Nino

Chapter 38

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 04:04:41 GMT

Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Amma?”

My son found me sitting on a rock wall, studying my problems instead of the sunlit clouds.

“Yes?”

“Can a boy have two fathers?”

Where did this come from? I wondered. “He could, if his father died and his mother remarried, I suppose.”

“Can a boy have two mothers?”

“If his father remarried, yes.”

I could see him turning thoughts over, just as he had as a baby when given a set of blocks.

“Could he have more than one mother, at the same time?”

“I don’t see how…” I looked over his head at the setting sun. “No, I do know how it could be done. If a man has more than one wife, I imagine the children of one wife might call the other wife ‘mother,’ if that were the tradition.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, and I wondered what Nicholas had been teaching my son about Thrace. Where else might he learn about polygamous marriages?

“Our God, the Lord Jesus Christ, explained that the Church is like His Bride, and He is like the Bridegroom. There is only one church, is there not? So our faith teaches us that there is only one man with one wife, and this is God’s intention for us since the time of Adam and Eve.”

He’s grown so much, I thought. His knees had been decently covered by his robe when we left Bitumi in the spring. Now it was nearly fall and he would need new clothes before we would get home— My throat filled up with fear again.

* * *

“The ides of August,” Beata said. “Already it’s the feast of the Dormition!”

The monastery’s bells seemed more cheerful this morning as we prepared for the liturgy. Beata and I planned to gather flowers in the meadows to decorate the church in honor of the Blessed Mother of Christ. The nuns tended to the immediate needs of many of the guests. Many had come from the men’s monastery across the creek, as well as visitors from Cotayora and even further.

I had an overflowing armful while Beata had only a few, even as she stood in the midst of field of them. “What do you want, Beata?”

She startled at my voice. “Want? Why do you ask what I want?”

“Perhaps because I’ve known you all my life and I know that look on your face. What do you want?”

Her mouth opened and closed, and then opened again, but still she did not speak.

“You want to stay.” I said it for her; it seemed easier than to force it from her.

“I do,” she said finally. “I want to become a nun.”

How could I say yes? I needed her with me, unless I stayed here as well.

How could I say no?

“I don’t know,” I finally said. “What does the abbess say?”

She wouldn’t look at me, and knew that the answer had been left to my discretion.

“I don’t know,” I said again. “I need you, Beata. I cannot travel without you.”

She nodded silently and I turned away so I would not see the tears on her face.

Sister Makrina’s tonsure to become an enclosed nun began as soon as the morning prayers ended. In the place of her family, Linus and I were brought to the front of the church and stood as witness to the bishop’s questions.

“Do you come to the Lord of your own free will?”

Sister Makrina’s voice was not overly loud, but it echoed under the dome so that all heard. “Yes, reverend father.

“Do you come without compulsion or violence?”

Around me, the nuns tittered softly.

Sister Makrina grinned, an unexpected sight on the face of a nun. “The compulsion of my heart for my Lord, and violence I do to my own self that I may die and live only to Christ.”

“Sister,” the abbess warned behind me.

“Yes, Reverend Father.”

The bishop grinned back at her and leaned down to whisper in her ear. They chuckled together and he started again.

“Not from any necessity or violence?”

“No, Reverend Father.”

The service continued until Sister Makrina’s hair was exposed. The long braids were tied up in rags, which two of the nuns came to loose. A knife was brought to the bishop, who, with a blessing, cut off her hair as close to her scalp as he could.

“Our sister, Mother Theodoula, is shorn of the hair of her head, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

The shorn locks were picked up by the abbess and placed in a cloth bag.

“Those will be buried with her,” I whispered to Linus as all the monastics began to sing “Lord, have mercy.”

Sister Makrina was dressed in her new garments. Several of the nuns behind us wept. In my heart, I wept too, but not with joy. I would never be able to make those statements, if I were to stay in the community. I might be permitted to stay, but I would never become a nun.

The crowd celebrated the Divine Liturgy together. The bishop himself gave me the communion and I prayed at that moment for wisdom and grace.

* * *
“Amma?”

I looked down on my son as he pulled on my sleeve. “What is it?”

He pulled me into the meadow outside the church and pushed me to sit on a fallen log. “Amma. Is not telling you something the same as a lie?”

“You know that it is, Linus,” I replied.

He walked around me, his hands behind his back as his father had done. “This is very hard, Amma.”

I let him worry his conscience in silence. Whatever he had to say, I would force myself to pay attention to him until he was finished. Ten year old boy problems did not concern me right now.

“Amma?”

“Yes, Linus?” I folded my hands and swallowed the bile building up in my throat.

“You know that there are men here from Thrace.” He stopped in front of me for a moment. “You know that?”

“I knew there were men from Thrace here because I heard them singing at Eurus’ funeral,” I said. “And Nicholas is from Thrace.”

“Yes.”

Nicholas may be my only hope, I thought suddenly. I could send him to my brother and tell him the situation.

“Amma, you know that icon painter who’s here? Brother John?”

I stopped my sigh so not to sound disinterested in his news. “Is he from Thrace?”

“He is,” Linus said. “He’s from Thrace. From Rossakastron.”

“I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I’ve never been there.”

“Amma, he said he’s my brother.”

“Nonsense, Linus. He says that because we are all brothers and sisters in Christ.” I rose and put my hand on his shoulder. “Your brothers live in Thrace, yes, but not in Rossakastron.”

“But one of us does.”

The man behind me spoke in Thracian.

There was no question. Bulyar’s eyes, Bulyar’s mouth – this must be one of the clan – but –

“I’m Brother John,” the monk said and approached me carefully. “You’re Mother Nino.”

No one called me Mother Nino except Bunar. Who was baptized John… “Bunar?”

“Not for many years, but, yes.”

The boy had become a man in his father’s image. While Margar had had some features of his mother and his father’s build, this young man was undoubtedly my husband’s son. “Bunar?”

“Please, call me John. It’s been ten years since anyone’s called me that.”

I sat down and looked at him, and rubbed my eyes to be sure that I did not dream. “John. You’re the iconographer?”

“I am. When the monasteries wanted new icons painted, Sister Makrina told them I could do it.”

“You’re still in touch with her?”

“We’ve written for years. When you brought her here, the abbess wrote to Bishop Athanasius to let him know that Sister had arrived safely. I wrote back.” Brother John sat down beside me. “That’s how she knew of my plans to go to Egypt. What we earn here will pay for my father’s return to Thrace and get me to Jerusalem. There I’ll find the bishop and ask him which monastery I should join.”

“You’re a monk?” I asked. I touched flecks of white paint that dusted his forehead.

“I am. And this is my brother, Linus. I remember you much smaller, little brother. But I suspect you’ll be much larger than I will, probably as big as our brother Margar.”

“Is he still alive?” I asked.

“Alive and living in your old home. It seems that Sozopolis became too Christian for him and he moved to Tricent.”

“The blood war? Callia said there would be a bloodwar over you.”

“No war, bless God for all good things. My father took good care of me, and my uncles who wanted to use me were never able to-“

“Your father?” Linus interrupted. “Our father is alive?”

“No, no,” I consoled my son. “He means another priest.”

“No,” Brother John said. “I mean my father.”

“He means me.”

The man stood only a few paces from me. His hands rested on a walking stick. One arm looked withered compared to the other.

“Do you remember me, Nino?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know who you are.”

He limped over to sit beside me. “It was bad luck that I didn’t see Linus until yesterday, Nino. I heard several of the monks talk about how much Linus looked like John, but I didn’t think it would be your son Linus, it seemed preposterous to think that he would be here.”

I made a frantic Sign of the Cross. “Tervel?”

“Stephen now. Tervel died.” The two men laughed together. “Let me tell you a story, young Linus. When I last held you, you spit up all over me. Your mother was taking you to Constantinople for Dormition. Has she told you about this?”

“I know the story,” Linus said. He knew it too well. How often he’d heard the accusations from others his age in the town that his disgraced mother had come back to her family. “Amma said that my father died. But if John is my brother and you are his father, does that make you my father too?”

“He is your cousin, Linus.”

“He could be, little brother. You know you have another brother, very close to your own age? His name is Bulyar and he’s almost as big as you. He has many sisters and three brothers now.”

“Farida?” The name still burned my tongue.

“She married Margar’s cousin Scorus and took over Callia’s farm after her death.” Stephen pointed at Linus. “You’re much better behaved than your brother.”

“Callia’s son? What happened to him?”

“No one knows. He never returned from Macedonia.” John folded his hands in his lap. “Mother Callia and Mother Farida-“

“How many mothers do you have?” Linus demanded.

“Many mothers, but only one as special as your mother. She saved my life, Linus. For that, she is my favorite of all mothers.”

“You never told him about Thrace then,” Stephen said in a voice that bordered on accusation.

“He’s learning now,” I retorted. “There was a man in the caravan who travelled with us, and he taught Linus the language, and some of his heritage.”

“I wanted to know more, before then,” Linus said eagerly. “But it makes Amma sad to talk about Thrace, so I don’t ask her.”

“Sad?” Stephen asked. “Why is she sad?”

“I don’t know. But she used to cry when she talked about it when I was a little boy, and my uncle said I shouldn’t ask her about it.” Linus squared his shoulders. “I didn’t want to make you cry, Amma.”

“You’re a good boy, Linus,” I said. To Stephen, I said, “How long have you been here?”

“Since Pascha,” Stephen said. “Sister Makrina’s letter to come and write the icons came during Great Lent, and we left to celebrate Pascha here.”

At Pascha, I didn’t even know I’d need a miracle, and I didn’t like the one the Lord was providing. Nicholas had not yet said no. He might yet agree to carry the message to my brother, who would know what to do.

“And Cothata?”

“She lives with me in Rossakastron,” Stephen said.

“Who’s Cothata?” Linus asked his brother.

“Your grandmother.”

Linus turned around and looked at me with accusing eyes. “You told me I had no grandmothers in Thrace.”

“Cothata was your grandfather’s second –“

“Fourth,” Stephen corrected. “His fourth wife.”

“I never thought of her as your grandmother,” I said quickly. “I’m not sure she was as old as your father. Forgive me, I never thought of her…”

Stephen put his hands on my son’s shoulders. “Come. We must have a talk, you and I.”

The pair of them walked away.

“Mother Nino?”

I bit my thumb nervously as I turned to my stepson.

“When do you leave for Bitumi?”

“I don’t know, my plans aren’t made yet.”

“Then, perhaps, you might stay a while longer, so that Linus and I might get to know each other?”

His quiet request bothered me. “I don’t know my plans.”

* * *

Nicholas and I did not speak until the fifth day after Mother Theodoula’s tonsure when she came out of the church. We stood in silence as the nuns came and greeted her with her new name. Nicholas and I were not permitted to speak to her as she was escorted to her cell in the monastery. What would it be like, I wondered, to spend the day on one’s knees, only in prayer? This call to stand in prayer with the angels to intercede for the world was not mine.

“I have spoken with your sons,” Nicholas said. “They have assured me that I have a place and may seek ordination from the bishop in Sozopolis. He is seeking Thracian men to be priests.”

“I am sure there is a great need,” I said. “But does that mean you cannot help me first?”

The bishop walked past me and we both bowed.

“Linus does not want to go back to Bitumi.”

Bitter bile rose into my throat. I had feared this. Linus’ great desire for family would tear him away from me. John and Stephen would take him back to Thrace. I was merely his mother. As Linus’ brother, John had more authority than I to determine my son’s future.

“I should talk to my son about this.”

“I was asked to approach you for another purpose, my lady.”

It was wise of him to speak to me like a slave, for I had every desire to whip him. “Another purpose?”

“You have not remarried, is that correct?”

“You know that I have not.”

“You are free to marry again?”

My knees felt weak. A marriage? I hadn’t thought of a marriage with a man here in Pontus. Should a suitable marriage be proposed, I could find safety here. “I am free.”

“An offer has been made to your sons. Both of them agree that it is a suitable match. The man has been married before, but his wife is long dead, and he has no heir. He owns a property that has been used for the spread of the Gospel. As a good Christian woman, he believes that you will further that work. It is not a position for a woman who wishes to be lazy and let servants care for her.”

I stiffened. “I am not a slothful woman.”

Nicholas didn’t quite smile at me.

“Shall I tell your sons that you will accept the offer?”

My father had never given me the choice. I was told I would marry Bulyar. I was told that different men had approached my father regarding marriage, but my consent had never been asked.

“Will this man care for Linus?”

“He has offered to make Linus his heir.”

“Nicholas, do you know this man? Will he be a good husband? Is he a good Christian?”

“I know this man. As for his faith, you should know that he has received great grace from Christ, and has lived according to that gift for ten years. Brother John is confident that he will not renounce his faith, and that he will be a good husband to you.”

This was the miracle I had been looking for. “Then, I accept. When will the betrothal be made?”

“In the morning, after Matins. The bishop will be leaving shortly after that, so do not be late.”

“Wait! Am I not to meet him first?”

Nicholas pointed to the graveyard. “He will meet you there.”

* * *

A funny place to meet a new husband, I thought, looking at Eurus’ grave. The gravelly dirt had let weeds grow in patches. I picked up a few of the larger stones to give more space to the plants and turned around to leave the stones by the rock wall.

“I should be in the grave, you know.”

Stephen stood on the other side of the wall.

“I’m still surprised you aren’t. I didn’t think you’d live until Margar returned from Constantinople.”

“I didn’t. Didn’t live, that is. Do you remember Bishop Athanaius?”

“Of course I remember him. He had a horrible habit of forgetting his was the bishop and sweeping the floors of the church.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you get to know him after I left?” I sat down on the wall facing the graves, and he sat down beside me, his back to the graves.

“No, because I died.”

“You died?” I made the Sign of the Cross. “How can you say you died when you’re sitting here with me?”

“The bishop died too.”

This made no sense to me.

“Nino…” his voice trailed off. “I don’t talk about this much.

“After you left, Lisugar and Vanjek came to force Bishop Athanius to permit a priest into the church. He wouldn’t let them, but he let them come in to see me… I remember that part.

“According to Lisugar, I died while he was there. He told me that Vanjek pushed the bishop into the wall and tried to get my body, but he couldn’t pick me up.”

“Couldn’t pick you up?”

“Not according to Lisugar. So they left to get a wagon, and when they tried to come back in, they couldn’t get through the gate.”

I couldn’t remember a lock on the gate, but it had been ten years. “What happened?”

“The sisters prepared my body for burial and left me in the little room. That night, the bishop died.”

“Vanjek killed him?”

“No, I don’t think so. No one ever accused him of it. He was an old man, and he sat down and he died. The sisters prepared his body, but the rains started. Lisugar said that the rain was so bad that they couldn’t pay someone to dig my grave. So they left the bishop’s body with mine in the little room.”

I crossed myself. “He was a good man, and a good priest.”

“He was.”

He paused a very long time before continuing the story. “Sister Luke told me that the next day, when they came to take the body out to be buried, I sat up, the shroud around me, and asked for you.”

I laughed with disbelief. “You were dead, you were restored to life with a miracle, and you asked about me?”

“About Linus too. I wasn’t sure you were on your way to Constantinople.”

“Then what happened?”

“What happened.” He tapped his cane against the wall. “What happened. Well, what happened was that I was heralded as a miracle, and the bishop as a saint.”

“Yes, of course.”

“After the bishop was buried, Father Photius came to Sozopolis, and he baptized me.”

Stephen stopped talking. I considered his words.

“You returned to Rossokastron, then?”

“Not for a while. We stayed in Sozopolis for several months. Margar returned and we agreed that Vanjek would be all too glad to start a bloodwar if I brought John back to the highlands, or even to Tricent. He and his wife moved to Tricent, and we stayed in Sozopolis for the next three years. By that time, Vanjek was dead and we moved to Rossokastron.”

“You said that Farida married and moved to Callia’s farm.”

“Yes. I bought my father’s property back from Margar, and John and I moved there. Being a living example of a miracle… Many were won to Christ, Nino, but the people of the city… There was a lot of discussion, if I was truly dead, since I never regained the use of my arm, and I couldn’t walk without a cane and if a god is going to raise someone from the dead, shouldn’t He fix them up perfectly?”

“I’d be happy with being alive.”

“And so I am. Lisugar has posted a testimony that I was truly dead, but he’s from the highlands. I can’t say how well he’s believed. He still comes down to Rossokastron once a year to see if I’m still alive.”

I played with the loose stones I’d put on the rock wall. “Do you think this wall is the remnants from the graves?”

“Probably. It’s bad ground here. Too rocky to grow much.”

“Not like Tricent,” I said. “I think you could throw rocks into that ground and it would grow boulders.”

“Rossakastron is like that too,” he said. “Good land. Good people. Where you ever there?”

“Never. Farida lived there.”

“You’re still angry about that.”

The bells from the men’s monastery interrupted my furious answer.

“What did you tell my son about marriage in Thrace?”

I thought Stephen’s tapping his cane was a delaying tactic.

“I told him that in Thrace, there are men who are not Christians, who might take more than one wife. I also told him that it is not a good thing or an option for a Christian. He accepted that, but I suspect he’ll figure out that John’s mother was Bulyar’s wife at the same time you were.”

“He wants to go back to Thrace with you and John.”

“Not with John. He’s going to the Holy Land. Didn’t you see his face during the Mother Theodoula’s tonsure? I thought he might have jumped in and asked for the tonsure himself.”

“Then you’re taking Linus?” My despair colored my voice.

“Perhaps. It’s John’s right to decide what happens to his younger brother. Margar would agree with him that the boy should know his kin and heritage.”

“And I’m only a mother.”

“Until there’s a father, yes, you’re only a mother.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “But what a mother you have been, Nino. You got back to Bitumi. You’ve raised him as a believer, one who does not let his faith be swayed. Do not belittle your work in your son.”

“But if you take him back to Thrace, and I remain here in Pontus, I’ll never see him again.”

“Is that your desire? To remain here and become a nun?” Stephen asked, looking surprised.

“No! I’ve received an offer of marriage here, and you wish to take my son from me. Will you even let him stay for my wedding?”

“Oh, yes, Nino, Linus will be present for our wedding. I spoke with the bishop this morning, and he’s agreed that due to the distance we must travel, and the danger of waiting with the autumn storms on the Black Sea, that it’s best that we marry this Sunday.”

We marry?

“We marry?”

“Yes, we marry. Our sons approve, the bishop approves.”

“But Nicholas said… I thought he meant a man from Cappadocia, not you!”

“Well, it is me.”

If I married Stephen, I would be going back to Thrace too.

“Will I be first wife?”

“You will be my only wife, Nino.” He took my hand and gently rubbed it. “It’s better this way, you know. If I’d married you before, I probably would have married at least two other women. I always thought three was a good number of wives.”

I swallowed. “I won’t be one of many.”

“You won’t. I’m a Christian now, Nino. One wife. That’s it.”

“Nicholas said that your home is used for the spread of the Gospel.”

“Yes, yes, it is,” Stephen said. “And let me tell you how you can help.”

The end.

Chapter 37 part II

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 04:01:01 GMT

Seventeen days later, we crossed the river for the last time. The caravan leader pointed up a well-used track. “That way, perhaps three leagues. The road is well marked. Good luck. They’re good people, the lady monks.”

“Nuns, or monastics,” I corrected him.

“I always call them lady monks and they like it,” the caravan leader said. “Safe journey. You’ll be there by nightfall.”

I paid off the family who had sheltered me during the trip. The man counted the gold pieces and didn’t mention I’d given him one more than I’d promised. We loaded Beata into Eurus’ cart beside Farheeda and started up the slight hill.

Eurus rubbed his head several times, squinting in the hazy morning light. “Nino?”

I was standing right beside him. “Yes?”

His eyes began to blink. Tears dripped down his cheeks. “My head. Hurts.”<

I called to Nibbo at the oxen yoke. “Nibbo! Bring wine for your master!”

Eurus crashed to the ground at my feet. His face paled and flushed red, then turned yellow as Nibbo and Linus brought the wine.

Beata stumbled up beside me and took his hand in hers. “He’s cold.”

I rubbed his hands together. “Eurus!”

Nibbo and Farheeda knelt beside us. “Master! Wake up!”

Linus stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “Amma? What’s wrong with Eurus?”

Nibbo pulled his waterskin out and handed it to me. “Baptise him. Now.”

“Me? Send for a monk or a priest – tell Adham to go.”

Nibbo grabbed my hand and turned it up, spilling water into it. “Baptise him. Now.”

I stared at the servant. The water in my hand dripped onto Eurus’ face, but he did not move.

“I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” I poured mere drops onto his head with every name of the Holy Trinity. “I baptize you Eunoicus, after the holy martyr who died in Sebaste.”

I looked up at Nibbo. “I didn’t do it right.”

“You did well,” he said softly. “Take his hand and stay with him. I’ll go and get some help.”

The monks came before noon and we were escorted to the men’s monastery. Next to it, a low wall made of white stones had a wooden gate with a cross engraved in it. “Go find your Sister Makrina,” Nibbo told me. “I’ll take the master in here and see if they can help him.”

The nuns greeted us with cries of welcome and concern. I let them take my cloak and show me a room, but I left it without paying any attention to it and ran to the church.

“Is there a priest here?”

A man in brown and black looked up from her prayers. “No priest until the Lord’s Day.”

“I baptized a man…. He’s dying…. A priest should do it right….”

He rose from his stool and put trembling fingers on my lips. “Did you use all the names of God? The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit?”

“Yes, but I didn’t give him a saints name until after I put the water on his head.” I threw myself onto the stone floor. “I did it wrong.”

“You did well,” the monk said. “Did they take him to see Father Valentine?”

“I don’t know.” I felt my turban fall off my head. “I don’t know.”

“Hush,” he said and raised me to my feet. “Hush. Let us go to him now. Father Valentine is a skilled man. We will pray. What name did you give him?”

“Eurus? I gave him the name Eunoicus.”

“Of the martyrs? An excellent name, my child.”

I met Nibbo by the door. “It won’t be long, my lady.”

We sat on either side of him. Nibbo quoted psalm after psalm. I sang some with him, croaking when my voice broke as I watched Eurus fade from us.

“You need to drink,” a young man’s voice said behind me late in the night. I took the cup and drank it without thinking, thrusting it back without thanks.

Linus came at dawn, and sat between my knees on the floor. My son laid his head on Eurus’ hand in mine. We did not speak as Eurus took his last breath.

Nibbo came to my side of the bed and took Eurus’ ring from his finger. “For you, Lady.”

It was still warm.

Linus hugged me and pulled me out of the room. “Amma, the monks wish to come and sing the psalms for him now.”

In the yard, Adham and Farheeda were standing beside the cart. A bag rested at Farheeda’s feet.

“My lady,” Adham began. His face screwed up as he handed me a roll of parchment.

Farheeda picked up the bag. Coins clanked in it as she placed it on the seat of the cart. Two others rested there beside it.

“What now?” Adham asked Nibbo.

“They’ll bury him here, today.” Nibbo said. “Is that the gold?”

“All of it, every coin,” Adham said and lightly pounded on his chest above his heart.

“Then go.”

I looked at Adham and Farheeda. “Go where?”

“Back to Damascus,” she said without any deference. “Get the oxen, Adham. If we leave now, we can be back on the main road by noon and find a caravan by dusk.”

“Go? You can’t go.”

“We can.” Farheeda thrust the bags into Nibbo’s hands. “You should come with us.”

“I—“ She wasn’t talking to me but to Nibbo.

“No. I’ve made my plans. This is enough to pay for his burial. The rest is mine, as we agreed. Leave now.” Nibbo kissed her on her cheeks. “Go with God. You’ll find Christians on your way, Farheeda. Talk to them. You’ll learn what you need to know, what you should know about Jesus.”

“I know enough about my god, I don’t need yours, do I? What good did he do? Eurus is still dead.”

“But now you’re free, Farheeda. You’re free and your child will be born free.”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “So he will. Go with your god then, Nibbo.”

“Nicholas.” Nibbo pushed his hand through his hair. “Call me Nicholas now.”

“Nicholas.” Adham arrived with the oxen and the two men quickly harnessed the beast to the cart.

“You can’t leave like this,” I said, sounding like a scold in my own ears. “Your master has died.”

“Yes, and that makes us free,” Adham said.

But what about me? I thought. What about Linus and Beata?

“But you should go to his family and tell them.”

“And become a slave again?” Farheeda snorted as she sorted through the reins. “Never again.”

She looked at me shrewdly. “You’ve never been a slave. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I know.”

She looked at me doubtfully.

A year in Tricent taught me. “I do know.”

“Then you’ll know why I’m leaving. We’ve been planning for this day for years, Lady.”

I gasped. “You killed him?”

Nibbo – now Nicholas—took my hand. “Of course not.”

“Don’t you care?” I asked Adham.

He stopped buckling the harness. His hands were trembling.

“Lady,” he paused and his fists rested on the side of the ox. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

My chest heaved as I tried to swallow the vomit rising in my throat.

“You’re abandoning your master – before he’s even buried.” I said in a harsh voice.

“He’s dead and my child,” Adham finally looked up from his hands to his wife and then to me. “My wife and child live. Do you think I want to remain here? This is not my land. These are not my people. My child should be born in Damascus and even if we leave right now, it’s just as likely that she’ll give birth on the road. I promised my wife a midwife. I have no time to wait for a man’s body to be thrown onto the fire. Ahura Mazda will bless my master or not, as the god wills. My presence, my love…”

Adman blinked several times until he could speak again. “My love for my master does not change, should I leave now or should I leave after seven days of mourning.”

Linus clung to my waist.

Nicholas embraced Adham, murmuring in his ear for several minutes before stepping back. “Go with God, Adham. And you, Farheeda.”

The woman eyed me and remained on her seat. Nicholas and Linus both climbed up and kissed her cheeks. Linus patted her belly and reminded her that Bulyar was a good name for a boy.

“Good bye, Lady Nino,” the two said together.

Adham took hold of the yoke and pulled as Farheeda cracked the reins. The oxen began to move.

“Good bye,” I whispered. No one heard me.

“Lady, read the letter.”

In the quiet, bright light of morning, I opened the scroll and found not one but three letters. The first was my brother’s hand.

To Eurus, greetings.

From Pval of Bitumi. Greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

As you have agreed, let this be written between us. I hold five hundred gold pieces that belong to you and give this to you as evidence of this bond.

At the end, my family’s seal was imprinted, along with the names of three other men from Bitumi.

The next letter was again from my brother.

To Eurus, whom I accept to become my brother.

As we have agreed, the bridal price of six hundred coins will be paid upon the marriage of you to my sister Nino. I will provide a dowry of an equal share in the bathhouse. Linus will remain the heir to that share, not to exclude any children of your own of my sister Nino.

Two seals at the bottom of the page caught my eye. I pulled up the one on the right and found the secret message that Pval had sent. “Yes, Nino,” was all it said, but it was enough to convince me of the truth of this note.

You agree to become a catechumen at St. Makrina’s monastery in Pontus. You will not become one any sooner than your arrival at the monastery and will be obedient to the priest there regarding your baptism and marriage. Your return will be expected in the fall of this year unless the priest says otherwise.

Nino’s consent must be freely given. The priest’s signature on this document will confirm this contract between us.

Pval of Bitumi. Eurus of Theodosipolis

The third letter was addressed to me.

To my sister Nino, greetings in the name of the Lord, Bright Momday..

From Pval, your brother.

If you’re seeing this, it is because you have agreed to become Eurus’ wife. This pleases me greatly. Eurus is a good man and I think he will make you a fine husband.

I have made two requests of Eurus. First, that he not join the church anywhere but the monastery. This will give you plenty of time to read his character and know him as I have come to know him. I have been very concerned about the heresies that I’ve heard about. The monks at St. Makrina’s will keep the true faith and baptize Eurus in the correct fashion. Second, once he is made a catechumen, the priests will decide the timing of his baptism and bless your marriage there. You can return to Bitumi any time after Dormition.

Nicholas, Eurus’ slave, is a wise and careful servant of our Lord Jesus Christ. He has promised to stand as sponsor to Eurus and instruct him in the ways of our church. Take this opportunity to judge Nicholas as well. He has applied to the bishop here in Bitumi to become a priest. Because he is a slave and Thracian and not Egrisian, the bishop has refused the request at this time. If Eurus will agree, the bishop may change his mind.

I will send another letter to you via courier at Pentacost. Ask the nuns if this letter has arrived when you can. I’ll send news of Ila and the baby.

Send word if the priests want Eurus to stay longer. We already miss you and you haven’t left our home yet.

Written before I’d even begun my trip – when had Pval time to write this letter when we’d spent most of the day in the city dealing with Orjin? Eurus and I had spoken several times, but I’d never once thought of him as anything more than a patron of our bathhouse and the owner of two useful slaves. Did Beata know? Did Linus?

You don’t know what it’s like. Farheeda’s voice cut through my self-absorbed thoughts.

You don’t know what it’s like.

But I did know. Didn’t they want to do exactly what I had done? Go home and raise their child?

I rose to go after them, to tell them… to tell them… nothing. There was nothing I could say, even if I could catch them.

I went to the church and stood in the doorway, looking at the icons on the walls and a half-painted one on the ceiling. Two men stood against the far wall, mixing paint and comparing colors in the sunlight. Another two men pulled a ladder upright.

“My child?”

I turned and looked at the man I’d seen when we’d first arrived.

“I am Abba Daniel. You must be Nino.”

I admitted my name in a low, scratchy voice. “Yes, I’m Nino.”

“Welcome to the monastery,” he said, his voice calm and peaceful. “You’ve had a bad start here.”

“Yes, Abba,” I said and made the Sign of the Cross and touched the ground before his feet.

He took my hand and we kissed each other’s cheeks.

“The burial will be soon. The monks are preparing the body and the funeral – I understand that Eurus was a baptized Christian—will be at the men’s church after the noon meal.”

“Yes, Abba,” I said again.

“Was he your husband?” he asked.

“No, but he wished to be,” I said.

“Betrothed then?”

I looked at the ring on my finger, loose and twisted so that that black stone faced between my fingers. “Not yet. He had come to this monastery to be made a catechumen. Then we’d be betrothed and married.”

“A good man, then,” he said and touched the ring. “He knew what to do.”

“He knew,” I repeated. The men called to each other and I clenched my eyes closed as pictures of my husband and his last moments before his burial came to mine. “Abba, may I see the body before it is shrouded?”

“Of course.” He gave me simple directions and I arrived at a room not far from where Eurus died. Two monks wrapped the winding cloth around his body while two others chanted.

“Wait,” I said.

They paused as I approached the table. Eurus’ still, somber face, a mockery of what I’d known for the last few months, made me catch my breath.

I took off my turban and laid it on the floor. I took off my veil and pulled my hair down from the weaving Beata had spent an hour upon our last night in the caravan. I took my knife from my belt and cut off one of the braids. I curled it around my fingers and then laid it on his cheek. It slid, the unbound end lying against his ear.

“Oh, Eurus, I would have married you. I would have, we would have been so happy. I bless God for you, for your goodness and your mercy to me, your care and your sweetness,” I brushed his hair from his forehead and his beard down over his neck. “I would have been your wife with such pride.”

I kissed his lips and wished that I had not waited. I was no maiden to be wooed, he’d said. “You were right, as always, beloved Eurus.”

I straightened the lock of hair and touched his face one last time. “Goodbye, beloved. May we see each other again, in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

The men all crossed themselves as I stood back from the table and let them proceed with their work.

* * *

The funeral chants comforted me as they had when my mother and father died. They had both lived long lives in faith in Jesus while Eurus had come late to belief, but I had as much hope for him as for my parents that he was welcomed into Heaven. I tried to find the right words to tell Linus but he stood away from me on the men’s side of the church. I turned my head to find Beata, but she stood with a group of women in black dress.

Alone. But not alone. The verses of victory over death meant somewhat more than they had before today. Just as aways, I came away from a funeral with more confidence in the resurrection which Jesus had promised. But this shrouded man had been what I’d hoped for my future, who I’d hoped to stand beside for many years. Not alone, not while I had faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. But still lonely, longing for Eurus.

When it came time to say the Lord’s Prayer, instead of the Greek I’d always known, Nicholas stepped up to stand beside the choir. He chanted the words in Thracian.

Linus and I said them with him. A few other voices combined with ours.

Later, I took Linus to sit under a tree and spoke with him about Eurus. We watched the stars appear and he let me cry, a filial hand on my knees for comfort.

“Did you weep for my father?” he finally asked.

“I must have,” I said. “I don’t remember much of his death any more.”

“Did you love Eurus?” Linus asked. “Like you loved my father?”

I bit the inside of my lip. “I did love your father, and I think I would have grown to love Eurus. Does that bother you?”

“No…” His drawn-out answer didn’t reassure me. “Nicholas taught me that prayer today.”

“I’m glad you know it.”

“I want to go to Thrace, Amma,” he said.

“I know you do, but I cannot take you there.”

“Other men prayed with us, did you notice?”

“Another woman as well,” I said. “Makrina must have remembered it.”

“Have you seen her yet?”

I chuckled. “You know, I haven’t yet. I forgot to ask for her.”

“She’s very nice, if she’s a nun,” Linus pronounced. “Will she remember me? Will she know me?”

“I doubt it, since the last time she saw you, you were so small that you couldn’t even sit up yet.”

My son wiggled beside me. “We should go find her. The woman’s monastery is down the road and across the creek.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Beata found out. She’s already there, making arrangements.” He made a disrespectful sound, one common enough in children who had always had a place to sleep and a bed to rest in, but never realized the work that entailed.

We walked together to the monastery, but it was too late for us to find anyone other than Beata, who had waited for us with bowls of soup and directions to our bed. We slept deeply until dawn, when the first bells rang.

In the late morning, as we sat on a bench near the monastery’s kitchen, I found Makrina had changed nearly as much as Linus had in the passing of ten years.

“Do you remember me?” I asked, feeling very much like my son as I did.

She bit her lip and covered her face. “Not well, Amma Nino. No, not well. But you saved me and brought me here, so it was only right that you come now, before I go into the Lord’s service of prayer.”

“I didn’t save you, Bulyar did,” I blurted out. “He hated to see children sold into prostitution.”

Makrina sat back. “Sold?” She looked at Linus, sitting beside me, far more interested in the grass between his toes than our conversation.

“Your father was purchased by my husband Bulyar as a slave in Cotoyara,” I said. “Do you remember that? It wasn’t long after your mother’s death.”

After so long, such a wound did not heal, I thought as her face went pale. “I remember my mother’s death. But my father, a slave?”

“Your mother’s illness caused great debt, and your father sold himself to pay it off.” I tried to remember her father’s name, but couldn’t. “He wanted to take you to your aunt before we left, but there was no time. So you came with us to Thrace.”

Linus looked up and smiled at me. Thrace had become his favorite topic.

“I remember Thrace, some of it,” Makrina conceded. “It was very green and very cold.”

“Yes, it was both, but not at the same time,” I said more for Linus’ sake than hers. “What do you remember?”

“Father Photius, and Brother John’s baptism,” she said, tapping her finger on her knee. “I remember my father’s death and funeral, and a man named Linus who taught me Thracian.”

“Did he teach you?” I asked as Linus piped up, “Who was Linus?”

“He was your father’s slave and a very good man.” I pressed my thumb on his nose. “You have a quite a job to live up to him.”

“A slave?” Makrina thought about that as well. “I didn’t know he was a slave.”

“Do you remember the attack?”

She swallowed and with a look at Linus, refused to answer.

“And I remember a trip with Brother John to Sozopolis and meeting Bishop Athanasius. You know that there are some who believe he is a saint. There was a miracle.” Makrina’s smile warmed my heart. “It is said that through his prayers, the dead have been raised.”

Linus’ mouth formed an impressed O.

“I liked the bishop very much,” I said. “He was very kind to us. I believe he would heal a man with his intercessions, even if he insisted on sweeping the floors of the church himself.”

We chatted until the bells summoned her to prayers.

“Meet me here again afterwards,” she begged.

Linus opted to head for a meadow and searched for someone to play with him while I remained alone. I could hear the women’s voices as they prayed, and wished I’d gone with her. Prayer would have made me feel better.

A short woman joined me, holding out a cup of water. “How are you today?”

Amma Sophia herself, the abbess of the monastery, bringing me water. I burned with embarrassment as she handed it to me. “You should not serve me, Amma. I can get water from the well.”

“It’s nothing. A cup of water? You would deprive me of giving you such a little thing? It’s a hot day. We both could use the comfort of some water.”

I sighed. “It’s been a comfort, talking to Sister Makrina. Thank you for giving her permission.”

“She wanted you to come, you know. We didn’t know much about you, or how you came bring her here. I never even met you. Amma Nika said you came and left in a day.”

“Amma Nika was the nun at the gate, I remember her,” I said. “She sang to Makrina – Sister Makrina – as we left.”

“Amma Nika never stopped singing. We still hear her voice up in the rafters sometimes. I think she joins in from Heaven.”

“Yes, I think sometimes those on the other side still worship with us,” I said.

“Indeed they do. Death never could stop worship.” Amma Sophia smiled. “You went to a great deal of effort to bring Sister Makrina back here. We’ve never had a chance to thank you for that.”

“There’s no need. I was told her aunt was here, and I thought she should be with kin,” I said.

“I am her aunt,” Amma Sophia said. “My sister prayed from the moment she knew she had a daughter that Makrina would come here and be a monastic with me. Her prayers in Heaven were no different, I expect.”

“God answered them, in a very convoluted manner,” I said. “Why not have her father bring her before selling himself into slavery? Why did she have to go to Thrace?”

“She prays for Thrace and her people every day,” Amma Sophia said. “She remembers the prayers in Thracian and says them daily. She arranged for our iconographer to come from Thrace.”

“From Thrace? Where?”

“Rossakastron. There’s a new mission that started there and an iconographer lives there.” Amma Sophia’s eyes drifted to an icon on the wall behind me. “He’s very good, and we’re very blessed to have him come. I understand he wants to go to Egypt and become a monk, and this will help him pay for the trip.”

“I never was in Rossakastron,” I said. “But I was near it once. My husband had family there.”

He had a family there, I thought. The bitterness I’d long since thought gone, rose again.

“So perhaps God has a plan after all, that Sister Makrina would go the long way to come here.”

I made the Sign of the Cross with her, but spent the rest of the day wondering what should happen to us. If Eurus had not come with us, what would I have done? I would have seen Sister Makrina and gone home. Then that’s what I will do, I thought. Her final tonsure would be at Dormition in mid August. After she went into seclusion, I could leave with the bishop and return to Cotoyora, and find a ship back to Egrisi. Thanks to Eurus, I had enough gold left for us to make the return trip on a ship… Perhaps I should ask Nicholas to go with us, so he could collect the gold that Eurus had left in Pval’s care.

What would Nicholas do now? Five hundred gold pieces might be enough to convince him to escort us back home. He’d wanted to be a priest when he was in Bitumi. Now that he was no longer a slave, perhaps our bishop would ordain him.

Linus went out in search of Nicholas when I asked, and they returned, both covered with grass and leaves. I didn’t ask what they’d been doing, but Linus wouldn’t stop laughing when we met under the eaves of the church. Several of the nuns walked past us, smiling as my son tried to explain to me what they’d been doing.

“Never mind,” I finally said. Nicholas wasn’t admitting to anything and I thought it was in my own best interest not to ask. “I did want to ask what your plans are now, Nicholas.”

If anything, the smile on Nicholas’ face grew larger. “I’m going to be ordained a priest, if God wills.”

“In Bitumi?” I asked.

“No, no,” he waved his hands. “Bishop Anatoli made it clear that he would not ordain me. I don’t speak enough Egrisian. He said I should go back to Thrace.”

“Go back to Thrace?” I couldn’t believe it. “When was the last time you were there?”

“About two years ago,” he said. “Master Eurus sent me to get news about his family and get some trade goods.”

“And you intend to go back?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

I reconsidered my request, but Nicholas’ plan was not firm. “Would you be willing to go back to Bitumi? To collect Eurus’ bond from my brother?”

Nicholas scratched his head and stroked his beard. “Collect his bond and take you home?”

“Yes,” I said, relieved that he understood.

“Would your brother be likely to give me Master Eurus’ money? That was supposed to be your money when you married. It was his payment to buy into the bathhouse.” His brown eyes met mine. “Would he think I was entitled to it, or would he think it was his to keep?”

I did not understand the concept of holding a bond in the first place, much less who Eurus’ heirs may be. “I don’t know. I know that if you do escort us home, I will pay you for your service, enough for you to sail to Sozopolis.”

I felt safe making such a promise. My brother would surely pay that and more for our safe return.

“I’ll consider it,” he finally said. “Do you still wish to remain here for Dormition?”

“It seems prudent,” I replied with a small frown. “Orjin and his brothers need time to forget about me.”

“Not to mention the gossips.”

I winced at the reminder. “Not to mention them, yes. The bishop for Cotoyora will be coming for Sister Makrina’s final tonsure. We could return to Cotoyora with him after Dormition, and find a ship for passage to Egrisi. It’s not much more than a week’s sailing, and another day on the road to Bitumi.”

Nicholas looked at my son. “I’ll consider it with prayer, Lady. It is going in the opposite direction than I want.”

“Yes, I know, but if the bishop moves quickly, we could be in Bitumi before the end of August and you could be in Thrace before the Elevation of the Holy Cross.”

I knew when to stop, so I headed back for the church. “Mother Nino? You can’t go in there now, the iconographer is at work.”

Sister Makrina took my arm and led me away.

* * *

I spent the next two months alternately resting and bored beyond belief. I’d never spent as much as a week without doing some physical labor, but there was little for me to do at the monastery. The nuns managed everything without help, leaving me with far too much free time to brood about things over which I had no control. Ila’s baby was due mid-summer. The busiest time of the year for the bathhouse, and the three women who knew best how to run the bathhouse weren’t there. Orjin and Rakkal crossed my mind and I made some efforts to pray for them, but I figured that their betrothal was broken over Orjin’s failure to pay the bridal price. Eurus’ ring reminded me of how much he’d been willing to pay for a widow. Rakkal’s bridal price wasn’t even a tithe of that.

Then I would have to confess the sin of pride and follow the same track of thoughts again. Mother Sophia took pity on me and let me work in the gardens and warned me that my son, now ten, would have to go to the men’s monastery to stay. Nicholas agreed to keep him, as I was not permitted to go into the men’s monastery. Despite my son’s deepest desires, he learned how to subtract and read some of the letters of St. Paul which the women’s monastery owned.

As the Dormition fast began, the nuns gathered around the windows to their church. We’d only been permitted inside twice a day for prayers. At those times, the scaffolding creaked as the iconographer shifted and I worried about how sturdy it was, but now the scaffolding was down and the artist was working on the images of the saints on either side of the nave. He’d promised to be done by Dormition and all the nuns agreed he’d be finished in plenty of time.

Sister Makrina sewed her new garments with a quiet, peaceable joy. I tried to get Beata to help us, but she had disappeared into the community so well that I often went for days without seeing her. How was it that she found so much to do, when I yawned so often?

The bishop of Cotoyara arrived in time for Transfiguration, the celebration of Christ on the mountain with His Apostles. With him came a courier with a package from home.

I took it and paid him a small coin, enough to keep him handy if I needed his assistance later.

I opened the packet and found two letters, one addressed to me and one to Eurus.

To my sister Nino, blessed handmaiden of the Lord, from your brother Pval,

Ila said I should tell you first that she is fine and she feels the baby move daily. She’s learned how to dance and the midwives say she’s doing very well.

It is good that I can start off with good news, for what I have to say is very bad.

Orjin was found on the road south of town two days after you left. He told the physicians and five witnesses that you are responsible for his wounds, which led to his death three days later. Most of us are certain that he lied, but there is no witness to say otherwise.

I have written to Eurus about this. I suspect he will know the truth of this matter – Orjin mentioned Eurus as a witness to corroborate his testimony. When the two of you come home, be sure to stay out of town until Eurus is able to testify before the judges. Otherwise, you are under orders for immediate death. Send word to me of your return from either the port or the caravanserai. I will bring Eurus to the judges myself.

We had hoped that your marriage would take place here in Bitumi, but for your protection, do not return to Egrisi unwed.

I shuddered as I refolded the note.

The effusive greetings from my brother to Eurus reassured me of Pval’s approval of our marriage and brought me to tears. Pval had planned a way to protect me from Orjin’s lies that probably would work if Eurus had still been alive.

Lies and lies, I thought as I put away both letters. My marriage had been built and foundered on lies. My future now was corrupted with lies from Rakkal and Orjin. Lies destroyed my home and left me defenseless.

What could I do?

Chapter 37

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 03:59:31 GMT

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Our slaves were brought, one by one, to answer questions. In some moment of inspiration, each slave spoke to a different judge, with no other slave able to hear the others’ stories. Beata brought us water and a cloth to wipe our faces, but no one else spoke to us until Linus returned.

“I got him, Amma! He was just coming to the city gate when I found him!” I thanked him quietly and sent him off to Ila, whom Beata was fussing around with more water and a cup.

At last the questioning was done, and one slave was called back. The rest were dismissed. Ila should have gone with them to open the bathhouse, but dispite Beata’s best efforts, my sister-in-law did not move.

Another judge, Rakkal’s cousin, rose and bowed to his compatriots and left the square.

“Loqutor has resigned, as it is his cousin by marriage who is making the claim.” Khavtse waited for the crowds to quiet.

Was there nothing else for these people to do? A simple matter of business never had dozens of bystanders watching the proceedings.

Another judge stood up. I did not know him. “Pval, here is the word of Orjin. He says that he has worked for you every afternoon since the middle of January. You told him you would hold his wages against a promise he had made to Vromoth, the stepson of Rakkal, whom he had contracted to marry. Zdit also questioned you about your agreement as it is unusual for wages to be withheld.”

Pval didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed as he listened and he said only, “Go on, Justinian.”

“On the last day of February, you wrote a bill for damages you claimed that Orjin caused. He said that he was doing what he was told and that he was forced to sign the bill for the damages when he should not have to pay.”

“What else?” Pval asked.

“Then he said that he paid your sister Nino the balance he owed for the damaged amphora, and she marked an X on the bill to indicate it was paid.” Justinian finally looked at me. “Can you write your name?”

“I can,” I said. “Bring ink and I will write it for you now.”

Ink and parchment waited for me at the small table. I knelt beside it and took a deep breath before picking up the quill. My writing was shakey, but my name, in Greek, in Latin and in Egrisian letters, was clear to be read. Somewhere--I hoped in Heaven--Licinius would know that the three letters he’d once taught me on a rainy afternoon with Bunar, were again used.

The parchment was passed around, with various negative comments comparing my handwriting coming from the judges.

I looked at Khavtse who called for a cup of wine while Justinian continued.

“Now Orjin wants his money, he wants to be reimbursed for the false bill, and he wants you to be punished for ruining his reputation.”

Pval snorted at the last.

“This is the full accusation.” Justinian sat down. Another judge, Claudius, whom I had known as a child, rose and bowed to the council of judges.

“Pval, how do you respond to these charges?”

Ila started to cry again.

Pval took a step forward. “At the end of January of this year, Orjin came to his sister and begged for a place to stay. His brothers Potr and Ivon had thrown him out of their houses and he had no other place to stay. We let him come in, but with certain conditions. He had said that he wished to marry my sister, Nino. I would not permit that. Then he said he wanted to marry Rakkal, the widow. He approached Rakkal’s stepsons and an agreement for the dowry and bridal prices was made, but Vromoth, Rakkal’s stepson, asked me to withhold Orjin’s wages until the bridal price had been reached. The price would have taken several weeks for Orjin to reach, and Orjin might very well have drunk every penny he earned if it hadn’t been kept from him. Orjin agreed to this.”

Rakkal screeched her stepson’s name.

Vromoth came to stand beside Pval. “He speaks the truth. Orjin had broken two betrothals in the past by failing to pay the bridal price. This arrangement was with his consent.”

A piece of parchment was presented to Claudius, who looked at it. “It says what Vromoth says. Until the bridal price of fifteen gold coins was in Vromoth’s hand, the betrothal was not official and Pval and Orjin agreed to the withheld wages to pay it. Zdit, Rakkal’s brother, Pval, and Orjin all signed their names. There is a small wax seal beside Pval’s name.”

“Roman customs do not mean anything to us,” Orjin said loudly. “So he uses a seal like a good Greek or Roman? Who cares? We are men of Egrisi, not Rome or Constantinople. A seal means nothing.”

“It was the custom of my father to use the seal for every business transaction.” Pval looked around at the crowd of faces, some we’d known our entire lives. “I have continued this practice. It was accepted as proof several years ago when my father was asked to show if a debt was paid. He showed the seal.”

“It shows that Pval and his father have been consistent for many years in the use and would not forget it,” Claudius said.

“But I didn’t pay Pval,” Orjin said craftily. “I paid her.”

He pointed at me.

Proper custom said that I should have dropped my eyes. Modesty dictated that I retire rather than face an accusation that I had usurped my brother’s place. Instead I put out my hands and looked at the scars that I bore from fires and steam. If I could face death, I could face this petty man’s manipulations with far less fear.

“You’ve seen my name, my signatures in three languages,” I said loudly. “Why would I sign with an X when I could write my name?”

The crowd murmured behind Orjin, with spatters of laughter that enraged him.

“How long have you been able to write your name?” Khavtse asked.

“My mother taught me my letters as a child,” I said proudly.

“But all of them?” Khavtse called Vreh from the sides. “Tell me what you found in the sand this afternoon?”

In the sand? I looked at Pval, puzzled. What sand?

“Writing,” Vreh said. “Scratches in the sand beside the furnace.”

“Did you see who made them, or when?”

“There weren’t there when Master Pval came to find Mistress sitting beside the furnace.” Vreh refused to look at me or my brother. “I just saw them.”

Khavtse nodded and waved the slave back into the crowd. “I sent two men to go and look at the marks. Retkor, what did you find?”

“Her name, written twice, once in Greek, once in Egrisian.” The young man held up the paper I’d signed earlier. “Almost the same.”

“Almost the same,” Khavtse said. “But not the Latin?”

“Didn’t see any other marks, but there were footprints. It may have been covered up.”

Retkor retired as Khavtse approached my brother. “Did you teach your sister how to write her name this morning, Pval?”

Pval laughed in Khavtse’s face, which the judge took with a smile of his own. “My sister taught me my letters because I drove my mother crazy when she tried to teach me herself.”

“Egrisian? Greek?” Khavtse asked.

“Egrisian and Greek,” Pval affirmed.

“What about the Latin?” Orjin shouted. He must have realized that Khavtse was not nearly the accuser he’d hoped for from the panel of judges.

Latin was not commonly known in Bitumi. I myself knew only the three letters.

“Where did she learn Latin? From one of her Thracian husbands?” Orjin asked and turned around to the crowd. “She had five, you know. They shared her.”

My mouth dropped open as silence fell across the square.

“My sister had one husband,” Pval finally said, his voice tight with anger. “She turned you down because you’re a drunken lout who tried to beat her son because he would not fetch you wine when he’d been told not to. You lie and I bring charges against you for your slander.”

“I thought,” a new voice said from the side of the crowd, “that this was about a debt, not a woman’s honor.”

Eurus stood beside the judges, Nibbo behind him.

“Who are you?” Khavtse said.

“Eurus, a trader. I’ve been living in the caravanserai for the last five weeks, just south of town.” He folded his arms. “I heard that someone wanted to know if Orjin had been seen at the Pval’s bathhouse in the last few weeks. Which one is Orjin?”

“I am.” Orjin walked up to Eurus and jammed his finger into the shorter, older man’s chest. “I’ve been working at the bathhouse for months now.”

Eurus stepped back and looked from Orjin’s face, down to his feet, and slowly raised his eyes back up to Orjin’s bloodshot eyes. Eurus smirked. “Judges? I’ve been at the bathhouse every day for several weeks now. I’ve never seen this man there.”

Khavtse pulled out the scrolls. “These records say he was there, every day. You say you never saw him at the gate of the bathhouse?”

“Never saw him before in my life,” Eurus said and spat on the ground at Orjin’s feet. “My servant Nibbo was hired as a guard at the bathhouse for afternoons. Is that on your parchment?”

Khavtse and Claudius conferred. “Hire for Nibbo is noted every day for several weeks. Two coppers and food for the slave, six coppers for you.”

“So?” Orjin sneered, but the bluster was fading.

Khavtse looked at Orjin, and then at Eurus. “You say you were there daily? And Nibbo was there every afternoon?”

“Every day they were open,” Eurus said. “This man was never there when we were.”

“Yet there are notes scratched in that Orjin was there.”

I choked. Not Ila!

Eurus took only a glance at the parchment. “And you can’t tell when something has been written in between the lines? Look at the style of writing, look at the ink.”

