"There was a footman from Antonina not long ago. He brought an invitation for a reception she plans to give her husband's returning officers," said Niklos. "I said that if you were able you would attend out of respect for those defending your home."
She smiled at Niklos. "You are a treasure, my friend."
Drosos, who had overheard this, looked outraged. "They have replaced his officers again?"
"Apparently," said Niklos, indicating the smaller reception room off the vestibule. "Will you be sitting here, great lady?"
"After bathing, perhaps," said Olivia.
"What has got into the Emperor's mind?" Drosos demanded of the ceiling. "He removes the officers again and again and again and then he becomes angry because there are no victories."
"He might not understand," Olivia suggested gently, guiding Drosos toward the rear of the house where she had had her bath built.
"He ought to understand. It's important that an Emperor understand." He stopped in the middle of the hall and turned toward Olivia, his face darkening. "Unless he is determined that Belisarius have no victories, and then everything he has done becomes sensible."
"It may be," she said, talking as if to calm an excited child. "But you yourself have warned me that there are factions at court that are so tangled in plot, counterplot and conspiracy that no one can think himself safe there." She was able to get him moving again.
"Even so, this is a military matter, not part of court life." He had made fists of his hands and he walked with such determination that Olivia hoped all the doors between here and her bath were open so that Drosos would not have the opportunity to kick them open.
"Military or court, each wields power and those who love power will embrace one as readily as another. Chide me for being Roman if you like, but admit that we Romans know something about playing with power."
"That changes nothing," Drosos declared, his brown eyes growing hot. "If Justinian seeks to restore the Empire to what it was, he'll have to do better than change Belisarius' officers every time someone at court farts."
"If you are certain that he is misled, why not petition him and ask that he hear your views?" They had reached the end of the hall that ran the length of the house, and the door leading to the bath was closed. Olivia adroitly stepped in front of Drosos and opened it.
"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped.
"I'm not being ridiculous," she protested. "Drosos, you are a Captain of the army and you have some knowledge of the whole Italian campaign. Your perspective might be needed if the Emperor is not to be swayed by those who have ambition and family interests to color their advice."
He shook his head several times. "It isn't that simple. This is Konstantinoupolis, and here there are forms that must be served if one wishes to penetrate the court. I would have to speak to the Captain of the Guard. I know Vlamos. He's not a bad sort, but his family is a nest of vipers and they are all eager to see the rest of the nephews and sons and husbands advance. He will give favor to them before he listens to me."
They had entered the main room of the bath where the holocaust warmed the water of the calidarium giving the whole chamber a haziness from steam that was faintly perfumed. There were brushes and robes set out on benches by the tall arched windows that were covered with oiled parchment. Now that it was sunset, they glowed a deep russet. There were four braziers in the room, all lit, lending their brightness to the steam.
"Would you like me to undress you?" Olivia offered.
"No," said Drosos. "I will manage." He began by tugging the end of his pallium free and starting the complicated process of unwinding it. "These things are the very devil, aren't they?"
"I have seen other garments as difficult. Remember the togas of Roma; most men hated them, in part because donning them and taking them off was so involved." She had already loosened her paenula and set the tablion aside. Her dalmatica was looser and more flowing than the Roman version of her youth had been, and she was able to pull it off over her head with ease before Drosos had finished disentangling himself from his pallium.
"You are a beautiful woman," he said, stopping his task and staring at her.
"Generous praise," she responded.
"No praise." He unwound the last part of his pallium and tossed it aside into a disordered heap. "You are lovely."
"And you are besotted." She walked to within two steps of him. "For that I am more grateful than I can say."
"If I were besotted, I would agree with you and be your slave, and I'm neither of those things." He reached out and fondled her breast. "I love your skin."
She smiled. "Just my skin?"
"Right now, just your skin. In a little while, I'll love all of you, the way I love your voice and your wit while we're out on the hills." He was content to keep the distance between them. "Do we have to bathe?"
"Magna Mater! yes, we have to bathe." She laughed but it was clear that she would not be dissuaded.
"More Roman decadence, I suppose," he sighed, mocking both of them. "How can I learn to endure it?"
"You've managed thus far," she reminded him, and went to the edge of the pool.
Her calidarium was oblong, three times her height on one side and twice her height on the other. When she stood upright, the water rose to just above her waist. There was another pool, more than twice the size of this one, a tepidarium where she swam when she was by herself. Both the calidarium and tepidarium were decorated with mosaics of Roman design and she knew that Drosos found them faintly shocking, since they were all of wholly secular subjects.
"Why do you Romans insist on baths?" Drosos asked as he dropped the rest of his clothes onto the bench.
"Because it is pleasant to be clean, and because baths are delightful."
"They glorify the flesh," Drosos said, not able to make this as condemning as he might have wished.
"Yes, they do," she said from the middle of the heated, perfumed water. "Come and glorify it with me."
