Sugar and Spice
Jan. 15th, 2007 07:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrAs an FYI, this chapter isn't very exciting. There really was no way to make the intro of this char exciting. He is, after all, a politician. Things get spicier more exciting later.
Have I mentioned I love Roman names? They're so goddamn ridiculous.
Chapter One
Three years later
As much as it irked him to even think it, Tacitus was more and more often finding that he should have listened to his mother. His father would have disowned him for disgracing the family by taking up such a low pursuit as art, but Tacitus was hard pressed these days to recall why that was a bad thing. Truly, his mother had known what she was talking about.
If only she hadn’t been so voracious about cheating on his father. He might also have been inclined to listen to a woman who hadn’t one day simply run away. His father was still furious over that scandal. He also tended to hold it against his son quite often, though near as Tacitus could tell it was only because he looked so much like his mother. Though he was Havarin through and through, his dark ginger hair and deep brown eyes were evidence that his mother’s family had long ago come from Selimtorus. Only his father’s bloodline and mother’s money had kept that from ever being a problem.
Obviously it was time to stop drinking. If his thoughts were slipping from him and down along such tired paths, his mouth would be next. Given everyone here waited with bated breath to see him make a mistake – definitely time to stop drinking.
Not that anyone else at the table would notice if he made a mistake right now. Unlike him, most of them obviously didn’t know when to stop despite being at least seven years his senior. Of the twenty senators who had gathered at the Silver Baths for a brief holiday, fifteen of them were most certainly drunk. Two more were to the point they’d shortly pass out. That left him, Claudius, and Decimus.
Tacitus reached for the water pitcher, using it as a chance to look at the two men. Claudius was as stone-faced as ever, looking around the room as though bored out of his mind. If the rumors concerning his latest mistress, a beautiful actress, were true, Tacitus had no doubt he was quite bored here. He was a handsome man, gray-sprinkled brown hair cut in the just-too long style so popular now, his sharp blue-green eyes missing nothing, the pale blue fabric of the bath robes suiting his fair skin and slender build.
They disagreed completely when it came to policy, but Claudius had always been civil to him. Given that Tacitus was far younger than the rest of the senate, and had not really earned his place, Claudius was being positively friendly.
Decimus had been the one to arrange the holiday, for ‘even if we must be enemies on the floor, there was no reason they could not relax together for a spell’. In reality, it was just one more way to gauge the waters, shift the balance, make friends and measure the mettle of enemies. Tacitus would have been flattered that he’d been invited, except he knew the others were just hoping to start feeling him out, testing where he might go. He trusted this lot the same as he trusted his father.
That is to say, not at all.
He had to be civil to Decimus, of course, as he was an old friend of the family – insofar as politicians had and could be friends. Their political views were mostly aligned, and Decimus had never given any reason to be doubted…still, if there was anyone who might poison his wine someday, Tacitus could not help but feel it would be Decimus.
Perhaps it was the fact the man had always looked like a snake to him. Too skinny, too tall, his face narrow and sharp, eyes a sickly shade of greenish-brown. There were many females who said he was handsome, but Tacitus had never seen it.
Sipping his water, Tacitus leaned back against his pillows and wished in vain that he was back home. There he could be in his own rooms, enjoying a simple meal, a light wine, wearing his own clothes and sketching the sunset or some stray pretty boy.
Instead, he sat in a room of white marble and blue tile, amongst blue silk cushions, wearing a robe of fine blue linen, altogether sick of the pale, weak color.
The wine was dark and heavy, some exotic thing with a strange name from the heathen lands across the sea. The food was too rich, too spicy. He dare not sketch here, and shuddered to think what these vultures would do with his treasured sketches and watercolors.
Mercy of Havaramina, he just wanted to be done with the political dancing and go home for a spell. Perhaps off to the house for some pleasant – if purchased – company. At least there he need not fear being poisoned or stabbed in the back. Madame Agrippa liked his gold too much.
