"First, that he is sad to learn of this. He feels responsible for the suspicion that falls on you. He assures you that he will do everything he can to aid you, but he isn't certain that he can do much, not anymore."

"The safe-conduct is enough," said Olivia. She looked down at the books, and said on impulse, "Hide these. There must be some place in this house that we can use safely, without the slaves knowing of it."

"Where?" He sounded reasonable enough, and that alone irritated her.

"Anywhere. Under the plants in the garden, if that would not ruin them. Under the roof. I don't know." She stared at them. "We can't simply get rid of them, for then it would be known that we had them."

Niklos gathered the books up in his arms. "I will arrange something. Perhaps in the large chariot, somewhere."

"Fine. All I ask is you leave enough of my native earth there to give me a little protection." She looked thoughtfully at the shelves. "I must finish this task tonight. I hope there are not too many more of these. The gods alone know what we'll do with them."

"Would you want me to burn a little incense?" Niklos offered, trying to lighten her thoughts.

She gave him a look of mock horror. "Aren't we in enough trouble already?"

Neither of them laughed.

* * *

Text of the confession of Pope Sylvestros to the Guard of the Court Censor and the secretary of the Metropolitan Daidalos.

I, Pope Sylvestros, once of the Church of the Patriarchs, now in disgrace and ruin, do, with the good aid of the officers of the Censor, state the full extent of my crimes which only recently were brought to light by the piety of good citizens who questioned my right, under sumptuary laws, to have glass vessels in my house.

The suffering that has been meted out to me by the officers of the Guard with the advice of the secretary of the Metropolitan is surely well-deserved, for a pope who has strayed from his vows falls further than those who are not bound by oaths to Heaven. I, forgetting my sacred estate, strove to acquire wealth and goods the better to enhance my position in the world—the vainest of false hopes. Not the squeezing with knotted wharf ropes nor the peeling of the flesh from my feet suffices to make amends for what I have done, and will answer for before God when He chooses to bring me to the Throne of Judgment.

With an heretical Copt, I have worked to steal goods from houses left abandoned and ruined in Italy. I have aided in selecting these houses and in storing goods. I have advised the said Copt where the best valuables are to be found, what guard if any was on them, and where we might dispose of them to our mutual profit. For this I am deeply sorry and I repent the greed that brought me to such a loss of Grace.

During my pilfering, I noticed that many of the Romans still live with tributes to the old, pagan gods of the Caesars, and that they show these tributes honor. Incense was found in front of portrait busts of ancestors and in alcoves and niches devoted to the pagan deities that these benighted peoples worshipped and continue to worship. I believe there is not a Roman alive who is a true Christian, for all the protestations we have heard. I am convinced that they are all caught in apostasy, including the Bishop of Roma, who most certainly has shown his lack of faith in God in his flight from Roma in the face of the enemy. What true Christian would leave so sacred a place if he had any trust in God? And if he has no trust in God, he cannot call himself a Christian.

I know that I have made myself wholly unworthy of anything but the most ignoble fate, and I accept that with a willing heart, for I despise those acts that brought me away from the Love of God, and I welcome the cleansing punishments I have received and those yet to be inflicted. That I so totally rejected what I knew to be the truth is inexcusable, but I do in part account for it by the heathenish climate of Roma. I was seduced by the damned place, and thinking that I was salvaging Christian goods for Christians, I was led astray.

Beware of Romans. They are pernicious and all of them are liars. Their faith is false, their piety is deception, their devotion is nothing more than convenience. They are treacherous and forever searching out new opportunities for sin. Do not be deluded, as I was, by their subtle treachery. Be on guard at all times against them, and where you encounter them, watch with care for the sanctity of your own faith, for they are the great corrupters and will contaminate you.

