Caveat Emptor

Chapter Six

Milliardo had learned long ago to treat all gossip and hearsay with disdain. Such word of mouth was always subject to exaggeration and the teller’s own interpretation. There was rarely even a scrap of truth to such stories. He had, of course, heard gossip of the fledgling Queen of Egypt, who in her first four years of rule had distinguished herself in truly adverse situations; the murder of her father, the uprising in Alexandria, and no doubt countless other crises. But none of the gossip circulating had paid nearly enough tribute to her beauty. It was enough to leave his mind in a momentary blank.

The Roman Emperor was not quick enough to mask the look of complete astonishment that flashed across his face, but he replaced it quickly with a hard and level glare. Obviously refusing to deign herself lower than he, the Egyptian monarch met his stare with one that was equally cool and obstinate. Feigning boredom at her host’s welcome, or lack thereof, Lucrezia gave a martyred sigh and held her hand out to her hovering subordinate. The young servant was quick to take it, though she needed none of his assistance as she rose to her feet with cat-like elegance.

“Really, Emperor, your manners have improved very little over the years.”

Milliardo’s eyes narrowed at her words, but he remained unmoved. Truth be told, at that moment he doubted himself able to respond with even a hint of proficiency. She captivated him. What had become of that plain, graceless child? Time had certainly worked it’s magic on her. There was no possible way to take in her every feature without appearing the love struck calf, so he had to content himself with a fleeting once over. It was more than enough, however, to take in her slender figure and to appreciate the proud and haughty tilt of her chin. Here stood a woman who could be considered no less than his equal.

“A hollow accusation, coming from someone who felt it fit to enter my lodgings uninvited. I trust you have an extremely valid excuse for this intrusion?”

The Queen had the audacity to level him with an insolent smirk. Despite the hard edge to his words, Milliardo found himself unable to dismiss her, rapt by the informality of the woman’s words. Not what he would have expected from Egypt’s sovereign. But then, what had he expected? An insipid, virginal puppet, controlled by her advisors perhaps. Anything but this independent, feminine being.

He smirked to himself. Well, he doubted he was incorrect in his assumption of her virginity. She was, of course, a God on Earth to her people. She could not mate with mortal men. Could not even be left alone in the company of an uncastrated man. Her menservants were eunuchs, every one of them, and of this Milliardo was positive. And considering that her husband, and younger brother, was still to reach the age of puberty, it was unlikely that their union had been consummated. Such interesting beliefs, all centred on an unspoken desire to keep the royal blood pure.

“Well perhaps, Caesar, had you felt it fit to acknowledge my missives with the attention they deserve, I would not have had to. I fear you bear none of the business dexterity that your father was so celebrated for. I place before you the invitation to engage in trade with my country, trade that is by no means unimportant to your city, and you do not even credit my petition with your attention. You should consider yourself fortunate that I have persisted thus far.”

Milliardo raised a reproachful eyebrow at this proclamation, leaning back in his seat and resting his chin on steepled fingertips. It was an action that usually made even the most self-assured Senator stumble through their addresses, and yet she bore it no mind what so ever. Instead she merely held out poised fingers to grasp the thick scroll that her servant offered her. Stepping closer to his desk, the action a sensual movement of hips, Lucrezia unrolled the parchment and set it upon the tabletop directly in Milliardo’s view. He cast his gaze across for several moments, before looking back up at her.

“Wheat.”

“That’s right, Emperor. Perhaps you are more than just a pretty face.” The woman’s words, though scornful, held an air of playfulness that left Milliardo slightly taken aback. “I know that you cannot deny Rome’s need for the grain, thanks to the poor cropping quality of your soils. I simply wish to… strike a deal…with you.”

She paused for a moment, glancing around the room with the casual appraisal of one used to luxury. If his lodgings impressed her, she gave no sign of it. A truly cool mannered Lady indeed. Milliardo had no doubt that the conditions of this bargain were of the utmost importance to her, but she betrayed none of her possible tension. Sighing, she fixed her calm blue eyes on his.

“Egypt offers to you… a quota of our next harvest in trade for the protection of your armies. Help us to protect our stores and the new harvest, and we will repay you with a portion of our next season’s yield.”

Milliardo watched her thoughtfully, fully aware of the opportunity that had fallen so effortlessly into his lap. It was not, however, without its’ shortcomings.

“A most tempting proposal, Queen. But I do see a potential obstacle in the fruition of such a bargain. I will not feign ignorance to the reason you require such protection from your neighbours. Your country, and neighbouring lands, I do believe, have been in famine for the past two years, has it not? What makes you so certain that you can honour your side of the bargain?”