Pval walked over and took the parchment. “Judges, these entries are not made by me, or by my wife, or by my sister.”

“I made the payment!” Orjin screamed. “I paid that whore!”

Pval missed Orjin’s face, but only because Eurus had beat him to it.

The crowd was in an uproar and the judges summoned the soldiers who had been watching the proceedings like an afternoon’s entertainment. The threat of dispersal was enough to settle the people. No one wanted to leave a judgement like this one.

The judges didn’t even take time to consult with each other. “For Pval,” they said together. “We find for Pval.”

* * *

The bathhouse rarely served Bitumi’s citizens. But that afternoon, dozens of men arrived and paid well for our services. I knew this only because I counted the money at the end of the day. Pval ordered me to remain in our house with Ila.

“I didn’t know that Potr would…” Ila tried to explain her actions to me for the third time. “He said he just wanted the truth and our records would show…”

“I know he’s your brother,” I said sadly. “I might have done the same.”

Beata finally took Ila to her rooms and I sat under small fig tree and trembled.

Five husbands? I would laugh at such an accusation at any other woman of Bitumi. But I’d gone away and returned with a son. Two men had walked away from marriage negotiations with my father. Rakkal, in her spiteful, desperate state of mind, would havea spun a story that would have already made its way to the port leagues to the north.

There was nothing I could do but face them, face the gossip and the looks, the innuendo and the outright requests for the truth. I would never be able to live it all down. Linus would be smeared with me.

When Pval came to me, we sat silent together.

“I want to go on a pilgrimage,” I found myself saying without knowing I would say it. “I want to go to St. Makrina’s.”

Pval blew out a long, deep breath the way my father had done. At this moment, I missed my father with the intensity of a sharp blow against my chest.

“Yes. You should go. I’ll arrange it tomorrow.”

I looked around the garden. Only the evening star was visible, off to the west.

“I have posted the bill for Orjin, and his brothers have said that they will pay it,” Pval said. “I have also accused him of slander against you, and the judges have agreed with me. They have asked what punishment I prefer for him.”

“Why did they agree with you?”

“Eurus stood with me. He’s from Thrace. He said that no woman would have five husbands at a time.” Pval’s folded hands rested between his knees. “He didn’t mention that a man could have five wives.”

I wiped the tear from my cheek. “That was kind of him.”

“We talked later. I understand more… about Bulyar… now.”

“Do you remember that you didn’t like him?” I asked.

Pval shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about him.”

“Linus looks just like him,” I said. “Just like him.”

* * *

A caravan heading south left a day later. Beata declared that she would go with me and even Ila’s announced pregnancy would not deter her from joining Linus and me on our journey. When else would a slave have a chance to make such a pilgrimage? We joined the caravan with a family that was very willing to accept our money in exchange for safe passage to the monastery. Taking a ship would have been much faster, but we weren’t looking for speed. These camels and donkeys would not move quickly. The leader guessed we would be at the monastery in Annesi close to Pentacost, five weeks away, but wouldn’t promise we’d celebrate the feast at the monastery.

By early evening, the caravan had picked a site for the night that I feared was too close to Bitumi. Beata and Linus wandered around to find other children as I headed to a place just off the road behind some rocks.

I’d found Elayjit there, lying, dying, hidden. I’d been eleven or twelve at the time, I couldn’t remember anymore.

There was no sign of her time there, but there wouldn’t be, not after some eighteen years. I alone would remember her in this place. I found a few spring flowers to lay beside the rock and prayed for her and for myself.

Elayjit had never once given in to self-pity. Her greatest talent had been taken from her at this spot when her foot was broken and never healed for her to dance well again. She taught me both to dance and to refuse to give in to sulking when the cosmos did not serve me. Had I not known Elayjit, I might be dead in Thrace, or sitting at home crying that what little reputation I had had was now gone in flurry of gossip. I would not be able to dance, however badly I did it since my feet were burned in Tricent.

Unbidden, I recalled words and sang of the moon and the stars. Unhindered, I danced a tribute to my long dead friend.

The salacious laugh above me shattered my illusion of privacy. Orjin stood atop one of the boulders, swaying unsteadily.

“What do you want?” I asked loudly. Orjin usually backed down when someone got nasty with him.

“What do I want?” he repeated. He twisted his mouth to the side as if he were thinking the question over before answering.

“Go sleep it off, Orjin,” I said. I walked between two of the large rocks away from him, hoping that I would be able to double back to the road.

“Sleep it off when I get what I need,” Orjin said. He could still see me from his perch above my head. “I need you to give me my money.”

I sighed angrily as I scrambled over the top of couple of nasty, pointed rocks. The road wasn’t far away… and neither was Nibbo. I waved at him. “Nibbo! What are you doing here?”

Eurus looked up from the far side of an ox, his head popping up like a fox in a nest. “Nino?”

From above me, Orjin finished the last dregs from his wineskin and threw it down at me. “I want my money. You have to come back with me and give me my money and tell them I paid you back.”

Nibbo extended his hands to help me leap over more craggy rocks. Eurus came around the front of the oxen. Adham and a young woman sat with the reins loosely in their hands.

“But you deserve no money and you cannot make me lie,” I shouted. “You didn’t work, you lied, and Rakkal is better off without you.”

“Who cares about her?” Orjin said and he noticed his donkey had moved away from the rock to graze in the weeds.

“I care about her,” I said, and thought perhaps I’d overstated my feelings. No, I did care, somewhat. She’d been my friend for a long time and despite her gossip about me over the years, I didn’t think she deserved a drunkard for a husband.

A sober man could have found a way to climb down more or less safely from the rock where Orjin stood. As I watched him scramble to find a way to land without falling on the sharp rocks surrounding him, Eurus and Nibbo came to stand on either side of me, knives drawn. Orjin tried to lower himself and bloodied his knees, leaving streaks on the stone as he twisted himself around to sit again on the top.

“Get that donkey back over here!” he ordered Nibbo.

“Leave him be,” Eurus said. He took my arm and led me back to the road. Behind us, I could hear Orjin’s cursing until we passed a stand of trees where the caravan’s livestock had been corralled for the night. A guard looked at us and shrugged at Orjin’s calls. He could not leave his post.

Eurus tossed the man a coin and asked me to lead him to the caravan leader.

When I returned to our wagon, Nibbo and Adham stood beside Linus as he bounced in front of them. “Amma! Look! It’s Adham! Ni- Nibbo! They’re going with us!”

Both men bowed as I stopped beside my son. “Good evening, Lady.”

We sat down to a surprisingly good meal for a caravan. Eurus and his three slaves sat with us. The woman with them had dark eyes and dusky skin, far darker than mine.

“Farheedah?” I repeated the pregnant slave’s name. “Farheeda?”

Adham smiled at her and I understood. “Your wife, Adham?”

“My wife and my son,” he beamed.

I tilted my head to look at Eurus, but he was still busy negotiating with the caravan leader. “Are you from Damascus, Farheeda?”

“Yes, lady, from Damascus.”

I handed Beata my cup and bowl. “We’ll have good company for this trip.”

More dreams from my last caravan trip found me at dawn. Old women laughing at me under a tree, children wanting coals from our fire, Tervel and Bunar and Makrina laughing, all aswirl in my mind as I prepared for the day’s travel. I felt disoriented from the dream, unsure if I were to look up from my feet on the path and see the green of the Thracian summer, or the browns and greys of the rocks in Egrisi as we moved into the desert.

“Amma?” Linus asked as I stumbled over ridges in the road. “Amma?”

“Yes, Linus?” I knew what he was going to ask, but it seemed impertinent for me to let my son run free in the caravan before I’d met many of the other travelers.

“Amma, how many fathers did I have?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “I had one husband, your father. His name was Bulyar, just as I’ve always told you. Do not believe the lies you are told about me.”

“I don’t,” he said cheerfully. “Amma?”

“Yes, Linus?”

“Nibbo said that it’s very green in Thrace. Is that true?”

“It was when you were born. In the winter, it was very cold and there was snow on the ground.”

We spent the next league discussing rain and snow. Beata found a companion who offered her a ride in a wagon further back in the caravan and I let her go, hoping she’d take Linus with her.

“Amma?” Linus caught sight of my eyes and must have changed his plan. “May I go and talk to Adham?”

“Yes, you may.” I sent him with a prayer of thanksgiving. He wasn’t a bad traveler, just excited to be on the road. I was feeling the stretch of walking for several hours a day, and longed for some quiet, a cup of water and a nap.

“I thought I’d have to tell Nibbo to come get the boy away from you,” Eurus said. He handed me a skin of cold water and I gratefully took a long drink. “I wanted to talk to you for a while, alone.”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I’d seen him nearby several times during the day.

He switched to Thracian. “I want to ask you about your marriage.”

There was no point in trying to hide the details from him, if he already knew I was the last of six wives. “My marriage?”

“Yes.” He waited for a long moment before continuing. “When your husband died, did you fight the other wives?”

“No.” I breathed a sigh of relief that this was all he wanted to know. “No, just the Thracian wives fought. We foreigners did not.”

“More than one? More of an idiot than I thought,” Eurus mused aloud. “I take it he was a clan leader. No one else would take so many wives.”

“Yes. The Badger Clan.” I licked my lips nervously. Despite speaking a language that no one around us understood, I still worried about confessing any of the details of my life outside Bitumi.

“I’ve heard of it, but it was a highland clan. I don’t think I ever met anyone from it in Sozopolis.”

Nostalgia caught my heart for a brief moment. “I liked Sozopolis best of all the cities in Thrace I visited. The people there were kind to me, and to my family.”

“Like all cities, some good, some bad. I’m sure that they have their version of Orjin as well.” He looked back at the wagons behind me. “You should know that Linus is asking many questions about Thrace. Nibbo is answering them.”

I bit my lips, but surrendered to the obvious. “He’s always wanted to know about his family in Thrace.”

“Shall I tell Nibbo to stop answering?”

“No, let him answer. To hear the same answers from me and Nibbo may help Linus believe what he hears. He’s never left Bitumi.”

“Linus wants to learn to speak Thracian.”

I stumbled over a clod of dirt in the road and he caught my arm.

“Let him learn,” I said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I should have taught him myself.”

“Where there other sons? Other children of your husband?”

“Many,” I said. “Linus had four brothers and at least seven sisters. There may have been more.”

“Tell me about your husband.” Eurus asked. “Was he a good man?”

I looked away at the horizon. “Do you think we’ll find a good stopping place tonight?”

“There’s a town not far from here.” He let go of my arm. “You do not wish to speak of your husband?”

“No,” I murmured. “What good might come of it? My son knows some. If I’ve failed to tell him everything about his father and family in Thrace, it’s because he has no place there. There are four other sons. There is no inheritance for him, only the probability of a blood war should Linus try to return to his family.”

“But he wants…” Eurus stopped. “I’ve never been a father. I shouldn’t be giving advice.”

“Never a father?” I asked. “Never married?”

“Married once, when I was young. She died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, no, I don’t mind. Abayla was a good wife. My father and hers arranged the marriage after seeing us together in the caravan. We liked each other a great deal and getting married gave us years to enjoy each other.”

“How did she die?”

“She fell from a wagon and hit her head… Three days later she died.” Eurus looked at me with a sad smile. “How did your husband die?”

“His heart failed,” I said. “He was gone in a day.”

“My father died that way. He seemed rather surprised by it.” Eurus laughed. “He was surprised by many things.”

“How long--” I hesitated, but felt I might ask much before Eurus refused to answer, “Were you married?”

“We married when I was nineteen, or eighteen, and she died when I was twenty-nine, or twenty-eight.”

He was older than I expected. “You’re not sure?”

“My age?” He chuckled. “It’s hard to say. My mother died and my father couldn’t remember what year I was born. I thought I was younger than he thought I was.”

“Do you always qualify your age?”

“Only when I’m asked,” he said. “And you?”

“To be fair, I’ll answer you. I’m twenty-nine. I know I look older.”

Eurus studied my face. “No, not older. But you’ve lived… the scars on your hands and feet.”

I lifted my hands up. “The cost of running a bathhouse.”

“You’ve worked hard for your home. And now you’ve been chased away by that idiot.”

Nibbo and Linus came up beside us. My son took my hand. “Amma? Did you know there’s a priest in the caravan?”

* * *

The priest was Father Thomas, traveling to Constantinople from Persia. We were not the only Christians in the caravan and he agreed to serve the Liturgies on Sundays if Linus would help him. Linus insisted that Nicholas help him.

“Nicholas?” I asked over dinner. I didn’t remember any boy’s Linus’ age in the caravan. There were only several girls I’d seen him with over the week.

“I’m not very good at serving at the altar yet,” Linus continued, oblivious to my question. “Nicholas will tell me what to do.”

“Your friend Nicholas is here with us?” I remembered no boy serving at the altar in our church named Nicholas. “Where is he?”

Linus pointed over his shoulder with his thumb and turned to Beata for more bread. Behind us was the rest of the caravan. My son might as well have pointed at the stars.

So it was with interest I approached our first caravan service. Father Thomas had none of his usual tools for the holy work. Beata baked a prosphora bread for Communion, but without the baker’s seal, we settled for an cross cut into the crust. We bought a wine cup from the caravan leader who swore it had never been used.

The caravanserai where we stopped for the day of rest had a room that we set up for the liturgy. The doors sealed well enough to exclude spies – Father Basil insisted on testing it himself. A few other women came to make their confessions before the service began. I had met some of them in my bathhouse.

No other boys joined us. I chewed my tongue and spent a great deal of energy controlling my temper. Linus knew better than to lie to me. He’d been whipped often enough in years past and I thought I’d cured him of it.

Eurus and Nibbo stood on the other side of the small room, but left when the priest ordered them to leave and the doors sealed behind them.

My anger at my son did not abate during the rest of the service and I refrained from taking Holy Communion. When the service was done and Father Basil released my son from his duties, Beata was looking at me with some trepidation and kept herself between Linus and me until we reached our rooms.

“Where was your friend Nicholas?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“He left,” Linus said, pulling his clothes out of his pack. “Have you seen my bag?”

His bag of beans did not concern me.

“I’ve told you not to lie to me.”

My cold tone drew his eyes from his bag up to my face. “I never lie to you, Amma.”

“Where was this Nicholas?” I said again.

Linus looked around as if another boy might have been in our room. “He was there – he left before the Creed, Amma. He told me when to put the incense in the censor. Didn’t you see him?”

“I saw no boy in the service.” I began to untie my belt. Linus’ eyes grew large and frightened.

“But he was there! You can ask him! Ask Beata!”

“Beata?” I called my slave with a harsh voice. “Was Nicholas there?”

Beata ran in, Nibbo behind her, and Eurus with a wine cup. “Yes, mistress. Nicholas… Nibbo… he was there. You saw them, you nodded to them when they left when the doors were closed…”

Linus stood trembling before me. He didn’t try to run.

“My lady,” Nibbo said. “My name in the church is Nicholas. I was there, you saw me.”

“Nicholas?” I repeated, feeling stupid. “But you did not take Communion, you left…”

“Yes, my lady,” he said and his eyes slid toward his master. “I left… My master often has questions about our Lord and I answer them… The boy knows my bapstimal name and uses it instead of Nibbo at my request.”

“I see.” I felt foolish with all these people standing around as I retied my belt. “Linus, come here.”

I kissed his head and gave him a coin for a honey treat. Beata and Nibbo retired from the room, but Eurus came in and handed me his wine.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You tolerate no lies.” Eurus smiled at me.

“No, I hate lies and liars.” I bit my lip as tears filled my eyes. Bulyar’s features on my son’s face… lies Bulyar had told me without blinking… “Go play, Linus. I’m glad I can trust you not to lie to me.”

“I never lie to you, Amma,” he said and ducked out of the room, but ran back to give me a quick kiss.

“Who lied to you? His father?”

I pushed tears off my face with the heels of my hands. “When did he not lie?”

Eurus tipped his head to one side. “And you won’t permit your son to lie?”

“Never.”

“He’ll either be a very good trader or a very bad one,” Eurus finally said. “But I promise you something, Nino.”

His tone compelled me to look into his eyes.

“I’ll never lie to you.”

After another six days on the road, I knew most of the other traders well enough to greet them by name. Several families traveled together besides the family that was escorting me. There were few boys and none my son’s age, so he played with girls until Nibbo or Adham would invite him to spend time with them. Father Thomas often walked with me and Farheeda, as he spoke little Greek, a smattering of Igrisian and a great deal of Arabic.

“He wants to learn Greek,” Farheeda told me as we waited for our turn to ford the river. “Master wants us to teach him.”

I didn’t think I was included in the order, but I made the effort to talk to the priest every day and answer his questions about the recent eucumenical councils.

“I come to Constantinople, learn truth,” Father Thomas said to me and Nibbo. “Bad teaching in our land.”

Eurus joined us often as well, but we spoke mostly Thracian about Sozopolis and my memories of my trip from Tricent. Linus often would climb up on the wagon beside us and listen, peppering us both with questions. Nibbo’s instruction in Thracian sped up as my son realized that I would tell Eurus the stories that he wanted to hear.

“He should give up leading the caravan and ride in his wagon,” Farheeda said to me one morning. “We’ve barely gone forty leagues in ten days. At this rate, my oxen will die of boredom before we get to this monastery of yours.”

The oxen didn’t look up at her complaint, but I laughed for them as I patted one on the shoulder. “Are you in a hurry?”

“Eurus promised I’d be with a midwife for this birth,” she said. “There are no midwives in this caravan.”

“Have you learned how to dance yet?” I asked, more out of a desire to talk than real interest.

“Dance?” She snorted. “I made this baby because of a dance. You want that I should dance it out?”

“I knew a good midwife who taught all her mothers to dance, because it helped the mother deliver the baby safely.”

“Did she teach you?”

I thought back. “She taught me a great deal. We’ll see about a woman’s fire tonight. I’m sure other women know these dances. We’ll teach them to you.”

The caravan leader didn’t care if we wanted a fire or not. He’d heard enough complaints about the slow speed that he ignored me and I decided that we would find a suitable, private place and do what we wanted. Under starlight only, we lit a fire and chatted over nursing babies and around unsettled toddlers. I brought out my dancing belts and tied one onto Farheeda’s hips.

“She has to learn how to dance that baby out,” I said loudly. Seven women joined me immediately. We started with the basic moves of hips and back. Another woman sent for a drum to play for us.

“That trader with the fair skin,” a crone said to me when I sat with a cup of wine, “he be with you?”

Her stilted Greek did not make it hard for me to understand what she meant or who she was talking about. In a caravan full of tanned and dark-skinned men, Eurus and his pale brown eyes stood out.

“He’s a friend,” I said. “Nothing more.”

“Not yet,” she said and patted my hands. “You have bad hands, but he don’t notice your hands.”

“He’s noticed them,” I said, perhaps sharply. “But I’m an old widow who knows his homeland. Nothing more.”

She patted my hands again and turned to say something to her mother beside her.

In the morning, I took the bowl of oats from my hostess and thanked her. “Oh, you’ll eat my food now, will you? That trader didn’t send you your fine breakfast this morning?”

Her rude comment aligned in my mind with the crone’s words at the fireside. It seemed that while I was merely being friendly with a man whom I owed a great debt, the caravan had other ideas. I thanked her for the gruel and yoghurt and watched the ebb and flow of the caravan’s members. We were close the center of the line and I had a good view of people passing from one end to the other. The caravan leader argued with several men who complained about the poor speed they were making. A few younger women traded foods between them while their children jumped in a complicated game. The dry road, infrequently paved with rough stones, was not a Roman road. Plenty of places were nothing more than twin ruts with weeds between them. I watched a pair of fathers standing with a tall young man gazing intently at a girl who smiled at her feet until her father placed her hand in the man’s.

“More than trades are made in a caravan,” my hostess said as she collected my bowl. “We’ve been waiting for that one. They’ll announce it tonight at the campfire.”

“We’ll be in Theodosiopolis by next week,” one of the complainers said to another as they walked past me. “We’ll join another caravan then.”

“But the fees! We’ve already paid…”

My hostess snorted. “They think we’re going slow now, wait until we start up the plateaus.”

I settled into the day’s pace and thought it would be easy for me to move faster. The pack animals didn’t look strained by their efforts either.

Nibbo let Linus ride on his back for a while before letting the boy down to run with some of his friends. “There are always grumblers on this road,” he said.

“You’ve traveled this road before?” I asked.

“Every summer for the last twenty years or more,” Nibbo said. “We don’t usually leave before Pentecost.”

“How long have you been a believer?”

He adjusted his cloak back up onto his shoulders. “Eight or nine years. Bishop Manasses had just become bishop of Theodosiopolis. He baptized me.”

I chuckled. “You’ll end up a priest if you’re baptized by a bishop.”

“We’ll end up in a snow bank if we don’t hurry up and get to the city,” Nibbo said as he gazed at the clouds.

I noticed that he didn’t answer me. “What about Eurus? Is he seeking to find God?”

“He is. After his wife died, we had a long, bad streak. Thieves cleaned us out twice, so he started posting bonds in cities and leaving his gold with men whom he trusted, like your brother.”

“Eurus left money with Pval?” I hadn’t heard that. “When?”

“After you left Bitumi,” Nibbo said and a smile lit his face. “He’s a good man, my master. He’s an honest trader.”

“A good man?” I repeated the statement. “I think that he must be. And he’s seeking God now.”

“We’ve spent some time talking about the Lord Jesus Christ.” Nibbo pointed ahead at Linus climbing onto the back of a wagon. “He’s talking about being made a catechumen when we get to St. Makrina’s.”

“Why wait?”

Nibbo ran to catch my son as he tried to climb over the wagon’s top rail. “You know you’re not permitted to ride, young master.”

Linus pouted and threw himself down out of Nibbo’s arms.

“I don’t know. Bishop Manasses would certainly make him a catechumen when we get to Theodosiopolis. They’ve known each other for years.”

“They have?” How would Eurus know a bishop?

The bishop’s sister was married to Eurus’ brother-in-law. I got to meet them all when we arrived with the snow at Theodosiopolis.

The kindness of the family overwhelmed me. When the caravan leader said we’d be in town at least a week, I looked at my gold and started to panic. A week’s stay at the caravanserai would deplete my purse. Eurus took the matter in hand and had Linus, Beata and me at his brother-in-law’s house within an hour of passing through the city gates.

The extended family was huge and all of them seemed to want Eurus to stay with them. “This is your sister’s family by marriage?” I asked, just to be sure.

“No, my wife’s family,” he said. “Garin is Abayla’s brother.”

But he’d told me Abayla had been dead for five years… and still Eurus was so beloved that five families wanted him with them.

Nibbo was greeted warmly as well, and promised plenty of opportunities to eat their geese. I didn’t know the joke, but it was clear that all of Eurus’ slaves were equally welcome. Beata and I were given places near the fire and filled up with meats and cheeses. Linus joined a dozen other boys of varying ages in the upper chambers.

Bishop Manasses arrived long after dark. “I just heard you arrived, Eurus! I didn’t expect you for another month at least.”

“We got an earlier start,” Eurus said, his hands on either side of the bishop’s head and kissed him with a loud smack on the bishop’s forehead. “Come meet one of your flock.”

“Three,” I said and signaled Linus to put down the ham hock. “Your Grace.”

We kissed his hands and he blessed us, paying special attention to Linus. “Has Nibbo been training you?”

“Yes, sir,” Linus said with all the proper respect.

“Then we’ll have a liturgy for the midfeast of Pascha and you will serve with me behind the altar.”

Linus bowed. This had been a great wish of his, of all the boys in our parish. The bishop did not visit us often and had not come since Linus came of age to serve. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

We sat around the fire and listened to family stories until the bishop nodded to me. “Have you heard how Eurus came to live in Theodosiopolis, Lady?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Around me, everyone laughed and called for Nibbo to tell the tale.

“I was there,” he explained.

Eurus’ family were well-known ship builders in Sozopolis, and had been for generations. When the time came to take out their latest ship, Eurus was sent along for his first sea voyage.

Eurus rubbed his stomach and moaned loudly.

“It seems, Lady Nino, that Eurus, of the Mackeral Tribe, cannot go to sea. His seasickness is so severe that he nearly died on the trip to Constantinople.”

“Poor Eurus,” everyone said, almost sympathetically.

“Only at sea for five days, and yet so ill that his father and brother take him across the Bosphorus to Iriva, a small port and nearly run their brand-new ship aground.”

Eurus shrugged and offered me a fresh cup of wine.

“So, his father and brother take us to the town and find the first woman they saw and asked if she would let the boy live with them for a few days until they returned for him.”

“A few days!” chuckled Bishop Manesses. “A few days!”

“Old Bhargal agreed for four coppers a day.” Nibbo showed his hand. “Four coppers. She counted them on her fingers.”

“It took old Master Thenas six weeks to return. Every day, she would put four pebbles into a jar, and then another jar, and then another.”

“When his father returned, he held up his hand and said, ‘I owe you this many coins for each day you have kept my son.’ But what the old woman had not noticed was that Thenas did not have four fingers on his hand, he only had two. So he told her that he would only pay half of what she’d put into the jars, and picked the two smallest jars.

“So your boy is only worth half?” Nibbo imitated a woman’s voice and all the children giggled. “Very well, I will take my half from the middle.”

Nibbo picked up a knife and starting stabbing it into the air.

“’I can’t take him home all holey,’ Thenas said. ‘That’s worse than him being dead!’”

“‘You should have thought of that before you tried to steal his keep from me,’ Bhargal said. ‘Now he is half my boy and I will do with him what I want half the time.’”

I looked at Eurus and found him staring at me. “I paid her back, every copper.”

His hand took mine in the folds of my skirt.

“So, Master Thenas went back home, but now, Lady Clothe was very upset, her last son was gone and Thenas did not pay the woman enough money. So she hired a ship from their Dolphin tribe—“

“Boo! Boo!” Everyone cried.

“And she came to the harbor, and sent for her son. But Eurus refused to get on the boat to go out to the ship, and they would come no closer because the harbor was so poor.”

“My mother,” Eurus said. “She was quite a character.”

“So Bhargal sent a message to Lady Clothe that the boy would come when he was fully paid, but right now, he belonged to her.”

I should have taken my hand away from Eurus’ tender clasp. Instead, I tightened my grip slightly.

“Did you ever go back?”

“Nino, I barely get into the pools at the bathhouses, much less into another boat. I couldn’t get home without going aboard aship, so I never went home. I learned to trade from Bhargal’s father and brothers, and we traveled around, making sure I was always home at the spring equinox to see my mother and father. My brothers inherited the business, and I stay on land at all times.”

“Which part did she take from you, Uncle Eurus?” a little girl asked from her father’s knee.

“My back and my legs, and she made me work!” Eurus said. “And then, when I was on the road, I met a beautiful girl named Abayla, just like yours.”

The child scrambled down and climbed over to sit on Eurus’ lap. “Just like me?”

“Just like you,” he said and rubbed her nose with his. “And your grandfather and Nibbo argued for six weeks about us getting married. We walked clear across from Myra to Bitumi!”

The familial atmosphere settled around Linus and me, accepting us implicitly. We might have been back in Bitumi, except for the snow and freezing wind that rattled the shutters. By the time the bishop left and the families returned to their homes, I felt welcome and comfortable.

The fire was banked in the middle of the room as the immediate family pulled out their pallets and blankets for the night. I bundled up for one last visit to the privy and was careful to shut the doors behind me as I returned. What heat the oxen gave from their stable should be saved for the house, not for the world.

“He didn’t tell the story right, Papa,” I heard little Abayla say. “He didn’t tell the part about his amma bringing him new clothes and the old lady selling them so his amma had to buy them back.”

A hand caught mine before I could return to my space by the hearth. Eurus pulled me back into the stable. He draped a wolf fur around us, pulling me against him.

“I wanted you to hear the truth about how I came to be here, a trader, instead of living in Thrace,” he said.

I pulled the fur over my shoulder and between us. I could not see his eyes, but I felt his breath on my cheek.

“The true story?”

“Nibbo tells a good story that’s… grown over the years with the telling. But the bare facts are these. My family did come to test a ship. I did get so sick that I would never go aboard a ship again. I stayed with a family and my father’s other wives brought me clothing and gifts over the years.”

“Other wives?” I whispered. “How many did he have?”

“He’d had four when he died. My mother was second.” I felt his head turn to look at the door. “They don’t know… about my father, about Thrace’s tradition of many wives.”

The question bubbled up from my deepest soul, but he answered it before I could ask.

“I’ve had only one wife and never wanted another during her life.”

I sighed with relief. “That’s good, Eurus.”

“My father died several years ago, and my brothers, if they’re still alive, still build boats. I haven’t kept up with them, since I don’t go to ports very often.”

He pulled back to pat his stomach, and then he took my hand. “I wanted you to know the whole truth, Nino. You may ask me anything. I have promised never to lie to you.”

His cheek rested against mine, our hands clasped between our bellies.

I only had to raise my chin slightly to be able to whisper into his ear. Bulyar had been much taller than I, I could never have whispered to my husband as I did now. “I know.”

“I have taken,” he paused as his hand caressed mine. “I have taken liberties with you that I would not have taken with a young virgin. You are older and wiser and don’t need wooing.”

“Don’t I?” My whisper broke with an embarrassing giggle.

“Do you?” He let our cheeks rub together again before letting go of my hand and pulling open the door. “Then I shall.”

Surely I was too old, I thought as I lay down in the heap of blankets and furs. Beata snored softly beside me as I looked across the central hearth to where Nibbo and Eurus were bedded down. A hand rose from the dark mounds and waved at me. I giggled again and despaired. Surely a grown woman of twenty-nine years shouldn’t giggle.

We left Theodosipolis ten days later when the word came of clear roads and no bridges had collapsed in the late blizzard. Bishop Manasses walked with us for the first league.

“You should let me make you a catechumen at least,” the bishop urged again. “I’m your brother. I’ve taught you the faith.”

Glad that Nibbo was not nearby, I wondered why Eurus insisted on waiting until we reached the monastery. “I’ll wait, but I’ll be back for…” Eurus winked at me. “I’ll be back.”

The bishop mock-glared at both of us before giving us a last blessing. “There’s a church near here. I’ve been promising a visit.”

“A bishop coming without warning?” I kissed his hand. “The priest’s wife will have fits.”

“She’s a crank,” the bishop said. “She’ll nag him less if she doesn’t know I’m coming.”

He headed off a sideroad and turned back once to wave.

“Why wouldn’t you let him?” I asked, enjoying the illicit pleasure of feeling our knuckles rub together as we marched down the hill.

He didn’t answer me, not then.

Chapter 36

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 03:45:56 GMT

Chapter Thirty-Six

Late February, 460 A.D. Bitumi, Egrisi

Rakkal had heard about the letter addressed to me through whatever channels she always heard the gossip. The merchant hadn’t been reticent in asking around the marketplace for my home and she had personally brought him to my door and waited as I paid the man a gold coin for his services.

“Well? Who is it from?”

I took the letter into my garden and sat under the pergola. She followed me and stood with her arms crossed.

Without a choice that wouldn’t insult my oldest friend, I popped open the wax seal and unfolded the scroll.

“It’s from Sister Makrina,” I said, half surprised. I’d not had a letter from her for five years.

“Sister Makrina?” Rakkal tended to get angry when she didn’t know all the details. “Who is Sister Makrina?”

“She’s a monastic in Cappadocia. I escorted her to the monastery when I returned from Thrace.” I would have rather bitten out my tongue than mention that trip, but I knew there was no hope that Rakkal would leave me alone.

Rakkal chewed her tongue in thought as I purused the letter.

“Why did she write you?”

“She’s invited me to come to her monastery for her final tonsure,” I folded up the letter and tucked it into my belt. “At Dormition.”

“Five months? That’s barely enough time to get there.”

A trip to Cotoyora, the Cappadocian seaport, would only take days. The land trek to the monastery would take far longer, unless there was another route. I tried to remember why we’d not gone to the nearest port when we returned from Constantinople.

“Why should she invite you now?” Rakkal asked sharply.

“Making a pilgrimage to St. Makrina’s monastery would be a great blessing,” Beata said behind me, folding bed linens.

“Yes, it would,” I agreed and smiled falsely at Rakkal. “Thank you for bringing the merchant to me so quickly.”

Her motive was less kind than it was nosey. I escorted her to the garden gate and checked to see if my son Linus and her son Simon were anywhere in sight. Only after dark did we find them apart.

Linus came when I called and I listened to the day’s accounting, including a rather incredible story about a fox and three children Simon and Linus had rescued.

“Is this true?” I asked my son sharply.

“I never lie to you, Amma,” Linus said seriously. “You know that.”

My sister-in-law Ila pursed her lips in concentration as she tried to add up the numbers from the morning’s business. My brother Pval snoozed on pillows under the fig tree, waiting for the afternoon hours to begin. The only disturbance of the spring noon was Ila’s brother Orjin sleeping off last night’s wine. His snores reminded me that I’d have to hire a new guard for the bathhouse’s front gate.

“Orjin spent several coppers on food from Tsil today,” I said to Ila. “Make sure you deduct that from his pay today.”

Ila blushed and didn’t write it down. I’d have to write it in myself. I sighed, resigned. Ila’s soft-heartedness would drive us into debt.

Beata brought out some bread and hummus for our meal and plopped down beside Ila on the bench. “So when you do leave?”

Ila looked up, confused. “Leave? For what?”

“She’s asking me,” and rather rudely for a slave, I thought. But Beata had been in the family longer than I and was prone to taking liberties. “I’ve been invited to go to Cappadocia.”

“A pilgrimage to St. Makrina’s monastery,” Beata said, pleased to be able to deliver the news herself.

Ila laid the quill down and looked at me, shocked. “You’re going to Cappadocia?”

“I’ve been invited. I haven’t decided if I’m going.” I took a bite of the bread and walked back to my pergola. I didn’t want to make Ila nervous about her accounting.

Pval kissed his wife before going back to the bathhouse for the afternoon’s shift. I contemplated the spring breezes and wondered when Linus would be clamoring for his dinner. The letter remained unexamined until long after I alone sat in the garden with the lamps lit around me.

Ila had made fewer mistakes in the day’s accounts than she had in the past, but still ignored the costs of her cousin’s actions on the job. I counted up his expenses, deducted them from his pay, and winced when I saw the tally. Combined with Orjin’s laxity, we’d probably lost the sales of several meals to vendors that Orjin was supposed to chase away. We could not keep him.

I knew all too well what Ila was trying to do. Orjin’s first wife had died several months ago and now he moved from one brother’s family to another sister’s family, counting on their support until they grew frustrated by his indolence and drunkenness. It would solve several problems for her family if I would marry him.

But I’d already turned his offers down and told him bluntly not to repeat them. As far as I was concerned, Orjin had already outstayed his welcome.

I pulled out Makrina’s letter and considered the news. A trip to the monastery would be a great blessing, but this was the beginning of the busiest time of year for the bathhouse. As the roads opened, we’d see more traders come to the bathhouse. It didn’t make sense to go, I couldn’t go. Ila and Pval could manage without me; I held no illusions that I was indispensable. Traveling with Linus that distance, we’d need a decent escort and we could not spare a man from the bathhouse in July or August to go with us.

Instead of dismissing the idea and going to bed, I wandered back to my pergola and sat in its shadows, watching for the moon the crest our flat roof. I heard the monastery bells echoing in the hills to the west of Bitumi and knew that I shouldn’t stay up much longer. But it wasn’t often I had time to myself.

Zdit, Rakkal’s brother, and I had met in the marketplace that afternoon. We’d rarely met after my return nine years ago. While I was in Tricent, he’d married a well-dowered wife and moved to her family’s farm. Rakkal, always full of gossip, mentioned that since her sister-in-law’s death, the family had been looking for a wife, just as her stepsons were looking for a husband for her. The obvious solution to me was for Rakkal to go live with her brother until he remarried, but I knew why she wouldn’t.

Widows do not return to their families. It’s the obligation of her husband’s family to care for their widows. Returning to her family meant that her husband’s heirs believed she’d been an unfaithful wife.

Rakkal would never chose the life I’d lived for the last nine years.

Clouds blocked some of the stars. My eyes drifted around our garden where newly pruned bushes and trees looked half-stripped. We couldn’t let the trees grow wide or the bushes too high in the garden or they would do damage to our house. I knew that the tree my grandfather had planted was older than my mother, but our gardeners never let it grow past a certain point.

Widows are like that, I thought.

Pval’s door creaked when it opened. The lamplight flickered in the draft as Pval and another man entered the garden.

“What can I do for you, Zdit?” my brother asked as they sat down around the fire pit.

“About marriage,” Zdit said, “My sister to Orjin. He’s made some comments that I wanted to check. I wanted you to tell me the truth.”

Pval chuckled. “You’re wise to ask, Zdit.”

The details of our employment of Orjin were laid out for Zdit’s consideration. Zdit scratched the bald spot on the top of his head as he asked few questions, but he seemed satisfied with the answers. “He’d promised a bridal price that seemed high, but if you paying him as you say, he should have the money in a few weeks.”

“Certainly by Pascha,” my brother agreed. “But you should know that we also keep records of his expenses and according to our agreement, we deduct certain expenses he accrues.”

Zdit said, “I don’t understand.”

“Orjin eats more than we give our employees. He drinks far more than we permit and we hold back some of his pay to cover those costs.”

More than half of his last pay, I thought. Ila must know how much, Pval certainly did because he handles payments to our suppliers and the guards we use who are not our slaves. At the rate Orjin was drinking today, he’d end up owing us money.

Zdit nodded. “I see. He has promised that he will not drink to drunkenness once he is married. Will he still work here, after he is married?”

Pval rubbed his nose, chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Orjin told his sister that he would be working on your farm. We thought it best for him to be away from the temptations of the bathhouse.”

Away from the whores and the wine, I thought.

“At my farm?” Zdit sounded surprised. “Do you think he’d like that? Having my sister at the farm would be a great blessing to me and my children.”

“But why don’t you remarry, Zdit?” My brother urged. “You’re not too old.”

“Your sister has not remarried either,” Zdit said. “Does she seek another husband?”

I swallowed. I’d received two men over the nine years since my return to Egrisi. My father had felt an obligation to explain my situation in excruciating detail, and both men did not return. I’d never sought another husband after the second embarrassment.

“She’s…” my brother hesitated. “She is happy working here with us, as you believe your sister Rakkal will bless your home with her work.”

Rakkal might survive this marriage if her brother protected her. I’d seen Orjin drunk and had once intervened when he tried to slap my son. He was a violent man and his dead wife had often worn bruises to the market.

“We await the bishop’s blessing for the marriage,” Zdit said as he rose from the bench. “When the bishop returns from Cappadocia, we’ll have the betrothal. I hope you and Ila will come to the feast.”

“I thank you,” Pval said and put out his hand. “I feel like a father of a groom and Ila has yet to give me a son.”

“In good time, good time,” Zdit took Pval’s hand and slapped him on the back with his other. “You’ve been married only a year. She’s young, isn’t she? Georg’s daughter? Her mother had dozens of children. You’ll find yourself overrun with children in short order, my friend.”

The garden gate opened and the men walked out into the square.

The next day, Orjin broke two large amphora of olive oil. There was simply no way for us to ignore him or the mess he’d made. He’d been told by several people not to climb up the stack and now I had a huge mess, not to mention the loss of the money we’d earn from the sale of the oil. Pval stomped around the exercise ground for long time before calling for a piece of parchment. Orjin signed both copies of the bill with neat script, in both Greek and our own Egrisian letters, laughing the whole time. Then my brother threw him out of the bathhouse with a warning not to return until he brought a full repayment with him.

“How much longer to Pascha?” Pval asked as we examined the mess.

“Holy Friday is also Annunciation.”

He looked at me blankly until I continued. “March 25th is Annunciation to the Virgin… The angel Gabriel came to tell her…”

“Yes, that she would bear a son,” Pval finished for me. “I’m too tired to think.”

“You went out with Zdit too late last night,” I teased.

“Far too late for both of us.” He rubbed his forehead. “Without Orjin, we have no afternoon guard.”

“Without Orjin, we have no one drinking our profits,” I answered. “We’ll ask around.”

A trader came with two large slaves who were willing to take a day’s wage to sit in the doorway. I paid them all in advance; half to the owner, half to the slaves. Within an hour, I’d hoped that I could buy the slaves myself. Both were good-natured and worked beyond our expectations.

“Where are you from, Nibbo?” I asked the elder of the two.

“Far away, across the Black Sea,” he answered politely.

“In Thrace?” I asked.

“Rossakastron,” he answered.

“I knew people who lived there,” I said quietly. “Did you know of Farida of the Badger Clan?”

“No, Lady,” he said. “I don’t know the name, but it’s been many years since I left.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“Going home would be--” He paused. “Interesting. My master Eurus intends to stay in Asia, so I’m not expecting to go any time soon.”

The rest of Lent passed with all its usual frustrations aggravated by no meat, cheese, or olive oil. Beata reported that Linus was caught sneaking some fish from our kitchens and I tried to teach him both the virtues of fasting and the evils of theft. At nine, I doubted he listened very closely to my words, but he did apologize to Cook and Beata after going to Confession. I talked with Eurus about how long he intended to stay in Bitumi and asked if we could hire Nibbo and Adham for the duration. Eurus was agreeable, as soon as we included a daily bath for him in the deal.

Linus mourned the loss of Simon as Rakkal prepared to move to her brother’s home. The boys would still see each other often, as Simon was to be apprenticed in Bitumi and learn his trade.

“There are other boys in Bitumi,” I said after enduring a long day’s whining.

“Nicholas can’t play in the afternoon,” Linus complained.

“Nicholas? Who is Nicholas?” I paused as I repeated the name, oddly accented on the last part of the name.

“Just a friend, Amma.” Linus kicked at the leaves around the pergola. He knew I liked it when he called me Amma instead of Mother, as I had been taught to address my mother.

“A new friend?” I asked, hopeful.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said. “He’s got a secret.”

“A secret,” I said. “What kind of secret?”

He rolled his eyes at me, but I didn’t rebuke his impertinence.

“Will you be able to play with him tomorrow?”

Linus got a crafty look on his face that haunted my dreams that night, but it was my stepson Bunar I dreamt about, not my son.

This year, Annunciation to the Virgin and Great and Holy Friday were the same day, which doubled the time we spent at church. I sent Linus home to bed in the cool dusk with Beata as I stayed to listen to the readers chant the Psalms before the altar doors.

Rakkal stood beside the church doors, fidgeting, looking around constantly, her hands twisting together. I tried to ignore her mumbling my name, but finally, I gave up and walked out side to stand under one of the torches.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Orjin. I’ve already moved to my brother’s house! How could he do this to me?”

Orjin could do plenty, I thought. “What’s the problem?”

“You! You’re the problem!” She snapped out every word. “Orjin doesn’t have enough to pay the bridal price.”

I’d been expecting this for weeks, but her venom, directed at me, caught me off guard. “Why me?”

“You haven’t paid him!” She began to cry in earnest. “He should have earned enough from you.”

“He shouldn’t have drunk it all,” I replied. “And he still owes us for the olive oil.”

“Olive oil? What are you talking about? He’s been working for you for months now and he told Zdit that you won’t pay him his wages so we can’t get married.”

I felt a cold fire start in my belly. “He lied, Rakkal.”

She ignored me. “What will people think! I have a son and I’m living with my family!”

“Yes, I know quite well what people will think,” I said. “They’ll gossip that you were unfaithful to your husband and his family has sent your home and disowned your son.”

“They haven’t! My son and his brothers love each other dearly!” She gulped as she looked at me, then up and down the street. “You could at least give us a note promising to pay him when you get the money! I know my stepson will accept your brother’s promise!”

“We owe him no money,” I explained. “He hasn’t worked for us in weeks, not since he broke the amphora. He owes us money.”

Her mouth dropped open and her face filled with disgust. “He’s gone every day! I fed him breakfast every morning and I’ve made him a lunch to take with him.”

“He hasn’t come to my bathhouse,” I said hotly. “If he told you that he was coming to work for us, he lied to you, Rakkal. I don’t know where he’s going, but it hasn’t been to us.”

Our fight began to attract attention. Nearby, a pocket of slaves turned and listened to us, laughing.

I saw two of Orjin’s brother approach behind Rakkal. I pushed through the crowd and saw Eurus and Nibbo talking close by. I pushed through until I was behind them.

“Lady?” Nibbo said.

“Good evening, Eurus,” I said. “I didn’t know you were a Christian.”

The two men exchanged bemused looks. “Not yet, Lady Nino.”

“Will you be baptized soon?” I looked past him for a split second to check on Orjin’s brothers, but Eurus caught me and looked around as well. Orjin’s brothers were scanning the crowd and stopped when he saw me.

“We’d best get you home,” Eurus said. Nibbo took my other side and we made good time back to my home.

“Where are you staying?” I asked. Orjin’s brothers were as unpleasant as he. If they thought that Eurus had deliberately thwarted them, they could cause trouble, even on this most holy of days.

“We stay at the caravanserai south of town,” Eurus said.

“You’d better stay here tonight,” I offered. “We have a room for you.”

Eurus looked around my garden. “I will be most honored to accept your invitation, Lady.

***

On Holy Saturday, I spent the morning focusing on the celebration of Our Lord’s harrowing of Hell, but the minute I walked away from the church doors, my mind turned to Rakkal and Orjin. We had plenty of witnesses that Orjin had not been at the bathhouse, but most of them were traders who would not wait to testify should Orjin decide to take it to the town square to demand justice. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that Orjin had planned exactly that. If he waited only a few more days, most of the traders who had come to Bitumi to celebrate Pascha would be gone, and the caravanserai south of town would be full every night will new traders heading to the four corners of the earth.

“Call the debt?” Pval asked me over a cup of water. “We’ve never called a debt before, Abba never called a debt.”

“I know.” I laid out the facts as I saw them and watched as he combed his fingers through his beard.

“We can’t do anything until after Pascha,” I said. “But we should, right away, on Bright Monday. Eurus has been to the bathhouse everyday as part of our payment for Nibbo and Adham. He could support us in the justice gate.”

Pval smiled at me. “Is that why you invited him to stay with us through Pascha?”

“It had more to do with his protection from Potr and Ivon. They were following us home.”

Pval nodded. “Beata is delighted that we have guests for Pascha. See if you can find a few more before tonight, will you?”

Pleasing my slave with more guests amused me. But when I checked the bathhouse and found a family of Christians from Cappadocia hoping to get cleaned up before the midnight services, I invited them as well.

At midnight, the services for the Resurrection of our Lord began with the ringing of the somber bells to call us together. I squeezed in beside two old widows and put aside all earthly cares as the service began. Linus stood with Pval, his first year on the men’s side of the church. I felt like my mother when I glared at him for his fidgeting, but then the crowd grew and I lost sight of him until we returned home for our feast.

Beata was elated that fifteen people sat around our garden table. Extra torches lit the area until dawn when we finished our final cups of wine and sweet breads and said one last time “Christ is risen!” to our guests. The slaves were given the morning off to rest and I took the few minutes necessary to clean up some of the food debris. In the doorway, I saw Eurus push Nibbo into their room and return to help me.

“Thank you, it’s not necessary,” I started, but he pushed two extra bowls into my arms before grabbing another six wine cups to carry.

“I don’t mind. You’ve been very gracious to us. Beata gave us quite a feast, didn’t she? And that young man who poured the wine? Who is he?”

“My son, Linus.” I found a bucket for the scraps and poured them in. “He’s nine.”

“A bright child. He and Nibbo seem to have made quite a friendship between them.” He stopped for a minute. “Nibbo says your son is Thracian.”

“As am I,” I said and pushed the dirty dishes into the wash basin. “My father was from Odessos.”

“I would have said your son is from the highlands, not from the seaside,” Eurus said in the Thracian dialect I hadn’t heard in nearly ten years.

I flushed but answered him in common Greek. “My husband was from Tricent and the highlands.”

He ignored my switch back to Greek. “I thought as much. You mentioned Farida… that’s not a Thracian name.”

“No, she was a relation of my husband,” I murmured.

“Another wife?” His casual tone caught me off guard. How could I answer? How should I? Only my father, mother and now my brother knew of my life in Thrace.

“Yes.” After several heartbeats, I answered in Thracian myself. “She was another wife.”

“Nibbo wondered, and he asked me about it.”

I felt the wine and shame combine in my head and couldn’t think clearly.

“The family took you back to your temple, even with a son?” His accent changed and took me back ten years.

“Not exactly. The vozha threatened to expose my child. Another family member helped me… and then I…” I grabbed ahold years of emotion. “I came home.”

“I would come back here as well,” he said gently.

We returned to the banquet table and picked up the platters. I flexed my hands several times before picking up knives and cups to pile atop the meat bones.

“Do you know the name Elayjit?” I asked, switching back to our original language.

“Elayjit?” He paused by the scrap bucket. “No, not as a name. But in the Sarmatian language, it means bald.”

My eyes widened. “Bald? Are you sure?

“I’ve been called it often enough,” he said with a wink. “Why? Have you been calling someone Baldy?”

“I did for many years,” I said ruefully. “I rescued a woman once, and we never knew her name. I thought she was telling me her name when she said, “elayjit.” We called her that for five years until she died.”

“Was she bald?” Eurus asked.

I put the meat bones into the soup pot beside the fire where Beata would want them for broth. “We shaved her clean, including her head. She was ill with a fever and my mother thought it would cure her.”

“And it did,” Eurus said and poured the platter of uneaten onions in with the lamb. “If she lived for another five years.”

“She did.” I looked at Eurus as he walked back out of the kitchen to get more food.

He was mostly bald, and what hair he had was cut close in the Roman style. Other than a bit of limp, he walked with a straight back and even shoulders. He was no athlete or even a working man; his belly proved he was a prosperous man. He spoke well, in both the Thracian dialect and the Greek koine dialect that all the civilized world used. I guessed he was older than I; he certainly wasn’t much taller.

“Did she go with you to Thrace?” He handed me three empty platters.

“No, she died before I left,” I said. “I never thought she’d be a Sarmatian.”

Eurus chuckled. “The table is mostly clean. I thank you for your hospitality and your kindness. Nibbo has explained a great deal about your Christian faith. I was sorry to have to leave when the doors were shut.”

“It’s for your own protection,” I said, remembering that he had not been permitted to see our Communion. “No one who has not been baptized is permitted. Taking Communion without proper preparation can kill you.”

“I understand,” he said. “A very different god you have, Nino. A god who dies. A god who lives. A god, three in one. But a god who has done as you have done, he’s a god worth worship.”

“Did you worship Hero in Thrace?” I rinsed off my hands and walked with him back into the garden.

“Hero and Hermes. A trader wouldn’t worship anyone else.”

* * *

At dawn, in the earliest fluster of the market, Pval headed out with Orjin’s bill to post for payment. Ila kissed him and they giggled together. I wondered when they intended to tell us she was pregnant.

Bright Monday was living up to its name. The sunlight was bright, the skies completely clear and a brisk breeze fluttered in the leaves. I spent an hour with Linus discussing his plans for the day—to visit every fountain in the city with Rakkal’s son Simon—once he’d completed his reading assignment from my father’s scrolls. This morning, I picked a passage from our only copy of St. Paul’s Epistles to the Corinthians. This had been my father’s greatest treasure and Linus handled it reverently and read carefully far longer than I expected. By the time I got to the bathhouse, the rumors already had flown through town.

Guilty faces turned to look at me as I walked into the tempidarium. Two of women slipped into the pool’s deeper end, but Rakkal waited for me to come close.

“Orjin paid you last week, Nino. Why are you denying it? Do you want twice the money?”

I handed her a towel. “I saw no money come from Orjin. Did he say he paid me?”

She nodded. I waited until I could speak calmly. “If he paid me, I would have used my family’s seal, as I always do, to note the date of the payment. Was the seal on the bill?”

“How should I know?” she shouted and every eye turned to us.

“If he paid Pval or me, the seal would be on the bill,” I said again. “He did not pay me.”

I spent the rest of the morning hiding by the furnace, letting our slave Vreh, who tended the fires, think what he wanted.

Pval found me at noon and dismissed Vreh. “This was Mother’s place to come when she was angry too.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Orjin claimed he came and paid the bill to you last week. I knew he had not.”

“No seal?” I said.

“No seal. Just a poorly scratched X. He said you didn’t know how to write your name.”

I picked up a stick of kindling and wrote my name in Greek and in Egrisian. “He lived with us for three weeks. Did he never notice that I was the one writing the bills? Keeping the records?”

Pval sighed and pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Let’s go home.”

Our mistake was to walk out into the square. Orjin and his brothers stood in a line and grabbed us both. We stumbled and were dragged to the justice gate where ten men sat. Linus stood, hugging Ila.

