Pardon, but this is a shorter chapter than usual. Thank you to both reviewers and readers, by the way.

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Vocabulaire:

1) saltatrix tonsa – a Latin slur meaning “a barbered dancing girl”

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Inter Nos

par ethnewinter

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Nao was finally able to lay her hands on one of the Mentulaean killers a full fortnight after being tasked to look into the matter. The man she caught was one Neleus of Greek descent, not a registered inhabitant of the province but one of the immigrant “weeds” of which Argus’s governor had spoken to Shizuru and the chief legate. He was also known as a ‘heavy hand for hire,’—one of those men, in other words, who hired themselves out for tasks necessitating the forceful exercise, often illicit, of brawn—a sort of mercenary-cum-thug. As the chief primipilus was said to remark after receiving this information, it was to be expected of his type... which could have meant a lot of things, given that Neleus seemed the sort to fit into many types.

Most likely, however, she had been referring to his appearance. Neleus was a tall, thick-armed man, with the sort of knobbly, jutting jaw that indicated a pugnacious temperament. His nose was his most outstanding feature, for it managed to exaggerate the slope of the ideal Grecian nose into a grand, hooked fixture hanging proudly from the middle of his face. So great was this nose, so aggressive its shape, that some of his past employers had even given him the moniker, “The Beak.” In fact, given the man’s usual line of work, it would have been even more appropriate for them to have called him “The Vulture.”

According to intelligence, most of his jobs had been in assassinations or what was known in such circles as ‘quick disposal.’ He was not bad at it, for all that what substituted for art in his craft was a savage familiarity with his work. That he was caught was not so much a result of his inexperience but more an outcome of the chief primipilus’s schemes.

During the last Mentulaean killing, Shizuru’s redheaded centurion had gone to inspect the scene of the crime with the Argus commander-of-garrison, Sakaki. The two women performed this inspection early morning of that day, and were thus able to conduct their survey before the clean-up detail could arrive to sweep away the mess. As fortune would have it, they were able to discover a choice piece of evidence during this survey. It was this crumb that led them along the trail.

The object was a crocodile’s tooth bored through with a hole for a necklace. The chief primipilus found it under a table, its leather string broken. She surmised that it did not belong to the victim, for the Mentulae were known to dislike that particular beast of the Nile and consider it a harbinger of misfortune—a belief which might well have been true in this case, for if the primipilus was correct then the object belonged to one of the assassins. If so, the man would return for it. Oh, not that the object itself had any outstanding value! One could find a dozen similar things from the hawkers in Egypt. No, what told her that it was irreplaceable was the minute, near-negligible inscription on the tooth itself: the words, to N., followed by the Greek symbols for the familiar form of “father.” It was personal, an heirloom. The owner would come back for it.

And so she outlined her plan, choosing the slave tasked with overseeing the clean-up of the crime scene for her purposes. Giving secret instructions to the man, she told him to pick up that necklace, ensure that the rest of the slaves knew he had done so—perhaps by bragging loudly about such a lucky find—and then keep it in his quarters, which were two adjoining rooms in a slum complex near the western side of the city. This place was then to be monitored clandestinely by a trio of soldiers tasked to hide in the room next-door. The bait was set, and all that was left was to wait for the prey to bite. And bite it eventually did.

It was a week before the man came sniffing, looking for the heirloom left him by his sire. He went about it by engaging the slaves who swept up the crime scene in casual conversation, eventually asking if they knew anyone selling animal’s-tooth necklaces. If they simply told him to check the markets, he would reply that it was a very special kind he wanted, one which some priest had recommended to bring him good luck. Of course, it was none other than a tooth taken from a crocodile.

He was not a professional for nothing. He went about the matter cautiously, approaching them one by one and speaking very offhandedly, as if about something inconsequential, but also with bluster, as if he was a man who had every inconsequential desire fulfilled. Eventually, he hit on one slave who mentioned that the head servant during that job a week ago—the one to clean up that dead Mentulaean’s place—had picked up something of the sort that he was looking for. Perhaps he should go ask the fellow if he wanted to sell it?

