DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Doctor Who, unfortunately D: I own Odie's plot, and Odie's little settlement of immigrants. I am trying to make this story as accurate as possible, but when many sources contradict themselves, according to Doctor Who, I will ALMOST always take the TV-info as the correct. Much of the writing in this chapter is from the book 'Byzantium' by Keith Topping.

"Well, this is a fine kettle o' fish, isn't it?" Ian asked Fabulous as the old man poked his head out of the library door. Odie momentarily looked up from the scroll she was reading, a slight smile on her plum lips, before she returned to the rather fascinating story of a giant sea battle a Roman Caesar had led against a barbarous foreign King, and thus brought justice to the heathens. A load of propaganda, it was, but it made for as good reading as any. Fabulous soon returned with the news that the coast outside was clear. Ian emerged from his hiding place in the space between two rows of shelves and looked nervously around.

"Are you sure?" he asked, ready to spring back into concealment at the slightest hint that any of his numerous female pursuers were in evidence.

"As certain as it is possible to be," noted Fabulous with a bemused smile. He and the young slave girl exchanged a quick glance, before the old librarian looked back to his young friend. "The ladies of this household seldom venture into this unworthy vessel of knowledge."

"I could make a comment about that," Ian replied, "but I'm in enough trouble with every woman I seem to come into contact with. I don't want any more of them after me." Chesterton sat down and put his head in his hands, as Odie carefully closed the scroll and moved to the young man. She pitifully rubbed his back, causing Ian to sigh deeply.

"This is ridiculous," he said, in an anguished comedy-voice. "I feel like a character in a Whitehall farce, rushing around trying to avoid nookie." He looked up to find very badly concealed grins on both of his friends' faces. "And you're not helping any, I'm sad to say." Fabulous was puzzled as well as amused.

"Why do you not simply surrender to the arms of your admirers and let them have their way with you? There are worse situations to be in, surely?"

"Because," Ian said, "that would be the worst thing I could possibly do. I'm not here to make enemies and get my end away as often as possible." He shook his head at the continued puzzlement on Fabulous's face. "Never mind, let's just say that I don't want to do anything that would give anybody who wishes me harm any possible ammunition." Fabulous saw the wisdom of Ian's reticence, and Odie went back to her chair from before, returning to her reading now that she knew Ian was all right.

"There are those who would see you compromised, my friend," he confirmed. Odie barked.

"Oh, there are. I've heard rumours," she admitted, causing Ian to look up. "They used to hide themselves in shadows, said precious little, but they are getting noticed now. Getting bolder. I think they will act soon. You should make yourself ready to face some adversity unrelated to females."

"Great," Ian said fatalistically, glowering at Odie, as if shooting the messenger would solve his problems. "I mean, that's just great, isn't it? Every time my life seems on the verge of being sorted out, these animals come crawling out of the woodwork and start messing things up with their plans and their plots and their sneakiness. Why won't they just leave me alone?"

"They're afraid of you, Master Ian," Odie said with surprise in her voice. Ian wasn't certain if the surprise was directed at how he didn't know, or at why someone would ever be afraid of him.

"They fear the intelligence and the honesty that you have brought with you as your baggage to Byzantium," Fabulous explained.

"That's logical," Ian noted sadly. The intrigue of the praefectus's household both fascinated and repulsed Chesterton, it was true. It hadn't taken Ian long to develop for himself a reputation around the villa as a great entertainer and orator who had a wealth of folk tales previously unheard. All based, of course, on his travels with the Doctor. He was spending as much time in the company of Fabulous, Drusus and Gemellus as he could, while attempting to fight off the advances of Jocelyn, Antonia and (to a lesser extent, since their talk the day before) Felicia. And that was where the real hard work started.

As he continued to bemoan his lack of fortune to Fabulous, the door to the library opened and Ian threw himself, rather dramatically, to the floor, instinctively crawling under the table fearing, after his two friends' revelations, that the new entrant was either an armed assassin or a spurned potential lover. He didn't particularly want to face either right now.

When there was no other reaction than Odie's snicker for a few seconds, he popped his head out from beneath the table to find Gemellus looking at him quizzically.

