A Flame in Byzantium

"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."