Ah, now there were some pleasant thoughts. Who should he ask for upon his return? So many fine and lovely options. Saffron, so bright and lovely…Licorice, dark and seductive…Mint, wicked and sharp…just thinking of all the lovely options stirred his blood. The Spice house – formally the House of Exotic Flavors – was difficult to join, but oh so very worth it. So many choices, and he was lonely and miserable enough to sample them all.
Perhaps something different, though. That might ease him more than a familiar face, no matter how appealing that face might be. Yes, that would do. He would request a ‘spice’ he’d never tried before.
“Tacitus?”
Resenting wholly that he was being addressed, Tacitus forced away his idle thoughts and focused on Claudius. “Yes?”
“We were headed for the massage rooms,” Claudius replied. He waved a hand at the rest of the room. “Obviously this fine meal is at an end, and the night is still quite young. Would you care to join us?”
Tacitus nodded and stood, moving to join Claudius and Decimus as they moved to the doorway. A massage would do wonders to his physical tensions, which would ease some of his mental tension. If nothing else, it would prove quite a fine distraction for a time.
Though the well-trained politician in him wondered what game was afoot. Claudius and Decimus were not enemies, but neither were they comrades. When near-enemies did such trivial things as massages together, and invited the youngest amongst them to join, it paid to be cautious.
Especially when he took the past three days into account, the way these two had obviously been feeling him out, testing the waters. It was glaringly obvious that he’d been invited for precisely that purpose, and he wondered at their ultimate goal. He had nothing to offer, and Decimus was close enough to the family he could simply ask.
Unless…
Tacitus hid his frown as he walked with the two men through hallways of blue and white mosaics, softly lit by delicate beeswax candles. The scent of rich incense mingled perfectly with the more acrid smell of the baths. Eventually they reached the massage halls, a long row of padded tables, each attended by an attractive young man or woman. The three men spread out, each going to a table with an attendant that appealed.
A fine youth with dark gold curls and bright blue eyes drew Tacitus, his smile charming, his greeting polite and most pleasing.
His hands were more pleasing still, as he stripped away Tacitus’s robes, lingering here and there, smelling of the scented oil he would soon be putting to use. The youth assisted him onto the table and helped him lay out just so. “Are you comfortable, my lord?”
“Most,” Tacitus said, already feeling better as the scents and the quiet settled over him.
“Then we begin, my lord.”
Tacitus grunted as those fine, clever hands went to work, kneading muscle, working out knots he hadn’t known were there. From a distance, he could hear the sounds of his comrades, groans and moans, followed by sighs. He was far more interested in the hands upon him, however. Knowing, very knowing, loosing most muscles, tightening others as clove-scented oil was rubbed into his skin.
“Better, my lord?”
“Much,” Tacitus replied with a groan.
“Would my lord like to turn over?”
Ah, now that was the question. To given in to such indulgences too frequently could be bad, but he had not indulged once since being here, and had been too busy for any such pleasure for a few weeks now. The tone of the moans in the background had changed, indicating he was not the only one succumbing to the sweetly offered temptation. “Yes, I would,” he finally replied, and turned over so those fine hands could administer to his front.
They started with his torso, exploring shoulders and chest, digging into the muscles of his arms. Soft sounds of pleasure escaped the youth, and Tacitus could not help but be pleased. He was not so soft as his fellows. In his own youth, his father had insisted upon his competing in the Sports. Though he’d had no love for the competing, too much a prelude to his current life, he had enjoyed the exercise. It kept him energized, provided movement and action to an otherwise dull life. It also kept him from getting fat and soft like all the others.
