It certainly got him deference. In a twittering cloud of pretty girls and two eunuchs he passed through an anteroom richly furnished, its walls ornamented with discreetly erotic scenes, up a grand staircase to the outer chamber of a suite. This was hung in red velvet above a floral Oriental carpet. Chairs flanked a table of inlaid ebony whereon stood a flagon of wine, figured glass goblets, plates of cakes, dates, oranges. Light fell dim through small windows, but candles burned in multiple holders. Sweetness wafted from a golden censer. A lark dwelt in a silver cage. Here Athenais was.
She put aside the harp she had been strumming. “Welcome, Kyrie Cadoc from afar.” Her voice was low, scarcely less musical than the strings had been—carefully trained. “Twice welcome, bearing news of marvels, like a fresh breeze.”
He bowed. “My lady is too gracious to a poor wanderer.”
Meanwhile, keenly as if she were an enemy, he assessed her. She sat on a couch, displaying herself against its white-and-gold back, in a gown that enhanced rather than revealed. Her jewelry was a bracelet, a pendant, and three rings, small but exquisite. It was her person, not her wealth, and her spirit more than her person, that she had the intelligence to emphasize. Her figure was superb in a voluptuous Eastern fashion, but he judged that suppleness and strength underlay it. Her face he would simply have called handsome: broad, straight-nosed, full-lipped, eyes hazel beneath arching brows, blue-black hair piled thick around the tawny complexion. It was not looks that had brought her to this house, it was knowledge, skill, perception, the harvest of— how long an experience?
Her laugh chimed. “No poor man enters here! Come, be seated, take refreshment. Let us get to know each other.”
She never rushed to the bedroom, he had heard, unless a patron insisted, and such a one was seldom allowed back. Conversation and flirtation beforehand were part of a delight that was said to have a climax unrivalled.
“Marvels have I seen,” Cadoc declared, “but the finest of them today.” He let a servant remove his upper garment and sat down beside her. A girl knelt to fill their glasses. At a tiny gesture from Athenais, all attendants bowed out.
She gave him a subtle flutter of lashes. “Certain men of Britannia are more polished than news of it led me to expect,” she murmured. “Have you come directly from there?” He observed the sharpness of the demure glance and knew she was taking his measure. If he wanted a woman who had more in her head than a mouth, that was what she would provide.
Therefore—
His pulse stammered. The self-control of centuries underlay the calm wherewith he regarded her, took a sip of the estimable wine, and smiled. “No,” he said, “I have not been in Britannia, or England and Wales as they call it nowadays, for a rather long time. But then, though I told your ancilla that is my country when she asked, I am not really a native of it. Or of anywhere else, any longer. On my last visit here I heard rumors about you. They caused me to return as soon as possible.”
She half shaped a reply, aborted it, and sat cat-watchful, too wise to exclaim, “Flatterer!”
He calculated his grin. “I daresay your ... callers ... number some with various peculiarities. You gratify them or not according to your inclination. It must have been a cruel struggle to win this independence. Well, then, will you indulge my whim? It is perfectly harmless. I only wish to talk for a short span. I would like to tell you a story. You may find it amusing. That is all. May I?”
She failed to quite hide her tautness. “I have heard many stories, Kyrie. Do continue.”
He leaned back and let the words flow easily while he looked before him, observing her from the corner of an eye. “Call it the kind of yarn that sailors spin during calm watches or in taverns ashore. It concerns a mariner, though afterward he did numerous different things. He thought himself an ordinary man of his people. So did everybody else. But bit by bit, year by year, they noticed something very odd about him. He never fell sick and he never grew old. His wife aged and finally died, his children turned gray and then white-haired, their children begot and raised children and likewise fell prey to time, but everything in this man since the third decade of his life stayed changeless. Was that not remarkable?”
He had her, he saw, and exulted. Her gaze was utterly intent.
