"No," I told him, "I have had help from Eutherius. It was his slave who was with me when your people seized me."

At this Paulinus regarded me in consternation, as one who receives news of an overthrow. An imperial chamberlain, even one who has retired from his office, can by no means be treated negligently. Even where some one of the chamberlains has been guilty of a manifest crime, still his fellows have been able to work upon the emperor and contrive by one shift or another that their friend escapes justice. Anyone who wrongs a chamberlain, however, can be certain that the matter will fly directly to the emperor's ears. Paulinus was well aware that if Eutherius wished to accuse him of conspiracy, not even Probus could protect him.

Paulinus cried out indignantly that I was lying, and that Eutherius knew nothing of what I was about. I was much encouraged, however, that he did not boast that the slave who had accompanied me was dead. I set my resolve and swore by the divine power that it was true. At this Paulinus ordered his men to beat me again; however, they had barely begun when I became aware that one of Paulinus' slaves had come into the room and was announcing that the most illustrious Eutherius requested admittance.

Paulinus was still hesitating over what order to give regarding the eunuch, when Eutherius himself came in. Sannio was with him. Eutherius showed no surprise at the abject state to which my tormenters had reduced me, but Sannio cried out and hurried to help me up, then led me to one of the dining couches.

"I told your doorkeepers that they would not wish to strike an imperial chamberlain," said Eutherius, smiling mildly at Paulinus, "and they agreed. Do take note, my friend, that all my household know that I am here."

Paulinus was so overcome that he could not speak, and merely stood glaring at Eutherius. Sannio, meanwhile, began cleaning my injuries with a napkin dipped in wine, an attention for which I was deeply grateful.

"I perceive from your reception of my friend Ammianus," Eutherius continued, "that his suspicions were indeed well-founded."

At this Paulinus recovered himself enough to protest that Eutherius should not trespass in a private house in order to interfere in a private quarrel.

"And when did you quarrel with Ammianus?" Eutherius asked him, still in a mild tone. "It cannot have been over some public affront, for then I would have heard of it. If it was a private offence, though, then you must have invited him to be your guest here before, because he has no interests or business commitments which coincide with yours. And if so, is this how you treat your guests?"

Paulinus ground his teeth in rage, but found himself at a loss: to a nobleman of such distinction, the accusation of failing in hospitality to a guest is more shaming than that of murdering a rival. At last he flung up his hands and told Eutherius to take me and to go.

"I shall do so," said Eutherius. "But I ask first that you return the letter which the prefect of the city wrote to his friend Claudius Adelphius, which you intercepted."

Paulinus at first began to protest, but then, realizing that he had been betrayed by his own mouth and conduct, yielded and said sullenly that he had given the letter to his cousin Anicius Bassus, but that he would instruct Bassus to return it the following day.

"So Bassus was involved as well?" asked Eutherius. "Who else?"

Paulinus, however, did not answer except to curse him. "The letter will be returned," he declared. "There has been no crime committed, unless you choose to regard as a crime my quarrel with your Greek friend."

"A slave was murdered," Eutherius reminded him.

This Paulinus dismissed, and said, "A slave of mine lost his temper. They are all worthless scoundrels, so what is one to do with them? If the man does anything similar again, I will have him punished."

Eutherius heard this in contemptuous silence, and did not dignify it with a reply. Instead he ordered Sannio to help me to my feet. As we left, he turned again to Paulinus and said, "I expect to hear that the letter has been returned to the prefect tomorrow."

Paulinus spat, but did not hinder our departure.

It was with great joy that I left that fatal house. Eutherius had a covered litter waiting in the street outside, and to my great relief I was able to rest my aching limbs beside him as the bearers carried us swiftly away. The eunuch kindly invited me to rest the night in his house, but I asked if he would instead take me to my own lodgings, for I longed for the comfort of my own bed and the care of my own household. To this he at once agreed, and gave the necessary orders to his bearers.