The hands moved lower, kneading hard into his muscles before shifting into light and teasing caresses, brushing over his nipples before pinching them hard. Tacitus jumped and shivered as the hands continued their assault. They teased over his stomach, then brushed feather-light over his aching erection before dancing away to knead the tight muscles of his thighs, working down his legs before slowly going back up the insides of them. Finally, finally, those taunting fingers cupped and fondled his balls, wrapped around his leaking prick, stroking firmly, so knowingly, harder and faster until Tacitus came with a muffled cry. As the climax eased, a soft, damp cloth gently cleaned away the evidence of pleasure.
“Thank you,” Tacitus murmured as he was helped up. He grasped the youth’s face and tugged him close, pressing a soft kiss to those full, pretty lips.
Blue eyes gleamed. “My pleasure, I assure you, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“I shall.” Tacitus reached into his robes once he was dressed again and pressed a few gold pieces into the youth’s hands before moving down the hall to the room where Decimus waited. Claudius was still engaged on the far end of the room, and after a moment the two men left Claudius to continue on.
At the far end of the hallway, they disrobed in a dressing room and stowed their clothing before venturing into the great bath itself.
The water was a dark, brownish green, reeking of sulfur. Steam curled up, beckoning visitors to the hot water, relaxing despite the atrocious smell. With a sigh, Tacitus slid into the steaming water, settling on a low bench and leaning his head back against the marble, letting his eyes slide shut.
“So are you enjoying the holiday, Tacitus?” Decimus asked.
Tacitus opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Yes, quite. I am flattered my mentors saw fit to bring me along.” He could lie with the best of them. His father would be proud.
Decimus chuckled. “Hardly your mentors now, Tacitus. You have proven yourself to be every bit your father’s son. I sense by the end of your career you will have far surpassed him, which all fathers hope to see of their sons.” The briefest shadows flickered across his face, and Tacitus knew he was thinking of his own son, who had left to study abroad in Lavarre and had chosen to live there with the Lavarren wife he’d taken. That left Decimus with only a daughter a few years younger than Tacitus…which was a possible reason for his invitation to this holiday. At thirty-three, well-established and thriving, he was due to take a wife.
A wife that he very much did not want, but at least if he did have Decimus’s daughter foisted upon him, she would be a good wife.
“How is your father, speaking of him? We have not had a chance for idle conversation since our arrival”
Tacitus forced himself not to shrug or sigh. “He is well, sir, at least as well as can be expected. The fire cough nearly got the better of him, though he continues to protest.” To the point that Tacitus wanted to kill him. His father was sickly, would probably be lucky to survive if the debilitating disease got him a second time, but still the man insisted on doing as much as he possibly could. Only upon the Empress’s orders had he retired and handed over his seat in the Senate to his son – and every time Tacitus saw him, he was drilled in what he said, did, had not said or done, how he could do better and so on. A never ending harangue.
He should have listened to his mother. If he had, he would no doubt be in exile somewhere, but at least he would be closer to happy than he was now. Ah, well. It was a mistake beyond fixing, and he would make the best of what he had. There were his fine home, his sketches, and the beautiful Spice house when the loneliness became too unbearable. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would suffice.
Stifling another sigh, Tacitus tested some waters of his own. “How is your family, sir? Sadly, work keeps me from more pleasant social engagements, though of course you would know that better than I.”
Decimus chuckled and sank further into the water. “Yes, indeed. My family is quite fine. My daughter will be home from finishing school in three days; we are planning a coming of age reception for six months hence. Let me extend a personal and most sincere invitation to you now, Tacitus.”
“I would be most honored to attend, good sir.”
“Excellent,” Decimus said with a pleased smile. “Do extend the invitation to your father; hopefully his health will have improved by that point.”
“Thank you, good sir. I will do so, and I’m sure he will be.”
There was a soft splash as Claudius slid into the pool on Tacitus’s other side. “I do love these baths,” he said with a pleased groan. “So much better than anything the city can offer. I am in no hurry to return there, let me assure you!”
Decimus laughed. “Who is ever in a hurry to return to work? Though the next time we come out here, I think we should leave the rest of those drunken fools at home.”