Neleus, of course, was not the sort of man to buy what he could just as easily steal. So he asked around a little more, found the address, and stole in to retrieve his heirloom when the slave left for an evening tipple. He was still rummaging around for it when the soldiers bore down on him with ropes and a cloth gag.

He put up a fight—most people did—but was no match for the combined force of three veteran legionnaires chosen specially for their skill and swiftness in acquiring prisoners-of-war. This was how he had arrived at his present state, hands upraised and lashed to an iron ring from the cellar’s rafter. It was the very same ring used by the proprietors of that establishment to carve up their slaughtered cattle.

“Fitting, don’t you think?” said the primipilus, leering at him from her perch on a table. “You look like a great big steer about to be put on a spit. I could do that too. Would you like to be put on a spit?”

She grinned as she said this, looking very much like a malign nymph. The lit torches of the cellar bathed her in a light that was sinister and seductive at once and that was a shade which suited her very well, though it was doubtful whether Neleus could actually appreciate the picture she presented. His eyes were swollen with bruising, the skin hot and bloated with the marks of a gruelling interrogation. And it had only begun.

“We’re just warming up, so don’t get soft on me yet,” the primipilus warned him of this as she continued speaking in her deceptively soft voice. “I’m hoping for a bit more entertainment out of you, you salty old verpa. So come on and show me some life, eh? Be a little more energetic.”

The only response was a rumble from the prisoner, beetle-black eyes crawling up from their gaze at the floor to send the primipilus a hate-filled glance. Her smile grew even wider.

“Enough with the looks. I’m not impressed.”

She got off the table and made her way towards him.

“It can stop if you talk, Neleus,” she coaxed, folding both arms across her chest. “Tell us who’s in this. Talk to me.”

Neleus lifted his sweat-soaked head and gave her a leer.

“Been talking to you a while now, soldier,” he sneered. “Told you I don’t know anything. Was hired for a job and took it. That’s all.”

He spat to one side, the gob of saliva and phlegm marbled with blood.

“I don’t ask any fucking questions because they pay me not to,” he declared.

“See now... you’re talking, but you’re not really saying anything,” Nao answered, faking a pout. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Neleus. You weren’t either. We both know someone at least paid you not to ask those questions you’re talking about, and we also know that’s the someone I’m asking for.” She smiled. “It doesn’t have to be the one at the top. I just want the messenger. Give me a name.”

“Don’t know his name.”

“Don’t lie, Neleus.”

“Don’t know his na—hnghf!”

“All right, let’s try that again,” the redhead said, inspecting the coiled rope in her hand. There were red spots on it, fresh from the new cut she had just opened on his lip. “I want a name, Neleus. What’s his name?”

“Fuck you.”

She laughed.

“I’m sure you’d love to, but that’s too high a hope for your station,” she said, using a finger to beckon one of the other soldiers in the room. There were three others aside from her, all from her own century. She addressed all three now, even as only one stepped closer.

“You heard what he said, boys and girls,” she said loudly. “Fuck me, he says. Me. He’s actually dreaming of fucking me.”

She stopped to sigh.

“Can’t say I blame him,” she smirked. “But by Dis, that’s a tall order, don’t you think? He has gall, he does.”

The others laughed, watching the captive bow his head after another seething glare to the primipilus.

“Might as well aim for blessed Juno, while he’s at it, centurion,” said the soldier standing next to her. “He likes his fantasies high and mighty, this one.”

Nao nodded.

“That he does,” she replied. “That, or he was dreaming when he said that. Since he’s dreaming, it’s our duty to wake him up.” She cocked an eyebrow at the legionnaire who had spoken and asked: “We don’t want to bore him now, do we, Hideki?”

Hideki grunted at the tacit order, unfurling the rawhide whip in his hand. Its tails were knotted at the ends, wicked little things which left a sprayed tattoo on skin that looked like a kiss from Medusa. It was not even an instrument developed for torture interrogations but for pure brutality. Used by an amateur, it could bring a man trembling to his knees. Used by a professional, it could bring his face to the floor, sprawled in a puddle of his own faeces and piss.

Hideki happened to be a professional.

“Let’s give him a friendly little morning kiss, Hideki.”

