Despite his dislike of being carried on other men's shoulders, Lycon was asleep by the time Vonones' litter had been lifted clear of the pavement. From his youth the hunter had learned to catch sleep when and wherever possible, but his total exhaustion from the night before would have demanded rest even had he been astride a horse. The bearers shook him awake once they had reached the Baths of Naevius, but Lycon stumbled into the baths as if it were all still a dream.
The gardens were subdued by the chill of autumn, but they might have been at the peak of bloom for all that Lycon noticed. The doorkeeper goggled at the spectre of Lycon emerging from the sumptuous litter—then shrewdly decided that it was better to be needlessly obsequious than the reverse. Walking through the door of the changing room, Lycon handed his cloak to an attendant and clumsily began to unlace his boots. His deeply bruised back did not want to bend, but the hunter grunted with the pain and forced his muscles to work as he stripped off his torn and filthy tunic.
"Would you like these cleaned while you bathe, master?" inquired the attendant.
"Yes. Just be quick about it." Lycon shrugged indifferently. He knew they would look even worse before long.
"Is Dolon still here?" Lycon asked. The Baths of Naevius were not his customary baths, although he visited here on occasion. "I'll be in the laconicum for as long as I can stand the heat," he said when the attendant replied to his question in the affirmative. "Tell Dolon I'll need him there as soon as I've had a dip in the calidarium."
The beastcatcher stepped into the steamy warmth of the calidarium, let his aching body slip gingerly into the heated water. From his days in the arena Lycon knew that this was better than a full day's sleep: a warm bath, then a massage and scrape-down in the scalding heat of the laconicum, followed by a plunge into the cold waters of the frigidarium. It might not undo all the damage from last night, but it was the best preparation he knew of for today's ordeal.
Dolon was waiting for him when Lycon entered the laconicum. The muscular Greek gleamed with oil and sweat, his shaven scalp for an instant reminding Lycon unpleasantly of N'Sumu. Lycon wondered how the masseur was able to maintain such sleekness, when working in this heat must melt away pounds of flesh every day. Dolon motioned him to a bench. Through the steam Lycon could see another man stretched out under the ministrations of a masseur—perhaps a personal slave—and he heard the rhythmic slap of hands on flesh, a sound made falsely distant through the steam.
Lycon steadied himself with a hand on the door jamb to keep from slipping on the slick tile. Condensation from the steam covered the walls, making a dreamland vista of the grey tiles and the horizontal bands of mosaic. A craftsman of Naisso who had never been to the coast had inset octopuses and dolphins sporting upon a bright green sea. Lycon stepped carefully to where Dolon awaited. Even so his foot brushed one of the perforated tiles through which boilers in the basement forced steam into the room. Beneath the floor, slaves stoked a fierce fire. Lycon swore and stumbled for the bench. The only light, once the door closed behind him, seeped through the skylight, a tracery of mica plaquets now opaqued by layers of steam and soot. Even the red glaze of the heating ducts blurred to grey in the damp darkness.
Lycon stretched his battered body along the bench. "Why don't they light this place?" he growled.
"There's a lamp on the wall, but it's always out of oil," Dolon explained. "Just lie down and relax; your eyes will adjust. I have an exquisite new perfume I can apply with the oils. I know that's really the job for a perfumer, but enough patrons have asked, and I got this really good price that I can pass along to my . . ."
"Just the usual," Lycon interrupted. "Where I'm headed from here, no one would notice if you dumped a bucket of perfume over me."
"Dis, you've done enough to yourself already!" Dolon exclaimed, his fingers almost flinching from the bruised and abraded flesh. "Say, are you back in the arena? Is that it? You know, I was just a boy, but I still remember when you . . ."
"I'm not back in the arena," Lycon cut in. "Not yet, anyway. Just do your work and let me try to rest. If I fall asleep, drown me in the cold pool before I start to roast."
Lycon was too fatigued to waste the energy to wince as Dolon practiced his art. The curved metal strigils scraped away at his scorched and discolored skin, removing the soot and oily filth that in an age without soap were otherwise locked into his flesh. The big Greek tried to be gentle, but the bodily damage was appalling. Once the skin was scraped clean, he began to work soothing oils into the taut muscles.
The gentle slap and pull of Dolon's hands merged with the sounds of a handball game in progress on the other side of the laconicum's back wall. Words came through the masonry as little more than high-pitched squeals, but the unfaltering slap-slap-slap of the ball wove a fabric for contemplation. Either one man was practicing alone or two perfectly matched experts were having a bout as precise as a dance of Oreads.
