Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

A pitiful mew drew her attention, and Krista smiled, her teeth flashing white in the shade under her hat. Two little yellow eyes peered at her out of a red wicker basket stowed behind the seat. Reaching in, she dragged the basket out and held it up. The little black cat was sitting in a nest of old sheets, staring out with wide eyes at the yard and the sky. It mewed again, imperious in its desire to be let out.

"I think not, little squeak." Krista pulled her bag of clothes and sundries out, too, and walked toward the front door of the house, now standing wide, with the faint gleam of sunlight on tiles shining from within. "We have to get settled first, but then I'll get you some cream."

– |Old wooden shutters creaked open, and Krista coughed as dust hazed the air in the kitchen. Unlike the dark, enclosed rooms of the kitchens in the Duchess' house in Rome, here, a long rectangular chamber set at the far end of the house held an iron stove and marble countertops. Nex to the stove was an open, bricked, fire-pit with a griddle built over it. There was a big basin-shaped sink fed by round ceramic pipes, too, which sat under a long series of windows that looked out on the north side of the big house. With the shutters opened, the room was flooded with a cool, northern light and treated to a fine view of the mountain sloping away above the villa. It would be cool in the summer, with its high ceilings and a row of grillwork-covered windows under the eaves.

Krista clapped her hands together, trying to get the dust and grime off. It was no use; the whole house needed a thorough cleaning, and she grimaced, realizing she was likely the only one to care. All of the Persian and Nabatean servants Abdmachus had gathered were dead or missing, which left her only the Walach boys for helpers. They were not very good at cleaning, having a tendency to get into fights with one another or loll about grooming themselves or sleeping. If there was hunting to be had, or some dark business in the nighttime, they were the very soul of attention. But sweeping or scrubbing down countertops? Never.

Footsteps clattered on the smooth tiles of the kitchen floor, and she turned.

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

Maxian had changed into a short kilt, leather sandals, and a Greek-style tunic that bared one arm and shoulder. Krista blinked, not having seen him look so, well, rustic before. She stifled a laugh, imagining him with a crown of laurel leaves and an amphora of wine under one arm. He looked relaxed, and the thin creases of strain and worry around his eyes had faded. "What is so funny?" He leaned on the counter, his head at a slight angle, looking down at her.

"Oh, my Lord Bacchus," she said, turning away and smiling over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Have you come for a revel?"

Maxian was perplexed for an instant, and then looked down at his costume. "Brat! We're on holiday in the country!" He grabbed her waist, and she skipped back, laughing. "Come here!"

"No!" she caroled, and darted out the door to the back garden. Behind the house and lying under the kitchen windows had been a large vegetable garden fronting on a brick porch with a stout roof. Now it was as overgrown as the orchards or the cattle pens, but a walkway of round stones had been laid from the back door to a gate in a fence of wooden slats. Krista sprinted across the garden, laughing, and the Prince was hard on her heels. "You're too slow, my lord! But catch me if you can!"

– |Inside the house, Gaius Julius leaned out of one of the windows on the second floor of the sleeping quarters. His old face creased with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. Like the kitchen in the lower floor, the sleeping rooms were graced with big, tall windows and latticework shutters of thin-cut pine. He had found a chamber to his liking and opened them, letting the late afternoon sun stream through. Even the dust was not so bad. He leaned on the windowsill, watching the figure of the Prince disappear into a stand of olive trees.

"That seems a delightful pursuit."

Gaius turned a little and saw that Alexandros had entered the room. The youth had stripped off his shirt, and the sunlight played over supple muscle and smooth flesh. Even the welts of two deep scars, one along his side and the other just below his shoulder, did not mar his beauty. He had tied his hair partially back, which left it hanging in a thick mane of blond curls behind his head. Gaius Julius grinned wryly, reflecting on the true age of the "young" man. "Would you care to test your strength?"

The old Roman raised an eyebrow and turned around. The Macedonian's eyes met his, and Gaius Julius felt the shock of the man's power to attract and command. "Ah, lad, you know how old I feel…"

"Illusion," Alexandros said, grinning like a god, and took his hand. "Let me show you."

– |Maxian and Krista climbed through stands of cypress trees, sunlight and wind in their hair. The trail, twisted and strewn with rocks, turned and they stopped, looking back. Far below they could make out the red tile roofs of the villa and the outline of the wagons, still sitting in the foreyard. The clouds had blown away to the northwest, out over the Bay of Neapolis. From this height they could see out over the long curve of the shore and toward the headland that held Puteoli and the great military harbor at Misenum. Somewhere below the blue-and-white haze, beyond the sparkling bay, was Cumae and the summer villas of the rich.

"This was my mother's own house," the Prince mused as they walked, clambering up over black rocks with rough pockets cut out of them. "She had it from her father-she was his only heir-and she kept it as she liked. Father built her a whole new house at Cumae when he was made governor and tribune, but this place was the dearest to her heart."

"What happened to your mother?" Krista scrambled along behind him, feeling the twinge of exertion in her thighs. It had been some time since she had had a chance to work up a real sweat. The cool mountain air was refreshing and clean, far better than the humid lowland vapors. She noticed that the Prince had gotten back a little color on his legs and thighs. He seemed fitter, too, though that might just have been the skimpy outfit. She grinned again. This was a thousand times better than spending the whole of the day and the night in some noisome cellar, watching him mutter and chant, bent over some ancient tome.

"Mater died in the first plague-the one that made you cough until blood came out of your mouth. She and Pater were in Narbo at the other house. I only found out by letter. I was away in Africa, visiting cousin Antonius in Leptis Magna. I came home as fast as I could, but she was already gone. Father kept the household on here for a time, but then the War of the Pretenders began, and they must have fled."

Krista skipped ahead and came alongside the Prince. His face was sad and touched by old pain. She caught his hand and squeezed it. He grinned, and his mood passed away when she smiled back.

"What is your best memory of this place?"

Maxian took her hand and turned it, bringing her wrist to his lips as they walked. Dark-needled trees were intermixed with the cypress now, and the air had a faint piney scent. The ground changed, too, becoming rockier, the lower slopes and their thick rich black soil left behind.

"You are good to try to distract me," he said, kissing her hand. "That is an old pain, my love. She had a long, full life, and saw her sons grow to manhood. Galen missed her most, I'm sure. I remember, when we had come to Rome in victory and the Senate had proclaimed him Emperor and God, that he looked over his shoulder, standing there in the Curia Julia on the speaker's platform, looking to see if she was there, in the wings, watching him."

Krista squeezed his hand and slipped her arm around his waist. They walked under the trees, talking, until the trail ended in a forest of great boulders and a thick tangle of brush. Stones towered up around them, rough and jagged, and she saw that they stood at the edge of a round bowl at the very top of the mountain. It was a mile or more across and jumbled with pillars and boulders and thickets of boscage. Hawks circled in the air above the summit, coasting on the wind.