The Seven Hills(59)

"With King Jonathan's permission," Norbanus said, "I would like to send some of my officers to your camp this evening. Now would be an excellent time for us to make preparations for an exchange of envoys to open diplomatic relations between our nations."

Surenas nodded curtly. "Very well. I am empowered to arrange such negotiations, pending my lord's approval."

Jonathan smiled. He knew these Romans now. Those officers would spy out every detail of the Parthian camp.

The Parthians rode back to their lines and Norbanus turned to Jonathan. "Will there be an exchange of gifts?"

"It's customary. I will give them cloaks and jewelry, that sort of thing. They will probably give me horses, saddles and so forth. Why?"

"See if you can get a few of their bows."

"Why do you want bows?" Jonathan asked.

"I've never seen their like. I want to send them to the Senate for study. It's our usual practice."

The other Roman officers nodded. They had noticed the bows, as well.

That night Norbanus took his ease beneath the awning of his new praetorium. He knew that some of his officers thought the royal tent far too luxurious for a Roman officer, and he did not care. He had been watching his fellow Romans from the time they had departed the austere northlands, and the signs of change were unmistakable.

Before crossing the Alps, Roman soldiers could make Spartans look decadent. Now, after many months in the South, having seen the rich farmlands of Italy, having experienced the incredible luxury of Carthage, the vast wealth of Egypt, they were changing. Troopers and officers often wore gold now. When they eyed a foreign city, they did not just apprehend danger, they assessed its potential in terms of loot.

They hadn't softened, and he would see to it that they didn't, but they had changed. From now on, they would fight not just for the glory and safety of Rome, but for their own enrichment. A man who would command legions henceforth could not depend upon his men's patriotism and discipline to assure their loyalty. He would have to appeal to their greed.

Titus Norbanus foresaw no problem with that.

He smelled the approaching women before he saw them. Their fragrance was wonderful. In the North, he had never understood the allure of perfume. It was what drew bees to flowers, no more. The closest Romans had come to an appreciation of scent was in the form of incense, imported at great cost to burn before the altars of the gods. Even women never anointed their bodies with fragrance. In the South and East, though, perfume was as important as color and jewels and fine food and wine. These people studied the sensual arts as Romans studied those of war. Norbanus had discovered that war would win you those luxuries, and the women and slaves to go with them. It was a simple equation.

"You see?" said Glaphyra or Roxana, he was not sure which. "All is falling into your hands, just as we foretold. The stars are never wrong."

"Do their seeresses ever make mistakes?" he asked, taking a hand and drawing her before him. It was Roxana, but he knew her twin was nearby.

"Not about the stars," she said, smiling as she slid into his lap. Immediately, he felt another pair of hands on his shoulders, another cloud of perfume.

He ran a hard palm up and down Roxana's spine. She arched, bringing her breasts closer to his face. "It would be best that you never make a mistake about me."

She stiffened slightly. "What do you mean, my lord?"

His hand went to the back of her neck and tightened. He grasped one of her sister's wrists and drew that one before him. He slid Roxana off his lap and forced both women to their knees before him. With a slender neck in each hand he drew both faces close to his own. His face was set in the mask of ferocity that was as much a part of a highborn Roman as skill with weapons. Their doelike eyes went wide with terror and an acrid odor drifted from beneath their clothing, overwhelming the perfume. This was a smell he truly savored.

"I mean that you two bitches are now part of my inner circle, closer to me than my soldiers and my officers. You will be with me in intimate moments. Never think that I am vulnerable. Never try to manipulate me or take advantage of me. Never speak a word of what I have said to other people, or of anything you have seen or heard in my company."

"Never, my lord!" both bleated.

"I have a short way with traitors. The princess of Carthage taught me ways to make people suffer that we Romans never dreamed of. Give me reason to suspect you, and your death will not be swift." Through his palms he felt them shudder, felt the thunder of their hearts. In a hard world, Carthage was a byword for extreme cruelty. Torture was an art form in that land, and execution was never swift.

He loosened his grip and let them rise. The point had been made. "Undress," he said. As their clothing fell away layer by layer, their fear receded and their confidence returned. This was an area where they still had power. Naked except for their jewelry, they were as alike as matched pearls.