She did not express the awkwardness at his question that he had expected; instead she flipped a hand with the casual gesture of one swatting away an insect.

“Negotiations have been made to assure the prosperity of the next crop. A high yield is assured. Amun-Ra and I have come to an agreement, and I have no doubt in the soundness of his word.”

“You mean to tell me that you have placed the very welfare and livelihood of your people on the fickle promise of your Sun God? You cannot seriously expect me to enter a trade agreement based on such recklessness?”

Milliardo paused for a moment, watching her meditatively. What was this desire to approve her proposal, to enter into an agreement with her country? It was not commonsense, of that he was sure. He could not deny Rome’s serious need for what she offered, but could he justify deploying his legions to defend a land that may prove incapable of fulfilling its’ end of the bargain? The seconds passed in silence, as all waited upon the consequence of his musings.

Finally he sat forward rolling the scrolls back up in a decisive movement.

“Pagan, order the readiness of my fleet. We travel to Alexandria. I want to see for myself the workings of Her Highness’s lands.”

Turning his gaze towards, he waited for some form of argument, discomfort, even anxiety. But she remained, even still, completely untroubled. Instead, an almost wicked grin graced her lips, not unlike the satisfied grimace of the well-fed lioness.

For the most fleeting moment, Milliardo felt the eerie sensation of a man who had just set in motion events over which he would have no control.

******

Relena knew she was not being suitably attentive to her guest. Nodding solemnly along with Dorothy’s narrative, she simply found herself unable to take in a word the other woman was saying. As they walked aimlessly though the Palace gardens, Dorothy appeared resolute in bringing Relena up to date with every current piece of scandal or gossip from among the upper classes. Relena had long since ceased trying to match faces to the names, unable to recognise many of the people that were mentioned. She doubted, however, that her companion had even noticed the glazed expression that had now settled across her face.

After the Lady Dorothy’s first social visit, she had come to keep Relena’s company every afternoon since. It was an occurrence that was taking Relena a little time to adjust to. Particularly after learning that she was due to become a family member. It still hurt her to think that Quatre had not told her first; instead she seemed to be the last to know. Could it be that they were no longer as close as she had thought?

A few moments had passed, before Relena became aware of the uneasy silence that had settled over them. Turning her head, she found herself the recipient of the Lady Dorothy’s shrewd and calculating stare. There was something unsettling, almost feline, in the woman’s eyes and Relena found herself waiting with trepidation for Dorothy to reveal her thoughts.

“So have you conquered your latest acquisition yet, my Lady?”

The woman purred the words with such nonchalant frankness that Relena was struck quite speechless. Her face flushed deeply, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Any chance of giving a smooth and cutting retort had long since passed by, and instead Relena was left to duck her head in mortification, her lips pressed together in a thin line and her brow creased. Her companion laughed softly, amused that her words had caused such a reaction.

“I should perhaps take that as a no then, my Lady?” Dorothy tutted derisively, shaking her head slowly in a gesture of mock sympathy. “Of course, my Lady, it was wrong of me to leap to such conclusions. I should never have assumed that what I deem attractive in a man would also suit your discerning palate. I have quite obviously misinterpreted your interest and I do apologise.”

There was nothing apologetic in the woman’s bearing, and she watched Relena from the corner of narrowed, scheming eyes, her lips tipped up in a wicked grin. They had barely walked ten more steps in silence before she added a final dig.

“Sooo… if you have no use for him, Lady Relena, perhaps you would allow me, as your guest, to avail myself of him?”

A number of hard swallows failed to displace the large lump that had suddenly lodged itself in Relena’s throat, and it took several moments and many a calming breath before she found herself able to reply to Lady Dorothy’s repugnant request. How could she answer? What should she answer? She could not allow this devious woman to know her heart’s true weakness. She could not allow her privy of the one thing that possessed her minds every thought.

“Why, Lady Dorothy,” Relena breathed through clenched teeth, “I’m surprised that you think it necessary to ask. I could never deny the comforts of a guest.”

The words tasted wooden and bitter on her tongue, lacking of any true sincerity. But if the Lady Dorothy observed this, she did not let on.

“You truly are magnanimous, my Lady…”

Not even the rustling of leaves granted the companions warning. And there was nothing repentant nor apologetic in Heero’s expression as he appeared from between the garden foliage with the effortlessness of a vision. Dorothy’s words died abruptly on her lips, the slave’s sudden appearance effectively removing the wind from the gossipmonger’s sails. Relena could do no more than stare in astonishment as the very subject of their conversation suddenly materialised before her.