There was the snap of the whip, like the sound of old wood cracking under sudden pressure. It was followed immediately by a guttural cry.

“How’s that?” said the primipilus, peering curiously at their prisoner. Looking unsatisfied by his pained grimace, she snapped her fingers at Hideki. “I don’t think he’s awake yet. Give him a few more love-slaps, eh?”

Hideki chuckled. This was followed by the cracking sounds of the whip licking out again and again. Each crack, in turn, was followed by a scream. Some people might have thought it unmanly or unfitting for Neleus to scream because of the whipping, but Nao—and every other person who had ever been lashed or had lashed someone—knew better. No man, no woman, could possibly hold back a grunt if it came to a good whipping. Veteran soldiers could stifle nearly all sounds if they were stabbed, pierced, or shot. But no veteran soldier had ever been able to stay mute under the whip. Unless he was actually mute.

The whip man is a great thing. The good whip man could deliver fast, stinging blows that felt like wasp-bites for only a second before blooming into bloody hell the one after. He could flick out that leather cord like a sadistic snake, reaching out to sting your skin but not cut it—or not yet, not just yet. He knew those places that hurt more than others, and he was precise. That precision, taken with that knowledge, was a cruel thing. Because a good whip man, if he rationed out his blows and had enough stamina, could keep you in a bright and nearly unbroken haze of pain for as much as twelve hours without stopping.

Hideki, Nao knew, was a good whip man. He knew enough to wait just for the zenith of the first bite’s pain to pass before delivering the next. His arm tired slower than an Olympic athlete’s in his prime. And he could break a man’s vow of silence faster than anything else.

Another scream erupted from the prisoner’s throat, chasing its way through clenched teeth.

Well, it’s not exactly anything coherent, Nao conceded with a smirk. But it was still better than sullen reserve. It was always good to let the prisoner find his voice. It was still something.

She clapped her hands to stay Hideki’s whip. There was an interval of silence as she waited for Neleus’s sighing groans to die down.

“Had enough yet, Neleus?” she asked him afterwards. “This can stop, you know. Or it can go on forever. Would you like that?”

Neleus raised his head slowly in response, hair now almost completely matted to the skull with hot sweat. The look he sent her way was not at all forthcoming, and she nodded in understanding.

“I see.”

Hideki began to raise his whip hand again, but she halted him by pushing off the pillar she had been leaning against and touching his shoulder. She approached Neleus, circling around until she was standing behind the prisoner.

“Look at all these love-bites,” she crooned, lifting a finger to run it caressingly over a fresh pockmark, one of the blunt cuts the lash had inflicted on his skin. He gave a shiver of pain, his large frame quivering as he jerked away from her touch. She laughed.

“Squeamish already, old boy?” she taunted. “And this is just the foreplay. We aren’t even getting started yet.”

He tried to twist around, grunting as he turned his head in an attempt to look at her from the corner of a puffy eye. All he could see was a shock of red, however, and whether it was just her hair or the blood seeping from his eyelid, he could not tell.

“Cunni,” he hissed savagely into the air. “You cunni.”

“Talking dirty already. Ooh.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Tch.” She shook her head sadly, poking cruelly at another wicked little welt on his back. “He’s still dreaming. A few more wake-up calls, Hideki?”

She moved away as Hideki bared his big white teeth, ready to eat up the rest of the man’s skin with his lash. As soon as she was far enough away again, he began.

“He’s holding up better than expected though, centurion,” said the other female legionnaire in the room, when Nao moved to stand next to her. “Think we should change methods?”

Nao snorted, speaking quietly but just enough to be heard above the cries and the snaps of the whip.

“Ah, you just want to start breaking bones already,” she said dismissively, motioning to the club smacking softly in the other woman’s palm. “I don’t think it’s time for that yet. I want him to talk, not be completely reduced to bawling.”

“A broken knee would do it.”

“It could also send him straight into delirium from the pain,” she retorted. “He’s more liable to start thinking of suicide then, and we’re lucky he isn’t doing that now.”

The soldier nodded, tossing brown curls over her brow. “He wants to get out of this alive, even if only in prison.”

