Niklos was almost to the second square tower when he heard swift footsteps behind him. He slipped into a shallow doorway and waited while his pursuers came abreast of him.
There were three men, one of them carrying a wooden cudgel and the other two holding knives. They moved efficiently, spread out in the street, their shoes tied in rags to muffle their sounds. The largest of the three men made a signal to the others and they slowed down, their actions more stealthy than before.
When the three men were past his hiding place, Niklos stepped out and followed the men along the street; he carried a glavus in each hand, the wide-bladed weapons catching the shine of the moon on their newly honed edges.
Just as the three men reached the entrance to the Church of the Resurrection, one of them turned. He saw Niklos and would have cried out to warn the others, but did not dare to alert the Guard to their presence. He crouched low, his knife swinging up as Niklos moved in, one glavus slicing toward the thief's shoulder. Deftly he turned the blade on the quillons of his knife, and he might have been able to attack if Niklos had carried only one weapon.
As his right glavus swung away, the left cut in hard and low, catching the thief in the thigh, gouging through flesh and striking bone.
The thief shrieked, and his companions turned, prepared to fight. The first man fell to the paving, narrowly missing a pile of dung. He clutched his leg in a fruitless attempt to stanch the blood that pumped from the deep wound he had been given.
The man with the cudgel raised his weapon as he advanced, bringing it down in front of him, aiming not for Niklos' swords but for his arms and shoulders; this disabling blow ought to leave their opponent helpless.
Niklos sprang backward, out of range of the cudgel, both glavi held ready to stop an attack.
The second man with a knife was moving against the buildings on the other side of the street, sliding in the darkness, to outflank Niklos.
As the man with the cudgel swung again, Niklos leaped at him, choosing the thief's most vulnerable instant—when his cudgel was low and he had not yet been able to swing it into position for another blow. His left glavus bit deep into the man's shoulder, penetrating just under the collarbone. The man howled and staggered away from the blade.
The third man hesitated, and then, seeing his chance, rushed in, his knife held to strike Niklos low in the back. But he had forgot his comrade who lay bleeding, and in his haste, he tripped over the other's arm. Cursing, stumbling, he blundered into Niklos' right blade, taking it along his ribs.
In the next street there was the sound of running, and Niklos did not wait to discover who might be approaching. He grasped his swords and raced away from the three wounded men.
"That was an impressive display," murmured the merchant from Tyre who had agreed to meet with Niklos that night.
"I thought they might have already found you," Niklos said as he stopped to wipe the blood away.
"Are you hurt?"
"Nothing to speak of," Niklos assured him. "But I want to get off the street."
"Of course." The merchant opened the door where he had been waiting and led Niklos into a courtyard. "I have been given the use of this house by another merchant, a Konstantinoupolitan who is currently on a voyage to purchase fine cloth and copper. I have extended the same courtesy to him when he has been in Tyre."
"And when do you return to Tyre?"
"I plan to leave in little less than a month. I was told that you might wish to travel with me at that time." He indicated a bench beside a fountain. "Sit. We will discuss your requirements in comfort."
Niklos made a reverence. "You're gracious."
"It is not difficult to be gracious to a man who is willing to pay forty pieces of gold to leave the city." He smiled, his teeth blue-white in his gray-seeming face. "It must be important."
"I and my… companion are eager to depart. There is a question of removing certain belongings that we are prepared to abandon for the opportunity to be gone." He waited. "You have arranged such departures before, or so I have been told by those who are reliable in these matters."
"Yes," the merchant said slowly, relishing the word. "But I am curious about the risk I might be taking. It is an easy thing to say that you are being treated unjustly; it might be that you are truly a criminal." He stroked his short beard and went on, musing aloud, "It might be more sensible to inquire at the office of the Censor to learn why you are so willing to pay me to get you out of here."
"You may ask what you want, where you want. Surely I am not the only Roman who has decided to leave this city. Romans are not welcome here, and there are many who strive to make our presence a trial for everyone. Rather than wait for the Censor to determine what of my possessions are acceptable, I prefer to abandon the lot of them and seek refuge in a place that is less unfriendly. I have fled Roma already. I am prepared to leave Konstantinoupolis on the same terms." He deliberately let his Latin accent become stronger. "There have been edicts of late that have resulted in the seizure of Roman goods. Before I have to give up what little I was able to save, I want to be away from here."
"You and your companion," said the merchant.
"Yes; I and my companion." He regarded the merchant steadily. "If you are not prepared to help me, say so, and I will have to search out another."
The merchant chuckled. "Do you believe that you will find another? Don't you realize that you are under suspicion, as are all Romans?" He toyed with a small dagger that depended from the wide leather belt that held his ample girth. "You haven't yet accepted the seriousness of your position here, and for that you are going to suffer." He shook his head. "No, no, my poor Roman friend, you have more to contend with. You say you want to leave because of a desire to retain a few possessions. If you do that, you will be fortunate indeed. You might well lose your life, and that makes our bargain a more critical one."
"Critical?" Niklos repeated as if he were unaware of the purpose of this threat.