As we were borne swiftly across the city, I asked Eutherius if he believed that Paulinus would indeed return the letter.

"I am assured of it," he replied sadly, "for, as he says, once he has returned it, he evades the charge of having conspired against Symmachus. That is the only crime which he has committed which could put him in any danger: the rest he can simply shrug off. My friend, I know that he has behaved towards you like some Isaurian bandit, but, truly, if you try to bring him to account for it I would fear for your life. He would undoubtedly invent some story to discredit you, and enlist clients to perjure themselves on his behalf, and in the end you would be lucky to escape without worse harm than you have suffered already. As for poor Achilles, you know as well as I that Anicius Paulinus would not be punished for a slave's death even if it were to be proved that he committed the murder with his own hand. Most likely, though, he never intended more than the theft of the letter, and spoke the truth when he said that one of his own men lost his temper."

I was surprised at this, and Eutherius explained, "Sannio has told me what you learned in the tavern. Probably the tavern keeper told you the truth, if only a partial truth, for he would have found it safer to say nothing that another person in the tavern might contradict. I suspect that Achilles agreed to let Paulinus' men read his master's letter in exchange for drink; indeed, probably he had done so several times before. I expect they used some pretext such as wanting information to use in gambling on the outcome of the prefectural games, and he saw no great harm in it. However, when they saw that this letter was one which their master could use, they tried to take it from him. At that he would have become afraid, either because he realized they meant harm to his master, or else merely because he knew he would be punished for losing a letter. Probably he tried to seize the letter back and flee with it, and Paulinus' men grew angry and used violence to stop him. Paulinus could not have intended that: it attracted attention to the matter. If Achilles merely came home saying he had been robbed, not even you would have felt any concern about it - and Achilles would be very unlikely to confess the whole truth to his master when he would escape more lightly by claiming to have been set upon by thieves."

"You understand slaves well," I told him, impressed by this reasoning.

"I have been a slave," he replied simply.

I was startled by this, though on reflection I realized that it was to be expected in a eunuch. I afterwards learned that Eutherius had been freeborn in Armenia, but while he was still a small child he had been captured by a hostile neighbouring tribe, who castrated him and sold him to some Roman merchants, and he had grown up a slave in Constantine's palace. It was a tribute to the nobility of his character that he had nevertheless remained - as I had come to appreciate - a man devoted to virtue, always eager to render kindness to those around him.

We arrived at my apartments, and, since my lodgings were on an upper floor, Eutherius sent Sannio to fetch help for me from my household, since I was weak from my ordeal and unable to face the stairs unaided. He offered to send his own physician to attend me. I thanked him, but told him that I thought I had suffered no lasting harm and indeed had received worse injuries in falls while riding.

"That I believe, for men die from falls while riding,"

Eutherius remarked drily. "My friend, if you wish to bring charges against Paulinus, I will support you as well as I can. I do urge you, however, to remain silent. I would be grieved if your great history remained unwritten."

I was moved by this, and I thanked Eutherius warmly and told him that I would not risk pressing charges against Paulinus, which seemed to reassure him. My own household having come out to assist me, I descended from the litter and went to rest in my own bed.

I remained there for several days, for the ill treatment I had received brought on a fever which made it impossible for me to rise. Eutherius sent Sannio every day to inquire how I was. On the first of these visits I remembered to express my gratitude, not only to Eutherius, but also to Sannio himself, for I was well aware that if the slave had not brought his master so speedily I would have perished in the house of Anicius Paulinus. Sannio confessed himself relieved by my thanks, saying that he had been ashamed at abandoning me to the intruders in the tavern, but that he had seen no other way to secure help. I praised his clear thinking, and made him a gift of money.

Sannio was able to tell me that the Anicii had returned the stolen letter to its author, pretending that it had merely been found by Achilles' body. Eutherius, however, had written a note to Symmachus, advising him of the true state of affairs, and, so Sannio said, informing him of my own part in the matter. At this I was elated, despite my bruises, for I anticipated great benefits from Symmachus' gratitude.