He stared at Dorothy, the disgust in his expression unmasked. The woman, who normally backed down to no one, actually cringed. Dismissing her, he turned his head towards Relena, seemingly drawn to her. Their eyes met for only the briefest moment before he ducked his head and moved quickly back in the direction he had come. Relena was unsure of the emotion she had seen on his normally impassive features. Was it confusion? Embarrassment? Could he have overheard the words exchanged between Dorothy and herself? She wished she understood what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Perhaps it would help her to understand her own turmoil of emotions.

It didn’t take flawless perception to come to the conclusion that he was avoiding her. Admittedly, there were not many reasons to seek him out, but Relena felt a strange mix of disappointment and hurt when he refused to meet her eyes and return her greeting. Of course, in the past he had been by no means chatty, usually imparting no more than a grunted reply or dip of the head. Now he did not even grace her with that much. Instead he had taken to dark glares and hasty retreats. For Relena, who was accustomed to ready affability and respect, it was an unfamiliar occurrence.

She was confused. His obvious aversion to her had begun the day preceding their midnight encounter nearly a week ago. She felt more than a little embarrassed, afraid that he had been displeased or even disgusted by her response to his kiss. This thought alone tarnished an otherwise perfect memory, one that she thought of often. She had never been kissed before, and had never imagined that anything could have been so perfect. Even now, the very thought of his lips against hers sent a wave of gooseflesh across her skin.

It had been so unexpected that she could almost have sworn that the Gods had heard her whispered longing and chosen that moment to answer her wishes. What else could have prompted the object of her newly awakened desire to kiss her? She had awoken the next morning with a sense of unreality, uncertain at first that it had even really happened and that she had not simply dreamed it. But not even her wildest dreams could have concocted such a chain of events…

A light cough from her disregarded companion brought her abruptly back to earth. Blushing, she smiled apologetically at her, feeling not a little foolish. Dorothy watched Relena, her expression thoughtful and the corner of her mouth lifted with an almost imperceptible sneer.

“I do believe that you need a little… distraction from the intrigues of the Palace, My Lady. You’re spending far too much time cooped up without adequate entertainment. Tell me, have you ever had the opportunity to see real Gladiators battle in person?”

Surprised by Dorothy’s sudden change of subject and hoping that she was able to disguise the feeling of distaste that washed over her at the thought of such spectacles, Relena shook her head briefly in reply.

“It is something I have gone out of my way to avoid.”

Dorothy’s tongue clicked softly, the normally unobtrusive action actually managing to sound scornful, as she shook her head with disparity.

“That is natural, My Lady, since people do end up dying. But no one actually wants to die. That is why those that are fighting are so desperate. I think that is what I find so attractive about battles. Oh, I get so excited! I am certainly thankful that I am living in this era.”

Relena stared at Dorothy with an almost bemused horror, at a complete loss as how to respond to a view that she was so opposed to. How could she seriously think in such a way? How could anyone think in such a way? Relena sighed. But they did, as the amount her brother spent on hosting such games regularly paid tribute to. She could not understand it.

“You really must join me at the Colosseum this afternoon, My Lady. There is a most excellent line up of Gladiators set to fight. And my own warrior is set to make his debut in the arena today. I’m most impatient to see how he will survive against the more seasoned fighters. I did not think much of his appearance when my Grandfather first made a gift of him, but I have been told that the trainers have worked miracles on him. They tell me that the Barbarians do have a most stubborn streak when it comes to trying to break their spirit. It makes them quite formidable once they step foot on the arena apparently.”

Relena shook her head vehemently, forcing her expression to one of polite apology.

“As enticing as that sounds, Lady Dorothy, I have other plans that demand my attention. Perhaps another time.”

Dorothy nodded her acquiescence, actually appearing disappointed at Relena’s excuse.

“Yes, of course, Lady Relena. Perhaps another time…”

Relena’s companion lapsed into silence for a few moments, leaving her to revel in the silence it created. It was not to last long however. Sighing delicately, Dorothy plucked restlessly at the blooms that overhung the gardens edges.

“I heard the most fascinating story only yesterday, from Lady Sylvia, who is acquainted with one of General Treize’s own Captains, that…”

Relena was finding that she was able to tune Lady Dorothy’s voice out of her mind quicker and quicker with each daily visit. Smiling gently, she matched the other woman’s casual stride and nodded amicably as she privately pondered the possible methods she could use to cross paths again with a particular elusive enigma.

******

Trowa leaned back against the marble pillar, as frustrated by Heero’s continued loss of memory as he was by Quatre’s ability to remain calm and reasonable about it. Even now, the Senator remained outwardly untroubled and for once it was he, not Trowa, who was offering words to appease the other’s impatience.

