"You gossip," Niklos reminded her.
"That's different. Everyone in the household knows that the mistress has occasional lovers but that she is most fond of that Captain who was sent to Alexandria. They say that she has strange ways, Roman ways, and a few of them have said that they worry because they have not seen her eat, ever. The rest don't care one way or another as long as we're fed, which we are." She laughed once, the sound hard and breathless.
"Is that all that matters to you?" Niklos was saddened to hear these things from Zejhil, but not surprised.
"A few are curious about her shoes. They say that the soles are too thick." She dared to look at Niklos. "Why is that?"
"She prefers them that way," Niklos answered evasively. "You think something, Zejhil. What is it?"
"I have no reason for my feelings," she warned him. "It is just a…a feeling I have. Sometimes it seems to me that Philetus has been too attentive to his duties, and doing all his work on the walls near where the mistress is. He does very beautiful work, and the murals he paints are lovely, but there is… a lack in him, as if he were hidden away behind that pious mask he paints on the faces of his Saints." Her eyes watered. "I don't want to get him into trouble for no reason."
"You won't," said Niklos, permitting himself to put a comforting hand on her arm. "When Olivia returns from church, will you come to her and tell her what you have told me? I will have to speak to her in any case, but it would be best if you were willing to answer her questions."
"And you will treat me as you did before?" She had intended this as a feeble joke, but Niklos responded with great seriousness.
"Listen to me, Zejhil: you are not to be afraid of me. I am Olivia's majordomo, and I am proud of that, but I am a bondsman, not a slave, and she would not abuse that. She would not abuse slaves, either, but you don't believe that."
"She is mistress." This time when she said it, Zejhil was less remote than before. "She is better than most, I agree, but she is mistress."
Niklos accepted this. "I will come for you when Olivia is back."
"Why do you call her Olivia and not great lady or my mistress?" Zejhil asked, as she had been wanting to for more than two months.
"We have been together a long time, and during that time, her fortunes have fluctuated. We've become… friends." He knew he could not tell Zejhil that his association with Olivia spanned more than three centuries.
"But she holds your bond," Zejhil pointed out.
"Yes. I don't mind. She would not have objected to my leaving her service at any time, and I can easily afford the price of my bond, but the arrangement suits us, and as long as it does, I suppose it will continue." He smiled.
"Are you her lover?" Zejhil blurted out the question before she could stop herself.
"When I first met her, I was. For three nights only." If he had not been, he reminded himself, he would be nothing more than a heap of bones in Saturnia. "She… she saved my life." He had only the vaguest recollection of the day he had died, but his memory of his restoration was vivid; it was the first time he had ever seen Sanct' Germain who had reanimated him.
"Oh." Zejhil looked down, as if his feet were of intense interest to her. "And now?"
"You mean are we still lovers? No, not for a long time." He slipped his hand under her chin and deliberately turned her face toward his. "And she does not require that I live like a monk. It isn't her way."
Zejhil fixed her eyes on a spot behind his head. "She is a courtesan, that is what all the household says. They whisper about the men who come here, and they talk about Captain Drosos, but—"
"My mistress is a widow," Niklos said, in his most formal tone. "I did not know her husband, but I have heard little good about him. She does not wish to marry again, and she does not want to live wholly retired from the world. If that makes her a courtesan, then you are the one who calls her that, not I."
Zejhil was more embarrassed than before. "I did not intend to"—she glanced down the hall at the sound of footsteps—"I will do as you ask. I will speak to her when she returns. And Niklos, I do not care, truly I do not care, if she is or is not a courtesan. She is a good mistress."
"That she is," Niklos agreed. He raised his hand as one of the three women employed to make, care for, and repair clothing approached. "Ianthe," he said to greet her.
"Majordomo," she responded, her face expressionless; she gave no indication that she had seen Zejhil at all.
"I don't like that woman," Zejhil muttered. "She wheezes when she walks."