Lycon dozed, barely awakening when Dolon needed him to turn over. He dreamed that he was at the restaurant again with Vonones and N'Sumu, but that he was trapped inside the thermospodium in which they were mulling Vonones' wine. It was unbearably hot, and they couldn't seem to hear him slapping on the sides of the thermospodium to be let out. At last N'Sumu raised the lid and peered inside at him. He grinned horribly and reclosed the lid. "I'll have a cup of this," Lycon heard him say.
"Master Lycon?" It was Dolon's voice he heard now. "You said to awaken you when I was finished. So you could move to the frigidarium for a cold bath. Master Lycon?"
"Yes, thanks," Lycon muttered, shaking his head to clear the nightmare. "How long have I been in here, anyway?"
"About an hour, Master Lycon," said Dolon. "Will you want me after your cold bath? A brisk rubdown after a cold plunge. . ."
"I'll see if I have the time." Lycon counted out coins from the purse he had carried with him. "I'll pay you for now, but look in on me shortly. It must be close to midday, is it not?"
"I believe so, Master Lycon. Thank you very much, Master Lycon," said the Greek, delighted with his gratuity.
Lycon smiled without humor. Normally a parsimonious man, he found himself indifferent to money. He knew he'd never care about it again. He said: "I'll be expecting a messenger from Gaius Claudius Vonones. Direct him to the frigidarium. If I have time for a rubdown, I'll be in one of the massage cubicles. I'll probably be asleep."
The artfully cooled air of the frigidarium was a welcome change from the oven-like interior of the laconicum, the plunge into the cold water there astonishingly pleasant to his heated flesh. The hunter made his limbs slash through the water in brisk strokes. He was an excellent swimmer—of necessity, else he would have drowned a hundred times over. At this hour the frigidarium had not yet become overly crowded, and he was able to exercise without blundering into the usual hordes of bathers.
His legs were shaky when he pulled himself out of the pool, but Lycon felt refreshed and hungry. Though he cared no more about food than money, he would have some wine and dates, perhaps a little honey, when he rejoined Vonones—a light meal that had often provided energy for a day's exertions in the field. In his line a man had to eat to survive, and survival was important, until his task was done.
Much of his earlier depression had lifted now, even as the gnawing ache of fatigue slipped from his body. Lycon's mood was strangely fey, and his flesh tingled as he rubbed himself. He flexed the fingers of his right hand; although the hand was still somewhat swollen and horribly discolored, everything seemed to work. There might be some chipped knuckles, but the hatchling's bite had not festered.
Lycon entered an empty cubicle and let fall the doorway curtain—more to shut out some of the human uproar than from any need for privacy. Everyone seemed to be shouting to his friends, and a youthful chorus—probably some of the students who made use of the library and reading rooms here—had begun to sing loudly and discordantly. The hunter stretched out upon the cubicle's bench. If Dolon got here in time for a final rubdown, fine; if not, Lycon meant to nap until Vonones' man called for him.
He had already fallen asleep when the curtain was opened, and a slim body slipped into the cubicle.
"Hello, Handsome Stranger," a young voice whispered hesitantly. For some reason the naked youth gasped and was blinking in the darkness of the cubicle.
"Yes, it's me, Alexandros," Lycon greeted him, wondering vaguely at his son's odd jocularity. He was not yet fully awake. "Come on in, son. Did Vonones send you to fetch me? Just give me a moment to gather my wits. Go on and take a last quick dip, if you like. Hurry it up, though."
The hunter painfully stretched and fumbled for his purse and towel. Lady Fortune, how Alexandros had grown! Was the lad really going to be twelve soon? No, he was going to be thirteen. He was growing tall—would be taller than Lycon—and his boyish body was beginning to fill out into a man's. He'd soon be after the girls, if he wasn't already. He had his father's lean muscles and his mother's lovely features—those would harden as he grew older and knew the sun and winds of wild lands beyond Rome's frontiers.
Alexandros was still frozen in the doorway, gaping at him like a carp gasping for a floating crumb. "Well, what is it, boy? You've seen me in worse shape than this. Hurry on, now! We've got to get dressed and back to the compound."
Alexandros would not meet his eyes. "Yes sir," he managed to stammer, and backed away through the curtain. Lycon sniffed. The boy must have taken his time in finding him; someone had already rubbed his young body with scented oils. Must have a girl already; maybe Zoe knew who she was.
Lycon encountered Dolon as the hunter made for the changing room. "I was just coming for you," said the masseur. "A runner has just come for you from Gaius Vonones."
"Yes, I know about that," Lycon said. "My son has already informed me."
Dolon looked puzzled.