“Yes, but if you break his knee, it’s another story. He’ll either be in too much pain to contemplate going on with this shit or start thinking he’ll be too incapacitated to make his escape when he lands in the cells.” She sighed. “Gods’ sakes, I finally catch one and it turns out to be a good, old-fashioned trap-mouth.”

“How about we break the fingers instead? A lot of little bones we could use there.”

“Ahh, it’s the same as incapacitating—“ She broke off abruptly and squinted at nothing in particular. All of a sudden, she grinned.

“You just gave me an idea,” she said cheerfully. “Enough, Hideki!”

Hideki ceased. She snapped her fingers.

“Take him down a bit, would you?” she instructed to the soldiers, watching them stride to Neleus’s side. She pointed to the heavy oaken table nearby, the one she had been sitting on earlier. “Tie him down there. Spread him out so his hands are flat on the wood.”

They obeyed. Two released the chains holding up his arms with a series of clinks, dragging him roughly to the said table and flipping his enormous body there with a few grunts. They worked with the swift care of experts, and soon he was right were Nao wanted him to be: spread-eagled and lashed tautly on his back, both arms and legs pulled down with thick cords.

She walked over to look down on his red face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said with a wide grin. “The bastard actually passed out. Get the water.”

One of the legionnaires fetched an amphora from a corner and filled it from a larger one nearby. Veins bulging, he lugged the smaller but still sizeable container and emptied its contents on their prisoner, bringing Neleus awake with that shock. The prisoner shook his head dazedly, finding himself.

“See how accommodating we are, Neleus?” Nao said pleasantly, joining her hands behind her back as she regarded him. “You kept falling asleep on us so we even let you lie down. Now how’s that for hospitality?”

He blew heavily through his nose, trying to clear it of water that had trickled inside. An angry grimace showed through the beginnings of his beard, and Nao was amused to see that a sliver of bravado somehow worked into his expression.

“You think – hnf – this is new?” he asked contemptuously, once his nasal passages were cleared of moisture. “I’ve had worse – had children hit me harder, saltatrix tonsa,” he leered at Hideki, who scowled at him. “My hide’s thicker than your fancy fucking armour, you goddamned cunni!”

The primipilus grinned almost outrageously at the tirade. She clapped her hands as if in approval.

“Well then, let me teach you something basic about armour, my leather-skinned man,” she said cheerfully, looking at the others. “Get more water, now.”

They refilled the amphora while she took the club from the other woman in the room. It was forced roughly into Neleus’s mouth, used to keep his mouth open. Nao looked at the female soldier.

“Hold his head fast,” she ordered, motioning the men with the amphora closer. “Pour and try to get it into his mouth, boys.”

They complied, and there was the sound of rushing water and gagging, mixing with wild thumping noises as Neleus banged and scuffed his feet against the table futilely. The waterfall bearing down on him finally slowed to a trickle and he choked around the club between his jaws, spluttering water and trying to catch his breath.

“Again,” the primipilus said.

It was done again, and again, and yet again after that. After the fourth time, it seemed that the centurion was finally satisfied and she let them put the amphora away. She removed the club and looked at Neleus, who was still spitting, making snorting noises and straining for air.

She smiled at him.

“Now here’s the lesson,” she began, speaking very gently. “Armour is made to protect you from getting hurt outside. So even if your hide is really thick enough to be armour... And if I thump you... just about... here.”

She delivered a vicious blow to his abdomen, eliciting a sudden gag as the water he had swallowed rushed up from his stomach and erupted violently from his mouth. The others stepped back in mild surprise, finding the retreat vain as the gush of water drenched their already sodden footwear.

Meanwhile, the primipilus continued her lecture.

“You would do that,” she concluded, looking especially amused. “And it doesn’t really hurt on the outside, does it?”

She gave him another hard thump on the belly. It was rewarded with another retch as his body convulsed.

“No... you’ve got armour for your hide, after all,” she said provocatively. “Your hide is hard as brass.”

She chuckled down at him.

“But your insides are soft, Neleus,” she whispered. “Soft and weak. Isn’t that interesting?”

He groaned, too dazed by the havoc in his gut to deliver a biting retort. She beamed down at him like some munificent demon.