“We have no idea what brought him to be like this, Trowa. Nor how long it has been since whatever trauma caused it. It may have been months ago, but then it may have only been weeks. He remembers his name, and that in itself must be a good sign…”

“The trader told him that was his name, Quatre!” Trowa interrupted, “And that is another thing that troubles me… How did the old man know it? Something stinks here! His memory is gone, the mark of his legion has been defaced and he turns up amongst a worthless straggle of slaves. The old man was desperate not to sell him, and you know those merchants would sell their own mothers if presented with the right price. I’m grateful that he is still alive, but why is he? Who would go to the trouble to hunt him down, just to keep him alive?”

Quatre sighed, his mouth curling into a soft smile.

“I think you are reading too much into it, my friend. Who can understand the greater plans of the Gods? We must be patient. Time will heal his wounds. He will remember you.”

Trowa flinched, as Quatre’s words revealed his true worry.

“He is my brother, Quatre…” his words died on his lips, sounding foolish to his ears. But it chaffed him. Troubled him that his brother and childhood friend could not remember him. Was their close bond so easy to forget? Giving his head an imperceptible shake, he moved quickly to turn the conversation.

“Have you been to see your cousin of late, Quatre?”

The Senator’s brief shake of the head implied the negative, obviously taking Trowa’s hint to change the subject. “I’ve heard from some, that Lady Relena seems a little distracted. Even Caesar has commented on it.”

The Captain nodded, a frown once again etching his smooth forehead. “Yes, distracted is perhaps the right word for it. But her brother would be far from happy if he knew the reasoning for it.”

Quatre raised an eyebrow, watching Trowa’s expression closely.

“So it is as I suspected then? My cousin has developed an attraction for her mysterious slave. Surely you do not think it can amount to anything?”

Trowa flushed. “I do not believe it to be folly on her part, Quatre. I have guarded her for some time now, and I have never seen her head turned by any man. At first I thought it was simple curiosity, that he was merely another of her ‘projects’. But there is more to it than that. I overheard her speaking to her handmaiden, heard the other woman’s words of encouragement. This cannot end well.”

“Again, Trowa, I think you worry too much. If anything at all, it is no doubt no more than a simple infatuation. He will not return any advances her handmaiden may convince Relena to make. And Relena is by no means the type of woman that would force herself on him…”

“The handmaiden is not the only one that has been ‘encouraging’ her. Her new acquaintance, the Lady Dorothy, has also been quite… persuasive, in her argument. Apparently she told the Lady that it would be in her best interests to gain experience and satisfaction before she is married.”

At the mention of the other woman, Quatre’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so.”

“Yes,” Trowa could not restrain a smirk at the dark expression on his friend’s face. “Speaking of which, I think the Lady Relena is a little hurt to have heard of your impending wedding from someone other than yourself. Apparently your bride has a big mouth.”

Quatre sighed, muttering with annoyance as he wandered aimlessly onto the balcony. Squinting against the harsh midday sun, the Senator watched a small bird as it dipped and floated on an invisible eddy of air, apparently devoid of any troubles. There was an almost wistful expression on the blonde man’s face and for a moment, Trowa thought he caught a glimpse of the burdens his friend bore on his seemingly competent shoulders.

Perhaps becoming aware of the Captain’s scrutiny, Quatre stepped back out of the bright sunlight, and into the shadow of the balcony alcove. His mouth had set into a grim line, his posture making it evident that their ‘meeting’ was over. Trowa straightened, pushing himself from the cool marble pillar and waited for Quatre’s words of dismissal. He did not have to wait for long.

“I think it is time that I had a few words with the Lady Dorothy. Perhaps we can meet again later, and we can further discuss the current situation with our comrade.”

Trowa nodded slowly, curious at the rigid tone of his friend’s voice.

“You would have better luck finding her if you search the stands of the Colosseum first. I heard mention that she planned on passing her afternoon there.”

Quatre grimaced, his obvious distaste for the circus evident, but he nodded his thanks before turning his attention back out to the cloudless sky. Bowing casually, Trowa turned towards the door, intending to make his way back to the Palace before his absence was noted.

The hall outside Quatre’s office was deserted, and the only sound was that of Trowa’s heels against the marble floor. There was a sense of calm that always prevailed over the battle hardened Captain, whenever he visited Quatre’s estates. The pure tranquillity of the gardens and the obvious contentment of the Senator’s staff made for a comfortable environment. For Trowa the palace held none of this peace, constantly overrun as it was by servants and guards. He could never relax there, and was constantly vigilant. It was a station that, despite its’ day-to-day monotony, was gradually wearing him down. He wondered how much longer he could continue with this charade.