"Sorry," said Ian. "I'm just having a very bad day." He threw a glare in Odie's direction, as the girl took the hint, and attempted to stop herself from laughing too obviously.

"Then now would, perhaps, be an inopportune moment to carry out the task that I am commanded to do by my Praefectus?" asked Gemellus.

"That depends," replied Ian.

"Thalius Maximus wishes an audience with his guest." Ian nodded and emerged from the dusty floor. The day before, on their first meeting, Ian had told the Praefectus a few stories from his travels, reducing the tale of the Daleks and the Thals to a parable about fear of the unknown. A couple of pieces of cod Shakespeare from his repertoire, singing an a capella Irish folk song and one or two knock-knock jokes had completed the act and, to Ian's immense relief, Thalius had been extremely taken with the young scribe from Londinium.

These were people, Ian mused, who had never heard Carmina Burana, or Faure's Requiem, or Bolero... Or 'Brand New Cadillac' for that matter. Who had never been exposed to Shelley, Byron or Tennyson. Who had never seen The Morecambe and Wise Show. He had a whole lifetime of important things to teach the Praefectus of Byzanium and his minions.

"He wants to give you something," Gemellus added. "I do not know what it is, he would not tell me."

"I hope it's different to what his wife wants to give me," Ian added, cynically, as he, Odie and Gemellus all walked to the Praefectus chambers. As they arrived, Ian asked Odie to wait for them outside, and Odie was more than happy to oblige. She didn't fancy being in the presence of someone too important. Never turned out well, in her experiences.

But just because she wasn't inside the quarters alongside Ian, didn't mean she was unaware as to what Ian was told. The entire villa was buzzing with it. Odie had made a good friend of one of the slaves, a young man named Adrian. He was of Roman descent, having been sold to a slave trader as a child to settle his father's debts. He had been working for the Praefectus's household for the larger part of six years by now. He was, as far as he knew, about 22 years old.

"Have you heard it, Odie?" he asked, as he came to stand next to her, carrying a large crate in his arms.

"What are you carrying?" Odie asked, looking curiously at the crate, ignoring his question. Adrian had noticed the young black slave from Briton had a habit of answering his questions with questions of her own, but he had grown accustomed to it, after several short conversations with her since her arrival.

"Wine for the kitchens. Have you heard it?" he repeated, and Odie smiled slightly, shrugging.

"What am I supposed to have heard?" she asked, and Adrian looked around, real conspirator-like, although Odie wouldn't be surprised if whatever he was going to tell her was already known by most of the people in the villa by now. If not, it certainly would be soon. Adrian was a good man, and Odie rather liked him, but he wasn't the best at keeping secrets. Actually, he was the best at telling them without anyone finding out he had been the one to spread the rumours.

"They caught some Christians," Adrian explained. "They are going to be crucified upon this afternoon." Odie widened her eyes, boxing her disgust with this event for later addressing. She had, rather quickly, come to learn that Romans adored watching the infortune of less lucky souls for entertainment. She had no doubt crucifixions were the same.

"Do you know why?" she instead asked, stepping a bit closer to the tall man.

"Well, according to Tammi (one of the female servants in the kitchens), they were arrested because some Jews accused them of gross heresy and sacrilege," Adrian continued, and Odie sighed, rolling her dark eyes.

"That is nothing new. The Jews and the Christians do not exactly see eye to eye," she pointed out, and Adrian nodded, as he shuffled the crate a bit, carefully, as to not break the jugs of wine contained within. "But why is everyone in the villa buzzing about it?"

"You see, the Christians have been handed over to the Praefectus for judgment before the execution," he admitted, and Odie made a face.

"I should hope that is not what he's telling Master Ian."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" Adrian asked, and Odie shrugged.

"Well, I suspect the Praefectus is going to go ahead with the crucifixations?"

"Naturally. The choices are either an all-out fight with the Jewish community or the antipathy of a smaller Christian sect," he answered, leaning against the wall to get closer to Odie. He preferred not talking too loudly about these sort of things, especially right in front of the Praefectus's chambers.

"In Britannia we are not used to executions of this manner. I imagine Master Ian is letting the Praefectus know exactly what sort of crime this is to humanity," she said with a small smile. Adrian chuckled quietly.