“At first it seemed he might be blessed of the gods. Yet he showed no other special powers, nor did he do any special deeds. Though he made costly sacrifices and later, approaching despair, consulted costly magicians, to him came no revelation, nor any solace when those he loved went down into death. Meanwhile the slow growth of awe among the people had, with equal slowness, become envy, then fear, then hatred. What had he done to be thus condemned, or what had he sold to be thus spared? What was he, sorcerer, demon, walking corpse, what? He barely evaded attempts on his life. Finally the authorities moved to investigate him and he fled, for he suspected they would question him under torture and put him to death. He knew he could be wounded, although he recovered fast, and felt sure that the worst injuries would prove as fatal to him as to anybody else. Despite his loneliness, he kept a young man’s desire for life and the savoring of it.
“For hundreds and hundreds of years he was a rover on the face of the earth. Often he let his yearnings overcome him and settled down somewhere, married, raised a family, lived as mortals do. But always he must lose them, and after a single common lifetime disappear. Between whiles, which was mostly, he plied trades where a man can come and go little remarked. His old seamanship was among these, and it took him widely across the world. Ever he sought for more tike himself. Was he unique in the whole creation? Or was his kind simply very rare? Those whom misfortune or malice did not destroy early on, they doubtless learned to stay hidden as he had learned. But if this be the case, how was he to find them, or they him?
“And if his was a hard and precarious lot, how much worse must it be for a woman? What could she do? Surely none but the strongest and cleverest survived. How might they?
“Does that conundrum interest my lady?”
He drank of his wine, for whatever tranquility might lie within it. She stared beyond him. Silence lengthened.
At last she drew breath, brought her look back to engage his, and said slowly, “That is a curious tale indeed, Kyrie Cadoc.”
“A tale only, of course, a fantasy for your amusement. I do not care to be locked up as a madman.”
“I understand.” A smile ghosted across her countenance. “Pray continue. Did this undying man ever come upon any others?”
“That remains to be told, my lady.”
She nodded. “I see. But say more about him. He’s still a shadow to me. Where was he born, and when?”
“Let us imagine it was in ancient Tyre. He was a boy when King Hiram aided King Solomon to build the Temple in Jerusalem.”
She gasped. “Oh, long ago!”
“About two thousand years, I believe. He lost count, and later when he tried to consult the records they were fragmentary and in disagreement. No matter.”
“Did he meet the Savior?” she whispered.
He sighed and shook his head. “No, he was elsewhere at that time. He did see many gods come and go. And kings, nations, histories. Perforce he lived among them, under names of their kind, while they endured and until they perished. Names he lost track of, like years. He was Hanno and Ithobaal and Snefru and Phaon and Shlomo and Rashid and Gobor and Flavius Lugo and, oh, more than he can remember.”
She sat straight, as if ready to spring, whether from him or at him. Low in her throat, she asked, “Might Cadoc be among those names?”
He kept seated, leaned back, but eyes now full upon hers. “It might,” he answered, “even as a lady might have called herself Zoe, and before that Eudoxia, and before that— names which are perhaps still discoverable.”
A shudder passed through her. “What do you want of me?”
He set his glass down, most carefully, smiled, spread his hands, palms up, and told her in his softest voice, “Whatever you choose to giv
e. It may be nothing. How can I compel you, supposing that were my desire, which it is not? If you dislike harmless lunatics, you need never see or hear from me again.”
“What ... are you ... prepared to offer?”
“Shared and lasting faith. Help, counsel, protection, an end of loneliness. I’ve learned a good deal about surviving, and manage to prosper most of the time, and have my refuges and my hoards against the evil days. At the moment I command modest wealth. More important, I stay true to my friends and would rather be a woman’s lover than her overlord. Who knows but what the children of two immortals will themselves prove deathless?”
She studied him a while. “But you always hold something back, don’t you?”
“A Phoenician habit, which a rootless life has strengthened. I could unlearn it.”
“It was never my way,” she breathed, and came to him.
