While we have been able to forage for half the food for men and stock, we are still not sufficiently supplied that we can march for more than a day without stopping to renew provisions. This has seriously impeded our progress and is likely to increase as we move into part of the country where Totila and his men have already raided and plundered. This would sow discontent not only with the soldiers of the army, but with the people. We have already had the gates of one monastery closed against us, and we do not wish to have this occur again.

If you will take the time to discover what is slowing the delivery of the supplies we were assured from the first would be available, then perhaps this campaign may be able to proceed in the manner you have said from the first was your preference in speed and disposition of land and peoples.

I have read Your Most August Majesty's letter to me, and I with you lament the steady stream of people from Roma into the other ports of the Empire. Sadly, unless these people are treated like slaves, there is nothing we can do to compel them to remain in their homes and within the gates of Roma. I seek your advice, for I must tell you frankly and with great reluctance that the Bishop of Roma himself, from his stronghold with his clergy at Monte Casino, will do nothing. Three times I have sent messengers to him, and once I attempted to see him myself and in all instances we were refused with only prayers to guide us. The prayers are welcome, and I am grateful even for that much, but food and arrows would be more to my liking at the moment.

It is not my intention to cause you distress, August Majesty, but I am sure that if there is not some significant change in the manner in which this war is conducted soon, then it is not impossible that we will not make the advances here that you have said you wish. With proper supplies, the monies we needed, ships at our disposal and additional troops, we have an excellent chance to reclaim our preeminence in Italy.

Let me urge you to devote time and consideration to the plight of your men here in Italy, and to the fate of this country should it fall into the hands of that barbarian Totila. We will forfeit more than land if we cannot provide the protection and aid that is desperately needed and desired by these people as well as by Your August Majesty.

My prayers blend with your own in supplication for aid at this time, and I place myself and the lives of my men and the people of this country in the hands of God as well as in the hands of Your August Majesty.

With all duty and reverence,

Belisarius, General

4

Only one of the fountains still ran, and it was little more than a sluggish stream instead of the bright, soaring cascades that had greeted Belisarius when he first was given the right to use this villa outside the walls of Roma. He stood beside the huge marble basin, one booted foot resting on the rim, and stared into the brackish depths. His face was leaner than it had been a month ago, and the lines in it had deepened. He looked up, squinting, as he heard footsteps coming toward him.

"God's blessing this morning, General," said Drosos at his most amiable, raising his voice enough so that the greeting would carry to those nearby.

"And on you," Belisarius said with less enthusiasm than his Captain showed.

"I've finished inspection, and it should take little more than an hour for my boys to be out of here for good."

"That's fast," said Belisarius, trying to make his approval apparent to the other man. "And the others?"

"Ask their Captains, not me," Drosos chuckled, coming to stand beside the General. "I have all I can contend with to watch my own men."

"Sensible," the General nodded. "Can you venture a guess?"

"I'd say that we'll be away from here by midmorning." He indicated the villa. "It's a shame to have to give this up."

"But with Totila so close, we'd be increasing our disadvantage if we remain. This villa could easily become a trap," Belisarius reminded him. "It's a pity, but it can't be helped."

"And what do we tell Olivia? It is her villa; willed to her by an old friend, many years ago, or so she said. How do we explain that this place which she loaned to us and which we promised to care for has been left for the Ostrogoths to pick clean—which they will. Look around you: she has treasures here. The statues, the library—"

"You're impressed with books and murals?" Belisarius said with surprise.

Drosos hesitated before he answered, as if the idea were new to him. "I suppose I am." He shrugged, continuing awkwardly. "Perhaps being here, seeing all these things… There are over a thousand volumes in the library and there are thirty-seven statues in the villa. I've never had the chance to…"

"And there is Olivia," Belisarius added when Drosos did not go on.

"Yes; there is Olivia. These are her things." He broke off, staring unseeing at the far wall. "But that's not all. She has shown me that there is worth in art and books, that they are more than the trophies of a wealthy life."

"Olivia is a woman of the old school," Belisarius said, hoping it was true. "She has some of the old Roman virtues left to her and she will not blame you or me if the barbarians get inside the compound."

"Still," Drosos objected vaguely.

"You might as well mourn for the horses she provided us—only two of them are alive now, and there were more than thirty in the stables when she left. Or the nine slaves that remained to care for us—they were gone weeks ago." He took his foot off the marble rim of the fountain. "Or for that matter, why not regret that the barbarians are here at all? and that we must meet their forces with our own or lose everything in Italy."

"You know what troubles me," Drosos said, deliberately lowering his voice to a soft growl.

"I suspect, I don't know," said Belisarius, peering into the early morning sun. Of the six hours of the day and the six hours of the night, this one was his favorite, when the world was still fresh and promising.

Drosos hitched his shoulders awkwardly. "I miss that woman. I know we had to send her away, but by the Dormition, I miss her."

"And does she miss you?" Belisarius asked without much interest.

"I hope so. When we get back to Constantinople, I intend to find out." He put one hard, square hand on his sword belt. "It will be easier then, with no battles, no war to distract us."

"You assume you will be returned to Constantinople," Belisarius said wearily. "There are other posts in the Empire, and you may find yourself at any one of them." He stretched and then tugged at the end of his pallium which was wrapped across the segmented links of his old-fashioned loricae. "Shoes of the Evangelists! I'm as stiff as a white-bearded monk this morning."

Drosos had seen this before. "It's the campaign," he said knowledgeably. "You always sleep ready to fight the night before we break an established camp. Remember the morning we left Africa? You said it hurt to breathe." He patted the General on the shoulder once, a familiarity that was permitted few of the other Captains. "Have the farrier put some of that camphor salve on it—it stopped my roan's lameness in a day."

"If it lingers through the day," said Belisarius, knowing that the tight muscles would be eased as soon as he climbed into the saddle and finally got moving. He never felt so vulnerable as he did at this stage—when he and his men were preparing to leave, but were not yet ready to march.

Two other officers, one of them holding a chip of bone to his lips, ambled into the courtyard. They were both fresh from their morning prayers, as Nikolaos' relic showed. He lifted it toward Leonidas, and the other man also kissed what was believed to be part of the index finger of the Apostle Loukas.

"Do you think that is genuine?" Drosos wondered aloud. It was a question he would put to no one but the General, whose discretion was as absolute as his loyalty.

"Nikolaos believes it is, and that may be sufficient. I don't like to venture guesses. How many times have I seen scraps of Mother Maria's robes or the head of the Spear of the Crucifixion offered in the marketplace next to fresh fruit and new bread?" Belisarius shook his head. "It may be genuine. It may be all that is left of some poor creature who died walking from Jerusalem to Damascus."

"The Emperor has the Lord's Shroud," said Drosos with very little emotion.

Belisarius said nothing. He cocked his head. "Horses, coming fast."

At once Drosos' manner changed; he moved quickly and with surprising speed as he shouted to the other two officers. "Nikolaos, Leonidas, now!"

The other two responded at once, sprinting across the courtyard to the central part of the villa where they began to shout orders to the men still there.

Belisarius hurried toward the stables at the back of the second atrium. He no longer felt the stiffness in his body and he lifted his head in anticipation of news and fighting. He was almost at the stables when he heard Drosos' shout and a clarion signal. Immediately he hurried back toward the entrance to the villa.

Drosos was waiting for him, holding the steaming horse of the Emperor's messenger. He had summoned one of Belisarius' slaves to tend to the messenger and had just issued instruction for the care of the lathered horse.