I have provided a partial list of everything I have aided the Copt to steal and smuggle, as well as what monies I have been given for my acts. The money itself must, of course, be given to Holy Church, and I surrender all my earthly goods and the goods of my wife to the Church of the Patriarchs in token recompense for the shame my actions have brought them. I know that my soul is in the Hands of God and that no act of mine will bring it again to Grace but that God wills it. For traducing the laws of the Church and the Emperor, I have doubly betrayed the sacred vows of my calling and of my nation, and for that I have erred beyond forgiveness. Yet, in the most humble emulation of the Apostles, unworthy and corrupt as I am, I beseech you to spare my life that I might end it in beggary for the Glory of God and fitting homage to the Emperor in my repentance.

Pope Sylvestros

(his mark)

since he is unable to sign

By the hand of the secretary of the Court Censor, Panaigios, with the signatures and marks of the witnesses, and the marks of the torturers of the Censor's Guard. Authorization is given for making ten copies of this document, and for its distribution at the discretion of the Metropolitan Superior and the Emperor Justinian.

11

As he hurried from the small audience chamber, Kimon Athanatadies strove to conceal the trembling of his hands. He had to use all his control not to run, and for once he did not pause to speak to the Guard officers who flanked the doors. God in Heaven, what would satisfy Justinian? He closed his hands, tightening them into white-knuckled fists; his stride increased and he did his best to hide his near-panic with a scowl.

Captain Vlamos was at the Guard station at the front of the various public chambers in the palace. He glanced up at the Censor as Athanatadies rushed into the vestibule. "That was a swift conference," he said, making conversation.

"It was," Athanatadies said tightly.

"Did he give you more orders than usual?" He was used to the Censor's severe appearance, but his expression was more dire than on other occasions.

"Yes," Athanatadies said, wanting to get out of the palace and back to his own luxurious house, away from the orders and demands of the harsh man who ruled the Empire.

"He's still mourning Theodora," Captain Vlamos said. "You can't blame him for his grief."

"Of course not," Athanatadies said swiftly.

"Is there anything more you need to do here, or do you want me to send the slaves for your chariot?" He interpreted the distress of the Censor as impatience.

"My chariot, at once." He barked out the words, and then did what he could to modify the tone. "There are so many things to do—"

"I don't envy you the work you do, and that's a fact," said Captain Vlamos as he signaled one of the slaves near the far door. "The Censor's chariot."

"It is an honor to labor for the Empire and the Glory of God," said Athanatadies, his emotions giving heat to this statement.

"There's many another who would not be as diligent as you are," Vlamos insisted. "The Emperor is well-served by you, no doubt about it."

Kimon Athanatadies almost demanded that Captain Vlamos tell him outright what it was he wanted rather than listen to more of this flattery, but instead he made a gesture of dismissal. "Those who wish to serve greatness must rise to the occasion."

"Just what I have said to my nephew," Captain Vlamos agreed with enthusiasm. "He is finishing his studies with the Metropolitan Odilos and is an eager young whelp. I have given my word that I will do what I can for the lad. Perhaps you have a suggestion you could give me?"

"Suggestion?" He wanted to tell Captain Vlamos to send his nephew far from Konstantinoupolis into the service of some district magistrate, to record harvest weights and trade agreements for all his life long, and be thankful for it. There was no safety, no protection at court. Anyone might fall at the Emperor's whim. "Is he ambitious?"

"He's a young man," Captain Vlamos chuckled. "He sees himself in ambassador's robes by the time he's thirty. I've told him that for such a thing to happen, another plague, like the one we had seven, eight years back, would have to come along." This was clearly intended to be amusing and the Censor did his best to smile.

"Is he capable, this nephew of yours?" He knew the answer before the Captain spoke.

"So his tutors have always said, not that I set much store in that. But the fellow does read and write Latin as well as Greek and has some knowledge of Persian."

"He would do well to keep that last to himself," Kimon Athanatadies warned Captain Vlamos. "The Emperor has recently taken a dislike to the Sassanid rulers and any reference to Persian is not welcome unless the Emperor speaks of it. Tell your nephew to confine himself to Latin and Greek."