“Now I’m moving on to the next lesson,” she said, stepping a little away and taking one of his tied hands. She produced a small dagger from her effects and positioned its whetted tip under one yellowed, dirty fingernail. His fingers twitched, and she forced them down with one hand.

“Our next subject,” she announced to the room. “Is how to chip away at chinks in someone’s armour.”

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“How many slaughtered hogs?”

“One or two per century, I think,” came the Himean general’s voice. “Three barrels each of wine. The rest—blood puddings, sausages, bread, olive oil—can all be reckoned easily in lump.”

“That’s true. It’s just like the usual count.”

“What do you think, Takumi-han?”

“I think your estimates are fine, Fujino-san,” the young man answered, setting aside his quill. “I can handle the rest well enough.”

“I would hate for you to overexert yourself on my account, though,” she replied, watching him as he sprinkled sand onto the wet ink on his parchment. “And for something so trifling as my birthday celebration, no more. I would have had my banker take care of this but as he is not here and I cannot communicate with him on such short notice, I fear I must impose on you for the logistics. Be sure to tell me if you need help with any of it.”

“That’s appreciated, but I doubt it. This is my speciality, after all.”

Shizuru smiled at the confidently given statement.

“Far be it from me to contradict you there,” she said. “I think that should be all. Do you think I have left anything out?”

Takumi picked up his quill, tapping it lightly on the table before shaking his head.

“I really can’t think of anything else,” he allowed with a grin. “So don’t worry, Fujino-san. The soldiers will be well-feasted on your birthday. I’ll make sure I get everything to the letter.”

She rose languidly from her seat and he did the same, the two of them moving away from the table.

“Be sure of something else, Takumi-han,” she said to him.

“What would that be, Fujino-san?”

She smiled as she breezed past him and through the door he was holding open.

“To honour me with your presence at my party,” she replied, with a farewell tilt of her head. “Thank you again and good day.”

He chuckled and waved before shutting the door behind her. She was left walking in the corridor with her bodyguard, who had followed her exit. The only other creature present was

the leashed panther padding quietly on one side of the younger woman. Shizuru exhaled a sigh quietly.

“Well, that takes care of the preparations,” she said, still striding purposefully but with no true destination in mind. She noticed that her feet seemed to be taking her to the familiar route to the gardens outside, however, and she made no effort to change their direction. A bit of fresh air was welcome after an hour spent smelling the musty odour of papyrus and old parchment that seemed ever-present at scribes’ rooms.

“Perhaps I am cutting it rather close though, finishing this only three days ahead,” she mused aloud. “Takumi-han would not complain, but I cannot help but feel that I am giving him little time for procurement. What do you think, Natsuki?”

Natsuki’s only reply was a shrug.

“It should be fine,” the older woman allowed, before changing the subject. “Anyway, I cannot help but think of another sort of party they must have had recently back home. They have probably finished putting Bona Dea to sleep in Hime.” She frowned thoughtfully. “The letters did not mention anything about it, but they were written a good while before, after all.”

Indeed, the said letters were so long overdue that they had borne replies to mail sent out a month ago. The latest post from Hime had finally arrived, come not over the sea but overland by travelling the length of the Via Annia through Outer Fuuka, past the province of Iliria, then trekking though foreign territories before finally reaching Argus. It was not a difficult journey but a long one, and so it was to be expected that it held contents. All Shizuru learned from her share, for instance, was that Kaneda Izumi’s bill was likely to find passage soon and that Chikane had spoken to the Princeps regarding their venture... when, in fact, Izumi’s bill had been passed over a week ago and Chikane had already moved on to speaking with other senators for support. But she had no way of knowing that, and all she knew for now was information over a month old. Hence she could not know either that the celebration for Bona Dea’s winter sleep had already been held.

“Bona Dea is the Good Goddess,” she was explaining to her Otomeian companion. “She is primarily a deity for women, cared for and attended not only by Hime’s Vestal Virgins but also by all women in the city. She is one of the most important divinities for us. You have not taken her up in your lessons on Himean culture?”

Natsuki shook her head, looking faintly embarrassed by her ignorance in the subject. The older woman give her a gentle chuck under the chin for reassurance.

