him with his business matters, and Vasilios knew far better than to offer.
After chopping the wood, he stacked it next to the kitchen door where Irene could access it easily, then rinsed off at the pump, and put back on his tunic. He helped Eva make butter and more bread and went to find Nereida to see if she needed him to do anything. She was in the receiving room sitting on the couch, frowning over a leather-bound ledger in her lap when he found her.
He went to his knees on the floor, bowing to her as soon as he entered the room. “May I be of service, Mistress?
“Oh.” She blinked at him. “Come here and sit next to me. I was just going over the household expenses.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he rose and walked over to sit next to her on the couch and looked down at the large ledger with its rows of numbers. Faced with work he was actually used to, it took him a few minutes before he was frowning and taking the books away from her to go through them more thoroughly.
“What are these large expenditures at the beginning of the month?” he asked, after he’d paged through enough pages of financial records to get a good feel for the situation.
“Anthimos,” Nereida began, sounding unhappy and hesitant, “has been trying to further himself among the other merchants and people at court, and so he often invites them over in the beginning of the month and always wants to make a g
ood impression with the best of everything.”
Vasilios wasn’t really surprised. It was going to make things harder, though, since it was by far the largest household expense and not one that could be cut if it was Anthimos’s idea.
“Here.” He started going back over the accounts again. “If we cut back on the amount of meat we buy for the rest of the month and also only buy one kind of fruit….”
Nereida though was already shaking her head. “No. I’ve already tried that. Anthimos wants meat at every evening meal.”
Vasilios closed his eyes briefly and prayed that he might have patience. “Oil,” he said finally. “Oil is expensive. If we switch over to tallow, it will be much cheaper.”
Nereida nodded, but she was also biting her lower lip. “It’s impossible, isn’t it?” she asked, and Vasilios shook his head.
“It is difficult.”
“When I was a girl, I always thought I’d be good at running a household.” Nereida stared down at the ledger in her lap. “I always thought I’d have a house like my mother’s, not large but elegant and happy.”
Vasilios hesitated but then reached out and covered her hand gently with his. “You do the best you can. The situation you are in is hard.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a small smile. “I just go through it over and over again, hoping I’ll find a way to make it all work.”
Vasilios thought privately that as things stood now, there was really not a lot that could be done. Anthimos needed to either make more money or cut his lifestyle down to the size that reflected what he actually could provide for. Either way, it was hardly Nereida’s fault.
“Shall we speak of something else now?” he suggested, to take Nereida’s mind off of the finances.
“Yes, shall we?” Nereida seemed lost in thought for a minute. “I remember Anthimos saying once that you read a lot. What kinds of things do you read?”
“Most of what I read is very practical,” Vasilios told her with a small smile. “Training reports and inventories. I was schooled in science, mathematics, and history, though. Of those, I always liked history the best. What do you enjoy reading?”
“I love theology.” Nereida clasped her hands together, face lighting with excitement. “I would love to write it, but I am not nearly pious or educated enough for that. I especially love the tracts Theofilos Yalim has written, though. Have you read any?”
“No, but I have met him,” Vasilios said without thinking, and watched Nereida’s eyes go wide.
“Really?” She was practically vibrating with excitement now. “What was he like? Did you talk about theology, or what he thinks of the Bishop’s latest proclamation about the nature of sin? They say he sometimes takes students, you know, and some of those students have been women. Scandalous, but he does have Ilkay Zoe as a lover, so scandal is to be expected. Oh, I would love to—but Anthimos would never allow it.”
A little amused by Nereida’s enthusiasm, Vasilios shook his head. “We didn’t talk about theology really,” he said. “But I liked him. He was quiet, very serious.”
“We should see if they need any help in the kitchen.” Nereida put aside the ledger, then stood, and Vasilios followed her.
HE ENDED up slicing vegetables for the evening meal. Once again the meal was simple but well made, and Vasilios served it to Anthimos and Nereida in the dining room. He’d learned the night before that the table in that room was large, too large really, for the household. Anthimos had probably had it made to accommodate the guests he had over at least once a month, Vasilios thought, as he knelt on the floor while Anthimos and Nereida ate.
“I am meeting with a silk merchant who wants to contract with me to supply a shipment of silk,” Anthimos said, and Nereida smiled a little at him.
“That’s wonderful.” She glanced over at Vasilios and then away, again falling silent and toying with her food.
Anthimos reached for more wine. “This is not the wine I told you to buy.”
Nereida flinched. “It was expensive, I thought—”
Anthimos’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been interfering with the household finances again?”
“The household is mine to run.” Nereida’s chin went up. “It is my job to order the household finances.”
“I will tell you what your job is.” Anthimos slammed his hand on top of the table hard enough to make the dishes jump. His gaze swung to Vasilios. “This is your fault, isn’t it? You are here for a day and already you are meddling in what doesn’t concern you.”
Vasilios heard Anthimos stand and walk around the table. His boots came into Vasilios’s view, and Vasilios took a deep, careful breath.
“Who is your master?” Anthimos asked, voice deceptively calm.
“You are.” Vasilios said it without hesitation. Although everything in him wanted to reject that answer, it was still fact.
“And did I ask you to look over the household finances?” Anthimos asked.