“Nibbo,” I mouthed to him. “Get Nibbo.”

Linus ran out of the square.

The chief judge this year was a squat, square man named Aviljos. He’d been a trader for many years before settling in our town and sending his sons out instead. I had never met him or his family. Our bathhouse served the traders, not the residents of Bitumi.

I straightened my turban as Pval and I approached the benches. Other men, unknown and unknown, sat solemnly as Orjin pointed his fingers at me. “I paid her.”

“When?” Pval asked. “When and where?”

That caught Orjin off-guard. “Tuesday,” he finally announced loudly. “I paid on Tuesday.”

“When on Tuesday?” Pval asked.

It had been our common practice for me to supervise the bathhouse in the mornings and Pval in the afternoons, when the business was far more rowdy with soldiers and traders assuming that we kept the usual division of time, for women to use the facility in the morning and men in the afternoon. But during the Holy Week, we’d traded mornings and afternoons every day, so that we could go to as many of the church services as possible. On Tuesday, I’d worked in the afternoon and discussed St. Mary Magdalene with Nibbo during the slower hours. Then Eurus taught me a game with pebbles in the sand that Nibbo and Linus played together outside the bathhouse until we’d closed for the night.

Orjin sputtered. “What time? Why does that matter?”

“What time?” Aviljos asked. “And where?”

I looked at him and approved. His face turned bright red and he looked away.

Beside him, Khavtse bent his head and whispered.

Khavtse had once talked with my father about marrying me. He had never spread the truth about my marriage through our city, for which I’d been grateful. Was he now going to reveal my history?

“In the morning!” Orjin spat on the ground. “When I was working with her.”

“She owes him wages as well,” Rakkal said from the other side of the crowd. “Make her pay him his wages!”

Failure to mark a bill paid was no great sin in Bitumi. At worst, Pval would be the butt of jokes and a poor reputation for a while, but he’d compounded the situation by posting the bill that morning. This amounted to fraud and that was punished by flogging.

“You have the records to prove I worked!” Orjin shouted again. He pointed at a low table beside Aviljos where a few scrolls lay.

My scrolls? I looked at Ila, who dropped her head into her hands. I could hear her sobbing over the crowd.

How had he gotten them? Had she given them to him?

Our bathhouse slaves were brought to the forefront of the crowd by Orjin’s cousins. Why were they here? Their testimony was not permitted in our courts… but then, neither was mine.

Khavtse picked up a scroll and studied it with a smirk before handing it to another of the judges. Another scroll, another sneer, another judge; each scroll was passed around until they all rested in Aviljos’ lap. In the end, he held one in his hand. He looked at Orjin. “You are Orjin, sister to Ila, the wife of Pval, the man you accuse of defrauding you of wages and fraud for posting a paid debt?”

“I am,” he said.

“How did you come by these scrolls?” Khavtse asked.

“My brother asked Ila for them,” Orjin said.

“Your brother?”

“Potr,” Orjin said with a bit of pride. “He asked Ila for them. He wanted to know what Pval owed me.”

Potr was the eldest of the three brothers, at once the biggest and the brightest in a family that didn’t boast of much of either. “I asked her for them to prove what Orjin had worked.”

“Did you write on these at all?” Khavtse asked. He picked up one of the scrolls and showed it to him. “Did you write on it? Did one of your brothers? One of your family?”

Everyone turned and looked at the weeping Ila.

I didn’t believe it. She would not have modified our records to show we owed her brother anything. The worst she’d ever done was fail to record all his purchases against his wages.

The hot sun made me wish to finish this sham, but I had no power to prove anything until Nibbo and Eurus arrived.

New Improved Chapter 2

Wed, 29 Aug 2007 03:17:45 GMT

Chapter Two

News of the betrothal spread through the town. Most of my friends promised to come to the marriage service in front of the church, but Bulyar declined to invite anyone but my family to a feast. “You will spend all your time weeping for your friends at our wedding,” he groused. “I don’t want a weepy bride in my bed.”

Abba chuckled and Mother looked shocked. I was too giddy to do anything but agree.

Bulyar had quickly acquired the habit of dining with us at least once a day. Several times I’d have to delay coming in because of difficulties in the bathhouse, but he took the liberty of kissing my cheek in front of my father and pronouncing himself well-pleased with a wife who knew the value of work. I’d blushed terribly, but in my bed, I felt the pressure of his lips and the sweep of his mustache and beard against my cheeks and wished that Pentecost would come more quickly.

We took Holy Communion together the previous day, and I wore my usual linens in their yellows and browns. I wanted to save my best for the moment I approached Bulyar at the door of the church the next morning after the Matins prayers.

The summer light made my clothes glow in pink and green. My wedding was as quiet as my betrothal. My friend Rakkal came, now growing big with a child under her ribs. Her husband, a widower with children older than my friend, was busy in the market, but encouraged her to come and witness the wedding.

As we walked to the church, Rakkal admired my fine wedding garments, but sighed heavily. “This child thinks my womb isn’t big enough.”

“Will your sister come to deliver the baby?”

Rakkal’s sister was a midwife, but lived far outside the city on her husband’s farm.

“I don’t think so. I thought about going to her…” Rakkal rubbed her cheeks. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today.”

“I’m not allowed. Bulyar said no weeping bride in his bed.” I took her hand. “Are your step-daughters still harassing you?”

“Daily. They didn’t want their father to remarry… I’m beginning to understand the wisdom of not marrying again after a wife dies. Especially if there are children.” Rakkal pushed her tears away again and smiled weakly. “Variosh is a good man, and when his daughters marry, our lives will be better.”

“Have you found men for them yet?”

“Not yet, but Keia is old enough and I’m looking. Have you seen the butcher’s sons?”

We giggled together. The butcher’s sons were filthy and coarse. No one would marry them.

I looked ahead to the church, and saw the small crowd waiting. My brother Pval stood with the priest and held the censer. My husband stood among them, taller than every other man there.

We came to stand in front of the doors of the church. Father Andrew had allowed our slaves to decorate the doors with greenery and flowers. Now he stood with the censer, swinging it gently so that the clouds of smoke circled him.

“Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he intoned.

I remembered so little of my wedding. Taking the lit candle from my mother, kissing the icons, the removal of my turban and the crown of flowers laid over the veil on my head, my father’s kiss and blessing, Bulyar leading me across the front of the church to reverence at each icon. All blurred together in my mind until my husband kissed me on the forehead and I put my turban on again.

Because Bulyar had no family to fete us, we returned to my parents’ home for a feast. Roasted lamb and goat, piles of rice and grains, decorated with rose petals and seeds, even our slaves ate well today. I did not wish for more. If Father had invited many guests, or Bulyar his family, my mother may have expected us to sit aside at a private women’s banquet, but right now, I wanted to be with my whole family, my brother and my father, and to enjoy our last time together.

Bulyar received news of his ship’s arrival at the end of our feast. Pleased, he signaled the musicians for another song. “I’ll take you to the house of pearl,” he said. “It’s my home in Tricent. You’ll like it very much. It was the home of my first wife, Bychis.”

“Your first wife?” I looked over at my father. “I didn’t know you’d been married before.”

Bulyar looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I did tell your father, and your priest. Both assured me that it did not matter.”

“How did she die?” Pval asked with a nasty tone. My mother hushed him with a look that promised punishment for his impudence.

Bulyar leaned across the table to get some of the herbed vegetables. “Childbirth.”

“And the child?” I whispered.

Bulyar shook his head. I took his hand and kissed it. “It doesn’t matter to me, Bulyar,” I said.

“I’ve missed being married, Nino,” he said. “I think that we’ll do very well together.”

I hoped so too.

Bulyar had found a suitable room for us near the church. When we left my father’s feast, the musicians followed us as we accepted the wishes of our neighbors during the short walk. I didn’t know the owner of the house, but his slaves had made our room delightful. I was tired, but not too tired to appreciate the bridal blessings of rose water to mix with our wine, or the bowl of sweet raisins and nuts left beside the bed.

Outside, the musicians continued to play their flutes and drums. The neighbors came out to dance and sing along. I could hear them through the window.

“Should we have asked Father Andrew to come and bless our bed?” I asked as my husband took off my turban. He fingered the strands of pearls my mother had sewn into the design. None of them were of high quality, but against the pink and green of my garments, they looked luminescent in the lamplight.

“No, we should not,” he said. “I’ve wanted to touch your hair for weeks now… So shiny, so smooth, and still curls…”

I caught my breath as he tangled his fingers into it and yanked gently. His first kiss on my lips tasted like sweet wine.

I pulled away, fearful that I wouldn’t live without breathing, and I couldn’t breathe near him. The music outside pulsed with my heart. Without thinking about it, I began to dance, moving with the beat. My arm still would not rise above my shoulder and rather than wincing with pain, I let myself dance with my arms at my sides. The song, about the moon loving the stars and putting the dew on the flowers as a tribute to them, was slow and usually sung only by women.

Bulyar lay down on the bed and watched me. This had been Elayjit’s favorite song, one of the first she’d used to teach me to dance. As the women’s voices joined in the close harmony, I closed my eyes and allowed the memory of my friend to embrace me.

“Come here,” my husband called, pulling me out of my reverie. I opened my eyes and saw a new reason to dance, one I’d heard of, but never had the chance to experience until now.

I danced toward him and away, toward him again and away. Toward him, but no longer away.

***

Our trip to the coast was to start early. My mother had the slaves pack everything I was to take before we left for the church. I folded my wedding garments carefully as I put on the soft everyday clothing I would wear for the trip.

“I like you in pink,” my husband said to me from our wedding bed. “We’ll have to find some dye to take with us back to Thrace. In the winter, we’ll have you in some color against the white snow.”

“Snow?” I knew what snow was, thanks to Elayjit. “There’s snow in Tricent?”

“Some, not a great deal in the town, but in the mountains to the west, there’s always some in the winter. Haven’t you ever seen any?”

“Just on the mountain tops,” I said, tracing the long thin scar on his arm. “What did this?”

He shivered under my touch, as I had shivered under his last night. “A fight several years ago. I’ve forgotten what it was about. Hardly as noble as yours, my wife.”

I liked that, the way he said “my wife” and meant me. I took his hand and kissed it again. “My scars aren’t noble. Just difficult to live with sometimes. I can’t dance well any more.”

“You don’t dance well?” He took my statement and made it a disbelieving question. He rolled over on the pallet and picked up the bronze cup we’d found beside our bed. “Who told you that?”

“I told you about Elayjit? The woman whose life I saved?” I took the cup from his hand and held it up for him to drink. “She taught me. She said that until my skin stretched more, my arms would look awkward.”

I waited for him to finish drinking. “Bulyar, do you know the name Elayjit?”

He pulled me up against his chest and held my wandering hand against his graying chest hair. “Elayjit? I don’t think so. Why?”

“I saved her life,” I said. “We were in a caravan coming from Damascus.”
Bulyar lay back against the pillows, his hand resting on my skin at my waist. “Tell me.”

“Abba!” I called to my father. “Abba, there’s a woman lying there in the stones.”

My father never lied to me, and I never lied to him. “Abba, come and see.”

“Is she alive?” he asked.

“Yes, Abba, she’s alive. Come!”

The body of the woman wasn’t visible from the road. I’d only found it because I needed a private place away from the caravan.

“It looks like she fell,” my father said. “From up there.”

The road was well traveled, but dangerous. Bandits were brave and vicious, and no one made the journey from Damascus to Bitumi without joining a well-guarded caravan. We’d met none coming the other way. Above us, a steep hillside with jagged rocks might have been where she’d fallen from.

“Who is she?” my brother asked.

“How should I know?” I didn’t recognize the rags she wore. As the gatekeeper of the bathhouse most of the women in the caravans used, I knew clothing well. This odd wrapping around her waist and shoulders, I’d never seen before. The fabric was harsh and torn.

“Abba, please. We can’t leave her here like this.”

Father sighed. “You’re right, we can’t. But moving someone who’s fallen so far often hurts them more than the fall itself.”

“We’re only a day from home,” I said. “I could stay with her.”

My brother laughed. “You can’t stay with her; she’s going to die anyway.”

“Then we’ll take her and bury her,” my father said. “You two!”

The new slaves we’d bought in Damascus didn’t answer until my brother hit them on their heads. “I’ve got what we need to make a bed,” I commanded. “We’ll put her on the back of the wagon for the rest of the trip.”

“Taking her back to bury her?” another merchant asked. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

“Much or not,” my father said mildly. “It’s an act of kindness, to bury the dead.”

The rest of the trip, I walked beside the wagon, checking on her. As dusk fell, we entered the gates of Bitumi, and she opened her eyes. I pushed my skin of water to her mouth and she drank. I didn’t understand what she said, but her eyes closed again.

“We’ll take her to your mother,” my father said. “She’ll know what to do.”

Mother wasn’t happy with the unexpected guest, but ordered a pallet to be placed under the pergola in the herb garden. The woman’s leg was badly bruised. Mother made poultices to draw the pain and had me watch the woman as I weeded the garden. I spent two days with her, even sleeping out in the garden to be near when she mumbled. We poured water into her open mouth and she swallowed it. Mother gave her wine and honey at one point, but the fever began just after that.

After three days, Mother ordered that the woman be shaved. “The heat from her body must be released.”

Our slave Beata handled the task as she did everything, impatiently and without care. It didn’t take long before I shoved her aside and told her to return to the bathhouse. Using the fine knife Mother had given to her, I spread the heavy oil on the unconscious woman and did it myself. Perhaps I was no better at it than Beata had been, but at least I apologized when I drew blood. When I had to shave her head, I cut off the long black hanks of infested hair first and threw them into the fire. When I was done, she sighed and raised her hand to mine.

“Nino,” I said, laying her hand on my shoulder. “My name is Nino.”

She opened her eyes and looked at me for a long time. I repeated my name several times until she whispered it back. My brother Pval came through the garden to get some lunch, and introduced himself, but she wouldn’t look at him. After he left, she took my hand and placed it on her bald head. “Elayjit.”

“She survived then,” Bulyar said. “This is the woman whose life you saved?”

“Yes,” I said. “She lived with us for several years after that. She taught me to dance. She believed that our arms should never drop below our shoulders. When I burned my arm… the scars haven’t stretched enough yet.”

Bulyar pushed up my sleeve and looked at my arm. The red, striated scars ran the length of my arm up to my shoulder. “That must have been very painful.”

I turned my face away. I didn’t want to ever think of that time again.
“Who did it? Who blocked the water pipe?”

“We don’t know, but it could have been one of the slaves, counting on the chaos to escape, or the manager of the public baths in Bitumi. He didn’t like our bathhouse very much. He was always complaining that we took business from him.”

Bulyar nodded. “Did you?”

“Not enough to matter. My father is a trader and goes to Damascus or Constantinople every year. Mother runs the bathhouse. We get mostly traders and their women. Becauase we have divided the bathhouse into two parts, they come and can bathe at the same time, instead of having the women come in the morning and the men in the afternoon. It’s convenient for them.”

“Did your father accuse that manager at the gate? Before the judges?”

“The Roman way? No, never. He died not long after that, an accident at the public bathhouse. We had no real proof. The piece of metal that blocked our pipe had been so warped that we couldn’t tell where it had come from, or how long it had been there.” I rubbed his neck with my nose. “If I’d had a longer stick, I wouldn’t have been burned at all.”
“But the explosion, if you had waited,” he began.

Yes, if I had waited, I would have died instead of merely burning my arm. “All I did was dislodge the plate enough that the steam could escape. We put out the fire and removed the plate. Business went on.”

Bulyar pulled me up and kissed me on my lips and cheeks. “I have married well. Brave and understanding Nino, I am your slave.”

Our trip back to my parents’ home was interrupted by wishes from my friends and neighbors. I held Bulyar’s hand – the privilege of a new bride – and accepted gifts of spices and herbs. Bulyar had been warned to have plenty of small cakes with him to pass out; my father had purchased them from a baker who used a seal of our initials on the top. I knew that this was the last time I would see my home, perhaps ever, but as we walked, all I could think about was how happy I would be for the rest of my life to walk beside this man.

Rakkal had been miserable her first few days of marriage. She had complained about her husband’s breath and his children’s whining when she had come to the bathhouse. The older women had given her counsel, ointment and herbs, commiserating with Rakkal. I had listened and learned.

In a bathhouse, conversations about sex and babies are continual. I knew more than Rakkal did about the consummation of a marriage, but I had not expected Bulyar’s tenderness and consideration. While I had feared it would be a painful and unpleasant night, instead small smiles welled up from my heart as I thought about my husband’s tender care.

My brother Pval rang the bell at the gate of the bathhouse when he saw us approach. My mother and father ran to meet us with bread and salt, and Bulyar and I presented them with his final gifts. For my mother, an alabaster jar of Egyptian perfume and my father, a small box of seventeen pearls.

“One for each year of life you nurtured my wife,” Bulyar said.

My father’s eyes filled with tears. “Come in, we’ll have breakfast and send you on your way. A messenger came for you after you left. The ship’s captain said he wants to sail this afternoon with the tide.”

“And my cargo?”

“Is loaded,” my father assured him. My father’s slaves had handled it during my wedding.

It took half a day to get to the port from our city. We would have to leave right away.

My mother did not speak, but held me closely for many minutes before going to stand behind my father.

“My son,” Father said, and he paused to clear his throat. “We intend to be in Constantinople for the Feast of the Theotokos next summer. If it’s at all possible…”

“If it’s at all possible?” Bulyar prodded him.

“To meet us there. With news of Nino, or perhaps, with Nino herself. She’s a good traveler, you’ll find,” my father said. “I’ve taken her to Damascus and to Ani.”

I held my breath. I had not expected my father to make such an extraordinary request.

“We will celebrate the feast at the church where you were baptized, Holy Martyr Irene. If it is possible, at all possible,” my father cleared his throat again. “We will be there, as I said.”

“I will consider it,” my husband said. “I have not made plans beyond taking Nino back to Tricent with me. I could arrange to go to Constantinople as well as anywhere else.”

My father kissed me and held me as my mother had, and then I kissed my brother. I added all the gifts we’d received into a basket and placed it on the back of my father’s donkey. The slave made a final check of our baggage and began the trip while I held my mother for one more moment.

I had one hope to see them again. God willing, it would be with my child, so that they could meet him.

New Improved Chapter 1

Wed, 25 Jul 2007 20:30:28 GMT

Nino

Chapter 1

“I saved a woman’s life once,” I answered slowly. The question wasn’t what my mother prepared me to expect. The man my father had picked for my husband should ask about my sewing skills – moderate – and my cooking skills – don’t lie, but don’t tell him how bad they really are. He wasn’t supposed to ask what was the most important thing I’d ever done.

Bulyar smiled under his mustache, and I relaxed. “Saved a woman’s life? I’d say that that’s a pretty remarkable thing to do.”

I smiled and wanted to ask him the same question, but he spoke first. “What else do you think you can do, Nino? You’ve lived in the bathhouse your whole life. Could you manage one yourself?”

I nodded. “Of course. There’s not much I couldn’t do.”

“You can keep the records, handle the money? Fuel the boilers?” Bulyar pressed me. “Your father said that you once stopped an explosion. I thought that you would say that was your greatest accomplishment.”

Unintentionally, I raised my hand to rub the burn scars on my arm. The sleeves of my pink jacket covered them – Mother made sure of that; but I still felt them pull when I tried to stretch or dance.

“I did what was necessary. None of the slaves would do it, and my mother’s arm was too short to reach the blockage.” I looked up at him and watched his face. “I wouldn’t want to do it again. Saving Elayjit was far easier.”

“I assume she paid you well for your assistance,” Bulyar said jovially.

“Oh, she did.” I couldn’t imagine my life without Elayjit.

“Good.”

Sitting in my mother’s private garden, we couldn’t hear the noise of the bathhouse. My parents sat nearby, sipping honeyed wine and watching us. I poured more wine into Bulyar’s cup.

“Not much more,” he said. “I’m meeting with some traders from Teheran later. I never trade when I’m drunk.”

I sat the pitcher down and felt relieved. A dozen or more fears fell from my heart. Bulyar was strange to me, yes, but he seemed to be a man of character.

“May I ask,” I paused and awaited his permission. “How did you come to be a Christian? Abba said there were none in his village.”

“My father took me to Constantinople,” Bulyar said. “We were baptized then.”

“I’ve never been to Constantinople,” I said. “Is it as beautiful as they say?”

Bulyar opened his mouth, and closed it again. He finally took my hand and kissed it. “Not as beautiful as this garden, but very lovely. We’ll go, perhaps next summer.”

I hoped for a child next summer, but I nodded. “I would like that. They say there are many beautiful churches there.”

“Churches on every corner, just like here,” Bulyar said heartily. I liked his smile. His dimples above his beard made me think that his face echoed the twinkle in his eyes. “You are a faithful daughter of the Church, then?”

“I am,” I answered quietly. “Is there a church near your home? In Tricent, I mean.”

“There was a small church,” Bulyar said and pulled on his beard. “But the priest died, and I don’t know if he’s been replaced yet. I haven’t been home for more than a year. I suspect that Nestoris has gotten another by now.”

“Nestoris?”

“Just a man back home,” he said. “He brought the last priest in; he’ll bring in another if he wants.”

“That’s good.” I looked at my mother and father, sitting silently with their cups. “Were you planning to return soon?”

“Your father tells me that the wedding will be the day after Pentecost, so you have five weeks to prepare.” Bulyar wiggled his fingers at me as if I were a child and I laughed at him.

I felt so easy with him. I didn’t expect to – Father’s announcement that he’d found a man to marry me wasn’t expected. I should have anticipated it would be soon. I was seventeen; I was past due to marry. In our small trading village, there wasn’t a lack of opportunity, with the camel-trains and the donkey-packed caravans passing through all year round. But my father had managed to find a man from his own home across the Black Sea.

Bulyar was much older than I was, but that didn’t bother me. A mere thirteen years was nothing. My friends had married men far older. And if he wasn’t my friend Rakkal’s older brother, whose expressive eyes haunted my daydreams, Bulyar was a successful trader who had made several fine gifts to my parents to prove his ability to provide for me. My brother wasn’t pleased with Bulyar, but little brother’s opinions are not usually sought in marriage negotiations.

“The day after Pentecost, yes,” I said. “And then?”

Father had not questioned Bulyar’s plans beyond the trades currently stored here in Bitumi. Father was experienced enough a trader to know that very little was certain about the next trade. But where I might live hadn’t come up, and perhaps, if Bulyar might be persuaded, I could stay here in Bitumi with my family.

“Then, we go home.”

“Home?” I held my breath and thought that of us four, only Bulyar breathed.

“Tricent. I have property there, a good house built by a Roman soldier, where we will live.”
I looked at my parents. They must have suspected this would be his plan.

I swallowed. “When will we leave for your home?”

“Soon after the wedding. I have a ship coming to pick up my goods not much after that. We’ll stay here until I get word that it’s in port. Loading it up won’t take long – my trades this year have been more of value than volume.”

Father always said that to me, when he was leaving for Constantinople or for Damascus. I took some comfort from that, that this man was like my father, and would care for me as my father cared for my mother. Neither of them was born in Bitumi, but had made a good life with hard work and time. Bulyar and I would do the same, I thought. I smiled at my parents, to encourage them that I was not opposed to moving across the Black Sea to my new home.
It would not be easy to leave them. I looked up at Bulyar again. His angular face looked strong and confident. It might not be easy to leave my parents, I thought, but it will be easy to go with him.

I’d learned Bulyar’s language – a heavily accented Greek dialect of Thrace – from my father. Living in a trading town meant I knew several languages’ basics, and of course, I knew Greek koine. I wished to learn Latin, but Father wouldn’t permit me to take the time from the duties I had at the bathhouse.

Bulyar took my hands and held them together between his. “I’ll be preparing a place for us after the wedding. Is there anything special I should prepare for you?”
My mother cleared her throat.

“Nothing,” I said with a demure smile. “Only that you are there.”

“Nothing will stop that,” Bulyar said and kissed my hands before he rose from the bench. He bowed to my mother and again to my father. His simple clothes contrasted with the elegant flowers my mother maintained in our private garden, but I felt he was all the more handsome in contrast.

“Then it’s done,” my father said. “Bulyar, I have called the priest. He’s waiting for us at the gate.”

The four of us walked through the house and courtyard. The bright morning sunlight blessed me, along with the priest, as I prepared for the ring to be placed on my finger as a sign of our betrothal. My mother handed me a ring – large and undistinguished – and I put it in Father Andrew’s hand for its blessing.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Father Andrew’s chanting seemed fainter than I was used to hearing it in the confines of our small church. The sounds of the town market echoed between the houses and city wall behind us. Our slaves came to watch, along with a half dozen of the neighborhood children.

Father Andrew stopped and looked at Bulyar. “I must ask if you are a baptized Christian.”
“I am, Father,” Bulyar said. “I was baptized when I was thirteen in Constantinople in the church of the Holy Martyr Saint Irene.”

The answer satisfied Father Andrew. “And when was your last confession?”

Bulyar laughed. “I have been in Damascus for the last year, Father, before coming here. I held Pascha last year at Saint Paul’s church. Plenty of opportunity to make my confession then, but little since.”

Father Andrew nodded. “Very well. We’ll arrange for you to make your confession later. You have a ring for this lovely young woman?”

Bulyar pulled out a small band of gold. A single pearl was mounted into the ring, not raised above it. Filigree, not very well done, decorated it. After all the finer gifts Bulyar had given my parents, I was disappointed.

“It was all that the jewelry merchant had that I thought might fit you,” Bulyar said. “But I thought it fitting, for am I not marrying a pearl?”

My brother came out with our family’s icon of Saint Nino. I crossed myself and kissed it, and stepped back to let Bulyar do the same. His awkwardness at bending down so low where my brother held the icon should not have amused me. I was to marry a tall, large man.

“Have you promised yourself to any other man?” Father Andrew asked me.

“No, Holy Father, I have not.”

“Have you promised yourself to any other woman?”

“No,” Bulyar said promptly. “No other woman.”

My mother and father came to stand in front of us. They took the rings and slipped my new ring onto my hand, then onto Bulyar’s finger, and then back onto mine, sliding the ring back past the knuckle. It was not a good fit, but I would ask my father what might be done to fit it better. Bulyar’s ring fit perfectly, as if his finger was meant to wear my ring.

Another prayer, and Bulyar waited for the priest’s blessing before turning to me. “The day after Pentecost, Father Andrew, we want to be married.”

Father Andrew agreed. “As the Lord wills, my son.”

Bulyar watched as my mother put a veil over my head. I wasn’t accustomed to wearing one, as a virgin and as a worker in the bathhouse where heat and water conspired to make my hair wild and my face sweat. I would grow used to it.

“I must go,” he said with a bow. “My new father, Thoma, my new mother, Wenna, I will prepare a place for my wife in anticipation of the wedding, but you’ll have to tell me what the customs for the groom are here in Bitumi. I want Nino’s wedding to be everything she’s ever wanted.”

My mother raised an eyebrow at her new son-in-law, but allowed my kind-hearted father to answer. She looked at me with eyes first full or warning, and then full of tears. I would be leaving her.

Paul carried the icon back into our house, and I followed after watching my father and husband walk down the street.

Being Christian in my town was not difficult. The first missionaries had come to Bitumi not long after Christ’s resurrection. The great holy Saint Nino, whose name my parents had given me, had been the first extended witness to Egrisi more than a hundred years ago. It had been surely by her intercessions that a man, a man of my father’s land, would be a Christian and looking for a wife when my father was ready to have me married. I would remember to light the lamp in front of her icon today.

My mother dried her tears on her sleeve. She may have dressed me well in fantastical colors and fabrics she’d been hoarding against this day all my life, but she wore her usual robes and consented to wear none of the pearls that my father had given her over the years.
“So, little bride,” she said.

I chuckled. I’d been taller than my mother for many years. “Little mother.”

“We have a wedding to prepare and a bathhouse to run. We’d best do both well.”

I looked at the strange ring on my finger. I spent the rest of the day talking quietly with my mother about our plans. The maid was sent to open up trunks in my mother’s rooms and bring out the contents. Fabrics, my mother’s one vice, lay on her lap and spilled onto the floor.

“Bulyar liked me in pink,” I said.

She slipped her hands through the stack and pulled out a pale pink linen. I’d never noticed it in the stack, but it would be enough for a veil. “We’ll embroider it with undyed threads, and sew on some pearls, I think. But for a turban…” Mother pulled out a green fabric that I’d admired for several years. It glistened in the sunlight.

“What is it?”

“Silk,” Mother said. “From so far to the east that I wouldn’t believe it existed until I saw this. Do you remember Rhema? She brought this to us from Teheran. She told me that she’d gotten it from a man who said he’d been carrying it for five years.”

I remembered my mother’s sister vaguely. She’d died when I was young. “You’ve never used it?”

“I saved it for you,” Mother said softly. “For your turban and a shirt, and we’ll trim the rest of your garments with it. We’ll use the whitest linen I can find for your trousers and tunic.”

I held up the two cloths together, and knew I would be the most beautiful bride Bitumi had ever seen.

Chapter Thirty-three

Sat, 19 May 2007 17:05:43 GMT

Dawn found us still in sight of Sozopolis, but far enough that the sounds of the gulls and waves blocked the bells from the city. Makrina, tucked under a bench, still slept, but Margar had indeed found us and had allowed her to take his hand.

“She’s afraid,” he said.

“She was extremely sick when we came to Thrace,” I said.

He rose and looked over the rail. “The sea is calm enough. She’ll be fine.”

“I pray you’re right.”

We listened to the seamen call to each other as the sails flapped in the light breeze. The galley slaves ate their meal as we sat and I portioned out a slice of bread and some cheese for both of us.

“You bought too much food.”

“I wanted to be prepared for Bunar to travel with us.”

He ripped off a piece of bread with a bit more violence than the crust required. “I told you he would not go with us.”

“I hoped. But he’s with Tervel. They’ll be fine.”

Makrina asked for a bit of bread – from Margar, not from me--but I gave it to her with the herbs that Sister Luke had given us.

“I prayed with Father Athanaius that I wouldn’t get sick on the trip,” she told Margar quietly.

“You’ll be fine.”

Fine. Fine. Fine. The emptiness of the word overwhelmed me. I knelt beside the rail and looked back at the shrinking coast. Tears blinded me. I had not known I loved Thrace, but I wept as I lost her on the sea’s horizon.

“We travel due west for several leagues,” Margar said to Makrina, an answer to a question I’d not heard. “There’s a strong current down to Constantinople, that’s why it only takes two days to get to there from Sozopolis, but a week from Deultum.”

The other pilgrims were pleasant and kind to us. More than once, I heard comments about us, and unpleasant glares as the news spread that the bishop had given us his place on the ship. Margar was barely tolerated at all as a pagan. “It’s a pilgrimage,” one woman hissed at me. “Why is he here?”

“Pray that he comes to know Jesus as God and King,” I answered her. “Is that not our task?”

She had the grace to blush. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

The sky was intensely blue, if you could see it. The sunlight was so bright that I squinted even under my turban’s brim. We found that most of the shade was quickly claimed and at noon, the slack sails offered little relief. Makrina and I were far more accustomed to the brilliant light than those from Sozopolis or Deultum, and, careful to stretch out a blanket over the benches, slept most of the day.

We spent the next three days doing the same. No wind, no current. The galley slaves rowed us, but without the natural assistance, the trip was stretching fall longer than anyone had anticipated. Only Makrina was pleased. She told Margar that it was because God answered her prayer that she wouldn’t get seasick again.

There was little privacy on the ship, but Margar was often left alone, and I joined him as he sat at the bow, his focus far away.

“You have a small god, Nino. What kind of god answers the prayer of a little girl that she not get sick on a sea voyage?”

“One who loves the little girl,” I said.

“And the prayers of those who are running out of food? Those who must be in Constantinople by the ides? Tervel insisted we go, that you must be there... Is your god going to answer your prayers?”

“He’s not a small god,” I said, stung by his implications. “He’s big enough to answer both.”

“He’d better get to it, then.” Margar pointed at the galley slaves. “They’re low on supplies. If we have to depend on them for another day’s rowing, the captain will stop and fish for a day. We won’t make it in time for your goddess festival if he does.”

The word “goddess” attracted some attention from other pilgrims, and I left them to clarify the role of Jesus’ mother to Margar as I thought about our conversation. How odd it was, to speak of God as small or large. I would send Makrina to him. She’d set Margar straight.

I felt the jerk of the ship, turning us south. The rowers in the hold cheered and raised their oars as the ship slid and rocked into the current. Within an hour, the wind began to rise, and we were on our way. A day, maybe slightly more, and we would be in Constantinople.

Was the whole world coming to Constantinople? Ships of sizes unimaginable hemmed us in on every side. “We’d do faster on foot,” Margar complained.

A small boat with barrels of water for sale garnered plenty of willing buyers on our ship. The water tasted better than what was left for us to drink. Margar paid for a barrel himself and had it brought aboard while we waited in the cloudy afternoon.

“Where is St. Irene’s church?” I asked the men as they waited for Margar to count out coins that they would accept.

“Other side of the city, near the palace,” I was told.

I considered asking for a ride back to the city with the watersellers, but half a dozen others had the same idea.

“I’ll have you there by dawn,” the captain promised us who remained.

As it began to drizzle, I remembered rain at home, how different it was from the rain in Tricent. It had rained the day I found Elayjit. Rain was lucky for me, I decided. God blessed me with rain. I would take it as a sign.

“We won’t be taking this ship back home,” Margar mumbled around a piece of salt pork. “Take everything with you when you leave tomorrow. Here.”

He thrust a package at me, tied up in leather strips. Inside, my icons, my dancing scarf made by Elayjit and a tiny doll that Makrina had loved, lay in my hands. “Where did you get this?”

“Callia must have had it put on your wagon,” he said. My tears amused him. “If you want to keep those, carry them with you at all times. We’ll go north in the city after your sacrifices are complete, and find a ship heading home.”

“Yes,” I said. “Going home.”

I picked up a small twist of fabric wrapped in my scarf. “What’s this?”

I opened it and found twelve of the perfect pearls. In the daylight, they glistened.

“Where did you hide them?”

I looked up at Margar. “Hide them? Where did you find them?”

He picked them from my hand and put them into his pouch. “I found them in the bedroom where they should have been all along. Where did you hide them? We searched that room daily for the pearls while you lived there.”

I never realized that it had been a daily event. “Maybe you weren’t meant to have them until now.”

Margar frowned. “If I had known where these were... Do you know the messes you caused? I have four wives because of you. Arkat wouldn’t be married to Vanjek. Tervel wouldn’t be dying right now.”

I felt some pinch of conscience at the last. “You assume that I had anything to do with Cook’s plans. Every one of us believed the lies that Cook spread – don’t blame me for the results of his handiwork. Where would you be now if the pearls had been found when you first looked?”

He studied me, and then looked out over the water. “Much the same place. Tervel wanted you to wife, I couldn’t see any reason at that point to say no. He got what he wanted. I wouldn’t have a fourth wife because I could have given the pearls as gifts to the clan, but she’s a good wife and we have a babe on the way. Arkat would have been married to Vanjek, Cassandra might not have married Aten... Bunar would still be a thorn, but if I could have shown them to Vanjek, perhaps he’d believe that I didn’t intend to kill the boy.”

“The bathhouse? Would you have opened it?”

“Can’t say. I’m sure it was my father’s plan. He had no other reason to marry you.”

Pain clutched my gut. The plain truth was laid out for me to see and try to deny. I could not. I turned away and spent the rest of the day holding my son and wiping away tears.

The captain kept his word, even if I had no idea how he’d done it. By dawn we were moored and able to leave the ship, paying the fees and taxes to careful scribes. Margar cheated them by claiming that I was a slave and that Linus was a girl, so that the fees were half. But I kept quiet. It was Dormition and I had no time to argue.

Most people headed for Saint Sophia for the liturgy. St. Irene’s church was not far from it, so the same crowd enveloped up. Margar, impatient, has swung Makrina up onto his shoulders so that we could walk more quickly.

I scanned the crowds. My father was a tall man, I would surely see him first. Or a woman wearing a turban, like that grey one, only blue... She turned and looked at me, checked my turban and looked away.

When had my mother’s turban turned grey? I ran, pushing through the people to grab her shoulders.

“Mother!”

My father turned around and together, we wept and smiled. I showed them Linus as the crowds pushed past us. Margar stood behind me, his hands tucked into his belt, until I summoned him.

The church bells rang around us.

“I thought you looked...” My mother stopped. “You’re not Bulyar.”

“No,” I said, “This is Bulyar’s son, Margar.”

My father’s face turned white.

“His son?” my mother asked, cross in her lack of understanding. “He said he had no child.”

“Mother, it’s time for liturgy. Let’s go.”

Margar grabbed my arm. “I’ll meet you in the front of the church at noon. Will you be done by then?”

“No,” I said. “Not until the evening meal.”

My mother opened her mouth, but I shook my head at Margar. “The evening meal.”

He put Makrina down and walked away.

By nightfall, my father had us all across the Bosphorus, and I never saw Margar again.

Chapter Thirty-two

Sat, 19 May 2007 16:59:32 GMT

The sun was still bright enough to cast shadows after Sister Luke finished cleaning Tervel’s wounds. She picked up Linus and cuddled him. “Midwifry is my favorite of my tasks.”

“It’s a blessed calling,” I agreed. “But I need to go see my stepson to get the money to pay you.”

“Never mind that,” she said quickly. “We won’t take it. We never take pay for our work. God rewards us.”

I frowned at her, but kept quiet.

“Linus is a good name for a boy,” Sister Luke said, snuggling her nose under his ear. “I’ve never met anyone who picked it.”

“He was named for a good man who kept faith,” I said, fully aware that she would not take it the way I meant it. “Would you like to keep him while I go to my stepson? If we’re sailing soon, I should say goodbye.”

“Of course!” she said, her voice muffled by my squirming son.

Makrina and John weren’t to be found, so I walked alone to Margar’s house. Smaller than I expected, but still a beautiful house with roses climbing the walls. Two boys played chase in the road, but stopped when I approached.

“Margar?” They looked at each other and suspiciously at me. One ran to the house and a woman hurried out to gather both boys.

“What do you want with my husband?” she asked.

I wanted to reply as harshly as she had spoken to me, but I softened my tone. “I’m the wife of his father Bulyar.”

She bit her lip and pushed one of the boys off. “Get your father.”

Margar came out with two cups of wine and handed one to me. “You found a place then?”

“We’re staying at the church,” I said, looking warily at Iula. “Tervel is doing badly.”

Margar nodded and drank down his wine. I swirled the elaborate cup and watched the herbs spin. “I’ll come now.”

Iula shushed her boys who wanted to come with us. Margar kissed them both and handed out small copper coins--Bitumi coins, I noticed—and patted Iula’s arm as we turned away.

We did not speak until we reached the church. To avoid the nave, I took him through the courtyard and into the room where Tervel lay staring at the ceiling. Margar hung back as Father Athansius rose from beside the bed. “We’ll talk later, Tervel.”

Tervel looked feverish. I took the rag from his forehead and rinsed it in the nearby bowl before replacing it. “I”ve brought Margar, as you asked.”

Tervel’s eyes slid toward me first, then his head turned in slow jerks. “Margar?”

I pulled over a stool and placed it beside Tervel’s elbow.

Tervel raised his shaking fist. Margar covered it with his mangled hand.

“I made a vow, and I ask you as vozha to keep my... my word and honor,” Tervel mumbled.

“I will keep it,” Margar said and put up his own fist. Tervel covered it with his hand.

“I promised Nino that I would take her to Constantinople. You will do this for me?”

Margar’s suspicious look at me made Tervel chuckle. “I don’t believe she has any of your pearls, Margar.”

“I will take her. My word as vozha.” Margar dropped his hands from the clan grasp, but took Tervel’s hand in his. “Rest now. Shall I send a physician?”

“Don’t waste the money,” Tervel said. “Find a ship and take Nino, and Makrina, and Linus, to Constantinople tonight.”

“Tonight?” Margar shook his head. “The tide’s already gone out tonight. The trip will have to wait.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Tervel compromised with a wavery voice. “Tomorrow.”

“I can’t take her to Constantinople tomorrow, but I will take her. I promise. I think it would be better for her to go back to Tricent and get back to the bathhouse. I’m sure Cothata will be glad to see her.”

“No.” Tervel’s sagging eyelids opened and he focused on his cousin. “They need to leave now. That was my vow. I promised I would get her there by the ides. And if not by the ides, I would take her to Bitumi.”

Margar’s mouth dropped for a bare moment before he began to laugh. “Bitumi? Constantinople? Does a wife tell a husband where to go and how to manage his business?”

“Callia and Violna did it for years, Margar. Iula does it to you. Of course the women tell their husbands these things. You have how many to wife and you don’t know this?”

Margar shifted in his seat. “I cannot take Nino and those... children... to Constantinople now. I just got home. Iula... I promised the boys...”

I’d rarely seen Margar more disconcerted. Oddly, it was this moment that I thought he looked most like his father. Would I see that look on Linus?

Tervel coughed lightly and winced. I felt the pad on his shoulder. It was dry again. The cup of milk I’d left was empty. I’d need to express more milk, but I’d wait until Margar was gone.

“I will take her, I promise,” Margar repeated. “But not now.”

Father Athanaius’ jubliant voice cut across our conversation. I sat back on my heels and wondered whom he was greeting so loudly in the courtyard.

“Now.” Tervel’s eyes begged Margar, when his voice would not. “This was my vow.”

“I have no transport, I have no guard. There is no way for me...”

“The bishop offered her transportation. You need merely to go with her. In my boot is a moneybag. Use that to pay her food and passage. The trip is short.”

“What’s in Constantinople that you have to be there for the ides?” Margar asked me.

“Some festival for their goddess,” Tervel said.

I wanted to correct him, but the nature of the Theotokos was not something Christians discussed wth non-believers.

Margar swallowed as the priest’s guests shouted with laughter and cheers outside. Whoever was here was well-come, I decided.

“What about Bunar?” Margar asked. “I can’t leave him here. Vanjek stays at the inn. He’ll take the boy.”

Vanjek’s plans would help me convince them to bring the boy with me, despite Father – Bishop – Athanaius’s plans otherwise.

“Vanjek will not take Bunar until I am dead,” Tervel muttered. “I will live until your return. Swear it. Swear you will take her to Constantinople.”

Tervel’s quivering fist rose again.

Margar left us when the bishop returned with Salome, the baby and Sister Luke. He paused long enough to look at Linus and glare back at me. I had not asked you this, ranted back at him in my head. I didn’t ask you to do this. Don’t blame me.

Salome wrinkled her nose at the smells, but smiled at me and began to clean up the messes. I let her as the bishop and I confered with Sister Luke.

“I’ve sent for some castor oil,” Sister Luke said.

Exorbitant stuff, but if she thought it worth it... I stumbled as I walked with them in the garden. Under my feet were surely enough pearls to spare what was needed to pay for that which may save Tervel’s life. He had done what he could to keep his vow, what he knew he could do by asking Margar... I hadn’t told Tervel about the bishop’s offer. I should have told him to spare him the pain. I should have said something when Margar finally consented. But if Margar could be brought to understand that Bunar could not remain here with only a dying man to protect him, that Bunar had to go with us to Constantinople, then I find a way to get him the rest of the way to Bitumi.

“You’ll need to bring supplies on this trip, Nino,” the bishop was saying and I pulled my thoughts back.

“Supplies?” I repeated. “Yes, I’ll get some. Makrina was very ill on her other trip across the sea. Is there something I should get for her?”

Sister Luke recited a list of herbs we might try. “I’ll just come with you, Nino. It will be easier for me to find what might be best for Makrina. Do you know under what star she was born? That will help us determine which will help her the most.”

The bishop stopped beside a stone bench and sat down and held out his arms for the baby. Linus took the offered finger and thumb into his grasp.

“Salome has told me of her difficulties, Sister Luke. I think it best that she remain here with us when her father leaves tomorrow.” Bishop Athanaius looked back at the door to Tervel’s chamber. “She’ll tend to him for now and learn to care for the sick until we find her a husband.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sister Luke said. “She’s good at that. She may wish to join us as healers.”

“We’ll see where the Grace of God leads,” he said. “She has a distressing habit of taking off babies’ swaddling clothes. But there’s no denying our little man is much happier, isn’t he?”

I took back my baby and felt my breasts tingle. I needed to nurse my son, and I would have milk for Tervel’s dressing.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” I said. “I need to feed Linus and find the others. We have a long day...”

The bishop grinned at me. “Don’t worry about John, Nino. Neither his uncle nor his brother will harm him. We’ll keep him safe here. We’ll protect him.”

“Vanjek...” I gave up. If I could convince Margar to take Bunar, that would be enough.

In the middle of the night, I pulled out my pearls and put them in four piles. One would go back into my shoe. Another pile of two would be my offering to this church for her shelter. The third pile of four would go to Sister Luke and Sister Onesimus. I understood that they would take no money for their services – this was their act of service to the Lord – but I could ask them to take the money to buy supplies for their work. The fourth pile would have to pay for what supplies we needed for the trip. This I put into my pouch and prayed that Margar would provide for us. If we did not make it to Constantinople in time, I would need every bit of money and pearl I could find to get us home.

Before dawn, I woke and carried the baby with me to Tervel’s room. It was too early to wake the children, but I could no longer sleep. In the moonlight, Tervel lay uncovered.

“That’s unlucky,” I whispered. “Never sleep uncovered in the moonlight.”

I pulled the light blanket up to his waist, careful not to touch his shoulders or face. I knew better than that.

His eyes followed me as I lit the small lamp by his head, and felt his hand. “You’re cooler today.”

“You’re warmer,” he said. “Sit with me a while.”

I put Linus on Tervel’s chest, and he gingerly laid a hand on the baby’s back.

“You leave soon,” Tervel said. “Margar said he’d take you.”

“The bishop has a ship in dock now, ready to take pilgrims to Constantinople. You didn’t need to ask him. I’ll make it there without him.”

“I should be taking you.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Nino, what does forgiveness feel like?”

I took his free hand in mine. “I know what forgiveness is, Tervel. What it feels like? Does it have a feeling?”

“I know that it’s part of your faith, this whole sin and forgiveness belief.” Tervel’s fingers stroked the palm of my hand. “But what does it feel like?”

I thought about it. “Something I rarely experienced in Bitumi was winter. It snowed, sometimes, rarely lasting more than a day. Coming to Thrace, where snowed in November and didn’t melt until after Pascha...I didn’t think I’d ever get warm again, outside the furnace room.”

He listened to me ramble without comment.

“But when spring started... it still snowed, but the trees were budding. There was a hint of green in the branches, in the bushes, as if there was hope again... That’s what forgiveness feels like to me, Tervel. I feel like I’m going to live again. It’s spring again, inside me.”

He smiled at me. “I never thought of you as poetic, Nino.”

I laid my free hand on top of his. “Not very. I’m far too practical.”

“You’d have made me a good wife.” Tervel said gravely. “Do you remember meeting me in Igrisi?”

“I do remember,” I said with an amused sigh. “That box is still in my chamber back home... I mean, in Tricent.”

“Back home will do,” he murmured. “I thought you were a servant girl.”

“You did when you came to Tricent,” I recalled.

“Bulyar had five wives... I didn’t imagine he’d want another one after Baypat.”

“Farida came after her,” I pointed out.

“Bulyar and Farida were meant to be together, like Bindis and Hero. Did she ever tell you the story of how they met?”

I ground my teeth. “No, I never asked. Farida and I were not close.”

“Who knows if it was even true,” Tervel said, more to himself than to me. “I wish... What is the custom of Christians, after the birth of a son? How many days are there until a wife returns to her husband’s bed?”

“Forty, sometimes longer,” I said, unsure of this turn in the conversation. “But a woman is churched and her child baptised on the fortieth day.”

He turned his head and looked at me. “I’d have converted sooner, if I’d known that.”

He chuckled as the baby squirmed on his belly. “In Thrace, we have the story of Bendis and Hero... He was conceived on the seventieth day after she had given birth to an evil son. It’s a tradition that a child conceived on that day will overtake his brother and bring the family prosperity and wealth.

“If we’d been together on the road on the seventieth day, I would have had you.”

I looked into the dark corner above his feet.

“But you’ll be in Constantinople... and I’ll be here.” He tugged on my hand. “Forgive me, for failing you.”

“God has provided,” I said, letting my eyes meet his again. “Be comfortable and rest.”

“I can’t do much else but live, and protect Bunar,” he said. “Vanjek gave you a knife, didn’t he?”

I sucked in my cheeks before agreeing.

“I thought so. Probably some nasty one from a dungheap. What did you do with it?”

“I threw it away,” I said.

He grunted, an unsatisfactory answer.

“Are you in pain? Should I take the baby?” I asked.

“No, I like having him here, while I can. What will you tell him about his family?”

I rubbed my face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought much of it. I grew up knowing that I had family here, far away from my home and it never bothered me. Living in a place where people pass through all the time made me less fearful of distance.”

“The only thing you’re afraid of is moonlight,” he said, and pulled my hand to his lips. “Such a silly thing to fear.”

I tried to be offended, but instead, I smiled at him. “I know what I know. Why do you spit when you enter a city?”

“For luck, of course.”

The baby belched loudly. I pushed him up higher on Tervel’s chest, so that Linus’ head lay over Tervel’s heart.

“I thought it was fitting, you know. Bulyar had been raising my son, had taken the woman I wanted as wife... and here, I would raise his son and take his wife as mine. It had a nice balance to it.” Tervel eyes began to fill with tears. “Tell Linus that his family would have loved him, held him like a son, taught him to be a man and a warrior, and sent him out to conquer.”

“I’ll tell him that,” I promised. “That, and more. And a bit less. I don’t want him to think he has a birthright to multiple wives.”

“Only the rich have many wives. Lisugar married for politics and money. Margar always married for money. Bulyar, he married for money and out of obedience to his father. That’s honorable, isn’t it?”

“It is, perhaps once. But six times?”

“Excessive, but you live because of two of those wives,” Tervel pointed out.

“Yes,” I sighed. I owed Callia my life, and Farida, the life of my son.

“But Bunar owes you his life. Isn’t that how the world works? A giant chain of debt and repayment?”

“No,” I thought aloud, “that’s not what it’s about at all.”

“Your priest seems to agree with you. He talks about your god, and forgiveness. It does not sound like an honorable life to me.”

I did not want to argue with him. We would probably never be able to talk again. I boarded the ship tonight because the tide would pull us out before dawn. “Am I a woman without honor?”

“No.” He winced slightly. “You would have made me an excellent wife. I had a plan... to go with you and meet your father. If he approved, I’d come to Bitumi with you. We’d have children and raise them and Bunar and have a long, good life together.”

My father would not be likely to accept Tervel as my husband, I thought. After Bulyar had betrayed my father’s trust, would he ever accept another member of the family? I looked at Linus, the image of his father. My father would love my son despite his father.

Tervel’s eyes closed, and opened again. “You need to rest.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “For a while. Come back.”

I knelt beside his head, and gently kissed him. “Sleep, Tervel. We’re not gone yet.”

“Neither am I,” he said.

Margar’s ten silver coins came by a servant’s hand with instructions to buy carefully. Linus required only that I had enough to drink and Makrina picked only hardtack bread and some dried fruit. The trip should not take more than three days, but the prevailing winds were against us. I bought far more than I should have for two adults and two children. I still counted on Bunar joining us.

Wandering through the market, I found a stall filled with simple cloths and some leather goods. I recognized some of goods Callia had given us. Margar was to collect our goods from the caravan merchants. It seemed he had, or the merchant had sold it out from under us.

Makrina still wore the same dress she’d worn when Bulyar had bought her father. I could see some mending that Cothata or Pejevi may have done, but she’d grown. I picked up three pieces of fabric to make her two garments and, in the process, found a piece of green and pink striped cloth.

Green and pink, from my wedding, from the turban that Arkat had destroyed, from that part of my life that was over. In Bitumi, widows wore their turbans with twists of brown or undyed fabric. I wanted to make myself as presentable as I could to my parents. I pulled out another piece of plain linen and selected a yellow-colored wool to work with it. My garments were milk-stained and had not worn well on the road. I was shown some garments already made in the Thracian style. Without the time to make my own, I bought what I needed and hoped that I would not look too odd.

Salome sat with me in the courtyard as I hurriedly stitched together a reasonable dress for Makrina. Salome had never sewn anything, but she was a willing worker whose awkward stitches inside Makrina’s pants would not be noticed until my mother would check. She would check.

“Nino?”

I looked up from my needle. “Yes, Salome?”

