Free Roman Dusk by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

achieve, and only what you achieve.”
    “So you insist. And if it is so, I would every man have such affliction.” She waved him out of the room. “I must dress, and that is a very unstimulating thing to watch.” Unselfconsciously, she slipped out of the bed. “Odd, isn’t it, when watching undressing is often the best part of the act?”
    He stopped in the doorway. “Melidulci, you deserve your name. You are honey-sweet in every way.”
    Her laughter rippled again. “Of course it suits me: it’s why I took it, although it fitted me better fifteen years ago, when I was just beginning in the lupanar.” The smile she gave him was less alluring and more genuine than previous ones had been; he went to the door so she could be alone to pull on her stola and palla.
    Before he left the room, Sanct-Franciscus said, “It will suit you all your life long,” feeling a touch of regret that she should be so proficient in the arts of the body and so wholly indifferent to the joys of intimacy. Still, she was able to bring him more nourishment than dreaming women, and for the time being that would have to suffice.
    “You present an unusual appearance,” Ignatia remarked as she caught sight of him approaching.
    “Well, I am a foreigner,” he reminded her. “And although the night is mild, it is windy.”
    “And you will appear less foreign, since few will see your foreign garments with a pallium over them,” said Ignatia shrewdly. “Have you had difficulty?”
    “A little,” he answered.
    Vitellius appeared again, bearing a steaming cup. “As you ordered; it took a short time to heat.”
    “The humiliora are afraid of foreigners,” said Ignatia, then taking the cup, held it up. “Do you keep a pot of this in the kitchen at all times? Your cooks must find that demand a hard one to meet.”
    “On such blustery nights as this, I like to have something to give my guests other than cool wine or broth, especially since, as you have noticed, many Romans view foreigners as uncouth. This provides me the opportunity to show them I have some graces.” He was an exemplary host and both of them knew it.
    “That may be so among the newest honestiora, but you are like one of the old gens,” Ignatia conceded as she drank. “If you keep the old ways, you are a credit to Roma.” She held out the cup to him in salute. “Thank you.”
    “Some Romans have excellent cause to be wary of all outsiders.” Sanct-Franciscus did not point out that the lower classes and the newly elevated upper classes were not the only ones who were resentful and suspicious of foreigners; he went to the foot of the gallery stairs, waiting for Tigilus to bring him his case.
    “You must tell me what I can do to assist you once you reach our house,” said Ignatia, raising her voice enough to be heard.
    “I will not know until I see—oh, thank you, Tigilus.” He took the case from the stocky slave. “If you must send me word, I will be at the Villa Laelius.”
    “To Villa Laelius. Of course. I will not disturb you unless there is urgent need,” said Tigilus, and ducked his head. “The sedan-chair will be here shortly. I will see your … package is delivered safely.”
    “Yes,” Sanct-Franciscus agreed. “You know the destination.”
    Tigilus coughed discreetly. “That I do.” He rubbed his hands together. “Do you have any other orders to leave with me?”
    “If you will have the holocaust stoked and fired at noon, I will use the caldarium upon my return.”
    “Do you think you will be back by midday?” Tigilus asked.
    “If I will not, I will send you word, and you may change the time you ready the holocaust.” Sanct-Franciscus made a sign of dismissal and went back across the atrium to where Ignatia was finishing her wine. “When you are ready, Filia Laelius.”
    “So formal; that’s unlike you,” she said, setting the cup aside on the rim of the atrium fountain. “And I am too old to be filia,” she added. “I am twenty-four,