A Flame in Byzantium

"You're probably right," said Olivia, reaching for the other pallium. "But tonight, ah, tonight I believe that I will harken back to the old times. This and the paenula of pale silk, you know the one. I'll wear them over the samite dalmatica, the one with the silver threads. And there's one other thing. Instead of a tablion, get me that pectoral in silver, the disk with the raised wings."



"If you like," said Fisera, clearly disapproving.



"There's just tonight, Fisera, and then you will be free to do or say whatever you wish to me, and you will have money enough to leave here and to establish yourself wherever you wish. You have been a good and faithful servant to me. For that, your freedom is a small enough token."



The sincerity in Olivia's voice clearly startled Fisera, and she hesitated before saying anything more. "Why the pectoral?"



"Because it reminds me of a very old friend, who gave it to me many, many years ago." Olivia's smile did not quite succeed, but she went on. "He told me a few home truths that I must remember while I live in Constantinople. What a hideous thought."



"If you go, none of us will be able to live. We will be taken by soldiers or monks and we will be more slaves then than ever we have been for you." This outburst was more alarming to Fisera than to Olivia, who had been expecting something of the sort since the day before yesterday.



"I have already sent copies of your writs of manumission to the monks for their records, and I will see that every one of you has their own writ to keep." When she had been young, almost half her household slaves could read. In the intervening centuries fewer and fewer slaves had acquired the skill until now less than a dozen of her staff were literate. "As long as you and the monks have the documents, there is safety for you. But you must keep the writ with you, so that you can prove that you are truly freed. You will have money and you will have supplies. Unless you choose badly, you will have no reason to regret being freed."



"Rudis says that we are being freed so that the invaders will spend time gathering us up so that you can escape and that you have no intention of letting us remain free once the threat of Totila is over." Fisera had started to cry in the sudden and violent way that made Olivia think of a summer thunderstorm.



"Why would I free you if I intended that? Why would I bother? I would need only to tell you where you must go and you would have to comply with my wishes. If Rudis is correct, then I have done this most stupidly." She put one hand on her hip. "If you want a military escort, I suppose I could convince the General to provide you one. And speaking of the General," she said in a more hasty tone, "I suppose I ought to prepare to greet him. Get me the dalmatica and the paenula and the pallium and that silver pectoral, and then help me do something with my hair. And for the love of… the Saints, don't fret. You will be safe when you leave."



Fisera sniffed deeply as she began to follow Olivia's orders. Her fears had been assuaged but they had not vanished.



Some little time later, Olivia emerged from her room to seek out her guests. She was magnificent to see, though most would have been hard-pressed to say why, for she was dressed almost as mutedly as a religious. Somehow, in the colors and chaste silver ornaments, she contrived a richness that was far more impressive than the gaudy colors worn by the retinue of General Belisarius, who was arrayed in bright red and orange with bright medallions on his bracchae and his high leather boots.



"We are more grateful to you, great lady, than we can express," said the General as he made a reverence to his hostess. "Your reception of us has been princely."



"Hardly," she said with candor, recalling the splendor of the courts of Nero and Otho and Vespasianus, half a millennium ago. "You are most welcome here, General, as are your men." She looked around the room, her eyes lingering briefly on Drosos whose hair was still wet from the baths and who wore turquoise silk and a pallium of silver and lavender.



Belisarius indicated his fourteen companions. "There are a number of us, as you see, more than we had thought there would be at first, and you are more than generous to provide for us on such short notice. From what we have seen of Roma inside the walls, you are more fortunate than most."



"And more circumspect," said Olivia. "Only a fool would think that Totila would wait for us to prepare for him before he attacked." She was very much a part of her reception room, which was a pale, faded blue with false fluted columns painted silver. Yet instead of vanishing into the walls, she seemed to make all the room an extension of herself. The men watched her with admiration and other emotions.



"They are paying the price for their foolishness now," said Belisarius. "And what little we can do, I fear, comes too late. If we had come a few months earlier, or if the supplies had been adequate, or if the Bishop of Roma had not left the city when he did, we might have a better chance of defense, but the way things stand, there is nothing left to do but to insure that the least damage possible is done while Totila holds the city."



"You believe he will succeed, then?" asked Olivia, her calm not as complete as she would have liked.



"Unfortunately, yes; for a time. And then we will roust him, for we are the stronger forces and we are not barbarians." Belisarius looked over his men. "Occasionally one of the men will forget this and then there is much cause for—"



Stamos, a powerful man with scars seaming his face and hands, looked suddenly flustered. "They were under orders not to harm anyone," he protested, although no one had accused him of anything.



"They were also without adequate care and advice, and for that if no other reason, there is much for you and the rest of those officers who have had similar incidents to answer for. You have your men submit to proper punishment, and see that it is carried out where those who were the most harmed may witness it for themselves so that they will not regard us as little better than those we are here to fight." Belisarius turned to Olivia and the harshness of his attitude faded at once. "I do not mean to distress you, great lady. These matters are for more private times, and you must forgive us for being so uncaring."



Olivia, who had heard much worse than this over the long decades of her life, waved her hand to show that she was not distressed by what she had heard. "You must attend to your work, General, as must all of us in such times as these." She clapped her hands sharply and two slaves appeared in the doorway. "Is the dining room ready?"



"Yes, mistress," said the older of the two. "And there are cup bearers waiting with wine."



"Cup bearers!" cried out one of the Byzantines. "How Roman!"



"This is Roma," Olivia reminded them all. "And I am a Roman."



As they went into the dining room, none of the men thought it strange that Olivia did not have a couch of her own, and that she did not eat with them. In Constantinople, most women did not dine with men except on very special occasions; even then, they often dined apart from their fathers, brothers and husbands, watching them from terraces and balconies instead of sitting or reclining beside them.



Only Drosos, who watched Olivia closely while he ate honied kid boiled in milk with onions, fish stuffed with garlic and poached in wine, and spiced pork baked in a bread, noticed that she showed no outward signs of hunger, treating the lavish feast with indifference. Curious, he rose while the slaves removed the platters that had held the pork buns, and walked to her chair—for unlike her guests, she did not recline on padded couches—holding out a second cup to her. "Great lady, let me pour some of this excellent vintage for you. In your generosity, you have given all to us and spared none for yourself."



Olivia looked up at him. "You are most gracious," she said with a trace of amusement that Drosos could not identify in her fascinating eyes. "But I do not drink wine."



Before Drosos could pursue the matter, Belisarius motioned him back to his couch as the slaves brought out three long spits of roasted ducks stuffed with nuts and raisins.



While Drosos went on with the banquet, Olivia watched him, a speculative lift to her brows the only indication of her thoughts.



* * *



A bill of sale sent by military courier to Belisarius outside Roma.



On the Feast of the Patriarchs, I, Andros Trachi, acknowledge the receipt of the amount of twenty-two grains of gold and thirty-seven grains of silver in total and complete payment for a domicile of nineteen rooms, with kitchen and larder attached, from the Roman lady known to General Belisarius as Olivia Clemens, a widow, who for the safety of her goods and her person has taken the advice of the General and agreed to come to the city of Konstantin.



I formally relinquish all claims on this property to the General, who has acted as sponsor of the said widow, since she is lacking in husband or father or brother to act for her in this matter. All further negotiations are agreed to be directed to her majordomo, one Niklos Aulirios, who is empowered to carry out all contractual arrangements for her, and to have the sanction of the General Belisarius for such actions. It is agreed that no member of my family, nor my heirs, nor their kindred and heirs may make claim to this property and that the transference is a permanent one.