"Your master is a brave man indeed," he admitted, and Odie's head snapped up, intently watching the look on her friend's face. At the mischievous look in his eyes, Odie had the sudden urge to kiss him, as a wide grin spread on her lips.

"I take it you have heard something about those who would wish him ill?" she asked, and Adrian winked at her, a large smile spreading on his young face, causing the wrinkles around his eyes to spring forward.

"You haven't heard this from me, but-"

Barbara was also learning about the forthcoming executions. Hieronymous, contrary to her expectations, was showing neither a squeamishness when discussing such terrible events in front of his female guest, nor a bloodthirsty and vengeful delight at the prospect of nailing two heretics to a pole and watching them suffer and die. Instead, he talked about the death of the Christians in a chillingly matter-of-fact way. Barbara suddenly understood just how cheap life was in Byzantium. Just as the Doctor had predicted when they had arrived here.

Death was a daily companion for these people. Physical and capital punishments were factors not to be dreaded but actually looked forward to as a release from the constant threat of pain, torture and death. The rules were simple. Obey all the rules. If you don't, you get whipped. Or stoned. Or crucified. Or have your head chopped off. Or any one of a hundred other ways in which the Romans and the Jews and the Greeks amused themselves with methods of dispatch.

"Don't you find the idea of killing someone purely for their beliefs at all troublesome?" she asked Hieronymous in all seriousness.

"No," the priest replied simply. "For it is written, 'whomsoever shall disobey the commandments of the Lord, surely he shall be put unto death'."

"Written on the wall of the local public lavatory, no doubt," said Barbara through gritted teeth. "I mean, can't you see how downright barbaric the concept is?" Again, Hieronymous replied with a certainty that Barbara might have admired under different circumstances, but now just found sinister.

"An Arab woman, a Bedouin, stole into the temple one night to exact her vengeance upon one of the priests whom she had accused of terrible wrongdoing. She did it with no mercy, or pity. When found, and tried, she offered no mitigation for her dastardly and terrible crimes."

"Was there any point?" asked Barbara. "You'd already made up your mind she was guilty, surely?"

"Such things as guilt and innocence," Hieronymous replied, "can only be decided by the Lord God, in heaven. The Pharisees merely arbitrate on the execution of His law. Now, the issue of the death of the two Christians comes before us. I should attend, to be certain that the Romans have complied with our requests." Barbara shook her head.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find them very efficient in such matters," she noted. "I don't think you should go."

"Why?" The real reason? Barbara managed not to say. Because I can't share a roof with someone who attends public executions without remorse.

"Such spectacles merely incite violence," she noted, persuasively. Before the debate could continue, a knock on Hieronymous's door brought the conversation to a halt.

Iola had been searching for Vicki most of the morning when she found her friend standing on the banks of the Bosphorus, staring into the distance. Vicki flinched as Iola tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around quickly.

"What?" Vicki snapped.

"Hello," said Iola. "I've been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing?"

"Thinking," replied Vicki sullenly.

"You seem upset. Do you want to sit down and talk?"

"I'd sooner stand if it's all the same to you," answered Vicki. "What's so urgent?" Iola was almost hopping up and down with excitement as she told Vicki about what she had learned.

"There's going to be a crucifixion," she said, brightly. "Soon, at Beylerbey Mount, beside the golden gates. That's where they always do it." Vicki was somewhat disturbed to find Iola had an intimate knowledge of such barbaric spectacles as public executions.

"Do they happen often?"

"Yes, yes," said Iola, grabbing her friend's arm and literally dragging her along the road by the sea walls. The pungent smell of fish and sea salt filled the air. Vicki almost stumbled as she shook herself free from Iola's grasp.

"Hang on, slow down," she said, but Iola was hurrying ahead. "What's the hurry?"

"Come on," said the girl, eagerly. "We shall be late and miss it." Vicki had to run to keep up.

"Who's going to die?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as morbidly curious as she felt. But Iola seemed not to mind.

"Two Christians, apparently. Heretics."

"Oh," replied Vicki as they reached the base of the rising ground. "Well, I'm sure they deserved it." The two girls ran to the dry-stone wall that surrounded the hillock and Iola pulled Vicki with her. They crouched down and peered over the wall at the hive of activity taking place fifty feet higher up the rolling grassland. "Are you sure this is wise?" Vicki asked, her voice cracking as she said it. "The Romans might..." Iola gave her a sharp look.

