Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [148]
Gilot hunched his shoulders and looked miserable. "I'm not a scholar," he muttered.
"I know." I touched his arm. "You don't have to stay, you know."
He looked at me with obdurate stubbornness. "Oh, I'm staying!"
"Fine," I said. "Then stop being an ass."
Once we glimpsed Tiberium proper, even Gilot had to own himself impressed. It is an old city, and if it no longer possesses the power it once held, it was still vast; bigger by far than the City of Elua. We both fell silent, gazing at the sprawl of buildings and monuments that covered its seven hills.
"It's… big," Gilot said faintly. "That it is," I agreed.
As in Ostia, the wharf swirled with activity. It had originally been in my thoughts to seek Eamonn straightaway, but the scale of Tiberium overwhelmed me. The warehouses alone seemed enormous. Iskandria was the only city I had ever seen as large, and there I had been accompanied by Phèdre and Joscelin, who already knew it. Here, I was alone, save for Gilot, who was little help. I was also tired and dirty, and it was growing late; the sun was hovering low over the seven hills. I looked around for a porter or a guide to hire, but it seemed all were engaged with bigger quarry than a pair of travel-worn D'Angelines. Gilot stood numb beside me, holding our horses.
In marked contrast to our sorry state, a trio of elegant young nobles disembarked from a pleasure-barge near us; young men, laughing and talking in animated Caerdicci. I plucked at my salt-stained doublet and looked enviously at them.
"Hey, D'Angeline!" one of them called. "What's the matter? Are you lost? Looking for the nearest brothel?"
His fellows laughed. I smiled ruefully. "A decent inn would do, my friend."
"Oh, friend, is it?" The one who had spoken eyed me. He had an unruly mass of dark auburn curls and young satyr's face, with sharp cheekbones and a wide, curling smile. "You're presuming a lot."
I shrugged. "A friend until proven otherwise."
He laughed. "I like that! Did you hear that, Aulus?" He thrust out a well-manicured hand. "Lucius Tadius da Lucca."
I clasped it. "Imriel nó Montrève."
A lively curiosity lit his gaze. "Montrève. You're adopted, yes? Do I understand D'Angeline nomenclature?"
"You do," I said. "And I am."
"The name strikes a chord," Lucius Tadius mused. "Ah well, no mind! What brings you to Tiberium, young Montrève? Another impoverished gentleman scholar come to try your luck at the University? I see your dumbstruck manservant standing by."
Gilot scowled.
I grinned, unable to help myself. Despite his insouciance, I sensed no malice in this Lucius. "Something like that," I said. "Can you point us toward an inn in the students' quarter?"
He raised his brows. "My dear, we can point you toward a dozen. We're all gentlemen scholars here. Aulus, Donato, come. Let us acquit ourselves of our civic duty and lead our hapless guests to lodging." Lucius gave me a sidelong glance. "And perhaps the baths," he added. "You're a lovely specimen, young Montrève, but a bit grimy."
True to his word, Lucius Tadius and his fellows escorted us into the heart of the city proper. I was grateful for his aid, realizing we would have gotten lost in short order. While the main road, the Via Appia, was wide and imposing, the students' quarter was a dense labyrinth, situated between the University and a major forum. It was a confusing jumble of inns, wineshops, and vendors, and the insulae, the apartments where most students dwelled, rose in staggering tiers. When we arrived, the sun was no longer visible and the narrow streets were filled with blue shadows.
"There," Lucius said crisply, pointing. "Or there, or there. If you want your mounts well-tended, I recommend Lollia's place. She keeps a clean stable if you can afford it." He watched as I dismounted. "That's a good-looking