Vettius & His Friends by David Drake

Author:David Drake [Drake, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0671698028
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The doorkeeper had difficulty slamming the door against the gust of wind that followed Vettius into the anteroom. Moist air from the baths within condensed to bead the decorated tiles and rime the soldier’s cape of black bearskin. He wore the bear’s head as a cowl. The beast’s glass eyes usually glared out above Vettius’ own; now they too were frosted and the doorkeeper, turning, shuddered at the look of blank agony they gave him.

Vettius shrugged off the cape and stamped his muddy boots on the floor. The doorkeeper sighed inwardly and picked up his twig broom. The damned man had been stomping through the muck like a common soldier instead of riding decently in a litter as befit his rank. The slave said nothing aloud as he swept, though; the legate had a reputation for violence and he already wore a dark glower this afternoon.

Walking through the door of the changing room, Vettius tossed his cape to one of the obsequious attendants and began to unlace his boots. While he sat on a bench and stripped off his thick woolen leggings, the other attendant looked delicately at the miry leather and asked with faint disdain, “Will you have these cleaned while you bathe, sir?”

“Dis, why should I?” the soldier snarled. “I’ve got to wear them out of here, don’t I?”

The attendant started at his tone. Vettius chuckled at the man’s fear and threw the filthy leggings in his face. Laying both his tunics on the bench, he surveyed the now apprehensive slaves and asked, “Either of you know where Dama is?”

“The Legate Vettius?” called a voice from the inner hallway. A third attendant stuck his head into the changing room. “Sir? If you will follow me …”

The attendant’s sandals slapped nervously down the hallway past steam rooms on the right and the wall of the great pool on the left. Tiles of glaucous gray covered floors and most of the walls, set off by horizontal bands of mosaic. A craftsman of Naisso who had never been to the coast had inset octopuses and dolphins cavorting on a bright green sea. The civilization I protect, Vettius thought disgustedly. The reason I bow to fat fools.

At the comer of the hall the attendant stopped and opened one of the right-hand doors. Steam puffed out. Vettius peered in with his hand on the jamb to keep from slipping on the slick tile. He could make out two figures through the hot fog, a small man lying on a bench with a masseur beside him. The slap of hands on flesh had paused when the door opened.

“Dama?” the solder called uncertainly.

The man on the bench raised up on his elbow. “Come on in, Lucius,” he invited with genuine pleasure. “Urso, we’ll have no further need of you today.

Coins jingled. The masseur bowed low to the merchant, nodded respectfully to Vettius, and thudded the door shut behind him.

“Have a bench,” Dama offered. “How did it go?”

Vettius grunted. “Anyone with big ears likely to bust in here?”

“I doubt it,” the merchant replied.

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