On the second day of my illness, Sannio brought further evidence of Eutherius' noble nature, for he carried a very beautiful edition of the Annals of Cornelius Tacitus, which his master had sent to keep me occupied, as he said, in my illness. It did indeed occupy me most fruitfully, for as I admired again the beauty of that lofty prose, I was struck by the thought that no historian since could match him. It was then that I conceived the notion of extending my own history to cover all the events that have transpired since the end of the works of Tacitus, in tribute to that great historian.

When I was at last able to rise from my sickbed, however, my first thought was to call upon Symmachus. Accordingly I hired a sedan chair and went to the house of my patron.

I expected that as soon as I entered the atrium, the slave would rush to announce me to his master, and I was surprised to receive instead yet another solicitation of a bribe. When I declined to pay it, the insolent slave left me to wait in a small and very familiar antechamber. I consoled myself that Symmachus would be angry to hear that I had been kept waiting, and that in future I would be received with far more courtesy.

When I was at last admitted to the dining room where Symmachus received his clients, however, I found the prefect of the city distracted and inattentive. When I advanced to give him a friend's embrace, he turned aside, and offered me instead his hand to kiss. "Ah, Ammianus," he said. "I hope you are feeling better?" His manner proclaimed that he felt he had shown me abundance of courtesy in remembering that I had been ill.

I told him that I was much better, and asked him to assure me that he had indeed recovered the letter that had occasioned me so many pains.

At first he seemed doubtful as to which letter I might mean, but, at length recollecting it, said that, indeed, Anicius Paulinus had returned it, though he did not know why Eutherius and I attached so much importance to it, since it was merely an inquiry about provisions for the games. It was very foolish of me, he said, to have trespassed in Paulinus' house to retrieve it, and it was not surprising the slaves had taken me to be a thief, and beaten me.

I was so entirely at a loss how to respond to this that I was bereft of speech. Symmachus, perceiving this, told me that at least it showed a commendable devotion to himself, and, offering me his hand again, urged me to take myself home and rest, as I was dreadfully pale.

I neglected to kiss his hand and departed in a passion, cursing the injustice of Fate and the vanity of human endeavour. I made my way to the house of Eutherius, where I was at once admitted, and there I unburdened myself to my friend, who listened patiently until I fell silent, and then commanded his slaves to bring us wine.

"I feared that you might meet with such a reception," he told me. "I received a similar response to my own letter, but I did not want to disturb you on the subject while you were ill." Then he spoke very wisely, pointing out that ingratitude and negligence are such common ills that we should rather wonder when we do not meet them than when we do, and that philosophy teaches us to bear them patiently. "Though indeed," he said, "it must be very hard, to be obliged to suffer the malice of the Anicii in silence, and to be cheated of any reward by your patron's complacency. I myself would gladly offer you patronage for your history, but I know I could never equal Symmachus in wealth, let alone in culture and esteem."

I told him that in my esteem he far surpassed the prefect, and that a true friend is far more precious than a patron. "But," I continued, "you are wrong to think that I am obliged to suffer the malice of the Anicii in silence. Though I do not dare to bring charges against them, still I can speak out. I shall tell the truth about them whenever I have occasion to mention them in my history, and thus reveal their disgrace not just to the present age, but to all posterity. As for you, however, I will devote an entire chapter to your praise."[12] At this Eutherius laughed. "And what will you give to Symmachus?"

"Since he has done nothing of note," I replied, "I do not see why I should mention him at all."