“Would you mind...” She ducked her head again. Her hands were shaking. “I know you’re going to Constantinople tomorrow... Tervel’s staying here... The bishop says that Tervel... Would you mind if I married him?”

I pulled off my new turban as if it burned me. Who was I, to claim the right to wear the garment of a married woman?

“He’s not a Christian, Salome.” And surely you see he’s dying, I refrained from saying. “You can’t marry him.”

“But he’s a good man, I watched him with you and the children... My father suggested to him that I might be his second wife. That would please them and I would be able to... He lets you be a Christian... My mother likes him, she wouldn’t leave me in...”

“But if he dies, Salome... what would you have? When he dies, you have nothing. He owns no property, has no future but what he makes himself as a trader and he’s made precious little on this trip.”

“But I could marry him. Sister Luke says he will not die, but if he does… the bishop doesn’t think he will either, then I’d be a widow and my parents won’t abandon me. But he won’t die, Nino. He won’t.”

Her delusions scared me.

“You’ll be gone for at least three weeks, Nino. We could marry in the Thracian tradition. You’d be gone, so the marriage will be valid. I’m a good worker, and I’m a good bargainer. You’ll see, we three could be a good family. You could stay here in Sozopolis, or I could, and the other could go out on the road with him...”

“Salome,” I said sharply. “Tervel is dying. You’re a Christian and unless the bishop knows something I don’t, Tervel is not. You cannot build this house of dreams!”

She ignored me. “You’ll see, I’ll make a good second wife, Nino. I promise.”

“I’m never going to get married,” Makrina said proudly. “I’m going to be a nun.”

Salome laughed at her. “Never have babies? Never raise a son? Not for me! I’ve dreamed of babies like our Linus my whole life.”

Our Linus? Was I expected to share my son?

Was this what Baypat had felt? Her son, to be shared with Callia, with Farida and Violna? I could no more share child with these women than I could cut off my breasts that nursed him! Bulyar had ordered Baypat’s daughters – clearly not his – to be exposed rather than have to claim them as his own. There was enough resemblance to Tervel in Bunar’s face that I could see why people suspected that Bulyar was not the boy’s father, but after this time on the road, I would never doubt that Bunar was Bulyar’s son by seed, if not of heart.

I picked up the turban and walked into the cool church. Bishop Athanaius swept the floor with a poor broom.

“Your Grace, you should have told me that you were the bishop and not merely a priest when I got here,” I said, trying to take the broom from his hand.

“Now, now, this is my job, cleaning the temple,” he rebuked me with a swat of the broom on my calves. “I like the turban, Nino. It’s not commonly worn in Sozopolis, but you look charming in it.”

“It’s what married women and widows wear in Bitumi,” I said, still trying to grab the broom.

“Then put it on!” The man stopped and looked at me, his watery old eyes seeing things I did not want him to know. “Put it on, Nino. As the bishop, I tell you, put it on out of obedience and keep it on, or one like it, until you are in Bitumi a year.”

He pulled it out of my hand and slapped it on my head, patting it down so that the woven crown covered my eyes. “But not like that.”

“Salome wants to marry Tervel.” I winced as the turban yanked my hair as I pulled it off.

The bishop pulled on his beard while he thought about that. “No, I don’t think so. She’d walk away from Christ if she did that.”

“He won’t live long enough to marry her anyway,” I said, pushing the turban into the right place. I’d missed wearing it.

“Oh, no, you’re wrong about that. Tervel will be fine. Don’t you worry about him or John.”

I shook my head at him and he grinned. “Wait and see, Nino. You’ll come back to Sozopolis some day and what will you find then?”

The only way I might come back to Sozopolis would be by Margar dragging me back.

I returned to Tervel’s side later, a cup of milk in my hand. He was now drinking my milk as well as having it applied to his bandages. Salome tenderly washed his face, a shy, pleased smile on her lips.

Tervel did not look up. I touched his foot. It was hot, hotter than he’d been before dawn.

“Shave him.”

Salome looked up at me. “What?”

“Shave him. The heat must rise from him. Shave every part of his body, every hair. The heat must be released.” I heard my mother’s voice in my head, I saw not Tervel but Elayjit lying in front of me.

We found suitable knives, and between us, Tervel was made as hairless as my Linus.

“How funny he looks, without hair,” Salome said. “But my father has so little hair on his head that Tervel doesn’t look much different, does he?”

Margar and Lisugar arrived in the early evening. Father Athanaius met them at the gate and escorted them to Tervel’s room. When I brought them wine later, Lisugar pulled me aside.

“Your priest won’t allow us to bring in the final sacrifice,” he said in a gruff tone. “We must have Tervel make the offering of coins.”

I looked away, toward the roof of the church. “No, he won’t. Nothing you can say or do will convince him otherwise.”

“It’s too late to move him to Margar’s house. He should have gone in there at the beginning.” Lisugar looked back over his shoulder at the still man on the pallet. “He’ll die if we try to move him.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Lisugar wiped a tear from his cheek. “Come sit with us a while.”

The room felt crowded with the men. Cups of wine were poured and drunk, in anger or in sorrow. Tervel’s jaw would not open far enough for the wine to be poured in without making him cough and sputter. Salome had one more cup of milk to give him, so I spooned it in slowly.

“There was one way to know that Bulyar was lying,” Lisugar finally said. “If his tongue was moving.”

Margar blushed, but didn’t respond.

“He told me once, the last time I saw him, that a slave dove into a river and pulled up three clams, and two of them had pearls in them.” Lisugar pushed Margar with a finger. “Did he tell you that one?”

“Actually,” I said meekly, “that did happen. When we left my home in Bitumi, we crossed the pearl bed. My father’s slave often finds pearls there.”

Lisugar’s chin drooped before he began to cackle. “I always thought he’d be dead before I heard him tell a story that was true.”

“A rich land you came from then,” Margar said.

“Rich in some ways, as Thrace is in others.” I turned to Lisugar. “Did you see the sea?”

“It stinks and you can’t drink the water,” Lisugar said. “But the food is good.”

“It’s one of the reasons I live here,” Margar said. “Father prefered Deultum, but Sozopolis is a good city.”

“And your wife is here,” Bunar said from a corner.

He has wives in Deultum too, I thought. But Bunar didn’t need my correction at this moment as he stared at the man who he called father.

I brought him the cup and spoon. “Let me teach you how to do this.”

As we sat together and listened to the men reminise about Bulyar and Tervel’s lives, I held my stepson close and knew he would not go with us. I could not take him now, but if I did not go on the morning tide, I never would. Bishop Athanaius was right. He would have to remain here.

I kissed Tervel’s hand on his chest a last time, and came to Lisugar. “I owe you my life.”

“Tervel is my grandson, and you, therefore, are my granddaughter. When you come back home, bring Linus and come to my home in Vala. You will always be welcomed there.”

“Thank you.” I rose while Lisugar repeated the invitation to Margar and Bunar. “Good night. We’re leaving for the ship now.”

Margar pursed his lips. “I’ll be there at high moon, Nino. I’m sure I’ll hear Linus and find you that way.”

“I’m sure.”

I looked back at Bunar beside Tervel. I would not call Bunar from his tender task for a last embrace. We two had never been more than fellow travelers. I’d often been unloving and harsh toward him.

“Bunar?”

He had known our plan, that all of us would go to Constantinople together, and that I would not return. But he’d never said anything to Margar about it. The boy was more faithful than I.

“Take good care of him, and yourself. We’ll see each other again, at the sound of the trump.”

He looked puzzled, but the bishop would explain it to him.

I collected our supplies and put Linus in Makrina’s arms. Together, we walked away.

Chapter Thirty-one

Sat, 19 May 2007 16:53:54 GMT

Lisugar took my child from my unwilling arms, but clearly, he was no novice at holding a child who’d been deprived of a meal. He bounced Linus a few times, turning him from side to side to study his face. “Bulyar’s get, undoubtedly. That makes five sons. Of course, he was stupid enough to have five wives.”

“Six,” Margar corrected him.

“Six. Margar, Dionysios, Bunar, Bulyar and Linus. We should all be so lucky.”

“And only one of them of Thracian blood.”

Lisugar looked at me and gave me back my son. “You’re foreign? I wouldn’t have thought it.”

“My father was from Odessus.” I said it without thinking.

Everyone turned to look at me.

“Odessus?” Lisugar repeated. “What was his name?”

“Thoma.” I bit my lip. Thomas was my father’s baptismal name. I doubted I’d ever heard his name in Thracian. He never used it.

“Doma of Odessus.” Lisugar’s lips twisted as his nearly toothless gums shifted back and forth.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“Doma of Odessus? There’s probably a thousand there on any given day. No, I don’t know your father, I don’t know anyone from Odessus… but you’re Thracian. I thought you had the look.” Lisugar nodded to me to nurse the fussing child. “So, not the only one of the blood then. Vanjek, tell your wife to rest comfortably. She has plenty of brothers. Margar, don’t you have a son yet?”

“Two, both young,” Margar said. “They live in Sozopolis with their mother.”

“And you’re all traveling there. Vanjek, there’s nothing to support your claim to the Badger family. Get Grobl and head out now before you cause a blood war.” Lisugar’s genial tone fell away. “You have no claim.”

“I want the boy,” Vanjek said. “He’s been given to that weakling god of theirs. He should be taken back to our home and taught how to worship Hero the proper way. We’ll find him a good wife.”

“You are a Christian?” Lisugar put his hand on Bunar’s shoulder. “You are a Christian, like Mladen?”

“Yes, I am a Christian,” Bunar said.

Lisugar stroked his bald head and considered the boy.

“You’ll have to kill me, if you take him.”

My voice was hardly loud enough to be heard. I walked to stand in front of Bunar, the babe still on my breast. “You have to kill me first.”

Vanjek picked up from the ground where the caravan guard had laid it. “Fine.”

Lisugar’s knife crossed the haft of the spear. “Put it down.”

I would not let them take Bunar. This had nothing to do with getting to Constantinople. It had nothing to do with Tervel, and God help me, had nothing to do with Linus. Bunar was now John, and I would not let him have his faith in the Lord Jesus Christ be stolen from him.

“Christians die easily, Vanjek. They want to die defending their faith… and one hundred spring up from their shed blood,” Lisugar said.

The spearpoint rested on my belly, under the back of my son.

“Let her go. As your vozha, I order it.”

Vanjek snarled. Lisugar’s knife held firm.

The spear dropped.

In the new light of the day, the Vanjek and his men turned and freed Grobl, and walked away. Lisugar slid his knife into his belt and looked down at Tervel. “We’d best get him to a physician.”

No one had space to transport a wounded man on their wagons, but plenty had space to rent for our cargo. I disbursed the goods and noted them on the side of the cart with a heated knife, burning my records into the wood. Several of the men disliked my method, but the leader of the caravan stood witness. He wanted the rest of the money that Tervel had promised when we arrived in Sozopolis.

I remembered little beyond climbing up into the wagon with Tervel and Linus. Margar and Bunar managed the oxen. Makrina rode on Ajax and sang her songs, psalms that I barely remembered. Linus, after his day’s worth of tears, slept most of afternoon and was happy to snuggle with his brothers.

Linus and Bunar and Margar, brothers. “How Cook corrupted all my thoughts,” I whispered, as I watched the three together on the road. Margar probably never had any fears of Bunar becoming vozha until Cook began to scheme. Bunar probably regarded Margar as nothing more than a distant cousin. The manipulations would have repercussions from Cook’s grave.

“Have you made him a Christian too?”

I looked over the edge of our wagon where Lisugar walked his horse beside us.

“No, he’s not a Christian,” I said. I realized that I’d never even prayed for Tervel to receive Christ.

“Won’t be long,” Lisugar said. “Wives do that. Especially second wives.”

“Second wives?” I repeated.

“First wives are picked by a father, second wives are picked by a man’s brain, and the fourth wife will bring ruin.” Lisugar’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never heard that?”

“Never, but then, I didn’t know I was the sixth wife until I was a widow,” I said. “Bulyar never told me…”

“Your father was from Odessus and you didn’t know about…” Lisugar looked puzzled. “Did your father only have one wife?”

“My father is a Christian,” I interrupted. “He has only one wife, my mother.”

Lisugar laughed. “There are days when I wish I only had one wife. But then, this man wouldn’t have been born, so I can’t begrudge my third wife.”

He scratched his head where the thin line of hair began. “Tervel… he’s always been the one ready to do something, anything. He hated sitting still, standing still, lying still… His mother was the same way. She was Vanjek’s sister. Vanjek has that same urge to do. It’s a good trait in a vozha.”

“And an ambitious man who wants to be vozha?” I looked at Tervel, still asleep. “Tervel wanted to protect Bunar.”

“Tervel thinks Bunar is his son. That Baypat… I should have ordered her exposed. A fatherless girl always brings trouble to her family.”

“That proverb I’ve heard.” But not from my father. “Do you know the name Elayjit?”

Lisugar nodded his head. “No. Why? Is that what you would have named the child if he’s been a girl?”

I should have thought of that. “No, it’s just the name of a woman I knew at home. We never knew where she came from.”

“I don’t travel much. I’ve never even seen the sea.” Lisugar stroked his straggly beard. “Maybe I should go with you to Sozopolis. What are your plans when you get there?”

“We’re going to Constantinople,” I said. “At least, that’s my plan.”

“That’s where Mladen got Christianity, isn’t it. Do they have a temple to Hero?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been there.” I sighed. “I’d hoped to be there in two weeks, but…”

Lisugar raised his eyebrows at me and walked ahead to talk to Bunar.

We spent the night at the caravanserai, and I was glad of the men with us. Margar and Lisugar slept at the door to our stable and let Makrina and I spend the night in the hay. It wasn’t comfortable in the heat and the dust, but I was protected from the moonlight’s bad luck. The sounds that echoed around the courtyard scared me. Had only our caravan been in the inn, I might have ventured out.

One voice, fearful, raised me from my doze and I pushed past Bunar and Makrina. “That’s Salome,” I hissed to Lisugar.

He grinned at me, and I wondered what I had just asked. I didn’t know, but Salome came to spend the night beside me, sobbing and praying until she slept.

At dawn, we were ready to leave. I checked on Tervel, who choked down poppy-laced wine that Margar gave him. It was better that he slept, but I missed talking to him.

“Blooding a man often does this,” Lisugar said, examining the bowl of undercooked gruel I handed him. “Don’t worry unless he starts the fever.”

I checked on Tervel often during the trip. We stopped late by a riverbank for the night, and I took the opportunity to wash off the stink of blood. Lisugar’s belt stunk as well, and I needed to see if pus was rising.

“Rip it off,” Tervel said. “I’ll pass out and do what you want.”

After you scream your head off, I thought. I had no other bandages but my breastbands, and those smelled of sour milk and baby vomit.

“Don’t wash those,” the crones told me at the river bank. “Your man needs them.”

I looked at the breastbands in my hands. “What?”

“Mothermilk cures wounds,” Salome said from behind me. “Didn’t you know that?”

So I left them on the bank and washed myself and Tervel’s clothing. In the brisk night wind, I knew they’d dry by morning, but that left me with the task of removing the bandage from Tervel’s wound. Margar and Lisugar might help, and might be helpful. In the end, Salome proved to be my best assistant. I followed her suggestion to soak Tervel’s bandages with sweet oil for an hour before pulling off the cloth. The cut was not deep, but it was long and healing badly in many places.

She poured wine over a knife and made the sign of the Cross before handing it to me. “This is what Sister Luke did, when she had to cut open a wound.”

I’d had little experience doctoring. My mother handled most of the slaves and we tended toward burns, not knife wounds. We used more wine to sponge away the dried blood, and when my best work was done, we used my breastbands to wrap him up again.

He was fevered by morning.

Margar and I barely spoke privately. Makrina was fascinated by Margar and rarely left us alone. I had no idea when we’d arrive in Sozopolis or where we’d go. When I tried to ask him, he wouldn’t answer.

If he had a wife in the town, might we stay there? And if not, where would we stay? And the trade goods? Margar could claim them for himself – they came from Callia. Then how would I get to Constantinople?

Lisugar was a good traveling companion. After eating my cooking once, he took on the role himself and we ate far better. We often talked about Bitumi and my thoughts about Tricent. He didn’t care for the city, but he liked the beer. I mentioned the fine cheeses we’d been brought down from the highlands at the Equinox before Bulyar’s death. I heard the stories of Mladen and Cothata again.

My son would not be raised in this barbaric country.

The road approached Sozopolis through a forest, and then the city walls blocked our view of the sea. Lisugar entered the city gates and spat, making sure he ground it into the dirt. I’d seen others do the same, but I never knew what it signified. Even Tervel managed to lean over the edge of the cart and spit as we passed the great wooden doors.

“What does that mean?” I asked Bunar.

“I don’t know, we just do it,” he said. “Salome says there’s a church in Sozopolis.”

Makrina jerked around from her place beside Tervel. “A church?”

“Later,” I promised. I walked up to Margar beside the oxen. “Where are we going?”

Margar wiped off his forehead with his crippled hand. “I am going to my wife’s house. Lisugar will be welcomed. You will not.”

I stepped back. “Not?”

“Not as Christians.” Margar took a deep breath. “Iula does not approve of your god. She won’t let you in, and you won’t lie and say you’re not a follower.”

“No, we won’t.”

Margar grimaced. “Then you had best find a place. I paid off the guards this morning, so if the caravan leader wants more money, tell him it’s paid.”

“I have no money…” My voice wavered between whining and begging. “Where can I go?”

“Ask your god.” He pointed at a long low wall around a stone building – a Christian church.

I stared at Margar. “But you’re vozha. Don’t I have a claim on your hospitality?”

His face reddened. I was right, I knew I was right. Tervel had been claiming hospitality for months.

I put up my fist as every member of the clan did when they approached the vozha. He frowned at me, as if I shouldn’t have known this.

He covered my fist with his. “I cannot take you to Iula. Then I will be insulted and have to kill her. I will not kill her for failing to do the one thing she has asked me never to do.”

I did not speak. Reluctantly, he put up his mangled fist and I covered it gently with my fingers.

“Go to your church. Ask them what you can do… then send word to my household in the Klinjin square. I’ll tell you what I can do for you then.”

“Thank you, vozha.” A cough, and Tervel called Margar over to the wagon. They talked so that I could not hear them, but I had other things to think about. I lead the oxen to the gate of the church, and picked up Makrina. “John, come with me.”

We three entered the church. An impossibly old man was sweeping the floor, singing a Psalm as he pushed debris into the middle of the room.

“Good father,” I said and startled him.

“Oh, my, oh, my,” he wheezed, and the boy ran to him, and led him to a seat under the open window.

“Good father?” I knelt before him. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine, just a bit… Well, who are you?” The old man’s smile lit the room brighter than the sunlight.

“I’m Nino, handmaiden of the Lord,” I said, “and these are John, newly baptized at Pentecost, and Makrina.”

“I’m Father Athanaius,” he said.

Makrina squeaked as she flung her arms around him. He pulled her tight against his chest, his long grey beard tucked between them. “Maiden Makrina, named for the blessed Makrina, no doubt. Are you as wise as she was?”

He pulled Makrina up into his lap and looked at my stepson. “Welcome to St. Andrew’s church, newly enlightened John.”

Makrina raised her head and told the priest that she’d picked his name. “John is a good saint, isn’t he, Father.”

“The very best, the Apostle who remained with Jesus and protected our Lady Theotokos,” Father Athanaius said gravely. “John, Nino and Makrina. What can we do for you today?”

I sent the children back outside and folded my hands. I hadn’t noticed they were trembling until that moment.

“We need a place to stay,” I said. “A sick man, my babe, the three of us.”

Father Athanaius stroked his beard. “We’ll send for the sisters, but you’ll need to bring him in. There’s a small room off the side of the church, you’ll stay there. No, no, no inn for a sick man. Sister Luke has a horrible fear of the inns and won’t want to go and she’ll end up forcing herself and then she’ll make herself sick, so it’s best you stay here.”

I kissed his hand. “I need to tell you, Father. This man is not my husband. He is John’s cousin… we have been posing as man and wife… I need to get to Constantinople for the Dormition.”

He smiled at me, his eyes nearly closed by his high cheeks. “There’s delightful story in here, I’m sure. We’ll have the sisters come and see to him right away.”

Sister Luke and Sister Onesimus carried Tervel into our room and laid him on the pallet. Tervel protested, but the women had him stripped and on his belly in less time than I could have thought, and studied Lisugar’s knots. With infinite patience, they untied each one, ignoring my recommendation that they simply cut it. Sister Luke sent John to the priest for oil and Makrina to the kitchen for sour wine.

“He’s very ill,” Sister Luke told me.

“I know, it was a knife fight.”

She nodded and laid her hand on the small of his back. “You’ve wrapped it with your milk, that’s very wise.” She eyed my son’s enthusiastic suckling. “Have you some to spare?”

I filled a small cup--“Plenty, plenty, how good for your baby you have such abundant milk!”—and watched them soak another bandage while they tended Tervel’s back. Their cheerful chatter distracted me. Tervel merely passed out at the first prick from the wine-washed knife.

Over a small meal of chicken and broth for the invalid and spicy sausage for Makrina, John and I, I told Father Athanaius my story. Makrina and John added their own comments, filling out parts that I did not know. When I edited, Father merely smiled and listened. Some of this story I would only tell in confession.

“Constantinople by Dormition? It can be done, oh yes, I’ll take you there myself, Nino. We have a ship waiting to take us to Constantinople to celebrate ourselves; you’ll just join the party. Yes, yes, it shall be done.”

“When do you leave?” I asked.

“It takes only two days, three if the wind is bad, to get there. We leave after Transfiguration.”

I’d long since lost track of the days. “When is that?”

“Day after tomorrow,” he said. “Not long at all!”

I found myself sitting in a small courtyard, examining my sandals. I might yet save some of my pearls, but I would need to buy food for the four of us…

I admitted it to myself. Tervel would not take me to Constantinople. It would be a miracle if he lived three more days.

A shadow drew my eyes to the wall around the church. Vanjek stood there, holding a knife.

“You know what to do, don’t you? You saw Violna and Baypat do the right thing, you’ll know what to do,” Vanjek said in a pleasant voice. “When he dies, you’ll need a knife. I saw you carried none.”

He held up the knife, a poor blade with a jagged edge, and held it up in the sunlight. Black and brown stains dulled the metal’s sheen. When I did not take it, he laid it on the wall.

“What happens to the children?” I asked. “What happens to my son?”

“The vozha takes care of orphans.” Vanjeck waved his hand as if to allay my fears. “That’s part of his responsibility to the clan.”

“And Bunar? Makrina?”

“A slave is a slave. If Margar doesn’t want to keep her, he’ll sell her.” He put his hand up over his eyes and scanned the road. “Bunar will come with me. I’ll wait here in town until the Hero is summoned to Tervel’s death bed – the boy thinks that Tervel is his father, and he’ll want to pour the libation on Tervel’s grave. Then we’ll go back to Baypat’s home and bide the time until Bunar becomes a man and fights for what Bulyar wanted him to have. What Bulyar intended him to be.”

I swallowed. The casual tone, the violence that he knew would come from his actions… I had to get my stepson out of Sozopolis. Vanjek’s compassionate instinct to let the boy bury his father, I would have to suppress. If I didn’t get to Constantinople by the Dormition, I might as well never leave Sozopolis. I’d never have enough money to get us to Bitumi.

Vanjek wandered away, shouting down the street to someone. I covered my face with my hands, blocking out the harsh sun and trying to force away my thoughts.

“Tell me your troubles, my daughter.”

I looked at the priest. “In confession?”

“As you wish.” He took my hand and led me into the nave. Fresh icons, the blues and reds resplendent in the sun, surrounded me. I felt their prayers as I fell down before the icon of Christ on the cross.

“What would you tell God, my child?” Father Athanaius asked softly.

“I was never truly a wife… but I have a son,” I blurted out. “My husband lied to me and my father and even my priest when he said he had no wife living. He had several wives living.”

“Then the marriage was invalid, and you bear no shame, you did not sin.”

I ignored his kind words. “I have a son, with no father.”

“You have a son whose father is dead. Will you be asked otherwise? When you return to Bitumi, will anyone think to ask if your husband had wives living?”

It wasn’t likely, I admitted. But the shame still decorated my soul. “What man will have me now, Father? I have never felt the call to be a monastic like Makrina has. I must raise my son… how can I do it in a monastery?”

“No one’s saying you must go.” Father Athanaius looked up at the icon and nodded, as if he were listening to another voice. “No. Best you go home. Take Makrina to her aunt in Cappadocia, and keep Linus with you. Will your father begrudge your return?”

“No,” I said. “It was hard for all of us that I moved so far away.”

“Then, as your confessor, I direct you to forget to answer any question about your husband other than his death. Yes, that is all you may say.”

So simple, so impossible, I thought. My mother and father would ply me with questions. Rakkel and my friends would want to know.

“So you wish to go to Constantinople. Did you know that the emperor died? The town is full to bursting for the new emperor. But you’ll have no difficulty finding St. Irene’s church. It’s close to the harbor. Many traders use it.” The priest smiled. “I’ve been there myself. Give my greetings to Father Alexander and Father Paul. I write to them every year, you know. Old, good friends.”

“I’ll tell them,” I said, still heavy in my heart. “About Bunar… John.”

“What about him?”

I shuddered. “He’s the focus of a bloodwar. His uncle claims that my husband intended him to be vozha, but the oldest son, Margar, has… It’s very complicated. Margar has the rightful claim, Father. I know that is true. But Vanjek wants John so that he might take control of the clan…”

Father Athanais laughed. “Bloodwars never seem simple to those inside it.”

“Vanjek is waiting for Tervel to die and he’ll take the boy.”

“What will Margar do?” Father Athanaius asked. “I’ll tell you what he’ll do. He’ll hope that Vanjek gets the boy, and then he’ll have the right to kill him.”

The blood drained from my face and I wavered on my knees. “Yes, he might. He’s truly fond of his brother, but a war… Margar would think it expedient…”

“For one man to die for the people.” Father finished for me. I’d not realized I was quoting the Gospel. “Yes, yes, it’s the old lie. So we must protect our son. But is taking him to Constantinople the best choice?”

“Bitumi would be better,” I muttered.

“Best for whom? John would be ripped from everything he knows and loves.” Father hummed a long minute. “Not best for John, not best for Tervel.”

“Tervel is dying, Father.” My eyes filled with tears. “He won’t… go with me to Constantinople.”

“That is not our place to say,” he said sternly, but he tenderly wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Leave Tervel to God. Why else would you have come here, and brought him?”

Chapter Thirty

Sat, 19 May 2007 16:49:10 GMT

I kept John in sight all day, reminding myself not to call him Bunar and frequently failing. Makrina complained of a sore throat and rode on the back of Ajax most of the morning until she climbed into the cart and slept until the caravan leader halted in the early evening. The soft rain would have stymied my efforts to start a fire, but neither John nor Tervel let it stop them. By the time I finished nursing the fussy baby, they’d prepared a decent meal. I was too tired to eat.

“The baby’s hungry, you’re not eating enough,” the crones told me as I tried to calm the crying baby. The fires were being banked for the night and more than one shout complaining about Linus’ crying forced me to walk out to the perimeter of the camp. The guards had built their fires and try to soothe my son by walking him between two of the miserable fires. Surely dawn was soon, I thought, feeling my breastband soak with leaking milk. I would be able to wash in the river again. If Tervel would carry the baby, I could sleep in the cart for a mere hour when the caravan began to move again.

“May I hold him?” Salome walked out of the darkness. “I know you’re tired.”

I handed him over, grateful for the respite.

“He’s a pretty baby,” Salome said, and wrinkled her nose. “May I take off these smelly clothes?”

She stripped him out of the swaddling and laid him up high on her shoulder, so that her chin and ear rested on his back. “My baby sister liked this.”

Linus did as well. He quieted down and managed to get his fist up to his mouth. It was the first time in hours he’d been quiet.

“Why don’t you let me keep him for an hour?” Salome suggested. “I know where your family is, I’ll bring him to you later. Dawn’s soon, I’ll bring him then.”

I could only mumble a thank you before I headed back to our cart. I watched the bats fly out from a nearby tree and stumbled over the ruts in the track, forgetting everything but my need to rest.

A man grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. “Where’s the boy?”

In the moonlight, the fox tails’ white tips glowed.

“The boy!” He shook me roughly. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I lied. If they didn’t know where Salome had gone, Linus would be safe with her.

Vanjek came to stand behind his man. “Where is Bunar?”

I blinked. Bunar?

They didn’t care about my son. They wanted Bunar.

Vanjek’s slap made me dizzy. I dropped to the ground and grabbed the grass.

“Look for the girl,” Vanjek ordered. “She’ll be with him.”

The girl… Makrina. I groaned. She slept under the wagon, they’d never find her. But the noise they’d make looking for her would wake the camp. The caravan men would not be our allies.

Someone picked me up and carried me back to the guards’ dying fire. Wood was tossed on, but I was cast onto the ground some distance from it. A guard stood by me, spitting and cursing that he’d been assigned the task of watching me instead of helping to find the children. I pulled my legs up against my chest and fell asleep, despite my efforts to remain awake.

###

The caravan’s guards’ complaints woke me. “You’re using all our wood, you ass,” one said to the guard who cursed back in vitriolic Thracian. The guards didn’t care that they couldn’t understand the words. In a minute, the clansman had been knocked to the ground with a pair of knives pinning his tunic to the ground between his legs.

“What kind of idiots are these bandits?” the leader of the caravan guards said to me as I pushed myself up.

“Idiots,” I murmured in agreement. There was something I needed to do… what was it?

Makrina, Bunar… the highlanders were here to take Bunar. They were searching for him. Linus would be back with them by now, surely Salome had returned him to our wagon by now… My head ached as I tried to piece together some coherent responses to the guards’ questions. I staggered as I tried to stand.

My efforts were to no purpose. Tervel walked in front of the approaching clansmen. He carried no sword, but I knew he never took off the knife strapped to his calf.

“What’s going on, Tervel?” asked one of the caravan guards.

“Family business,” Tervel answered.

The caravan guards looked at each other and shrugged. Two of them picked up rabbits they’d caught and began to skin them. Another pulled out his knife and lounged next to the fire, picking at his nails in the firelight. From their wagon, I heard another ask for a sharpening stone for his spear.

The clansmen ignored the guards. Vanjek, in a rough, falsely jovial voice, asked for Tervel’s explanation.

“Of what?” Tervel said. “I’m traveling to Sozopolis with goods and my wife. Why does it matter to you what I do? I’m not in your clan.”

“But you are of my blood,” Vanjek said. “Your mother… my father… we’re cousins, Tervel. We’ve always been good friends. You didn’t tell me you were turning trader.”

“I don’t believe I have to answer to you at all, Vanjek,” Tervel said. “You were once my friend, and you are my cousin. But what have you done in the last two months but hound me? You chased me up into the mountains when I wanted to be alone. You tracked me to Callia’s home and tried to force your way in. You killed two of her slaves. Is this the act of a friend and cousin?”

I didn’t know anything about an attack… it must have been while I recovered from my burns.

“Hardly an attack, Tervel,” another man spoke up. “So we took some wine and ate some of her sheep. What does that matter to you?”

“She’s the widow of my vozha, Narhad. You’ve eaten at her table, she’s sheltered your sheep more than one winter. Why attack her?”

“We want Bunar,” Vanjek said. “We thought he was there.”

“You wanted Bunar. Why didn’t you ask?”

“We did,” Narhad insisted. “She said he wasn’t there.”

From the grass beyond the fire, the clansman who had been held down by the caravan guards’ knives called for help.

“Go help him, Narhad,” Vanjek said.

“Wouldn’t do that if I was you,” the caravan guard said from his bloody seat, the rabbit’s entrails now heaped around him. “He attacked a member of the caravan. He answers to the chief.”

Tervel picked me up and looked over my face. “He hit you?”

Someone had. Tervel touched the skin above my eye and I nearly fainted from the pain. I sat down again beside the fire as Tervel walked up to Vanjek.

“He’ll answer to me as well,” Tervel said.

“He’s my son and he answers to no one but me,” Vanjek said. “Your wife… I hadn’t heard you married again, Tervel. Shouldn’t you have invited us to the wedding? Or have you turned to that feeble religion too?”

“What do you want, Vanjek?” Tervel came to stand in front of the clansman.

“We want Bunar. Arkat is worried about her brother.”

Arkat concerned about anything other than herself? I doubted it.

“Why do Arkat’s worries bother you?” Tervel asked.

Vanjek smiled. “Why, cousin, you weren’t the only one to marry recently. Arkat and I were married at the shrines of Hero and Bindis in Tricent.”

She wasn’t a widow long then, I thought and would have laughed.

“We’re living in Bajnhash for now.” Vanjek paused. “You should have come to visit when you were in the mountains.”

“I’ll bet your mother is pleased to have her,” Tervel said. “What about Capla? Does she like sharing house with another wife?”

“Spoken with all the lack of understanding of a single married man. Wives live where they’re told, Tervel.” Vanjek’s contempt was tinged with laughter. “You could marry Callia too, if taking Bulyar’s wives appeals to you.”

“Callia’s plans don’t include me,” Tervel said with amusement. “When did Arkat’s include you?”

“I’ve had my eye on her for years,” Vanjek boasted. “Bulyar knew I wanted her.”

Why were they talking about Arkat? Or Callia? Where was Bunar?

The sizzle of the rabbit blood dripping into the fire distracted me – distracted us all. I could not have believed that Vanjek could move so fast, nor Tervel’s knife catch the highlander in the side so quickly.

Their fight was cheered by all the men, guards and clan. Tervel’s weak arm gave Vanjek a huge advantage and he took it. Tervel crumpled, blood streaming down from his shoulder.

“NO!”

Bunar’s scream registered in my mind, but I did not turn from running to Tervel’s side. I caught him up against my chest. “Tervel! Tervel?”

Bunar ran up beside me and stood, his knife in his hand. “You touch my father and I’ll kill you, Vanjek.”

“Is this any way to address your kinsman? I am your uncle, Bunar.” With the back of his hand, Vanjek slapped Bunar, but his arm ended up clutched to his chest. Bunar’s knife dripped with blood.

“I’ve heard all my life from you that Tervel is my father. You will not touch my father, Vanjek. He is my blood and I will repay.”

“He’s not your father, Bunar,” Vanjek said through clenched teeth. “Bulyar claimed you.”

“Bulyar was never my father,” Bunar retorted and stared up at the man. “Tervel is my father. You all said so.”

“Baypat swore--” Vanjek began.

Bunar bared his teeth. “Tervel is my father. You will not touch him.”

Vanjek began to laugh. “You’re a fine young man and you’ll make an honorable vozha. It’s time to come home and make your claim. You’ll live with me now, in Banjhash. Your sister wants you to come.”

“Arkat never wanted me around, why would she want me now?” Bunar pointed his knife into the darkness. “Your son Grobl doesn’t want me around. He tried to kill me the last time I came up the mountain.”

Vanjek folded his arms across his chest. “Tried to kill you? He tried to teach you to fight, Bunar. It’s time you learned.”

“I’ve learned from my father.” Bunar’s fingers stretched over the bone handle of his knife. “It’s his job to teach me, not yours.”

I felt Tervel sag against me. I pressed against the wound on his shoulder with my hands, hoping that the blood would stop.

“Tervel is not your father. Bulyar named you his heir, Bunar. It’s now your responsibility to take up the position of vozha. Arkat and I will help you until the rite of manhood is finished.” Vanjek put out his good hand, dripping with blood. “You must come. Your father wanted it.”

“I’m staying here with Tervel and Nino and Makrina and Linus. You can’t make me come with you, Vanjek.”

Bunar, wiry and thin like Tervel, barely reached my nose. He could very well be subdued by the full grown men around us. But someone would likely get hurt in the process. Vanjek already had proof of that.

“No, he can’t.”

Behind me, I heard Margar’s voice.

Makrina stood beside him, holding Linus. The baby, hoisted high on her shoulder, made no noise, but my breasts, full from hours without nursing, let down my milk in a painful rush. My breast band absorbed what it could, but I felt the front of my shirt getting wet and dripping onto Tervel.

“Margar?” Vanjek chuckled. “How convenient.”

“Is it?” Margar’s sword caught the light from the flames. “Convenient to kill me, you mean?”

Vanjek reached out and grabbed the stunned Bunar and spun him around so that Bunar’s back was against Vanjek’s belly, and held Bunar’s hand with the knife in it. He roughly pulled Bunar’s hair back and exposed the scarred ear. “What’s that, Margar?”

“Baypat’s handiwork,” Margar said. “Ask him.”

“He’ll lie. He wants Tervel to be his father, not Bulyar.” Bunar winced and tried to kick at his uncle.

“Ask her then. She was there.”

The men around me laughed. Cothata had been right. My word meant nothing.

But I spoke anyway. “I saw her do it. She cut his ear as Bulyar’s mother had cut his.”

Another man chuckled behind Vanjek. “That’s true enough.”

A man with seven fox tails hanging around his neck walked into the firelight.

“Lisugar,” Margar said. “Should have expected you.”

Margar held out his hand. In the light, I saw he had only one finger and a thumb. The rest of his hand was nothing more than a red fresh burn. Someone had cauterized the wound Cook had given him.

Lisugar stepped around Vanjek and pointed at the rabbit on the spit. “You might want to spin that a bit. The back is getting burned.”

The caravan guard cursed and twisted the rod. How could we be distracted by the mere mention of food when Tervel’s life was spilling onto the ground? I shifted to better press on Tervel’s wounds.

“That’s Bulyar’s widow, isn’t it?” Lisugar pulled off his wide cloth belt and handed it to me. “Wrap him up with that.”

I took the long strip of fabric and started to bandage Tervel. I wound it as tightly as I could, but his dead weight prevented me from doing more than one wrap around his body.

“My son, my grandson and my great-grandson,” Lisugar said sadly. “What a bloody mess, Vanjek. What are you doing?”

“Protecting my wife’s family,” Vanjek said, stiff against the indicting tone of his father. “Arkat thinks that Bunar should be vozha.”

“Arkat? Violna’s babe? Is she old enough to be wed?”

“Wed twice and pregnant,” I muttered, my hand on Tervel’s chest. It rose and fell slowly, too slowly.

Lisugar knelt beside me. “Tervel?”

The man made no response.

Lisugar put his hand on Bunar’s shoulder and turned the boy to face him. A pleased, loving smile rose on his face. “It’s been long since we’ve talked, Bunar.”

Bunar’s eyes flickered from Vanjek to Lisugar. “Pradja.”

Great-grandfather. This must be Baypat’s grandfather…Vanjek’s father? I tried to understand the complexities of how Baypat’s brother was also her uncle and gave up. Polygamy had made understanding these relationships too complicated for me.

Margar let the old man embrace Bunar before pulling him back. “Bunar, tell your pradja how your ear… who cut your ear.”

“My mother…” Bunar took his knifeblade and pointed the tip at his heart. “Hear me, Pradja. My mother hated Bulyar. He had her daughters exposed and she swore vengeance. She promised me that I would inherit, even if he didn’t want it.”

“So she cut your ear?” Lisugar rubbed the scars between his thumb and fingers. “You’re telling me the truth, then? Bladepoint vow?”

“Bladepoint vow,” the boy repeated. “She saw it.”

He pointed at me, but no one looked at me.

“She’s a foreigner, married to Tervel.” Vanjek coughed. “Hardly a bladepoint vow. I was told by a witness that Bulyar did it.”

“Cook lied.” I repeated myself louder. “Cook lied to you.”

“Why would he lie?” Lisugar asked Margar.

“He wanted me dead and his freedom.” Margar showed his hand. “He tried to kill me.”

“A slave then. The word of a slave versus the word of my great-grandson.” Lisugar rose. His knees cracked as he steadied himself with a firm hand on Bunar’s shoulder. “You tell me your mother did this, I believe you. My sister did the same to Bulyar. If you don’t watch out, Vanjek, Arkat will do the same to her son and then you’ll have a real mess with Grobl and her brat.”

Margar pushed Tervel’s leg with his foot. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“I was told you were dead, Margar,” Lisugar said. “Your hand?”

“Cothata cauterized it. It was the only thing she could do.”

“She’s a good woman,” Lisugar said. “I married her sister.”

Margar nodded. “I remember the wedding. My grandmother showed up and gave Cloda a whip.”

“I wanted to use it on her,” Lisugar said. “Vanjek said that there was only Bunar as heir.”

“I have three brothers,” Margar said dryly. “Farida has a son and Dionysios, Callia’s son. He’s gone to Macedonia to find a wife.”

“Callia’s influence, no doubt. I have a granddaughter who would make him a good wife. Callia was always a cunning woman. We’ll stop and talk to her.” Lisugar put his hand out to me. “Stand up, woman.”

I shifted Tervel to the ground and rose.

“Not just two brothers.” Lisugar touched the front of my shirt with his fingertips, and sniffed them. “Vanjek said your child died.”

“I’d be a fool to let the family know my child lived,” I said.

“You’d be more foolish to let us think it died. A childless widow… send them back to their mothers and let them marry again, if a stupid man can be found. But a widow with a child… a son or a daughter?”

“Does it matter?” I asked. “The child would be exposed.”

Margar hissed.

“Cook had a plan, an extensive one, to win his freedom,” I said. “He planted fears in all of us and played them well.”

“So you married Tervel and he’s protecting you, and taking up trading.” Lisugar pointed to my breasts. “Your milk runs. Boy or girl?”

Makrina came to stand beside me, and I picked up Linus, who promptly began to root for his next meal. “A boy. I named him Linus.”

“A foreign name,” Lisugar commented. “You can rename him Lisugar, Margar. It’s a much better name.”

“I might,” Margar said, “But I suspect that Tervel has something to say about it.”

“If he lives,” Vanjek said.

Dear God, let him live. My only hope to get to Constantinople lay barely breathing on the ground at my feet.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Sat, 12 May 2007 02:41:49 GMT

The women in the caravan were friendly, nosy and gossiped; telling the truth was optional. I heard a dozen theories about a new member of the caravan before I realized the women were talking about me. I mentioned Egrisi and most recognized the name and one had been there as a child.

“That was many years ago,” the toothless crone said and I doubted that she’d ever known my mother. “New baby, then. How old is he?”

I held up Linus against my cheek. “Not yet a full month.”

I should have lied, but it didn’t occur to me until later that anyone asking about a baby born around the solstice would find me in the caravan. I needed to plan out my lies in advance.

The women crowded around to see the baby and discuss the auspices of the moon under which he was born. I let them speculate and relaxed. This was the feminine company I’d not experienced since leaving Bitumi and my mother’s bathhouse. The women discussed pregnancies and births, comparing fearful birthing stories and recipes in the same conversations. But now, I was a mother and I could participate.

I stood next to a woman while we collected water from the spring and noticed her scratching in the dirt with a stick. Two curves, connected at one point—a fish, a symbol I recognized. I ambled toward her and drew my own beside hers, and then made two more scratches.

She mimicked mine and I pulled out my cross.

Her eyes grew big as my smile widened.

“You’re a Christian?” she whispered in Thracian.

“Yes,” I whispered back. I wasn’t supposed to understand Thracian, much less speak it, but another Christian woman! I would not lose this chance to speak to her.

“I am baptized Salome, for the holy myrrhbearer,” she said, glancing around at the women.

“I am called Wenna,” I said and felt awkward that she’d shared something so private that she could barely say it aloud and I could not be as honest with her.

“Shusa!” Salome looked up and ran to the side of a pair of older women and did not look at me again.

Leaving the management of the oxen, cart and children, Tervel dickered for cloth and and returned to hand me several lengths of ugly striped fabric. I wrapped a length into a turban and felt more at home in my act as a married woman. I’d seen a few other women with different veils and coverings, and ignored John’s comments. This day’s trip was shortened due to the muddy roads, and I took advantage of John’s affection for Makrina and asked him to help her go to sleep under the wagon. They both fell asleep quickly. The women invited me to a campfire away from the road. Were we men, we would have discussed our trading successes. Since we were not, we danced.

Linus and I watched from the sides for most of the evening. It was pleasant to rest and chat around what food we’d brought to share, along with some wine. I took the drums for a while and played for some dancers whose style I admired as I had Tana’s. Their dance hugged the ground, with coins on their hands and necks, jingling with my beat. My shell belts never made so much noise… But they remained in Tricent and I would someday have to buy or make another. But they would not be the ones made for me by Elayjit.

I did dance once with a young pregnant woman. Using Tana’s techniques and the coaching of the other women, we managed to get her hips and abdomen working together. In a few months, if she kept up her work, the baby would be born in sweetness and sweat and not in pain.

When I left the women’s circle, the children already slept under the wagon. Tervel and I lay with Linus between us. Tervel watched me nurse my son, and once stroked the baby’s head. I had to let him, but I closed my eyes and pretended that I did not mind his dirty fingers touching my son.

“The news from the south is that the roads are muddy and almost impassible.” Tervel whispered. “The guards are suggesting that we stay here for another day and let the sun dry everything out.”

“It wouldn’t be safe to go ahead,” I said, and wished we could anyway. Another day lost and my hopes for Constantinople faded more.

“I’ll take you home,” Tervel reminded me as he rolled onto his back. “I promised I’d get you home.”

“I know,” I said, but how? And how long would it take? Would our cargo bring enough for us to sail to Bitumi?

In the morning, the decision had been made to press on another day, and hope for decent weather and a better, drier campsite until a scout returned to report on the condition of the road. I was sick of smelling like sour milk and went with the women to bathe in the dawn’s light. Tervel, sick of my poor cooking, had taken over the task and assigned John the responsibility to get the oxen from the stabling with the other cattle. I pulled Makrina down to the water with me.

“Nuns don’t bathe, Mother,” Makrina pouted. “I shouldn’t do this.”

“You,” I pointed at her forehead, grubby and streaked with mud, “are not yet a nun. And you are supposed to be obedient to those in authority over you. Into the water.”

Instead, she ran away but I was not going to miss this chance to get myself clean in order to track her down. If I showed up at the wagon, unbathed, Tervel would not allow more time. The caravan moved and we moved with it.

Shusa, to the consternation of the other women, also got into the water and splashed around, letting her hair float downstream.

“Are you from the highlands?” I asked.

“No, no, from Pistiros,” she said, floating on her back. “Not that I’ve been there much. My father and grandfather are traders.”

Still carrying Linus in a makeshift sling, I managed to wet my hair and splash some water on my son. His startled face made me laugh at him.

“Your husband killed the mountain lion.”

I finished rubbing sand into my scalp and poured water over it. “Yes, he did.”

“He’s very brave.”

“Yes, he is.” I smiled at her. “Are you married?”

“Not yet. I want a trader, like my father, but finding one… not so easy. I should be a town girl, stay at home to get a husband. Not me.”

“Then you’re very brave yourself.” I listened to her giggle. “How did you become a Christian?”

She looked around and moved out of easy earshot of the old women on the bank. “In Sozopolis, last year. My father had to leave me in town because I was sick. I stayed with some women, friends of my family. They took me to meet Bishop Athanaius. I was baptized a few months later.”

“You must have been quite ill,” I said. “But God knew why – so that you would hear the Gospel.”

She shrugged slightly, still watching down at the grannies. “My father won’t let me speak of it and my mother has threatened to leave me in Deultum next spring if I don’t make the sacrifice to Bendis.”

“What will you do?” I remembered the young woman selling her body outside the inn on my first night in Deultum.

She slipped down into the water again as a girl that Makrina played with waved at me from the shore. “You’d best see what that’s about, Wenna,” she said.

I headed back in, ticking Linus’ cheeks with my long wet hair. “Your husband wants you over there, in the willows, and I’m supposed to take the baby.”

The girl held up a coin and I looked over my shoulder at Tervel, who motioned to me anxiously. I threw my hair over my shoulder and handed her the baby. “Stay where I can see you.”

My skirt dripped over my feet and my breastband felt loosened, but I did not wait to adjust my clothing. Tervel would not be so close to the women if it weren’t important.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me passionately. His previous kisses had been mild and I’d grown accustomed to them, but this… this transgressed all acceptable boundaries.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, pulling away from him. He pushed my head against his shoulder and dropped his chin against my ear.

“They found us.”

I felt my knees weaken and I grabbed his shoulders. To anyone watching, we were a married couple enjoying each other under the willow branches.

“What? Do they have John?”

“Not yet. Makrina saw a man wearing fox tails. ”

Thoughtlessly, I dropped my face against his chest. His hands stroked my back and hair until I conquered the coward inside me who wanted to run. “What did you tell Makrina?”

“I told her to get John and find the guards. The guards like John and they’ll let the children stay with them until the caravan starts to move.”

His calm voice and strong arms strengthened me. He must have prepared for this, to be so calm and steady. His unshaven face caught my wet hair and when he turned his head, it trailed across his face. I reached up to pull it down and he caught my hand. “They’ll know you’re here. They’ll know I’m here. They’re probably sure that John is with us.”

“Can we protect them?”

Tervel looked up over my head, and kissed me again, and then murmured against my lips, “That girl is watching us.”

“I told her to stay there.”

He waved at her. “Take the baby to your mother. We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

I waited until she left, bouncing the baby enthusiastically. “What should we do?”

“What can we do? The question is who has come and why. Janek was a good man who loved Bunar. His fears for Bunar’s safety and position weren’t spiteful.”

I remembered Janek’s attempt to stab Margar in the back. His fear may not have been born of spite, the attack had been dirty and without warning.

“Vanjek was convinced that Margar had been lying to him for months,” Tervel said. “He talked Janek into trying to take Bunar. But why? Janek didn’t care about Margar’s blood. He just wanted what was best for Bunar.”

“Was what was best for Bunar to kill his brother and kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” Tervel pulled back and looked at me. “Bunar went back to Janek’s house every full moon since Baypat’s death until a few weeks ago. That’s why Janek and Vanjek came to the wedding feast, to find out why Bunar hadn’t come.”

“Why did he go?” I asked, exasperated.

“They are his family. These were the men who were making him a man, why wouldn’t he go and make the full moon sacrifices as he had his entire life?”

“Offerings to Hero?”

“Who else?” Tervel said dryly.

“But he’s a Christian now, he shouldn’t be making those… you said he stopped?”

“His last visit was before the solstice.”

I calculated dates in my head. Yes, Bunar’s last visit had been before Pentacost, before his baptism. My relief was short-lived.

“As long as Bunar visited his uncles, they weren’t concerned about Margar’s intent,” Tervel said and growled deep in this throat. “But someone told them that Bunar’s ear had been notched by Bulyar and Margar was defrauding the boy of his rightful place as vozha.”

“Cook,” I dropped my head onto his chest. “He told Vanjek that he saw Bulyar do it.”

Tervel’s warm hands stroked my back. I did not stop him from pulling my hair to one side and kissing my neck.

“How do we stop them from stealing Bunar?” I asked.

“ Stealing a child…” He raised his head. “If they accuse you – or me – of stealing a child, an heir, no one will stop them if they try to kill us.”

“But people think that Bunar is your son.”

“The notch on Bunar’s ear, when I have none myself, that’s proof enough that he’s not my son,” Tervel said. “Makrina said she saw Margar this morning.”

“Margar?” I snickered. “She’s seeing things. How could he be in the caravan and we not see him?”

I let him kiss my lips and neck again. I tried to think who Makrina had mistaken for Margar among the men of the caravan until the senations that Tervel aroused began to cloud my mind. I sighed, recalling the forgotten pleasures of a husband’s kisses.

“Get your clothes on,” Tervel finally said. “We’ll get Linus later.”

I dropped my hands from his shoulders and took a deep breath. He waited for me to go and get my shirt and veil from the bank. Shusa waved from the water. A few of the old crones laughed at me as I staggered. “Making babies under that willow? A willow baby will be born with good luck in trading, that’s sure!” while others reminded me that a baby conceived before the seventieth day was doomed to drown.

Their scandalous comments made me blush. I tried to tighten my breastband, but my trembling hands could not manage the knots. I pulled my shirt over it and haphazardly tied the strings. More catcalling trailed me as I rejoined Tervel under the willow and then out into the caravan line.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Sat, 12 May 2007 02:38:12 GMT

“What should we do with him?” I pushed the body off my lap away from Linus.

“I’ll take care of him,” Tervel said and picked up the body on his shoulders. He carried it to the edge of the clearing and further in, away from the spring where we had gotten our water. By the time he was back, I had called Bunar and Makrina back to the wagon and loaded up what few items we’d taken out for the night. I looked for my blanket and remembered I’d not taken it out for the night. Another night uncovered in moonlight. I made the sign against the evil eye and prayed for protection against the misfortune I’d brought on us.

“We can’t go to Deultum,” Tervel said and turned the ox cart again to the west.

