"You are in Constantinople, and women of good reputation do not show themselves on the street except in going to the hippodrome and the market squares. The penitential processions also require that all women show themselves, but cover their faces for the Sin of Eve and the Fall of Man." He was stern with her, needing her to use her wits more than she had been willing to do.
"I might as well immure myself and be done with it—and I have done that already and found it appalling." She pulled the silken hanging closed with her own hands. "If I do not speak to you when I return, it is your own fault, Greek."
Since Olivia only called Niklos Greek when she was displeased with him, he did not respond, but stepped back and permitted the bearers to start off with their Roman burden.
Belisarius' house was one hill over—although Olivia refused to think of such bumps as hills—and in a street that was made narrow with the extensive reconstruction and rebuilding that was the passion of Justinian. By the time the bearers set the palanquin down, they were sweating and blowing hard as dray beasts for the added effort of lifting the vehicle around the heaps of masonry and over piles of rubble that littered the streets increasingly as they neared the palace of the Emperor and his most ambitious project—the expansion of the Basilica of the Most Sacred Wisdom.
Four armed guards uniformed in the manner of Belisarius personal soldiers flanked the door to the house as Olivia was helped from the palanquin. All the men watched her closely, each with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I am Olivia Clemens, a widow from Roma," she told the majordomo of Belisarius' house. "I would like the honor of spending a little time with the august lady who is wife to the great General Belisarius." She hoped that was formal enough for these ceremony- and ritual-loving Byzantines.
The majordomo, a smooth-faced eunuch in garments far richer than what most merchants could afford to wear, made her a deep reverence as he admitted her to the vestibule of the enormous house. "Be kind enough to wait here; one of the household women will escort you to the august lady."
"How good of you," said Olivia mendaciously.
The eunuch said nothing as he moved away from her, leaving her to stand by herself in the huge octagon-shaped entryroom with nothing more to look at than a series of dreadful frescoes of military Saints in battle against devils and other foreigners all in grotesque and frozen postures. Olivia found herself longing for the mosaics of her youth. Where, amid this vehement and abstracted suffering, was one dolphin, one dog worrying a bone, one cherub dangling a flute or a wine cup? These were the scenes she recalled most affectionately from those long-ago days when she grew up. In her father's villa there was one wall showing Jupiter turning into a bull, with a buxom Europa waiting for her lover with more enthusiasm than awe. There had been two swineherds in the corner of the fresco, off to the lower right-hand corner. They had been sharing a wineskin and bread, and they idly watched the transformation. One of them was forever in the act of tossing a scrap to a tabby cat. There had been nothing so everyday, so human in the art Olivia had seen here in Byzantium; even in Roma now, the touches she loved were disappearing.
"Great lady?" repeated the eunuch, who had returned.
Olivia looked up sharply. "Oh; excuse me. These pictures—" She indicated the walls.
"Antonina is a woman of much piety, and this is only the outward sign of it," said the eunuch, apparently favorably impressed by Olivia's interest. "If you will condescend to follow me, I will bring you to Antonina."
"Thank you," said Olivia, falling into step behind the slave.
"You are not the only great lady to visit Antonina today," said the eunuch. His voice was low and mature: he had been emasculated after manhood. Because he had run to fat it was hard to say if he had ever been handsome, but there was a sweetness to his round face that could once have been more attractive than it was safe for a slave to be.
"What is your name, slave?" asked Olivia.
"I am Arius," he told her, apparently surprised at the question.
"In Roma, I always wanted to know the names of those who did me service so that I would be able to leave some token of my appreciation for good service," she said, remembering how many slaves had once been able eventually to buy their freedom with those accumulated tokens. Olivia was still distressed that those laws had been changed.
"No token is necessary. This is Konstantinoupolis, great lady, not Roma, and here we give thanks to God, not to those whose place it is to serve." He had led the way down a long hall and now stopped at two tall doors. "These are the reception apartments of the august lady Antonina."
"I am looking forward to the honor of meeting her," said Olivia, doing her best not to be impatient.
Arius made his reverence as he opened the door. It was a graceful gesture, as formal and unnatural as the attitudes of the figures in the ikons that flanked the doors. "August lady, this is the great lady Olivia," said the eunuch before he stepped aside to let Olivia enter.
Antonina was seated on a silk-covered couch; she was a magnificent woman, all stark contrasts. Her hair, black as onyx, had two white streaks that only served to make the dark more impressive. Her eyes were large, rimmed with heavy lashes and accented by curving dark brows. Her skin was the lightest shade of peach that Olivia had ever seen. Her clothes were silken, the paenula so extensive that it surrounded and engulfed her in vast folds of shimmering red. At her shoulder, her tablion was the size of the palm of her hand, encrusted with garnets and gold. "Welcome to my husband's house," she said, not rising.
Olivia smiled without warmth. "I am pleased to bring you his greetings and remembrances," she said, hoping that she had come close to the proper formula.
"And this"—she indicated the other woman in the room—"is Eugenia. She is the widow of Katalinus Hyakinthos, who was the bastard of Elezaros." This name was apparently supposed to mean something to Olivia, and Antonina waited for her response.
"There was a… naval commander, wasn't there?" She hoped that her memory was correct; she sensed that neither woman would be forgiving of an error.
"My husband's father, yes. They were killed in the same storm." She was not as tall as Antonina, nor quite as richly dressed. Her body was rounder and softer, more yielding, and her posture was more inviting. She, too, wore an enormous paenula, hers of a deep sea-green shot with gold, and her tablion was not as large or as be jeweled as Antonina's.
"How unfortunate," said Olivia.
"My husband sends me word that you, too, are a widow." She pointed to another couch, making it clear she wished Olivia to sit there.
"For many years, yes," she answered candidly.
"Yet you are not ancient," said Antonina.
"I wear my years well," Olivia said.
"That may be fortunate," Antonina declared. "Widows are not uncommon and it is not always the most simple thing to find them proper mates. There are men who prefer women who have never been married to those who have. I was fortunate, for my husband told me from the first that he was pleased that he had found me a widow, for that meant I knew men and I knew marriage. I was most pleased that he felt that way, and I told him then, as I have continued to tell him, that no woman can appreciate a marriage until her second one." She smiled, and it was clear she expected her two guests to smile as well.
Realizing that this was likely to be more awkward than she had thought at first, Olivia said, "That may be, and certainly I have no means to tell, but let me assure you, august lady—"
"You must call me Antonina," she purred.
"You are all kindness," said Olivia, going on before she could be distracted. "Let me assure you that I have not come to you with the hope that you will supply a husband upon request. I have had such experience of marriage that I am not in a hurry to resume my married state. For a time, I am content to be a widow, and if this does not exclude me from friendships and society, I will abide as I am." She folded her hands in her lap and gave what she hoped was a trusting and guileless look to her hostess.