The Finger of Aphrodite by Mary Reed and Eric Mayer These final two stories are set after the traditional fall of the Roman Empire but show the continuing influence and importance of the Roman World. Strictly speaking only the Western Empire collapsed. The Eastern Empire, based at Byzantium (now Istanbul), continued for another thousand years. In fact Rome itself did not fall overnight but went through an episodic, occasionally convulsive decline, through the fifth century. During the sixth century there were attempts by the Eastern, or Byzantine Empire, to restore Rome. The last Latin-speaking Eastern Emperor was Justinian, who reigned from 527 to 565. In 540, Justinian's general, Belisarius, recaptured Italy from the Ostrogoths, though it remained a cat-and-mouse campaign that ran on for another thirteen years. The following story is set during Belisarius's capture of Rome and features Justinian's Lord Chamberlain and envoy John the Eunuch. I published the first story about John, "A Byzantine Mystery", in The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits in 1993, and I'm delighted to present the latest here.

John sensed movement above him and jumped aside just before a marble Aphrodite plunged head first into the soft earth at the base of Hadrian's mausoleum. Up on the ramparts of the turret-shaped bastion, guards shouted. A dog barked nearby.

Oblivious to the commotion, John's rotund companion bent over the broken statue. "If this isn't Praxiteles' work, I'm the pope's bastard!"

"Hurry up! Zeus is liable to show up next and he won't care whose bastard you are," John replied. "I thought you said this aqueduct came out on the other side of the Tiber?"

The river blocking their escape was a featureless band of darkness, its presence announced by the choking stench of putrefaction emanating from its waters.

"No wonder this purported map cost so little," Cupitas muttered. "When I find him again, that scoundrel's going to regret bilking me!"

He remained rooted, staring at the sculpture. When he spoke again his breath formed a faint cloud in the chilly air. "Do you know what a genuine Praxiteles is worth, my friend? I've never glimpsed anything but copies. Few have. If there were just some way I could get her out of here -"

John suddenly tugged the man's arm, pulling him aside. A cobblestone toppled out of the twilight to embed itself in the ground an arm's length from where the two conversed. Perhaps the Romans had exhausted their arsenal of statuary in the Goth attack the day before.

Casting looks of longing at the recumbent goddess, Cupitas allowed himself to be led around the side of the massive tomb. John hoped the shadows clustered there would hide them from arrows.

He'd already called up that he and Cupitas were Romans, shouting first in Greek, then Latin and finally Egyptian, since he wasn't certain from which part of the empire General Belisarius had recruited these particular men. Not surprisingly, the guards paid no attention. Goths seeking to breach Rome's defences weren't likely to announce their real identities.

"At least this expedition hasn't been a total loss," Cupitas grinned.

John saw the man had a delicate marble finger clutched in one pudgy hand. Had it broken off the statue when it hit the ground or been snapped off afterwards?

"An exquisite finger of the love goddess," orated Cupitas, "shaped by Praxiteles himself. Snatched from under the noses of Witiges' hordes as they besieged the army of Belisarius in Rome in the year 537. A truly desirable item!"

Despite his annoyance, John smiled. "Don't forget to add that you were assisted in retrieving it by none other than the Lord Chamberlain to Emperor Justinian."

"An excellent selling point which one might think would doubtless add to its value, but unfortunately who would believe such a ridiculous claim?"

John was about to remark that he himself could hardly believe he was trying to help such a fool as Cupitas out of danger when he heard the jangle of chain mail and a huge figure loped out of the darkness to confront them. The shadowy giant displayed an axe. John's hand went to his blade.

Then the figure let out a bellowing laugh and stepped forward. John recognised the dark features and jet black hair of the. Moorish auxiliary, Constantine.

"I see it is my friend from the inn." The man addressed John. "You shouldn't be out here. They say night air is bad for the health."

"Especially when it's filled with falling statuary," remarked Cupitas.

The big Moor directed a scathing glance at the plump trader, but spoke to John again. "You're fortunate I found you. I'm about to go off duty and none too soon. Patrolling the walls is a lonely job without Achilles for company. Come on, I'll escort you both back to Mount Olympus."

The sprawling mountain of brick and masonry looked across a forum overgrown with weeds. A mosaic cross set in the wall beside the inn's door gave assurance that its pagan name was merely an homage to the city's glorious past. Only when John stepped into its smoky interior did he realize just how cold he was. His fingers had turned almost as white as the precious marble digit Cupitas carried. The warm air of the inn was redolent of the usual simmering porridge and, this evening, something more savoury.