"You are incorrigible," he said as he dropped into the water, splashing with gusto and embarrassment. "Why is it so necessary that you maintain your Roman ways, Olivia?"
"Do you mind?" She studied him playfully, flicking her fingers and sending a little spray at him.
"No, not really." He moved toward her. "Those tales you told me at your villa. I liked them. All those stories about Nero and Titus and Traianus, you'd think you'd been there."
"And if I were?" She said it easily, almost teasing him. "Suppose I had been there? What then?"
"You would be so old and wrinkled that…" His response faltered and he started to laugh. "You're doing it again, making yourself sound ancient."
"And if I were?" Behind her lightness there was firm purpose.
"Then you would not be a natural creature," he replied, sensing the underlying thrust of her question.
"In Roma I said I was not." She watched him carefully.
His laughter was less certain this time. "Are you being capricious?"
"I had not intended to be," she told him, tossing her head with a hint of defiance.
"Then why these hints? Why do you want it to seem that you are so—"
"Alien?" she interjected.
"Roman," he corrected her sternly. "In this city, being Roman is sufficient; if you tell others the outrageous things you've told me, they might not understand, and that would lead to more difficulties than you've had already."
"What I have said to you is only between us." She sighed.
"That's wise," Drosos assured her. "Others might believe your stories."
"Don't you?"
"I believe you are determined to remain as Roman as possible. I wish I knew why."
"Ordinarily I might not," she answered him seriously. "If matters were different I might strive to be much like all the others here. But my only hope of retaining even a scrap of independence is to continue to be a Roman, for if I am not, then the Church and the government will so restrict my actions that life here would quickly become… i
ntolerable to me. As it is, they are willing to regard me as merely eccentric—"
"For the time being," Drosos warned her. "If you do not guard your tongue."
"—and that permits me a few… excuses that I would not be allowed if I were too willing to be Byzantine."
"That can be dangerous," Drosos remarked affectionately, coming toward her. "If it should be decided that you are too Roman and too eccentric, there are those who will do many things that—" He stopped just before he touched her. "Do not tell them the tales you told me, about the old days of Roma, or how you live. For me. Keep silent." He put his arms around her. "You are like a creature of the sea."
"So are you." She let Drosos and the water support her, feeling the subtle return of energy from the Roman earth that held the bath.
"But you only swim here," he said. "Only here."
"Well, I am not like some urchin, who swims in the sea," she said, making light of her own fear. Water without the protection of her native earth would sap her strength faster than the rays of the sun if she took no precautions against them.
"Nothing about you is like an urchin. You're a bit of a hoyden, riding in an open chariot through the streets where everyone can watch you, but that is Roman of you, isn't it?" He nuzzled her neck, lifting her to him. "Like this scandalous bath."
"You like all the scandalous things I do," she reminded him, and returned his kiss with ardor.
"I like you, and some of what you are is scandalous." he corrected her when he could, and moved her away from him a bit, not wanting to be finished with her too quickly.
"A fine distinction, but I like it," she said. Her skin was growing rosy from the heat and the light of the braziers cast a ruddy glow over the water and their wet bodies.
"The pope at headquarters would find all of this very disturbing." He sank down so that only his head was above the water.
"Then don't tell him," she suggested, pleased that he no longer resisted her Roman ways.
"Is that what they tell you in Roma; do not confess to your priests?" He flicked water at her and chuckled as she returned the favor.
"They tell us many things in Roma; they always have. It is understood by many that if confessing would put a burden on the priest, then one must trust that God will be compassionate, since He has made man the creature that he is." She slid down beside him and reached out to him. "Why talk of priests and popes?"
"You worry me, Olivia, when I come to my senses." He sounded amused but there was trouble lurking at the back of his large brown eyes. "I fear that I will bring you… problems."
"How could you do that? And why?" Her tone was light and playful; her hands moved over his body, darting and light as fish.
"It might happen," he said, his mood darkening. "I might say something, or someone might spy on us—that happens more than you would think—or there could be rumors."
"What rumors? Who is to start them?" She moved closer still and her touch became more insistent.
"Everyone talks, everyone whispers. And you are a foreigner, a Roman—"
"A decadent Roman," she corrected him, catching the lobe of his ear gently in her teeth.
"I'm not joking, Olivia," he said, trying to be stern without much success.
"I know that, and I am hoping to change your mind, at least for a little while." Her hair was damp now and there were soft curls forming around her face, making her seem as young as a girl. "Even if you are right, there is nothing we can do about it right now. So long as we are together, we can take pleasure in each other." She kissed his mouth softly, her lips barely parted. "Drosos?"
"We must speak of it eventually," he insisted, making a valiant last attempt to hold her off from him.
"And eventually we will. For the time being, there are other things we can do." Her kiss was deeper this time, and when their tongues touched, she slid her arms around his chest and brought her legs up around his waist.
