"It's an odd way to bathe," Gilot said. "But not unpleasant."
Suitably scalded and scraped, we soaked in the warm waters of the tepidarium. It was a social place, with dozens of men chatting amiably. Most were Caerdicci, though not all. In the background, we could hear thudding and shouting coming from the palaestra, where others were taking exercise.
We finished in the proper Tiberian style, plunging into the cool waters of the frigidarium. I had to own, it was refreshing. It wasn't half as cold as Montrève's spring-fed lake, but after the warmth that had preceded, it was a shock. Gilot and I whooped, splashing one another like boys. An older gentleman walking past shook his head at us.
"Ah, students," he said indulgently.
I tossed back my wet hair and grinned at him. "Not yet, but I mean to be. Do you know, messire, how one goes about seeking entrance to the University?"
He paused and drew up a stool. "Have you chosen a Master with whom to study?"
"No," I said. "I've only just arrived."
"Well, that's your first step, young D'Angeline. The next is to convince him to accept you. Or her; there are a few women licensed to teach." He smiled at me. "I suspect you might do well in that area."
I flushed. "I have letters of reference, messire."
"Letters!" The gentleman chuckled. "They'll test you on your own merits, lad. Luck to you." He heaved himself to his feet. "Tell them Deccus Fulvius said you were well-spoken," he said over his shoulder as he left. "It can't hurt your cause."
Gilot and I clambered out of the pool, and attendants toweled us off briskly.
"Thank you," I said. "Tell me, do you know that man?"
My attendant's eyes bulged. "Deccus Fulvius? How not?" Seeing my ignorance, he continued. "He is a senator, my lord, one of the most powerful; or the richest, at least." Glancing around, he lowered his voice. "He is one of the Restorationists."
"Restorationists?" I asked, bewildered.
"Those who wish to restore Tiberium to its glory as a republic," he whispered.
"Ah." I nodded. "Thank you."
By the time we returned to the antechamber and donned our clothes, there were food vendors strolling about and hawking their wares within the baths. It seemed strange to me, but the Tiberians regarded it as normal. We bought sausages and boiled eggs, venturing out of the baths and eating them as we went.
"So what's that about, Imri?" Gilot mused. "That Restorationist business?"
"I'm not sure," I admitted. "Tiberium was a republic, long ago. The Senate lost power when it became an empire. Even after it all fell apart, it's never regained its stature. I imagine there are some, like this Deccus Fulvius, who'd like to see it restored."
Gilot shrugged. "Precious little to quibble over."
"Not if you're a Tiberian senator," I observed.
Finishing our impromptu meal, we entered the Great Forum. To our amusement, we beheld the spectacle of a man in the velvet robes of a master scholar giving chase to a flock of pigeons. He yelled and shouted, thin arms protruding from his trailing sleeves, waving wildly. The pigeons took wing in unison, flapping and soaring. From time to time, he took a pinch of cornmeal from a pouch he carried, scattering it on the marble paving. When he did, the pigeons descended en masse; and then he plunged into their midst, shouting, while they swirled around him. Next he laid a trail of meal, while the pigeons followed, clucking and cooing, pooling around his feet… and then he startled them again, flapping his robes, revealing his bare shanks, skinny and hairy.
We couldn't help but laugh. It was Gilot who began it, but once he started, I was lost. We stood in the Great Forum, laughing like idiots, clutching one another, hard put to stand upright. The funniest part of all was that the scholar had students. A group of them stood by, watching and respectful. A few even made notes on wax tablets.
"Oh, Imri!" Gilot gasped. "You're sure about this University business?"
I wiped my streaming eyes. "Name of Elua! I said I was done with weeping, but I hadn't reckoned on this. Surely, the man must be mad."
"You'd better—" Gilot caught my arm. "Is that Eamonn among them?"
"No!" I looked in disbelief. There he stood among the students, half a head taller than the rest, his coppery hair glinting in the sun. I'd been laughing so hard I'd missed him altogether. "What in the world?" I raised my voice, heedless of all courtesy. "Eamonn! Eamonn mac Grainne!"