"She isn't young, and her hot blood is congested," said Niklos. "One can see that from her coloring."
Zejhil shook her head vehemently. "It's more than that." She moved away from Niklos. "I will come. I'll tell our mistress what I know. You can believe me. I will not fail."
"I know that," Niklos said, hoping that his smile would give her courage. "You are a good woman, Zejhil."
"If that matters," she said, and hurried away.
By the time Olivia returned, Niklos was all but chewing on the cushions from impatience. He sought her out at once and gave her as blunt an account as he could, including his response to Zejhil.
Olivia listened to this with interest. "Good," she said after a moment. "You have done well. I want to know more about this suspect contraband. I don't want you to bring me the cups—I'll go see them for myself, later tonight. For the time being I want to know how far this has gone. As to Zejhil herself, that is encouraging."
He could not hold back a burst of laughter. "Only you would express it that way, Olivia."
"Well, it is. You were afraid that once you were restored that you would not be all that you were."
"And I'm not," he said without rancor.
"That is not because you were brought back." She gave him a roguish, rueful glance. "You ought to have tasted my blood before you faced that mob. It would have saved all of us a lot of trouble." It was an old, teasing argument with them, and Niklos shrugged elaborately.
"I was shortsighted; what else can I say?" He met her eyes, the worry back in his face. "I'm troubled, Olivia."
"Yes. Whatever we have been caught up in, it is escalating." She walked over to a large Roman chest standing next to the window. "We will have to search the house tonight, all of it. I want to find out what has been brought into this house. Perhaps then we can determine who is doing it, and why."
Niklos paced down the room. "And then what? You can't go to the magistrates, and if you did, they would pay no attention."
"I can go to Belisarius. He may be out of favor with the Emperor, and he might be kept in close check, but he is still the most respected General in the Empire, and that counts for something. He will advise me."
"You need more than advice," Niklos warned her.
She gave a helpless gesture. "I realize that. But I must begin somewhere." Her demeanor changed as there was a knock on the door; she looked now as if she were discussing nothing more important than ordering replacement parchment for the windows.
Niklos opened the door and admitted Zejhil. "You're here in good time," he said to the Tartar slave. "Don't be concerned."
Zejhil was clearly apprehensive, but she was also very determined. She spent a good portion of time answering the questions Olivia put to her and making a few observations on her own.
"I am grateful to you, Zejhil," said Olivia, handing the woman five silver coins. "You have certainly been diligent, and I appreciate that more than I can tell you."
Zejhil, who had never held so much money in her hands in her life, stared as if she expected the coins to disappear. "My mistress, I do not know—"
"It is little enough. If it were permitted here, I would happily give you your freedom, but for that, sadly, I need the approval of a pope, and they do not often agree to the freeing of slaves." She folded her arms, irritated at the degree of helplessness that engulfed her.
"My mistress—" She reached to take the hem of Olivia's paenula to kiss it, and was amazed when Olivia p
ulled the garment away.
"Magna Mater! What is the matter with you, girl?"
Olivia burst out, frustration showing in every line of her body. "You don't have to do this; by rights, I should show that courtesy to you." She rounded on Niklos. "By tomorrow morning I want a complete accounting of everything you find that you have any reason to suspect might have been placed here to implicate me or any member of this household in illegal activities."
"And Belisarius: do you still intend to ask him for help?" Niklos asked skeptically.
"I realize you don't approve, but he is the only ally I have while Drosos is in Alexandria, and he—" She did not go on, for the anxiety of the letter Chrysanthos had brought to her clandestinely was too keen.
"Olivia?" Niklos asked, sensitive to her moods.
"It's nothing," she said in a tone that did not convince him. "Truly, Niklos."
He said nothing; as he went to Zejhil's side, he promised himself that he and Olivia would have to discuss Drosos, for something was wrong. He took Zejhil's hand in his.
"Niklos," Zejhil said, trying without success to pull away from him.
"I'm not going to let go," he said gently.
"It isn't for you or me to decide."