“Are we going back to Callia’s?” I asked.

“No, they’ll be looking there, too. Callia’s always had good relationships with the hillsmen, they won’t hurt her like they would Farida. No, we’re going to take another route.”

“To Deultum?”

“No, to Sozopolis,” he said. “It will add some ten days to the trip. We’ll need to go in a caravan. The road that branches south is several leagues back to the west. We can make it there and start south before sunset. Ajax here’s a good ox; we’ll make it well enough.”

But will we make it to Constantinople? I wanted to ask as we started out, but Tervel seemed disturbed enough. I let Bunar ride with the baby for a while and I rushed up to walk beside Tervel. “Does it bother you, that you killed a family member?”

He looked down on me. “He was going to kill you, Nino. He was pulling out his knife. So, no, I don’t feel bad about it at all.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Kill me? Why?”

“That’s a good question. He might have come on Margar’s order. He mentioned being in the shop with Margar’s wives. If Margar has forgotten that he gave Bunar to you – he did give Bunar to you?”

I nodded furiously and Tervel stopped. “He didn’t?”

“Yes, he did! I forgot again!” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Cothata was there.”

Tervel looked at me suspiciously but started to walk again. “Or Vanjek might have put him up to watching the Deultum road. It’s hard to say, now that Lodar is dead.”

I wanted to talk about something else. “Tell me about Sozopolis.”

“Let me tell you instead about what’s going to happen from now on,” Tervel said. “The clan is looking for me and Bunar. They don’t know about you, although it’s clear they suspect you somehow. We have to do things to make us look different from what they’re looking for.”

“How?”

“The caravan will disguise us the most. Sozopolis is a naval town, many visitors, many traders. You need to look foreign. Stop talking our language, speak only Greek. We can’t cut Bunar’s hair, it will only make the notched ear more visible. We’ll tie it back like Greek boys wear it. Bunar doesn’t speak Greek at all and we have no time to teach him any. That means I need to be Thracian, but I can shave my beard and cut my hair. We’ll need to get some new clothes for you and Makrina. We’ll buy what we can from the caravan. Can you sew?”

Better than I could cook, I thought. “Yes, I can. But what do Greek clothes look like?”

“You’ll see.” He paused and looked up at the hills ahead of us. “But mostly, Nino, you and I will have to appear to be married.”

“What?”

“If a clansman comes and asks a trader if there are any people traveling with them that aren’t married, we’ll be immediately targeted.”

“Why would anyone think…” I tried to form a reasonable thought. “Wouldn’t they just think we were?”

“We don’t act like we are,” he pointed out. “You’re too young for anyone to think that Bunar is your son, but his entire life, people have thought he was mine. You’ll be my second wife. Linus will be my son. Makrina will need to be either a slave or my daughter. Which do you think?”

I slowed and let him continue ahead, catching the back of the cart and hopping onto it to think without Bunar’s tuneless whistles and the baby’s rooting for milk. What did pretending to be married entail? I’d been happily married, with frequent kisses and stolen playful moments in storerooms. I loved Bulyar then. Would I have to pretend to do the same? Could I even try to act that way again?

I did not like lies. I was a poor actress.

At our next stop in a pleasant grove of willows and reeds in a creek, I approached Tervel carefully as he cleaned his knife.

“What do you mean, pretend to be married?”

Tervel smiled at me and patted the ground beside him. “It won’t be too hard, Nino. You’ll just have to like me instead of expecting me to break my deal with you. We’ll sleep together, with the baby between us. A new baby is reason for me to… for us not to make love. Traders aren’t bad people, but they’re curious. They’ll notice us and traders, well, they talk. It’s how they make their living.”

“I know traders,” I said, well aware that what he said was truth. How many times had I heard stories in the bathhouse at Bitumi?

Tervel pulled my veil off in a swift tug. “Curly. I’d thought so. No one in the family has curly hair like Linus’.”

I grabbed his beard and pulled on it. “And you have the same dimples as your sons?”

A dark cloud shaded his eyes before he twisted his mouth into a smirk. “Yes, I do. You’ll see them shortly.”

The resemblance to Bunar was uncanny. I stared at this beardless new man with short hair. “You kept the mustache, Tervel.”

“We’ll need to change names as well,” he said, twisting the end of his mustache up. “Tervel is a common Thracian name, but Nino is not. How about Nina?”

“How about Wenna?” I would surely react if I hear my mother’s name.

“Wenna is good, very alien-sounding.” His eyes twinkled at me. “One more thing, Wenna.”

He kissed me, quickly and without pressure, on my lips. I stiffened immediately and raised my hand to strike him before he’d even pulled back.

“You’ll have to get past that, Wenna,” he said. “People will notice if you keep hitting your husband whenever he kisses you.”

Bunar listened to Tervel’s instructions over his lunch. A glow rose into Bunar’s eyes and poured out on Tervel as if the boy had been given a great gift. He threw his arms around Tervel and squeezed until Tervel jokingly complained about the need to breathe. Tears fell down Bunar’s cheeks.

How badly I’ve treated him, I thought. Lost father and mother, and I’ve barely talked to him in the months since. He needed a mother and a father. At least he would be keeping the mother, once we left Tervel in Constantinople for Bitumi.

We reached the turn to the Sozopolis road at high noon and while I appreaciated the change of wind from directly into my face and later, we would have shade to cover the road.

Makrina and I were walking in the softer grass ahead of Bunar and Tervel as the cousins discussed our masquerade. Bunar was quite willing to make outrageous suggestions. Licinius had not been teaching him, but someone had.

“Bunar,” Tervel finally said. “We cannot say that we are the children of some saint of your church. There will be Christians in Sozopolis. They’ll know we lied. It’s best to stick to what you know.”

Makrina took my hand. “What about me? Am I now your daughter?”

My heart ached to hear her sweet voice break. I’d paid little attention to her in Tricent. Cothata had been more a substitute of father and mother when Basil had been killed than I had been.

“I think you are my daughter, and I will try with all my heart to take you to Cappadocia to the monastery.”

Makrina swung our joined hands. “I’m glad. That man who bought my poppa, he didn’t want me to go, but you know that’s where I’m supposed to be. How could I be a nun anywhere else?”

“Have you been married, Tervel?” Bunar’s question stopped me from replying to Makrina.

“I was once, when I wasn’t much older than you,” Tervel said.

“Where is she? Do you have any children?” Bunar asked.

“She died when she had our son, and the baby died with her,” Tervel said. “I wasn’t much more than fourteen when our fathers arranged the marriage. She was a bit older.”

“Where did you live?” Bunar asked. “I don’t remember you in the highlands.”

“I lived on the coast of the Black Sea. Did you ever visit Farida?”

“Mother Farida? Never. Mama did not like her. She said Farida was a foreigner who would try to steal what belonged to me.”

“Your mother was right, Bunar. Your mother was always right,” Tervel said. “Farida lives in the house that I lived in with Miesa. When your father married Farida, I sold him the house for her.”

Bulyar must have taken Tervel’s story and told it to my father to seek permission to marry me. Bulyar had stolen Sophronio’s successes as well. How little I’d known him, I thought. I knew Tervel better than I’d ever known my husband.

I fretted until we found the first of the traders. The caravan was a shifting, indistinct band of travelers, joining and leaving as the traders turned off to villages and cities for their business. The leader of the caravan, a rotund man with a shrewish wife who sniffed at Linus before returning to the group of crones at the fire, wasn’t impressed with either Tervel or Ajax. “You’ll lag behind, with only one ox,” he complained.

“How much are you paying your guards?” Tervel asked with a sigh and a bored stare.

The sum named didn’t impress me. But then, neither had the guards.

“I’ll give you a silver piece for each of their fees,” Tervel said, pulling out a dozen coins and dropping them into his other hand, one by one. I’d always doubted Tervel’s ability to count money. He was offering nearly half of the pay promised by the leader.

As the leader calculated, I could see his eyes ranging from Tervel to our small wagon with its unimpressive stock. He knew we were no traders, or at the very least, so raw that he might be able to ripen his own purse from ours. “I’ll take that, then.’

Tervel held out the coins but did not drop them into the leader’s hand—yet. “We want to be directly behind your party in the caravan.”

The leader spit on the ground and raised his hands to the sky in prayers to Hero. “Directly behind me? You’ll slow us down too much. Middle or the rear, but not the front.”

Tervel jingled the coins. “You have a spare ox, then?”

Of course he did. Father always knew where he’d find a spare ox in a caravan and he wasn’t ever the leader.

Another four silver pieces rented the ox for the remainder of the trip to Sozopolis, and we slid into our place in the caravan. I tried to fix some gruel and burned it, amusing the women nearby. Tervel and John--Bunar had opted to use his baptismal name—went to meet the guards and I sat with Makrina, chewing the hard bread and wishing for something with more substance to it. By the time we were dozing in the sunset, Tervel returned with sticks of roasted meat and some chewy sweet that tasted like honey and flowers. In the starlit sky, Tervel taught John the constellations and I drowsed, half listening to them, half listening to the music from the campfire where most of the traders were meeting.

“I won’t bother pulling out the cover,” Tervel told me later as he put John under the wagon beside the sleeping girl. “It’s a beautiful night. Lots of moonlight tonight.”

I looked up at the suspicious moon, not quite half, always full of water to pour out, just like my father had always said. I put the baby down next to him and pulled the braces half-way so that I was covered. Let him sleep uncovered in the moonlight and take the bad luck, I thought crossly, and complained under my breath until I fell asleep. Just before dawn, I felt justified as I heard the dripping of rain from the cover onto Tervel’s bare head. By the time he extended the braces, his patch of ground was wet and soggy. His was to be bad luck all day, I thought, smug in my foresight. I rolled over, my back to him, and tucked Linus against my breast to suck.

Tervel’s wet clothes soaked my back as he cuddled up against me. He kissed my neck at the top of my shoulder and thanked me for making room for him where it was dry.

The hard rain made the road a muddy mess. I learned to travel in the trampled grass along the side of the road behind the leader’s party. No one spoke to me other than Makrina and John, who found other children quickly and abandoned us. I didn’t like that, but Tervel granted persmission with a benevolent wave and suggested that in a horde of children, neither would attract any attention.

I kept my eyes open. The women chattered, jogging forward to talk to others ahead, or lagging under a tree to nurse their children while the slow train moved its way southwest. The road was usually nothing more than a double track of dirt, which slowed us down more than if we had been traveling on a Roman road. I followed their example and found curious women sitting with me as Linus suckled, asking me questions about his age and birth. I should have lied and said he was older than a month, but I have to plan out my lies in advance. Anyone would now know I had a baby born around the solstice.

From then on, I nursed in the wagon, no matter how uncomfortable it was riding over the rutted roads.

At the end of the first day, I slept in the shade of a willow tree while the caravan made camp. Tervel and John found us food and I awoke to a small feast of cold goat stew and rancid butter for our stale bread. The smells of the leader’s roasting goat filled our noses as the poor meal did not fill our bellies.

“I’m going to walk the guard duty tonight,” Tervel announced. “John, you need to keep close and serve your mother as she may need.”

I tried very hard to look serious as John’s chest puffed out. “Yes, Father.”

In fact, he slept before I did, but I put the baby next to him before before retiring for the night. Both of them snored like their father. I settled down under the leather cover, this time fully extended. I wanted no repeated intimacy from Tervel when he returned. I pulled my blanket up over my shoulders and slept.

“Wake her up,” a deep voice muttered. Someone kicked at my feet and I rolled over.

Tervel was being held up between two men, with his arm wrapped in a bloody rag. “What happened?”

“Wildcat. The leader didn’t bury his dinner deep enough.” Tervel sat down next to me and hiccupped. “I killed the cat.”

The men who had carried him over laughed. “He beat it to death with his spear.”

“Yeah, why didn’t he just spear the thing?”

Tervel shook his head and slid sideways against me. I sniffed at the rag and nearly vomited. When the men were gone, I threw it into the fire and looked at his arm.

“What happened?”

“You heard,” he said crossly, but at least he kept his voice low.

“You killed a wildcat?” I poured some thin wine we’d had with our supper onto the scratches and studied them in the light of the burning rag.

“I killed a wildcat,” he agreed with anger. “Anything else?”

“Nothing else,” I said mildly, and pulled my breastband off and wrapped it around his wounds. The milk would do little harm and I could wash it in the river in the morning before I needed it again. I pulled my shirt back on and then noticed him staring at me.

“Thank you,” he said, and lifted his arm to indicate the makeshift bandage.

“Think nothing of it,” I said and settled back down on my blanket. I slept lightly, waiting for Linus to call for his midnight meal. But Tervel’s deep gulping and gasps roused me first.

“Tervel?” I rolled over to him and put my hand on his forehead. “Are you all right?”

In the moonlight, I saw streaks from his eye down into his hair. I pushed myself up onto my elbow. “Are you in pain? Shall I look for more wine?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I beat it to death.”

“And a good thing. It’s never good to have wildcats near children,” I whispered.

“I couldn’t stab it.”

Without thinking, I leaned against his wounded arm. He winced, but his other arm came up around my shoulder and held me there. “Tervel?”

“I left the army because of my arm…” He gulped again and more tears pooled in his eyes. “I’ll never get the use of it back.”

I rolled onto my back and pulled him with me, letting his head rest under my chin as he cried. I had no comfort for him but to hold him and stroke his head. What could I say? His left arm was noticeably smaller and weaker than his right. Knowing that it had happened not in battle but a skirmish with thieves probably added to his despair.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Sat, 12 May 2007 02:35:02 GMT

I don’t remember much of that day. Tervel put me in front of him on his horse, and the children rode together or with Callia back down to her farm. My blisters and reddened skin on my hands and feet were bathed in every pond and creek we passed, adding hours to our ride home. When we arrived, the slaves rushed out, telling of Margar’s fantastic injury and how the bathhouse had been saved.

“How do they know so quickly?” I asked as Callia laid Linus beside me on my bed.

“They always know, the slaves always know. Nurse your baby and sleep, Nino.”

I was unfit to travel for a week. Tervel and Bunar hid in the mountains as I recuperated. Makrina was delighted with Linus and sang him songs when he fussed. Farida told us that Margar had taken nearly every copper coin she had to pay for Arkat’s wedding, and begged Callia to let her and the children stay until autumn. Callia agreed and sent for Cothata.

With Cothata came the centurion with questions. I answered what I could, and he left, satisfied that I hadn’t killed Nestoris. Had Margar not admitted to killing Cook, I think he might have been trying to find out if I had.

Cothata held Linus whenever he was not nursing. I could not deny her a single moment, even when I craved my son myself. I knew I was leaving soon. Tervel would not fail me.

Father Photius and his family came to see me. It was far too soon for me to be churched or for the baby to be baptized, but Mary was comforting and Father Photius anointed me with myrrh and prayed.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s hard to say yet, Nino,” Mary said. “We should belong to Lady Arkat, as she was married to Lord Nestoris, but the marriage was not consummated and Nestoris’ brother is contesting her claim to the estate.”

“Her claim?”

“The widow’s part, and the return of her dowry, and the bridal price had not yet been paid. She disappeared from the household last night.” Father Photius sighed. “I fear for her child.”

“And you?” I feared for him. “What about you?”

“I am a slave, and I will do what my master asks. Lord Armis is a good man and as the details of his brother’s actions have come out, he’s openly condemned them. We’ve spoken about my priesthood and he’s come to talk about Christ twice. Perhaps we’ll baptize him next Pascha.”

I couldn’t answer him when my throat closed up and my eyes welled up with tears. Mary patted my hand. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I must,” I said. “If I am in Constantinople at Dormition, I will find my parents and go home with them.”

Father Photius made the sign of the cross over me and let me kiss his hand. “Be careful, Nino, not only on your trip home, but on your return.”

“I’m not coming back, Father. Bitumi is far from Thrace. It’s not like Deultum and Tricent.”

He shook his head. “Go with God, Nino. Take good care of that baby, and of our new John and little Makrina. If you ever have a chance, send news to Bishop Athanasius in Sozopolis. He’ll get the news to me.”

I tried to figure out if he shook his head in the affirmative as the Thracians did, or in the negative as I still did. I would never know, I decided. I hadn’t felt this sad when I’d left Bitumi. Then I was a young bride with all the blessings of God on me. A year later, a widow and caring for a child that my family and culture might well name bastard, and a journey of hundreds of leagues, dangerous leagues, lay ahead of me.

My burns healed with Cothata’s constant attention. The hot days made me more uncomfortable and I would not take poppy juice lest I roll over onto Linus in the middle of my sleep. By the tenth day, most of the blisters and reddened flesh were gone, flaked off or healed. What remained were the scars on my hands.

I would probably never be able to close my left hand fully again. Along with the burn down my right arm, I bore the marks of a bathhouse manager, just as my mother did. I looked at my fingers and their inefficient grasp.

“I learned to dance again,” I said, but I knew that my right arm had never regained the same grace as my left.

I waited for dark to light three lanterns and stood in front of them, examining my shadow on the wall. My belly was sagging, my posture was slumped and my thighs were fat. I knew these were the results of the pregnancy, but I would not let Farida be the example of how to live after having a child. The new skin on the soles of my feet complained, but I rose onto my toes and started my first exercises, imagining Elayjit’s instructions.

But Tana’s moves came easier. I danced on flat feet, letting my arms move randomly as I concentrated on the moves she’d taught me to dance out the baby.

Tervel arrived on the fifteenth day. Bunar looked a handspan taller, dirtier than I ever would have permitted, and gleeful at the idea of a trip. “Never liked living in a city,” he said.

I squatted down – less now than I had when we’d first met – and met him eye to eye. “I think I knew that. You know that you won’t be returning, or seeing any of your family for a very long time. Margar gave you to me, and you’ll stay with me now.”

His eyes turned dark and I saw Bulyar’s knowledgeable eyes looking at me through his son. “God willing,” he answered, and ran off.

Dawn found me wrapping the baby against my chest. I didn’t know what Tervel expected it would be like to travel with a child. I already knew that my son wanted to nurse every two hours and would make a great deal of noise unless his desires were immediately met. As this did not abate at night, I could only imagine what Tervel was going to think.

I walked down the hallway of Callia’s villa for the last time, looking at the niches where lamps had stood in the evenings when I walked the baby after feeding him, or hobbling my first night to my room. I averted my eyes from Callia’s shrine to Diana with the latest disgusting offering she’d laid in front of it asking for her goddess’s assistance in Dionysios’ hunt for a bride. I noticed notches in a doorway, many down near my hips, few above my waist. I had never asked Callia about them.

Why did that make me cry?

I heard the slaves moving in the house around me. Those I knew, I said good bye to with stilted, choked voice. The stone wall, never whitewashed the way the villa or other houses in Tricent had been, glowed in the yellow light. I had never been here until now, yet it was my home.

Callia stood beside a slave who held the ring in an ox’s nose as the yoke was laid over his shoulders. Across the yard, a cart loaded with wine amphora and baskets waited. Makrina and Bunar climbed over it, sniffing at the baskets to guess their contents.

“A shipment to Tricent?” I asked as I approached my sister-wives. Farida looked around, her own son Bulyar grabbing for her earrings. Callia’s shoulders hunched.

“No, this is for you.”

“All that wine? What am I going to do with that?”

“Take it to Deultum and buy your passage to Constantinople,” Farida said snottily. “Isn’t that what you’ve been planning to do all along?”

“Farida,” Callia murmured. “This is our sister-wife.”

“That--” Farida pointed at the loaded wagon, “—is a year’s wages for a laborer.”

“Nino worked for us, for our family, for a year. She is worth this much and more, for saving not only the bathhouse but our family in Tricent. I wish I could give you another load, Nino. It still would not be enough.”

I tried to imagine how slowly we would have to travel with a laden cart and ox. I would never make it to Constantinople in time, unless we caught the fastest ship on the Black Sea the moment we arrived.

“Thank you, Callia.”

Tervel sounded sincere, which covered my lack of gratitude. Bunar, slightly cleaner than I’d last seen him, was suspicious of the ox and cart and announced his intention to walk. Makrina, trying to look bigger than her five years, agreed.

“That’s good, as you’re not permitted to ride. Nino will ride when she has to nurse the baby. Are the boxes full of your lovely olive tarts, Callia?” Tervel took Callia’s hand. “Your kindness to us is beyond Bendis’ to Kotys.”

Callia lifted their joined hands to her forehead. “Your forbearance to your vozha is greater. All the gossip, all these years, about you and Baypat. I know that you do this for Baypat, and as her sister-wife, I thank you.”

“I’ll have to learn more about this sister-wife idea,” he finally said. He kissed Callia’s hands and forehead. “May Hero guard you, Callia.”

Farida withdrew, refusing to address Tervel at all, and instead, turned to me. “Callia is right, as always. I never liked you, Nino. You took Bulyar from me and I was so jealous of all the time he spent with you instead of with me. But he married well, when he married you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

What else could I say to this woman but this: “Bulyar’s last words were-” I choked. “He said ‘I love you, Farida,’” just before he died. He waited for you to come as long as he could.”

Farida turned and ran into the house as Callia and I watched. “That was a kindness, too, Nino. I never thought… It was a kindness.”

“It was the truth,” I said.

“Let’s go,” Tervel said. “Your kindness adds days to the trip, but we’ll be able to get to Constantinople by ship far faster than we would on the road.”

“Won’t you need this back?” I pointed to the cart and ox. “What should we do with it?”

“Sell it, if you can, or, if you don’t have time, take it to Violna’s shop. Margar’s wives will gladly take it.”

“And give it back to you?” Tervel asked, chuckling.

“Probably not, but the ox’s brand is new and the cart is old. I’ll get the ox back someday.” Callia turned to me. “Nino…”

I could only lean against her as we embraced. She kissed the baby and stepped back. “Cothata.”

Cothata put Makrina down from a tight embrace and came to stand with us.

It was time to say what my heart had been feeling for the past year. “Cothata, you are my Thracian mother. Without you, I would not have survived here, even before Bulyar’s death.”

She wiped away my tears as I wiped away hers. “Go with the Lord Jesus Christ, Nino. Be safe and raise Linus to be a good man, like my Linus was. You gave us such a gift, you gave him such a gift, Nino. I’ll pray to your god for you, for the rest of my life.”

She kissed my Linus on the soft spot of his head. “Go with your god, Linus.”

###

Tervel whistled while we traveled. Bunar, therefore, spent most of the first day spitting and asking if we heard anything. Makrina, on the other hand, covered twice the ground that our ox Ajax did because of her frequent detours to look at flowers or butterflies. By noon, I was sick of all of them. Bunar found a good copse not far from the track and we pulled in to rest.

“This is Janek’s land,” Bunar said.

Janek was dead. Vanjek, his brother, would now own this land; Vanjek who wanted Bunar to be vozha. “Let’s go,” I said, my thighs sore but my belly full of fear. “I don’t need to rest now.”

Our first night, we stopped far above Deultum in a field with several other traders. Tervel produced Callia’s delicacies for our dinner and I slept soundly on the soft grass. Linus slept better as well. Bunar found other children and he and Makrina played as the traders sorted out the oxen and donkeys from the herd, until they were all gone ahead of us. I nursed a cool cup of water in one hand and tried to squeeze a wet rag so that some water would run down my back. Tervel’s grunt of displeasure was my only warning.

“Vey, Tervel!”

I looked around at the approaching highlander. He had a happy smile for Tervel, extending his arms for the clannish embrace.

My eyes grew wide. I didn’t think I knew this man, but what did he know about me? About Bunar?

“Lodar,” Tervel said. “What are you doing so far from home?”

“Coming home, just like you did!” Lodar wrapped his arms around Tervel and slapped him on the back. “By Hero, it’s good to see family! I see you got yourself another wife! About time, about time! I imagine Bulyar was glad to see that and Baypat wasn’t!”

Tervel gritted his teeth. “Lodar, you know better.”

“Everyone only thinks what you and Baypat wanted them to, but I always knew better, cousin. I always knew better. Married long enough for a babe, that’s good. Another son?”

“Yes,” Tervel said. “You hadn’t heard about Bulyar yet?”

“Bulyar? What about him?” Lodar looked around. “What’s our vozha done now?”

“He died,” Tervel said. “At the fall equinox. Didn’t you hear?”

“So that’s why Margar’s wives are in Violna’s shop?” Lodar slapped his head. “What a fool, thinking he could put those two together in one house! So where’s Bunar these days? Is he with you?”

I stopped breathing. How did he know? Why would he ask that?

“I heard that Bulyar took a new wife,” Lodar said, looking down at me and leering. “Is she pretty, Tervel?”

Lodar approached me, sitting on the log, and I froze. The naked baby lay on the ground beside me.

“Looks like you, Tervel,” the man said, and as he knelt beside Linus, he looked into my eyes. “Or does he look like Bulyar, and this is his pretty little widow? Are the two of you taking Bunar--?

The man fell forward onto my lap. Tervel’s knife stuck out of in his back. The twitching death-throes sickened me, but until he died, I held him in my arms to protect my son.

“They know we’re on the road to Deultum,” Tervel said as he pulled the knife out of Lodar’s back. “They’re waiting for us.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Fri, 11 May 2007 14:30:30 GMT

“Yes, I am a Christian,” I said.

Margar’s knee was turning purple. I noticed it because I didn’t want to look up at Vanjek or Margar.

“You took him to your temple and had him baptized,” Margar accused me.

“I did not,” I tried to explain. “He went with me once, months ago. The decision to be baptized was Bunar’s alone.”

I disgusted myself. Did I blame the boy to escape martyrdom? Could I not stand and face what came, as the men in Sebaste had done? Did not Saint Nino have the courage to come to my country and seek to bear witness of Christ? My family, my name, my very home, were testimony to her faithfulness.

I would not be less. I made the sign of the cross. I raised my head. “But I rejoiced when he was baptized.”

“He will be hiding in their temple,” Margar snarled. “I’ll send slaves to get him and bring him back here.”

Vanjek waved at two highlanders. They shook their heads and ran out the door ahead of the slaves. I doubted any of them would be able to find the church, which would be empty anyway.

“This woman has no children?” Vanjek said. His eyebrows went up and he looked at Margar. “You’ve taken pity on a childless widow. How very civilized.”

Margar blushed at the implied insult. “She was pregnant until just a few days ago.”

“Where is the baby?” Vanjek asked.

“I gave birth on the road,” I said.

“Died.” Margar’s contempt pleased Vanjek.

“Throw her out,” Vanjek said. “We’ll take Bunar up to the hills and teach him our faith, our traditions.”

Margar locked eyes with Vanjek. The struggle of silent wills lasted a full minute before Margar said, “Nino, leave this house now. Do not return.”

I reeled. “What?”

“Leave now. Take nothing with you.”

I could take nothing with me… where had I left my icons? In the bathhouse. I would have to go there… But how could I get Bunar? I needed to say good-bye to Pejevi… her baby, would Margar order it to be exposed?

Dusk cast a red glow around me on the white-washed walls of the courtyard. I turned and looked around at what had been my home and loved it deeply in this moment. My son had been conceived here. I had made true friends here.

“But…” I was ready to beg for that which I would willingly walk away. What was wrong with me?

“No.” Vanjek slapped me across my chest and my breasts, already full, began to leak again. I stepped back and felt Cothata behind me. “Go to your god, that god who was so powerful that Romans could nail him to a cross. Hero is a true god! Romans could not kill Hero.”

Margar agreed and I felt Cothata’s hand on my arm, tugging me backwards. She pulled me out into the street and hugged me. In my ear, she whispered, “Get Bunar out of Tricent and away from here. Don’t take him to Callia. He must be hidden, don’t let him be found. If the hillsmen don’t have Bunar, then they can’t claim a rival vozha and the war will be stopped.”

I kissed her. “I will try to do what you ask, but Margar must approve or I could be accused of stealing the heir.”

She nodded and released me. “Go with your god, Nino.”

I walked away from the house and tried to determine what I could do with Bunar and Makrina. The army would not let them stay long in the barracks, nor would I want the children there overnight. Any slave would know where I had been in the past year and might try to figure out where I had hidden Bunar, if they thought Margar or Vanjek would reward them.

Not the church. Not Tana, for Cassandra would know immediately. The sellers?

I ran into the courtyard of justice and found the old Jew with his back to the whorehouse, dickering with the centurion.

“Lady,” they both said as I approached. My boldness in the past made them address me where they might have otherwise ignored me.

“I sent two children here,” I said, trying to breathe deeply. “Are they here?”

The Jew tried to withdraw, but I grabbed his arm.

“Yes, they’re here,” the centurion said.

“Will you hide them?” I asked the Jew. “I beg you, hide them. Men wish to kill them and you are an honorable man. Will you hide them?”

“Do I bring death to my house?” the Jew asked me.

“They will not look in your home,” I said, desperate. “They don’t know that I’ve ever spoken with you. Why would the children hide there?”

I had nothing to offer him, to pay him.

“Very well, for a night,” the Jew said finally. “I will hide them and in the morning, I will take them to the western city gate and if you are not there, then they are on their own. I cannot risk my family for yours, Lady.”

“I understand.” The crushing burden in my chest did not ease at all. I was missing something.

“The children are with three of the soldiers, they asked for them by name,” the centurion said. “I’ll have them escorted to your home, Mechial. Good evening, Lady.”

“Tell them that Nino asks it of them. Good night,” I whispered.

The centurion gave me an odd look but returned to his bargaining with the Jew. I slunk back and waited in the shadows until the guards and children walked away from the barracks and down a dark alley. I followed and saw the home where the children were taken in.

I needed a place to hide until morning. The city gates were already shut and the whores were lighting the lamps outside their doors. Where could I go but my bathhouse? In six months, I knew every spot, every brick and tile. I knew there was no true place to hide except in the shadows. No nooks or walls would hide me for long under the bright moonlight.

The moonlight did not hide Cook, either. He leaned against the bathhouse wall, his back to me as I approached. I slid silently into the alley across from the bathhouse and hid amid broken baskets.

Vanjek approached Cook, and if he had looked carefully, would have seen me. I pulled back and pushed myself against the wall. A rat squealed as I startled it and slipped away from me into the street.

“You were right, Cook,” Vanjek said. “Bunar’s ear was notched.”

“I told you,” Cook said. “Margar has been lying to you for months.”

Cook had seen Baypat’s act. Why was he pretending that Bulyar had done it?

“He’ll lie to me no more,” Vanjek looked up and down the street. “Bulyar thought of you as his friend. We spoke of you more than once.”

“My friend Bulyar…”

I felt my insides freeze. I knew that contempt in Cook’s voice. It had been addressed to me many times. I never expected to hear it from Cook about Bulyar.

“Where will he try to hide the true vozha?” Vanjek asked.

“Margar has no imagination. He’ll take the boy to Callia or to Deultum.”

“Not Farida?”

“Too far. You could rescue the boy there far too easily. Tervel would help you, he lived there for years.” Cook’s ugly voice turned sweet. “It was his house, wasn’t it? Ask him to help you. He’s been after the boy to claim the clan away from Margar.”

“Tervel,” Vanjek’s voice purred. “He would help us.”

“He left for a hunting trip several days ago. I think he was hunting something other than deer.” Cook and Vanjek laughed together. “Callia’s been trying to get him to take a wife.”

“He should have three wives,” Vanjek said.

“He’ll be back soon, I’ll tell him you want to see him,” Cook said. “Do you have Bunar yet? Or has Margar already hidden him?”

“We’ll find him. Christians always run to their church and their weakling priests.”

“The weakling priest is currently at his master’s wedding. You’ll have no problem getting the boy tonight.” Cook sounded so satisfied that I wanted to whip him again.

I mourned the loss of the pathetic, poor church that I’d despised. The highlanders would not hesitate to desecrate and destroy it.

Vanjek slapped Cook on the back. “You’re a good servant to our family, Cook.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cook said. Vanjek walked past him and I got my first look at Cook’s face. All the anger and hatred I’d suspected was there could be seen in the pale moonlight.

Vanjek returned to the villa and I expected Cook to follow, but instead, he turned to the door to the bathhouse. Had he taken Lavto’s key or mine? Either way, he opened the door and paused to pick up a long flat piece and stepped into the bathhouse.

Cook didn’t bother to lock the door behind him.

Spared the necessity of climbing over the wall, I slid into the bathhouse and pushed the door closed behind me. Cook’s lantern was unnecessary for me, but I watched as he headed across the exercise yard to the furnace room. I knew what he was going to do. Proper placement of that metal would block the steam from entering the pipes and would cause the boiler to explode.

I ran my hand over the scars on my arm. He would douse the embers, and drain the tank, and put the plate into place in less than an hour. I would have to wait for him to leave the bathhouse and douse the fire he started, then wait for the furnace to cool enough to drain the tank and to get the metal plate out. I’d be lucky to be out of here by dawn.

Cook didn’t try to hide his efforts. His unshielded lamp lit every room he passed through. I looked up at my unlit chamber window and wondered how many times he’d come through the yard and I’d missed him. I pounded my head with the heel of my hand. I’d missed so much. I’d assumed it had all be Arkat’s efforts, but the rags I’d pulled from the vent last time were covered with food. He’d gotten the rags from the kitchen. I’d thought it was just another attempt at vandalism to make the bathhouse stink. Cook had merely used what was on hand.

Then why had Arkat allowed us to blame her?

I needed a place to hide until Margar was done, but someplace that I would see him leave so that I could start my task of undoing his work. The best place would be near the door, but instead, I picked in the tempidarium, the darkest room with its tall windows that let less of the moonlight in. I’d be better hidden in the shadaws. I saw my icons and robe where I’d left them and pushed them under the bench against the wall and laid down beside them. I nearly spilled a pot of cleansing oil that someone had left on the floor.

I felt the footsteps on the floor before I heard them. Why was he coming in here? I pushed myself back and prayed for God’s hand to hide me.

“What could not wait that I must come from my wedding bed?”

I recognized the voice… I’d heard it before…

“My lord,” Cook’s oily tone returned. “I promised you that the bathhouse would be destroyed. But I learned today that the pearls may be hidden in this room.”

“What’s that? Pearls?”

“Pearls, Lord Nestoris.”

I swallowed my bile. Who was using the other in this twisted game?

“How do you know?”

“Lavto, the slave who manages the bathhouse, said that Lady Nino dropped a pearl ring into the hypocaust and refused to let him get it.”

“So?” Nestoris sounded impatient.

“So she must have had a reason not to want him down there. Who would lose a pearl ring and have the power to order any slave to retrieve it and refuse to do so? She must have the other pearls hidden down there.”

I might have chuckled at the reasoning, but it made a convoluted sense—to a slave.

“Her chambers have been searched countless times, but nothing had been found. Her personal slave goes through the room daily and has found nothing. But just before she started to buy supplies with pearls, she had this door to the hypocaust open. I think she’s got them down in there.”

Nestoris did not answer right away.

“Opening the hypocaust is dangerous unless the fires are out,” he finally said.

Hardly dangerous, I thought. Hot perhaps… Why would Nestoris lie like that? Or was he such a poor manager that he’d never tended his bathhouse and left it to slaves?

“Why do you need me, Demetros?”

Why, indeed?

“My lord, I made you certain promises that will be kept in the morning. I have done all that you asked – your marriage to Arkat, the vandalism here, all you asked. I asked for one thing in return. But now we both have an opportunity for great riches! If I asked another slave, even my beloved Pejevi, how long would it be before every slave knew? My share would be nothing! I cannot climb down into the hypocaust.”

“You are too big,” Nestoris said nastily.

“Yes, my lord, but you… are not.”

A discreet way to point out that Nestoris barely reached my nose.

Cook raised the bench and revealed the hypocaust access. He held up his lamp. “Look, my lord. It must be close by.”

“I don’t think I should be doing this,” Nestoris said. “I should go back to Arkat now.”

He’s afraid, I thought. Surely he noticed the lack of heat when the bench was lifted. There’s no heat down there at all at this point.

“You asked me to get Arkat as your bride, and I did so, didn’t I?” Cook said plaintively.

“Three years it took,” Nestoris said.

“But I convinced Margar to accept your offer and to sweeten the bride price by one hundred pearls, even though you’d already gotten the bride into your bed.” Cook lifted the lamp. “It’s not so deep.”

The arguing and prodding continued until Nestoris agreed. “Good thing that Arkat is already pregnant.”

“Think what she’ll say when you bring her father’s inheritance to her,” Cook encouraged.

Nestoris paused. “What about the boy?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Cook reassured him. “I’ve got that under control.”

Nestoris took off his shoes, and I saw his robe fall onto the floor. I closed my eyes and let my ears focus on hearing the small man drop down into the hypocaust.

“Give me the lamp,” Nestoris demanded.

I knew the search would be futile, but I knew that slaves and masters often did hide valuables in hypocausts. What would they find?

“I found a cheap ring,” Nestoris’s voice echoed in the hot chamber below me. “Are you sure she hid the pearls down here?”

“Where else? Look again.”

Nestoris would not be accustomed to taking orders from a slave. “What?”

“Look again!” Cook didn’t notice Nestoris’ irritation. “It must be down there.”

Nestoris climbed out. “Nothing is down there.”

I was just as disappointed as they were. I had hoped for something. My father had hidden two of my grandmother’s dishes in our hypocaust as a prank and no one had been able to retrieve them until I was old enough to climb down and bring them back up.

“I don’t think this is amusing, Demetros. It’s my wedding night and I’m climbing into a filthy hole.”

“No, my lord,” Cook said. “But I was sure that I would have enough pearls that you would not have to pay for my freedom.”

“Freedom?” Nestoris picked up his robe. “What freedom?”

“Margar isn’t going to need me here any more,” Cook whined. “The hillsmen are looking for Bunar now. When they find him, Bunar will be named the vozha against Margar. There will be a blood war. Margar won’t need a cook, he’ll be glad to sell me to you, and you can free me. With my share, I can buy Pejevi.”

“A blood war?” Nestoris was suspicious. “Over Tervel’s bastard?”

“It’s the hillsmen, my lord. They think that Bulyar notched Bunar’s ear. They intend to take him up into the hills and force Margar down as vozha. Margar isn’t going to need a cook, once this bathhouse is destroyed. There will be no reason for them to remain here, and no reason to keep me. You promised to purchase my freedom. You promised. I’m going to take over your kitchens and start making a profit for you. You promised.”

Nestoris’s chuckle warned me. A man so cowardly that he would ask a woman he would marry to commit sabotage would not be one to keep his promise. No wonder Buylar had never liked this man.

“Free you, Demetros? I might make you head of the kitchen, but I have no intention of freeing you. You were born a slave. You’ll die a slave. It is the order of things.”

Nestoris had an illogical sense of the order of things, I thought. What a fool, to say such a thing to a man twice your size!

Cook responded exactly as I suspected. He punched Nestoris in the face. The small man fell backwards against the door of the hypocaust access. His head made a sickening thud and he slid to the floor.

He did not get up again.

Cook’s rage did not abate. He screamed at Nestoris vile insults and stomped around the floor. The pot of oil beside me jumped with every step that Cook made.

What would he do with the body? The most likely solution would be to leave it in the hypocaust. The slaves would not smell it until later, when the body would stink enough for them to trace it to the vent. That he was in our bathhouse at night, unattended, would be suspicious enough. Even as Arkat’s husband, there was no good explanation for why he would be there.

As quietly as I could, I poured the oil from the pot onto the floor, letting the oil slide down the gentle slope the drained water to the side of the room and out into the sewers. This might implicate Nestoris more, but better, a footprint, or a shoe, covered with bathing oil, would serve as proof that Cook had been present.

Cook slipped slightly in the oil, but ignored it and walked away, leaving the body to lie twisted on the floor, the first puddles of blood beginning to smell.

He wouldn’t care if Nestoris’ body was left this way because he intended the entire facility to be in ruin before dawn.

I could hear the noise of Cook’s sabotage through the hypocaust. He sang as he worked, some tune I’d never heard, over and over again, distorted in the echoes of the hypocaust. It took him an hour, but I could feel the heat rising through the floor. The boiler produced barrels of hot water per hour, but we tempered it with cooler water to avoid boiling the patrons. I had no idea how long it would take for the water to reach boiling, and then how long it would be before an explosion.

I heard water spilling. Yes, it made sense to protect his work that Cook would pour out all the extra water we had stored. The mineral spring gave us clean water every day, but I wasn’t sure it would be enough if I had to wait too long before Cook left.

I had no time to stop the explosion by myself. All I could do was get help and pray that some of the slaves were sober enough to help us. Carefully avoiding the oil, I walked to the storeroom window and opened it. The gentle, grating noises sounded like shrieks in the silent night. I climbed through and closed the shutters. Without waiting to see if Cook came to check, I rushed to Sophronio’s room.

Cothata slept in Linus’ bed. I shook her quietly, for outside, I could hear the noises of revelry and rage. The slaves were still feasting, but the hillsmen maintained their posturing, primarily for the benefit of each other. No one else was in the courtyard.

“Cothata, get Margar and bring him here, now. Cook is in the bathhouse, he’s going to explode it.”

There was no word for explode in Cothata’s Thracian. “Explode?”

“The boiler is over-full and the furnace is on, it will cause an explosion. Get Margar now!”

She rose and I smelled the odor of old wine on her breath. “Get Margar.”

“Quietly,” I cautioned. “The hillsman cannot know I am here.”

“You’re right about that,” she said under her breath.

I did not know what Cothata said to bring him to her room, but he arrived minutes after Cothata left.

“Why are you here?”

“Cook is in the bathhouse, he’s setting up the boiler to explode and destroy the bathhouse,” I said in a whisper. “I cannot stop him alone.”

“You lie, you’ve been lying all along,” Margar said. He too was drunk.

“I do not lie. Nestoris lies in the tempedarium, dead. Cook killed him. I was there. Come and see,” I begged. “If you do not come, the bathhouse will explode.”

“How?” Margar demanded, swaying slightly.

“The boiler cannot take too much steam. It’s built to work to a point, but beyond that, it will…” I couldn’t find a word to explain it in Thracian. “It will catch the entire structure on fire. I can’t put it out myself. You have to come now.”

Fire was a word they understood. Margar baulked at having to climb through the window, but there was no time to go around, and if Cook had returned to the villa, unseen, the door would be locked and we would have to return for the key.

Nestoris’ body sobered both of them. “Where is he?”

“In the furnace room when I left,” I answered. The air from the vent was hotter, but not significantly, not yet. Cook might have learned how to close the drafts to the hypocaust, which would heat the water that much faster.

We’d been heard. Cook came charging in, Lavto’s ax in hand. Margar’s reflexes were much slower and he tried to block the blade with his hand. He’ll lose his fingers, I thought.

I picked up the oil pot and sloshed what remained into Cook’s eyes. He blinked and scrubbed at his face with his free hand. I pushed him, a mouse against a mountain.

“Cothata, grab the ax!” I shouted.

A split second of hesitation was enough for him to focus and begin to swing again. I pulled back, praying that whatever wound I would receive, it would not be too serious. I had Linus to think about now, but I had no hope that as close to me as Cook stood, that I would escape injury.

Cook slipped on the oil and fell onto his back, stunned. Margar grabbed the ax. Without pause, he buried it Cook’s neck.

Margar and I looked at each other.

“Anything I have is yours,” he said simply to me.

“Bunar,” I said, panting. “I want him.”

“Take him,” Margar said and he fell down in a faint.

I looked at Cothata. “Do you understand me, Cothata? I have to tell you what must be done and it must be done now.”

She looked up from Margar. “What?”

“Get the slaves to form a line and get pots, buckets, anything, to pass water to the furnace room. I’ll move the fire, but I don’t know if I can move enough. Cook will have stuffed the firebox with wood.”

“Get water line,” Cothata said and I felt relieved.

“Yes, get one started now. When I’m done, I have to leave. I can’t let anyone find me. Do you understand?”

“Go,” she said. “Do you know where Bunar is?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll take him with me.”

I ran to the furnace and it was worse than I expected. He’d jammed the doors, the pipes and the vents. My only hope was to pull open the top vent and reach down with Lavto’s spiked prod and hope to dislodge the plate enough to let the steam come out. I would be burned.

I wrapped my arms in my dress, and opened the clogged vent.

The prod pushed the rags down, but I could hear he’d place something inside the rags to secure it. I wiggled the prod and felt it give slowly and hear the rattle of something – stones? dirt?—down the pipe and rest against the plate.

Dawn’s light found me still fighting with the plate. He’d propped it in the boiler to stop it from slipping. My face and arms were wet with sweat and steam as I pushed and pulled. The ceramic pipe finally broke and I could see down to the plate where it blocked the vent. The first men arrived, barely awake and incompetent to do more than listen to my instructions and follow them half-heartedly. Only Lavto had any ability to help me, but his arms were too big. The water was poured from the buckets and bowls onto the door of the furnace to try to either warp it open or crack the glowing red iron handle.

I reached for a knife and crossed myself. I would not survive this rush of steam. “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner,” I said aloud.

I plunged the knife and my arm into the broken pipe, and wedged the plate open. Pushing further, I twisted the knife and whatever Cook used shifted. The plate dropped.

Hot water bubbled out immediately, burning my feet and legs. I jumped back, but the water pressure had been released.

“I have to go,” I said to Lavto, ignoring my pain. “I must be at the western gate now.”

Perhaps the Jew would be kind. Perhaps he would be late. The sun was past dawn when I approached the gate. Two of the highlanders stood off to the side, watching and snickering at me in my soaking clothes. I clutched my icons – thank you, Cothata, I whispered – and hustled through the gate.

In a cart covered with hay, the Jew sat quietly, chewing a piece of wheat. “May I help you, Lady?”

I accepted his offer and he stopped in front of me.

My church called the Jews every evil name I could imagine. He had come to my rescue without more than my words to convince him. And now, he smiled at me like a child, and gently lifted me into the hay. “You’re burned, Nino. We’ll have to take care of that.”

“Go to the eastern wall,” I said. “I have helpers there.”

Please, God, let them be there.

Chapter Twenty-five

Fri, 11 May 2007 14:17:23 GMT

“You made that boy into a Christian!”

I blinked several times through the pain as Cothata grabbed Margar’s arm and scolded him.

“Bunar is highland and would never have heard of your stupid dead god unless you taught him!” Margar raised his hand again but Cothata stood between us.

“Stop it now, Margar.” Her order had enough force for him to lower his hand, but his anger did not abate.

“Margar?” Aten, Cassandra’s husband, came to stand beside me. “You’re needed to begin the feast.”

“Yes, go, Margar,” Cothata said. “I’ll take care of Nino.”

I feared that taking care of me would mean taking me up to the peacock room where the rest of the women guests would be having their feast, but Cothata took me to Sophronio’s cool room and laid me on his pallet. She gave me a drink but avoided my eyes until I said her name.

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. “I’ve done what I could for the bathhouse, but I doubt I could run it as well as you. Now that you’re back, you can advise me until you… are ready.”

I didn’t want to lie to her. Lavto’s comments gave me something to say. “I understand you managed to keep the whores and Lady Claudia’s entourage separate all morning.”

Cothata sighed humorously. “The first nobility we’ve had in six weeks and when does she come? During the whores’ visit. We’ll never get the nobles here if they knew.”

“You don’t really want the nobles, Cothata,” I said, trying to find an easy position. “They demand a great deal and don’t pay for it. It’s much better to have the slaves, who will pay, or the laborers, who understand work and will respect our efforts.”

My mother’s voice was coming out of my mouth, and finally, I understood what she meant. I laughed at myself. I needed to become a mother, I supposed.

“You went to Callia,” Cothata finally murmured. “I’m glad you had her with you.”

“She’s… been good to me.”

“She was good to me when my son was born,” Cothata smiled. “I was so afraid that Buylar would tell me that the child had to be exposed. Callia promised not to let him.”

“Bulyar wouldn’t have ordered it.” I had to admit good about the man who had deceived me. “He loved you and would never have done it.”

He’d done it to Baypat, I remembered.

“Well, he might have, had Callia not have been here. She was pregnant then, too.”

“Margar’s in the same position, isn’t he? Two of his sisters are pregnant, and I have a child without a husband…”

Cothata snickered. “You noticed, then. I didn’t think you had.”

“It’s hard to miss her belly when she sat on the ass.” I chuckled with her. “I see she’s taken my clothing.”

“Margar let her while I was at the bathhouse.” Cothata’s eyes narrowed. “She said she couldn’t find any pearls but your ring. I took it back from her and put it away. Did you find it?”

“I did, but I lost it in the hypocaust. If Lavto brings it to you, reward him.” I stretched out my legs. “Where is Bunar?”

“His uncles have him at the feast, I’m sure. They’re very angry with Margar. When did Bunar become a Christian?”

“Sunday,” I said. “How many days ago was that?”

“Rest, Nino,” Cothata said. She stroked my head with a cool damp cloth. “You’re exhausted. The feasting will keep the men away, but Margar will demand to see you as soon as he can.”

But instead of resting, the crowd outside grew louder and louder. It was not the sound of happy feasting, but angry shouting. My body tensed as I heard the noise increase.

I rose and caught a slave rushing past with a stack of rags. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you in the bathhouse?”

“The master needed us to help serve at the feast, my lady.” The slave gulped and looked over her shoulder. “The hillsmen are fighting.”

“Thank you,” I said automatically and let her go. I knew little about the highlanders or their customs, and none had come down for Cassandra’s wedding. These people of Thrace’s mountains expected widows to kill each other for the privilege of being buried to their husbands. I didn’t want to try to imagine what they would do at a wedding.

The city guests left soon. I couldn’t blame them. The highlanders were angry about something.

Margar left with the wedding party for the feast at the bridegroom’s home. I watched him escort his sister from the stairway to the door and noticed for the first time how much alike they looked. The family resemblance marked even the distant relations; Margar’s wife was a distant cousin and still had the narrow face and chin. Linus would look like his family.

With Margar gone, there was nothing for me to do until his return except find Bunar.

The count of how many hours I’d been away from Linus depressed me, but I had little else to think about. My breasts ached and my clothing was wet. It seemed the only thing I could do was to go to the bathhouse and clean myself up for my confrontation with Margar.

Instead of walking around to the front gate and over to the bathhouse entrance, I climbed through the window we’d cut through from the storerooms. In the cooling evening light, I bathed quickly and rinsed out my milk-soured garments. By the time I was done, I found I was not alone.

“Cothata told me you were here,” Tana said, holding up a towel as I tried to retie the breastband. “Let me help you with that.”

“You were here for the feast, weren’t you?” I winced as she rubbed my body down.

“You need to get rid of your milk,” Tana said and showed me how to relieve the pressure of my over-full breasts. “You’d probably be a good wet nurse, Nino. The milk looks pure and you’re a strong, powerful woman. One of my neighbors needs a wet nurse. Shall I recommend you?”

“No,” I said immediately and regretted my harsh tone.

“You’re right, it is a job for the slaves.” Tana misunderstood my reasons for turning down the job, but I didn’t clarify. “You have enough to do with this bathhouse, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said.

“You’ll probably still be making milk for another two weeks, but then it will be gone, and you’ll not mourn so deeply,” Tana said and took my hand. “I understood why you left, Nino. If your child had lived, Margar would have had him exposed. But I was sorry not to be at your birth, to dance your baby out with you.”

For the first time in months, I cried. Tana held me and let me weep out all my fears, comforting me like her daughter.

“I’ll get Cothata for you,” Tana offered. “She’ll stay with you. The highlanders won’t be calmed down until Margar comes back, and it may be best for you to stay here. Yes, stay here, out of sight.”

“Why?” The urgency in her voice disturbed me.

“The highlanders… You don’t want to get caught in their blood battles.” She kissed me on the forehead and picked up the breastband. “Let’s get you wrapped up and I’ll send Cothata.”

Instead of waiting for Cothata, I went to find her in the villa. The slaves were trying to clean up after the feast, but the courtyard had become a battleground.

“Nino, stay back here,” Cothata yanked me back. “Why did you come here?”

“I’m looking for you and Bunar,” I said, pushing back against her restraining hands. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the beginning of the blood war,” Cothata swallowed and glanced at the men shouting and pointing at one another.

“A blood war?”

“That tall one, in the middle? That’s Baypat’s eldest half-brother, Janek. He wants to see Bunar and Margar has ordered that he come, but no one can find him.”

Several men stood together in the courtyard. Even in the heat of June, they wore ratty, worn fox hats and had foxtails tied to their shoulders. Hadn’t they been to our villa before… just after Bulyar’s death?

“What’s the problem then?” I asked.

“One of the highlanders saw the boy at the wedding feast and noticed that his ear had been notched. There’s confusion that Margar claimed his father never notched any boy’s ear…”

“We saw Baypat do it before her death,” I said.