The slightly built, balding innkeeper, Titus, hurried to greet the arrivals as they entered.

"So you haven't left us after all, Lord Chamberlain! Excellent!" He beamed and gave a bob of his head that passed for a bow. "I have obtained a goat for dinner! I found it wandering around the Capitoline Hill. Consider it a gift from the old gods for our illustrious guest from the emperor's court!"

"A gift you'll expect us to pay a good price for," Cupitas grumbled.

Constantine gave the trader an impatient frown. "I hear there's gold to be had for any kind of meat, but then I'm sure you're already aware of that."

"Fronto's almost finished cooking the meal," Titus said. "As soon as he does, I'll be able to offer you a real banquet."

John, who didn't care much for banquets, thanked Titus and went to warm his hands over the brazier. Spring was still weeks away and since many of the besieged city's ancient pines and stately cypresses had already been sacrificed for fuel he was grateful that the innkeeper had managed to find enough to warm his establishment. It had been some weeks since he had travelled from Constantinople to deliver Justinian's congratulations to General Belisarius on the reconquest of the empire's birthplace. Unfortunately the Goth leader Witiges had arrived with his army before John was able to leave.

John looked up at the sound of a grating voice.

"Back so soon, Cupitas? Did you really suppose the Lord would let a black-hearted blasphemer creep away to safety without retribution? I'll have an audience with the pope before you do, you and your vile frauds. Relics? Salted cuts of meat, more like."

The speaker was the Greek pilgrim, Makarios, a withered man who was practically a relic himself. He was perched as always on the three-legged stool in the corner furthest from the brazier.

Cupitas merely sighed. "Those without ambition always envy men of business," he observed to John. "Now, I was wondering, do you have anything I could persuade you to part with? A personal seal perhaps? Something I could show a prospective buyer to prove that Justinian's Lord Chamberlain really did assist me in obtaining this priceless memorial to the siege of Rome?"

John had no time to reply to the outrageous question because Cupitas spotted a burly man entering the room.

"I saw that fellow driving a cart across the forum the other day," the trader remarked. "He has a most sturdy-looking vehicle. I wager it'd hold a statue of Aphrodite, if we could just contrive to hoist her up on it." He hurried away to engage the man in conversation.

"Sir? If I may trouble you." A stooped, elderly man, his sinewy, brown speckled hands clenched together, stood at John's elbow. Fine white hair rose from his pink scalp like a marsh mist. John had the impression he had been waiting, silently, to speak to him for some time.

"Of course, Fronto. What is it?"

"The master wonders if you have a preference as to wine? There are several amphorae of fine vintages in the cellar even yet, if you would care to inspect them and make your choice."

"Wine? Drinking wine as the bodies pile up around us?" Makarios put in loudly from his perch on the stool.

John ignored the pilgrim and indicated to Fronto that whatever wine the innkeeper served would be acceptable.

"If you please, sir, I would be most grateful if you'd make the selection. The master doesn't like to leave anything to Fortuna, or so he always says." Fronto swayed slightly, looking exhausted.

"Very well, I'll see what's there, but you'll have to allow me to carry the amphora upstairs."

Fronto feebly protested as he led John down a steep stairway into a stone-walled cellar that smelled of mildew.

"It isn't your place to help me, sir," the servant said. "It's true my master has run me off my feet, ever since Belisarius ordered all the women and children out of the city. I don't question the decision, you understand. It means less mouths to feed and moves the less hardy out of danger. But Titus employed mostly women as servants and now all their jobs are mine as well as the cooking. The mistress did that, and a fine cook she was too."

A few rats scrabbled away as Fronto chose an ornate if tarnished silver serving dish from a cobwebbed shelf. "I hope this will be acceptable once I've polished it up. The master has always prided himself on having every detail perfect."

