He rubbed his cheeks. "Is it too bad?"
"No, not too bad. I have seen much worse," she said honestly, her mind cast back to other times and places.
"Still," he went on, "I ought to have shaved before I saw you. The General wouldn't like knowing that I had come here in this way. Very particular, Belisarius. He wants his men to take proper care." For the first time he realized he was naked. "God of the Prophets, I smell like a sewer."
"That's one of the reasons the bath is being readied." She was patient with him, not hurrying him.
He ambled over toward her dressing table, frowned at it, then said, as much to himself as to her. "That's right; you don't have mirrors, do you?"
"No," she said.
"Vanity, that's what mirrors are for. The pope said so."
"Which pope?" asked Olivia, glad to have found something to distract him.
"The one at the tavern, last night I think it was. He said that mirrors were evil, and showed visions of Hell." He puzzled over this. "He was drunk when he said it."
"Very likely," Olivia said, taking him by the hand and leading him toward her bath. "I will shave you. How would you like that." There was a determination about her that indicated she would do this whether he approved or not.
"I need a shave," he said uncertainly as he went with her. "And a wash, even if it is vanity." He stopped, watching the two spouts that led from the hypocaust to the bath where the first streams of hot water were starting to pour. "Roman, isn't that?"
"Yes, but then, so am I." She guided him to a bench in the alcove and there she opened a small chest where a number of razors, oil jars and scrapers were stored. She selected one and found the honing block. She worked quickly and expertly to put the proper edge on the razor.
"We could have used you in the army," Drosos said as he watched her. "Most slaves aren't good at that. The swords lose their edges at once. You know how to do it. That'll stay sharp." He reached up to test it with his thumb and gave himself a small cut for his trouble. As he sucked the blood away, he looked at her speculatively.
"Would you rather do this?"
"Not especially," she said, preparing a mixture of oil and soap. "I need more than just blood."
He laughed deep in his throat. "I know what you need."
"I need more than hard flesh inside me, if that is what you think," she said, irritation showing for the first time. "I need… openness. Oh, for me the blood is part of it, but it is little more than bread and water if there is nothing else. It is the touching that gives it… richness." She stopped what she was doing and looked down into his face. "You have given me so much."
The intensity of her words startled him and he looked at her in astonishment. "You… you need that of me?"
"If you are willing to give it. I can't demand it." She began to smooth the oily lather over his face. "Hold still."
He obeyed, his eyes on her face as she shaved him. "Never had a woman shave me before. Do you know what you're doing?" he said when she wiped the razor on a linen cloth.
"Yes," she said, continuing with her task.
"They're sending me away again," he told her a little later. "I'm being posted to the frontier in Italy. I have two more weeks, and then off I go."
"So soon?" In spite of herself, she stared at him in dismay. "Do we have so little time left?"
"Two weeks," he repeated. "I wasn't going to tell you that." His expression darkened as she finished her work and brought wet cloths to rinse his face. "I was going to leave, that's all, and have Belisarius tell you."
"Why?" she asked.
"Why not? There's nothing for me here anymore. Why stay? Why drag you down with me?" He set his jaw. "I shouldn't have come here tonight. I don't know why I did."
"You came because you missed me." She dried his face and looked at him. "Better."
"I miss many things," he said darkly. "I miss… pride. I miss everything." He leaned forward, his forehead touching her arm. "But I had to see you. I couldn't help myself. Please believe me, Olivia."
"I'm glad you've come," she said, brushing his matted hair with her hand. "The bath is nearly ready."
He got to his feet slowly. "I… I'm a disgrace."
"Not to me," said Olivia as she shed her paenula and the Roman palla she wore under it. "The bath is hot," she warned him as she stepped into the steaming water.
"Christos!" he swore as he joined her. "You want to cook me as well as bite me?"
"Not at the same time," she said lightly, hoping he would take it as a joke.
But his attention had wandered, and he merely smiled as he rubbed his cheeks. "Very close. Not bad."
She had reached for a sponge and was filling it with water when he came up to her, touching her breast with eager, fumbling hands. "Drosos, wait just a bit."
"Why?" He took the sponge from her hands and pulled her into his arms, his mouth hard on hers.
There was only urgency in his movements, no care and no tenderness. He pillaged with his hands, probing and grasping.
Olivia wrenched herself away from him. "Drosos! Stop that."
"I don't want to." He started toward her, a beast after prey. "You want me; I want you."
"Not this way." She reached the edge of her bath and started to pull herself out of the water, but he caught her ankle and dragged her back. She cried out in protest and the side door opened at once.
"Get out of here!" Drosos shouted at Niklos. "This doesn't concern you."
Niklos came into the room with a tray that held a single cup. "If you harm my mistress, you will learn otherwise," he said implacably. He set the tray down beside the pool and looked at Olivia, who had moved away from Drosos. "Do you want me to remain?"
"Bring two drying sheets from the chest by the door." she said, knowing that Niklos would use that time to assess the problem.
Drosos had consumed half the contents of the cup before he realized it was not wine but the mixture Olivia had ordered earlier. He emptied the last of it into the water. "What is this dreadful stuff?"
"It might help you feel more yourself," Olivia said with care.
"I am fine," he protested, and then his whole demeanor changed. "No." He lowered his head and began to sob deeply, wrenchingly. When Olivia started toward him, he pushed her away. "Don't."
From the edge of the pool, Niklos gave Olivia an inquiring look, and accepted her sign to leave her alone with Drosos. He withdrew silently, remaining in the hall, ready to answer any summons.
At last Olivia was able to get close enough to Drosos to take his hands in hers. "Oh love," she said, kissing his hands, holding them when he tried to pull away.
"Why don't you leave me alone?" he demanded when he could speak at all.
"Because I love you; because part of you is part of me." She said it evenly, calmly, all the while watching his eyes.
"God and the Angels, you're not pregnant?" he protested.
"No. No, that isn't… possible."
He sighed, his breath shuddering. "Well, we're spared that." He took her by the shoulders and shook her, but gently. "I am disgraced. Can't you understand that? I am unworthy."
"Not to me." She kissed him, just his lower lip. "You are Drosos. That is enough."
"Am I? Is it?" He moved away from her. "I must have been more drunk that I thought I was to come here. I swore I wouldn't visit you."
She did not move after him. "Why? To make yourself more miserable than you are?"
"To save you from sharing my disgrace," he said. "I don't want you to be—"
"Yes, you've told me before," she said as she came to his side. "But that means little to me. I am suspect already. You can make little difference in that." She took his hand again. "Drosos, stay with me tonight."