Claudius wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Yes.”
Tacitus stayed silent, thoroughly confused. These were two men who by all rights should not be getting along so well. They argue passionately when in session, oft times out of session. More than a few witnesses had said it was only a matter of time before the two killed each other. Yet here they acted as old friends.
“We are confusing the lad, I think.”
“Lad?” Tacitus snorted. “I am no lad, dear sirs, for all that I lack your experience.”
The men laughed. “No, you are no lad. Still, we are confusing you.”
“It is most strange to see enemies act as friends,” Tacitus conceded.
Claudius smirked, the expression echoed by Decimus. “Sometimes, it is more effective to be enemies rather than friends.”
He was getting tired of subtlety, but it was not his game so he could not change the rules. That would be rude and hasty, and not win him ground. Politics were as difficult as watercolor; once the brushstroke was made, it could not be taken back. The only options were to get it right, or change the picture to hide the error. “As clever as you both are, I should have anticipated that.”
More soft laughter, followed by a quiet lull.
Claudius finally broke the silence after several minutes. “I was pleased to see, Tacitus, that you know how to drink. You are so solitary, and rarely drink in public – and admirable habit – that I was not certain how well you drank. It is good to know you are not amongst the rest of that rabble.”
“The wine was not to my taste, I confess, but it was fine. It would be a shame to maltreat it by drinking to excess and failing to appreciate it. One of the heathen wines, yes? I prefer those made here.”
Decimus chuckled. “Yes, a heathen wine. Even I will concede those barbarians know how to make a fine wine. Thousands of them, in fact. The one I brought out this evening is one they call Moonless Night. Quite potent, especially if you are not used to the strength of them. The few heathens I have met all count our wine as being weak as water.”
“I much prefer the water,” Tacitus replied.
“As do I,” Claudius said. “Let Decimus keep his confounded heathen wines. Perhaps it would explain why they’re so heathen.”
“Hmm,” Decimus said thoughtfully. “Speaking of heathens – I do not like the reports beginning to filter in.”
Tacitus frowned. “What reports?”
“It is said Tavamara has more than doubled in size now that it has finally claimed that massive desert that separated it from Gollen, Lavarre, and Hadge. We are wondering what Tavamara’s next move will be. It is not yet public knowledge, of course.”
Tacitus barely kept from rolling his eyes. Decimus was close to the Empress, milking his weak claim as a very distant cousin for every last drop.
Claudius made a face. “I am more concerned with the rumblings from the colonies.”
Decimus scoffed. “That matter we will settle quite nicely, never fear.”
Ah. This matter Tacitus was familiar with. The countries Torin, Valre, Bornus, and Selimtorus had long been colonies of Havarin. Of late, they had been protesting that status and arguments waged over what to do about them. The Senate was torn into three groups over the matter, with no part taking a majority. It was equally divided between putting the colonies firmly in their place, making them full citizens of Havarin, or setting them free to govern themselves. Tacitus and Decimus were of the mind they should be cut loose, Claudius believing they should be reminded of their place.
“No doubt you think you will settle it,” Claudius scoffed.
“Of course,” Decimus said lazily, settling further in the water.
Tacitus rolled his eyes and relaxed, wholly uninterested in discussing work when he’d just enjoyed a most pleasing massage and was soaking in the finest spring waters in Havarin. There were some places he refused to dredge up more politics than he absolutely had to.
On either side of him, the two men laughed again and shifted to discussing the latest Sporting stars, arguing over who would take which medals, which shifted to past glories, to their own days, the conversation segueing and shifting constantly, until Tacitus was at last drawn back into it, and the three men talked late into the night.
Have I mentioned I love Roman names? They're so goddamn ridiculous.
Chapter One
Three years later
As much as it irked him to even think it, Tacitus was more and more often finding that he should have listened to his mother. His father would have disowned him for disgracing the family by taking up such a low pursuit as art, but Tacitus was hard pressed these days to recall why that was a bad thing. Truly, his mother had known what she was talking about.
