"Are you her lover?" Zejhil blurted out the question before she could stop herself.
"When I first met her, I was. For three nights only." If he had not been, he reminded himself, he would be nothing more than a heap of bones in Saturnia. "She… she saved my life." He had only the vaguest recollection of the day he had died, but his memory of his restoration was vivid; it was the first time he had ever seen Sanct' Germain who had reanimated him.
"Oh." Zejhil looked down, as if his feet were of intense interest to her. "And now?"
"You mean are we still lovers? No, not for a long time." He slipped his hand under her chin and deliberately turned her face toward his. "And she does not require that I live like a monk. It isn't her way."
Zejhil fixed her eyes on a spot behind his head. "She is a courtesan, that is what all the household says. They whisper about the men who come here, and they talk about Captain Drosos, but—"
"My mistress is a widow," Niklos said, in his most formal tone. "I did not know her husband, but I have heard little good about him. She does not wish to marry again, and she does not want to live wholly retired from the world. If that makes her a courtesan, then you are the one who calls her that, not I."
Zejhil was more embarrassed than before. "I did not intend to"—she glanced down the hall at the sound of footsteps—"I will do as you ask. I will speak to her when she returns. And Niklos, I do not care, truly I do not care, if she is or is not a courtesan. She is a good mistress."
"That she is," Niklos agreed. He raised his hand as one of the three women employed to make, care for, and repair clothing approached. "Ianthe," he said to greet her.
"Majordomo," she responded, her face expressionless; she gave no indication that she had seen Zejhil at all.
"I don't like that woman," Zejhil muttered. "She wheezes when she walks."
"She isn't young, and her hot blood is congested," said Niklos. "One can see that from her coloring."
Zejhil shook her head vehemently. "It's more than that." She moved away from Niklos. "I will come. I'll tell our mistress what I know. You can believe me. I will not fail."
"I know that," Niklos said, hoping that his smile would give her courage. "You are a good woman, Zejhil."
"If that matters," she said, and hurried away.
By the time Olivia returned, Niklos was all but chewing on the cushions from impatience. He sought her out at once and gave her as blunt an account as he could, including his response to Zejhil.
Olivia listened to this with interest. "Good," she said after a moment. "You have done well. I want to know more about this suspect contraband. I don't want you to bring me the cups—I'll go see them for myself, later tonight. For the time being I want to know how far this has gone. As to Zejhil herself, that is encouraging."
He could not hold back a burst of laughter. "Only you would express it that way, Olivia."
"Well, it is. You were afraid that once you were restored that you would not be all that you were."
"And I'm not," he said without rancor.
"That is not because you were brought back." She gave him a roguish, rueful glance. "You ought to have tasted my blood before you faced that mob. It would have saved all of us a lot of trouble." It was an old, teasing argument with them, and Niklos shrugged elaborately.
"I was shortsighted; what else can I say?" He met her eyes, the worry back in his face. "I'm troubled, Olivia."
"Yes. Whatever we have been caught up in, it is escalating." She walked over to a large Roman chest standing next to the window. "We will have to search the house tonight, all of it. I want to find out what has been brought into this house. Perhaps then we can determine who is doing it, and why."
Niklos paced down the room. "And then what? You can't go to the magistrates, and if you did, they would pay no attention."
"I can go to Belisarius. He may be out of favor with the Emperor, and he might be kept in close check, but he is still the most respected General in the Empire, and that counts for something. He will advise me."
"You need more than advice," Niklos warned her.
She gave a helpless gesture. "I realize that. But I must begin somewhere." Her demeanor changed as there was a knock on the door; she looked now as if she were discussing nothing more important than ordering replacement parchment for the windows.
Niklos opened the door and admitted Zejhil. "You're here in good time," he said to the Tartar slave. "Don't be concerned."
Zejhil was clearly apprehensive, but she was also very determined. She spent a good portion of time answering the questions Olivia put to her and making a few observations on her own.
"I am grateful to you, Zejhil," said Olivia, handing the woman five silver coins. "You have certainly been diligent, and I appreciate that more than I can tell you."
Zejhil, who had never held so much money in her hands in her life, stared as if she expected the coins to disappear. "My mistress, I do not know—"
"It is little enough. If it were permitted here, I would happily give you your freedom, but for that, sadly, I need the approval of a pope, and they do not often agree to the freeing of slaves." She folded her arms, irritated at the degree of helplessness that engulfed her.
"My mistress—" She reached to take the hem of Olivia's paenula to kiss it, and was amazed when Olivia pulled the garment away.
"Magna Mater! What is the matter with you, girl?"
Olivia burst out, frustration showing in every line of her body. "You don't have to do this; by rights, I should show that courtesy to you." She rounded on Niklos. "By tomorrow morning I want a complete accounting of everything you find that you have any reason to suspect might have been placed here to implicate me or any member of this household in illegal activities."
"And Belisarius: do you still intend to ask him for help?" Niklos asked skeptically.
"I realize you don't approve, but he is the only ally I have while Drosos is in Alexandria, and he—" She did not go on, for the anxiety of the letter Chrysanthos had brought to her clandestinely was too keen.
"Olivia?" Niklos asked, sensitive to her moods.
"It's nothing," she said in a tone that did not convince him. "Truly, Niklos."
He said nothing; as he went to Zejhil's side, he promised himself that he and Olivia would have to discuss Drosos, for something was wrong. He took Zejhil's hand in his.
"Niklos," Zejhil said, trying without success to pull away from him.
"I'm not going to let go," he said gently.
"It isn't for you or me to decide."
"And if it were?" said Olivia. "Tell me, Zejhil, what would you want, if it were up to you? Do you want Niklos? Do not fear to speak honestly to me, and pay no attention to him."
"It isn't my choice," Zejhil said in a small voice.
"Pretend it is," Olivia suggested. "Tell me."
Zejhil gave a little shake to her head. "I don't know."
"Then, Niklos, I suggest that you give her time. She cannot be pressed," Olivia said, and indicated their hands.
He let go. "All right." There was an odd light at the back of his russet eyes. "For now."
"Oh, stop it," Olivia said, and turned her attention to Zejhil. "Do nothing you do not wish to do." She then walked away from Niklos and Zejhil. "I hope that once we find out what is being done here and why that we will have no more trouble here. I am not eager to have to move again."
"If it were permitted," Niklos said with emphasis. "You would need a sponsor, wouldn't you?"
"I would find one," Olivia said with what she hoped was confidence. "Belisarius would do that much for me."
"If it's allowed," Niklos cautioned.
"You're always so optimistic," Olivia reprimanded him, and then held up her hands. "No, I didn't mean to show contempt, Niklos. I am apprehensive, and it makes my tongue sharp."