“No.”
“Anthimos, that is enough.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Vasilios saw Nereida stand. “I asked him to. That is why he is here.”
Vasilios had braced for it, but it still knocked all the air out of him when Anthimos’s foot connected hard with his side. He tried to keep his balance, hands flat against the floor so he would not fall over, and Anthimos drew back and kicked him hard again. The toe of Anthimos’s boots must be reinforced with something, Vasilios thought dimly, and hoped he didn’t break anything. As it was, he was going to have some nasty bruising.
“No, stop.” Nereida’s voice was high and desperate. “Please, Anthimos, stop. You have to stop.”
There was the sound of a chair being pushed roughly back, and Anthimos kicked him hard enough to make tears come to Vasilios’s eyes.
Then Nereida too was kneeling on the floor. “Please,” she said. “You have to stop, Anthimos. You can’t do this. You are hurting him. Please, Vasilios is the most valuable thing we have received from your father’s estate.”
Anthimos whirled and moved over to where Nereida knelt. For a moment, Vasilios feared he was about to strike her.
“I told you before,” Anthimos spat at her. “Never speak to me about my father.”
She didn’t flinch away from him this time, and Anthimos turned and stormed from the room.
Vasilios remained, arms braced against the ground, still kneeling, trying to get his breathing under control. Every breath was searing pain, but he didn’t think anything was broken.
“I’m sorry,” Nereida said, voice miserable. “I’m so sorry.” She came over to where he knelt and gently helped him up. Walking was painful, jarring his side with every step, making him gasp and draw in a quick breath of air, which turned out to be even worse.
Nereida supported him out of the room and into the kitchen where Irene, Eva, and Joachim all stopped what they were doing to stare.
“Go fetch me a cloth soaked in cold water,” Nereida said, waving to Joachim, who ran off. She supported Vasilios up the stairs to his bedroom, then made him lie on the bed, on his good side.
“I’m sorry.” She helped him off with his tunic, and Vasilios tried to shrug and ended up hissing in pain instead. “I knew he’d be angry, but I never thought he’d go as far as to hurt you. I thought if there were two of us he would listen, even if he was angry, even if he pretended not to.”
“Anthimos has never liked me. I think he has been looking for an excuse to hit me since I got here.”
Nereida bit her lip and looked away. “I didn’t realize. I thought he would value you. I didn’t know there was bad blood.” She took the wet cloth from Joachim, then shooed him back down the stairs and closed the door behind him.
“I came to Panagiotis’s house when Anthimos was five years old,” Vasilios said, trying to take shallow careful breaths.
“Oh.” Nereida pressed the cloth against his side, causing Vasilios to hiss in pain again, but the cold quickly numbed and soothed his bruised skin. “I hadn’t
realized you were that much older than him.”
Vasilios didn’t say anything to that, mostly because he didn’t want to waste energy talking unless he had to. Nereida moved the cloth carefully over his side, which was already starting to feel hot and puffy.
“I was supposed to tutor him,” Vasilios said. “When he was a few years away from coming of age. I tried, but Anthimos never could grasp business and economics. He was extremely good at writing, literature, poetry, history, but unlike Lukas, who also wasn’t much for trade, he hated it. He wanted to be like his father or like Damianos—rich, successful, looked up to. He used to say that when he came of age, he was going to run Panagiotis’s businesses with Damianos so that Panagiotis wouldn’t have to as he got older. But in the end, Panagiotis didn’t choose him to take on those responsibilities. He wasn’t good enough at it.”
“He chose you instead,” Nereida said, voice soft, and Vasilios closed his eyes.
“Panagiotis wasn’t a fool, and he used every resource available to him to further his own ends. Including me. It was that simple. Anthimos thought that his father had rejected him in favor of me.”
They sat in silence for a while, Nereida gently holding the wet cloth against Vasilios’s side while he tried to figure out the least painful way of breathing.
“Sometimes I hate it here,” Nereida said finally. “I hate him.”
Vasilios didn’t say anything, but he did reach around to cover her hand with his own. After a long moment, Nereida stood.
“Sleep,” she said. “I’ll take care of cleaning up from the meal.”
She left the room and pulled the door shut behind her. Vasilios lay, trying not to breathe too deeply, keeping the cloth pressed against his side with one hand. He tried not to think too much, but his thoughts kept drifting around. He wondered if this was the way it was always going to be here, then shoved that thought aside.
Unbidden, Markos came to his mind, and he wondered what Markos was doing now. Had he eaten his own evening meal yet? Was he working with Aritê or meeting with Ilkay and Theofilos? Maybe he was bent over his little desk, frowning down at some paperwork, or practicing fighting with Patros. Vasilios closed his eyes and tried to imagine Markos shirtless and sweating, and he did not even bother to feel guilty about doing so. Markos’s legs had dark hair and were strong and muscular; Vasilios had noticed last time he’d seen Markos partly unclothed to bathe while they had been traveling. His arms had dark hair on them as well, which made Vasilios think he probably had hair on his chest and down his stomach; he hoped so at least. Markos’s body had felt solid when they’d ridden together on the way to and from the desert. Vasilios closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to touch Markos, free of guilt or shame, and to have Markos touch him back.
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