"For one thing," the merchant went on as if Niklos had not interrupted him, "you are likely to have to leave everything behind, and so the only gain I will be able to make is the fee you pay me when I take you aboard my ship. That means that I will have to raise the price, for my risk is greater, and the punishment I would suffer for giving you aid is worse than having my nose and ears struck off." He raised his hand to tick off his other objections on his long, fat fingers. "So I must have more for my own danger. Then there is the matter of smuggling you out of the city, and that will require more effort than we had discussed before, and for that I think you would agree it is reasonable that I demand a handsome price to pay for the various arrangements I must make, the extra men I must employ and the Guards I will have to bribe. Then I might have to appear before the Censor when I return, for I will come back to this city even if you will not, and that is another risk which I think deserves recompense." He grinned. "I think that eighty pieces of gold for each of you—you and your companion—is a reasonable figure."
"It's a fortune," Niklos said flatly.
"Oh, hardly that. A high price, certainly, but we are agreed, aren't we, that there is a greater hazard than first seemed the case." He combed his fingers through his beard. "You are not thinking clearly. It is because you are afraid. Once you consider all that I can do for you, you will decide that what I ask is reasonable. And, of course, if you refuse to pay me, I will have to inform the office of the Censor that you have attempted to bribe me to take you out of the city without permission. It would be necessary for me to make such a report, for who knows what the slaves of this household might have learned, or what the master will demand when he comes back?"
"Very neat," said Niklos, who was not at all surprised at the duplicity of the merchant.
"Not neat, simply pragmatic. I have to make my business worth my time and effort. You are part of my business." He clicked his tongue. "I am a simple man, and I know very little about politics and the cause of the Church. I seek only to do my work and to obey the laws
of the land. There are times when it is apparent that the law might be incorrect, and in such instances I try to make allowances, but not if those allowances place me at a disadvantage."
"Naturally not." Niklos sighed. "I have only thirty gold pieces with me. That was what I was told to bring."
"It will do for a start." He held out his hand, and when Niklos handed over the leather case, he tucked it into his belt, making it vanish as a street entertainer would make beans vanish beneath cups.
"I will bring you more tomorrow night," he said in discouraged resignation.
"The night after; tomorrow night I am to hear Mass at Hagia Sophia." He straightened up. "I am permitted to listen to the Mass in the narthex. In another year, I will be permitted to enter the church itself with those who take Communion."
"I am sure you will receive great benefit from it," Niklos said sarcastically.
"A man must think of the future," said the merchant. "And that includes the welfare of his soul." He sighed. "I will have to have at least sixty more gold pieces then. You can give me the rest when you board my ship. We will have plenty of time to arrange this as soon as I have the other sixty pieces." He stood up. "It is very late. I must retire if I am to begin arrangements tomorrow. These things take very careful planning, and that demands time." He made a small reverence to Niklos. "You are a sensible man, Flavius. If you think about it, you will come to the most reasonable decision."
"Or you will give my name to the Censor?" Niklos added.
"I cannot endanger myself without reason," he said, making it sound as if he were a victim of fate.
"Naturally," said Niklos, getting to his feet. "And you know that I am unable to haggle, given my circumstances."
"Haggling is for the marketplace," said the merchant. "You are not here to bargain, Flavius, you are here to arrange an illegal escape." He put his hands over his paunch. "Night after tomorrow. The same time. I will be here. I hope you will not keep me waiting, for I am a man who needs his sleep."
"Of course." Niklos started for the door in the wall. "I trust I haven't inconvenienced you in coming tonight, since you tire so easily."
"What an amusing fellow you are, Flavius," said the merchant with a low, popping laugh. "No, a bag of gold is always soothing to me. Doubtless if you can supply what I need next time I will be content." He held the door ajar as Niklos slipped into the street. "Be careful; there are thieves abroad."
"What would they take from me?" Niklos asked as the door was closed.
Olivia was in her book room, reading by the light of three Roman oil lamps when Niklos returned to her house. He closed the door and made a sign to her as he approached her, watching her set a volume of Petronius aside.
"They would not approve of this," she said, one hand on the first page. "I'm sure that Athanatadies would want to burn this himself."
"Athanatadies or Justinian," Niklos suggested. They were both speaking Latin, aware that none of the household slaves knew the language. "Both those men—"
"Justinian does not like to soil his hands," Olivia said with distaste. "He prefers others do the deeds." She leaned back in her chair, slipping the poems inside a ledger of household accounts. "Well?"
"The merchant will be delighted to fleece us and if I am not mistaken, he will then go to the Censor or one of his officers and inform them that one of the exiled Romans is trying to leave the city illegally. That way he will collect the monies I have paid in addition to the rewards offered to those who inform against criminals." He leaned back, bracing his shoulders against one of the large cabinets. "The ploy is obvious but neat. Any complaint against him would constitute a confession."
Olivia nodded. "Did you pay him?"
"Of course. You told me to. I wanted to throw the… gold in his face."
This time when she spoke, she had a suggestion of a smile in her eyes. "How much gold did you give him, really?"
"Nine pieces, in case he opened the wallet. Under the nine pieces there are leaden coins." He gave her an answering grin. "He thinks he has duped Flavius, but—"
"Was that the name you used? Flavius?" She raised her brows, "Why on earth?"