If only she hadn’t been so voracious about cheating on his father. He might also have been inclined to listen to a woman who hadn’t one day simply run away. His father was still furious over that scandal. He also tended to hold it against his son quite often, though near as Tacitus could tell it was only because he looked so much like his mother. Though he was Havarin through and through, his dark ginger hair and deep brown eyes were evidence that his mother’s family had long ago come from Selimtorus. Only his father’s bloodline and mother’s money had kept that from ever being a problem.
Obviously it was time to stop drinking. If his thoughts were slipping from him and down along such tired paths, his mouth would be next. Given everyone here waited with bated breath to see him make a mistake – definitely time to stop drinking.
Not that anyone else at the table would notice if he made a mistake right now. Unlike him, most of them obviously didn’t know when to stop despite being at least seven years his senior. Of the twenty senators who had gathered at the Silver Baths for a brief holiday, fifteen of them were most certainly drunk. Two more were to the point they’d shortly pass out. That left him, Claudius, and Decimus.
Tacitus reached for the water pitcher, using it as a chance to look at the two men. Claudius was as stone-faced as ever, looking around the room as though bored out of his mind. If the rumors concerning his latest mistress, a beautiful actress, were true, Tacitus had no doubt he was quite bored here. He was a handsome man, gray-sprinkled brown hair cut in the just-too long style so popular now, his sharp blue-green eyes missing nothing, the pale blue fabric of the bath robes suiting his fair skin and slender build.
They disagreed completely when it came to policy, but Claudius had always been civil to him. Given that Tacitus was far younger than the rest of the senate, and had not really earned his place, Claudius was being positively friendly.
Decimus had been the one to arrange the holiday, for ‘even if we must be enemies on the floor, there was no reason they could not relax together for a spell’. In reality, it was just one more way to gauge the waters, shift the balance, make friends and measure the mettle of enemies. Tacitus would have been flattered that he’d been invited, except he knew the others were just hoping to start feeling him out, testing where he might go. He trusted this lot the same as he trusted his father.
That is to say, not at all.
He had to be civil to Decimus, of course, as he was an old friend of the family – insofar as politicians had and could be friends. Their political views were mostly aligned, and Decimus had never given any reason to be doubted…still, if there was anyone who might poison his wine someday, Tacitus could not help but feel it would be Decimus.
Perhaps it was the fact the man had always looked like a snake to him. Too skinny, too tall, his face narrow and sharp, eyes a sickly shade of greenish-brown. There were many females who said he was handsome, but Tacitus had never seen it.
Sipping his water, Tacitus leaned back against his pillows and wished in vain that he was back home. There he could be in his own rooms, enjoying a simple meal, a light wine, wearing his own clothes and sketching the sunset or some stray pretty boy.
Instead, he sat in a room of white marble and blue tile, amongst blue silk cushions, wearing a robe of fine blue linen, altogether sick of the pale, weak color.
The wine was dark and heavy, some exotic thing with a strange name from the heathen lands across the sea. The food was too rich, too spicy. He dare not sketch here, and shuddered to think what these vultures would do with his treasured sketches and watercolors.
Mercy of Havaramina, he just wanted to be done with the political dancing and go home for a spell. Perhaps off to the house for some pleasant – if purchased – company. At least there he need not fear being poisoned or stabbed in the back. Madame Agrippa liked his gold too much.
Ah, now there were some pleasant thoughts. Who should he ask for upon his return? So many fine and lovely options. Saffron, so bright and lovely…Licorice, dark and seductive…Mint, wicked and sharp…just thinking of all the lovely options stirred his blood. The Spice house – formally the House of Exotic Flavors – was difficult to join, but oh so very worth it. So many choices, and he was lonely and miserable enough to sample them all.