It chaffed him that he had become little more than a high ranked bodyguard. He missed the easy comradeship of his legion. He missed the everyday life of encampment.

If it weren’t for her…

Walking across the expansive courtyard, Trowa’s brooding was interrupted by the sight of a servant feeding a flock of chickens from a large bowl of grain. The young woman cast the morsels out in a wide arc, sending the fowl into a frenzied scramble to reach their share first. There was something about the grating squawking and feathers flying that reminded him of the nobility that currently jostled for the attention of the Lady Relena since her return. The very thought of their hypocrisy sickened him.

Trowa shook his head vehemently. What had come over him of late? When had he become so cynical? Or when, for that matter, had he begun to even care?

Sighing, his annoyance fading as quickly as it had arisen, the Captain found himself wondering how the influence of the Lady Dorothy would change the mood of Quatre’s cherished household. Trowa grinned, the action no more than a tilt of his mouth. Somehow, he thought it likely that the Lady Dorothy was capable of making both the Senate AND the battlefields appear passive.

He sincerely hoped that Quatre still loved a challenge, as he could see no other possible reason why the man had agreed to the engagement. It was not as though the Senator had anything to gain by marrying her, as the aging Senator Dermail was rapidly losing the support of many of his peers. Truth be known, an arranged marriage to any woman in Roman society was unnecessary for his friend. It had always been assumed that he would marry for love… or at least lust. And there was no possible way that Quatre could be in love with Lady Dorothy.

Was there?

Trowa’s thoughts moved quickly to Quatre’s stillness when he had mentioned his affianced and her advice to his cousin. The Senator’s reaction to the hearsay had surprised him. Could he not know of the Lady’s ‘reputation’? Surely not. Trowa found himself more than mildly curious at what would transpire between the two when Quatre sought her out.

Chances were, the confrontation between them could easily rival any skirmish that was currently to be seen on the sand of the arena.

******

Dorothy leaned back in her seat, luxuriating in the cooling wafts of air that interrupted the afternoon's stifling heat. Tucking her feet beneath her, she settled back to enjoy the offered entertainment, casting little regard or acknowledgement to the slaves that pandered to her comforts. From her ring side position, she could see the poor and pitiable Roman civilians as they scrambled to catch the offered loaves of bread that were currently being thrown from carts by slaves at different positions around the Arena's stage. The miserable wretches. But Caesar truly understood his people. Panem et Circenses indeed. Bread and circuses. Keep the masses entertained and they will not rise up against you. Nothing intrigued the horde better than theatrics and bloodshed. A loud cheer erupted from the masses, as the wagons left the stage, and dancers took their place, engaging the audience with their lithe and limber movements.

She sighed. Dorothy had no interest in dancers and gymnasts. She came to see the glory of the Gladiators. The very thought of the expected struggles and bravery made her skin tingle with excitement. The smells, the roar of the crowds, the stains of red, smattered against the pale sands of the arena floor, always threatened to overpower her senses. What better example of humanity and human frailty was there, besides the battlefield itself?

It was a shame she could not convince the Lady Relena to join her. The companionship would have been… pleasant. She wished he could have been here to keep her company. Although she would never admit it to him, she enjoyed his company, what little they could afford without their trysts being discovered. Not that she thought he would have joined her even if he could. She was losing him. Dorothy sighed. The initial excitement, and risk of discovery, that had for so long accompanied their secret meetings was actually wearing off. At least it seemed to be for him. She was sure she was not imagining it. Their last joining presented none of his expected passion and attention. He had actually appeared… distracted, and his actions mechanical. Like he didn’t want to be there.

Could he have heard of her betrothal? Surely not, as it had not been announced. She had told the Lady Relena, a moment of bitterness loosening her tongue, but no one else. Could the Lady have told him? No, of course not. Dorothy doubted that the two would have any reason to speak of such things, if they in fact ever had reason to speak of anything. And why would it matter to him anyway? They had made no promise of the heart, and their stations in life certainly meant that it could never be more than physical anyway. She had no intention of giving up the luxuries of her lifestyle for him and she knew that he felt the same. There was no reason why they could not continue to meet, even after her marriage.

So why his sudden coldness? Dorothy frowned, swirling her rich red vintage around the edges of her goblet and watched the ripples that formed along the surface. It vexed her that he should even think to end their attachment. No man had ever broken an affair with her. He certainly would not be the first.

