Fortune's Flower by Anthea Lawson

Author:Anthea Lawson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Fiddlehead Press
Published: 2016-09-03T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

James could see the warm color rise on Lily’s cheeks. She glanced down to her sketchbook and then back to him. The look she gave him made his blood quicken.

“Tell me, James, what outrageous bribes did you pay in order to arrange for our presence here this afternoon?”

“Outrageous bribes? I wouldn’t go so far as to call them outrageous.”

Lily smiled. “Outrageous or not, I thank you.” She swept her arm to encompass the room. “For all of this.”

“It was nothing—” he started, but before he could finish she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. The sudden, unexpected gesture said more than any words of thanks ever could. He looked at her, her smiling eyes, her lips slightly parted—how easy it would be…

As if sensing his thoughts, she took a step back, hand going to her hair. The air between them was heavy with awareness—they were alone. She glanced about, her eyes fixing on the balcony that ringed the hall. “I would love to see the mosaics from above. It would provide an excellent change in perspective.”

“Then by all means.” He held out his hand to her, and after an instant’s hesitation she took it, allowing him to lead her to the stairs. They climbed in silence, her slender hand in his.

“Look,” she said, going to the low railing of the balcony. “They are like paintings from here. One can hardly see the individual bits of colored glass and tile.”

Directly below them lay a mosaic of Neptune driving a chariot over the waves, his hair in wild locks, a long blue scarf draped over his arms. Lily studied it a moment. “Would you like to know what I see?”

James nodded. “Very much.”

“The scarf shows the movement of the chariot. See how it billows back? And it echoes the stripe of blue along his horses. Whoever conceived this design had an excellent model. Look at Neptune’s face, so full of intent and purpose. And his form, perfectly proportioned. See how the artist used darker tesserae to bring out the muscles of his… chest.” She halted, blushing.

James watched the transformation from artist to woman. Neptune was as unclothed as the rose woman she had sketched earlier. “The Romans’ code of dress was rather more relaxed than our own. Do you think them immodest?”

She looked down again at Neptune.

“No,” she said at last, “not immodest. They seem more idealistic. Here is a male figure so well formed that he can represent a god. And the rose woman—a female whose unadorned beauty rivals that of her flowers. But tell me, what do you see?”

James looked at the images arrayed below. “There.” He pointed. “A warrior carrying a woman.” In the mosaic, the woman’s naked breasts were pressed hard against the warrior’s bronzed skin, her arms clasped around his neck—he was bearing her where he would. James recalled standing at the bow of the Sidonia, Lily in his arms—how she had responded to his kisses and melted into his embrace.

He straightened and stepped toward her.

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