Perhaps something different, though. That might ease him more than a familiar face, no matter how appealing that face might be. Yes, that would do. He would request a ‘spice’ he’d never tried before.
“Tacitus?”
Resenting wholly that he was being addressed, Tacitus forced away his idle thoughts and focused on Claudius. “Yes?”
“We were headed for the massage rooms,” Claudius replied. He waved a hand at the rest of the room. “Obviously this fine meal is at an end, and the night is still quite young. Would you care to join us?”
Tacitus nodded and stood, moving to join Claudius and Decimus as they moved to the doorway. A massage would do wonders to his physical tensions, which would ease some of his mental tension. If nothing else, it would prove quite a fine distraction for a time.
Though the well-trained politician in him wondered what game was afoot. Claudius and Decimus were not enemies, but neither were they comrades. When near-enemies did such trivial things as massages together, and invited the youngest amongst them to join, it paid to be cautious.
Especially when he took the past three days into account, the way these two had obviously been feeling him out, testing the waters. It was glaringly obvious that he’d been invited for precisely that purpose, and he wondered at their ultimate goal. He had nothing to offer, and Decimus was close enough to the family he could simply ask.
Unless…
Tacitus hid his frown as he walked with the two men through hallways of blue and white mosaics, softly lit by delicate beeswax candles. The scent of rich incense mingled perfectly with the more acrid smell of the baths. Eventually they reached the massage halls, a long row of padded tables, each attended by an attractive young man or woman. The three men spread out, each going to a table with an attendant that appealed.
A fine youth with dark gold curls and bright blue eyes drew Tacitus, his smile charming, his greeting polite and most pleasing.
His hands were more pleasing still, as he stripped away Tacitus’s robes, lingering here and there, smelling of the scented oil he would soon be putting to use. The youth assisted him onto the table and helped him lay out just so. “Are you comfortable, my lord?”
“Most,” Tacitus said, already feeling better as the scents and the quiet settled over him.
“Then we begin, my lord.”
Tacitus grunted as those fine, clever hands went to work, kneading muscle, working out knots he hadn’t known were there. From a distance, he could hear the sounds of his comrades, groans and moans, followed by sighs. He was far more interested in the hands upon him, however. Knowing, very knowing, loosing most muscles, tightening others as clove-scented oil was rubbed into his skin.
“Better, my lord?”
“Much,” Tacitus replied with a groan.
“Would my lord like to turn over?”
Ah, now that was the question. To given in to such indulgences too frequently could be bad, but he had not indulged once since being here, and had been too busy for any such pleasure for a few weeks now. The tone of the moans in the background had changed, indicating he was not the only one succumbing to the sweetly offered temptation. “Yes, I would,” he finally replied, and turned over so those fine hands could administer to his front.
They started with his torso, exploring shoulders and chest, digging into the muscles of his arms. Soft sounds of pleasure escaped the youth, and Tacitus could not help but be pleased. He was not so soft as his fellows. In his own youth, his father had insisted upon his competing in the Sports. Though he’d had no love for the competing, too much a prelude to his current life, he had enjoyed the exercise. It kept him energized, provided movement and action to an otherwise dull life. It also kept him from getting fat and soft like all the others.
The hands moved lower, kneading hard into his muscles before shifting into light and teasing caresses, brushing over his nipples before pinching them hard. Tacitus jumped and shivered as the hands continued their assault. They teased over his stomach, then brushed feather-light over his aching erection before dancing away to knead the tight muscles of his thighs, working down his legs before slowly going back up the insides of them. Finally, finally, those taunting fingers cupped and fondled his balls, wrapped around his leaking prick, stroking firmly, so knowingly, harder and faster until Tacitus came with a muffled cry. As the climax eased, a soft, damp cloth gently cleaned away the evidence of pleasure.
“Thank you,” Tacitus murmured as he was helped up. He grasped the youth’s face and tugged him close, pressing a soft kiss to those full, pretty lips.