“It is all right, she is rarely mentioned aloud because her rituals are largely secret,” she assured the young woman, who was tugging at her panther’s leash to discourage it from pursuing its distraction by an indoor cat. “So secret is she, in fact, that the men of Hime have no idea what happens at her rituals, nor do they have any desire to know. Only women dare to approach her temple precinct, from which all men are forbidden. Hence, only about half of Hime can ever claim to know Bona Dea.”

The other woman looked fascinated by this information, her thin black eyebrows slanting together lightly as she considered it. Shizuru waited quietly, knowing the girl would put questions to her soon enough.

“But... why only women?” Natsuki finally asked, just as they passed through an archway and came under deep blue sky. “And why only women come to... come near her temple?” She looked at Shizuru as she talked. “Men are... scared? Of her?”

“Well...” The tawny-haired woman lifted her hands to adjust her pulled-back mane. She tightened the cord holding it together. “One might say both men and women are scared of her, given that she is an awesome god. But the answer to your question is that only women come near her because she loves women. And snakes. Her precinct abounds with snakes.”

“Snakes?” The girl looked surprised.

“Yes, snakes,” Shizuru affirmed. “Hence my parents always considered it a happy occasion for me to be born in December, since it is the same month when Bona Dea, whose favoured animal is the snake, goes to rest.”

Natsuki frowned, saying only one word in reply. “Confused.”

The general laughed at the childishly-given expression of bafflement, leading the two of them to a stone bench. They went there, brushing snow off it before taking their seats.

“Let Shizuki loose for a while so she can play and then I shall tell you why,” she promised, cooing to the animal with them before unleashing it herself. She ruffled its furry head and gave it a push. It rumbled with pleasure, then dashed after some leaves blown by the wind.

“Now tell me... Do you remember my personal seal?” she asked afterwards, turning to her companion. “I believe King Kruger should have one too, though I do not know what you call it in your language. It is a block usually of metal or wood, often used to affix something like a signature onto paper or wax.”

Natsuki nodded, saying a word which Shizuru took to be the word for ‘seal’ in the younger woman’s language.

“The one for your letters?” the girl asked.

“Yes, the one I use to stamp the hot wax.”

“It says... S.F.”

“Yes it does. What else is on it?”

“A picture...” Natsuki replied, her lips giving an unconscious pout as she attempted to recall the image. “A lion.”

A smile lit her face abruptly when she added: “And a snake.”

Shizuru smiled back, acknowledging the other’s little victory.

“There you have it,” she told her, changing position on the bench so that she was half-turned to the younger woman. “The snake comes from my father’s side, the seal of the Fujino Family. The lion is from my mother’s family. Usually, only one seal is taken by a successor. But they put them together for my personal seal, because both sides are of equal prestige and distinction enough to bear the weight of each other.”

“So when I was born in December, the month of Bona Dea’s rites of rest,” she continued. “It was considered a lucky omen for the Fujino, because of the link with snakes.” She smiled suddenly, one hand coming up to stroke the golden fringe brushing her forehead. “As for the other side of the family, the omen was said to be my hair.”

It took Natsuki only a second.

“Lion’s hair. The colour.”

“Yes,” Shizuru affirmed with a giggle. “I suppose it is because they do not really have hair this shade on my mother’s side of the family. Most of them are dark brunettes.”

“Oh.” She squinted a green eye. “Ohh.”

A grin broke out on the older woman’s face.

“Imagining how I would look if I were a dark brunette?”

There was a sheepish chuckle as the Otomeian ducked her head. “Eh...”

Shizuru laughed, waving the girl’s awkwardness away.

“It’s all right, I suppose it would make little difference to my appearance anyway,” she said. “But that is what I meant earlier, when I said it was thought a good omen for me to be born in December.”

Natsuki nodded shortly, her eyes flicking back and forth from the panther playing in front of them and to Shizuru’s hair. The older woman was about to tease her about it when she suddenly announced something, looking very embarrassed as she said it.

“I like your hair.”

