Heart, Faith, and Steel 3/8

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Heart, Faith, and Steel 3/8
===========================

Cassandra fled to her tiny bedchamber at the top of the stairs, desperate to
escape from his sympathetic and all-too-perceptive eyes. He had believed her
lies for now, but she knew she could not have pretended much longer. Xanthos
had always been kind, talking with her, allowing her to buy her freedom,
permitting her to have this small private room, but the compassion and
understanding he had shown tonight had almost undone her.

She needed the privacy of her room now, as she sat on her bed with her arms
wrapped around her knees, for she could not escape from the memory of his
voice. "It would be most enjoyable," he had said, the dark strands of his
voice warm and inviting, compelling. His words had curled around her and in
her, waves on the shore, urging her to go deeper, to plunge into the comfort
and pleasure he offered. "Enjoyable for both of us."

Cassandra knew that. She had heard seen the satisfied smiles on the faces of
the slave-women in the morning, listened to their happy chatter and giggled
confidences as they discussed their master's prowess in bed. And she had
known this was coming; Xanthos had been very attentive of late.

She had responded to that attention. Cassandra respected Xanthos and enjoyed
his company, and she desired him. It had been decades since she had
willingly given herself to a man, and she ached to feel his arms about her,
to make love to him, and to have him make love to her. Xanthos was a man of
strength and gentleness; she knew she could grow to love him. It would be
wonderful.

It was unthinkable. Xanthos was an Immortal, and he was her master. Even
when she had bought her freedom, he would still have power over her. He
would be her patron instead of her master, and she would owe him obedience
and a portion of her earnings. Besides, she was just another bedpartner to
him, just another romp among the cushions. She meant nothing to him. No. She
would never let a master have that kind of power over her. Never again.

Cassandra undressed and placed her chiton in the small chest against the
wall, then lay down in her bed, staring out the small high window at the
stars. It was best this way. She could not take such a risk.

A short time later, she could not help but hear the sounds of love-making
coming from his room on the ground floor, soft laughter, whispered
indistinguishable words, urgent and hurried and strong. Finally, there was
silence, then some time later quiet footsteps as the slave-woman Zidar came
up the stairs and went to the chamber she shared with the other women.

Cassandra rolled over and pulled her blanket close about her. There was no
reason for her to be unhappy. She had a place to live and food to eat, and
no one beat her or used her. She was teaching again and even making money.
Xanthos permitted her to leave the house to teach, and to visit the temple
or to attend the festivals. He was a kind master, and a good friend. Soon
she would be free. She should expect nothing more. She should want nothing
more.

Cassandra went to sleep alone, her face wet with tears.

~~

Six years passed, and Cassandra and Xanthos remained friends. Xanthos left
from time to time to visit his new pottery workshop in the young colony of
Potidaea, and the slave-girls came and went, married off after a year or
two. When Cassandra had been his slave for two years, she paid him back the
four minae for her purchase price and the one mina for the taxes and
licensing fees. She paid the manumission fee to the State and gave the
expected gifts to the temples. Xanthos registered her freedom with the
priests.

She stayed in his household, for her new status changed little in her life.
Part of her income was paid in taxes to the State, while some still went to
Xanthos. Even so, her investments and her weaving business were flourishing,
and she had to turn away music students. In ten years she might have enough
money to open her own school. For now, she was busy and satisfied. She did
not look for a companion.

They were good years. She almost forgot about the Game, and about ancient
enemies.


~~

"Let us in!" a man's harsh voice called over the pounding on the gate. "The
Watch of Corinth demands entrance!"

In the weaving room, Bithyra dropped her spindle. The thread trailed along
behind on the floor as the spindle rolled, and the other four women stopped
their work and stared at each other. "The Watch?" young Chraxes asked, her
voice thin with worry. "They come for criminals, and escaped slaves."

"Stay here," Cassandra ordered, and she left her loom and headed for the
courtyard. Before she got there, the latest bedpartner Zitra started
keening, her high wail rising over the deeper voices of the men.

Cassandra reached the doorway, but in no great hurry now. She knew why they
had come. The four guardsmen carried a burden between them, a dead body
wrapped in a blood-stained cloak: Xanthos's favorite blue cloak. She had
watched him put it on only a few hours before, for the air clung dank and
chill on this winter day.

"He is dead!" Zitra wailed, falling to her knees and clutching at her veil.
"Our master is dead!"

And, of course, the women in the weaving room came out when they heard that,
and they started to wail, too. Chraxes and Bithyra were clinging to each
other and weeping. Then Dion, Xanthos's favorite dog, started to bark. The
porter Theron was just standing there, tears running down his cheeks, and
the men of the Watch waited in the courtyard with the body between them.

"He's dead!" Zitra wailed again, and the other women took up the cry, their
shrill voices echoing off the stones.

He was dead, but he wouldn't be for long. Cassandra had to get the body out
of the courtyard and away from prying eyes. "Hush now!" she said to the
women, using the Voice to keep them quiet for a minute, and they were
mercifully silent. Dion was still barking. "Follow me," she told the
guardsmen, and they carried the body through the portico into the hall, then
laid him gently on the dining couch.

Theron followed close behind, with tall, gangly Buphelis at his side. The
women started wailing again from their place on the porch, and Cassandra
moved to the corner of the room, keeping an eye on the body. There was a lot
of blood; with luck the wound had been severe, and Xanthos would stay dead
for at least another hour.