A slave leaned towards her, offering her a platter laden with delicacies, which Dorothy refused with a disdainful wave of her hand. She did not maintain her much admired feminine shape by gorging herself on such lavish morsels. And besides… it was too hot. Letting out a most uncharacteristic sigh of self-pity, Dorothy mentally shook herself from her momentary slid into gloominess. Enough time had been wasted on pondering such inconsequential matters! Surely she was simply reading too deeply into the situation? Yes, of course. He was merely distracted, as men were so easily distracted. She could bide her time, wait it out until he came crawling back with his tail firmly clamped between his legs and begging for her attention. Well, perhaps not begging. Dorothy doubted the man had ever begged for anything in his life. But it was still amusing to imagine.

A mischievous grin tipped up the edges of her mouth, unreserved and impish. But the guise lasted barely a moment, wiped from her lips by the unprecedented and unwelcome arrival of the very centre of her woes.

Senator Winner.

His entrance came unnoticed by none of the nobles in the patrician’s enclosure, many voices raising in welcome, with invitations to join their party and general exclamations over the man’s unanticipated attendance. It was surprising to see him there. It was well known that Winner despised the lavish decadence of the Arena gatherings. A sign of his weakness indeed, that he felt compassion and sympathy for the incarcerated that had been sent to die there. Such benevolence had no place in their society, and certainly not in the Senate. It amazed her that the man had survived his campaigning days with Caesar’s armies, let alone risen to the ranks of the Senate. It was this kindness and refusal to see eye to eye with the ways of other Senate members that would soon result in Winner finding a knife handle protruding permanently from between those proud shoulder blades of his.

A familiar bile rose in Dorothy’s mouth, bitterness that despite everything her Grandfather had ever told her in life, how she was the master of her own destiny, it had come down to this. Her very existence had come to rest in the hands of such a man. A spoiled, rich man’s son who had gained power not through valour and heroism, but simply because he was his father’s son. It made her sick.

She watched him critically, his course apparently blocked by a peer who showed every intention of bending Quatre’s ear to his dilemma. The blonde’s expression was sombre, polite even, but also harried and pained at the interruption. Whatever had brought the young patrician into their presence that afternoon obviously did not include mingling. The man was agitated, an oddity in itself, and he moved restlessly from one foot to another, giving the impression of someone who had other places to be.

Dorothy relaxed back into her seat, determined to ignore his presence and enjoy the spectacles that where to take place. Already the dancers were making their way off the arena floor, making way for the first of the battles to begin. She was becoming most eager to see how her Grandfather’s gift would fair in his first fight. Holding up her goblet to a dutiful slave, she watched the steady stream of red as it filled to the brim.

“I see that my informant was, as always, correct. But then, it should not surprise me to find you here of all places, Lady Dorothy.”

Her hand jerked visibly with surprise, and the wine spilled unceremoniously on the stone floor. Looking up quickly, flushing deeply, Dorothy found herself face to face with the amused features of her future husband. The droll, flat tone of his voice had led her to expect a rigid and reserved greeting, but instead she was left somewhat taken aback by his gentle smile. For the briefest moment she felt her guard slip, lulled by his charm, but the lapse was miniscule and she was confident that her moment of weakness had gone unnoticed.

“I cannot begin to imagine what could have been important enough for you to interrupt your busy schedule merely to seek me out, Senator.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, while her pride smarted at the thought that the man had already achieved the upper hand in their discussion. They had yet to even exchange pleasantries, and she had already resorted to a snide and defensive tone. All intention of remaining cool and aloof towards him fled the moment she opened her mouth. Such a sorry beginning.

But if he incurred any injury thanks to her acid tongue there was no obvious sign of it. Gracing her reply with no comment at all, Quatre instead sat down unceremoniously in the empty seat to her left. It was the first time that he had ever been so close to her physically, and Dorothy refused resolutely to question the strange thrill that raced unchecked along her spine. He was a man. Only a man.

“Meaning no offence, My Lady, but I am most puzzled at what draw such a spectacle as this could have for a lady such as yourself. Surely there are better ways to stimulate the mind than by bathing it in the repellent hue of a broken man’s slaughter? I would have thought that you, better than any, would understand the value of human life?”

Dorothy gaped at him, all poise and detachment vaporising in the mid-afternoon heat. His words had materialised with such candour, lacking in any censure or apology that he may as well have been commenting on the weather. His voice was soft, almost soothing, bewildering her in a way no one had ever done before. He had made the observation without even a glance in her direction, his gaze fixed on the stage before them. Did he mean to provoke her? Test the ease of goading her temper?

Dorothy swallowed back her rising ire, determined not to allow him to get the better of her, as she would never allow him to get the better of her. She waited for him to pursue the issue, taunt her for a reply, but he merely settled into silence, his profile relaxed and amiable. Who had entered her company? Quatre the man, or Quatre the public figure? For an unsettling moment, her heart hoped that it was the former.

