outside. “Yes?"
"I want to talk to you.” She moved closer, keeping to the shadows. “I want to know you better."
"Better?” Saint-Germain waited as his vision at last adjusted. He recognized the woman with a start as Olivia, Justus Silius’ wife. He recalled the strange, frightened way she had looked at him in Petronius’ garden.
"I want...I want you to...come to me. At night. Soon.” Her face was flushed, her eyes still wide and frightened.
Saint-Germain's thoughts were still on Kosrozd and the hideous injuries the Persian had sustained, and so he found it quite difficult to deal with Olivia. Ordinarily he had a deft and flattering reply for such offers, but now he stepped back. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Domita. It isn't wise for one so...foreign as I am to accept such invitations as yours.” He set his jaw. “Let me pass, Domita."
"No. No.” She stepped in front of him. “You mustn't deny me. You can't.” There was a curious desperation in her pleas, and her hands lifted toward him as if seeking help. The lascivious charm most women displayed in these moments was entirely lacking in Olivia's manner. Saint-Germain frowned at this strange supplication. He remembered the gossip he had heard among the gladiators and other arena combatants about this woman, about her constant seeking for new and violent lovers, and suddenly the gossip seemed at odds with the fearful eyes of the woman before him.
"When, Domita?” he heard himself ask in a harsh voice.
She sighed, actually sighed. “In three days. Two hours after sunset. Come to the door by the garden. A slave will admit you.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, almost in distaste. “I will be in my bedchamber to receive you.” She turned abruptly, making a gesture as if to push something away from her.
There were bellows and squeals and shouts from the arena as the aquatic venation at last began, but Saint-Germain hardly heard the sounds. He stared after Olivia, his mind in new turmoil. Far down the passage, she passed through two pools of light, and it seemed to Saint-Germain that she was fleeing from the dark and violent world below the stands. If that were so, why had she sought him and the others out? He could not fathom what had made him weaken toward her, but the more he considered it, the less he desired to find out. She was a dangerous woman to know. She was the wife of a powerful Senator, and Saint-Germain a foreigner. Then he realized one other thing about her: she was terrified; and against his will, that understanding woke the sympathy within him.
TEXT OF A LETTER NYMPHIDIUS SABINUS, WITH TIGELLINUS, THE COMMANDER OF THE PRAETORIAN GUARD, TO THE GENERAL CNAEUS DOMITIUS CORBULO.
To the honorable general, Cnaeus Domitius Corbulo, greetings:
Since the hand of the Emperor and fortune have elevated me to share jointly with Ofonius Tigellinus the command of the Praetorians, I believe that with this honor go certain responsibilities, which I must exercise if I am to discharge the duties of my office with merit.
The Emperor, as I am certain you are aware, has suffered much this year. It is not only the conspiracy of Gaius Calpurnius Piso that has wounded him deeply, but some of those involved in the conspiracy were those he most loved. Seneca and Lucan accepted their fates and killed themselves for their role in that plot. It is some comfort to reflect that although they betrayed the Emperor, still they recalled that they were Romans, and died with dignity.
More recently, the tragic death of Poppaea, when she was so near to giving Nero a child, has been a severe blow to the Emperor, and he deeply grieves for her, blaming himself for her untimely death.
You have expressed yourself willing, even anxious to return to your legions, and we have made note of these wishes. Until now we have striven to be circumspect in your case because of your son-in-law's part in the late conspiracy. However, much has changed in the last few months, and we
"I want to talk to you.” She moved closer, keeping to the shadows. “I want to know you better."
"Better?” Saint-Germain waited as his vision at last adjusted. He recognized the woman with a start as Olivia, Justus Silius’ wife. He recalled the strange, frightened way she had looked at him in Petronius’ garden.
"I want...I want you to...come to me. At night. Soon.” Her face was flushed, her eyes still wide and frightened.
Saint-Germain's thoughts were still on Kosrozd and the hideous injuries the Persian had sustained, and so he found it quite difficult to deal with Olivia. Ordinarily he had a deft and flattering reply for such offers, but now he stepped back. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Domita. It isn't wise for one so...foreign as I am to accept such invitations as yours.” He set his jaw. “Let me pass, Domita."
"No. No.” She stepped in front of him. “You mustn't deny me. You can't.” There was a curious desperation in her pleas, and her hands lifted toward him as if seeking help. The lascivious charm most women displayed in these moments was entirely lacking in Olivia's manner. Saint-Germain frowned at this strange supplication. He remembered the gossip he had heard among the gladiators and other arena combatants about this woman, about her constant seeking for new and violent lovers, and suddenly the gossip seemed at odds with the fearful eyes of the woman before him.
"When, Domita?” he heard himself ask in a harsh voice.
She sighed, actually sighed. “In three days. Two hours after sunset. Come to the door by the garden. A slave will admit you.” Her mouth turned down at the corners, almost in distaste. “I will be in my bedchamber to receive you.” She turned abruptly, making a gesture as if to push something away from her.
There were bellows and squeals and shouts from the arena as the aquatic venation at last began, but Saint-Germain hardly heard the sounds. He stared after Olivia, his mind in new turmoil. Far down the passage, she passed through two pools of light, and it seemed to Saint-Germain that she was fleeing from the dark and violent world below the stands. If that were so, why had she sought him and the others out? He could not fathom what had made him weaken toward her, but the more he considered it, the less he desired to find out. She was a dangerous woman to know. She was the wife of a powerful Senator, and Saint-Germain a foreigner. Then he realized one other thing about her: she was terrified; and against his will, that understanding woke the sympathy within him.
TEXT OF A LETTER NYMPHIDIUS SABINUS, WITH TIGELLINUS, THE COMMANDER OF THE PRAETORIAN GUARD, TO THE GENERAL CNAEUS DOMITIUS CORBULO.
To the honorable general, Cnaeus Domitius Corbulo, greetings:
Since the hand of the Emperor and fortune have elevated me to share jointly with Ofonius Tigellinus the command of the Praetorians, I believe that with this honor go certain responsibilities, which I must exercise if I am to discharge the duties of my office with merit.
The Emperor, as I am certain you are aware, has suffered much this year. It is not only the conspiracy of Gaius Calpurnius Piso that has wounded him deeply, but some of those involved in the conspiracy were those he most loved. Seneca and Lucan accepted their fates and killed themselves for their role in that plot. It is some comfort to reflect that although they betrayed the Emperor, still they recalled that they were Romans, and died with dignity.
More recently, the tragic death of Poppaea, when she was so near to giving Nero a child, has been a severe blow to the Emperor, and he deeply grieves for her, blaming himself for her untimely death.
You have expressed yourself willing, even anxious to return to your legions, and we have made note of these wishes. Until now we have striven to be circumspect in your case because of your son-in-law's part in the late conspiracy. However, much has changed in the last few months, and we
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