To Love Again - Bertrice Small [150]
“Of course,” Casia agreed. “Cailin is ever practical, my lords. Basilicus, my love, you will join me for supper?”
“I cannot,” he said regretfully. “My sister insists I keep her company this evening, for she is entertaining the patriarch. Perhaps I shall come late, my sweet. Would it please you?”
“No,” Casia said, “I think not, my lord. If you cannot come to supper, then I shall take the time to catch up on my sleep. I do not seem to get a great deal of it when you are with me,” she added suggestively, thus tempering her refusal. Rising, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Come, Cailin. It will be difficult enough getting through the crowds, with the arena emptying itself like a full wine cup.”
“Good fortune, my lord,” Cailin told Aspar.
He bent and, cupping her face in his hand, touched her lips softly with his. “When I look at you, my love,” he told her, “I find my devotion to duty growing weaker and weaker.”
“You do not fool me,” Cailin said with a small smile. “The empire is your first love, and I well know it. I am willing to share you with Byzantium, my dearest love.”
He smiled into her face. “You are without peer among all the women I have ever known, Cailin Drusus. I am fortunate to have your love.”
“You are fortunate to have his love,” Casia told her as they departed the Hippodrome in her large and comfortable litter.
“Why did you refuse to allow the prince to come later?” Cailin asked her friend. “I believe he truly loves you.”
“I do not want to cling to Basilicus like some dreadful little vine,” Casia said. “Nor do I want Basilicus to ever presume upon my love for him. I am his mistress, not his wife. I will not accept part of an evening at his discretion. I want an entire evening. Surely he knew beforehand that he would be with his sister tonight, but he did not tell me. He presumed that I should be there for him, but I am not, now am I?”
When Cailin did not answer, Casia focused upon her friend and said, “Have you heard a word that I said? What is the matter with you, Cailin? You are suddenly so distracted.”
Cailin sighed. She needed to confide in someone, and Casia was the only friend she had. “It is the Saxon,” she replied.
“Aye, he is gorgeous!” Casia agreed.
“It is not that,” Cailin answered.
“Then what is it?” Casia demanded.
“I think the Saxon is Wulf Ironfist,” Cailin told her friend.
“Your husband in Britain? Are you certain? The gods!”
“I am not certain, Casia,” Cailin said nervously, “but I must know! We wed because he was tired of fighting and he wanted to settle down. My lands were what drew him to me. I have thought Wulf Ironfist to be in Britain, on those lands, these months past. I even decided that he must have taken another wife and had a child by now. I have to know if the man they call the Saxon is he! I must know one way or another.”
“Ohhh, Cailin, you are opening a Pandora’s box,” Casia warned. “What if this man is Wulf Ironfist? What will you do? Do you still love him? What of Aspar?”
“I cannot answer you, Casia. I have no answers. I only know I must learn if it is he, or if my eyes have been playing tricks upon me.” She looked so distraught that Casia’s heart went out to her. “Ohhh, what am I to do?” Cailin asked, and she began to cry.
“Well,” Casia said briskly, “we will simply have to satisfy your curiosity, won’t we?” Pulling the curtains of her litter open, she leaned out and called to her head bearer, “Go to Villa Maxima, Peter!”
Cailin gasped. “Oh, Casia, no! ‘Tis madness! What if I am seen? Especially now that I am to be married to Aspar.”
“Who will see us?” Casia said. “Jovian and Phocas have closed Villa Maxima to their regular clientele while the gladiators are in residence. I will go in while you remain in the litter with the curtains tightly closed. I will seek out Jovian, and he will know how you may learn if the Saxon is your Wulf Ironfist. We will be discreet,