“Greece? Hasn’t it gone barbarian?”
“Not quite. There’s a heavy population of Slavs in the north and Vlachs in Thessaly, while the Normans are plaguing the Aegean Sea. But such cities as Thebes and Corinth remain well off, well defended. A beautiful country, full of memories. We can be happy there.”
Cadoc raised his brows. “But haven’t you given thought to this yourself?” he went on. “You could only have continued as you are for another ten years at best. Then you’d have had to withdraw, before men noticed that you don’t grow old. And as much in the public eye as you’ve been, you could scarcely stay on in these parts.”
“True.” Athenais smiled. “I meant to announce I’d had a change of heart, repented my wickedness, and would retire afar to a life of poverty, prayer, and good works. I’ve already made arrangements for the quick, quiet transport of my hoard—against any sudden need to escape. After all, that has been my life, to drop from one place and start afresh in another.”
He grimaced. “Always like this?”
“Need forces me,” she answered sadly. “I’m not fit by nature to be a nun, a she-hermit, any such unworldly being. I often call myself a well-to-do widow, but at last the money is spent, unless some upheaval—war, sack, plague, whatever—brings ruin first. A woman cannot very well invest her money tike a man. Whatever pulls me down, usually I must begin again among the lowliest and … work and save and connive to become better off.”
His smile was rueful. “Not unlike my life.”
“A man has more choices.” She paused. “I do study things beforehand. I agree, on balance Corinth will be best for us.”
“What?” he exclaimed, sitting straight in his astonishment. “You let me rattle on and on about what you perfectly well knew?”
“Men must show forth their cleverness.”
Cadoc whooped laughter. “Superb! A girt who can lead me, me, by the nose like that is the girl I can stay with forever.”
He sobered: “But now we’ll make the move as soon as may be. At once, if I had my wish. Out of this … filth, to the first true home we’ve either of us had since—”
She laid fingers across his lips. “Hush, beloved,” she said low. “If only that could be. But we can’t simply disappear.”
“Why not?”
She sighed. “It would rouse too much heed. A search for me, at least. There are men, highly placed men, who care for me, who’d be afraid I’d met with foul play. If then we were tracked down— No.” A small fist clenched. “We must go on with our pretenses. For another month, perhaps, while I prepare the ground with talk of, oh, making a pilgrimage, something like that.”
A little while passed before he could say, “Well, a month, set against centuries.”
“For me, the longest month I ever knew. But we’ll see each other during it, often, won’t we? Say we will!”
“Of course.”
“I will hate making you pay, but you can see I must. Never mind, the money will be ours once we are free.”
“Hm, we do need to lay plans, make arrangements.”
“Let that wait till next time. This while we have today is so short. Then I must make ready for the next man.”
He bit his lip. “You cannot tell him you’ve fallen sick?”
“I’d best not. He’s among the most important of them all; his good will can spell the difference between life and death. Bardas Manasses, a manglabites on the staff of the Arch-estrategos.”
“Yes, someone that high in the military, yes, I understand.”
“Oh, my dearest, inwardly you bleed.” Athenais embraced him. “Stop. Forget everything but the two of us. We still have an hour in Paradise.”
She was wholly as knowing, as endlessly various and arousing, as men said.
A MINIATURE procession crossed the bridge over the Horn and approached the Blachernae Gate. They were four Rusi, two Northmen, and a couple in the lead who were neither. The Rusi carried a chest that was plainly heavy, suspended on two poles. The Northmen were off-duty members of the Varangian Guard, helmed and mailed, axes on their shoulders. Though it was clear that they were earning some extra pay by shepherding a valuable freight, it was also clear that this was with official permission, and the sentries waved the party through.