Blue eyes gleamed. “My pleasure, I assure you, my lord. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“I shall.” Tacitus reached into his robes once he was dressed again and pressed a few gold pieces into the youth’s hands before moving down the hall to the room where Decimus waited. Claudius was still engaged on the far end of the room, and after a moment the two men left Claudius to continue on.
At the far end of the hallway, they disrobed in a dressing room and stowed their clothing before venturing into the great bath itself.
The water was a dark, brownish green, reeking of sulfur. Steam curled up, beckoning visitors to the hot water, relaxing despite the atrocious smell. With a sigh, Tacitus slid into the steaming water, settling on a low bench and leaning his head back against the marble, letting his eyes slide shut.
“So are you enjoying the holiday, Tacitus?” Decimus asked.
Tacitus opened his eyes and lifted his head. “Yes, quite. I am flattered my mentors saw fit to bring me along.” He could lie with the best of them. His father would be proud.
Decimus chuckled. “Hardly your mentors now, Tacitus. You have proven yourself to be every bit your father’s son. I sense by the end of your career you will have far surpassed him, which all fathers hope to see of their sons.” The briefest shadows flickered across his face, and Tacitus knew he was thinking of his own son, who had left to study abroad in Lavarre and had chosen to live there with the Lavarren wife he’d taken. That left Decimus with only a daughter a few years younger than Tacitus…which was a possible reason for his invitation to this holiday. At thirty-three, well-established and thriving, he was due to take a wife.
A wife that he very much did not want, but at least if he did have Decimus’s daughter foisted upon him, she would be a good wife.
“How is your father, speaking of him? We have not had a chance for idle conversation since our arrival”
Tacitus forced himself not to shrug or sigh. “He is well, sir, at least as well as can be expected. The fire cough nearly got the better of him, though he continues to protest.” To the point that Tacitus wanted to kill him. His father was sickly, would probably be lucky to survive if the debilitating disease got him a second time, but still the man insisted on doing as much as he possibly could. Only upon the Empress’s orders had he retired and handed over his seat in the Senate to his son – and every time Tacitus saw him, he was drilled in what he said, did, had not said or done, how he could do better and so on. A never ending harangue.
He should have listened to his mother. If he had, he would no doubt be in exile somewhere, but at least he would be closer to happy than he was now. Ah, well. It was a mistake beyond fixing, and he would make the best of what he had. There were his fine home, his sketches, and the beautiful Spice house when the loneliness became too unbearable. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would suffice.
Stifling another sigh, Tacitus tested some waters of his own. “How is your family, sir? Sadly, work keeps me from more pleasant social engagements, though of course you would know that better than I.”
Decimus chuckled and sank further into the water. “Yes, indeed. My family is quite fine. My daughter will be home from finishing school in three days; we are planning a coming of age reception for six months hence. Let me extend a personal and most sincere invitation to you now, Tacitus.”
“I would be most honored to attend, good sir.”
“Excellent,” Decimus said with a pleased smile. “Do extend the invitation to your father; hopefully his health will have improved by that point.”
“Thank you, good sir. I will do so, and I’m sure he will be.”
There was a soft splash as Claudius slid into the pool on Tacitus’s other side. “I do love these baths,” he said with a pleased groan. “So much better than anything the city can offer. I am in no hurry to return there, let me assure you!”
Decimus laughed. “Who is ever in a hurry to return to work? Though the next time we come out here, I think we should leave the rest of those drunken fools at home.”
Claudius wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Yes.”
Tacitus stayed silent, thoroughly confused. These were two men who by all rights should not be getting along so well. They argue passionately when in session, oft times out of session. More than a few witnesses had said it was only a matter of time before the two killed each other. Yet here they acted as old friends.
“We are confusing the lad, I think.”
“Lad?” Tacitus snorted. “I am no lad, dear sirs, for all that I lack your experience.”
The men laughed. “No, you are no lad. Still, we are confusing you.”