With a happy groan he embraced her, his objections fading from his thoughts, and for some little time there were only the sounds of their passion and the splashing of the water in the low and burnished light.
When they finally emerged from the bath, languor had touched them both. They smiled as they pulled on the robes that waited for them, and they found excuses to reach out to each other frequently.
"Here; I'll tie that for you," Olivia offered as Drosos took up the long sash.
"Nothing complicated," he said, handing the long narrow band of silk to her. "That pallium was enough for tonight."
"Don't worry," she said, efficiently crossing the sash over one shoulder and then around his waist. "See? As simple as you'd find on a honey-seller's slave."
"Am I to take it that I am your slave?" he inquired with feigned hauteur.
"No; I do not want anyone who comes to me through compulsion." Her answer was serious, but her face was filled with joy.
"You could become that to me, you know." Again the worry was back in his eyes.
"Then we must take care to keep variety and novelty in what we do and how we do it," she said. "You do not want us to turn all we have into nothing more than a frenzied routine, do you?
"You speak as if it has happened to you," he said, still troubled.
"Yes, it has," she said candidly as she indicated the door. "Come. Niklos will have supper set out for you—nothing too heavy. He said that the cooks have bought some excellent fish, and that with olives and garlic should be waiting in my private reception room." She walked a little ahead of him, turning now and then to look at him.
The house glowed with braziers; her private reception room was no exception. The promised meal waited on a low brass-topped table, and a flask of wine stood open beside the serving dishes. There were two large vases filled with flowers, and before the small ikonostasis a thread of incense curled up toward the ceiling, smelling of sandalwood.
"This is more Konstantinoupolitan than Roman," Drosos said as he sat at the single place laid. "But this refusal to dine with your guests… when I am the only one."
"Romans often did not dine with their guests, but served them and saw to the pleasure of those who reclined on couches at their invitation," she said, then added, "and you know my habits too well to continue to question them."
He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of resignation, but he said to her, "Olivia, think of what your slaves say."
"They say I am a Roman widow, which is entirely correct. They say that I run my household in the Roman manner, which is also true. They say that I do not live as most women in this city live, and I do not dispute that. What else can they say that might trouble you?" She poured wine into a silver cup and held it out to him. "Here."
"I prefer you to the wine," he told her, his eyes darkening with the remnants of his passion.
"If that is what you want, then you may have it, but after you have eaten, if you please."
He capitulated with an easy smile. "Are all Roman women so determined?"
"Those who have lived as long as I have are," she said, her eyes fixed on her distant memories.
"You are not going to start on that again, are you?" He was taking the flat bread on the nearest plate and stopped in the act of breaking it in half. "You always do your best to make it seem that you were around when Roma was founded."
She smiled. "Well, I won't claim that," she said, and moved the small dish of salt nearer to him.
"Good. I wish you would forget the whole thing." He dipped the edge of the bread in salt when it was broken. "You can be quite impossible."
"Thank you." She leaned back to watch him eat. "And you; how do you think of yourself, Drosos? You are fairly young to be a Captain, aren't you?"
"For a man with the few connections I have, yes I am," he said between bites. "If my family were better allied, then it might be different, but since my greatest advocate has been Belisarius, I have found my promotions in war, not in court."
"And Belisarius?" she asked.
"He is the finest General
in all the Empire," Drosos said with total conviction. "He was fortunate enough to marry Antonina, and gain the good opinion of the Empress through her. Not that he did not already have the confidence of Justinian, or the marriage would not have been tolerated." He had helped himself to more of the wine.
"And what will this gain you, if the Emperor continues to deal with Belisarius as he has been doing for the last two years?"
"You are the most persistent female," Drosos chided her with laughter. "What is it that makes all you Romans think that you invented politics?"
"Didn't we?" she asked sweetly.
"The Greeks did," he corrected her. "And they knew better than to permit their women to take part in them." He broke off another section of fish. "If you continue to pursue these questions, there are questions that will be asked of you that you will not want to answer," he said, growing serious again.
"Why?"
"You are a foreign woman and you are not willing to live properly," he said. He stopped eating to look at her with great concern. "You are here on tolerance; you admit that yourself. You cannot yet return to Roma, for the war there is worse than it was when you left. What use is it to endanger yourself more than you already have?"
"I don't see that discussing politics will make my life any worse," she said, but with less determination than she had shown at first. "Are you really convinced that it could be dangerous?"
"Yes. I wish you would believe that and be careful," he replied. "I would not like to see you come to any harm, Olivia. You are much too important to me."
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "All right; I'll try to control my urge to explore politics, at least for the time being."
"That's not good enough," he objected.
"As long as you are here, I will do what I can, but if you are posted to… oh, to Nikopolis or Patara or Syracusa, then it might become prudent for me to find other sources of information. As it is, I will fully expect you to keep me informed of anything that might impinge on me to any degree. Will you do that?"
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