Hiddi smirked. "I'll feed you! I have a wonderful cook."
"No images of holy Eriander?"
"Not one, I promise!" Amazingly young, very desirable, she was somehow contriving to appear innocent while implying that her intentions were anything but. Her scent alone was intoxicating. Hard hammering had made Benard's hands tremble; her smile could make all of him flap like a flag, and his body was already saluting the view through that web. She sat at ease in the shade; he was being broiled.
"I have no gifts to offer you," he protested.
"Am I so stupid? If I wanted gifts, I wouldn't show you this." She rattled bracelets in a clash of metal. "And I wouldn't come begging from a man who lives in a kennel."
He did want to work on the statue while there was daylight. Nymphs did have a bad reputation for enslaving men and bleeding them of everything they possessed. On the other hand...
The other hand held several good arguments on its sweaty palm, not least of which was that he must eat sometime. He could not hope to hold on to his gold, because wealth was his corban. And he was curious to see her collection of loot.
"I'm not dressed to go visiting."
"I'll undress you when we get there." Teasing.
"No gifts, no god, no talk of love?" he said sadly. "Just rank animal copulation? Like a cat—one yowl and it's over?"
"As rank as you want, master."
"I do not enjoy being treated like an animal."
"You are an animal," she said sweetly, sure of her success now. "All men are."
"I suppose we seem so."
Slaves and swordsman came trotting back, dripping and apparently ready to begin another journey. Thod followed them cautiously.
If gauze could be slammed, Hiddi slammed the drape. "Then follow. Home, Nerio. Benard—heel!"
♦
He took a moment to outline some work for Thod, then sprinted after the chair as it vanished into the alley. He caught up with it just before the first fork. In these narrow ways, he made no effort to join the swordsman out in front. He had not expected to have trouble keeping up with older men so burdened, but Hiddi's slaves were trained to their work and kept up a fiendish pace, charging through crowds and narrow gaps like runaway onagers. The journey was much longer than he expected, uphill to the palace complex and then around to the fashionable side of the city. They stopped eventually at a gate set in an adobe wall. Nerio rang a bell. In a moment the gate was opened.
Winded, Benard staggered in after the slaves, down into a shaded courtyard. Someone handed him a soft towel and a golden goblet of cool water flavored with some astringent fruit.
He drank, wiped, and drank again before he felt able to judge his surroundings. The garden was spacious, running from a dwelling of three or even four rooms at one end to obvious servant quarters at the other, the sides being blank walls clad in vines. The overall effect was exquisite. He had been raised in two palaces and had visited rich folk's homes many times to discuss or carry out commissions, yet he had seen nowhere with more harmony and appeal than this miniature forest. He had stepped down into it from alley level, which meant that it was old, and obviously those massive trees were ancient. Their spacing around the obligatory fishpond blended with flower-spangled shrubs and glazed-tile paving in a perfect union of balance and peace. This haven had been designed and executed by someone with admirable taste.
First impressions curdled as he appraised the painted terra-cotta animals and plaster figurines. Whoever had added those did not know what taste was. Gaudy cushions and low gilt tables were being set out for dining. Half a dozen slaves—all male, all Florengian, a couple of them little more than boys—were laying out meats and fruits and well-shaped loaves. His mouth ached. Rumble...
Swordsman Nerio was likewise engaged in wiping off sweat and red dust, but he was also issuing orders to servants, who ran to carry them out. He noticed Benard's attention on him and wandered in his direction, still breathing hard but clearly amused.
"You are surprised?"
"Who owns this place?"
"Why, the lady Hiddi." Nerio had learned his wide-eyed innocence from her.
"She is married? Or had a rich father?"
The wide-eyed innocence was very close to wide-eyed mockery. "I cannot discuss the lady's affairs, master artist. I am sure you may ask her yourself." He spoke a more citified brand of Vigaelian than Hiddi did, and his smile was almost a smirk, brazenly hinting that he enjoyed his employer's favors.
Hiddi now approached, having descended from her chair still cool and ravishing, and now openly amused by her guest's breathless, sweat-soaked condition. He had never seen woven mist like her dress. There was very little of it to see.
"You approve of my residence?" she inquired, spider to fly.
"It's magnificent, my lady." It had been until she started making it over.
"Only my very special friends get invited here, Benard."
"I am honored."
"It will be a treat for you. My cook is an expert. I always eat off gold plate, of course."
In Benard's experience, gold plate was absurdly impractical stuff, chilling hot food instantly. "I am really impressed."
"I think, though, that you should be rubbed down before being fed your hot mash. Follow me." Hiddi floated toward the house.
He followed, fascinated by the movement of her hips and keeping his hands off her only by great effort. "Your goddess rewards you well."
"Of course She does." She swept into a shadowy chamber where one of the younger slaves was tipping water from a steaming jar into a bath. "That will do, Cosimo. We shan't need more."
The bath was set below floor level, unpractically wide and shallow. The room was luxurious, with glazed tiles on the walls and floor depicting flowers and shrubs full of birds that made the room's dimness burn with brilliant colors. Unfortunately, Hiddi's taste predominated. The effect was hideous enough to hurt Benard's eyes. He could guess the hack artist who had done it; wealthy people heaped gifts on him for creating such monstrosities. Suspecting a trap, he scanned the room carefully for inconspicuous images of holy Eriander, but found none.
The boy padded out on bare feet, sneaking a monumentally inscrutable glance at Benard as he passed.
"You favor Florengians, I see."
"Animals, like all men," Hiddi said, testing the water with a foot no goddess would spurn and no peasant could even imagine. "All slaves, since I can enslave any man I fancy anyway. Of course, I march them through my bedroom all night."
He squirmed at her sarcasm. No woman had ever disconcerted him so much, not even Ingeld. But there was no drawing back now.
"Of course. Six at a time, I presume?"
"Are you going to bathe like that, or undress?"
"I don't need help to wash myself."
"Wash? You never had a woman in a bathtub, Florengian?"
None of her business. "I shall need instruction."
"I'll call for Nerio." The pink gossamer floated down around her feet. Without removing a single jewel, Hiddi stepped into the water and turned to face him. "You only need a moment, don't you? One quick yowl, you said?"
"What I need," Benard said, pulling off his smock, "may be a lot less than what I take."
As it turned out, there were several yowls and a terrible lot of splashing at the end.
♦
Much later, and in another room, Hiddi said, "Sun's setting. I must go and serve my god."
They were sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform. She was running a tortoiseshell comb through her silken hair, and Benard had been mentally rearranging furniture. He still had an arm around her. He wondered where his clothes were.