In the mental realm and the little man of grey inside my head... there was a crack, a momentary lapse of thought between the two as I sat on my footstool like a dog measuring up a stranger for any threat to their master.
So was Atia my master? Or did I fear for my own life? I tore my attention from Baba Haza, who entered the courtyard calmly, to Ibn Ghassan, who placed himself strategically in front of Chief Abed, and finally to Atia, who I saw signal for her personal guard.
A rush of boots, wooden shields and clattering spears descended on the yard, and my vision was blocked as a regiment of spearmen formed a wall around the High Priestess.
"I'm sorry for interrupting, my dear lady," Baba Haza called, and I thought he was speaking to Atia but it happened to be the musician instead. I shoved aside the spearman in front of me (or rather, he allowed me to squeeze through), and saw the Persian warrior helping the servant girl down from her high stool on the lyre. She blushed as he bowed, and he pointedly ignored Atia as he turned.
"What vile trade is this?" Cato snapped, flicking the watermelon juices from his hands and rubbing them dry on his robes. He left a smear of pink across his white toga. "Who barges on a private meeting of their elders like this? Who are you?"
"Take me as a representative, Ras Cato," Baba Haza said, offering a scroll from his cloak, which he threw insultingly in the middle of the platform.
"A representative of who?" Atia snapped.
Baba Haza ignored her, and instead continued his stroll to the throne-like chair on the far end of the yard, amidst the bright sunflower bushes. He placed his sword leaning against the high backed seat and his cloak whirled as he settled in, as practiced and graceful as if he had always sat there every morning. His foot dragged a stool in front of him and there he sat, with a smile that never reached his eyes, and a glare that could be felt across the stretch of the courtyard.
"Who!" Atia snarled, shoving aside her spearmen and coming to stand alone out front. It seemed like a bold move but even if Baba Haza launched at her, the spearmen were close enough to intercept. What was my allegiance here though? Should I let this situation escalate to violence? Should I abandon this potential battleground? After all, Haza would have no mercy for me either. At least Atia still had use for me.
"Tiridates, my lady," I said quickly before Atia ordered the men to charge. "He's taken in with Tiridates."
That was the only logical answer to Haza's presence; Persians coming together to defy the Roman patricians of Palmyra. Or the closest thing to aristocrats this far out from Rome.
Tiridates was no friend of the Empire. He was from a Persian family that once had governorship over this town, and now were reduced to tax men for Gaius Julius and reporting to shriveled old pickles like Cato. It only made sense that Baba Haza would seek his sponsorship against Atia. It would even explain his new set of shiny gold teeth, to replace the ones Hurek had knocked out.
I saw Atia's shoulders relax. Amazing how the unknown can create more chaos and threaten more violence than the known... Now that Atia could see a logic behind this invasion of privacy, she visibly composed herself, returning to her chair without another word. Was not Tiridates that much more of a threat? Would Haza still not give in to his barely concealed anger and attack anyways?
Indeed, he kicked aside the footstool and leaned forward, "Splendid tiara, Atia," he said.
"You like it?" Atia said cheerfully, her sudden turn of mood sending chills down my spine. "It's Persian."
Don't push it, Atia. With Layla's tiara on her head, she was openly goading Baba Haza to turn the ground red. The priestess crossed her legs and stared back at Baba Haza, commencing a drawn out silence in which I was sure I could hear the Persian grinding his teeth behind that soulless smile.
Chief Abed cleared his throat, "perhaps we... discuss the match making?"
I'd almost forgotten about Abed and Cato, who I hoped appreciated just how close we all were to starting a civil war. Cato blinked, licked his lips, then replied, "Suetonius has the next ranked matches. He is still sleeping I think."
"Then wake him," Baba Haza replied.
"No need to rush," Atia said, "let us finish our breakfast and then we negotiate."
She lifted her leg suddenly and placed it on my knees, her slender calves running smoothly over my cotton robes. "be a dear Cicero and massage there," she pointed, "release that knot." I felt my face burn and I dared not look at the others. Is this what my station was now? Is this how pathetically low I had fallen?
The entire scene came to me like a dream where I had ascended above my body, looking down onto a frail, balding middle-aged man sitting on a laughably small ottoman, and massaging a woman like her personal slave.
"No," I blurted, a little too loudly so that my voice cracked horrendously. I didn't know whether it was the self-hate bubbling up my throat like bile, or inspiration from Baba Haza standing up to Atia, or maybe I'd finally drowned that little man of grey inside my head and developed a back-bone.
"What did you say?" Atia whispered.
I took a deep, raggedy breath. "My lady, please take your leg off of me."
Atia's mouth twitched, a subtle movement I wasn't sure was anger or amusement. Slowly, she slid her naked leg off and leaned back in her chair, stone-faced. "Perhaps we should get Suetonius, or his papers. Get this over with."
"Agreed," Baba Haza replied after a thoughtful pause.
"Cicero, you should go," Atia said, but she wouldn't look at me. Was she angry? Finally considering throwing me into the monkey after all? No, she was pouting. By Jupiter, the woman was actually pouting! "Go wake up the old fart, or bring his papers to us," she said and waved me away.
With surprisingly firm knees, I wasted no time leaving this plane of the underworld. I could breathe easier the further I walked away from them all and my feet quickened, getting lighter with every step. My sigh of relief was cut short, though, as soon as I stepped out of the garden and into the palace corridor.
Flamma and Shams approached in silken morning robes, and who behind them but Jirikoy, smiling excitedly from ear to ear.
***