The bright head swung in our direction. Even at a distance, I could see the familiar grin spreading over his features. "Imri!"
His shout startled the pigeons anew. Laughing all over again, I ran across the Forum. We met in the middle, embracing and pounding one another on the back, both of us grinning fit to split our faces.
"You made it!" he said happily. "You're here!"
I shook him by the shoulders. "Elua's Balls, but it's good to see you!"
"And you!" His grey-green eyes were alight. "Oh, Imri! There's so much to tell you. I've learned so much. Did you see Master Piero?"
I raised my brows. "The madman with the pigeons?"
"Oh, he's a brilliant man!" Eamonn said fervently. "I wrote to you about him, didn't I? Gilot, well met," he added as Gilot joined us. "Come, you both have to meet him!"
Gilot and I exchanged a look. I shrugged. "By all means."
We stood on the outskirts of the group. Master Piero had left off troubling the pigeons and was lecturing to his students. They listened, alert and attentive. I counted twelve of them including Eamonn. They were an odd lot. By their attire, a few of them looked to be less than wealthy; several were clearly not Caerdicci. There was a woman among them, tall and lithe, with tightly plaited blonde hair and a scowl of furious concentration. She was one of those carrying a wax tablet.
To my surprise, our saviors from the wharf, Lucius Tadius da Lucca and his companions, also numbered among Master Piero's pupils. I saw him glance at me out of the corner of his eye, wondering.
"… thus we behold the workings of the group-mind," the Master was saying. "It is easily scattered by the unexpected; and yet, upon scattering, it moves swiftly to attain a consensus of direction, without leadership, without discussion." He broke off his words, smiling at us. He was a homely fellow with a wide brow and a thin beak of a nose that looked to have been set askew, but there was an unexpected sweetness to his smile. "Welcome, friends. Will you join our conversation?"
I bowed in greeting. "Forgive us, Master. We did not mean to interrupt you."
"Surely, there is no need to apologize," he said. "There can be nothing but good in witnessing two friends reuniting, can there?" There was a shrewd glint in his eye. "We agree that friendship is a virtue. Does a display of virtue in others not inspire it in ourselves?"
"Not necessarily, Master," Lucius Tadius observed. "It may inspire envy."
"Ah!" Master Piero beamed at him. "Yes, indeed. What, then, are the roots of envy? If a virtue inspires that which is negative, is it itself lessened by it?"
"Master Piero!" The blonde girl spoke out in frustration. I was startled to hear a thick Skaldic accent. "I am sorry, please. But it is hard to follow when you wander."
"Are you in a hurry, Brigitta?" he asked gently.
"No, but…" She bit her lower lip, stubborn and vexed. "You were talking about pigeons."
"And so we shall." Master Piero smiled at her. "Pigeons and virtue and envy. We shall wander together, wherever the road of thought takes us. It matters not how swift or straight our path, merely that we travel it."
Having said so, he returned to the topic of pigeons and the group-mind. Despite his demeanor and the fact that I had laughed myself silly at him, I found myself listening, rapt, as he expounded on his example.
"… it is easily swayed by hunger and greed, and flocks to the promise of providence. It is easily led by a cunning hand. It lives from moment to moment, forgetful of betrayal. Heedless of danger, it returns to the familiar…"
Upon concluding his lecture, Master Piero engaged in open discourse with his pupils. They speculated on the means by which the pigeons attained unspoken consensus in their flight, and how it mirrored the transmission of ideas and agreement among humans. They discussed how a swiftly propagated rumor turned into a held belief in a matter of days or even hours in a tightly knit community. I caught myself nodding at several points, thinking how members of the Court resembled a flock of pigeons in their behavior.
"You see?" Eamonn whispered to me when it ended.
I nodded, no longer inclined to laugh. "I do."
