To the great and admirable Belisarius, greetings from the godforsaken out-post Colonna Romanum where Chrysanthos now commands, by default as much as promotion.
It has been more than three years since I have written, and almost nine since I have seen you. For the lack of letters, I ask pardon, but there has been so little to tell. Out here, we are cut off half the time, and the rest of the time we are so bored that there is nothing to report except for the number of flies biting the horses. Ever since Totila was killed, and then his heir Teias, we've had few skirmishes even at outposts like this one. Until two months ago.
Drosos was posted to Mons Falconis, which is a three day ride from here. He was second-in- command to Solonios, nephew of the Exarch Narses, and I do not need to tell you how Solonios got his position, do I?
Yes, I say was. Drosos was killed six weeks ago. Mons Falconis got cut off and Solonios would not order an attack or send anyone for reinforcements, for fear of what his illustrious uncle would say. Drosos took it upon himself to remedy that, and with Fabios, Leonidas' son, rode around the enemy lines. Fabios arrived here, wounded and half-baked with fever and we did what we could for Solonios and his men.
Drosos wasn't so lucky. He was thrown when his horse was lanced, and the barbarians caught him. They staked him out, still bleeding, and then rode to the charge over him. There wasn't enough left to give him proper burial. If he hadn't disobeyed Solonios, none of the men would have survived, and so he had what he told me last year he no longer deserved: an honorable death.
I am sorry to have to send you this news, especially since it is my understanding that in your battles with the Huns last year you were badly wounded yourself. The rumor is—and I hope it is not true—that you have been blinded. It is bad enough to have lost Drosos; to know you cannot fight again would be too much for this old soldier to bear. Let me hear from you much sooner than you have heard from me, with news that you are thriving now that you have saved Konstantinoupolis and are once again in some favor with Justinian.
Is it true that Kimon Athanatadies was found guilty of heresy and hanged on a butcher's hook across from Hagia Sophia? I could not believe it when the story reached here. I hope that it is so, and that he suffered long and hard for all he had done. If it isn't so, I might well be the one hanging on a hook when I am posted back to Konstantinoupolis at the end of next year, but I doubt if it would bother me as much now as it would have when I left there nine years ago.
I hope that the next time I write to you, it is with good news, and the invitation to dine with me upon my return. It is an honor I look forward to with joy and gratitude. Until then, my respect and my affection is with you; it is heartening to know you have been vindicated at last.
Though I am remiss at letters, I am still very much your friend
Chrysanthos
Captain (still)
Epilogue
Text of a letter to Olivia from Sanct Germain.
To my long-treasured Olivia, Sanct Germain sends greetings from Naissus, and thanks her for sending news of her travels.
So you are going to Alexandria now that Justinian is finally dead and his nephew Justin rules in Constantinople. I hope you have not decided to do this out of devotion to Drosos' memory. You tell me that you want to find out what is left of the Library and to try to salvage any of the texts that might have escaped the fires. That, I probably need not remind you, is dangerous work; high risk for a dubious reward.
You told me once that Drosos called you a monster and that you did not know how to convince him you are not. Olivia, he was right. We are are monsters, Olivia, never forget that. But we need not be monsters simply because we are.
Some time soon, I, too, hope you can return to Roma. I know how hard it is to be drawn by your native earth. Why else would I be in a place like Naissus? In less than a month I will be back in my native mountains, and they will restore me in ways I need not explain to you.
I am pleased to know that Niklos Aulirios is still with you. His sense can stand you both in good stead, for often you have more courage than sense, which is one of the many reasons that I loved you while Nero wore the purple and love you now, and will love you when both of us are nothing more than dust.
Take joy in living, Olivia, else the burden is too great for even you to endure, and loss of you would grieve me more than any other loss I have sustained in all my years.
In this, the Lord's Year 566, you have my love, as you have had it for the last half millennium
Sanct Germain
(his seal, the eclipse)