"And if it were?" said Olivia. "Tell me, Zejhil, what would you want, if it were up to you? Do you want Niklos? Do not fear to speak honestly to me, and pay no attention to him."
"It isn't my choice," Zejhil said in a small voice.
"Pretend it is," Olivia suggested. "Tell me."
Zejhil gave a little shake to her head. "I don't know."
"Then, Niklos, I suggest that you give her time. She cannot be pressed," Olivia said, and indicated their hands.
He let go. "All right." There was an odd light at the back of his russet eyes. "For now."
"Oh, stop it," Olivia said, and turned her attention to Zejhil. "Do nothing you do not wish to do." She then walked away from Niklos and Zejhil. "I hope that once we find out what is being done here and why that we will have no more trouble here. I am not eager to have to move again."
"If it were permitted," Niklos said with emphasis. "You would need a sponsor, wouldn't you?"
"I would find one," Olivia said with what she hoped was confidence. "Belisarius would do that much for me."
"If it's allowed," Niklos cautioned.
"You're always so optimistic," Olivia reprimanded him, and then held up her hands. "No, I didn't mean to show contempt, Niklos. I am apprehensive, and it makes my tongue sharp."
"I know," said Niklos, and took it upon himself to change the direction of their conversation. "When do we start our search? Do we wait until all the household is in bed, or do we start now?"
Olivia nodded in a businesslike way. "You're right; we ought to settle that." She glowered at the ikonostasis. "I will go to the library now. After church it would not be thought strange for me to read. Providing I read the right books," she added dryly.
"Do you think they will have placed condemned books in the library?" Niklos asked.
"It would not be a difficult thing to do," she pointed out. "And the way things are, it would simplify the accusation—apostasy is worse than smuggling. And they could be rid of me without having to deal with Belisarius, for he would have no means to defend me."
Niklos signaled Zejhil to leave, and as soon as she was gone, he regarded Olivia thoughtfully. "Very well, are you going to tell me what has put that crease between your brows?"
"Everything," she said comprehensively.
"Drosos."
"Yes," she admitted. "His letter—I fear for him."
Niklos waited for the rest.
"We are not welcome here. Simply because we come from Italy and have been friends of Belisarius, they want to be rid of us, and use us in some way against him." She sighed. "I suppose we had best make some arrangements that will allow us to leave Konstantinoupolis quickly and… without fuss."
"Also without goods and money," Niklos stated.
"We have been without goods and money before. Or have you forgot?"
"How could I?" He came and stood in front of her. "Olivia, please, I ask you for your sake as well as mine, be prepared. Have a safe-conduct. You know that Belisarius will do that for you, and there isn't a soldier who will not honor it unless Justinian countermands it. Will you do that?"
"All right," she said slowly.
"It goes against the grain?" he said fondly.
"You know it does." She made a disaster of her smile. "It has to be done, though, doesn't it?"
"It would be best."
"And it would be best to search the house, and all the rest of it; yes, I know, I know, I know." She hit her fists against her thighs.
He stopped her, confining her hands in his. "Olivia, if you'd rather remain here, I will not—"
Before he could say object, she cut in. "Oh, yes you will. Fortunately for me." She returned to the chest and retrieved her writing materials. "If you'll wait a bit, I'll have a note for you to carry to Belisarius. I hope you'll be permitted to give it to him. If the soldiers insist on taking it, then request to see the General. They aren't supposed to prevent that. Make sure you inquire about Antonina."
He listened, and when she gave him the note, he promised to return as swiftly as possible. "Where will you be?"
"In my reading room. With all the furor about heretical books, I can't imagine our enemies would pass up so promising an opportunity." It was the first time she had admitted that she had active enemies and it chilled Niklos to hear her use the words. "It is rare enough for women to read, and to make matters worse, most of my books are in Latin." Her hazel eyes did not shed tears, but there was a look to her that was worse than weeping would have been.
"Olivia—" Niklos said tentatively.
