A Flame in Byzantium

them.

'Let me move my arm,' she offered, shifting so that they would both be more comfortable.

They lay together, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his thigh, the hair of his chest making patterns on her skin. Their hands were joined.

'Every time I think that it cannot be better than the last, and every time it is,' he said when he was starting to drift into sleep.

She turned her head so that her lips pressed his shoulder.

'Olivia?' he whispered a little later.

'Yes?'

'In two months, I am being sent to Alexandria.' There was devastation in his words.

She felt her throat tighten. 'Alexandria?'

'In Egypt,' he explained.

'I know where it is,' she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice.

'So anything that is going to happen has to be before then.' He made an angry slash with his free arm. 'I'm a toad!'

'Shhush,' she admonished him.

But he could not stop. 'I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't what I meant. I wanted to tell you all the things in my heart. I wanted you to know what you give to me. I didn't want to say anything about plots or Alexandria, and I did both.'

Olivia moved onto her elbow and looked down at him. 'It's all right, Drosos,' she assured him, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.

'I was going to say something later, when we'd slept, when it wouldn't matter as much.' His fingers sought her face, tracing the planes of it.

'It would matter whenever you said it.' She bent her head and kissed his nipple. 'And it doesn't change what we have together.'

'It doesn't?' he pleaded.

'No. And you're right. You had to tell me sometime.' There was a fine line between her brows, but otherwise her features were tranquil. 'We'll have to make the best of the time we have.'

'Can we?' His fingers stopped moving and he looked at her with an intensity that was so pure that it was like a light among them.

'It's what we always do,' she pointed out with great gentleness. 'At least we know what time we have. That makes us more fortunate than most.'

'Does it?' He sighed and fought to get the next words out. 'I need you, Olivia.'

Only twice before had anyone said that to her, and one had been her husband, who had admitted it with abhorrence. The other had been a boy struggling into manhood. Neither had moved her as she was moved now. 'I love you, Drosos.'

'And I love you; but that's not the same thing,' he said, clearly and softly.

'No.' She lay down once more, her head tucked under the curve of his jaw. 'It's been so long since I mattered that much to anyone. Thank you for—' She stopped.

'For?' he echoed.

'For you.' Under her, his chest rose as he stifled a yawn. 'Go to sleep. In the morning we will make our plans.'

'But… it was so perfect. I wrecked it.' He patted her shoulder, suddenly ineffective.

'Things like that can't be wrecked, Drosos, no matter what comes after.' She wished she could find a way to show him that she was telling him the truth, and it hurt her more than she wanted to admit when at last he drifted into sleep with a murmured fragment of an apology.

Drosos awakened shortly before sunrise, his mood terse. After a small meal of bread and figs he was able to jest about the hour and to remark that Olivia managed better in the morning than many soldiers on campaign did. Olivia accepted the compliment playfully; she did not mention that she hardly ever slept.

* * *

Text of an anonymous letter to the physician Mnenodatos.

To the learned Mnenodatos of the Crown of Martyrs' Church, on the Feast of Saint Iakobis of Nisibis, hail from one who wishes you well.

It is known of you that you have much skill in the detection and treatment of poisons, and that is what I must consult you about on this occasion. You certainly understand why it is that I will not reveal myself, for such inquiries are often misunderstood. I have sent a messenger and will send one for your answer in a day's time.

The person I am eager to have you assess is a woman of middle years, well-born and strong, with a tempestuous and commanding manner and a fit constitution. This woman has often suffered from extreme emotions, as women will, and when episodes of this sort occur, she is likely to do herself and others an injury.

Composing draughts have sometimes been tried, and have had some limited success, but it is apparent that they are not sufficient to the problem, and something stronger is needed if any lasting relief is to be obtained.

I am reliably informed that most composing draughts are made from herbs and other substances that have elements of poison in them, but are concocted in such a way as to minimize the poison. Is there any way to make such substances more efficacious without rendering them more dangerous to the person taking them, and have them act so that the woman would not be convinced that she was being poisoned? She is the sort of woman who might believe such a thing. She often assumes that others are working against her, and for that reason it is likely that she would be willing to believe that those who have her welfare most truly at heart would instead act to her distress.

If there is anything that might aid her, please present the substance, with instructions, to the slave who will call upon you tomorrow. It is of the utmost importance that we carry out this transaction in secrecy and with discretion, for not only is the woman of an uneven temper, her husband of late has had to be careful of unseen enemies, and he would be severe with those he believed were not caring for his wife as they ought.

I have taken the liberty of sending eight pieces of Egyptian gold with my request, both to insure your prompt compliance and to reward you for your silence. You may rest assured that your substance will be treated with care and respect and nothing will be permitted to cast doubts on you or your profession.

A Sincere Friend

4

Rain scraped the walls and spattered in on the mosaic floors where the oiled parchment windows had given way under the onslaught of the storm. The room was a miserable place to sit, filled as it was with sudden, hostile draughts and the chill rattle of the rain.

Antonina offered a second cup of hot spiced wine to her visitor, then pulled her plain wool paenula more closely around her shoulders. 'I am still surprised that you came to visit me,' she said to Eugenia. 'From your last two notes, I thought that you no longer wished the association.' Since Belisarius' disgrace the two white streaks in her hair had become more pronounced but her face, in contrast, appeared more glacially serene than it had before.

'Well,' Eugenia began, accepting the hot wine gratefully; not only was the warmth needed in this dreadful reception room, but she needed a little time and help to build up her courage. 'I have to be sensible, as you've told me time and time again,' she began.

'And you are going to be sensible,' Antonina said tonelessly.

'To a degree. I must, Antonina.' She took a larger gulp than she had intended and tried to swallow it without choking. 'I must be careful, being a widow with limited funds. If anything were to render me more questionable as a possible wife, I might not be able to marry again, not for years.'

'I know,' Antonina said, and although her voice was harsh, she did understand the predicament of her friend.