The Dance of Time

life.

'It doesn't matter now. I'm here. I'm staying.'

For the first time since she'd rejoined her husband, he smiled. Anna realized she'd never really seen him smile before. Not, at least, with an expression that was anything more than politeness.

He reached out his hand, tentatively, and she moved toward him. The hand, fumbling, stroked her ribs.

'God in Heaven, Anna!' he choked. 'How can you stand something like that-in this climate? You'll drown in sweat.'

Anna tried to keep from laughing; and then, realizing finally where she was, stopped trying. Even in the haughtiest aristocratic circles of Constantinople, a woman was allowed to laugh in the presence of her husband.

When she was done-the laughter was perhaps a bit hysterical-Calopodius shook his head. 'We've got to get you a sari, first thing. I can't have my wife dying on me from heat prostration.'

* * *

Calopodius matched deed to word immediately. A few words to his aide-to-camp Luke, and, much sooner than Anna would have expected, a veritable horde of Punjabis from the adjacent town were packed into the bunker.

Some of them were actually there on business, bringing piles of clothing for her to try on. Most of them, she finally understood, just wanted to get a look at her.

Of course, they were all expelled from the bunker while she changed her clothing-except for two native women whose expert assistance she required until she mastered the secrets of the foreign garments. But once the women announced that she was suitably attired, the mob of admirers was allowed back in.

In fact, after a while Anna found it necessary to leave the bunker altogether and model her new clothing on the ground outside, where everyone could get a good look at her new appearance. Her husband insisted, to her surprise.

'You're beautiful,' he said to her, 'and I want everyone to know it.'

She almost asked how a blind man could tell, but he forestalled the question with a little smile. 'Did you think I'd forget?'

* * *

But later, that night, he admitted the truth. They were lying side by side, stiffly, still fully clothed, on the pallet in a corner of the bunker where Calopodius slept. 'To be honest, I can't remember very well what you look like.'

Anna thought about it, for a moment. Then:

'I can't really remember myself.'

'I wish I could see you,' he murmured.

'It doesn't matter.' She took his hand and laid it on her bare belly. The flesh reveled in its new coolness. She herself, on the other hand, reveled in the touch. And did not find it strange that she should do so.

'Feel.'

* * *

His hand was gentle, at first. And never really stopped being so, for all the passion that followed. When it was all over, Anna was covered in sweat again. But she didn't mind at all. Without heavy and proper fabric to cover her-with nothing covering her now except Calopodius' hand-the sweat dried soon enough. That, too, was a great pleasure.

'I warn you,' she murmured into his ear. 'We're not in Constantinople any more. Won't be for a long time, if ever. So if I catch you with a courtesan, I'll boil you alive.'

'The thought never crossed my mind!' he insisted. And even believed it was true.

Chapter 20

Barbaricum

As they walked down the gangplank from their ship to the dock at Barbaricum, where a crowd waited to greet them, Ousanas gave Antonina a sly little smile. 'Brace yourself. I realize it's a shock for you, not being the most famous woman in the area.'

Antonina sniffed. 'It's a relief, frankly. Give them someone else to gossip about.'

Ousanas shook his head. 'The other woman in question being a saint and the model of virtue, your own notoriety will simply stand out in contrast. The gossip will be fiercer than ever. Especially-'

He swelled out his chest. A chest which needed no swelling to begin with, as muscular as it so obviously was under the flashy but sparse Axumite regalia. '-arriving, as you do, in the company of such a magnificent male.'

Throughout, he'd kept a solemn expression on his face. As they neared the pack of notables on the dock, the expression became positively lugubrious. He tilted his head toward her, murmuring: 'Within a day, tales will be sweeping the city of the orgy you held on the ship, from the moment it left Adulis.'

'Ridiculous.' She lifted her head slightly, to augment her dignified bearing. 'That same reputation will shield me. Everyone knows that if I'd been holding an orgy, you wouldn't be able to walk off this ship in the first place. 'Magnificent male.' Ha. Weaklings, all of you.'

They were almost at the docks. The front line of the crowd consisted of Roman officials, Persian noblemen and Axumite troop leaders. Quite an august body, really. So Antonina's next words were spoken almost in a whisper.

'I grant you, if we had any stallions or bulls on the ship, I'd be in trouble. But we didn't bring any.'

It was all she could do not to stick out her tongue at him. Getting the best of Ousanas in that sort of repartee was something of an accomplishment.

* * *

The ceremonies that followed were the usual tedious business. Fortunately, Antonina was spared the worst of it, thanks to Photius and Tahmina. Their own transfer from the ship to the dock had been no simple matter of walking down a gangplank. The Roman officials and Persian grandees had vied with each other to see who could produce the most absurdly elaborate palanquins for the purpose.

* * *

'I was scared the gangplank would collapse under the weight,' Photius confided to her later. 'Tahmina-did you see the idiotic thing they carried her off in? — was downright petrified.'

* * *

The most interesting part of the day, perhaps ironically, was the tour of the new hospital. The one the Wife had established.

It wasn't hers, really. Anna Saronites might have been wealthy enough-her husband Calopodius, at any rate- to commission the building of a brand-new hospital. But she simply hadn't been in Barbaricum long enough, before she began her voyage up the Indus.

But, from what Antonina could determine, that didn't seem to matter. The young Roman noblewoman had struck the existing hospital like the monsoon. Leaving plenty of wreckage in her wake, as the monsoon does. But- also like the monsoon-leaving a greener land behind. One with life, where there had been death.

'I'm impressed,' Ousanas admitted. For once, not joking at all. 'I wouldn't have thought even the Emperor of Iran and all his executioners could have swept aside this much stupidity and carelessness. In that short a time, anyway.'

Antonina eyed a nearby member of the Wife's Service, standing solemnly in the doorway to the next ward. Despite the purple uniform, he bore approximately the same resemblance to a 'nurse' as a tavern bouncer bears to an 'usher.'

'She knew the trick,' Antonina murmured. 'I'm a little flattered, actually.'

Ousanas cocked his head.

'Don't you see? She patterned the Service after the Hospitalers. That's what it takes, for something like this. People will simply evade the rulings of officials. Much harder to evade the strictures of a militant mass order.'

'You're quite right,' came a voice from behind. Turning her head, Antonina saw the chief of the Service in