Whatever protests Zejhil wanted to register were lost against the force of his arm.
"I think we had better go carefully. If someone has suborned you, there's no saying how many of the other slaves are taking payment from outside." He moved her toward the closed door. "When I open this, if you scream, I will knock you out and carry you. Is that understood?"
Zejhil nodded wildly, trying to signal him with one of her confined hands.
"Very good," Niklos approved. "Now stand up straight and pretend that you're feeling weak, as if you were taken suddenly ill. I don't want any more gossip than necessary about this incident." He waited while she complied, and then he pulled the door open.
The hall was empty, but before they had gone more than a dozen steps, Niklos saw one of the cook's two scrubbing boys peering around the corner. A little farther on and he found the head groom sweeping the garden steps—a task that was not his—and just beyond him, one of the gardeners pretended to be busy trimming back the ornamental apple tree.
By the time Niklos got to Olivia's private apartments, he had counted no less than eight of the household, and this made him nervous in a way it would not have done six months before.
Olivia had been sorting dried herbs, but she abandoned this task as she saw Niklos come into the room, half-dragging Zejhil with him. Dressed in her old-fashioned palla and stolae, she seemed distinctly out of place in the room. "What on earth—"
"I'm afraid we're in for difficulties," Niklos said as he closed the door and latched it.
"Zejhil, what is going on?" Olivia asked, coming around the trestle table and wiping her hands on the mantele tied around her waist.
Zejhil said nothing, but as Niklos released her, she moved away from him, repugnance in her angular features. She rubbed at her wrists and glared down at the floor.
"Niklos?" Olivia addressed him with a hint of impatience. "I trust you plan to tell me what this is all about?"
Niklos did not answer at once. He leaned against the door and watched Zejhil, his expression detached and difficult to read. "I surprised her in the stillroom," he said at last. "She was putting a vial of… of something-or-another into your spice and perfume chest."
"What?" Olivia asked, clearly disbelieving. She turned to Zejhil. "Did you do that?"
For an answer, Zejhil spat and huddled against the wall, her back to Niklos. There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away angrily.
"Zejhil?" Olivia said. When she received no response, she looked to Niklos. "Tell me." Her confusion made her tone high and sharp.
"Wait." He opened the door suddenly and looked into the hall. After a little time, he closed the door softly and once more secured the latch. "I am afraid, my mistress, that we are being spied on."
Olivia gave a breathless burst of laughter. "Again?"
"This time, it appears that Zejhil has become part of it, and that changes matters." He cleared his throat. "I have tried to find out whose orders she is following, but she will say nothing."
"Nothing," repeated Olivia, her expression becoming uncertain. "How do you account for that?"
"Whoever has given her orders has impressed her," said Niklos, his eyes never leaving the Tartar slave on the other side of the room. "She is more afraid of this person than she is of you or me."
"That is unwise of her," said Olivia, and the edge in her voice caught Zejhil's attention as nothing else had, for Olivia spoke with gelid calm.
"I went to the stillroom," Niklos continued, "for the oils you wanted. I saw the door was not quite closed, which surprised me a little, but I thought one of the kitchen staff had been careless. When I went into the room, I saw Zejhil at the spice chest with something in her hands. She dropped it—I think her hands were shaking—as I came in. She has refused to explain what she was doing there or what she was putting into the chest." His ruddy eyes grew chilly. "That doesn't bode well."
Olivia nodded and touched Niklos on the arm. "I see." Her breath went out of her slowly. "I don't suppose you could take time to find the vial."
"No," Niklos said, adding, "I know I ought to have found it and brought it with me."
"Do you suppose there's any hope that it might still be there?" she asked.
"I can go look, if that's what you wish," said Niklos. "Do you want me to summon aid while I'm gone?"
"I can manage Zejhil," said Olivia, continuing to the slave directly, "I may be a woman and no longer young, but it would be a serious error in judgment to think that I am incapable of managing this situation." She made a sign to Niklos and he let himself out of the door. Olivia put the latch in place once more and leaned back, studying Zejhil.
The slave-woman looked around her, uncertain what to do. She had been prepared for confinement and chastisement, but this treatment was new to her and she had no defense against it. She moved into the nearest corner and braced herself there.
Olivia continued to watch her, her attentive attitude unchanging. Finally she spoke again. "When I asked you to watch the household on my behalf, you assured me that you would do so, not only for the considerations this brought you, but because you were truly convinced that it was wrong for those outside the house to spy on those within. It seemed at the time that you were sincere and honorable. I showed my appreciation in a number of ways, didn't I? You have funds being held to purchase your freedom, as would any Roman slave." She did not qualify that statement by saying that such rights had disappeared three hundred years ago. "I gave you my word that you would not be punished for reporting on the activities of the others and you have my promise of manumission within five years. What has persuaded you to act against these considerations?"
Zejhil shook her head, her jaw so firmly set that the muscles stood out in ridges in her face.
"You're terrified. What is the reason?" She waited, giving Zejhil every opportunity to speak, and when the silence had dragged out between them, she went on. "I give you my word you will be protected. You will not be harmed."
"You can offer no protection against them," Zejhil hissed through her clenched teeth. "You are nothing against them."
Olivia's lips lifted at the corner but no one could mistake this for a smile. "I am? Who are these formidable beings that I can do nothing?"
Zejhil retreated once again into silence.
"So you believe they are powerful enough to hear through walls," Olivia said gently. "And you believe that they will know anything you reveal and you will be punished for that." She saw Zejhil flinch. "I know; you've said nothing. This is only supposition, though your expression tells me that I am correct." She sighed. "Which means also that you are not the only one of my slaves to be pressed into the service of these nameless others. And that is very… inconvenient." She turned her head to the side. "You knew I was here, and that I would probably require things from the stillroom, yet you did this, which makes me wonder if you didn't wish to be apprehended."
"No. No, that's wrong," Zejhil cried out in protest.
"Is it?"
"No!" Her voice was higher and louder, rough with fear.
"Because," Olivia went on evenly, "you knew that it was necessary for you to have an acceptable reason not to continue your work for these others, whoever they are."
Zejhil was suddenly very still and her face betrayed nothing. She slid down the wall onto her knees, the horror of her predicament making her eyes almost chatoyant.
"So." Olivia came back toward her. "You would rather serve me than these others, but they appear more powerful to you, and so you dare not displease them." She studied the Tartar woman's face. "Eventually I will learn who these puissant beings are, so you might as well tell me now. It will be easier for both of us, and we will not have to say things to each other that we might later regret."