He laughed without hope. "There are no such words. There is nothing. I am beyond mending."
"No," she protested.
"When I followed my orders, when I honored my office and my Emperor, I destroyed my honor. It's an irony worthy of one of those banned Greek plays. If I were more than the fool I am." He shifted his weight to face her. "I want to have something left of me, something that can touch you without making me feel you have been tainted by me. If that still exists, Olivia, will you help me find it? I have no right to ask, but if you won't, then it might as well go up in smoke like the rest of my honor."
Olivia regarded him solemnly. She put her free hand over his heart. "I have lost those I love to death and time more often than I want to remember. I have seen destruction overtake things of sense and beauty so wantonly that it wrung my heart to know of it. If there is a chance to save something from the ruins, then—"
"You think to save me, as a remembrance?" He made a sound that was not laughter. "You think I am worthy to serve as a token of your time in Konstantinoupolis?"
"Stop that," she said softly. "I won't have you scorn yourself."
"Who better?" He reached out and pulled her over him. "I want to give value for—"
She wrenched away from him and he was startled at her strength. "I will not be party to your mockery. I do not permit you to denigrate someone I love, even though that person is yourself." She sat up and turned to regard him seriously. "Drosos, listen to me. I do not despise you. You cannot make me despise you."
"Why not? I despise myself." He had raised his arm as if to stop a blow and it shielded his eyes from her steady look.
She ran her finger along his jaw, feeling his untrimmed beard rasp against her skin. "You are like a man with a festering wound you will not lance, and you are poisoning yourself with the humors. I wish you were free of the pain and the anguish you feel."
He lowered his arm; tears stood in his dark eyes. "God, God, so do I. But—"
Her fingers stopped his objections on his lips. "Then we will find a way. There is a way, Drosos, if you will permit yourself to find it."
"Is there?" The tears ran down his temples and he wiped them away.
"There is a way," she repeated firmly. Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Let me help you, for my sake as well as yours."
"Why for your sake?" He was trying to recover some of the dignity he had lost. "How can—"
"You have done what you have done because you have a sense of honor; I have told you I have a sense of honor, too, and it demands that I do not desert my friends in misfortune."
He sighed, his breath ragged. "There are some hurts beyond remedy."
"This need not be one, Drosos," she said, hoping fervently that it was so.
He faced her. "All right. Do what you must. I'm grateful, I suppose." As she sank down on his chest, he threaded her hair through his fingers. "It's like living silk."
She did not respond; she was listening to his heartbeats, trying to fathom the depth of his misery.
* * *
Text of a letter from Eugenia to Antonina.
To my cherished friend Antonina, Eugenia sends her greetings and the hopes that Antonina might soon recover from the affliction that has caused her such misery.
It was only recently that I learned of your continuing illness, and it brought home to me how great a value I have put on the hours we have spent together, as well as how important your good opinion has always been. I know that I have been most neglectful of you and I wish I had an adequate explanation that does not cast aspersions on my character, but I fear I have been nothing more than an overly cautious woman, and I have let my concerns for my position within society interfere with the more genuine ties of friendship. I have long assumed that there would be a time when all the misunderstandings would be ended and your family would be restored to the position it deserves to occupy, but from what I have been told, this might not be the case, and I am filled with chagrin that I have let these precious days slip by without overcoming my own cowardice.
I realize there is no reason you should want to see me again after the dreadful way I have behaved, but I hope you will show more charity than I have shown you and admit me to your company once again. It would give me great satisfaction and pleasure to have the chance to speak with you. There is no one with whom I can share confidences as you and I have, and I have missed that more than I can express to you in words.
Dear Antonina, forgive me for all my slights and my ambitions. I have been a stupid, vain woman and I have spurned a friendship that has been worth more to me than the tributes of my husband. What woman ever truly gives a man the trust that she can share with another of her sex? We pretend that this is not the case, but in our heart of hearts, the truth of it cannot be denied. For that reason if no other, I hope you will not forbid me to call upon you. I have yearned for the benefit of your good sense as well as the chance to speak plainly, which we never do with the men we know.
I hope also that perhaps you have missed my company and that you will find that my presence is welcome to you; surely there are things you wish to say that you cannot discuss with your husband, for honorable and steadfast as he is, it is not the same as the understanding I have provided in the past.
Your slave Simones will bring this letter to you and he will tell you himself how much I long to renew and restore our friendship and what great importance you hold in my life. If you do not believe what I say, then perhaps you will believe what your own slave will tell you. You should thank him for seeking me out, for until he came to me I had no idea how great was your suffering. I had attributed your retirement from the world to the misfortunes of your husband and not to your health, for which I am most heartily sorry, and I ask that you will not hold against me my lack of information, for as you know this city is alive with rumors and half-truths which distort the knowledge that would have brought me to your side long before now had I any notion of the severity of your troubles.
Let me hear from you soon, and when you tell me I may, I will come to you to ask your pardon face to face, and I will do whatever you request at whatever time you stipulate. I pray that your answer will be swift, so that I may in some part make amends for the lack of attention I have given you.
I am your friend, Antonina, and I beg you to let me have the opportunity to demonstrate that to you.
Eugenia
2
Zejhil was almost out of the garden when she heard the whisper of voices near the passage that led to the stables. At once she paused and listened, not daring to move.
"There is money in it if you will aid me," said a voice that Zejhil did not know.
"I am a slave," came the answer from a man; Zejhil recognized Valerios. "If I am caught, it could mean my life."
"You will not be caught; and if you are, you have only to say that you were working at the behest of an agent of the Censor to determine if your mistress is an enemy of the Emperor, and there will be little she can do against you."
"Who will listen to a slave?" Valerios scoffed.
"Who will listen to a woman?" asked the other. "And a Roman woman. The Emperor has said that Romans are not to be trusted and a Roman woman—"
"My mistress has been good to me."
The unknown man laughed. "What good is that if she is accused of treason?"
"She is not a traitor," Valerios said, but with less conviction than before.
"Have you proof of that? She associates with the disgraced Belisarius and she has kept Captain Drosos as her lover in spite of his opposition to the edicts of the Emperor in regard to the destruction of heretical texts. It may be that she is only foolish."
Zejhil put her hand to her mouth to stifle her indignant objections. Cautiously she moved a little closer to the passageway.
"Suppose you were to learn that others have found her to be a traitor," suggested the stranger. "What then?"
"It is not for me to say. I am a slave." Valerios raised his voice. "And there are severe penalties for suborning slaves."
"So there are. There are also severe penalties for slaves who participate in treasonous activities. Doesn't it trouble you that you might have the skin peeled off your body and you be left staked to the ground outside the city walls?"
"Go away," Valerios said, his voice now tinged with fear.
"I will reward those who help me, and I will see that those who hinder me are punished." There was a menace in this promise that made Zejhil shiver.
"Go away. You are nothing more than a slave yourself, and anything you say to me is only the word of a slave." There was the sound of hurrying feet, and then more stealthy footsteps and a soft closing of a door.
Zejhil remained where she was, unable to move from the dread that gripped her. She tried to reason with herself, to convince herself that the sinister unknown man was no danger to her or anyone in Olivia's household, but she could not stop the shudders that overcame her when she attempted to leave the garden. "I must warn my mistress," she whispered, as if hearing the words would goad her to action. Nothing changed. Only the sudden braying of an ass in the street beyond the walls gave her the impetus she needed, and she fled into the corridor that joined the kitchen.