"The Romans want people to see," she replied. "That's why they do it out here."

"Well, what about your mother?" Vicki hissed. "I'm sure she doesn't approve."

"She does not have to know," Iola replied. "Unless you were thinking of telling her?" Vicki shrugged and turned her attention to what was taking place on the hillside. There were muffled shouts from the Roman legionnaires as two men dressed in filthy rags and chained together were pushed towards two vertical stakes which stood erect and stark against the gathering gloom of the afternoon sky behind.

"It appears as though it is going to rain," Iola noted. "I hope not, we shall get wet." Vicki gave her friend a horrified look. How could she speak of something so banal as raining, with what was going on in front of them?

"Do you realize what...?" A scream from the knot of people on the hill silenced Vicki. She turned to see one of the men being thrown to the ground and having something large and shiny hammered into his hands. "Oh my God," she said, as the screaming continued.

"They're called cruciamentuni stauros," Iola noted, matter-of-factly. "Torture stakes." The man was dragged to one of the torture stakes and attached to it by ropes around his arms whilst, simultaneously, a nail was driven into his feet. Meanwhile, other soldiers were beginning the execution process on his companion.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Vicki told her friend, who was watching the horror on the hill with undisguised glee. Vicki put her hands over her ears to block out the screaming. To block out everything that Byzantium had to offer. And then, terrible things happened.

A group of fifteen or so Christians had arrived at the execution, hoping to spring their comrades, and for a little while, they seemed to have surprised the Romans, as no moves were made as the Roman captain considered what to do. But before he could give an order, the Jewish Zealots jumped out from the crowd, starting an all-out-massacre on the Christians. Vicki screamed loudly as she saw the murders in front of her eyes, but Iola quickly covered her mouth, attempting to stifle the loud noise.

The Romans just stood there, watching with disconnected boredom as the Zealots chased the few surviving Christians down from the hill, eager to kill every last one of them. As the raging fight continued, behind the wall at the base of the hill, Iola finally removed her hand from Vicki's mouth.

"Be quiet," she whispered.

"But they're killing each other," Vicki replied at a more sensible volume. "It's... It's unbelievable." A shadow passed across the pair and they looked up to find a Roman legionnaire towering above them with a thing and cruel smirk on his face. Two hands reached down and grabbed their arms, hoisting them up.

"Shouldn't you two be somewhere else?" he asked. Iola began to stammer a reply, but Vicki shook herself free of the man.

"We'd be perfectly delighted to be somewhere else," she said, angrily. "So let us go and we will be." The soldier ran his hand down her cheek and cupped her chin between two enormous fingers.

"But you are a feisty one, my kitten," he said. Again Iola tried to say something but all that would emerge was a few isolated noises.

"What manner of talk is that?" the legionnaire asked both of them. "Cat got your tongues?"

"Leave her alone, you big bully," continued Vicki. "Pick on someone your own size." The legionnaire was rendered momentarily speechless himself before grabbing Vicki by the arm again and pulling her closer to him.

"Your tongue will have you hanged, girl," he said. As his hand clasped her back, Vicki shouted with pain and tried to get away from him. Instantly the legionnaire dropped her like a piece of hot coal.

"I have not touched you. Yet," he said.

"Nor shall you," Vicki replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "I'd sooner die first." Behind them, on the hill, the Zealots had routed the Christians, several of whom lay bleeding to death. The Romans, meanwhile, continued to hold a casual disinterest in the entire battle. The legionnaire cast a nervous glance towards the crucifixion. Vicki followed it and understood.

"Deserting your post for a quick rape?" she suggested. "What will they give you for that? Public castration? Broken on a wheel? Hung, drawn and quartered?" The soldier look worried, but said nothing. "One decent scream from me," Vicki noted. "And I'll bet half a dozen of them come running. That's if the Zealots don't get to you first. And I'd hate to think what they'd do to you if there aren't any of your Roman mates around to save your life." She clutched her back, and winced with pain. "See, the thing is, I got the beating of a lifetime this morning from my new mummy. One false move and I could be in the most terrible agony."

