A Flame in Byzantium (Atta Olivia Clemens #1) 1

"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… intolerable 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."