2
They lounged against pillows at the headboard of the huge bed. Talk grew between them like a blossoming plant in spring. Now and then a hand stroked across flesh gone cool again, but those were gentle caresses. A languor possessed them, as if part of the lingering odors of incense and love. Their minds roused first. The words were calm, the tone tender.
“Four hundred years ago I was Aliyat in Palmyra,” she said. “And you, in your ancient Phoenicia?”
“My birthname was Hanno,” he answered. “I used it the oftenest, afterward, till it died out of every language.”
“What adventures you must have had.”
“And you.”
She winced. “I would rather not speak of that.”
“Are you ashamed?” He laid a finger under her chin and brought her face around toward his. “I would not be,” he said gravely. “I am not. We have survived, you and I, by whatever means were necessary. That’s now behind us. Let it drift into darkness with the wreckage of Babylon. We belong to our future.”
“You ... do not ... find me sinful?”
He laughed a bit. “I suspect that if we both grew quite candid about our pasts, you’d be the one shocked.”
“Nor do you fear God’s curse?”
“I have learned much in two thousand years, but nothing about any gods, except that they too arise, change, age, and die. Whatever there is beyond the universe, if anything, I doubt it concerns itself with us.”
Tears trembled on her lashes. “You are strong. You are kind.” She nestled close. “Tell me of yourself.”
“That would take a while. I’d grow thirsty.”
She reached for a bell on an end table and rang it. “That we can do something about,” she said with a flash of smile. “You’re right, however. We have the whole future wherein to explore our past. Tell me first of Cadoc. I do need to understand him, that we may lay our plans.”
“Well, it began when Old Rome departed from Britannia— No, wait, I forgot, in all this joy. First I should tell you about Rufus.”
A maidservant entered. She dipped her glance, otherwise seemed unperturbed by the two naked bodies. Athenais ordered the wine and refreshments brought hi from the anteroom. While this was done, Cadoc marshalled his thoughts. When they were alone, he described his companion.
“Poor Rufus,” she sighed. “How envious he will be.”
“Oh, I expect not,” Cadoc replied. “He’s grown used to being my subordinate. In return, I do his thinking for him. Give him adequate food, drink, and swiving, and he’s content.”
“Then he has been no balm for your aloneness,” she said softly.
“Not much. But I owe my life to him, several times over, and therefore this day’s magnificence.”
“Glib scoundrel.” She kissed him. He buried his visage in her fragrant hair until she guided him to a glassful, a sweet cake, and sober discourse.
“The western Britons preserved some vestige of civilization. Yes, I frequently thought of making my way here, where I knew the Empire continued. But for a long time, the likelihood of arriving with any money, or arriving at all, was slight. Meanwhile life among the Britons was not too bad. I had come to know them. It was easy to move among identities and to stay reasonably well-off. I could wait for the English, the Franks, the Northmen to acquire milder ways, for civilization to be reborn throughout Europe. After that, as I’ve mentioned, the Rus trade route let me make a good living and meet a variety of people, both along it and down here in the Mediterranean world. You understand that that seemed my only hope of finding anyone else like me. Surely you’ve cherished the same hope, Athenais—Al-iyat.”
He could barely hear: “Until it grew too painful.”
He kissed her cheek, and she brought her lips to his, and presently she crooned, “It has ended. You have found me. I keep striving to believe that this is real.”
“It is, and we’ll keep it so.”
With that practicality which bespoke her intelligence, she asked, “What do you propose we do?”
“Well,” he said, “it was about time anyhow for me to finish with Cadoc. He’s been in sight longer than he should have been; some old acquaintances must be starting to wonder. Besides, since the Norman duke made himself king of England, more and more young English, ill content, have been coming south to join the Emperor’s Varangian Guard. Those who happened to hear of Cadoc would know how unlikely it is that a Welshman be a trader of his sort.
“Worse, when the Rus lord Yaroslav died his realm was divided among his sons, and they are now falling out with each other. The barbarian plainsmen take advantage. The routes grow dangerous. Fresh Rus attacks on Constantinople are quite conceivable, and could hurt the trade even more. I well remember what difficulties previous forays caused.
