last one he needed—when he caught himself, almost literally, by the scruff of the neck. He swayed off balance for a moment, but in the end that third step went back rather than ahead.
"You are the test against which Digenis warned me," he said, and felt himself turn red at how hoarse and eager he sounded.
"Well, what if I am?" The girl's slow shrug was a marvel to behold. So was the long, slow stretch that followed it. "The holy sir promised me you would be comely, and he told the truth. Do as you will with me: he shall never know, one way or the other."
"How not?" he demanded, his suspicions aroused now along with his lust. "If I have you here, of course you'll bear the tale back to the holy sir."
"By the lord with the great and good mind, I swear I will not," she said. Her tone carried conviction. He knew he should not believe her, but he did. She smiled, seeing she'd got through to him. "We're all alone, only the two of us down here. Whatever happens, happens, and no one else will ever be the wiser."
He thought about that, decided he believed her again. "What's your name?" he asked. It was not quite a question out of the blue.
The girl seemed to understand that. "Olyvria," she answered. Her smile grew broader. As if by their own will rather than hers, her legs parted a little.
When Phostis raised his left foot, he did not know whether he would go toward her or away. He turned, took two quick strides out of the chamber, and closed the door behind him. He knew that if he looked on her for even another heartbeat, he would take her.
As he leaned against the bricks of the passageway and tried to find a scrap of his composure, her voice pursued him: "Why do you flee from pleasure?"
Not until she asked him did he fully comprehend the answer. Digenis' test was marvelous in its simplicity: only his own conscience stood between himself and an act that, however sweet, went square against everything the priest had been telling him. Digenis' teaching must have had its effect, too: regardless of whether the priest learned what he'd been up to, P hostis knew he would always know. Since he found that reason enough to abstain, he supposed he had met the challenge.
Even so, he made as much haste as he could away from that dangerous doorway, although Olyvria did not call to him again. When he looked back to find out whether he could still see the light trickling under the bottom of the door, he discovered he could not. The passage did have a curve to it, then.
A little while later, he came upon another door with a lighted lamp behind it. This time, he tiptoed past as quietly as he could. If anyone in the chamber heard him, she—or perhaps he—gave no sign. Not all tests, Phostis told himself as he pressed ahead, had to be met straight on.
Pitch darkness or no, he could see Olyvria's lovely body with his mind's eye. He was sure both his brothers would have enjoyed themselves immensely while failing Digenis' test. Had he not become dubious of the pleasures of the flesh exactly because they were so easy for him to gain, he might well have failed, too, in spite of all the priest's inspiring words.
Moving along without light made him realize how very much he depended on his eyes. He could not tell whether he was going uphill or down, left or right. Just when he began to wonder if the passage under the city ran on forever, he saw a faint gleam of light ahead. He hurried toward it. When he pulled aside the curtain that covered the entrance to the tunnel, he found himself back in the temple again.
He stood blinking for a few seconds as he got used to seeing once more. Digenis did not seem to have moved while he was gone. He wondered how long that had been: his sense of time seemed to have been cast into darkness down in the tunnel along with his vision.
Digenis studied him. The priest's eyes were so sharp and penetrating that Phostis suspected he might have been able to see even in the black night of the underground passage. After
"You are the test against which Digenis warned me," he said, and felt himself turn red at how hoarse and eager he sounded.
"Well, what if I am?" The girl's slow shrug was a marvel to behold. So was the long, slow stretch that followed it. "The holy sir promised me you would be comely, and he told the truth. Do as you will with me: he shall never know, one way or the other."
"How not?" he demanded, his suspicions aroused now along with his lust. "If I have you here, of course you'll bear the tale back to the holy sir."
"By the lord with the great and good mind, I swear I will not," she said. Her tone carried conviction. He knew he should not believe her, but he did. She smiled, seeing she'd got through to him. "We're all alone, only the two of us down here. Whatever happens, happens, and no one else will ever be the wiser."
He thought about that, decided he believed her again. "What's your name?" he asked. It was not quite a question out of the blue.
The girl seemed to understand that. "Olyvria," she answered. Her smile grew broader. As if by their own will rather than hers, her legs parted a little.
When Phostis raised his left foot, he did not know whether he would go toward her or away. He turned, took two quick strides out of the chamber, and closed the door behind him. He knew that if he looked on her for even another heartbeat, he would take her.
As he leaned against the bricks of the passageway and tried to find a scrap of his composure, her voice pursued him: "Why do you flee from pleasure?"
Not until she asked him did he fully comprehend the answer. Digenis' test was marvelous in its simplicity: only his own conscience stood between himself and an act that, however sweet, went square against everything the priest had been telling him. Digenis' teaching must have had its effect, too: regardless of whether the priest learned what he'd been up to, P hostis knew he would always know. Since he found that reason enough to abstain, he supposed he had met the challenge.
Even so, he made as much haste as he could away from that dangerous doorway, although Olyvria did not call to him again. When he looked back to find out whether he could still see the light trickling under the bottom of the door, he discovered he could not. The passage did have a curve to it, then.
A little while later, he came upon another door with a lighted lamp behind it. This time, he tiptoed past as quietly as he could. If anyone in the chamber heard him, she—or perhaps he—gave no sign. Not all tests, Phostis told himself as he pressed ahead, had to be met straight on.
Pitch darkness or no, he could see Olyvria's lovely body with his mind's eye. He was sure both his brothers would have enjoyed themselves immensely while failing Digenis' test. Had he not become dubious of the pleasures of the flesh exactly because they were so easy for him to gain, he might well have failed, too, in spite of all the priest's inspiring words.
Moving along without light made him realize how very much he depended on his eyes. He could not tell whether he was going uphill or down, left or right. Just when he began to wonder if the passage under the city ran on forever, he saw a faint gleam of light ahead. He hurried toward it. When he pulled aside the curtain that covered the entrance to the tunnel, he found himself back in the temple again.
He stood blinking for a few seconds as he got used to seeing once more. Digenis did not seem to have moved while he was gone. He wondered how long that had been: his sense of time seemed to have been cast into darkness down in the tunnel along with his vision.
Digenis studied him. The priest's eyes were so sharp and penetrating that Phostis suspected he might have been able to see even in the black night of the underground passage. After
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