“So am I overly optimistic to hope that you plan to reveal your reason for being here, Senator? I somehow doubt that it was simply to lecture me on your own sentimental opinions.”

She was not prepared for the clear, expressive blue of her companion’s eyes as they turned to consider her. So pure and honest, he made no attempt to mask himself. How she envied him.

“Why, Lady Dorothy, you underestimate the simple appeal of your company. How foolish would I be, not to make our… connection… known to the public? It is a fiancé’s privilege, is it not?”

Dorothy flushed, displeased at the underlying innuendo. It chaffed her, the knowledge that this man meant to own her, to add her to his already impressive list of assets. Damn him! She would renounce her life before she would surrender her freedom to him. She clenched her fists in her lap, the last thread of her self-control exploding with pent up fury.

“No, Senator Winner. It is you that is guilty of underestimation. Do not even begin to think that our union will come as easy to you as everything else in your prosperous existence. You shall never have my heart, nor my mind… I pledge neither…”

The angry words flew from her mouth, her throat tight with rage and voice trembling with the effort of control. How dare he? How dare he? Around them, thousand of voices rose in a roar, heralding the arrival of the first gladiators onto the arena. But they were invisible to the combatants, one blinded by her fit of temper and the other by indifference.

Quatre sat in silence, allowing her words to wash over him, his lips lifted in an almost undetectable smile. He shifted restlessly in his seat, the action not one of discomfort but merely those of a man who meant to take his leave. Rising suddenly to his feet, he cut Dorothy off mid tirade, leaving her open mouthed.

“Well, Lady, the day is getting away from me. As much as I would love to stay longer and continue this illuminating conversation, my day of office is not yet over and I have matters that demand my attention.”

Dorothy watched him bow formally in a stunned silence, embarrassed by her obvious loss of face. Quatre did not even wait for her reply, instead smiling broadly before turning on his heel and taking his leave. He had, without doubt, won the first round. Snatching her goblet back up, she took a deep swig and stared petulantly at his retreating back.

Well, he would not win the war.

******

It troubled Relena, standing on the pier and gazing up at the expansive ships, that she felt an unsettling feeling of eagerness to have her brother sailing out that evening. What a terrible sibling it made her! He was, after all, travelling into dangerous waters and other unforeseen hazards. She was a selfish being indeed. It had taken every last scrap of self-control to act the disappointed sister, when he told her of his planned trip and his wish for her to stay behind in Rome.

But she was happy to stay behind. She had travelled so much throughout Rome’s provinces of late, and she was most satisfied simply to rest and… study. For the briefest moment her thoughts were filled with deep blue eyes, before she pressed the distraction aside.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the strong presence of her older brother, impressive as always in his tunic and toga, the golden crown of leaves conspicuous against the white blonde of his hair. The crowds of Rome had converged upon the landing place to see off their Emperor, and he presented them with a striking figure indeed. Relena privately wished the spectacle could simply be over, as the ceremonial jewellery and robes she wore were unpleasant and heavy in the mid afternoon heat.

Milliardo leaned towards her, giving her his final farewells and apologising once more for abandoning her. She replied with soft words of rebuke, calling attention to the importance of his station. She understood. She didn’t mind. She would miss him. Hurry home.

He turned to Trowa, stipulating again the importance of his charge, making it clear the consequences of allowing her to come to harm. The Captain nodded solemnly, used to the over protectiveness of his Emperor.

She watched him as he made his way towards the Egyptian Queen’s vessel. He had agreed to travel with her, an observation that fascinated Relena. His attention was turned by the farewell of their cousin, Quatre, and they walked the final few metres to the ship together, their heads bent together in conversation.

Relena sighed. She felt hot, dusty, in need of refreshment. It had been such a long day.

******

Egypt’s Sovereign watched the sibling’s farewell from the deck of her expansive barge, intrigued by the obvious affection that Caesar held for his sister. Could the pale slip of a girl be a threat to her plans? Lucrezia frowned thoughtfully, wishing to disregard the young woman’s harmless appearance. But an upbringing amongst the disloyalty and treachery of the Alexandrian Courts had long ago taught her to never underestimate anyone. At least she could rest easy in the knowledge that the young woman was to remain in Rome, leaving Caesar completely to her dictate. She shivered at the very thought of it, and Mueller, her personal servant moved closer to her, perhaps noticing her tremble and mistaking it for a reaction to the cooling air.

Ever vigilant to her needs, the Queen’s minion hovered close to her elbow with the persistence of the stinging black flies that tormented the hippopotamus. She almost wished she could immerse herself in the cool Nile and rid herself of his company in a fashion similar to those placid beasts. Normally Lucrezia could tolerate his tenacity, but today it merely served to annoy her. Casting a dark glare in his direction, the Queen waved him away with a dismissive gesture, ignoring the crestfallen expression on the eunuch’s normally earnest face. She had no time for nursing the feelings of her spineless page. No time at all.