"How did it happen?" Theron asked the Watch. He was pale, but composed
enough to ask questions.

"We were patrolling the fields just outside the walls," said the captain of
the guardsmen, a stocky man with a scar across his cheek. "Lord Xanthos was
fighting a huge man, very tall, with swords. We called out to them to stop,
but the other man ran him through."

"And the tall man?" Theron said.

"That one's dead!" piped up the youngest of the four, pushing brown hair
back from his eyes, still excited by the novelty of the situation. "Lord
Xanthos gutted the barbarian, he did, just as the other fellow stabbed,
pulled out all his insides!"

The stocky man shot him a stern glance, and the young one subsided,
shuffling his feet. The captain turned back to Theron. "The murderer was
taken to the quarry pit and dumped there, buried under stones." He gestured
to the body. "Unfortunately, Lord Xanthos died on the field." He reached
inside his cloak and pulled out the katana. "This was in his hand."

Theron bowed and accepted his master's blade, then laid it next to the body.
The women of the household started to enter the hall, their veils thrown
over their faces, their sobs mercifully muffled. They stood about the walls
of the chamber and watched while Theron unwrapped the cloak from Xanthos's
face with trembling hands.

The women burst into renewed wailing at the sight, and Dion crept over to
the body and started to howl. Cassandra considered Xanthos's death grimace.
She had seen worse. At least his eyes were shut.

Cassandra and Doria exchanged glances. There was much to be done.

~~

A short time later, the body had been dressed and properly laid out.
Cassandra had volunteered to wash the body, not wanting anyone else to see
the already-healing wounds. Theron took an obol from his pouch and placed
the small coin on Xanthos's tongue, payment for the ferry ride across the
River Styx to the land of the dead. Doria set the honey cakes and flask of
oil at his head, and told Bithyra to set the jar of spring water at the door
so that guests might purify their hands. The guardsmen left, and some of the
women began preparing food for the expected visitors. The rest kept up the
steady weeping and wailing that was customary on such occasions. Buphelis
had been sent to hire professional mourners to come to the house and keen.

Cassandra used the Voice to order everyone to leave the hall, saying she
wanted a chance to mourn in private. She was just in time. Xanthos revived
with a great shuddering gasp which immediately set him to gagging, for he
had all but swallowed the coin. "I forgot about that," Cassandra said
briskly, smacking him on the back to help him cough it up.

Xanthos spit the obol out into his palm. "Thank you," he said dryly. "I can
breathe now." He swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood, then
looked down at his new clean clothes in satisfaction and slapped himself on
the belly with both hands. "Even with the coin, this is better than waking
up stripped naked on a battlefield. Or buried underground."

"Yes," Cassandra agreed, her own voice dry, remembering much worse ways to
revive. Much worse. "But you need to leave now." She handed him a heavy veil
and a long chiton. "Put these on. We can get you up the stairs to my room if
you're quick about it, and you can hide there until dark." Cassandra locked
the doors to the hall, then they made their way to her room without
incident. Dion followed, his tail wagging.

"Well, this life is over," he commented, taking off the veil, then pulling
the chiton over his head.

"Dying in public does tend to have that effect," Cassandra agreed. Men's
voices sounded in the courtyard, and Cassandra sighed. "I'll try to get rid
of them. There's food under the bed for you." As she shut the door behind
her, she caught a glimpse of Xanthos lying at his ease on her bed, tossing a
grape in the air and catching it in his mouth, while his dog lay on the
floor close by.

Cassandra pulled her veil over her face and went down the stairs. Five of
Xanthos's business associates were standing in the courtyard, eating the
food which two slave-women were offering on trays. Theron was anxiously
waving his hands about, standing in front of the locked doors of the hall.

"But why can't we go into the hall?" Protox demanded. "We came to pay our
respects." The other four men nodded and murmured in anxious agreement. "Why
can't we go in?" he demanded again, his voice going strident.

Theron tried to answer, but his quavering voice did not persuade them.
Cassandra stepped forward, pitching her Voice to soothe and convince.
"Please, lords. This is a house of mourning."

The men were silent at that, and keening wails of the women in the kitchen
echoed in the courtyard.

Cassandra spread her hands in a plea for help and understanding, then said
softly and hesitantly, as befitted a woman in the company of strangers, "My
Lord Xanthos was enamored of the ways of the Egyptians, as you know."

There were more nods. All of these men had come to some of the "Egyptian
banquets" Xanthos had held from time to time, complete with pickled sparrow
and haq, the Egyptian beer.

Cassandra continued with the excuses. "It is their custom not to display the
body before the cremation."

"Seems an odd custom, if you ask me," grumbled an overweight man with gray
hair. "How are you to know a man is dead if you haven't seen his body?"

"The Watch saw the murder done, and carried the body here," Cassandra
replied, letting her voice grow strong with conviction, slipping into the
cadences of prophecy. "His heart's blood stains the blade of the sword that
lies in the hall." The wailing of the women grew louder, and Cassandra cried
with them, "He is dead, he is dead! Our lord and master is dead!" She burst
out weeping and covered her face with her hands.

The men shuffled uneasily at this display of unrestrained feminine emotion,
then headed for the door. Cassandra sank to her knees, wailing and crying
until the last of them were gone. She stopped her weeping when the door
shut, then rose, wondering where she was going to find a body to cremate
tomorrow.

Dying in public was really most exasperating.

~~~~~

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