"Why did she beat you?" the soldier asked, backing away.

"Why? Oh, obviously a criminal desperado who has nothing to lose. So, what do you say then, you and me behind the wall?" The legionnaire took a final glance at Vicki.

"You and I shall have a date one day at the gallows pole, my kitten," he said before breaking into a run, leaping over the dry-stone wall and sprinting up the hill.

"Men," Vicki told an astonished Iola. "Predictable in any age. Come on, we'd better get back to your mother before she decides I've corrupted you enough."

The Doctor sat on his own, watching the sun setting over the city of Byzantium. The absence of the TARDIS affected him greatly, as he remembered all of the wondrous places his Ship had taken him over the years. He had stared death in the face on numerous occasions. In France and Mexico. On Skaro and Mondas and Cassuragi. After a while, the adventures tended to merge into a giant conglomeration of escape-capture-escape-capture-escape. How many metalling corridors had he run down, dragging startled and bemused companions with him? How many times had he blundered into history's minefield of brutality and aggression and, by sheer luck, blundered his way out again?

I am an old fool, he had told Barbara and, for once, he had been absolutely right. He looked up to find James standing beside him holding a torch and a concerned expression.

"Now, good sir," he asked. "What are you?" The Doctor couldn't help but be amused by the irony of the question.

"A most poor man, made tame to fortune's blows," he said. "Oh, but I am tired, my friend," he continued, wistfully, looking into the half-distance at the lights of the town. "And horrified at the thought of spending the rest of my days stuck in your Byzantium." James seemed unsure of how to reply.

"There are worse places to be, surely?"

"I'm struggling to think of one just at this particular moment."

"I am sorry that your carriage has disappeared," James continued, sensing the cause of the Doctor's misery. "Perhaps it will turn up."

"Perhaps," the Doctor noted. "Though I doubt it."

"You must have faith," said James. Then he saw the thoroughly grumpy expression on the Doctor's face and decided to change the subject. "Hebron is worse," he said. The Doctor stood up and followed James back into the cave, to a quiet corner where Hebron lay propped up on one elbow, his face twisted in pain. Seeing the Doctor approach, Hebron instantly switched on a beaming smile and lay back.

"You have come at last, my friend," he said. The old Christian was clearly ill, the Doctor had seen that in Hebron's pale face, the sagging skin that was evidence of a dramatic weight loss and those sudden moments when he could no longer hide the excruciating pain that he was suffering. Since he met Odie and subsequently argued with her, the Doctor seldom befriended anyone, but in Hebron, with his fascinating tales of his travels, the Doctor had sensed a kindred spirit. Someone to whom the cause of adventure was not lost or hidden, but which had been embraced.

The Doctor knelt beside Hebron and gave him a clay pot to drink from. It was painful to watch as the old man coughed and struggled to swallow the water in his throat.

"Do you know what ails him thus?" asked Judith, resting a hand on Hebron's fevered brow. Her palm came away slick and wet and she gave the Doctor and James a grave look.

"I have some very unpleasant suspicions," the Doctor noted. Hebron's eye opened and he seemed suddenly alert again.

"Then you will share your knowledge with me, perhaps?" he asked. The Doctor shook his head.

"I am only guessing."

"Then make it a good guess, my friend." Hebron replied. Placing his hand on Hebron's chest and using his fingers and the hell of his wrist as two pressure points, the Doctor rocked his hand back and forth around Hebron's breastbone.

"The pain," he asked. "When you swallow, particularly. Is it here and here?" He indicated two small lumps on Hebron's chest.

"Yes," choked Hebron as the pressure of the Doctor threatened to squeeze the life out of him. The Doctor removed his hand just before James had the chance to grab his arm and remove it for him.

"Do you know what it is?" asked James. The Doctor nodded, sadly.

"A blockage in the oesophagus, the part of the alimentary canal between the pharynx and the stomach. It could be something very basic like a hernia or a stricture of some kind, but..." He paused and looked at Hebron with a sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I believe it to be a cancerous growth."

"Can it be cured?" asked Judith.

"No," said Hebron before the Doctor could speak. "Not even the Lord himself can choke the thirst of a cancer."