He hauled me over to meet the man. The other students made way for us with good-natured grumbles. "Master Piero di Bonci, may I present to you my very dear friend, Imriel nó Montrève de la—"
I coughed, covering my mouth with my fist, then executed a courtly bow. "Imriel nó Montrève, my lord. Thank you for permitting me to attend your discussion."
Eamonn, who was no fool, added nothing further.
Master Piero tilted his head, regarding me. I saw the same shrewd glint in his eye, and realized I was a fool, having thought I could hide my identity in a community of scholars. "Montrève," he said slowly. "Is that so?"
"Yes, my lord," I said humbly, willing him not to ask me about it.
He knew. I could see it in his expression. And I could see him read the unspoken plea in mine, measuring it with kindness and compassion. "Well," Master Piero said in a light tone. "You have listened. Is it your wish to study with us, Imriel nó Montrève?"
My heart soared with gratitude and relief. "I believe it is, Master Piero."
He patted my arm. "Come tomorrow," he said. "Eamonn can tell you where. We will see if we're suited to one another, eh?"
"I have letters of reference," I said.
"Letters!" Master Piero laughed. "I don't care for letters, lad." He poked me in the chest, then tapped my temple. "Only what's inside you, here and here."
Alarmed at the prospect of being judged and found wanting, I remembered the words the gentleman in the baths had spoken. "Deccus Fulvius said I might tell you he said I was well-spoken," I blurted.
"Deccus Fulvius!" Master Piero's brows shot upward. A few yards away, I saw Lucius Tadius raise his head like a hound on the scent. "Oh, lad, surely you've not been here long enough to dabble in politics." Master Piero shook his head. "Come tomorrow," he repeated. "And we will see, shall we?"
With that, he turned away to speak to Brigitta, the Skaldi girl, who had a host of concerns to address. Eamonn nudged me.
"Come on, Imri," he said. "Let's get a drink."
I wanted, very much, to speak with him alone. It was not to be, or at least not yet. A whole crowd of the Master's scholars accompanied us to the wineshop Eamonn chose, Lucius Tadius and his fellows among them. He found a seat at my elbow while Eamonn went to procure a jug of wine.
"So," he said, "you and Prince Barbarus know one another."
I frowned. "Prince Barbarus?"
"Yon Eamonn." He nodded toward the bar.
"Ah." The nickname made me laugh. "Yes, very well. Eamonn was fostered in our household for a year."
"Ah, I see. That explains the fond greeting." He regarded me with interest. "The real question, my friend, is how you managed to acquaint yourself with Deccus Fulvius between sundown yesterday and midday today."
I shrugged. "Not through any intent of mine, I assure you. I encountered him at the baths this morning, and he was gracious to me. I'd no idea who he was until I asked an attendant. Why?" I added. "Do you know him?"
"You might say so." Lucius tapped his fingers idly on the tabletop. "He's married to my sister."
"I see," I said, though I didn't.
"What was the richest man in Tiberium doing in the public baths?" he mused. "Was he with anyone that you noticed?"
"No." I shook my head. "He was alone when I met him. But I hadn't noticed him before."
"Plotting conspiracy, no doubt. All, no mind." Lucius smiled absently at me. "Pay me no heed, Montrève. Master Piero is right, 'tis best to stay out of politics altogether and pursue the life of the mind."
"Is that why you're studying with him?" I asked, curious.
"Oh, in part." His focus returned, gaze sharpening. "I'm sincere in my studies, Montrève. There are those, many of them, who claim Master Piero is a lunatic. There are others, a dedicated few, who believe he is the purest natural philosopher since Sokrates. I happen to fall among the latter."
"I don't doubt you," I murmured.
Lucius Tadius' smile twisted on his satyr's face. "That's very kind of you," he said, glancing away. "And look, here comes Prince Barbarus with good red wine to free our thoughts and loosen our tongues. I'll move, shall I, and give you old friends leave to converse."
With that, he slid away to take a seat farther down the table. I frowned after him.
"Ass," Gilot muttered on the other side of me.
"I don't think so," I said slowly. "He seems… complicated."
"Well, that ought to suit you just fine," Gilot observed.