“So, let Athenais and Cadoc retire from their businesses, move away, and drop out of touch with everybody they knew. First, naturally, Aliyat and Hanno will have liquidated their possessions.”
She frowned. “You talk as if you meant to leave Constantinople. Must we? It is the queen of the world.”
“It will not remain that,” he told her grimly.
She gave him a startled glance.
“Think,” he said. “The Normans have taken the last Imperial outpost in Italy. The Saracens hold everything south of there from Spain through Syria. They have not been totally hostile of late. However—the Imperial defeat at Manzikert last year was more than a military disaster that led to an abrupt change of Emperors. The Turks had already taken Armenia from you, remember. Now Anatolia lies open to them. It will be touch and go whether the Empire can hold the Ionian littoral against them. Meanwhile the Balkan provinces chafe and the Normans venture east. Here at home, commerce shrinks, poverty and unrest grow, corruption at court vies for mastery with incompetence. Oh, I daresay the catastrophe will be a while in coming full upon New Rome. But let us get out well ahead of it.”
“Where? Is any place safe and, and decent?”
“Well, certain of the Muslim capitals are brilliant. Far eastward, I hear, an emperor reigns over a realm vast, peaceful, and glorious. But those are alien folk; the ways to them are long and beset. Western Europe would be easier, but it’s still turbulent and backward. Also, since the churches openly split apart, life there has been hard for people from Orthodox countries. We’d have to make a show of conversion to Catholicism, and we’d best avoid conspicuousness like that. No, on the whole I’d say we should stay within the Roman Empire for another century or two. In Greece, nobody knows us.”
“Greece? Hasn’t it gone barbarian?”
“Not quite. There’s a heavy population of Slavs in the north and Vlachs in Thessaly, while the Normans are plaguing the Aegean Sea. But such cities as Thebes and Corinth remain well off, well defended. A beautiful country, full of memories. We can be happy there.”
Cadoc raised his brows. “But haven’t you given thought to this yourself?” he went on. “You could only have continued as you are for another ten years at best. Then you’d have had to withdraw, before men noticed that you don’t grow old. And as much in the public eye as you’ve be
en, you could scarcely stay on in these parts.”
“True.” Athenais smiled. “I meant to announce I’d had a change of heart, repented my wickedness, and would retire afar to a life of poverty, prayer, and good works. I’ve already made arrangements for the quick, quiet transport of my hoard—against any sudden need to escape. After all, that has been my life, to drop from one place and start afresh in another.”
He grimaced. “Always like this?”
“Need forces me,” she answered sadly. “I’m not fit by nature to be a nun, a she-hermit, any such unworldly being. I often call myself a well-to-do widow, but at last the money is spent, unless some upheaval—war, sack, plague, whatever—brings ruin first. A woman cannot very well invest her money tike a man. Whatever pulls me down, usually I must begin again among the lowliest and ... work and save and connive to become better off.”
His smile was rueful. “Not unlike my life.”
“A man has more choices.” She paused. “I do study things beforehand. I agree, on balance Corinth will be best for us.”
“What?” he exclaimed, sitting straight in his astonishment. “You let me rattle on and on about what you perfectly well knew?”
“Men must show forth their cleverness.”
Cadoc whooped laughter. “Superb! A girt who can lead me, me, by the nose like that is the girl I can stay with forever.”
He sobered: “But now we’ll make the move as soon as may be. At once, if I had my wish. Out of this ... filth, to the first true home we’ve either of us had since—”
She laid fingers across his lips. “Hush, beloved,” she said low. “If only that could be. But we can’t simply disappear.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “It would rouse too much heed. A search for me, at least. There are men, highly placed men, who care for me, who’d be afraid I’d met with foul play. If then we were tracked down— No.” A small fist clenched. “We must go on with our pretenses. For another month, perhaps, while I prepare the ground with talk of, oh, making a pilgrimage, something like that.”
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