Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [159]
"Don't call me that," I said automatically. "And no, I'll help."
"You can pay a woman to empty the chamberpot for you," Eamonn offered in a helpful tone. "And tidy, and launder your clothes, too. That's what I do."
Gilot merely looked at me. "This is what you wanted, Imri."
I drew a deep breath, redolent of incense. It seemed to seep through the very walls. Blue twilight was settling over the courtyard beyond the open door. It came early here in the students' quarter with its tall buildings, blocking out the rays of the setting sun. I could hear women's voices, the high-pitched calls of children. Here in Tiberium, I was anonymous. No one wanted me dead. No one was gauging me for signs of treason. No one wanted me to wed a stranger and father a kingdom's heir. I could live like a pauper behind a door with no lock.
I was just another impoverished gentleman scholar, one who could lend a sympathetic ear to a haunted friend.
It wouldn't last. Nothing good ever did without changing.
But while it did, I would revel in it.
"Yes." I smiled at Gilot. "It's perfect."
He sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Three
On the following day, I attended the University proper. It is an ancient structure, situated alongside the Old Forum near the Curia, where the Senate still gathers. Once, I am told, it was used for judicial purposes; but the power of the magistrates and praetors who once legislated there has faded, their presence replaced by the trappings of academia.
Outside, students loitered before the colonnade, but inside, the marble halls bustled in a hushed fashion. The University Masters strode its halls, velvet robes flapping purposefully, respectful pupils trailing in their wake like so many ducklings. Unlike Master Piero's students, they all wore varying robes or hoods to indicate their status. Unsure where his lecture hall lay, I flagged down a passing student to inquire.
"Master Piero?" The Caerdicci student I had asked flapped one hand dismissively. "The madman's hall lies yonder, D'Angeline." He looked me over with scarce-veiled contempt. "So, has he decided to take on a fancy-boy, then?"
I stepped close to him, close enough to smell onions on his breath. My right hand hovered over the hilt of my sword. "And what if he has?" I asked softly. "Do you wish to make an issue of it, my friend?"
He backed away, raising his hands. "Oh, please!" he said in disgust. "Spare me the posture. Go, and find your Master."
I went, troubled by the exchange.
The lecture hall was one of the smaller spaces, but it was large enough to contain us all in relative comfort. We sat perched on the funny little stools the Tiberians favor, while Master Piero paced the room and goaded us to conversation, pressing us to define the idea of the greater good in societal terms. For the first time in three days, I heard him cite many of the great Hellene and Tiberian philosophers, urging us to do the same.
I knew them; I knew them all, or almost. In her own scattered way, Phèdre had been an excellent tutor, and she had always hired the best available. And so I contributed, though I felt my words to be rote. When we had finished, Master Piero beckoned to me.
"Stay," he said simply. "Wait."
So I did, cooling my heels while he listened to the concerns of others, nodding and compassionate. It was in that time that Lucius Tadius approached me.
"Montrève!" he said, hailing me. "I come bearing an invitation."
His eyes were heavy-lidded. I peered at him. "Oh?"
"Oh, indeed," he retorted. "I extend it on behalf of my sister Claudia Fulvia and her husband, Deccus Fulvius, who invite you to join us at the theatre later today and for supper at their domus afterward."
Wary though I was of politics, I was curious. Already, I was hard put to imagine what Lucius' sister was like. And whatever dealings Deccus Fulvius was mixed up in, he had been courteous at the baths. It would be impolite to decline. "My thanks," I said. "I'd be honored."
Lucius merely nodded