“What we say we say isn’t important. Margar didn’t witness it and none of the men who were present before Violna and Baypat’s fight aren’t here. I doubt the highlanders will take the word of any man who lives in the city anyway.”

“But we saw it – we could tell them what we saw.”

Cothata rubbed her hands on her face. “It doesn’t matter, Nino. I’m a woman who gave birth to a child long after my husband’s death. I should be dead myself, I would be dead if Bulyar had not let me live. I have no right to speak and they have no obligation to listen.”

“What about me?”

“You’re a foreign woman, barren, and a fifth wife who didn’t even know that her husband had four other wives living. You’re an idiot to them. They’d take the word of a slave before they’ll take yours.”

Virtually every slave who had witnessed that bloody day had been sold by Margar. “Cassandra? Arkat? Wait – didn’t Cook witness all of this?”

“I’ve sent for him, but no one knows where he is,” Cothata said. “He’s spent all day preparing for the feast and no one has seen him since. Lavto said they spoke just as the party was moving to Nestoris’ house, but--”

“Nestoris’ house?” My mouth dropped open. “Nestoris is the father of the groom?”

“Nino, Nestoris is the bridegroom, didn’t you know?” Cothata stopped and turned to listen. “Bunar’s here.”

We watched as Janek knelt and held his arms out to Bunar, who grinned and ran toward him. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but clearly they were fond of each other. Janek stood up and measured Bunar against his chest, and then called another man to join them.

“That’s Vanjek, Janek’s brother. Baypat and Bunar lived with them before Bulyar died.”

Before Baypat died, I thought. What a horrible place I lived, where wives died in fights to claim a husband’s love. Once I left this place, I would never, ever return, and I would never tell Linus about his heritage. Perhaps this is why my father spoke so little about his childhood-

The shouting startled me. “What’s he saying, Cothata?”

“He’s noticed Bunar’s necklace… is that a cross, Nino?”

“Yes,” I said.

She glared at me. “You let him wear a cross? Don’t you know what this will mean? The hillsmen will find out that he’s a Christian!”

I must have looked confused. “They kill Christians in the hills, Nino. They’ll blame Margar for letting this happen!”

The necklace was ignored by the men and instead, they pushed back Bunar’s hair from his ears. An angry shout from Janek echoed across the courtyard. The men around them began to talk and put their hands on their knives.

“What is it? What are they saying?”

“That Bunar’s ear is notched.” Cothata groaned and leaned against the wall. “Do you know what a blood war is like, Nino? Our family is going to kill each other until all of them are dead. My mother’s family had a blood war over an insult and it lasted for seventeen years. A blood war over an heir will last for generations.”

I should tell her my plan, beg her to come with me back to Callia’s where she might be safe. But Callia’s villa would not be safe either.

Margar’s return must have been hurried by some message, for he walked into the courtyard long before the bridegroom’s feast would have ended. He came to stand before the clansmen and rocked back onto his heels.

Baypat’s half-brothers were not in the clan, but they were surely related somehow. Tervel also was related to these men. Did he suspect that this would happen? He may have declared that he did this for Baypat’s son, but he must have known what was going to happen when those who disapproved of Margar’s Latin mother saw the scars that Baypat had given Bunar.

Bunar listened to the men shouting around him, and in a quick moment of distraction, ducked out of the battle’s center and raced past me. I put out my hand to stop him. “Get Makrina. Both of you need to go to-“ Where could they go?

“Go to the barracks,” Cothata told him. “Take Makrina and go. They’ll protect you.”

“Yes, go to Andrew and Peter and Simon,” I said. The men who had been baptized with Bunar would keep them safe. “Run and don’t come until I send for you.”

Cothata glared at me, but didn’t contradict my order. The boy ducked into the kitchen door and out of sight.

Margar was a thinner version of his father and I’d assumed that Margar was weaker because of it. But Margar’s strength and agility saved him from the highlander’s sudden knife attack to his belly. Janek didn’t expect Margar to escape and twisted until he found his footing, but Margar’s knife was already in Janek’s back.

Janek landed on his face. Margar stood by Janek’s feet with a cold glare on his enemies’ face. Janek’s kick at Margar’s knee brought Margar down to the mosaic floor. Janek pulled out his own knife. The long slice along Margar’s arm dripped blood that mixed into Janek’s.

Janek and Baypat both fought beyond their fatal wounds.

Margar rose up and addressed the silent highlanders. He picked up Janek’s knife covered with Margar’s blood and held it aloft.

“I am vozha!” He shouted. “I am. Bunar’s ear was not notched by my father. I am Bulyar’s heir. If you do not offer me your loyalty and obeisance, leave now and feel Janek’s knife when it finds you.”

Margar ordered the slaves to take the body, but the highlanders formed a guard around it. The slaves remained in the kitchen when the highlanders hoisted Janek to their shoulders and walked out of the courtyard and the villa.

Cothata ran to Sophronio’s room and threw herself on the bed with wails and tears.

Vanjek came into the room, looking around. “Bunar. Where is he?”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s had water poured over him, Vanjek,” Cothata pleaded hoarsely. “I was baptized and I don’t follow their god any more. It doesn’t matter.”

“His ear is notched, woman,” Vanjek said and looked into the dark storerooms. “He is the vozha.”

“No, no, Baypat did that, not Bulyar! I saw it! We both saw it.”

Vanjek spat on the floor in front of me. “Shut up, woman. Where is the boy?”

“He’s not here,” I said and I turned to look at Cothata, who cowered into the bedclothes.

“He’s not in here,” she repeated weakly. “Not here. He didn’t come in here.”

Behind me, behind the wall, I heard a noise. Had the highlanders gone into the bathhouse?

As Cothata wept, I walked down the hall to the window into the bathhouse and listened. I couldn’t hear anything until I heard Margar shouting my name.

Vanjek stood with his arms crossed beside Margar.

“She’s a Christian?” Vanjek said.

Anyone might have told him, I consoled myself. Margar, Cothata, any of the slaves… It wasn’t necessarily a personal betrayal that had led me to this place that may be my martyrdom.

Chapter Twenty-four

Wed, 09 May 2007 13:25:25 GMT

Margar was expected to be in Deultum for the solstice in a few days. I had to get to Tricent, collect the pearls without anyone knowing about them, and take them to Deultum and buy Bunar.

Margar would not bargain for pearls he already owned. I could end up dead.

I would have to put this to him in such a way that he would give me what I wanted for the information and while he searched, I would have to make another escape.

In the donkey cart, we rode back to Callia’s house. She must have been watching for us, because by the time we stopped by the front gate of her villa, she stood there with several servants.

“I sent Dionysios off to Macedonia for a bride this very morning,” she told me as I passed the baby down to her. “He might tell Margar where you are and he would expose your child without a second thought.”

Callia placed Linus and me in a quiet room, far from the noise and heat of the courtyards. I looked over the vines on the hillsides. It looked peaceful. It looked boring.

Linus and I cuddled in my bed, and I dreamt of Bulyar watching me, and then turning to Cook, and then turning back to me. “If you think you’re warning me about Cook,” I said aloud when I woke up, “I already know.”

If there were any member of my household who would kidnap my son and kill him, either by hand or by exposure, I knew that it would be Cook. I would have to leave Linus somewhere safe, away from Tricent. But without a decent wet nurse, the longest I could be gone would be one day. I didn’t have a single day’s leeway.

I could just walk away. What did I owe these people? Why was Tervel’s wish my command? I could get to Constantinople without him. I sat on a portico and listened to the baby breathe.

“Because you owe Bunar your life,” Tervel said.

I turned my head and saw him leaning against the windowsill, half covered with huge grape leaves.

“What?” I rubbed my forehead hard. “I owe him?”

“Without him, I never would have come up. You owe me, because had I not come, Nestoris’ slaves would have probably raped and killed you. You owe Sophronio his vengeance.”

“I named my son after him,” I said sleepily. The other things were part of my old life. I was free of them.

“If you get him for me,” Tervel finally said, “I’ll take you not only to Constantinople, but if we don’t meet your family there, to Bitumi.”

I had not thought past Constantinople. I had reckoned on a month’s travel, arriving as close to the Dormition of the Theotokos feast as I could. My parents might arrive before, but not later than the feast, and knowing my mother, they would not stay long past it. She would be counting all the time she spent away from the bathhouse and worrying that the slaves had overfueled the furnace.

“I need to sleep,” I said and turned my back to Tervel.

###

Sleep wasn’t much of what I got. Farida arrived just after I fell asleep, and then we sat down to dinner and another round of incessant reasonings why I would have to be on the one to get Bunar away from Margar. Tervel said little and let the women nag me until I retired to nurse the baby and sleep what little I could through the short night. Linus fussed often until I pulled the swaddling clothes off him and let him rest on my bare skin.

I woke in the dawn light and studied my sleeping son. Bulyar’s features on Linus’ perfect face reminded me of Bunar, and of Tervel, and Cassandra and Arkat.

Arkat’s wedding was scheduled for today…wasn’t it? I couldn’t remember. But if it were, I could easily slip into town, get the boy and leave without anyone knowing. Bunar was known for disappearing for a couple of days at a time and showing up again, hungry and full of stories of his adventure. It would give me at least three days before Cothata would start to worry.

She would worry. Callia would reassure her, after we left.

But my baby? What would happen to my baby for the time I was gone?

Callia was clever. How many times had I heard Cothata or Sophronio say it? She’d gotten Farida – the mother of Linus’ brother – to serve as a wetnurse.

I had no icon to pray before. I had only the small cross I wore around my neck. But I couldn’t imagine that this – that I- would succeed without God’s assistance.

Tervel met me in the courtyard, his brown eyes steady. “Callia knows a back route to Tricent. She doesn’t know if Dionysios ever showed it Margar, but thinks it’s likely that he did. So when you bring Bunar out, you have to be sure that Margar doesn’t see you, or he’ll know where you’ve gone.”

“Fine.”

He blew a long breath out, as if he’d been holding it in against my answer.

“How long will it take to get to Tricent?” I asked, watching the slaves head out into the fields.

“Four hours. By horseback.”

That would put me into town during the busiest part of the wedding preparations. The bathhouse was unpredictable at that time of day, and Cothata might have just ordered it closed to use the servants for the wedding banquet, if Margar had come up with the money. I was fairly certain he’d find it.

I wanted Farida to ride with us as far as they could without risking being seen from the city, but Callia had only three horses. My donkey wouldn’t make the trip and Farida, ever mindful of her own comfort, complained that nursing two babies would tire her too much to leave her bed. It added eight hours to the time I would go between nursings.

I turned around in the awkward saddle and watched my son in Farida’s arms until the trail turned.

The trail was little more than a hard-packed track and often was less as we rode through butterfly-filled meadows and an old, untended orchard. The hillsides we climbed crumbled beneath the horses’ hooves.

“Will we be able to come back this way?”

Tervel looked up at the rain clouds. “We’ll make a camp if we need to, Nino.”

He didn’t understand what he was saying, I thought, as the thought of being away from my son for another night made my breasts ache.

“Is your milk coming in?” Callia asked when we stopped to rest the horses. She couldn’t move much more than to rub her hips. “I don’t know why you insisted on coming today, Nino. Bunar’s not in any immediate danger from Margar, not with all the hillsmen there for the wedding. We could have waited another week.”

Tervel had not told her our plans, or his own. Then again, Tervel hadn’t told me what he intended to do with Bunar, either. We’d all made assumptions and commited ourselves without understanding each other. Too many secrets, too many ways to fail.

Callia was probably nothing more than concerned for Bulyar’s son. She treated all of her husband’s children the same way, only her own son getting a favored glance. I could count on her only as far as her villa and no further. If I told her that I wanted to go home, what would she do?

“I still think we should have given you a fake belly,” Callia said as I turned my back for her assistance with the clothing she’d given me –a plain dark-colored dress without adornment, and a clean, dry breastband.

“Did you ever want to go back home, Callia?” I asked as she tightened the bands around my breast and belly.

“Home to Macedonia? I’d hoped to go with Dionysios, to help him find a bride,” she said, puffing with exertion as she pulled on the fabric. “I’ve never considered it until now. Being Bulyar’s wife gave me certain priveledges that I could never have at home as the wife of a man who lived with me all the time.”

“You like having sister wives?” I wrenched around to see her frown at her spoiled work.

“I liked having Bulyar--when we wanted each other--and I like the freedom I have to run the vineyard the way I want to do it. Bulyar knew nothing of it and let me do things my way. Violna always assumed that after her marriage to Bulyar that he didn’t return to my bed, and it suited me to let her think so.”

I did not want to know more about her marriage, but her attitude mystified me. “Then you’d marry him again, if you had the chance to choose, knowing that there were other wives?”

Callia chuckled. “Of course. I may not have been brought up as a Thracian, but I’ve learned to love this land and the people. I loved Bulyar. I love you and Farida.”

“Violna? Baypat?”

Callia fingered the long scar down the side of her face. “Violna and Baypat were my sisters as much as you are, Nino. I may not have liked them, but I made the sister-widow bond with them… as I did with you. If they asked me for anything that I had, I would give it to them without question, just as I am giving to you.”

“Thank you.” I felt humbled. I would not have been so giving to her. Seeing Farida without mental preparation allowed searing jealosy to burn through my heart. I would no more give her a stone than I would a pearl.

I could hear the noise of Tricent before I saw her walls. The gates stood open with guards above watching the horizons and men lying around in what shade remained. It was later than I’d thought.

We circled the city walls to the entrance closest to my bathhouse. I imagined I could hear the water in the pipes below me as we crossed over and I watched the thin trail of smoke rise from the furnace.

As I expected, our villa was in an uproar. I could hear Cook’s instructions from the storerooms. I ducked in and collected the hidden monies and put them into Sophronio’s desk. Cothata would find them there, eventually.

In the chaos, I managed to get up to my room. The chest lay open and the clothing was pulled out and tossed randomly onto the floor. I looked at the clothes my mother had made me and tried to account rapidly, but I was too tired to do more than pick up a dress and wrap up my icons in it. I picked up the pearl ring that Bulyar had given me and without thinking about it, jammed it onto my finger. It was too loose, but I had now way to adjust it, so I had to be satisfied by clenching my clumsy bag in the same hand. If it were lost, I would not mind, but I did not want Margar to have it.

Lavto found me crossing the courtyard to Bunar’s usual haunt in the stable. “My lady! You’ve returned! The baby?”

I hunched over and avoided his good-natured eyes, letting him think whatever he wanted.

He put out his hand and stopped: the boundary of slave and mistress would not be crossed, even in compassion. “My lady, would you come to the bathhouse? We… need your assistance.”

His glance veered over my shoulder and I guessed whom he saw. “Yes, I’ll come right away.”

We discussed the last three days in normal voices as I nodded to a couple of slaves when we passed. Their glances at my belly told them what they wanted to know.

The bathhouse was calm in the hot sun. I sniffed as we walked through the changing rooms and suggested that an extra rinse of rose water wouldn’t be bad. At least it would mask the smell of the patrons’ sweaty clothing.

“Where is Bunar?” I asked, grateful to sit down in the shaded exercise yard. “Do you know?”

I hadn’t thought that he might have wanted to escape the wedding rituals by heading up into the hills.

“His uncles came for the wedding,” Lavto said as he signaled for another slave to bring me a cold drink. “Lord Margar called for the young master this morning and I haven’t seen him since.”

I listened absently to the recitation of Cothata’s successes and errors in managing the bathhouse, the usual slave manner of shifting blame from his own shoulders. On the whole, I thought wearily, Cothata was doing well. I hoped I would see her and dreaded the conversation at the same time. She’d want to know about the child, and how could I tell her that Linus was currently at the breast of Farida and I had no intention of remaining in Tricent?

I heard the bells of the approaching bridegroom and remembered vaguely that I still didn’t know whom Arkat would marry today. Not that it mattered to me; Arkat had been a thorn in my side as long as she had lived with me. But it was odd that neither Callia nor Farida were present at the ceremonies, in place of Arkat’s dead mother.

Oh, that was supposed to be me.

Lavto cleared his throat. I’d dosed off and hadn’t even noticed.

“My lady, I fear that we’ve had another attempt at sabotage,” he said. “I cannot reach the rags stuck in the ducts.”

When he showed me the blockage, not only was it larger, it had been placed on the far side of the vent, so that when we opened the duct, the hot air blasted our faces. “How hot is the fire?”

“Not hot, my lady,” he replied instantly. It was hot enough, and very probably too high to be safe. Lavto hadn’t learned from our previous experience, but Arkat apparently had. If this had been the first attempt to wreak havoc at my bathhouse, I would have been sure it was Nestoris’ work.

One by one, I pulled each out, wincing at the foul smell of rotton onions and rancid meatfats. One of the rags was pale green… the color of my turban.

Lavto and I walked to the hypocaust bench and I let him lift it up. Together we waited until the hot air began to rise from the opening. I put my hand out to brace my weight as I leaned over the opening, and the pearl ring dropped into the hypocaust and bounced out of sight.

“My lady…” Lavto was appalled. “Your ring!”

“It’s all right.”

He rightly looked appalled at my apathetic tone. “Tonight, I’ll go down and get it myself.”

I chuckled and pulled on the bench to lower it back into position. Retrieving that bauble was the last thing I had on my mind. “You’re too big to get down there, Lavto.”

“I’ll find another, my lady.” He looked at me hopefully. Surely I would reward him for such an effort.

“I will be very grateful,” I said. “If I’ve already gone to bed, save it until morning for me. I need to sleep.”

“Yes, my lady.”

He could save it and sell it for all I cared. I was supposed to be doing something right now. What was it?

Bunar. I needed to get Bunar.

Tervel had drilled into me that I had to have Margar’s permission to take Bunar out of Tricent, or I risked the chance that Margar would summon the highland families to track us. Stealing an heir was worth death, and I hadn’t asked how.

I walked back to the villa and looked over the preparations. Someone had come up with a lot of money. Cook had six piglets on spits. Lambs were being set out on platters. I’d eaten nothing since I left Callia’s and my mouth watered, but I left the kitchen hungry. I needed to stay awake and focused. I sat under the balcony…

I awoke when Cothata gently took my hands as the wedding party returned.

“The babe?”

“Linus,” I said, yawning and felt again the heaviness of my breasts. “I named him Linus.”

She stared at me until Margar came up behind her. “Where have you been?”

“She had the baby, Margar,” Cothata said with annoyance.

“Where is it?”

“It must be dead,” Cothata insisted. “A new mother doesn’t leave her baby before her milk comes in. She hasn’t even made a sacrifice yet.”

Margar looked at my clumsy packet of clothing and icons. “What’s that?”

“She’s home, it doesn’t matter.” Cothata’s body blocked my view of the bride and groom, but the cheering caught my attention. “You need to rest, Nino.”

I wanted to see what Arkat was wearing. I ducked around to see the bride entering on the donkey as Cassandra had months before. I had expected Cassandra to be wearing my clothing. Arkat’s attire was far more offensive.

She’d stolen my best clothes. The yards of fabric that had made my turban were now draped over her, clinging to her body in the heat.

Arkat was pregnant.

Yet her hair hung down, unbound as if she were a virgin. I glanced up at Margar. Surely he couldn’t miss it. His own wife stood next to the bride, also heavy with child.

“I would like to take Bunar with me to Rossakastron,” I said to Margar. “I have heard that there is a monastery there, and I would like to go and pray.”

I never expected Cothata to weep.

I never expected Margar to slap me across the face.

Chapter Twenty-three

Wed, 09 May 2007 13:24:04 GMT

The sun set late, and the slaves liked to take the late evenings for their own entertainment. I listened from my chamber to the music and dancing as I unlaced the linen pallet and felt around for the small folds I’d sewn into the fabric. The pearls were still there, safe and undisturbed. I even counted them again into the baskets.

A bridal price of two hundred gold coins. My father hadn’t asked for so much. He’d been pleased with the thirty that Bulyar had paid.

There were forty coins, all copper, hidden in the storeroom. Not enough to get me to Deultum and onto a ship.

I selected pearls that were similar in size and quality to those I’d spent. I had been careful to pick only from my pearls that had not been drilled so that I could pick replacements from the stash. These I set into a small pouch I’d sewn from a rag and, wishing I’d had another idea, slit the sole of my sandal and pressed all of them in between the leather and the rope straps. It would make me walk awkwardly, but they would be hidden from thieves.

I looked at the rest of the pearls. One perfect pearl would get me to Constantinople. Two would get me there and I’d have money to live on until August and my parents’ arrival. Three and I would go home richer than I had left it.

I rolled the pearls around in my hands. Perfect.

But I was not worth an empress’s pearl.

I put the perfect ones back and picked out twenty of the least quality. These were worthless in trade with anyone who knew pearls. But who knew pearls here in Tricent? No one.

I put those in my purse. I was expected to have pearls. I had best have some.

Until I could bargain with my conscience no longer and fell asleep, the pearls moved from one basket to my pouch and out again.

Before sunrise, I woke with the first birds. It had to be like every other morning, I instructed myself. I could carry nothing, I could not look any different than usual. The gate out of the city was busy at sunrise and I would be able to walk out uncontested. I crossed myself and looked about my room. I might have wanted to keep my icons, to take them back home with me, but I could not. They would have to remain, along with the turban my mother had woven, and the dancing belts Elayjit had sewn.

I stopped thinking about what I would have to leave and tied my hair up tightly. I wouldn’t have time to take care of it again until I was in Constantinople. If it hadn’t been so hot, I would have cut it off and burned it.

I knelt and prayed before the icons one last time, and kissed them both goodbye, begging for St. Nino’s intercessions before the Throne of Grace, and I walked out of my door. I rang the bell to wake the slaves and joked with Pejevi about my early start.

“I’m going to talk to the oil seller,” I told Cothata and Lavto over our breakfast. “I need to buy more oil for next month, when I’ll be unable to get it after the baby is born.”

Cothata made the sign against the evil eye and Lavto rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go in the donkey cart,” I said and thought I’d been casual enough, but Cothata looked at me oddly. “I’d rather ride than walk,” I said and pointed downwards. “I do still have feet down there, don’t I?”

Cothata met me at the doorway with a cloth-wrapped bundle. “Take this with you,” she whispered. “Let me know when the baby is born.”

“I will,” I said and wished I could kiss her goodbye.

“May your god speed you,” she said.

At the gate, two shepherds stood and argued, leading to a fight that spread into a riot as the rival clans used the excuse to attack. The soldiers who guarded the gate did not notice me as I drove out and down the Roman road toward the east.

I didn’t notice the time until the sun was highest in the sky. I’d covered most of the distance Bulyar and I had covered in the last day of our trip. The field where we’d camped with the soldiers was now full of traders. I hurried the donkey past them and hoped I had not been noticed.

I felt my first pain then.

Tana had warned me about the labor pains. They stretched me, prepared me, and I was to listen to them and walk until they passed. But if I got out and walked each time a pain hit, how could I make any good distance?

The sharp, steep roads that had slowed us on our way to Tricent sped me to Deultum. The place we’d stopped where Buylar had given fabric and supplies – now I knew that was Baypat’s home. I passed the turn-off and remembered that this day, this very day, one year ago, I stood at the door of my church and asked for God to make me one with Bulyar. I’d had no hesitation. I’d felt no reason, I knew no thing, that would have warned me that Bulyar was such a liar and that his actions would lead me to the point that I was running away to go home.

Tervel wasn’t the only one asking God questions, but at least I felt confident that God had had a reason for this entire disaster.

I hadn’t expected to take one day to reach the outskirts of Deultum. But then, I hadn’t expected to go into labor so early. The pains increased and grew closer. It would not be long before I had to stop and find a safe place to hide and bear my child.

I should have known that traders would save me.

When I could drive no more, I released the well-worked donkey to graze on the fine grass beside the road, and took myself to the rosy briars out of view. The cart, the donkey, either could be lost or taken. Now I cared for nothing but to push out the child.

I was not alone long. I had not noticed the family behind me, but when I left the road, the three women had insisted their man stop as well. In the midst of thorns and encouragement in a language I did not understand, as the sun set behind me, I gave birth to my son.

Cothata’s packet had swaddling bands, wine and fruits, and three gold pieces. I gave one to the old woman who had brought my squalling son forth, grinning toothlessly at both of us as I nursed him. She pointed at the boy and then at me.

“His name…” I’d prayed so hard for the last few weeks that this child would be a girl that I’d not picked a name for a boy. At home, the first choice would have been an apostle, or one of the holy martyr’s names. In Tricent, it would be Bulyar and be damned to the confusion that two wives had sons with the same names.

I looked up at the June stars. “Linus,” I said. “His name is Linus.”

When I awoke to the smacking noises my son’s mouth was making, the first thing I saw was Tervel’s face. This is what comes of sleeping uncovered under moonlight, I thought. What worse luck can I have?

“A boy then?”

In the sunlight, my first good look at my son’s face showed me clearly that Linus was marked as Bulyar’s. The same narrow face, a dimpled cheek and the shape of Bulyar’s eyes combined with the sweet pucker I remembered of my brother’s infancy.

“A boy,” I admitted. “Do you come to take him? Expose him, as your vozha commands?”

“No,” he said slowly. I opened my shirt to nurse the baby and Tervel watched Linus until the baby burped and spit up an overabundance of my milk.

“Bunar looked just like him,” Tervel finally said. “I expected he’d have more of your features.”

“He is Bulyar’s son, as Bunar is.”

“No one ever doubted it,” Tervel said, taking the baby from me and studying Linus’ face. “Where are you going now? Constantinople? Or back to Bitumi?”

My gasp gave me away, so I surrendered. “How did you know?”

“You’ve brought it up several times,” Tervel said as he handed the child back to me. “What’s there, other than plenty of the temples to your god?”

“My parents will be there in August,” I kissed my son’s forehead as I took him back from Tervel. “I wanted to go to them…”

“How were you going to get there? Did you steal the pearls?”

“I kept no pearls, only those that belonged to me.”

“So how were you to go to Constantinople?” Tervel asked. I could see he was genuinely curious, but was he trustworthy?

“I have… some plans,” I would admit nothing.

“You need guards, you need passage, you need someone to help you with the child…” Tervel touched the baby’s head gently. “You have a plan?”

“I have a plan,” I insisted stubbornly.

Birdsong and wind filled in the quiet between us. I wanted to sleep again. I wanted to lie and look at my baby and see if I could make him laugh. I wanted nothing but peace and maybe some fruit.

“I’ll take you to Constantinople, by ship, Nino,” Tervel said and I feared that the next words would be more of marriage. “I’ll take you and you can go home with your family and never see us, or Thrace again. But.”

“Say it,” I ordered.

“I want Bunar.”

“Why? Is he your son?”

Tervel shook his head. “He is Baypat’s son. Margar will kill him if we are not there to protect him. If I have Bunar…”

I was not the only person with plans. “You want to make him vozha.”

“No. That would lead to chaos, to a blood war. I want Bunar himself. I will raise him to be a true Thracian, see him join the army. I have family in the highlands we can stay with, or go to Odessos. I’m no good as a soldier, but I have my uses. I’ve learned how to protect a household, even if I can’t do it properly myself. Thanks to you, I can now add and subtract. I could attach myself to one of the larger families as a household guard or steward. I have some options. I could go to Constantinople and see my old captain in the army.”

Constantinople. My mouth watered with the desire for it.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get Margar to give Bunar to you.”

“But he’s already give him to me.” If I had brought Bunar and Makrina with me, as I should have… I moaned in frustration, knowing already what Tervel was going to ask me to do.

“I don’t care what you do to convince Margar to give Bunar to you. He cannot know that I am involved. He cannot know that you have a son.”

But I knew where the pearls were and the time I needed to get to Constantinople was moving too fast.

I had to return to Tricent.

Chapter Twenty-two

Sun, 06 May 2007 18:57:33 GMT

Margar arrived, enraged at my summons.

I was no less furious.

Arkat smiled and simpered at me when I brought her bread to her room. She thought she would win this battle and I thought she was right. But the betrayal had to be dealt with.

“What’s so bad about some salt in the bath water?” Margar growled at the servant who offered him wine.

“It’s not very cleansing,” I repeated. “But the problem is not the salt. That has already been cleaned out. The problem is that Arkat has been commiting these acts of vandalism. She’s costing you money.”

As I expected, that got Margar’s attention. “I’ve arranged your marriage, Arkat. Get yourself ready. The wedding will be in fifteen days.”

“The bridal price?” She demanded. “How much is he paying?”

Her priorities seemed skewed to me. She didn’t ask whom she was marrying?

“Four hundred twenty gold pieces. Your pearl dowry is sufficient for him, but you’ll have to prepare for the feast and the wedding garments without my help.”

Arkat waved her hand insolently at me. “She’ll come up with the money. She’s still got some pearls to sell.”

At least Cassandra, however little we’d liked each other, had thanked me for the gift of my wedding clothes. I doubted Arkat would be so polite.

“I have no pearls to supply a wedding feast,” I said stiffly. “Your brother will have to pay for it.”

I went back to the bathhouse and looked into the hypercaust pipes. Lavto had been complaining that the tempedarium was too cold, but now that I knew who had been attacking me, I figured that I would be able to find the blockage easily. Arkat knew little about the bathhouse, but the access to the pipes was easy enough to find and she may have seen me adjust the flow of the hot air and add cool to the mix so that no one would burn their feet on the tile floors. This little trick was simple enough for her to think of without help, but a smarter saboteur would have put the rags on the other side of the vent, to make it harder to get the rags out when the fire was burning. She was an amateur compared to some of my mother’s competitors.

I was right – rags stuffed into the pipes just before the access vents. I recalled the last time I’d had to deal with a blockage and had ended up burning my arm. I looked at Lavto’s muscular arms and knew that he would never be able to reach far enough in. I screwed up my face to protect my eyes as I reached in to pull out the rags. The fearsome blast made me flinch and I added another burn to my forearm.

“I’ll open the door at the other end,” I told him. “I’ll wait to be sure that we got everything out of there.”

I lifted the bench that Sophronio had shown me on my first visit to my bathhouse. My bathhouse. Not Bunar’s, not Bulyar’s and most definitely not Margar’s; I’d taken this place and made it my own.

Would I be willing to leave here?

I chuckled. In less than a moment, I thought. In less than a heartbeat, if I could cross the Thracian countryside and go home, I’d do it without looking back.

But would I do it without Makrina or Bunar?

The heat rose, making the room hotter and more uncomfortable. Lavto had put more fuel in to try to compensate for the blockage, so I left the bench lying on its side to vent the heat under the floor and went to tell him to cut the fires back.

I found Cook standing nearby, a flask of wine in his hands. “Lavto didn’t come in to eat.”

“That’s kind of you to bring him something,” I said and passed by him without another thought, except that I couldn’t imagine what Pejevi saw in a man with sagging folds of skin around his arms and knees. I still needed to deal with that complication.

The mechanics of running the bathhouse took less and less of my time due to Lavto’s good management, and I took the respites to rest and consider my plans. It was now my task, with or without escorts, to collect the oil from the seller. I’d also managed to drive the donkey cart to my church and once to Tana’s to collect some teas. Tana and Cassandra would get me to dance, and I’d spend more time than I expected in their company, but I always felt better for my time with them. Now that Cassandra was no longer my concern, we developed a cordial friendship that skirted issues like her sister’s betrayal and betrothal.

Margar and I were still at a stand-off regarding the costs of the betrothal feast. I took the every day’s receipts and after noting them in my ledgers, spent them immediately on the next day’s supplies for the household and bathhouse. Extras were put aside, when there were any. As it was, we broke even, most of the time. But there were signs of someone searching the storerooms, so I moved half of the small stash to a small black bag and stuffed it into an old, battered basket on a lower shelf.

It seemed to me that wherever I spent any time at all became the focus of some searching. I suspected that Margar had put a reward out to my slaves for the pearls, or someone was looking for their own profit. Either way, it annoyed me.

On the morning of Pentacost, Makrina and I took early baths and headed with Bunar to the church, and then we all walked out to the creek together. Three soldiers, all known to me because they came often to the bathhouse, were also to be baptized.

“Nino,” Father Photius said, “Have you ever been to the baptism of a convert?”

I appreciated his delicate way, but had to laugh. Didn’t I run a bathhouse? I’d been seening these men in the nude for weeks now. Makrina and I witnessed the baptisms where the men were each given the name of an apostle. Bunar was given the name John, which apparently pleased Makrina.

“I picked it out,” she whispered to me.

“Why does he need a new name?”

I turned to see Tervel standing close by, watching as each man was anointed with oil on his face, hands and feet.

“Because when we are born in Christ, we get new names!” Makrina said, jumping up and down in her excitement.

Tervel watched to the end and walked with us back to the church, but would not come in for the service. Instead, he sat with some of the beggars in the market and escorted us home. The newly baptized men, now my godsons, declined the invitation to a feast of fish and good wine, but they invited Tervel to join them.

He ate with us instead, listening to the children chatter. Cothata sat with us for a while, her face sad and drawn as she watched them. “My son would be playing with them,” she explained, and left us.

“I know about Christianity.”

Tervel’s gentle comment surprised me. “You do?”

“Christians in the army, they talk, tell their stories, just as we do,” he said as he stretched out on his side of the table. “I heard about forty men who died, martyrs, in Igrisi. Do you know the story?”

“I know it well,” I said. “We have some of their relics in our altar. The site of their deaths is not far from my home.”

Tervel tapped on the tabletop several times with his knife. “There are other stories, but that one… They willingly died.”

I nodded. I knew this story, I knew the cousins of these men who still lived in Bitumi.

“I wondered, that if their god was worthy of such death… why did he let them die?”

I opened my mouth to answer him, but Tervel put up his hand. “I’ve gone with Bunar several times to your church. That priest, you do know he’s Nestoris’ steward, don’t you?”

“I know,” I said.

“We talk, he talks to Bunar. He answers my questions, but he won’t let me stay to see the sacrifices.” Tervel leaned forward. “I smell no fire, see no bones. What do you sacrifice?”

I bit my lip. Had I not prayed before every Communion that I not reveal the mysteries of Our Lord to outsiders? “I cannot answer you, Tervel. It is not my place to speak of our services with outsiders. But if you talk to Father Photius, I’m sure what he can tell you, he will.”

“He has.” Tervel grumbled under his breath. “But not much, not enough.”

How do I speak of God’s love to a man, a soldier? How to explain a death, the death given to criminals and common thieves, and the Lord’s great purpose in it? Or even the greatest mystery of all, His glorious resurrection?

“I was told you kill babies and eat them,” Tervel said, grinning at me. “But I can see from your face that while you won’t tell me what you do, it’s surely just one more of the lies the people tell about you.”

“We kill no child!” I slapped the table with both of my hands. “Who says such a thing? We rescue babies from exposure! We create homes for them, raise them and give them back their lives!”

“I know,” he said, laughing openly me at me. “I’ve seen it happen.”

“Where?”

“Bitumi,” he answered and my heart stopped.

“Bitumi? You saw Christians rescue a baby at my home?”

“Is that where you’re from? Cothata couldn’t remember. Yes, I was traveling – I had just met Buylar, of all places, in an Igrisi port, and he demanded I buy him a traveling basket. What could I do, he’s my clan leader. I bought him a basket and left for my next duty… I saw the child lying near the road, near the first good water we’d found.”

“I know the spot,” I whispered.

“I suspected the mother left the child near the road, so that she could be rescued,” Tervel continued. “And a group of women came and got the child, but she was already dead.”

I crossed myself, and then drew the sign of the cross over my belly. “Lord, have mercy.”

“They took her anyway, and when they got to the outside of town, there were several men who took the baby and buried it. They all stood around and sang songs, and then they left.”

I probably knew the people who had done this. My father might have been one.

“Why did you follow them?”

He passed me a wedge of bread smeared with cheese. “Curiosity. I wondered what they would do.”

“What happened?” I knew what my father had done time and again. “What did you see?”

“So I waited there. I wasn’t in any rush to get into town, I’ve never liked living in a town, so I figured I’d camp outside the village for the night.” He rubbed his upper left arm. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bandits?” I guessed.

“Fewer when we were done,” he said. “But I’d heard about Christians eating babies and here was one that they could have taken, no one would have accused anyone… and the baby stayed in the ground.”

“What did you expect?”

“If the rumors were true, I expected they’d come back for the body. Instead, they brought out another one the next day, whole and without a single blemish. The father told me the baby died in the night. Another child, uneaten. The rumors were nothing more than lies.” Tervel poured us more wine. “So I know something of your faith, Nino.”

“Why are you here, Tervel?” I finally asked. “A soldier signs up for twenty years service.”

“If he’s hale enough, yes, he serves twenty years. But I lost the use of my shield arm that night in the fight with the bandits. I tried to get it back, but it has not healed well. I cannot hold a shield, therefore I cannot fight. I was released, and returned home.” He dropped his face but looked at me carefully, searchingly. “The Christians were the ones who saved my life, and would take no pay for their work.”

“Who treated you? Physician Peter?”

“Yes, he treated me,” Tervel said. “You really are from Bitumi.”

“I really am,” I said. “He is a good doctor. If he couldn’t help you, I can’t imagine who could have.”

“There was a great deal of discussion who to ask for intercession for before your god. The forty martyrs were suggested, each one by name. Apparently, they were busy.”

“Or God has another plan,” I said sharply. “Why did you come here, to Tricent?”

“I heard in Deultum that he was here. I didn’t know about another wife. The man may have been my vozha, but he was an idiot if he thought he could manage five wives.”

“You knew Baypat,” I said before I could stop myself.

His shoulders sagged only slightly, and he took a long drink of wine. “I knew her all her life. I grew up with her. My father and her grandmother were brother and sister, or half brother, half sister, something like that.” Tervel stood up. “Let’s talk out in the courtyard.”

I followed him out into the bright sunlight and waited for him to find us a shady spot. I sat on the bench and wished I could have given the whole household the feast day off, but we couldn’t afford it.

“The rumors about you and Baypat,” I said, feeling reckless and asking all the unanswered questions. “Why would anyone assume that Bunar is your child?”

Tervel picked up a clod of dirt from the rose bushes. “Baypat’s brothers have never liked Bulyar. They wanted her to marry me instead of him. Bulyar was offered Baypat’s cousin for a bride. If he’d marry Baypat’s cousin, then the betrothal between Bulyar and Baypat could be forgotten and we could marry.”

“What happened?”

“The girl died, not long before the wedding.” Tervel crumbled the dirt onto the mosaic tiles and kicked at it. “I’ll tell you the truth, Nino. Baypat and I planned to run away, but Bulyar claimed her before we could go. Not long after Bunar was born, I did what I could. I sold Bulyar my property in Rossakastron and joined the army.” Tervel leaned back on the bench, and I could see his scarred arm. It must have hurt very badly.

“All of this to say, Nino,” Tervel said, his hand touching mine, “that I do understand your reluctance to marry again.”

“You do?”

“I do,” he repeated. “Your church doesn’t approve of marriage outside with non-believers. A bit hypersensitive, I think, but I recognize the prohibition. I’ve thought about converting, if that would make it easier for you to marry me.”

“Will you take a wife after me?” My feelings exploded. “Would you?”

“Do you question my ability to be husband?” He demanded back at me. “Do you think that I am not man enough to satisfy and care for all my wives?”

“Do you think that I would be happy sharing my husband with another woman?” I shot back.

“It’s the proper way of things!” He rose up and towered over me. “A man takes the wives he needs. It’s the women who must fight to keep his love. When he dies, his most beloved wife dies with him, and is buried with him. If you don’t want to share your husband, then you must fight to keep him. That is our way.”

I tried to rise gracefully, but my big belly forced me to push on the wall to stand. I barely reached the top of his shoulder, but I pushed my finger into his chest. “I will not be married to a man who thinks it is right to keep more than one wife. The Holy Church will not permit it, and I will not either.”

“And if Margar puts your son out on the hillside?” Tervel asked and his words cut through the red rampage I felt in my head.

I walked back to the church and picked up my icons. Whatever else I may have to leave in this horrible town, I would keep my faith.

I would leave in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-one

Sun, 06 May 2007 18:52:52 GMT

The damage wasn’t extensive; the supplies we sold to the patrons and most of our own preparations for cleaning and upkeep of the bathhouse were now lying in puddles. It was an ingenious attack. No noise made when the oils were poured out, or the vinegars for cleaning dumped into the baths. It would take us hours to drain the baths and replace the water. Through the window we’d built in the storeroom, I called to Callia in the kitchen and asked her to send for barrels. At the very least, we could have enough water on hand should such an attack happen again.

I was familiar with most of the tactics one bathhouse owner would use against another. This one wasn’t on the list. I would have suspected Nestoris first, except that the vinegar in the bathwaters wasn’t a bad way to clean it. Tomorrow, when we reopened, the baths would be sparkling and the stale mold from the winter gone. Someone who knew how to sabotage us could have done far worse by pouring the oils into the baths and spilling the vinegar on the sand to stink up the rooms. No, someone who didn’t know about bathhouses had done this.

The slaves grumbled about the day’s labor. Most of them collected tips from our patrons and Cook’s meat pies would go to waste. I sent several over to the church for the poor and allowed the rest of us to feast. Tervel grumbled, but Tervel always grumbled.

“Why don’t you stand guard at the bathhouse, then?” I snapped, frustrated by our inability to clean up the huge oil spill on the slick tile floor. If we didn’t clean it up, we might have a more serious accident if someone fell. I went to the market to see if anyone had a suggested cleanser and stopped in the church. I was right – I’d missed Pascha.

Several new icons hung on the walls; Bunar’s work, I guessed. Father wouldn’t answer until he was dressed for a confession and took me to stand in front of the icons.

“I must ask you to forgive me, Nino,” Father Photius said. “I have failed to serve you well as your priest.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned his forehead against the hands of Christ. “I knew you were going to miss Pascha, you’ve been gone so much, and I should have sent word.”

“No, Father, it’s my failing, not yours. Is it your job to remind me of the calendar?”

He kissed my hand. “Forgive me,” he said, falling to his knees and putting his head on the ground before me. “I have sinned.”

“God forgives,” I said automatically. “I have sinned in forgetting to come to church, and have so given you such grief. Forgive me.”

“God forgives,” he repeated lowly. “I have two masters and I have been torn between them, Nino.”

Puzzled, I waited him for rise. “Two masters?”

“I am a slave… and my master forbade me to talk to you outside the church, or even to send you a message.”

A slave, a priest… I had heard of such things happening before now, but I had never met a priest in such a position. I tried to imagine Father Andrew back home in Bitumi as a slave.

“My master wanted a Christian to serve as his steward… We have a reputation as honest men and he has had several before me. My bishop came to me and asked if I would go as an apostle to Thrace, to follow the footsteps of Saint Andrew. He made the man promise not to interfere with my service as a priest, and until now, we have had no conflicts between my stewardship to him and my care for the church.”

“Until now,” I repeated.

“Nestoris-”

I did not hear anything he said after that. He was the slave of Nestoris. It explained so much.

“I understand,” I finally said when he stopped talking. “Truly, I do understand, Father. But we may speak--in Confession, yes?”

“In Confession, nothing we say may be repeated to him, he’s never asked me to do otherwise, but if I were to speak to you outside the mysteries of the Church, then… I never expected this when I agreed to this task. But here it is.”

Here it was.

“Because of your generosity, Nino, we have seen others come to learn about Christ. Bunar comes daily to hear morning prayers. Every time you send us food, we have opened our doors to feed the poor. I will not fail as your priest again.”

I kissed his hands and walked home in the spring rain.

Lavto suggested using the vinegar water to sluice down the oily floors, which worked well enough. I thought I was wrapped in a cloud, for all anyone had to say to me the rest of the day. Callia discussed with Cothata her intent to go home and take Bunar with her and I agreed without any consideration. Tervel would travel with her. Excellent, I thought vaguely. I didn’t like having him around.

Lavto was becoming a useful servant in the bathhouse. I should promote him, I thought as I tried to find a comfortable position in my bed. The baby stretched and poked me, keeping me from restful sleep and I often found myself watching the moon cross the sky through my misshapen window. It was May. I had to make my plans now.

Why not ask Margar to take me to Constantinople? Maybe he would see it as a way to get rid of me.

But if he said no, he would know where I was going and when I had to be there. Would he try to stop me? Would he expend any money when he was convinced I knew where the family’s fortune was hidden?

I thought about the pile of coins in the storeroom. I was as much a slave as Lavto, a free manager making money for Margar’s family, just as Cothata was a handy nanny when Farida needed. Even if my child were a son, would it be any different? Not enough to keep me here.

Giving up trying to sleep, I walked out onto the balcony to go to the kitchen for a late snack and listened to the splashing rain fall onto the courtyard tiles. The dripping from the thatch over my head added to the water on my head. I kept my head down to keep my face dry, and I almost missed the sight of a woman crossing the courtyard and climbing up the steps.

“Arkat? Why are you up?”

She stumbled in her surprise, but pushed past me without an answer. I watched the door to her room close and cowardly decided not to demand any answers. I settled for a glass of watered wine and a last cut of meat pastry before returning to my room.

Arkat had not come from the kitchen.

Morning brought double the number of patrons to the bathhouse. The slaves grumbled about the work, but pocketed their tips and at noon, sent for a small barrel of wine to be divided between them. I offered to buy them pies as well and we celebrated the rare bright spring day with laughter.

I could leave any time. Lavto could manage the bathhouse, and do it well. Tervel could raise Bunar without risk of the foreign woman’s interference. My baby would be one less dependent on Margar. Cothata? My heart tore. I would miss her. Callia? I chewed on bread and thought that I might miss her, after a few years.

I went to find Pejevi, who was still in my rooms, but instead of cleaning, she was sitting on my bed and moaning.

“What’s wrong?” The bitter smell of vomit filled the room. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m with child.” She moaned as I called for rags to clean up the mess.

“With child?” I asked. “By whom?”

She shook her head and threw up again. She looked horrible. “Demetros,” she finally said, looking at the far corner of the room.

Cook and Pejevi? My mother would have smacked me for missing a sexual relationship between two slaves. As Makrina cleaned up the mess, I stood at the window and studied the clouded sky. I called for a donkey cart. I had no other way to get her to Tana’s house.

Tana welcomed me immediately and began to ask the usual questions of my health. “Not for me, Tana, but for Pejevi. She’s pregnant too.”

Tana’s smile tightened. “Your slave is pregnant?”

Pejevi’s tears and drooping posture told Tana everything. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Get rid of the child!” Pejevi said.

“Help her – she’s so sick- no, Pejevi!” I said at the same time.

Tana looked at me and back at Pejevi. With a snap of her fingers, a young girl came forward. “Take the girl to Vera, and bring us something to eat.”

Tana brought out a little stool for me to sit on, and took her usual place among her cushions. “It seems the two of you are laboring under some misunderstandings, first, that I treat slaves, and second, that she could afford what she’s asking.”

I blushed. “Forgive me. I should have thought…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tana said. “I’ve sent her to my apprentice, who at the worst will give her something nasty to drink that won’t kill the child. It’s always better to finish a pregnancy anyway, and just expose the child.”

I dropped my face so that she could not see the tears in my eyes.

“I see you’re worried about that, too. Good, I was afraid I’d have to tell you that Margar may order it.”

I must have turned white, for Tana jumped up to catch me as I tilted on the stool. “Wine, you need wine,” she said and called for the servants.

“Why would Margar…” I had to try three times to say it, and not until I had wine in my mouth to water my dried throat could I finish the question. “Why would he do that?”

“I imagine it’s one less boy to contend with in the inheritance. I heard from Cassandra that Margar already hates Bunar.”

“Yes, I know,” I said weakly. I took another drink of the strong wine.

“But if Tervel marries Arkat,” Tana continued, removing the wine cup from my hand and replacing it with a watered fruit and honey drink, “they’ll move away and Bunar will have no protection. You have to be thinking about that.”

“Callia said that Tervel and I were to marry!”

Tana coughed slightly and adjusted her dress before sitting down again. “No, you can’t marry Tervel. His first wife cannot be a widow. That’s our custom. He should marry a Thracian woman. But I can see Callia’s wisdom; she always was a cunning woman.”

“I don’t understand at all.”

“She’s protecting Margar’s interests by having both of you married to Tervel. It keeps Arkat’s dowry in the clan. When Tervel marries you, you can remain here and maintain the bathhouse, and protect the boy. Tervel won’t allow Margar to order the child exposed. All neatly wrapped up. Clever.” Tana drank deeply from her cup.

Dear God, I had to leave before my baby was born.

But then, who would deliver my baby?

If my child were a girl, how much better it would be for me! Margar wouldn’t have to worry about another brother, only another sister who would require a dowry. But what about me? Life as another second wife, subject to Arkat’s whims? I shuddered and prayed over a list of girl names in the dark of the night. There was few women equal to the Holy Apostles. I chose Magdalene for a name and spitefully hoped that no one would approve so I could have one thing of my own to keep despite them.

Makrina came to get me early the next morning. “Liturgy today, my lady. It’s Ascension! We must hurry to decorate the church!”

I didn’t recall decorations for Ascension in my church back home, but I let her pull me up and help me dress. Together, with Bunar, we found flowers in odd cracks and an early vendor with a few rosebuds, and took them to the church to decorate the icon of Christ. “This is how we did it at home,” Makrina said.

“Very pretty,” I said as Father Photius came to admire her work. “Nino, you need to make your confession before the liturgy begins.”

We stood before another icon and I bowed my head before him. “Nino, Bunar has asked to be baptized on Pentacost.”

An unexpected joy rose in my heart; even the baby kicked. “Baptised? Really?”

“Indeed. I agree, he is ready and I am willing. However, we have heard about his cousin, is it? Tervel? What will he say?”

“He probably won’t approve,” I said. “Does that matter?”

“No,” Father Photius grinned. “But it’s good for me to know in advance.”

“Who will serve as his sponsor?”

Father Photius sighed. “Nino, you’re the obvious choice, but it’s imprudent of me to pick you for this, when other members of the family might not approve. Makrina is too young by herself, even though they both asked. So I have asked my wife to be his godmother as well.”

I saw Mary with the children by the icons, questioning them about their day. “Yes, an excellent choice.”

We celebrated Our Lord’s ascent into Heaven and I walked home with the children through the market square. I found a seller with olive oil that would be suitable for the bathhouse use, and we dickered until we came to an unusual agreement. I purchased the oil I needed, but he would keep the stock here instead of delivering it all to me. News of the vandalism had spread throughout the city, and the seller understood my motives and benefited from extra charges for the storage fees.

I offered him pearls for payment.

As I sat down in my courtyard, I realized that I had just provided my way of escape.

The oil seller’s warehouse was not far from my villa. I could easily go in the donkey cart myself to pick up the day’s supply. People would be used to me leaving in the cart and returning when the jugs were loaded, which might take more or less time on any day. If I found a day when some soldiers were leaving, I could go with them, right out of the city… perhaps all the way to Deultum, or it may be better to go somewhere else where Margar would not hear of me.

There were too many things I could not control. I had to trust God that He would get me to Constantinople.

Margar arrived two days later. “I knew you had the pearls!”

“Pearls?” I shrieked. “I have my pearls and less of those in order to buy the oil we need for the bathhouse because you take all of it.”

“I knew you had my family’s pearls! I forced you to use them!”

He was like the pathetic old crow that hung around the exercise yard looking for snacks. I smirked. “Then look again, Margar. What I spent were my pearls, from my parents. My dowry.”

He did look again. The strand of pearls from my turban was four shorter than it had been. He glared at it. “Where are my family’s pearls?”

“Where is the money I need to run the bathhouse? It’s a disgrace, that I have to use my dowry to pay for your brother’s inheritance, even at the expense of my own child!”

“Your child, but is it my father’s?”

Behind me, Callia gasped.

“If this child were my father’s, it would have been born by now!” Margar shouted.

Speechless, I gaped, turning from Margar’s self-satisfied triumph to Callia’s pale face.

“Bulyar was the only man I have ever known,” I finally said in a low-pitched voice. “The only man.”

“First babies are often late, Margar,” Callia managed to say. “Truly, I believe her. Bulyar did… he trusted her.”

“Like he trusted Baypat? And now we have Tervel’s bastard foisted on us as a rival vozha. I know what he’s been doing, Callia.” Margar threw up his arms and shouted.

What had Tervel been doing?

“Baypat and Bulyar both swore on Hero’s altar that Bunar is Bulyar’s son,” Cothata said as she squeezed in beside me into my chamber. “You know that. You were there.”

Non-plussed, Margar sputtered until looking at me. “But this cannot be my father’s child. He died too long ago. My wife will have a child after the autumn equinox and she’s already bigger than you!”

“He died at the equinox, and it’s not yet the second solstice. You have no proof, and it is still possible that her child is Bulyar’s, Margar. You know this.”