"I am very sorry," the Doctor repeated. "I wish there was something I could do apart from giving you a diagnosis."

"You have given me the greatest gift of all," Hebron said brightly, the pain lessening from his face. "The knowledge of the future." The Doctor had never felt so helpless, in more ways than one.

"Your fortitude in the face of such news is commendable," he managed to say, standing, and wiping the dust from his toga. "You are a good and brave man, Hebron."

"And you, my friend, are a braver and better one," Hebron noted as he closed his eyes and fell into a light sleep.

"Let him rest now," the Doctor said as Hebron's final words played around in his mind. "I am not usually so selfish," he told James. "It seems I must mend my ways." James gave the Doctor a casually dismissive gesture.

"We must all do that before the judgment of God," he said. "It is what is contained within our hearts that truly counts." Just then, there was a commotion at the entrance to the cave.

"Someone is coming," said one of the Christians keeping watch on the approaches. A moment later, Daniel burst into the cave. Even in the dim light it was obvious that he was exhausted and very upset.

"What is wrong?" Judith asked instinctively.

"I tried to stop them," Daniel said, pitifully. "But they would not listen to me."

"Who?" asked James.

"Aaron. Jacob. John the weaver and his brother Samuel. They're all dead." The cave was plunged into total silence by this revelation.

"How?" asked James at last.

"They tried to stop the executions. As though the Romans would have had any intention of allowing them so to do." He stopped and wiped the tears from his eyes. "The Zealots attacked them and the Romans stood by and did nothing." Again, it took time for this information to register within the shocked and stunned group. Finally James picked up a handful of dust from the cavern floor and poured it on the fire, extinguishing it.

"We must make ready to flee this place," he said as the flames died and the cave became a dark and cold place. "Pack up your belongings and make Hebron as comfortable as possible. Byzantium is no longer safe for Christians. We leave within the hour."

Ian Chesterton was beginning to enjoy the luxurious breakfasts within the Villa Praefectus. Here, even the slaves ate like kings, as he found out by taking many of his meals with Odie and rest of the slave staff. That morning, he had woken early and attempted to exit the room as quietly as possible, as to not wake Odie who was sleeping on a small mattress on the floor. He arrived in the mezzanine vestibule to find only a lone serving girl drinking a bowl of milk. Ian smiled at her and the girl averted her eyes from him.

He had seen her around the villa on several occasions; sometimes with Felicia waiting upon the lady Jocelyn, sometimes undertaking the tasks that Drusus had given her with fellow male slaves. And sometimes, like now, on her own, her head bowed in silent contemplation.

It was a well-known fact (which Barbara Wright had spotted some time ago) that it was the quiet birds that always got Ian Chesterton's attention. She was peach, this slave girl, her dark brown eyes and dusky Mediterranean complexion reminding Ian of the kind of women you see on the cover of twentieth-century travel magazines advertising holidays in exotic locations the likes of which he could never afford.

"Hello," he said brightly. "I'm Ian."

"I know who you are and from whence you have come," the girl said, her eyes still fixed to the floor. "I have heard much about you."

"None of it good, I hope," Ian said with a cheeky grin.

"Oh no, sir," the girl said, raising her head and looking horrified at the prospect. "All of it good." Ian was as embarrassed as she was, his joke having spectacularly backfired.

"And you are...?" he asked, trying to wrestle the initiative back from complete defeat.

"My name is Dorcas," the girl replied.

"Ah," said Ian, remembering a snatch of conversation with Fabulous some days before. "You're the Christian, right? You and another of Thalius's slaves have asked to have your religion recognized?"

"Yes, sir," she said, and returned to looking at the floor in a mixture of subservience and fear. "I am sorry, sir." Ian tried hard not to laugh.

"Don't apologize for what you believe in, Dorcas," he said. "We are what we are, we should never have to be sorry for it." The girl seemed suitably encouraged by this, and brightened considerably.

"Myself and Tobias, that is another of the Praefectus's slaves, we were converted by The Word when a man named James told us of the teachings of the good news."

"Where do you come from?" Ian asked.

"I was born on the island of Crete and lived there with my family until the mariners came through the surf and carried us all into bondage."