“It is most strange to see enemies act as friends,” Tacitus conceded.
Claudius smirked, the expression echoed by Decimus. “Sometimes, it is more effective to be enemies rather than friends.”
He was getting tired of subtlety, but it was not his game so he could not change the rules. That would be rude and hasty, and not win him ground. Politics were as difficult as watercolor; once the brushstroke was made, it could not be taken back. The only options were to get it right, or change the picture to hide the error. “As clever as you both are, I should have anticipated that.”
More soft laughter, followed by a quiet lull.
Claudius finally broke the silence after several minutes. “I was pleased to see, Tacitus, that you know how to drink. You are so solitary, and rarely drink in public – and admirable habit – that I was not certain how well you drank. It is good to know you are not amongst the rest of that rabble.”
“The wine was not to my taste, I confess, but it was fine. It would be a shame to maltreat it by drinking to excess and failing to appreciate it. One of the heathen wines, yes? I prefer those made here.”
Decimus chuckled. “Yes, a heathen wine. Even I will concede those barbarians know how to make a fine wine. Thousands of them, in fact. The one I brought out this evening is one they call Moonless Night. Quite potent, especially if you are not used to the strength of them. The few heathens I have met all count our wine as being weak as water.”
“I much prefer the water,” Tacitus replied.
“As do I,” Claudius said. “Let Decimus keep his confounded heathen wines. Perhaps it would explain why they’re so heathen.”
“Hmm,” Decimus said thoughtfully. “Speaking of heathens – I do not like the reports beginning to filter in.”
Tacitus frowned. “What reports?”
“It is said Tavamara has more than doubled in size now that it has finally claimed that massive desert that separated it from Gollen, Lavarre, and Hadge. We are wondering what Tavamara’s next move will be. It is not yet public knowledge, of course.”
Tacitus barely kept from rolling his eyes. Decimus was close to the Empress, milking his weak claim as a very distant cousin for every last drop.
Claudius made a face. “I am more concerned with the rumblings from the colonies.”
Decimus scoffed. “That matter we will settle quite nicely, never fear.”
Ah. This matter Tacitus was familiar with. The countries Torin, Valre, Bornus, and Selimtorus had long been colonies of Havarin. Of late, they had been protesting that status and arguments waged over what to do about them. The Senate was torn into three groups over the matter, with no part taking a majority. It was equally divided between putting the colonies firmly in their place, making them full citizens of Havarin, or setting them free to govern themselves. Tacitus and Decimus were of the mind they should be cut loose, Claudius believing they should be reminded of their place.
“No doubt you think you will settle it,” Claudius scoffed.
“Of course,” Decimus said lazily, settling further in the water.
Tacitus rolled his eyes and relaxed, wholly uninterested in discussing work when he’d just enjoyed a most pleasing massage and was soaking in the finest spring waters in Havarin. There were some places he refused to dredge up more politics than he absolutely had to.
On either side of him, the two men laughed again and shifted to discussing the latest Sporting stars, arguing over who would take which medals, which shifted to past glories, to their own days, the conversation segueing and shifting constantly, until Tacitus was at last drawn back into it, and the three men talked late into the night.
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Date: 2007-01-16 12:43 am (UTC)I am totally curious as to why he's in the spring with Claudius and Decimus and why they invited him. I really want to like him, but what you hinted at with Decimus makes me wonder.
And things were pretty spicy with that nice scene during the massage. ^______________^!!
*tackle glomps* Mooooooooore... *_________________*
*cough* Not to be demanding or anything. *cough* ^_^;;
*tackle hearts*
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Date: 2007-01-16 03:50 pm (UTC)I'm torn... I want more of this, now, but you have other wonderful stuff in works that I also want more of... so I suppose I'll just be happy with whatever comes next. And go read Meant to Be, in the mean time. ^_^
no subject
Date: 2007-01-17 01:40 pm (UTC)