I picked up my icon of St. Nino. “This is a holy relic to me, Margar. I swear falsly on it at the damnation of my eternal soul. I swear to you now: this child is your father’s.”

Margar was unimpressed by my icon or my oath and stormed out of the room.

I sat on my bed. “Callia, what is he going to do? What’s Tervel doing?”

“What he has to do is let you have the baby,” Callia said. “You have no husband, so, as vozha, he can demand that the child be exposed.”

“Will he?”

“Almost certainly. He’s not the trader our husband was,” Callia said sadly, sitting beside me and picking up my strewn-about garments, victims of Margar’s feverish search. “He’s not making the money his father would have with the same goods, and he has no good steward… several valuable items have been stolen.”

“That’s why he takes all my money?”

Cothata nodded as she leaned against the wall. “There’s a great deal of Mladen in Margar, isn’t there?”

Callia pursed her lips.

What else could we say? We were widows. We had nothing that Margar did not allow us. He could kill Dionysios and take back the vineyard. He could cast Cothata and Callia out with nothing. I might survive, but they would not, and knowing that, they would not cross him.

“Tana told me that Tervel and Arkat will wed,” I said.

“Arkat and Tervel?” Cothata chuckled. “I’ll not bet who will survive the longer.”

“I’ve heard the talk too.” Callia’s negative shudder reassured me… somewhat. “Margar came back because there is a negotiation for her in hand, but he’s confided nothing to me. It seems likely she’ll live in Deultum.”

“Good,” Cothata murmured, and I agreed with her.

“Tervel should marry a Thracian first, so that the same problem Margar has as the child of an alien woman will not be repeated, but Tervel has sworn that he will take no other wife before you, Nino,” Cothata said. “I told him that you would not marry him if there was another wife.”

I choked. “I’d be his only wife?”

The older women hunched over. “He didn’t promise that,” Cothata said. “I explained Christianity to him, and he said he understood your situation, but Sophronio got him to admit he didn’t take it very seriously.”

“And my child?”

“If you were married before Margar found out about the child, then Tervel would have authority over it.” Callia waved her hands together. “It seemed the best solution, you and Tervel. He admires you, you don’t hate him.”

Tana was half right, then. I rubbed my belly. “How could I have my child so that Margar would not know?”

None of us had an answer to that. Tana’s daughter-in-law was Margar’s sister. Cassandra would know if Tana attended my birth.

“You could go to the vineyard,” Callia said slowly. “You could wed Dionysios. You’d both be miserable, I fear. Do you want to live on a farm?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “But, technically, he’s my son.”

Both women smiled condescendingly at me, tolerating my foolish idea. “My faith won’t permit it,” I explained.

“Margar probably won’t approve either.” Cothata agreed. “Really, Callia, you’re usually much better about thinking such things through.”

“Coming to the vineyard is a good plan for the birth,” Callia said. “I have a slave that does some midwifery, she could attend you.”

“Couldn’t we just ask Tana not to tell Cassandra?” I asked, feeling the baby move against my hand.

“Ha!” Callia snorted.

###

News of my pearls traveled quickly through the city, as had the first and second arguments with Margar about pearls. Someone in our household was talkative, I knew, but it seems unlikely that I’d ever find the culprit. I felt eyes on me as I drove my cart to the oil seller’s tent and I decided it would be better for him to come to the villa to collect his fees. Several women talked to me directly about the pearls, wondering if I’d sell them, or I knew where they might be purchased.

The actual number of pearls was publicly debated. Someone claimed to have seen my wedding garments before I’d given them to Cassandra, but all the speculation did was make me stingier. We had enough coins to buy the oil for several days and I used it. Margar wouldn’t miss what he couldn’t have. I had taken over the accounting when Sophronio had been injured and I knew how profitable the bathhouse was.

In an act of desperate faith, I took my icons to the church. I asked Father Photius to keep them for me. I would get them after Buran’s baptism, I said. Let them decorate the church for the feast of Pentecost. The children could practice copying them. I did not like lying to a priest. Perhaps I would collect them again, but at this point, I was willing to jettison anything and everything that would slow my trek to Deultum.

Chapter Twenty

Sat, 05 May 2007 01:19:05 GMT

I stood before the icons and felt betrayed.

Hadn’t I done everything I could to get the money to go to Constantinople? I’d worked until I collapsed. I’d nearly died to open this business and Margar came in, took a look around, and pocketed every copper I’d managed to save as profit.

We didn’t even have enough to buy food to eat.

I had two choices, I thought, as I stood in front of the icons, blind to their entreating eyes. I could sell some pearls or I could call on Callia.

“Nino?” Father Photius joined me from his work across the square. “I saw you come in.”

I kissed his ink-stained hand. “Good day, Father.”

“We haven’t seen much of you this Lent,” he said gently, kissing me on each cheek. “Pascha is soon.”

“No, Father. The bathhouse doesn’t yet have enough slaves, and I have no one to manage with me.”

He stood with me for a long minute. “You should look to getting your daughter Arkat involved.”

Arkat the lazy? I laughed.

“There are rumors about her, some of them are true,” he said stiffly. “I cannot say more.”

I wondered who had confessed something to him that bound his tongue.

I sent a message to Callia who came with a wagon full of wine casks and three goats. “We can sell the wine here in Tricent and buy food. But why did he take it all? He knows you need money for food. You’re not selling the firewood this year.”

Not only wasn’t I selling it, I was considering buying it if spring didn’t hurry up.

With Callia to manage the household, I was freer to see to some improvements of the bathhouse that took only labor. I wanted to clean, I wanted to build more storage spaces for winter clothing, I wanted to see a door or window between the bathhouse and our house opened to let food come directly from our kitchens. My plans were laid, now that I knew that Margar could not be trusted to leave me a penny.

Margar, however, trusted me.

He arrived in the early afternoon, kissing Callia and rebuking her for moving to Tricent without notifying him. “I stopped at the vineyard for a good night’s dinner and got cold beans and cabbage,” he complained.

“You took all of Nino’s money. She needed food, Margar! How could you leave her like that?”

Margar didn’t even bother to look repentant. “She knows where the pearls are, Mother Callia. I’m just forcing her to use them instead.”

Forcing me to sell my pearls? Not on his fat, lazy wife’s life I wouldn’t. I stomped out of the villa and over to Tana’s house. She wasn’t home, out delivering babies, should she come to see me? the slave asked.

“No,” I said and headed for the church. I calmed down in front of the icons and felt the baby move across my belly. Tana knew of my pregnancy, and Cothata suspected and hinted, but didn’t ask me outright. I’d answer her, if she’d ask.

Margar wasn’t home when I returned, and I spent the rest of the day and the evening sulking and pouting. Callia spent the time with Sophronio and Cassandra until Margar’s summons brought us all together long after the midnight bells had been wrung.

“The wedding is in four days.”

Wedding? Whose wedding?

“Aten! Aten and Cassandra!” Margar may have been drunk, but the deal was made. The wedding would be in mere days – days to prepare feasts and offerings and clothing and gifts. As a second wife, Aten intended to put Cassandra in her own house, which meant we had to provide for her kitchen and household.

I sat down on the bench and stared at him. Four days?

“Surely you’ve been preparing up until now,” Margar said. “You’ve known the plans for months.”

Tervel stuck his head into the dining room. “Have you seen Bunar?”

Callia frowned and I sighed. “Look up in the hills, Tervel. You know he goes there every full moon.”

Margar had plenty to say about that and more about the condition of the villa. I listened, weary with the day’s tasks and baby inside, now a companion who heard my thoughts when no one else would listen.

At dawn, Callia and I met in the kitchen and surveyed the equipment that Cook had acquired over the years. A basic kitchen could be supplied without much loss to our household, but Cook would rant – oh, he ranted – when we started with a wooden box from the storeroom and gave each item to Makrina to carefully place inside it. Callia had a way with him, however, that I wished I could mimic. She subdued him with Greek curses I didn’t know and he stomped across the room and began cooking up onions, dozens of them, to make our eyes water and our noses run. The resulting soup was delicious at lunch.

During the noon hour, I often rested in the dining hall. I needed the rest after the morning between the kitchen and the bathhouse.

“I wish we’d opened a door instead of a window between them,” I mumbled to Cothata as she draped a wool blanket over my legs. “I’d try to climb through, if I thought I would fit.”

I leaned back against the wall and put my legs up on the bench.

“You’ll fit for a while,” she said with a smile. “Get some rest. Did you want Lavto to open for you today? The soldiers will be here in an hour.”

“Yes, let him,” I said wearily. “I’ll come over later.”

But instead of resting, I watched Bunar’s dogs fight over some scraps that had been flung onto the floor. Orders to the slaves to stop throwing their bones onto the floor had been ignored since Bulyar had teasingly done it after I’d asked him to refrain. Instead, I had to be happy with some scullery slave cleaning it up if Cook could bother to remember to give the instruction.

The snarling dogs settled with their various prizes. Bunar should get them out of here, I thought sleepily. I hated the smell of their wet fur. I pulled the blanket up over my head.

Margar’s irritated voice woke me from my doze. “You have to kill it, Bunar. It’s your dog, it’s your responsibility.”

I dropped the blanket to look over at my stepsons. Margar looked sick and I thought he deserved it. Bunar, on the other hand, was pale in the light that filtered through the afternoon rain.

Margar handed the boy a long spear with a wicked curved blade at the end. “Kill the dog now, before she bites any one.”

Kill the dog? Why?

I looked across at the dog standing across the room, stiff-legged and barking furiously at the air around her.

Rabies. Everyone knew the signs. In less than a day, the dog would turn mad. Even now, a bite from her would kill.

Would kill me, as I was closest. Would kill Bunar, as he hefted the spear with his left hand.

He likely had only one chance. Where were the other hunters? Surely no one expected a ten year old boy to kill a rabid dog by himself inside a building?

Margar did. He stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. “Do it, Bunar.”

Bunar lifted the spear to his shoulder and rested it there. “Sorry, Basa. I have to do this.”

The dog never responded to her name.

Dear God, let his aim be true. He would have only one chance.

The prancing dog barked at unseen harpies around her head. How would he get a clear shot?

He wouldn’t.

Bunar dropped the long spear to his side and gripped it with both hands. He rushed the animal as she skittered to the side wall. The long blade sliced through her belly and Bunar twisted it to assure the grip of the blade on the dog’s ribs.

She died instantly.

I looked over at Margar, who held out his hand for the spear. “Get it cleaned up, Bunar.”

Behind Margar, Tervel stood, his arms crossed. Margar turned and walked past him. Bunar left the carcass on the floor and went to find a pot to put it in.

The stench of the dog’s entrails rose and I ran for a bucket. I spent the rest of the afternoon in my chamber.

###

I thought my bridal clothes would fit Cassandra, and they did, almost. Pejevi was given the task to alter the garments, and Cassandra and Cothata planned the bridal feasts. I managed to keep the bathhouse open and without raising my rates, managed to bring in needed extra coins by telling the slaves that came with additional paying customers would receive a free gift. The Egyptian glass perfume bottles were filled with cheap olive oil and passed out freely, and brought in our first noble ladies when they saw what the slaves had been given. Every noblewoman came with a coterie of at least five slaves, and increased our income significantly by the day of the wedding.

We needed every penny. The bridal feast was attended by more than one hundred men. Cook was in his glory, if not in an uproar that so much that had once been assigned to one of dozens were now his own tasks. I stayed out of his way, sitting sometimes with Sophronio, and other times, scouting the markets for the items that Cook or Callia demanded for the feast.

In all this, Cassandra was strangely silent, and I feared that she, knowing she would be relegated to second wife, didn’t want to be married. What would happen if she ran away or repented of the marriage?

Callia shuddered when I asked the question. “A clan feud that would last for generations,” she said. “Why do you think she’s not going to marry him?”

“I don’t know,” I said, mindful of many slaves nearby.

“She’s in love with Sophronio,” Cothata said in a matter of fact tone, spooning through the stew to find the last bits of meat.

“Still?” Callia asked. “I thought that was long over.”

“Not at all,” Cothata sighed. “She’s in to see him every day, bothers him to change his bedclothes or to tell her stories as he did when she was a child.”

“That’s hardly in love,” Callia protested.

“Oh, she thinks she’s in love,” Cothata said. “She tells him when she thinks he’s asleep. But she’ll marry Aten. Sophronio is a slave. She knows her duty.”

Cassandra did know her duty. The noon bells rang as Aten came to the door of the villa and paid the bridal price of two hundred gold coins to Margar. Priests and a calf sacrifice were brought to the door, and she did, calmly and quietly, what the priests and Tana told her to do. I wept, looking at the spatters of blood on the skirt my mother had made. How happy I’d been to dress in it before my marriage, and again, returning to my parents’ home as a wedded bride. When the wedding party left for the temple, I hid in the storerooms and ignored Tervel’s calls.

Three hours later, the men returned, and sat down to eat with us, Cassandra safely hidden behind a wall of women and heavily veiled. She rode away with him and we followed in the dusky light to another feast at Tana’s house. Aten’s first wife had gone to her father’s house as was the custom at the marriage of a second wife, so the bride stood alone in the flickering torchlight of the courtyard as the men danced around her.

I tried to pull back from watching. It wasn’t right, men dancing with a woman. Cassandra didn’t seem to mind, she smiled at her half brothers as they stomped and dipped in front of her, but I was offended. I tried to sidestep through the crowds to the door. I would find a slave and go home. The bathhouse must be opened before dawn. We had no money to pay for food the next day.

“You can’t leave,” Tervel’s voice said in my ear. His hands clasped my upper arms and I froze. How dare he touch me like this?

It grew worse. He pulled me closer to him, and his hand rested on my stomach, forcing me back against him.

I tried to get Callia’s attention, pulling on her coat. I saw her head turn the slightest and her eyes slide over to me, and I understood. Callia wanted Tervel to marry me. O Theotokos, I cried in my heart, marriage to one Thracian was bad enough!

The baby kicked his hand. It was the hardest I’d ever felt the baby move and I gasped.

He dropped his hand and stepped away. “You’re pregnant?”

I nodded my head.

###

Callia and I sat at the tables in the hall. “You didn’t tell me you were pregnant.”

“You were the one who told me,” I snapped. “What game are you playing with Tervel?”

“A reasonable one. If you were barren, we had to find a safe place for you. Farida suggested it. She thought that you and Tervel could marry and stay here and raise Bunar.”

“Why would she want that?” I asked.

“Bulyar bought that land that she’s living on from Tervel. If he wanted, he could demand she sell it back. Without a son to inherit it, it becomes Margar’s property. He’ll sell it.” Callia tapped on the tabletop.

“But I can’t marry, I’m pregnant.” I felt huge relief when Callia agreed with me. “So nothing changes.”

“Until Farida’s baby is born, nothing changes,” Callia corrected me. “And now, until your babe is born, nothing changes for you. As it is, if you weren’t very pregnant, we’d get you and Tervel married and let everyone think that your baby came early. But if you’re due near at solstice, then Tervel won’t marry you--”

Good, I thought.

“--Until after the baby is born and you’re done offering your sacrifices to your god,” she finished. “You don’t look pregnant. Are you sure?”

“Tana is sure,” I said as I got up from the table. “Why can’t he marry Farida?”

“She won’t have him, and she doesn’t have Bunar. Tervel…”

“Wants Bunar to be vozha,” I finished for her.

“Wants Bunar alive,” she corrected me. “And he’s taken off again. Sophronio says Bunar does this often. Nino, this is not what I expected when I suggested to Margar that you take charge of him.”

I escaped her diatribe by going to my room above the noisy dinner hall, and tried again to calculate when the child might be born. Before solstice or near it, perhaps, and then another forty days until I returned to the church for the baby’s baptism and my blessing. That put me close to Dormition in the middle of August. Probably closer to Transfiguration the week before, I thought, and remembered Tervel’s comment about taking a month to walk to Constantinople. With a new baby, could I make it to Dormition and see my parents or should I plan to leave and take the risk of birth on the trip? Tears welled up in my eyes. Tana, gentle and reassuring, had promised me a good birth and I wanted her to be there. But if I left…

I needed to get to the Black Sea. If I gave birth and then said I had to go to the monks in Rossokastron, I would be able to buy passage and sail to Constantinople. That eliminated the long land trip. But I would have to take money or pearls to pay guards and my passage on a ship. I headed back down to the bathhouse. At least I would be warm in there. The winter held onto Thrace and I longed for the soft winter of home with its easy rain.

I heard Bunar laughing in the courtyard, trying to dance with Tervel and Dionysios. So Bunar was back with us, again? With Licinius dead and Cothata caring for Sophronio, no one paid much attention to the boy except Tervel and I was glad that someone had taken up the task. I didn’t have the time to do anything for Bunar. Margar, I noticed, watched them together and muttered under his breath until Callia hushed him. It was not brotherly love I saw in Margar’s eyes.

Bunar was my responsibility. I didn’t want him, but I didn’t want Margar to hurt him, either. I looked at Tervel, who was watching Margar as well. Between us, we might keep him safe. But once I left Tricent…

Bunar might have to come with me. I squeezed my eyes closed as I tried to reformulate my plans and what I could say to Bunar to make him come with me and not reveal my true intent to leave Thracia forever. And Makrina? She was now alone, my child as much as Bunar. If I left her, what would happen to her? But how could I afford to pay for her travel as well as my own?

###

As Tana predicted, my belly blossomed overnight. Pejevi wouldn’t let me tie my garments and instead brought me pins to keep my garments closed. Callia sent me several more slaves she’d purchased from her neighbors and told me that my little enterprise was gaining notoriety. She’d heard about the food from some soldiers that had stopped at her farm for a night. It wasn’t my bathhouse in particular, but they did approve Cook’s fine lamb.

I passed the praise along to Cook and went to see Sophronio. “I hear that Farida is coming,” he said, weakly picking at the fur coverlet that Cothata had found for him.

Cothata chuckled. “Yes, Farida is coming. Callia sent word that they’d be here soon.”

I hadn’t gotten the message.

“Has she had the babe yet?” Sophronio asked. Skeletal, his broken hand waved uselessly at Cothata as she handed him a warm cloth and wrapped it around his hand.

“Not yet.”

I felt reassured. A woman as far along in pregnancy as Farida claimed to be, traveling through the icy rain of Thrace’s spring, inspired me.

“Have you picked a name yet, Lady?” Sophronio asked as he winced when Cothata put a cold cloth on his head.

“I haven’t thought much about it,” I admitted. “It is my choice, isn’t it? Margar has no say?”

“No say at all,” Cothata said. “But the common practice would be to name him after his father.”

“There’s a common practice for naming posthumous babies?” I tucked the cover up under Sophronio’s chin. “And what happens if I don’t?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Cothata said. “I should have named my son after my husband, but it seemed… well, it wouldn’t have been right, Mladen had been dead for years.”

Sophronio patted her hand with his. “Lady, will you name him after your god? Callia did so with her children.”

“No, it’s not done, but one of his apostles, I might use one of their names,” I said. “Paul. Or Peter. I expect the child will be born near their feast day.”

Cothata looked at me. “Late June then?”

“Tana thinks so,” I said. So Cothata remembered something of her Christian teachings from her marriage. “Do you ever go to church any more, Cothata?”

“Never,” she said pleasantly. “Never wanted to go in the first place. Silly religion, I think. Sophronio, I’ll fetch your soup. Nino, will you eat with us?”

I walked out into the cold rain with Cothata. She paused by the fountain. “He’s dying.”

I couldn’t deny it.

“He wanted to be free, so that we could marry,” she said. “Bulyar set a price, but Linus never saved enough money, and he was too honest to steal it. He’s spent most of it in the past three months, trying to help you get started with the bathhouse. Did you know that? He bought all of our food. He’s paid for some of the wood and for Makrina’s boots.”

I stared at her. “Those costs should have come out of the household accounts.”

“There are no household accounts, Nino. Margar took everything.” Cothata’s face, covered with tears and rainwater, looked back at her beloved’s doorway. “I’ll never forgive Margar.”

I returned to Sophronio and coaxed him to eat some of Cook’s fine soup. It was better than what was served at my table in the hall. We chattered, me with forced joy and his with whispered gossip, until the darkness fell and the bell of the bathhouse signaled its close.

“I free you.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “What?”

“I free you. Bulyar should have done it. He freed Licinius. He should have freed you. Did he know about you and Cothata, what you hoped?”

“Never!” Sophronio said, aghast. “To wish freedom to marry into his family? He’d have me killed!”

“I fear we have done that, me in my haste and Bulyar’s son, in his demands,” I ignored my own tears. “I free you.”

I pulled a piece of paper from his abandoned desk and wrote out the manumission with my own hand and signed it with Bulyar’s name. In Bitumi, this would have been contested in the courts, but it would win. I had no idea what would happen in a Thracian court.

Sophronio took the piece of paper in his shaking hand. He looked at me a long time and finally bowed his head. “Thank you, Lady Nino.”

“It should have been done long ago,” I whispered and stepped into the sleet. How bitter it must be, to have his freedom now when there was nothing he could do with it.

Margar and Callia arrived within the hour. Farida had gone directly to Tana and had asked only for a small chamber to be prepared for her daughters. “What’s this about?” I asked Callia.

“She’s expecting to die,” Callia said around a bit of pastry. “Very good, Demetros. Nicely spicy this time.”

“She’s come here to die?” I asked.

“More or less. I don’t think she will, but Farida is so dramatic. She wanted Tana, so she came here. She wants her daughters to be safe, so she came here where Margar will be for the next few days. He’ll have to assure their dowries in front of the court, probably have to post them.”

I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. “Post them?”

“Put up an announcement of his intention to pay the dowry. If he fails to pay when the child is ready to marry, he pays a penalty. It’s not the Thracian custom to have it written down. Normally, it’s done in front of several witnesses. Tricent developed its own odd way of doing things, half Latin, half Thracian. As vozha, he’s expected to care for the orphans in the family, especially his sisters.”

“Would a manumission have to be posted?”

“Of course,” she said. Beyond her, I saw Cook rise from his bench where he’d been peeling old apples.

“Whose manumission?”

What did it matter? I’d already written it down. “Sophronio’s. I just gave him his freedom.”

Callia choked on her pastry. “You did what?”

“I freed him. He’d dying, Callia. I had to. Bulyar should have done it, but he couldn’t, so I did it in his name.”

“My name would be more appropriate,” Callia snapped. “He’s my slave.”

“Yours?” I stepped back. “How can you have a slave? Is he your son’s slave?”

“No, he’s mine. He was part of my dowry, as was Demetros here.” She sighed and kicked the dog begging at her feet. “You’re right, it’s nothing more than a gesture.”

“He’s paid for our food for the last few weeks-” I began.

“Free me then too.”

We looked at Cook. His face, sagging jowls and flushed cheeks, pushed forward and his eyes bulged. “You freed Linus. Free me as well.”

Callia puffed out her cheeks in annoyance. “Talk to her. She’s the one giving away what doesn’t belong to her.”

She stomped out of the kitchen and I tried to follow her, but Cook stood in my way.

“Free me.”

I couldn’t. If what Callia said was true, I had no right to do what I had done for Sophronio, and could not do it for Cook. “I cannot.”

I pushed past him and headed for my rooms. Bunar stood near the steps up to the women’s rooms. He held up a poorly written icon. “See what I made? Father Photius showed me.”

I stopped dead. “Father Photius is teaching you about iconography?”

Farida’s shrieks preceded her arrival. “The baby, he’s coming… he’s coming!”

Tana nodded at me as the women headed up the steps. A horde of children scampered behind her.

“What should I do with them?” I asked Cothata as she joined us under the stairs.

“Send them to Cassandra,” she said immediately. “Arkat will torture them, but Cassandra always liked the girls. She’ll keep them safe until this babe is born.”

Tana took me aside and reassured me that my birth would not be like this. “She’s never prepared, never danced,” Tana grouched.

“Then let’s get her dancing,” I suggested. Anything that would relieve us of the noise!

Pejevi found a pair of drums and brought them up to the peacock room. I put on my dancing garments and summoned Arkat to join us. “You should learn this.”

“From you?” She snorted but was smart enough not to contest my bad humor any further.

Cassandra came to get the girls and stopped in to see Sophronio. The girls dallied at the fountain with Bunar’s dogs until Farida’s screams began to scare her daughters.

Tana got her up out of the birthing chair and we started with the very basics of breath control and moving her hips and chest in rhythm. It wasn’t what I would have taught, but Tana knew her craft well. The awkward motions helped the baby slide down into the proper position, and then Tana let her sit on the stool. Around us, the women chanted and threw burned pieces of straw at the walls to deter the evil ones from coming to take the child. The boy was born, legs first, screaming and kicking in the cool room. “A perfect boy!” everyone shouted.

“Bulyar,” Farida said when the baby sucked at her breast. “His name is Bulyar.”

The afterbirth slid out into Tana’s waiting hands, and she studied it carefully before turning to Arkat. Arkat snarled and went to the brazier, making gagging noises as she warmed her hands. Tana hesitated, and gave it instead to Pejevi. “Take care of this.”

Pejevi took it out of the room, and Tana watched Arkat’s distaste slide into a disgusted sneer. “It was an honor I offered her, Nino,” Tana said as she washed off her arms. “She’s causing trouble for the household.”

As expected, Margar professed great pleasure with his new brother. He immediately went to the court to post the confirmations of baby Bulyar’s sisters’ dowries, and came home with several offers for the eldest. Then he took every coin I showed him and left Tricent for Deultum. Tervel took Bunar hunting. I contemplated childbirth and prayed for the intercessions of the Theotokos.

###

Cothata met me at dawn as I prepared to go to the bathhouse. “It will be today.”

Sophronio managed to be a free man for all of three weeks.

Callia had not left with Margar. “I should go, but Dionysios will have to manage without me right now,” she mumbled. She looked old and frail.

“My brother,” she said. “My brothers.”

“Sophronio… is your brother?” I asked.

“Yes, my brother. The son of my father, in any case. Demetros, too, at least, we think so. He doesn’t look much like my father, but yes, my brothers.”

“Your slaves,” I thought. Could I even dare imagine my brother Paul as a slave? As my slave?

I sat with them an hour, watching Sophronio slip away. I left them together, his hands held by his sister and the woman he wanted to marry, and picked up the manumission. What good was it? I dropped it back on the desk and watched it slide off, down to the floor.

I walked to the courtyard where the men came for judgment and sat down on a bench, resting my back and legs against the long day’s work in the bathhouse, or standing watch with Callia and Cothata at Sophronio’s deathbed. The whores across from me catcalled. I hadn’t expected them to be awake so early.

Nestoris and the rest of the men of the city walked around and murmured to each other. What did it mean, a woman woman – a foreign woman – sitting on the judge’s bench? Unheard of! Scandalous!

At last, an old Jew came to stand in front of me. “What have you, Lady?”

“I ask for justice. Sophronio dies today. He was killed by the slaves of a man here in this courtyard.”

Even the whores stopped their cries. A handful of soldiers stood nearby.

Clearly, every man there knew what had happened. Silence gave way to men's voices, some disgusted, some angry, some amused, whether by me and my accusation, or the truth, I did not know.

"I have lost my steward, who lies dying, because of your servants," I said, looking at Nestoris' face. I saw no repentance, no fear.

The murmuring fell silent again. "He's dead?"

"Sophronio will be," I said.

I did not expect that my steward's name would make any difference, but the crowd turned hostile.

"You killed Sophronio?" A burly, bearded man came to stand beside me and looked down at Nestoris. "What good thing came of killing such a good man?"

The Jew would not sit beside me, and I would not relinquish the bench until I was heard.

"Who of us has not benefited from Sophonrio's good heart, or honest accounting?" The Jew asked. "Did he not resolve the dispute between Boris and Philomen ten years ago? Did he not broker the contract between the Roman guards and our merchants?"

My husband had told my father he had done these things. Had my steward done them instead? My gut clenched. I thought my heart had been hardened against Bulyar’s lies.

A gold coin dropped into my lap. "For his burial," the Jew said. "May Adonai bless him."

A dozen more coins fell into my hands before Nestoris spoke. "You have not asked what he was doing. He and this woman were stealing my water."

Ah, his bathhouse. Yes, I should have known.

"It's been months, Nestoris," another man said. I looked up at him, not recognizing his face nor his voice. "I had a bath at your bathhouse yesterday. Nothing has happened to your water, except it needs to be hotter. But it always did."

Most of the men laughed in agreement. Nestoris glowered.

"We stopped them. My servants did what was necessary."

I lost the crowd's support at that moment. I picked up the coins and held them tightly in my hands, and rose from the bench. I bowed to all. The soldiers escorted me home, an honor guard for Sophronio, not me.

I gave the money to Callia, who might have laughed when the coins fell into her hands. “What’s this?”

“To pay for his burial.” A meager justice, I feared, but all I could give him.

Sophronio’s eyes closed. They did not open again.

Tervel spoke from the shadows of the room. “Where were you?”

“In the courtyard of justice, asking for some for Sophronio,” I said.

Tervel nearly slapped me – Cothata caught his hand. “Not here. Stop it.”

Callia shuddered. “Why?”

“I had to do it.” It was my only answer.

The soldiers stood outside our villa until their centurion arrived. Tervel and I went to meet him in the courtyard.

“I heard about Sophronio,” the centurion began, and stopped to clear his throat. “You’re losing good men, Lady.”

“I am,” I agreed softly. No doubt Tervel would be angry that I spoke to a man outside my household. It was probably a good thing that he rarely came into the bathhouse.

“Have you made plans for his burial?”

“Not yet,” Tervel said. “He asked to be remembered to you.”

“I’ll drink to his memory,” the centurion said. “My lady, send news of the funeral.”

I deferred to Callia and Cothata, who picked a burial site and paid for the priests and the sacrifices with the offerings I’d collected. Together, we sewed his shroud and Cothata gave him one last kiss and a lock of her hair for his cheek.

I wandered around the bathhouse. With the warmer spring air, people were demanding that the exercise yard be opened, and I distracted myself by wandering around, inspecting it and considering what work it would require when the mud dried. I walked past the furnaces and heard a frightful hiss.

The furnaces should not be so hot. The patrons might get burned.

Tervel came to find me, angrier than before. “The patrons are complaining that the water is too hot.”

I put my hand on my forehead and laughed. Usually, the patrons said exactly the opposite. “The water will cool.”

Tervel’s anger, however, did not. I followed the slow moving cart with Cothata, wondering who would collapse first. My legs and arms were strong enough to carry us to the burial ground, but I refused to enter the temple for the sacrifices. Tervel helped Cothata and Callia. Bunar and I sat on a log while we waited, discussing everything from his training with Tervel to his preference for Cook’s honeycakes. The mourners walked with us to the grave, and we lowered him into it accompanied by their wailing. We must have paid them well.

Farida had declined to come with us, claiming the baby had kept her awake all night. We all were tired. I should have taken a rest myself, but I needed to see Sophronio to the end. I watched the grave be filled and prayed what Psalms I could remember.

How long had it been since I had been to church? I’d known those songs since my infancy. Had I missed Pascha?

I had. I had missed the highest feast day of the church year and didn’t even notice it. I spent an hour in my room before my icons in weeping prayers and promised myself that I would go to church for confession the next day.

I hadn’t expected the bathhouse to be sabotaged over night.

Chapter Nineteen

Sat, 05 May 2007 01:16:43 GMT

Margar sent six slaves with a contingent of soldiers returning to their quarters from Deultum. I would have kissed him when they arrived – a juggler, a singer, two men who claimed to have worked in bathhouses and a pair of women who weren’t entirely stupid. Either of the men could be trained to manage the bathing rooms. The juggler presented me with a message from Margar.

Maybe Sophronio could read it, but I couldn’t the poor scrawls. I found him still asleep from the morning’s dose that Cothata had given him, but she suggested Licinius. “He taught Margar how to write.”

Licinius read the details in a quavery voice, pausing at points to take deep breaths. Margar’s marriage had gone well and they were in Deultum for the rest of the winter. He wanted details about the work and when the bathhouse would be opened. Nothing about Cassandra’s marriage or if he’d found a man for Arkat.

“Mistress?” Licinius asked. “My lady?”

“Yes?” I said, turning my attention to the weak old man.

He pointed to a shelf above his head. “There’s a purse there. To pay for my burial.”

I stared, shocked.

“Won’t be long now,” he muttered. “I’m a Roman. I want to be buried in the Roman burial ground. That purse is my savings. Pay for it all, Mistress. What’s left, buy wine for the men at the House of the Hounds. They’ve been good friends over the years. A libation from them would speed me on.”

I swallowed. “I will do what you want, Licinius. You were greatly beloved of my… of Bulyar. He freed you.”

Licinius coughed and chuckled. “He wanted me to leave, but loved me enough to let me stay. He was a tricky man, that one. When he brought you here, if I’d been twenty – even ten – years younger, I would have boxed his ears again. So many wives for one man? It’s wrong and I told him so, often enough.”

I smiled at him, my first genuine one since Bulyar’s death four months ago.

“Cook is getting better, I hear,” Licinius said. “That’s good.”

Cook was better, comparatively speaking. None of us who survived the attack in the meadow were well yet. I was mostly healed, my arm still ached in the evening, but my face was unscarred. Cook had lost huge amounts of weight when we wouldn’t bring him food around the clock as he’d been accustomed to eating when he had charge of the kitchen. He was sour-faced and nasty to everyone, but my food budget had been taken to pay for supplies for the bathhouse. We none of us were eating well, unless Callia sent up food.

In three weeks, I promised myself. Three weeks and I would open the bathhouse and start seeing what would happen next. Nestoris had already murdered to stop me. What might he try next?

Licinius did die that night. I sadly took down his purse and looked at the cache of coins. He would have a simple funeral, to save as much money as I could to let his friends drink his good name one last time. The dogs whined when I chased them out and went to find Tervel. He and Bunar were standing in the night’s snow, practicing hand-to-hand combat.

“I have to go to the centurion,” I said. “Licinius died and wants a Roman burial.”

Tervel grimaced. As a soldier, I would have thought a visit to the barracks would appeal to him. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said firmly. “I have another task as well.”

Pejevi brought us our heavy cloaks. Mine, probably once Callia’s, was lined with rabbit fur, which made it bulky but warm. Tervel looked me over. “Pull up the hood.”

I’d intended to, but his snapped order annoyed me. Pejevi put it up for me and pulled on her own cape. We walked across the city, my wooden clogs sinking into the mud. He stopped as we approached a market square I’d never visited until now. “Cover your faces.”

I tried to stare him down, but Pejevi not only covered her head, she pulled a length of cloth over her face so that only her eyes were visible. She pulled my hood forward as far as she could. It satisfied Tervel.

“Where are we?”

“The court-gate,” he said. “This is where the men come when there’s a judgment to be asked.”

Funny that I would need to be anonymous here, I thought, but the entrance to the Roman barracks was at the far side of the square, and suddenly, I understood why Tervel didn’t want to bring me.

“Hey, Thracian!” A coarse voice from a bench where a pair of soldiers lounged with wine cups in their hands. “How many times did you change sides in your last battle?”

Tervel made an obscene gesture in their direction but otherwise ignored them.

The adjacent whorehouse was filthy and the offers the women screamed in different languages at the men who loitered in the square made me squirm. Living beside a bathhouse, I’d seen prostitutes all my life, but these were disgusting.

Tervel hustled to the gate of the barracks. We saw the centurion immediately, and gave him the news of Licinius. He stared off at the sky for a long moment. “He was a good man, Licinius, a good man and a good soldier. We’ve missed him at the House of the Hounds these last few years.”

“He was a good man,” I agreed. “He asked that I buy wine for the men there, that they might drink in his name.” I held out the small purse. “Will this be enough to pay for his funeral and for his friends?”

The centurion nodded. “Plenty. I’d have the grave dug today and we’ll get his body as soon as it’s ready.”

Tervel put out his hand in a salute. “Centurion.”

The centurion responded with sharp snap of his hand. “What rank had you, sir?

“Optimo,” Tervel said through stiff lips.

“Come back with us after then funeral for some wine, Optimo.” The centurion patted Tervel on the shoulder. “It’s always good to meet a fellow soldier on the road. We’ll share Licinius’ wine and tell stories tonight.”

We left through a different gate. I recognized where we were – the public bathhouse was right there. But if the entrance I’d always used was for women only, the facility must be far larger than I thought it was. My little bathhouse would be nothing to this one.

“Lady Nino?”

I stopped. The little man in front of me pushed back his own hood. In his winter cloak and on his wooden shoes, Nestoris was taller and more imposing than he’d looked when he’d come to Bulyar’s sickbed, but I remembered the ludicrous show he’d put on.

“Yes?” Tervel answered for me.

“I hear you intend to open the old bathhouse,” Nestoris said smoothly.

Did he think we didn’t know whose servants had attacked us?

Tervel answered for me. “What of it?”

Nestoris barely reached Tervel’s shoulder, even in his high shoes.

“Nothing, nothing, just wanted to talk with another in the business,” Nestoris said. “I’d heard she managed the largest one in Bitumi.”

A flattering rumor and untrue, but Tervel gave me no chance to answer. “We’re leaving now.”

We hurried across the city and didn’t slow until Tervel had us back inside our own walls. “When will you open?”

I looked up at his demanding face. “Soon.”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

I sat on the side of the fountain. There was so much more to be done, and one task I’d avoided quite long enough. Pejevi found Bunar and brought him to me.

Snowflakes fell on my cloak as we sat together. Bunar did not trust me after my attempt to be sure his ear healed cleanly. He sat some distance away, his shoulder turned to deflect any further pain I might suffer.

“Bunar,” I finally said. “You ran away again.”

Bunar looked at me sourly. “Yes, Mother Nino.”

“Are we here only for your convenience? You want to spend three days every full moon in the hills and come back to visit us?”

The boy smiled. Three teeth were missing from the smile, but it was Bulyar’s warm, welcoming smile I saw in the dirty boy face. It disarmed me even as I felt anger at myself for falling under its spell.

“Licinius died this morning. You know that?”

He gave me the same glance I would have given my mother had she told me similar news about one in our household. He rubbed the heads of two of the dogs that invariably followed him around.

“Then we have to find a new teacher for you, and you need to stay here so that you may be taught,” I said. “I think Tervel will do for now, to teach you how to be a good Thracian warrior.”

He agreed with me with a shake of his head. “Yes, that would be very good, Mother Nino.”

“But it is still wise for you to learn to read and to cipher,” I added. “Sophronio might have been able to help you, but I fear he cannot.”

Who could? Tervel could read poorly, but couldn’t subtract at all.

Around me, Bunar demonstrated all that Tervel had shown him during their last excursion into the forest, including an elaborate pantomime of catching a fox with the dogs barking around him. I smiled absently with my mind elsewhere.

Father Photius might.

“Bunar, do you remember when Makrina’s father was buried? The priest who came?”

Bunar looked over his shoulder at me, glaring that I wasn’t paying proper attention to his demonstration. “I remember him.”

“Perhaps he could teach you…” And Makrina, I thought. They both should learn.

“Tervel might not approve,” Bunar said. “He doesn’t think that a good Thracian needs to read or write.”

“Tervel does believe that, but your father did not.” Bulyar did agree with Tervel, to some extent. Bulyar had relied on his memory rather than let Sophronio make an inventory. A small lie. I would have to confess it. “Would you like to go see Father Photius now?”

Tervel declined to escort us and looked at me with displeasure when I called for Pejevi to escort us to the church. “Shouldn’t you be doing something for the bathhouse?”

“The bathhouse is not my only task, Tervel.” I rested my hand on Bunar’s shoulder. “I am also a mother now.”

Tervel rolled his eyes and chomped loudly on an apple as we left the courtyard. Bunar looked back until we turned the corner. Then, as always, Bunar found ways to examine the world around him. Had his infinite curiosity come from his mother? He stopped our progress at least three times to study dead plants and filthy piles as we went to the church.

As always, Father Photius was at his tasks across the street from the church and waved at me as we walked to the door.

“The dogs aren’t permitted in here, Bunar,” I said as I crossed myself and touched the ground when I entered.

“What did you just do?” Bunar asked.

“It’s the sign of my god, the Lord Jesus Christ,” I said and demonstrated it. “We do it when we pray, or when we enter the church, or when we hear the name of God mentioned.”

Bunar looked around the dark room. I found a lamp and lit it, and showed him the icons. “This is our Lord, and His Mother, together. See how she loves Him? She holds him close to her face.”

Bunar looked at the icon, and then at me. “Do I make the sign of your god now?”

“You may,” I said with a pleased smile. “And this is our Lord, as He will one day return, at the end of the world.”

Bunar froze. “End of the world? Is that soon?”

I shrugged dramatically. “We don’t know when He will return, Bunar. We are always preparing ourselves for that day.”

“What will happen then?”

Tervel, if he disapproved of Latin and Greek, was not going to approve Bunar’s instruction in the Orthodox faith.

“Then He will look at our hearts and our lives and determine His judgment, which will always be righteous and true,” Father Photius said behind us.

Bunar turned again to the icon. “He doesn’t look like Hero. And she doesn’t look like Bendis at all.”

I bit my lips and pulled Father Photius to the door. “I need a tutor for him. Can you do it?”

The priest shook his head. “No, I cannot.”

Surprised, I waited. “You’ll want a good man, knowledgeable in Latin and Greek. I may know a man who might help you, but he’s not in Tricent now. I will send him to you when he returns.”

“Thank you, Father.” I kissed his hands and waited for his blessing over my head. Bunar finished his tour of our poor nave and stopped beside me as Father made the sign of the cross over my head.

“May I… Will you…?” Bunar asked.

“You may come whenever you are permitted, and you may certainly have a blessing,” Father Photius said. He pulled an apple out of his pocket and handed it to Bunar.

Bunar looked back at the icons. “I want to come back.”

The one thing I owed Bunar I could wait no longer to pay. I knelt before this raggedy stepson of mine. “Bunar, I have never thanked you for your help in my rescue. Without you, I would be dead.”

Bunar’s face burned. “I ran away, and Makrina’s father died. I should have stayed. I could have helped him.”

Father Photius put a hand on Bunar’s shoulder. “Let’s talk about that, shall we? Can you find your way back home without Lady Nino’s help?”

Bunar scorned to answer.

“I must go,” I said and tapped Bunar on the shoulder. “Meal is at sundown, don’t you be late.”

Pleased with myself, I hurried home. Between Father Photius and Tervel, Bunar would take little or no more of my attention.

###

We didn’t open the next day, as it was the new moon and most of the women in town were off to worship at Bendis’ temple. But we did open three days later.

No one came.

I stopped to see Tana after four long, empty days.

“Have you felt the baby move yet?” She pressed a cup of hot honey water into my hands. “You’re not wearing anything that ties, are you?”

I’d forgotten the Thracian superstition. “I must tie my cloak, Tana. It’s too cold not to.”

“Find some amulets,” she counseled me severely. She made me stand and pressed on my belly.

“Your belly is strong from dancing,” she pronounced. “You’ll be like me. Nothing showing and then you’ll pop out like a rosebud.”

She tried to figure out when the baby may be born, but I was no help. We settled on late spring for lack of any better guess. I let her babble about the full moon and making sacrifices as I tried to find a discreet way to ask my questions, not about child-birth, but about my bathhouse.

After an hour, I gave up on subterfuge and asked her directly what was going on.

Tana looked uncomfortable. “Aten told me that Nestoris is spreading rumors about why your bathhouse was closed all those years ago. He’s telling people the waters are poisoned.” She shuddered. “I remember when the bathhouse closed, Nino. Many people remember that year. Many died that winter.”

I felt the little flutter under my ribs again. This one would go with me to Constantinople, I vowed. To get there, the bathhouse must succeed.

Knowing a whispering campaign was being launched didn’t help my sagging spirits, but I did know how to respond. Another whisper made its way through the city, but this one would not reach the ears of the city elite. This one circulated amongst the slaves.

I was ready before dawn. We had a mere dozen our first day, but a free bath in hot water in the coldest month of the year would not be squandered by the city slaves. In seven days, we had nearly every slave in the city inside our bath at least once.

The soldiers came next. The centurion came with three slaves and spent several hours enjoying the steamy heat. I’d set aside a room for massages and had started to train one of the new women, but the centurion’s man taught us both new and clearly delightful methods for dealing with scarred backs. One cold afternoon, twenty soldiers came and staged a battle in our slushy exercise ground before spending the rest of the day in the baths. Cook was able to prepare a feast for them, and we won enough good will that the men came back again and again.

The whores came too. I shut my mouth when the first group arrived, and welcomed them as I did any other patrons. They paid for their baths and for the slaves’ services. On the whole, they were rowdier than the soldiers, but did less damage with their grafitti.

I set up a schedule similar to the public bath. Women were welcome until noon, and then we closed the bath for an hour to clean it before the men were permitted to come in. Most slaves came early – before dawn – or after dark. Having the whores in the morning and the soldiers take the afternoon spread out the workday’s load.

Before the beginning of the year, days before the Annunciation, we began to charge for the baths, and the slaves paid. The number of customers reduced, of course, but the word was now out. The old bathhouse was warm and welcoming, and if slave owners didn’t come, then we had more slaves who came to get away from their own masters.

With Father Photius, I counted the days until the Dormition Feast. With Tervel, I wondered innocently how long it would take to get to Constantinople. With Tana, I learned how to prepare for birth. With Cothata, I watched the piles of money grow.

With Margar, I watched the gold leave.

Chapter Eighteen

Fri, 04 May 2007 04:17:26 GMT

I passed the stables as I left Sophronio’s office. The stalls were mostly empty, for Margar had ordered most of them to be sold, and what hadn’t been sold would carry the valuables from the storeroom to Deultum and to his wedding as gifts to his bride’s family. Finding the gold for his bridal price hadn’t been an issue at all, I mused.

The sound of crying, a child’s crying, caught my attention. Was Makrina going to weep as she had when she’d spent the week with me on the ship?

I ducked around the doorway and found not Makrina, but Bunar, sobbing into his arms.

My heart hardened as I looked at him. Son of Bulyar or son of Tervel, it didn’t matter. He was no son to me. Margar had assigned me the task of caring for him… but I did not care. I did not love this child.

“Momma,” he cried.

Bunar’s whimper shook me to the core. What kind of place was this, that killed a mother when a father died? How many orphans did this culture create out of its twisted worship of husbandly love?

I could not bear it. I went and sat beside him. I stroked his back, and pulled him into my arms. Together we wept, until we slept, lying on the sweet hay.

Tervel found us later, huddled together. “You’re sought, Nino,” he said quietly. “The boy?”

“He misses his mother and father,” I said as I stretched.

Tervel nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”

“Thank you,” slipped from my lips. I wondered why I’d said that while I walked into the courtyard. Why would I feel grateful that the boy would have family when he awoke?

###

In the morning when I awoke, the courtyard smelled like dead animals – long dead. I peeped out of my doorway and saw several men dressed in wet furs slapped each other on the back as Tervel and Margar made the rounds greeting them. Even Bunar was grinning broadly, hanging off the back of a burly man with a flat, wide face. He reminded me of my father somewhat… But I should have expected that long before now. My father had been born in Odessos, a Thracian city north of Deultum. Surely I’d see some family resemblance at some point, I told myself as I dressed and stopped by Cothata’s door. Her room was empty, but considering the noise coming from the kitchen, I imagined she was arguing with Cook about the unexpected guests.

I slid past the boisterous group into the kitchen and found Sophronio holding onto a bowlful of sliced apples. Cothata could be heard grumbling loudly behind him, cursing Arkat and Cassandra.

“What’s going on?” I asked Sophronio.

“Guests from the highlands,” he said softly. “Lady Baypat’s clan-brothers and their leader, Lisugar. He’s the short one with the fox tails hanging down his back.”

I leaned backwards to see back into the courtyard. He was not the man I’d noticed earlier. This man had few teeth and less hair. But his smile seemed genuine as he talked with Tervel over cups of Callia’s preferred wine.

Cook, I noticed, glanced at the barrel everytime someone walked by. I suspected his private store had been broached and he was not well-pleased to share. Let Margar deal with it, I thought crossly. Margar must have ordered the wine; probably Callia told him where to find it.

Sophronio put an empty bowl into my hands and picked up another. “Let Lady Cothata fill it up and take it over to the stew pot.”

I did as I was bid and decided to be grateful for the warmth of the kitchen. Our guests never moved in out of the rain. Bunar moved from man to man, splashing each one with water and gleefully laughing when the splashed him back.

“Who are they?” I asked Cothata.

“Kinsmen, and important ones. Lisugar, the short one, he’s the clan leader of the Fox clan. Those are his sons and nephews. Baypat’s mother was his wife.”

I wondered spitefully at which wife Baypat’s mother had been. “How long will they be here?”

“Only a day,” she said and dumped the sliced onions into my bowl. “Put those in with the apples. But we’ll honor them with the feast. Have you seen Cassandra? She should be present as Margar’s sister. Janek and Vanjek have both offered for her in the past. If only Arkat were here.”

“Why?”

Cothata looked at me oddly, as if she’d forgotten she’d been speaking to me. “Because they could dance together.”

I looked at her, horrified. “Dance in front of the men?”

I could see the idea occur to her and just as quickly, I wanted to suppress it.

“You’ll dance with her,” Cothata said. “Go get yourselves ready.”

“I do not dance before men,” I insisted.

Behind me, I could hear Cook’s self-satisfied giggle, and I knew I was caught.

Margar summoned Cassandra and ordered us to dance. She accepted it with grace; I did not. But it was unlikely that she could learn any steps of mine in the time we had until after dinner, so I took her up to the peacock room and learned hers. Tana’s lessons had taught me the basics. With Pejevi on a small drum, we managed to prepare a suitable dance in the time it took for the men to leave the courtyard.

“They’ve gone to the temple,” Cothata told me as she put a tray of bread and honey-sweetened cheese down beside me. “The sacrifices will take an hour. Take off that silly turban of yours and let your hair down.”

“I will not! I will not now or ever wear my hair down in front of any man not my husband.”

Cothata covered her mouth with her hand and looked back and forth between Cassandra and myself. “You must. It will be an insult if you do not honor him as you would your own family.”

“I don’t dance uncovered for anyone in my family!”

Cassandra shrugged. “They know she’s a foreigner, Cothata. Lisugar has always been kind to me. I doubt he’ll make a fuss.”

“He’s not who I worry about. Those brothers of Baypat, Vanjek and Janek. They look for excuses to insult Margar.”

“That’s hardly new,” Cassandra said. “Have you a dress to wear, Mother Nino?”

“I cannot do this!” My eyes filled with tears. “I cannot.”

Cothata would scold me, certainly, but I did not care. I fled to my room and leaned against the window, taking deep breaths of the rainy wind as it blew into my face.

“Perhaps,” Cassandra said softly at my door, “if we both cover our faces… do you have a veil?”

I pointed to my chest and she found what Bulyar had purchased for me before we left Egrisi.

She sat on the floor and undid the twelve braids so that her hair fell down her back in waves. With her knife, she split the cloth in two, and using a bit of leather, she tied in on her own face, her eyes uncovered, but the rest of her face artfully concealed. “How about this?”

Cassandra took my hand and led me away from the rain and dropped the leather curtain down to block the wind. “Let’s consider what we should wear, Mother Nino.”

When the time came for us to dance, I froze in the doorway to the dining hall. Cassandra yanked on my arm and pulled me in, but all I could do was stand, my back to the men. Pejevi started the drum beat, and Cassandra, her face veiled like mine, began to dance around me. One arm up over her head, one down, a sensuous twist that slid the motion of her arms across her shoulders, and I felt my breath stop. She’d given me no clue of her grace when we practiced.

Violna had been graceful too, I remembered.

Out of habit or compulsion, my hips began to twitch to Pejevi’s beat. I could hear Cassandra’s sigh of relief as I raised my arms with hers. Our palms touched, we spun around with hip drops and shimmies and faced each other again. We leaned back, raising our hands to the ceiling, letting our arms and hips do the work as we slowly pulled up to stand facing each other, and repeated the move. This had not been part of what we’d worked on, but it felt right. I had not danced with another partner since Elayjit’s death that had better matched me, nor had challenged me as much.

It was our bad luck that she stepped on a bone thrown on the floor and I heard her groan as she slid to the ground. Had it been the old bone or her ankle that had broken? I did not know, but Cothata hissed at us to continue to dance. How could she? Breathing in short, painful gasps told me that she would not finish the dance with me.

I carefully placed myself between the men and Cassandra, and let my belly rolls distract them while I tried to think of how to finish this impossible situation. My only idea was to dance toward Cassandra and hope she’d put out her right hand.

She did. I was able to pull her up and around, so that she rested against my back. I grabbed her left hand –- upstage, so that our audience would not see it—and wrapped it around my waist. By carefully stepping with our right feet and my left foot, we were able to finish and get Cassandra out of the room and into Sophronio’s office. A bucket of cool water and Sophronio’s compliments handled Cassandra’s problems.