"And now you want your freedom?" Dorcas giggled and placed a hand to her mouth.

"Gracious no, sir. I am better fed under this regime than I ever should be, living the life of a fisherman's wife."

"But you are not free?"

"Freedom is an illusion," the girl replied with a philosophical flourish. "At night we all dream of being locked in cages; of running down never-ending corridors. We are all prisoners of some power greater than ourselves. Only through The Word shall we know freedom." Ian found this view strangely unsettling.

"And the Romans approve of your faith?"

"They..." Dorcas paused and searched for the right word. "Tolerate it," she concluded. "Some of them punish us for our insolence in daring to believe in anything other than the de facto aspects of life. Others are amused by our whims and caprices. The Praefectus, though, is a man of compassion and tolerance. As long as we practice our faith in private and do not let it affect our work or subservience, we are indulged."

"Do you fear that one day the Romans may look upon the Christians as their problem rather than that of the Jews?" Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

"That would be... unfortunate," said a voice from the back of mezzanine. Dorcas stood and sighed heavily as a tall and elegant, well-muscled African man joined them at the table. Ian grinned widely as Odie became visible from behind the tall man, waving at Ian.

"You didn't wake me up, Master Ian," she pointed out, and he nodded.

"So I didn't. And this man is?" he asked, and Dorcas nodded.

"Tobias," Dorcas said. "Another believer." Chesterton introduced himself as the black man broke bread and nodded to his new acquaintance. Odie sat by Ian's side, discretely rubbing her sleepy eyes.

"You are from Britannia, I understand?" he asked.

"Londinium," replied Ian.

"A cold land, I am told. I, myself, am Egyptian. I find the Thracian winter to be a savage ordeal."

"Oh, my friend, you'd hate England," Ian said flatly.

"In answer to your question," Tobias offered, "it is likely that the Romans may, soon, regard our brothers as a direct threat of their authority. And as word of the Christ's message is spread, we shall without doubt face persecution and death."

"There is much truth in what you say," Ian noted. "But I have a feeling that Christianity will survive its brush with whatever Rome can throw at it." The sound of someone clapping his hands stopped Ian in his tracks. He turned to find Drusus giving both Dorcas and Tobias severe looks of displeasure.

"There are people hereabout who should be working instead of being involved in the idle chatter of good-for-nothing dogsbodies," he said angrily. Both slaves hurriedly finished their breakfasts and left the vestibule without another word.

"That was my fault," said Ian quickly. "We were talking about how Christianity is spreading, and..." Drusus shook his head.

"Christianity," he scolded. "It comes between those two and their wits. You should not be encouraging them in their strange and abnormal beliefs. You are an outsider in this land and still have much to learn about the internal affairs of the empire."

"I know exactly how Pete Best felt," Ian said sarcastically. "I'm a superfluous item here, clearly." The master of the house shrugged his shoulders defensively.

"This is the way that things are," he continued. "Tobias and Dorcas should not be encouraged."

"That's terrible," Ian replied. "Even slaves have the right to be treated as equals."

"So is to be seen from the state of your own," Drusus pointed out, and Odie straightened her back as if ordered to, and scowled with her back towards Drusus. The man left them to their own devices, as Odie had the great need to stick her tongue out at his back.

"Ian, what you said about the Romans seeing Christians as their problem..." Ian smiled, putting an arm around Odie's shoulder.

"Well, you see, right now the main problem is the Jews, yes? But a great fire breaking out in Rome will change that. It is speculated that Caesar Nero was the one to order the fire, but he in turn accused and savagely punished the Christians. The persecution of Christians within the Roman Empire will continue intermittently in the next three centuries, until it is legalized," he explained, telling her what little he remembered about Christian Persecution.

"But that's terrible," Odie pointed out with a pout, and Ian smiled, nodding. Yes, it really was.

The library was deserted when the two travelers searched for Fabulous. In reality, they had little to do when they were on their own. Ian had told Odie what little he remembered of Roman history at this point, but that was really Barbara's area of expertise, and they couldn't speak of their fellow travelers, as they would both become increasingly depressed the longer they went without hearing any proper news of them.

The realities of Byzantium were finally beginning to become clear to Ian. Protect yourself with friends, or you're dead. Watch what you say and to whom you say it, or you're dead. Guard your privacy, or you're dead. First rule: don't die.