"I remember you lived when the Flavians ruled. Nothing more." He put his hands on his hips. "He will inform, make no mistake. If there were a Flavius here, we would have to warn him."
"So what do we do now?" She frowned. "That man was our last lead."
"We'll find others." He moved away from the cabinet and came over to the table beside her. "You might speak to Drosos."
"If I knew where he was."
In the silence, Niklos shook his head. "No word still?"
"No."
He said nothing as he moved one of the small benches to the other side of the table. "Do you want me to find him?"
She was staring into the middle distance, seeing nothing. "If he doesn't want to be here…"
Impulsively Niklos reached across the table and put his hand over hers. "Olivia—"
"He's bleeding," she said in a small, distant voice. "He is wounded and bleeding." Her focus came back to the room and to Niklos. "Oh, not literally. For him that would be no real problem. He's a good soldier and he expects to be injured from time to time. This is something else, much worse. Nothing he has done before has… damaged him."
"And you can't leave him in pain, can you?"
"No. Not after—" She brought her hand up to shield her eyes, as if the little wisps of flame from the lamps were suddenly too bright.
"But what can you do for him?" His concern made his words rough, but the touch of his hand became more gentle.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I cannot abandon him. I have his blood in me. There is an obligation in that, for he has loved me knowing… what he loved. I… I am no longer entirely separate from him."
Niklos lowered his head. "Is there anything I can do?"
She shook her head. "No."
"You have only to ask it." When his warm brown eyes met her hazel ones he repeated, "You have only to ask."
"I wouldn't know what…" Her sigh was as much from aggravation as from hurt. "The blood binds me, Niklos, but you are not bound."
Niklos chuckled once, mournfully. "No, blood does not bind me; I am not as you are. But life binds me, Olivia. If it were not for you, I would be nothing but a pile of bones. You were the one who restored me."
"No," she corrected him. "Not I; Sanct' Germain restored you."
"But you asked it. You were the one who—" He broke off and when he spoke again, it was in a different, tender tone. "I was nothing more than a horse trainer. You had no reason to intercede for me. I wasn't your lover any longer, only a freedman in your household. But you saved me when I was dead."
"Sanct' Germain saved you," she insisted.
"Because you asked it." He looked directly at her. "It isn't a debt, not as other debts are, because it can never be paid. I am not grateful, not as gratitude is understood. I am… beholden to you."
"I don't—" she began, trying to move her hand away.
His grip tightened. "No, you don't require it. I remain where I am because I wish to. It isn't your bond, it's mine." He let her hand go, but she did not move. "So. Do you want me to find Drosos for you?"
"Not yet." She bit her lower lip. "I am hoping that he will come of his own accord. If he does not, then I suppose we must act."
"As you wish," he said, letting go of her hand at last. "I will try the wharves again, if you like, and see if there is anyone willing to carry two people out of this impossible place, no questions asked."
"I suppose it will be necessary," she said, rising. "It's foolish, but I have a foolish desire to be cleared of suspicion. I want to be… exonerated. It offends me to have so many ill things said of me, for no reason other than I am a Roman woman."
"If they knew what else you are…" Niklos made a cutting gesture with his fingers.
"Then we must hope that they never learn. I am not ready to die the true death yet." She took the ledger wit
h Petronius concealed in it, replacing it in its pigeonhole.
"Do you think Drosos might—?"
"Might speak against me?" she finished for him. "It is possible, I suppose. He could decide that he needed to purge himself, and this would be one way." She linked her hands behind her neck and rolled her head back. "If he does, then there will be more trouble than—"
"You have a house on Kythera," Niklos said, deliberately stopping her.
"Yes," she said, a bit surprised that he mentioned it. "I haven't been there in centuries."
"It is still standing, although it needs some work." He folded his arms. "I spoke to a fisherman from there, and he told me all about the house; all it took was a few leading questions and he recited everything that is known about the place, including the local conviction that the place is haunted. The monks in the monastery above the harbor have records of the house, so you would not have any difficulty claiming it."
"If it is still unoccupied, then…" She turned to him. "What made you think of that house?"
"Honestly?" he asked. "Seeing that fishing boat and hearing the men speaking with the Kythera dialect." He turned his hands over, palms up. "I'd like to say it was inspiration or some such thing, but it was nothing more than chance. You haven't been there in a long time. The last time you were there," he went on more somberly, "was while I was learning to live with the… changes of my restoration."
She nodded. "I remember."
"That raw chicken?" Suddenly he laughed, a great, unfettered sound. She could not resist him, and in a moment they were laughing together.
"Do you recall that peasant with the two spotted goats?" He could hardly speak, but he gasped out the words. She nodded helplessly as he guffawed.
When they had recovered, and even the residual giggles had faded, Olivia folded her arms and regarded Niklos thoughtfully. "Perhaps a fisherman is the answer. We wouldn't get as far away as I might like, but Kythera could be the answer, at least for a little while. It would remove us from danger, and I doubt anyone would think of looking for us there. Who hides on Kythera?"
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