John looked around. Sculptures, rolls of fabric and other decorative items formed a heap in one corner. A wall hanging bordered in garish red lay partly unrolled atop the pile, revealing a lusty scene from the Goths' legendary association with the Amazons. Several busts of their king, Theodoric, dead now for a decade, stared out into the vermin-infested room.

"I pray General Belisarius can defend the city," Fronto was saying as he brushed cobwebs from the tarnished dish. "We had to bring all those busts of King Theodoric down here practically before the Goths had run away, just as Belisarius arrived at the gates. As you probably noticed, the master has replaced them with marble Roman emperors who've been languishing down here in the damp for years. I don't have the strength to keep changing allegiances at my age, especially when it involves hauling busts and statues up and downstairs. Damian did most of the heavy work here, and now he's left in a pique."

To Fronto's horror, John picked up an amphora of the inexpensive, raw Egyptian wine he preferred from a dusty crate shoved into a damp corner.

At the top of the cellar stairs they were met by Cupitas, who clapped his fat hand on Fronto's bent back.

"There you are, you old villain," the trader said in a jovial tone. "Hiding in the cellar again when you should be stoking up the brazier in my room." The trader turned to John. "It's as cold as the member on a bronze stallion up there. And talk about draughty! Cracks so big a whole troupe of performing dwarfs could fit through them. Ah, but better times and lodgings are in my future. That cart driver thinks he can help me win the favour of fair Aphrodite. Now if I can just manage to bribe some guards to look the other way when we elope with her. Do you think that hulking Moor might assist with the lifting? Let's not talk business now, though, since I see it's time to eat."

Sunset was fading as John stepped outside. The innkeeper's promised banquet had turned out to be a spare repast consisting of stewed, stringy meat that had not tasted like any goat which had appeared on John's plate.

A chilly wind was rising. It would be another cold night, he thought with a shiver. The innkeeper and Cupitas however were keeping warm by means other than a brazier, for as he strode briskly around the side of the building to escape the wind, John heard the two of them arguing.

"No, the tree we cut down yesterday was the last one left around here!" the innkeeper shouted as John turned the corner of the building. "Everyone got there ahead of us. You'd be lucky to find a twig anywhere by now. Pretty soon we'll have to start burning the furniture! Not to mention when the fuel runs out, we'll all be eating uncooked food, assuming we can even find any."

Cupitas muttered something unintelligible.

"Oh, of course," Titus shot back. "You think you're entitled to take anything you can get your hands on. I know your sort!"

The two men stood near the inn's back door. Beyond lay the desolate space which had been a garden filling the vacant area where a building had stood in more prosperous times. Cupitas turned on his heel as John appeared. With a curt nod at him, he went into the inn and slammed the door.

Titus released a long sigh and rubbed his face wearily. "My apologies, sir. Sometimes my guests are difficult to please. I should not be short-tempered with them, I know, but Cupitas has been complaining about the cold ever since he got here. I'm sick of hearing about it. We're all cold, not just him. Then today I have been forced to cut down my wife's rosebay. It was a hard thing to endure. I'd hoped to preserve it for Tullia's return." His voice faltered.

John glanced at him keenly. The man looked stricken. Titus bent to pick up a small branch and placed it in the basket he carried. "It was a special tree to us, you see, sir. I planted it for my wife the day we were married. I wish you could have seen it when it flowered. Covered in red blossoms every year, it was." Tears formed in his eyes. "When Tullia was forced to leave with the rest of the women and children and slaves at Belisarius' order, she promised me she would be back before it bloomed again."

"Perhaps she will," John offered awkwardly.

Titus scowled. "She didn't want to leave and I didn't want her to go. What husband or father would? There's no food to be had in Campania. Belisarius took the entire harvest for Rome. What's she going to do without shelter or anything to eat? And now when she gets back she'll be heartbroken about our tree. That miserable bastard Belisarius!" he burst out. "I notice it's all right for his wife to stay in Rome, but not the wives and families of decent citizens!"