"You look lost and afraid, Briton," Antonia Vinicius told him. Ian spun around and did an impressively comedic slip and prat-fall onto his bottom. Feeling like Tommy Cooper at the London Palladium, Ian stood, his face flushing bright red, brushed himself down. He threw a quick glance around him, realizing that Odie was nowhere to be seen. A bit of worry snuck its way into his heart, but he decided to look for her once he had finished chasing Antonia away, again.

"Sneaking up on unsuspecting people is a cruel trick," he said, wounded. "I'm sure you find it greatly amusing, but it isn't."

"Your boldness is intriguing," said Antonia, "but it could become such a bore. Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo." Now, having played the sad clown for far longer than he would have chosen, Ian turned into Ian Chesterton, schoolmaster again.

"You most certainly will not have me upstairs and downstairs, missus," he replied to Antonia's lewd suggestion. "Stop this nonsense, Antonia," he continued angrily. "You're used to people giving you what you want, and playing your devious games with the Praefectus. Well, I'm sorry but I'm not inclined to join in." Ian started to walk towards the door but Antonia caught him by the arm and he turned around, frothing with rage.

"You really are a selfish and stupid woman, aren't you?" he asked the dumbfounded senator's wife. "You just click your fingers and every man in Byzantium comes running?"

"Yes," she replied with a slight pout. "That is the way that things work around here." Ian laughed.

"Well, not with me, sweetheart. I'm my own man with my own needs. And one of them isn't to end up with my head stuck on a pole for committing indiscretions with you. Understand?" For a moment she said nothing, then she allowed her hand to fall away from Ian's shoulder. There was regret in her big brown eyes, but also something else. Something hard and nasty floating beneath the surface.

"You should know that I have many powerful friends both in this city and in Rome itself, Briton. I can make life very difficult for you whereinsoever you may wander." Ian had just about had enough.

"I'm sure you can, darlin', and frankly I don't give a damn," he said as dismissively as he could. "It's nothing personal, but I'm nobody's toy, I stand alone."

As Antonia left, a red velvet curtain behind Ian rippled and General Gaius Calaphilus stepped out, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"That was," he said with a painful slap on Ian's back, "the funniest jape that I have e'er witnessed in all of my life to this date. It is high and proper time that such a deceitful bitch as the lady Antonia were to be given a taste of her own bitter medicine."

"Does everybody in this city spy on everyone else?" Ian asked, genuinely interested.

"Yes," replied the general, in all seriousness, "although this was, in actual fact, a bonus. I was about to this place to see Fabulous and I thought it wise that anyone entering be unaware of my presence within the villa. You have made a bad enemy there, Briton, for everything that the moecha Antonia says is highly true. I would not wish to be her enemy for she has many dangerous friends. But you have made a friend in me, and I admire your bravery. I salute you." Calaphilus strode towards the door, then stopped and turned to give Ian a parting thought.

"Watch your back, Briton. But if you need anything, then come to me. I shall not fail you as others within this household would." These parting words did sound ominous in Ian's ears, but he had more important worries. Another look around the room still yielded no sign of Odie's whereabouts, and Ian sighed deeply. Would she be foolish enough to leave his side on her own?

"I think not."

Odie groaned loudly as she was pushed into a dark room. She turned around as the Roman legionnaire who had been dragging her along for what felt like hours closed the door behind him. Though Odie knew it was highly unlikely, she still attempted to open the door, in case it was unlocked. It, of course, was not. She sighed deeply, shaking her head.

She had been walking with Ian, hoping to get some more reading done in Fabulous's library, when she had been grabbed from behind. Any attempts at resistance had proved less than in her favor, as a number of kicks had potentially sprained her toes, due to the armor of her assailant. But she did remember him saying something; "If you value the life of your Master, be quiet."

"Oh, Ian, Ian... You get yourself into all manners of trouble, don't you?" she muttered to herself, feeling a slight panic building in her chest, as she sat on the simple bed in the corner of the bare room. No windows she could crawl out of, one bed and one massive door. "Not that my troubles seem less grave."

There :D Next chapter done and up now! Hope you like it.