"Go on. Take the note to Belisarius. Do it quickly; I want this over with as soon as possible."
He had the good sense not to argue. "As you wish." He made her a reverence and left her.
She stood alone in the room after he had left, and in spite of the determination she had shown Niklos, she wavered. She was more overwrought than she was aware until that moment. All along, she told herself, she had assumed that her situation would change, that in time she would be accepted or at least tolerated by the Byzantines. Now all hope of that was gone for her and she knew she would have to look elsewhere for the safety she had so orectically yearned for. She had a brief inclination to flee Konstantinoupolis at once, to leave everything behind and set out for Olbia, or Tarraco, or Alexandria.
Alexandria. And Drosos. She steadied herself and set her jaw. She would inspect her books first, making a record of any that were not hers. Then she would confer with Niklos and together they could come up with some means of protection that would last until Drosos returned.
There were no mirrors in her room, but Olivia had long since learned to arrange her clothes and hair without them. Her fingers made minor adjustments in the arrangement of pins that held her coiffure in place, then refastened her tablion at her shoulder. Satisfied, she squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall. It was not far to her book room but she felt as if she had crossed the desert to Aelana when she opened the door.
By the time Niklos returned with a safe-conduct hidden in the folds of his garment, Olivia had found fifteen banned texts in her shelves, and was less than a third of the way through her library.
"How bad is it?" Niklos asked, looking at the scrolls, rolled and fanfolded, a few bound in heavy leather, that were laid on the table.
"Four of these are considered worse than heretical, and this one"—she held up the largest of the leather-bound volumes—"is said to be blasphemous. The others are simply Roman, and might be questioned because they were not written by Christians. I wonder if I ought to be rid of my copy of Pliny as well?"
Niklos shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Olivia."
She cleared her throat. "Yes. I wish… I wish that I could save these, for when Drosos comes back. It isn't much, b
ut it might help ease…" She made an impatient gesture. "What did Belisarius say?"
"First, that he is sad to learn of this. He feels responsible for the suspicion that falls on you. He assures you that he will do everything he can to aid you, but he isn't certain that he can do much, not anymore."
"The safe-conduct is enough," said Olivia. She looked down at the books, and said on impulse, "Hide these. There must be some place in this house that we can use safely, without the slaves knowing of it."
"Where?" He sounded reasonable enough, and that alone irritated her.
"Anywhere. Under the plants in the garden, if that would not ruin them. Under the roof. I don't know." She stared at them. "We can't simply get rid of them, for then it would be known that we had them."
Niklos gathered the books up in his arms. "I will arrange something. Perhaps in the large chariot, somewhere."
"Fine. All I ask is you leave enough of my native earth there to give me a little protection." She looked thoughtfully at the shelves. "I must finish this task tonight. I hope there are not too many more of these. The gods alone know what we'll do with them."
"Would you want me to burn a little incense?" Niklos offered, trying to lighten her thoughts.
She gave him a look of mock horror. "Aren't we in enough trouble already?"
Neither of them laughed.
* * *
Text of the confession of Pope Sylvestros to the Guard of the Court Censor and the secretary of the Metropolitan Daidalos.
I, Pope Sylvestros, once of the Church of the Patriarchs, now in disgrace and ruin, do, with the good aid of the officers of the Censor, state the full extent of my crimes which only recently were brought to light by the piety of good citizens who questioned my right, under sumptuary laws, to have glass vessels in my house.
The suffering that has been meted out to me by the officers of the Guard with the advice of the secretary of the Metropolitan is surely well-deserved, for a pope who has strayed from his vows falls further than those who are not bound by oaths to Heaven. I, forgetting my sacred estate, strove to acquire wealth and goods the better to enhance my position in the world—the vainest of false hopes. Not the squeezing with knotted wharf ropes nor the peeling of the flesh from my feet suffices to make amends for what I have done, and will answer for before God when He chooses to bring me to the Throne of Judgment.
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