Already the sun was descending quickly towards the horizon, signifying the end of another day. Amun-Ra could not have been more obvious in his message to her; that she had little time left to achieve her goal. Ten more sunsets, the God reminded her. Ten more sunsets. Self consciously, the Queen began to pace the weathered deck, her fingers locked together in a troubled knot.

Egypt was in famine. For two years now, the Great River God Sobek had held back the flooding waters of the Nile, leaving the crops of her people to fail. Their stores were rapidly depleting, and in 10 days the priests of Isis would read the Elephantine Nilometre*. The Inundation** was due. But the Gods were unhappy with their Pharaoh. And until she could fulfil her duty to them, the Nile would not Inundate.

For she had failed to be fruitful. She had resided over the throne for four years now, and yet Lucrezia remained barren. The Gods had given her the grace of time, a period to prove her fruitfulness, and the first Inundation had occurred shortly after she had taken the throne. But now, two Inundations later, Amun-Ra had become impatient. The suffering of her people was proof of that.

Lucrezia clenched her fists in frustration, a sudden urge to vent her rage and anxiety on those around her almost overwhelming her. How could this be happening? She was Nilus, the living personification of the river! She was God on Earth, and yet she could not satisfy her one true purpose. To ensure the prosperity of her people, and guarantee the greatness of Egypt. If the Nile remained in drought for another year, plague and locusts would join the famine, and Egypt would be no more.

Glancing back towards the wharf, she noticed that Caesar was slowly making his way towards the ship, now deep in conversation with a serious looking blonde haired man. Judging by the richness of the man’s robes, he was obviously someone of influence to the Emperor. Again, the Queen filed this observation away for future use. But her eyes where instantly drawn back to the tall, impressive figure of Caesar.

The rumours had been true after all. That Rome’s Emperor was surely a God. She had looked for, and found a dream, the God Out of the West. He indeed was Osiris returned from the Realm of the Dead. Returned to her, the reincarnation of Isis, to quicken her and sire her a son. He would father Horus, and then the Nile would Inundate. She doubted that he was aware of his duty to her, what she expected of him. But she would not be denied in her quest.

Lucrezia blinked against sudden tears, her lips quivering. She had fallen in love within moments of setting her gaze upon him. So long had it been since their last acquaintance, her memory of him had been vague, so much so that she had reconciled herself to meeting an ugly man. Instead she had found someone who did indeed look the God he was. As tall, beautiful and splendid as Osiris had been. It had filled her with joy and feeling. It had filled her with true love. But Caesar did not love. And she doubted that he ever would. Such was the gulf of culture between them.

But this would not dampen her resolve. Her heart was of little consequence in her pursuit to protect her people. Let Caesar believe his journey to be purely of a political nature. He was, after all, still a man.

And men were so easily manipulated.

******

Author’s Notes

* The Nilometres were usually a series of steps by the Nile, where the water level against the steps would show how high the Nile would rise and records of the maximum height of the inundation could be taken. There are Nilometres at the temples at Elephantine, Philae, Edfu, Esna, Kom Ombo and Dendera.

** Egypt received a yearly inundation - an annual flood - of the Nile. The ancient Egyptians did not realise this, but the flood came due to the heavy summer rains in the Ethiopian highlands, swelling the different tributaries and other rivers that joined and became the Nile. This happened annually, between June and September, in a season the Egyptians called akhet - the inundation. The Egyptians saw this as a yearly coming of the Gods, bringing fertility to the land.

The first signs of the inundation were seen by the end of June, reaching its swelling to its fullest by September. The flood would then decrease in size around two weeks later, leaving behind a deposit of rich, black silt. The amount of silt left behind due to the height of the Nile determined the amount of crops that the Egyptians could grow - if the inundation was too low, it would be a year of famine.

Some of you, dear readers, have already picked up on the parallels between Milliardo and Lucrezia and Caesar and Cleopatra. I couldn’t help but have some form of reference to a historical romance that has fascinated me for years. Of course, there are some major differences here to the actual legend, and I am not attempting to mimic the story exactly. After all, the age difference between Caesar and Cleopatra was quite large for a start. And those who know the legend would be more than aware that their story did not end happily. Also, despite Hollywood preconception, Cleopatra was no Elizabeth Taylor. She was actually recorded as being quite unattractive. Unlike our dear Noin. ~_^

Don’t you just love poetic licence? ^_____^

Thanks for reading folks! Much more to come!

Love Mel