If only mine were solved so easily.

###

Margar left the next morning, promising to send some lambs and goats from Baypat’s household to supply us. He took most of the slaves, cleaned out half of the storeroom, and instructed Sophronio and me how much we needed to do and how much it would cost. I properly kept my eyes focused on the ground. I’d written up the list myself, and Sophronio had computed the costs.

Margar did set Cook, Basil and Bunar on their trip up to the hillside where the hot spring rose. I didn’t know until later that Makrina had gone with them, but I decided it was just as well. No children remained in the household. Practically no one remained in the house, except Licinius, the old tutor, with Cassandra, Cothata and myself. Pejevi remained, of course, with Sophronio.

“Lucinius?” I said over dinner. I’d forgotten he’d even been in the household. My hopes to learn Latin had been swept aside in the task of organizing the storerooms. “Why is he still here?”

“Bulyar freed him years ago,” Cothata said around a bite of her bread. It hadn’t the flavor of Cook’s, but I wasn’t going to be picky, not when I felt as if I’d not eaten in days.

”Freed him? Why is he still here?” I asked.

“Bulyar freed him, out of gratitude for how well he’d served Bulyar over the years. I think Bulyar had hoped that Lucinius would leave,” Cothata said. “But Lucinius is an old man, and barely leaves his room. The only time he’s awake is when he has visitors. His knees and hands pain him, so he takes poppy and belladonna.”

I’d never heard of belladonna, but clearly, this combination disturbed Cothata. “He sleeps a great deal… but when Bunar comes back, will he be able to tutor the boy?”

“Possibly. I don’t know how much of his own mind he has left and what’s gone back to the gods,” Cothata said.

It would be a simple solution to put the boy in the charge of the tutor while I worked in the bathhouse. Bunar needed to learn to read and write Greek as well as Latin, how to calculate and how to manage. He was probably close to nine or ten years old. It would be a late start, but I’d learned to read at a much earlier age than my brother.

It was another detail I would have to remember as we began our assault on the bathhouse.

Aten had been very generous in the slaves he’d sent. What I’d expected ten slaves to do in two weeks, sixteen did in a week. We had no oxen to haul away the debris, but Aten provided a wagon and four more slaves to burn the leaves and branches in our furnace. We were able to see that the furnaces were still in good shape and the hypocausts held the heat well.

Good, I thought. Now all I needed was water.

The team on the hillsides had been up there for seven days when I became annoyed. Where was my water?

I turned to Tervel over a cold breakfast. “Will you go up and see what’s taking so long? How long can it take for men to dig a trench?”

Tervel made a rude gesture and walked away.

Sophronio and I made the trip together in a bright dawn. The frosted grasses crunched underfoot as we walked up through the meadows, but when we joined the trail, the grass and mud were well-tracked. Others had gone before us.

The sheep bleats welcomed us to the mineral spring clearing. Nothing else did. Cook lay shivering in several blankets, grey and gasping. I looked around. Where were Basil and Makrina? Where was Bunar? Where was my trench?

I turned around to call for Basil when I saw his Cappadocian-woven sandals just beyond Cook’s head. I pushed into the brush and looked at the cold firepit. Basil lay beside it, his head crushed and bloody.

I ran to kneel beside him, and knew no more.

###

Tana’s comforting eyes were the first thing I saw when I awoke in my own home. “Hush. Your arm is broken and you have a bad cut the length of your face, but it’s shallow and should heal without a scar.”

“What…” I tried to think of the next word, but instead, I rolled over and vomited. Pejevi tended me with gentleness and calming words.

“Your men were attacked this morning,” Tana said. “Bandits, or some clan attack. We don’t know.”

“Basil is dead?” I asked.

“Basil is dead,” Tana said softy. “Makrina and Bunar saw the attackers and ran down to get help. They hid in the forest, that’s why you missed them.”

Missed them. Yes, we missed them… My thought echoed in my head.

“Your head is injured,” Tana said, and held up a cup. “I’ve brought some broth and some poppy for you to sleep tonight. We’ve set your arm, it will heal.”

But will my head?

“Cook?” I finally managed.

“He had some kind of attack last night,” Pejevi said and I wondered in disjointed thoughts why she wept about that. “Tervel is bringing him down now.”

“Tervel?” I whispered. Who was Tervel?

“Makrina and Bunar arrived after you left,” Pejevi said. “Tervel took several of the slaves from the bathhouse up and brought you back down. We called your priest. He is arranging the burial now.”

Whose burial? Mine?

I sipped from the cup that Tana held.

“Your baby is fine, Nino,” Tana whispered in my ear. “I’ve seen no blood.”

Baby? I wasn’t pregnant. That was the only thing I was sure of.

I slept.

Three days passed until I could sit up without vomiting, and another week before anyone told me about Sophronio.

Cassandra and Arkat joined our odd household as I was trying to walk across the dining hall with Pejevi on one side and Makrina on the other when Cassandra burst into the room. “What happened to Sophronio?”

“What happened?” In my confusion, I hadn’t noticed his absence. Pejevi led me to a bench and lowered me down carefully. “What happened?”

Cothata came down and joined me, carefully tucking a wolfskin around my knees. “Sophronio went up with you, do you remember?”

Now that she mentioned it, I did remember. I looked at her, red eyes and lined forehead. “What happened?”

“He’s dying!” Cassandra shrieked. “He’s dying because of your stupid plans!”

Cothata rose, clearly shaky, and pulled Cassandra out of the room. Tervel came in and sat across from me.

“You don’t remember the fight, then?” he asked quietly.

I noticed purple and blue marks on his face. “Fight?”

“Nestoris’ men were sent up to stop you – Cook and Basil, at least – from digging a trench to redirect the spring. They killed Basil, and might have tried to kill Cook if he didn’t already look dead. When you and Sophronio appeared, they attacked both of you as well.” Tervel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his face down. “I should have gone with you.”

“Sophronio?”

“His back is broken…” Tervel sucked in a long breath. “He can’t walk.”

“Is he dying?”

Tervel shrugged. “The physician is doing what little he can. Sophronio is in a great deal of pain from the injury to his hand. Cothata is keeping him sedated for now, but we won’t know… I’m sorry, Nino. You asked me to go with you. I should have gone.”

Yes, he should have, I thought, but what’s the point. “His hand?”

“Broken badly. But it’s not bleeding, just black and swollen. We see no signs of it turning green, so Cothata thinks he might keep it, what little good it will do him.”

Tervel took over the management of the household. Work on the bathhouse continued based on my notes and Sophronio’s orders for three more weeks as I healed and recovered my senses. Tana visited often, bringing Aten with her and we sat in the dining hall in front of the fire. Cassandra would not stay with us, opting to tend to Sophronio as Cothata now cooked for us all. Aten found it amusing and would go to look for Cassandra, returning with a pleased grin.

Arkat remained my greatest annoyance. She was used to pampering and lazy, and now, without servants at her beck and call, she tried to make Makrina her personal slave.

“Makrina is not a slave,” I said sharply as Arkat stood before me. Tervel had found her threatening to whip the child and brought them both to me. “She is my guest in this house, as she always has been and was your father’s as well.”

“Someone around here needs to start acting like the master and mistress of this house,” she sneered.

My good arm was strong enough to backhand her. “You will not speak to me like that,” I ordered. “I am your mother and the mistress of this house.”

“You are not my mother,” she sulked. “You’re nothing like my mother.”

“Whether you like it or not, Arkat, I am your mother now. If you don’t want to be here, then send a message to your brother. His marriage is in three days. Hire a courier. Until then, you are mine to do with what I want.” I watched her eyes narrow. “And I have plenty for you to do, should we need to reinforce this lesson.”

Reinforce it I did. Aten and I, along with Tervel and several slaves armed with rhomphaias -polearms with wicked, sharp blades – walked back up to the clearing and looked at the work Basil and Bunar had accomplished. Around the heavy rock, a pool of water rose, soaking the ground and making the hillside muddy. Aten and Tervel talked and pointed as I walked over to the snow-covered firepit where Basil had died. His sandal still lay on the ground.

I turned around and looked at the view over the men’s heads. I hadn’t noticed, on my first trip during the autumn, that a sharp cliff edged the eastern side of the clearing. What I’d thought were bushes were rather the tops of some tall, spindly trees that were either rooted on the side of the cliff or down below. Far down below, far enough that when I walked over to toss a stick over the edge, I didn’t hear it land.

“Mudslide,” I heard, and looked up at the men.

“There was one when I was a boy,” Aten said. “This clearing was twice the size and it fell down, halfway to the city. Our vozha has told us stories about this hill collapsing time after time.”

Tervel stomped on the wet, muddy ground. “If we don’t divert this water, there will be another landslide.”

The slaves went to work. Trees, rocks and branches were hauled over to the hot spring, and a new, deep trench was dug. On each side, a tree was carefully positioned to keep the water within. Two of the slaves found a clay patch and were able to line part of the trench with the dirty clay. It was not a permanent solution, but it would have to serve until the city elders determined what should be done.

My bathhouse had water – hot, running, mostly clean water, before we got home.

It didn’t matter. I stood in my chamber and looked at my shadow against the wall. No bulge betrayed me, but there was no other explanation for the quick little jabs in the middle of my belly.

Tana and Callia were both right.

Chapter Seventeen

Fri, 04 May 2007 04:12:39 GMT

In the morning, I found I’d missed a great deal of discussion about my household.

Cook’s staff was virtually gone. Margar had ordered them to get ready to be moved to Deultum for sale. The married couples were to be sold together, I’d been told, but I’d been to plenty of sales where such promises were no more than smoke on the wind.

Cook stomped around the kitchen and swore in languages I didn’t know. I was too busy staring at Callia and Margar.

“You’re taking how many of the slaves?”

“We’re leaving you with a small staff,” Callia soothed. “Cook, Basil and his daughter, Pejevi, Sophronio. A few others, some that Cook feels have some potential but need more training before we sell them.”

Cook threw a kettle against the wall and swore.

Margar, who looked so much like his father, never acted less. He turned his back on Cook. “I’ll use the proceeds from the sale of the other slaves and the stored goods to buy bathhouse slaves and bring them back. Arkat and I will be back in two weeks.”

“But the betrothal, you have to negotiate that before you leave…” Callia reminded him. “And you have to leave Nino enough money to keep the household fed, if you intend to take all the supplies brought by the clan last week.”

Margar glared at her. “I know what I have to do, Callia. Don’t nag me.”

He turned to me. “So, are you with child?”

I hadn’t expected the question at all, and the rude manner in which he’d posed it stunned me. He poked my stomach with his finger.

“Of course she is, Margar,” Callia said quickly. “When did Bulyar ever not get a woman pregnant within three months of his marriage?”

“She doesn’t look it,” Tervel said.

“Early days and a young body. Haven’t you ever been married, Tervel?” Callia said dismissively.

“You were there, weren’t you?” he said. “I’m a soldier now. No time for a wife.”

“No home, either,” Callia said nastily. “Sold that to Bulyar fast enough, didn’t you?”

Tervel bared his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile. “We both got what we wanted.”

All the talk and the mayhem being wreaked in the kitchen drove me to the bathhouse. Sophronio was there, scrolls in a bag on his hip. Cothata was humming as she walked beside him.

“We have to get water, that’s the highest priority,” I said. “So how do we do that?”

“The hot spring up on the hill is the best source, but it’s been diverted,” Sophronio said. “Before it becomes known that you intend to reopen the bath, it would be best to get someone up there to get the water into the pipe. Basil knows how to build what we’ll need, but he needs a reason to be up on the mountain.”

“Margar sent the shepherds to Callia’s vineyard this morning,” Cothata said. “Too bad, we could have used them.”

“We still can,” I said. “What men do I have left?”

“Cook, me, and Basil. The rest are gone.”

I sat on the edge of a fountain. “Tervel will be here also.”

“Not a slave, and I doubt you could ask him to do anything.” Cothata pulled a rag out of Sophronio’s bag and swept off the spider webs off the statue behind me.

“Then… Arkat and Cassandra will be here, with Bunar.”

“A bad combination,” Cothata said. “Arkat is as vicious as her mother ever was. She’ll do whatever she can to cause trouble with Bunar, which will aggravate Tervel.”

“Bunar is a shepherd, isn’t he?” I asked, inspired.

“Yes, he and Baypat managed a good-sized flock of sheep,” Sophronio answered. “They weren’t good eating, but the wool was always the best.”

“Then let’s send the boy up on the mountain with Basil.” I felt excitement rise inside me, and wondered if I were pregnant, as Callia had said. “Basil can work, we can say that they’re just managing the herd for a few weeks until the shepherds come back from Callia’s vineyard.”

“Basil will need more help than just the boy,” Sophronio said.

“Then let Cook go with him. Cothata can cook for us.”

“But…” Sophronio stopped. “Lady, think about this. Demetros is in no shape to go out and live in the forest for any amount of time. He’ll be no help at all for Basil. And how will you get food up there to them?”

“You’ll have to take it, or I will,” I said. “I can’t spare you, Sophronio. You’re my right hand and left hand in this. I have to trust that Margar will get me competent slaves to run the bathhouse, but I have to have you here to supervise the restoration. We don’t need an extra cook right now, but we will need him and his skills once the bathhouse is opened. Selling food is a major source of profit for the bathhouse, and I want that profit in my pocket, not in another’s who would compete against my kitchen. I have to keep him, and I’ll have to get him a staff after the bathhouse builds up a steady business.”

Sophronio looked surprised, and then proud. “You know your task, don’t you? Very well. We’ll get Margar to tell Cook his new assignment befor the vozha leaves. I don’t want to do it.”

###

Cook roared.

I cowered in my quarters with Cothata, listening to the fury and the patter of the soft autumn rain on the shutters. Farida began to sing to block out the noise. Cassandra took Pejevi and went to the market.

The stomping up the women’s stairs startled me, but worse was Margar throwing open the door to my chamber and, ignoring me or Cothata’s cries, strode across the room and pulled open the window frame.

The two baskets sat in their slots. One had four pearls in it. The other had perhaps a dozen.

“Where are the pearls?” Margar shouted. “Where are they?”

“Pearls?” Cothata said.

“The pearls!” Margar spun around and the pearls flew around the room. Margar dropped the basket and came to stand in front of my chest. He nearly tore the lid off. He picked up each of my garments, shook it out and threw them on the floor where Cothata was trying to capture the rolling pearls.

“Those are my clothes!” I shrieked. “What are you doing?”

He found my wedding ring. “What’s this? Where did you get it?”

“Your father gave it to me! It’s my wedding ring!” I pulled it out of his hand and jammed it onto my finger. It was loose – I’d lost weight in the last week when the stress of Bulyar’s death had stolen my appetite.

He pulled it off my hand and put it into one of the baskets, but I immediately took it back and ran for Callia. “What is he doing in my chamber?”

“Looking for pearls,” she snapped. “Do you have them?”

“What pearls? I have my pearls, my ring and the pearls on my wedding garments. What is he doing?” I held up my ring. “Is he accusing me of stealing my own ring? My own jewelry?”

Callia rubbed her forehead. “Of course not. Can anyone verify which are yours?”

“Cothata has seen my pearls,” I fumed. “She’ll know what is mine.”

“You better hope so,” Callia said darkly. “Bulyar made promises about Cassandra’s dowry. We can’t find what he promised Aten.”

“And this will undoubtedly cause a blood-feud between the clans,” I said sarcastically.

“Exactly.” Callia said and picked up her pen. “We are on the verge of causing a war.”

“We found them!” A shout roused us and I ran out to the courtyard and looked up, but it wasn’t Margar shouting, but Cook.

He stood with a knife stuck into the mosaic around the fountain. Basil knelt beside him, prying up a slab.

Margar dashed up to them and cursed at them as Basil pulled up the tiles. Beneath the slab, in a small hole, another basket of pearls was found.

“The dowries,” Callia said and pressed her hand to her breast. “Thank the goddesses.”

Margar took the pearls into the dining hall along with several bowls. He counted out all the pearls, a bowl for each daughter.

“The dowries, but not more,” he said, frustrated. “There were more! My grandfather showed me more!”

Cothata and Sophronio stood nearby. “Perhaps at Violna’s house,” he suggested and Cothata nodded. “He would have kept pearls with him, taking only what he needed on the trip, or selling them.”

“There’s not enough to pay for the wedding feast,” Margar snarled.

I withdrew to my disheveled chamber and refolded my clothing. The fine silk in the turban, the green and pink garments with pearls sewn on it; I’d been so happy and proud that day. Now they lay in my hands as testimony to the lies and the proof of my disgrace. I wanted to keep it only because my mother had made it for me.

I replaced the turban in my chest. I folded the rest of the clothing and and with a knife, cut off the pearls my mother’s hands had carefully sewn. Even without the pearls, it was still the finest ensemble I’d ever seen. I took it to Margar in Sophronio’s office and put it on the desk.

“Let this be either the wedding garment, or sell it,” I whispered.

Sophronio picked up the short veil I’d worn under my turban and looked at me. “These were your wedding garments?”

“They were,” I said, maintaining my whisper, lest my voice crack. “Give them to Cassandra, or if they are unsuitable, sell them. They will be my gift.”

Margar sniffed the fabric. “You perfumed them?”

“No, that’s the incense from my wedding,” I said.

His mouth twisted in thought. “We’ll ask my sister.”

I sighed and let them think it was relief.

“What happened to the pearls?” Cothata asked.

“I’ve kept them,” I said. “They were my bridal gifts from my parents.”

Margar lifted an eyebrow at me.

A few details that may have changed.

There is now a character named Arkat. Her name was Markat. Too many "mar" names.

If you don't give me feedback and beta notes, I'll cry.

Chapter Sixteen

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 15:27:47 GMT

We didn’t have to look long. Bunar returned with a tall Thracian soldier. The resemblance between the two was startling.

“Lord Tervel,” Sophronio finally said. He bowed deeply. “It is good to have you visit us.”

Tervel put the boy down. “Thank you. I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Linus Sophronio. Perhaps you remember Master Bulyar’s senior wife, Lady Callia?”

Callia snapped her mouth together. “Welcome, Tervel. We will have a room made ready immediately.”

Tervel accepted the arrangements without comment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I understand that Bulyar died.”

“A few days ago,” Callia said. “Did you find Bunar at this father’s grave?”

“Yes.” Tervel’s eyebrows came together. “And two graves beside his.”

“Violna’s…” Callia paused, clearly uncomfortable. “And Baypat’s.”

Tervel’s lips twisted, but he said nothing.

“Bunar,” Callia called. “Go find Licinius. Tell him you are to begin lessons today.”

Bunar looked at me for the first time. In his eyes, I saw the same despair that my brother Paul had shown when our grandmother had died. But, more, I saw fear. Something was about to blow up in this boy, and I realized that while I had lost a husband, Bunar had lost his mother and father. Her last act to him was violent, and who knows what Bulyar might have said or not said when we’d been coming from Deultum.

I came and knelt before Bunar, folding my hands on my knees where he could see them. “Good afternoon, Bunar. I am Nino. I’m a bit hungry right now, and thought I’d like to get a bit of bread from the kitchen. Would you like to go with me?”

“Yes, go with Mother Nino, Bunar,” Callia ordered.

“Mother Nino?” Tervel said. He looked at me, up and down. Considering how I must have looked, having toured a filthy and abandoned bathhouse, and then a long wet walk back from the hot spring, it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion to think that I was nothing more than a servant.

But being mistaken for a slave girl put some iron in my spine. “Let’s go, Bunar.”

We walked together and stole bits of bread from the table where Cook was working before sitting down under the balcony. “Are you really a mother, Nino?”

“No,” I said. Did it matter now? Perhaps it was better that I carried no child of Bulyar’s. “Is Mother Callia what you would call your father’s first wife?”

He tore off another bite of bread and shook his head. “Yes, that’s what Baba told me to call her.”

“What else did she tell you?”

He looked at me suspiciously and paid more attention to his bread than my question, so I ate my own. I chewed the bread as I chewed over the list of tasks I’d need to accomplish in the next few weeks, and what would motivate Margar to agree with my plans.

“Mother Nino?” Bunar twisted his bread between his hands. “What happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes filled with tears. “Where do I go now?”

I put my arm around him and pulled him close. “For now, you stay here with us. Margar, your brother, will be back and we’ll find out then what should be done. In the meantime, Licinius is a kindly man and he’s very fond of bread and broth. Shall we take him some?”

My distraction failed. Bunar wept and I thought he’d probably not talked to a soul since his mother’s death. Had he seen it? Did he understand it? I leaned my head onto his. He probably understood it more than I did myself. He’d grown up here. I stroked his dirty hair and tried not to rest my forearm on his ear.

Looking at his ear, it didn’t look like it was turning bad, but I’d seen enough cuts go back to signal to one of the kitchen staff to bring me a bottle of wine and a cloth. I poured it over his ear.

He roared and pulled back away from me. He ran screaming to Cothata.

“Cothata!” I felt like running myself. “When did you arrive?”

“Just now,” she said, comforting the child. “What’s happened?”

“I wanted to put wine on his ear,” I explained. “I don’t want him to get sick.”

She patted him on the back. “Bunar, you know that she meant no harm to you, but only good.”

He clung to her. “Nino…” she said, helplessly pointing to the child.

“Take care of the boy, we’ll talk later,” I said and kissed her on the cheek. “Welcome home.”

I went back up to my room and changed my clothes. So many thoughts going through my mind made me crazy trying to remember them all. But one thing was abundantly clear. Margar would have to put out a great deal of gold, and with the storehouse full, he had no reason to do so.

I had no control over the storeroom.

Would Margar know about the pearls?

An hour later, I walked into Sophronio’s office, where he whistled as he rolled up a parchment. “May I help you, Lady Nino?”

“Ink, a pen and some parchment, anything old will do.” He handed each to me instantly. “Thank you.”

“I ordered the shepherds to pour water down the pipe up in the hills, Lady.” He indicated the direction with his head. “Makrina and Basil are watching for it in the bathhouse.”

“Will they be able to pour enough?”

“They’ve been ordered to pour until dusk. We’ll know if the pipe is solid, at the very least. I don’t know where the water enters, except that it’s under the wall.”

“It should go to the furnace room,” I said. “If the water wasn’t hot enough, or the weather was so cold that the rooms needed to be heated, the water would go there first.”

“I’ll send a message to them right away.” He rang a bell and gave the message to the boy. “Basil and Makrina said they want tomorrow to go to their temple to worship. Another feast day.”

I tried to remember what the feast may be, but couldn’t. “Is there a reason that they should not be permitted to go?”

“Not for them, but you are in mourning, Lady. You should not be going to the temple until the new moon to offer your sacrifices for your husband.”

“Oh,” I said. “My church does not worship in this way, Sophronio. I should go with them.”

He turned to replace a scroll. “It will be seen as a scandal, Lady, but you must do what you think is best.”

“What I think is best,” I swallowed, “is to open that bathhouse as quickly as possible.”

“May Hermes make you clever,” he said, and gave me a wry look.

I stood at Bulyar’s desk and began my plan. At dusk, I heard Makrina’s shout through the window.

Water spilled into the furnace room from the pipes.

I wrote more, reconsidered, rearranged and otherwise honed my plan until the calls for dinner interrupted my thoughts. Even as I sat down to eat, my mind refused to think about anything else.

Margar was late. Callia told me that Margar always ran a day or two behind his intended plans and not to fret. “Your plans are sound, and you are capable of running the bathhouse once it’s opened. He’ll see that.”

Would he? I sat down with Sophronio at dinner and explained my thoughts. He sat and listened. “You cannot open the house this fall with just our household staff working, Lady. You’ll need a crew of thirty or more just to clean out the rooms and do the repairs.”

He’d found the one flaw in the plan over which I had no control.

“But, Lady, those sorts of slaves are easily gotten. Your friend, Lady Tana, has a son whose slaves would do this work in short order. You might talk to her and find out what she thinks.”

What she thinks her son would charge, I thought. But I could go there after the liturgy in the morning.

Tana received me in a small private room, warm and inviting. “Your jealous god is very odd, Nino,” she said when I arrived. “But you’re always welcome.”

“Thank you. I was told that your son may have some slaves I could hire.”

She sipped her cup. “Direct, aren’t you?”

“I need to be. I have a deadline, and I must know if your son could help me.”

We discussed the terms. Tana was not ignorant of the bathhouse. “I’d bathed there many times over the years,” she said, and skeptically listened to my plan.

“You’ll need more than thirty,” she finally said. “And skilled workers will not be cheap. Then you’ll need bathhouse slaves.”

I’d thought about this. “The project will require a great deal of money to start, but I believe it can be done.”

“Is it true,” Tana said softly, fingering a piece of bread, “that you didn’t know about Bulyar’s other wives?”

My face burned. “It is true.”

“You come from a funny land, then? Does your god not approve of us?”

“The Lord Jesus Christ loves all men,” I insisted, “but polygamy is not permitted in His church.”

“Then you no longer worship this god?”

“I worship Him,” I said, “My situation does not change the fact that He is the creator of the universe and my redeemer from the pit of Hell.”

She studied my face for a long time. “If Bulyar did not tell you about his other wives, did he tell you about his children?”

“He said his only child died at childbirth,” I murmured.

“He was one to adjust the truth for his own benefits. So, then, you know nothing of the negotiations between my son Aten and Bulyar regarding the marriage of Cassandra?”

“I know nothing,” I said.

She ate the bit of bread and another before continuing. “If you were to support the marriage, Aten would then be helping out his family and his wife’s clan with his slave’s labor. You might find that to be less expensive, and less likely to fall away when other offers arise.”

“Would Cassandra be… first wife?” I asked.

“No.” Tana rolled her eyes. “Ava is his first wife, but she’s… Aten cannot put her aside, she is our vozha’s daughter.”

“Cassandra would be told about Ava, would she not?”

“Of course.” Tana looked troubled. “Bulyar married you under false pretenses, not telling you about his other wives. Your god does not approve of many wives. You are in a precarious spot, Nino. Margar could claim that Bulyar’s failures have made your marriage invalid and have you put out of the household.”

No wonder Callia wouldn’t answer my questions.

“But, if you were to prove to be profitable to Margar, he’d be unlikely to do that. The bathhouse is an excellent plan. You’d have Aten’s support – and mine—if you were to support Cassandra’s marriage to Aten.”

“When did they last talk? Had they come to any agreement at all?”

“Aten and Bulyar spoke in Deultum when you arrived in Thrace. The negotiations for her dowry had been finished, and the bridal price had not been fixed.” Tana looked at me sideways. “Are you willing to negotiate?”

“I am not prepared to do so,” I said slowly. “I have no authority to do so. But Callia…”

“Callia stirs the clan pot with her fingertips,” Tana said with a smile. “She’ll know what Bulyar wanted.”

Callia did know. I pulled her into Sophronio’s office and asked her directly what Bulyar’s plans were.

“Bulyar had not decided on the bridal price,” Callia said. “I know little about his specific plans, but I do know this. He had not considered the marriage before he left when Aten first approached him, so something must have convinced him that the arrangement was of benefit.”

“He toured the bathhouse shortly after Lady Nino’s arrival, Callia,” Sophronio said. He played with his pen and then threw it down. “Let’s put our olives out, Callia. I think it’s clear that while he’d left Rossokastron without intent to take another wife, he found Lady Nino, who has the skill and talents needed to open and run a bathhouse. Then he started negotiating with Aten for Cassandra, when he’d turned down the arrangement in the past. I think the evidence points to Bulyar’s intent.”

“He spent so little time here,” Callia said. “He lived with Farida in Rossokastron ever since he brought her home and bought the property from Tervel. I doubt he’d been here more than a month in the last ten years.”

“I thought that Cook ran a sort of cooking school here,” I said.

“He does. It was part of a deal between them, for Demetros to buy his freedom,” Sophronio said, looking hesitantly at Callia. “I doubt Bulyar told you that.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said dryly. “But it would fit, wouldn’t it? A bathhouse needs a large kitchen for food preparation.”

“He’s probably had this idea in mind for several years,” Sophronio said with a smile. “And finding Lady Nino was the last part he needed to put his plans in action.”

“And you don’t mind, being bored with paying for Demetros’ food bills. I told you not to be so honest at Violna’s. She’s always kept back a portion from Bulyar for herself.” Callia’s unfocused eyes drifted toward a corner of the room. “Yes, I believe you’re right, Linus. So we have to convince Margar to follow his father’s plan.”

Sophronio chuckled. “It would be a great challenge. Valerian did keep records from the bathhouse. I know the business accounting, but I don’t know what to do to run a bathhouse. If Lady Nino can do so, I believe we can work together.”

The welcome feast to the new vozha was one meat after another. On a fasting Friday as well, I thought as I dressed for the event. Callia told me to wear my bridal outfit and look as pretty as possible. Cassandra was given the same instructions.

Margar, Callia and Farida sat at the head table. I should have been with them, but there was no room for a third wife and the three seemed to have plenty to talk about, so I turned my attention to Cassandra.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” she said promptly. Older than you, I read in her face.

“Are you ready to consider marriage then?” I asked softly.

“Past time,” she said stuffily.

I escaped the meal as early as I could and retired to the peacock room. The music and laughter from downstairs did not coax me back, but I spent the hour dancing to distract myself from a growing sense of frustration. I wasn’t aware of Farida in the doorway, standing with her back to the doorway, her pregnancy showing high in her belly, until she coughed.

I had lived my whole life with stories about the Persians, their cruelties and their destructive march through my homeland. I looked at this Persian woman, with her exotic coloring and growing belly and turned away, sickened by the sight of her and my own feelings of jealousy.

“You dance well,” she said mildly. “When he told me about you, that’s what he said. You dance well.”

“Was that all he said?” I didn’t want to ask, but had to know.

“He said you were very pretty but I shouldn’t be… well,” she paused. “It was wrong of him not to tell you the truth. He did it to me, as well. I suspect that Callia didn’t know either. The foreign wives, you know. Violna used to taunt me about it.”

“Everyone tells me how wrong it was of him, but no one told me,” I sounded bitter, but I was.

“Who would? Cothata? No, she knew her place.” Farida nodded toward the door. “You’re wanted downstairs. The decisions are about to be made. You need to be there.”

The slaves were gone when I entered the dining area. The rest of my family – I choked on that thought – sat on benches around one table.

“Mother Nino.” Margar pointed to a spot at the end of the table.

“I brought you something, Margar,” I said. I held out the box of jewelry I’d found on my first day here. “I suspect these were Bychis’ jewels, or from her family.”

He opened the box and held it next to the lamp. “Indeed. Thank you, Mother Nino.”

Watching him finger some of the pieces, I wondered how long it had been since he’d seen his mother wear them. He held up the snake bracelet and used his thumb to polish it. “Thank you. I’d figured these were long lost.”

Callia looked affronted. She’d probably put them away for him and forgotten them.

“We find ourselves in a difficult situation,” Margar said. “Violna ran most of the trade from Deultum. I can’t afford to leave her home empty. Dionysios gets the farm, without question, Mother Callia. But I had always intended to live here in Tricent. And we have to provide for Bunar, as his uncles have set aside no land or goods for him.”

“I could take over my mother’s work in Deultum,” Cassandra said stubbornly. “With Sophronio, I could manage it.”

Cassandra looked enough like her mother Violna to make me think that perhaps she could.

“No,” Margar said, and from his tone, he’d said it several times. Cassandra folded her arms and looked away from the table.

“I am expected to marry Prayna’s granddaughter at the next full moon,” Margar said. “We’ll live in Deultum. Cassandra, you and your sister will move here. Mother Nino, you will be their mother now.”

Callia tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “And Bunar?”

Margar’s chin jutted out. “Bunar. Are we sure he’s our brother?”

“Margar!” Farida gasped. “How dare you?”

“Easily,” a voice said from a dark corner. “The family has been saying it for years.”

“Bulyar always acknowledged the boy, Tervel,” Callia said. “Do you contradict him?”

Tervel walked into the lamplight. Out of his soldier gear, he looked less intimidating, but I still sensed danger in his stance.

“No, I don’t,” Tervel said finally. “But I do think that Bunar has more right to be vozha than Margar.”

“Should we have a vozha who’s not yet a man?” Cassandra scoffed. “You want a war?”

“Not really, but I won’t turn my belly up, either.”

The comment made everyone but me laugh. I blushed, not getting the joke.

“Then what do we do?” Callia asked. “The clan has agreed that Margar is vozha. You disagree. What do we do?”

“It’s always been a matter of decision by the vozha who is heir is,” Cassandra said. “But he never picked, did he?”

“He picked me,” Margar said. “He settled property on Dionysios, so that he would not contest me. Bunar is too young. He cannot lead the men in a blood war—“

“Can you?” Tervel asked.

The room fell silent around Margar’s shock.

“Our family is the richest of the clans,” Callia said. “Mladen and Bulyar carefully married off our family to other clans to make the blood bonds stronger. Marrying Cassandra to Aten will strengthen those connections as well, and Markat is ripe for marriage as well. We can protect ourselves without going to war.”

Tervel chuckled. “Live on in your dream world, Callia. At the moment, you’ve kept your riches quiet, but it won’t be long before Bunar’s uncles start asking questions about Bunar’s inheritance. Putting him under the protection of a young, childless widow won’t reassure them that Margar has good intentions.”

“Then what do you recommend?” Margar asked.

“Give him to me,” Tervel said.

“We might as well tell the whole family that we believe you’re his father, if we do that,” Callia said. “We’d have a blood war in an instant.”

“Will Bunar learn the ways of Thrace in a household of foreign women? Will he learn the ways to be a man in such a household?” Tervel leaned onto the tabletop across from me. “Do you know how to make a man?”

I hoped the question was rhetorical, because I had no answer.

Margar put up his hands. “I cannot take him into my household. My new wife would assume that I intend to name him vozha upon his manhood and renounce the marriage. That would cause a clan war.”

“I can take him,” Callia said, her voice unhappy. “Dionysios is his brother as well. Let a settlement be put on Bunar, as well as Farida’s children. Or,” and she sounded happier, “postpone it. Farida is pregnant. If she gives birth to a son, then all the arrangements will have to be adjusted anyway. Send a message to Bunar’s uncles that the decision will be made then.”

Everyone looked at Farida. I tried for pity; she’d lost two her last two babes, both sons, during their births.

“Is that an honest answer?” Tervel said. “What will you settle on Bunar if the child is a boy?”

“If Farida’s son lives,” I thought that a harsh, unfeeling statement from Margar, “he will inherit the Rossokastron estate. That was Father’s plan with the other boys. The settlements for my sisters have already been made and we’ve heard from several families about arranging marriages with them.”

Callia sucked on her lips. “The obvious choice is for Bunar to take this home in Tricent.”

Margar jumped up. “This is my home, Callia. I am not going to give it to Bunar or anyone else.”

“Then what do I tell Bunar’s uncles?” Tervel said. I shivered at the threat.

“What would they want?” Farida asked.

Tervel and Margar locked eyes.

“What about the bathhouse?” I said.

“What about it?” Margar said.

Tervel looked around at me. “What bathhouse?”

“The one attached to this household,” I said, embarrassed that my voice squeaked. “Would that be a satisfactory inheritance?”

“If it were functional,” Tervel said, “and a household attached, then perhaps, yes. Bunar’s uncles aren’t entirely uncivilized.”

“Then purchasing a household here in Tricent and the bathhouse would be sufficient,” Callia said. “There are still empty villas in town from the Hun attack. Purchase one of them.”

“You assume we’re made of money, Mother Callia,” Margar said.

“We have a storeroom full of goods. We have a potential marriage with Aten, who could provide much of the labor. The warehouse in Deultum is nearly full.”

“It will take nearly every copper coin we have to do what you’re saying!” Margar said loudly.

“Better to spend the money than the blood,” Farida said over top of Margar. “Bulyar always said that. That’s why he gave so many gifts to the clan. You could do the same, Margar. Build up the support, and spend the money to reopen the bathhouse to protect us from a clan war.”

Farida began to cry, and Callia rose from her seat. “Enough. In the morning, we’ll count up the assets. Tervel isn’t running off to the highlands tomorrow. Bunar is safe here in Nino’s care, and won’t be made less a man for staying under her care until Farida’s baby is born.”

Tervel chuckled and looked at me. “Then I will be your houseguest, Lady Nino.”

What could I say? I merely bowed and rose with Callia. “I’ll take Farida up to her room.”

Cothata had been silent the entire time. “Lord Margar?”

He calmed immediately. “What do you want, Baba?”

“I know, that in the disposition of things, that I am unimportant except as a nanny,” she said softly. “I had no right to ask this of Bulyar, but I ask it of you. Let me remain here.”

Cassandra looked grumpy.

Margar went and knelt beside her. “As you wish, Baba. You have served our family long and well. As long as I am vozha, there will be no order for you to leave, but only requests.”

Farida and I stumbled up the steps, and I put her into the feather pallet and pulled a soft wool blanket around her. “Have you felt the baby move yet?”

“Tonight,” she said. “I felt him tonight.”

“What will you name him, if he’s a boy?”

She blanched. “He has to be a boy, or I have nowhere to live but under Callia’s thumb for the rest of my life.”

Farida began to cry again.

“A name?” I asked again.

“Bulyar,” she said as if I were an idiot who needed to be told that the sun rose in the east.

“Are you permitted to name him, or is that the father’s choice?”

“I’ve named all my daughters,” she said with another sob. “Bulyar wanted me to.”

“Then your choice again, I suspect,” I said as I headed into my room. I looked out over the weedy exercise area, lit only by the moon. I had just made my choice. God willing, it was the right one.

The pearls. Selling the fourteen perfect ones would raise the money easily. But did anyone but I know of their existence?

Chapter Fifteen

Wed, 07 Feb 2007 15:21:43 GMT

Their deaths seemed highly unsatisfactory to the audience of men. Pejevi ran into the peacock room and hid under a blanket, weeping, as the growls and complaints rose from below.

“Linus will have gotten the women slaves out,” Callia said to me, swallowing heavily. “I imagine he’s hidden them in the bathhouse.”

I looked at her strangely. “The bathhouse?”

“The little bathhouse next door. It’s surely not full of wood yet, and they could hide in there and the men slaves could protect them without hurting anyone too badly. At least, not badly enough to warrant crucifixion. Once this crowd is out, we’ll bring all the women up here. The mourning will last three days. How many women do you have now?”

“Eight, ten. What about the children?”

“Girls?”

“Several.” I feared for Makrina. “What was that?”

“Linus will have them safe, too. We’ll lock the villa gate and start the mourning as soon as Baypat and Violna are put in to Bulyar’s grave with him. And then, we’ll have to talk to Margar.”

I gave my chamber to Callia and Farida without hesitation, and told Pejevi to bring in extra pallets for herself and Cassandra. “You’ll be safest with them,” I said. “And they may need your help, since they’re not familiar with the villa.”

That probably wasn’t true. I remembered Callia said she’d lived here, but it calmed Pejevi. The other women had been hidden in the bathhouse as Callia had said, and after dark had been hustled back within our walls. Cook looked at Pejevi on the balcony, but in the dark, I couldn’t see his face.

“Margar’s gone,” Sophronio said to Callia. “He needs to establish his claim with the highlanders. He’ll be back in three days.”

I retired to my new chamber that night. I’d gotten oil from the lamps in the other chamber, but the wick was poor and flickered, fueling my headache. The room was hot and oppressive, and I wondered why it was so awkwardly placed. If it had been a handwidth to the left, there could have been a pleasant cross-breeze.

I looked at the window from my pallet, wondering why I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted, emotionally, mentally, physically. I couldn’t pray, I couldn’t eat, why couldn’t I sleep?

Because I was used to having Bulyar in my bed.

The window annoyed me. Why wasn’t it lined up better? It could have been bigger. It should have been bigger. The window could have caught the morning light so easily.

The lamp flickered and in that instance, I saw the window move. It hadn’t, of course. It just looked like it had. But there was an odd line, parallel to the window, as if the window had once been larger.

I got up and felt the plaster. Yes, a line could be felt, if not seen in any way but shadow. I drew my hand down the side of the wood frame. It was smooth and well polished, just like all the other wood in the villa. I slid my hand along the bottom of the frame and my fingers found a groove. They curved in, as if it had been carved for a grip.

A grip to what?

I pulled.

The frame pulled out. At the top, a cleverly hidden hinge let the wood rise out.

Inside, I found two baskets, both of them full of pearls.

Living near a pearl bed, I’d seen beautiful pearls, I’d seen useless pearls, and everything between. Here was a selection of the whole range – oddly shaped bumpy pearls, round with holes in the center, crescents, and fourteen perfect pearls. Any one of them was worth thousands of Egrisi gold pieces.

I pulled my wedding turban out of my chest to examine the pearls my mother had used to decorate it. My oblong pearls were inferior to what I held in my hands. These pearls could decorate the Imperial crown.

I put them back into the basket one by one. Even one of these would be enough to get me home.

But how could I sell it here in Thrace? Was there a market for pearls that should adorn an empress? If I sold one, the notoriety would bring Bulyar’s – Margar’s! Margar’s! I hit myself on the forehead to drill the name into my head – attention to me.

Better would be dozens of the poorer quality pearls that could be passed instead of currency itself. It took us three days to get to Tricent from Deultum. How many days would it take to get to Constantinople? And how would I live, if I got there early, or if, God forbid, my parents did not come? I crossed myself.

I needed enough money and pearls to get myself to Constantinople, and perhaps, back to Bitumi. Money is easily found and stolen. Pearls are lighter and less noisy, but paying with pearls for goods or services would attract more attention.

I mulled over my thoughts as the pearls filtered through my fingers. I heard the garrison bell ringing the changing of the guards and made my decisions.

Hiding the pearls in a different place was not stealing them. I had no idea if anyone else knew of this incredible stash, and it would be prudent of me to take what I thought of as my dowry and bridal portion and put it where I might have it when I needed it. I didn’t know the Thracian tradition about what a bride brought and took from a marriage, but I knew my traditions.

Forty pearls was a minimum, if they were the lesser sort. I pulled them out and saw that I hadn’t reduced the level of the baskets significantly.

I should not be greedy, I thought. But one hundred pearls would be a safer number, and I could leave behind what I did not need to take with me. It would not be stolen.

I did, however, know I needed another source of money, one that Margar would not question. Any transaction using the goods in the storerooms would be noticed by Sophronio. We’d done the inventory too well and organized the shelves so that anything moved would be seen. Not that I’d steal anything, but a merchant was entitled to make a small profit.

My conscience would not let me go further in those thoughts. This, in some bizarre and unthinkable way, was my family now. I could not steal from them.

I looked out the window at the rising moon. There had to be a solution.

In the meantime, I had one hundred and fifty pearls to hide.

The east window filled the room with sunlight, but I slept until Pejevi knocked at the door. I opened my eyes and felt the shock of seeing unfamiliar walls and felt the unwelcome desperation settle around my eyes and forehead again. Surely there would be a local herb to relieve a headache. Tana might know one.

But we were confined to the villa. We ate what we had for three days. They weren’t the exquisite meals I’d become accustomed to, but they were adequate. Farida slept a great deal of the time. When she was awake, she wept and spoke only to Callia in the dimness of their chamber. I heard of another betrothal that had not led to marriage when the bride died before Bulyar could marry her. I learned that I was now a member of one of the richest families in Tricent and Deultum.

It wasn’t until Callia coaxed Farida to come down to the courtyard and get out of the stifling heat that I saw her features. There was no question – Farida was Persian. She looked like a dusky desert rose, with her delicately tinted cheeks and pointed chin. Perhaps if she hadn’t spent the last few days weeping, her eyes would be clear and sultry. Her body, already showing signs of pregnancy, sagged and hung in curves of fat.

This was the woman Bulyar had left my bed to caress, to create a child with, while I slept alone in an inn. I told myself not to be jealous, but I could barely look at her without bile rising in my throat. Callia carefully kept us apart, sending me to the other parts of the house when Farida made her infrequent appearances.

At the end of the three days, Pejevi told me that Tana awaited me. She came with food, medicines for Farida and an offer to come to her house for the day.

Callia merely nodded when I announced my intentions for the day. “When do you go to your temple to pray for Bulyar’s safe journey?”

“I will go tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll sing the prayers then.”

“With Bulyar dead, you’ll need an escort other than Basil and Makrina,” she said as she picked at her nails. “Pejevi will accompany you.”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue, nor wise enough in the customs to dispute the highhanded decision. I went to Tana’s and spent the day dancing and hearing the local gossip. We promised to meet at the public bathhouse in the morning, and Tana would come back with me to see Callia.

Again, I was depressed by the bathhouse’s dismal character and lackluster facilities. I couldn’t imagine spending time this winter in the filthy water and coming home dirtier than when I’d left.

Callia had said there was a bathhouse next door. It must not be in order, I thought, but I looked out the window of my new chamber and studied what I could of the land. “Who owns that bathhouse?” I asked Sophronio at dinner.

“We do,” he said softly. “It’s attached to this property.”

“Why isn’t it open?”

“No water,” he said.

“When was it built?”

He chewed his lip as he thought. “At least as old as this house, and perhaps older.”

“And the water dried up?”

Sophronio chuckled. “Dried up is one way to put it. The hot spring that fed the bathhouse switched directions seventeen years ago. The wells did not provide enough water for the bathhouse, so it was closed. It’s mostly used for storage, as it’s not very big.”

I didn’t stop to think yes or no. “I want to see it.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Sophronio was in a good mood. A message from Dionysios said that Cothata and Farida’s brood were at the farm and would be in Tricent in the next two days. Sophronio had gotten a shave and his hair was freshly trimmed.

The tour was not promising. There was no mold, but the filth! The exercise area, the palastrea, was overgrown with thigh-high weeds that were dying in the autumn. Several thorny bushes that might have been roses would require care to be removed. The open pool was shallow, but I could see no obvious cracks. The tempidarium and caldarium were housed under a peaked roof, rather than the usual dome. Both pools were deeper than I’d ever seen, but were accessible by steps down into the pool. A rim where the bathers might sit in the water was quite far down.

“The heat would be trapped down there,” Sophronio said. “The water level wouldn’t have been much higher than those seats, but by keeping the walls close, the heat would be felt as if it were hotter, perhaps using less fuel.”

I thought it a reasonable guess, but it wouldn’t let many sit for long with slaves tending them. The slaves would have to do their work in the cooler areas, but I noticed an unusual channel around the sides of the room. “Did this fill with water?”

“Running water. We would wash here, and if you look over there, there are several showers to rinse off. I used to like the feeling of cleaning off the oil before going into the tempidarium pool.”

I’d seen showers like this before, but the fantastic beasts that spewed the warm water were new to me. Most of them were some variation of a horse.

I looked down into the caldarium pool, which had some dead leaves and an animal skeleton in it. The high windows would let in light and with good shutters, we could control the temperature of the room easily.

“Where is the access to the hypocaust?”

He looked at me with respect. “This way.”

We stopped in the dressing room. Cubicles of rotting wood surrounded the room. We’d have to replace them, we could perhaps make them smaller, these were so big…

“In the winter, larger storage for cloaks is needed,” Sophronio said. “Those weren’t big enough.”

“That’s good to know,” I said.

He led me to the bench and lifted it up as if it weighed nothing. “Good engineers built this. It’s smooth, after all these years.”

“How deep is the hypocaust?” I tried to gauge the distance, but couldn’t see down. I took off my belt and dropped it down until the buckle clinked against the stone floor. “Less than three cubits. Good, that requires less fuel, but takes more monitoring. We’ll need some careful slaves in here.”

Sophronio didn’t answer me until he dropped the bench back into place. “You intend to reopen this?”

I sat down and looked around at a year’s work. A year’s hard work, I guessed. The entire facility wasn’t much bigger than the bathhouse I’d run at home, but the lack of attention for so many years meant too many maintenance problems could crop up and halt my plans indefinitely.

Margar had to see the need for the bathhouse. At the moment, he had a full storehouse and a school of slaves ready to be sold. This would be a huge gamble, and I didn’t know him well enough to know if he’d throw the dice or if he’d give up the game.

Unless there was less wealth than he expected and he was forced to play.

“I want to.” I looked at Sophronio. “Bulyar married me to do this, didn’t he?”

Sophronio studied his feet. “Possibly. He wasn’t looking for another wife when he left Deultum. He hadn’t been here for several months. Cook never mentioned that the master wanted to remarry.”

“They were good friends.”

“Very good friends.” His agreement grated on me. Cook had taken advantage of Bulyar’s love.

“I thought that Cook was always here.”

“He was here most of the time. Bulyar tended to take Cook with him, wherever he was living. For the last seven years, he lived with Lady Farida.”

”But you said…”

Sophronio sighed. “Lady Farida nearly died in her last childbed. The child did die. Bulyar lived with Violna because he didn’t want Farida to get another child.”

“So he lived with another wife…” I tried to comprehend it again and failed. “Did Violna like thats?”

“Not at all.” Sophronio waved his hands. “Not at all.”

“Hearing about me must have annoyed her,” I murmured.

“I think she probably thought it was funny. Farida was supplanted, and you don’t appear to have much strength or power. Your looks deceived many of us, Lady.”

His respect bolstered my confidence. “What we’ll need is a fast cleaning of the rooms, checks to see that the plumbing still works adequately, that the toilets don’t smell and that we can get an adequate supply of water. Where did it come from? The city? The garrison?”

We had to wrap up well in leathered cloaks, but Sophronio led me and several others up to where our shepherds kept the winter-culled flocks in the hills above the city to the north. The walk wasn’t easy, crossing huge ruts and circling large boulders. One field was still strangely green in the midst of the fall color.

“The water came from there,” Sophronio said, and pointed at a boulder.

“From a rock?”

“From a hot spring under the rock,” he said. “There was a landslide eighteen years ago, and this boulder blocked the spring.”

I could smell the mineral water odor. I followed it to a bubbly pool, where a trench drained off the water toward the east. I turned and looked at the rain-flattened ground.

“You say this rolled down from the hills?” I asked, indicated the up-hill gouge in the land. “Rolled up hill? Where does the water go?”

“It feeds into the public bath in Tricent, my lady,” one of the other slaves said. “But it’s much hotter up here.”

Sophronio came to stand beside the boulder, and scuffed around with his foot. It didn’t take long to find the pipe opening.

I inspected the sheep, my stated intention for this trip, and we headed back down to the city.

Margar would return on the morrow. I had to have my plans in line by then.

Callia sat beside the brazier in the women’s chamber when I returned. “You’ll need warmer winter clothes, Nino.”

Clothes did not interest me. “Callia, why did Bulyar marry me? Was it to reopen the bathhouse?”

She considered my question for a long time. “Probably. It was like him to see an opportunity and take it. I suspect that he found you, a capable and lovely young woman who could run a bathhouse, and, considering how much he hated Nestoris, decided it was time to pay him back by opening a competing bath.”

“He hated Nestoris?”

“Passionately. I don’t know the original insult, but it was the only thing that Bulyar never forgave.”

“Nestoris came to Bulyar for the… temple… Heros…” I was at a loss to describe the ceremony.

“Nestoris did? Did Bulyar recognize him?”

“No, I don’t think so,” I said. “The… service seemed to calm him.”

Callia snorted. “We all need our consolations in the hour of our deaths. Nestoris always wanted Bulyar’s favor. He was no toady, but he wanted to reconcile with Bulyar. It may be why he came.”

“It had more to do with the height of the ceiling in the dining hall,” I murmured.

Callia took my hand. Hers, chilled and knobby, clenched my fingers. “Can you do it?”

“It will cost a great deal, in cash and time. The buildings look good, but we need to run water through the system to see if the plumbing is adequate and sound. The dirt itself will take days to remove.”

“Don’t concern yourself about the exercise area,” Callia advised. “In a month, no one will use it. Too cold, too rainy.”

It felt that way to me already.

“My slaves have finished the harvest, and the new wine is in the barrels and amphora. We can bring them up
here and put them to work. The shepherds are ready to slaughter the new lambs, and once they’re done, the flock will be so much smaller that we could use half of them here.”

“The cooks could help too,” I said, feeling a perverse pleasure in imaging Cook’s face.

“You play with fire with that one,” Callia warned. “But you’re right. We’ll need every hand. And supplies. What will you need to open? When can you open?”

I stared into a corner and thought about Constantinople. “As soon as possible.”

“A year? Two?” she prodded.

“Six weeks,” I said. “Two months, perhaps. Before the solstice.”

She sucked in a disbelieving breath. “So soon?”

“How many slaves did Violna have? How many can Farida spare?”

“Farida will spare none of her own comfort,” Callia said wryly. “Baypat had none. Speaking of her, we can’t find Bunar.”