"And if there isn't?"
"Then the sooner it is done, the better for all of us. It would be possible to depose Justinian without imprisoning him, or worse. I do not want the Emperor's blood on my hands, even indirectly. There could be no greater dishonor. It's one thing to dispose of those men who are corrupt and ambitious, but no soldier can rise against his Emperor and think himself worthy of his rank."
"He may be your Emperor, but he's not God, Drosos," Olivia said, chiding him a little.
Drosos responded seriously. "The Emperor is more than the rest of us. He would not be where he is if he were nothing more than a man. Justinian is… an officer of God, and for that reason alone we who are sworn to uphold his reign would imperil more than our lives if we abused his trust. The rest of the court is as fallible as we are, and they are subject to the sins of men. But the Emperor…" He did not finish.
"The Emperor is a man like other men, Drosos," Olivia said very quietly.
"No." He took a deep breath. "I don't expect you to understand. You Romans have had to watch your Church crumble along with the power you had. You don't see that God has taken it from you because you were not willing to find those men who could serve Him as well as the state." He moved away from her. "I know that Belisarius would tell you the same thing."
"Which is why he has not protested his treatment any more than he has?" suggested Olivia. "For those of us who remember the Caesars, this appears strange." She tilted her head and looked at him speculatively.
"They were corrupt and corrupting, men without faith and without the power of God to support them." He touched the cross that held his pallium. "The world was in terrible darkness before Christ redeemed us."
Olivia was silent, not knowing what to say. She had watched the development of Christianity with mixed emotions which in the last century had become increasingly apprehensive. She stared down into the water, watching for the movement of the fish and hoping that Drosos would not insist on discussing his religion with her, for inevitably he would disagree with her.
"You are a Roman," he said again, some little time later.
"As you are well aware," she said, trying to make her voice lighter than her heart.
"Yes. I like that in you. I can say things to you that I could not possibly say to a Byzantine." He reached out and took one soft curl in his fingers. "You do not judge me, do you?"
"Not in the way you mean," she said.
He laughed, not understanding her. "And you are not like the women I have known."
Her smile was stunning. "I should hope not."
"You are not like anyone I have known before." He let her hair go, the fine strands pulling slowly across his palm.
"I know that." She had a fleeting thought of the man she now thought of as her first lover, and recalled how he had cautioned her to keep her secret even when she assumed revelation would be welcome.
"We are so easily loathed, Olivia," he had said in great sorrow. "We are feared and despised, and then it is a simple matter to… be rid of us. Keep your nature to yourself, for your own sake." Looking at Drosos, sensing his turmoil and his desire, she admitted to herself that Sanct' Germain had been right. "Why is that?" Drosos' question cut into her memories.
"It's… my nature," she said slowly and with great care.
"Your Roman nature," he ventured.
"If you like." It was not an answer she wished to give, but one she had learned long ago. There was, deep within her, a yearning to be without guile, to tell Drosos everything about herself—her life and death, five hundred years before, her life since then, the truth of her nature—and she knew that if she did, he would be lost to her. She was amazed to discover how much that mattered to her; she saw Drosos through new eyes.
He rubbed his chin, his thumbnail rasping against his beard. "You are worried about talking to Belisarius, aren't you?"
"Not really," she said. "If he is willing to talk, then I'll know it fairly quickly and that will be all right. If he isn't, then he and I will merely talk like the friends we are. He will apologize for the ruin of my villa and I will tell him how much it saddens me to see him in his… predicament."
"I did mean everything I said," he told her, speaking quickly. "I want him to understand that. For him I would risk perdition, but for no one else."
"Drosos, if Belisarius is as devoted to the Emperor as you are and for the same reasons, he will not permit you to act on his behalf. He might not permit it in any case, for he is protective of his men." She wanted to move closer to him, to offer him what little comfort she could, but she remained where she was, watching him.
"Yes," he said, frowning. "But I must try; I have to find out. You understand, don't you?" This last was a plea, and she felt his anguish.
"I understand. And I will do what I can. Trust me, Drosos. I will find out whatever you need to know, and I will not expose you or Belisarius or myself to any risk beyond the risk of speaking to a man in disgrace." She held out her hand. "Is that enough, Drosos? Will that suffice?"
"I don't know," he said ruefully. He stared at her, respect in his deep brown eyes.
"You're honest, at least," she said, waiting for him to touch her.
"You are willing to take a great chance for me," he said as if aware of it for the first time.
At another time she might have shrugged this off, finding an easy dismissal, but there was something in his face that stopped her. "I value you more than the risk, Drosos."
"I never…"He took three hasty steps toward her. "I didn't realize what…"
"Then you weren't paying attention," she teased him.
"Do you believe that?" he countered, his hands on her shoulders. "Do you?"
"You were paying attention to other things," she said, her eyes half-closed as she studied him. "You have had so many things on your mind."
"You're a sorceress," he said, his hands holding her more tightly.
"No," she said, "and that is one jest that might be dangerous."
He nodded, sobered. "I wish it weren't so. You're enchanting. Will that do?" He pulled her to him, his lips against her brow. "What is it about you? Why do you possess me this way? What makes you so much more than any other woman?"
She wondered briefly if she ought to answer him, but she could not bring herself to do much more than say, "Why are you unlike other men? Why do I prefer you to anyone else?"
He kissed her abruptly, his mouth hard on hers, his arms confining her. As he drew back, he would not release her, but kept his grip on her, as if he feared she would escape him.
"Drosos," she said softly, and kissed the corner of his mouth for punctuation. "Do not fret."
His expression relaxed a bit. "Is that what I'm doing?"
"Isn't it?" She slid her arms from around his waist and lifted them so that her hands touched at the back of his neck. "You are so mercurial."
"Me?" he said with surprise. "I'm steady as a rock. Mercurial!" he scoffed.
"You are, you know," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper.
"It's because of you. You do things to me, make me feel things, and then I don't know myself anymore." He was not desperate now, but there was a look to him that would have brought tears to her eyes had she been able to weep.
"That's a wonderful gift to give me," she said, and this time kissed him with passion, leaning into him so that she could feel his body through his clothes.
He was breathing more quickly when they moved apart, and as she stepped back, he kept one hand on her, as if parting from her was unbearable. "Which room?" he asked as she started toward the door.
"Mine, of course," she said, smiling back at him. "There are fresh roses and a vial of perfume and sweet oils in my room."
"Decadent. So decadent." He made the word an endearment.