She shrugged and tried to look very indifferent after this, in Shizuru’s opinion. There was something endearing about that, and she would have kissed the girl if the latter had not called to the cub near them, pretending to be occupied with playing with it. So Shizuru gave her some time to cool her cheeks before saying, almost as casually: “You do?”

She got a nod.

“I like darker hair myself.”

This time, she got a shake of the head.

“Yours is good,” Natsuki said slowly, her eye still on the panther. “It...”

Here came a word foreign to Shizuru’s ears. The Himean lifted her eyebrows.

“What does that mean?” she asked her bodyguard, who was still frowning as she seemed to search for an equivalent for her words, in the Himean tongue. She finally looked Shizuru’s way after another moment, apparently having found a way to translate it.

“Like gold, when you melt it,” she described, brow wrinkling above wide eyes in a way that reminded the other of an innocent pup. “Like water... liquid. But also warm.”

Shizuru tried to pull back the too-wide smile threatening to show on her lips, feeling an absurd sense of pleasure at those words. There was something about this young woman’s manner of complimenting her that made her feel almost guilty, almost spoiled with praise, simple though the praise given might be. Natsuki was certainly far from effusive when it came to compliments, but her delivery somehow made them sound all the richer, as far as Shizuru was concerned.

“I see...” she said in reply. “Thank you, Natsuki.”

Natsuki shrugged again, looking away.

“Then, you like it because it looks warm?”

A nod. “Mm.”

“Well...” She paused and surprised the younger woman by shifting closer, pulling her against her chest so that she was pressed against it. “It gets warmer the closer you come to it, did you know?”

That earned her a laugh. The girl adjusted position for comfort and they ended with their feet up on the bench, Natsuki sitting between her legs and leaning against her front.

“So...” the Himean began, resting her chin on the other’s shoulder. “Would you like me to tell you more about Bona Dea’s rituals?”

Natsuki nodded, right before turning her head and nuzzling the older woman shortly with her nose. Shizuru went on after receiving the gesture of affection.

“Bona Dea has a six-month winter sleep, from which she is woken on May Day,” she said. “The women of Hime see to this and hold a private celebration in honour of her awakening. In December, however, the celebration they hold is for the other end of the cycle. Her death.”

Natsuki’s head moved. “She dies?”

“In a manner of speaking,” was Shizuru’s answer. “It may also be called being laid to rest for the winter. December is when Bona Dea goes back to sleep, laid to rest by the highest-born Himean women. The event is held at night, in a house chosen by the Vestals in advance and honoured by that choice. On that night, no man may enter that house.”

Natsuki hummed, an indication for her to go on.

“There are musicians playing pipes, flutes, and lyres,” she continued. “And the choicest food is set out on tables where women may eat from it as they pass. Countless silver vessels called honey-pots are placed around the house, constantly filled with wine. But on that night, wine is not called wine. It is called milk.”

“Milk?” Natsuki echoed. “As... milk from a cow?”

“Yes, only it is actually wine which is called that—but only on that special night, and only by women.”

“Why?”

Shizuru took a moment to think on it, burrowing her nose into soft dark hair.

“Because that is part of Bona Dea’s deception,” she told her. “Even the statue outside her shrine in her precinct is not an effigy of her but a false one, erected there to deceive the forces said to be generated by men. Her rites of rest give the appearance of being an occasion where women congregate for a mild dinner party, when the reality—and secret, from men—is that the women flagellate themselves into a high ecstasy with whips the latter part of that evening.”

“In Bona Dea’s world, nothing is ever what it truly seems. She is for women, and like them, is always shrouded in mystery,” she said, thinking of how the description fit the woman in her arms. “Little is said of Bona Dea in public, and that much which is, is mostly a ruse.”

Natsuki exhaled quietly, one of her hands going to rest on Shizuru’s leg.

“A mystery,” she murmured. “The men... they don’t try to find out?”

“You mean, don’t they get curious?”

“Mm-hm.”

“No, as contrary to human nature as that sounds,” Shizuru answered with a smirk. “I suppose they do feel twinges of curiosity on occasion, but I have yet to hear of any man purposefully acting on it. Bona Dea deserves their reverence as much as ours. Do you know what would happen if a man profaned her mysteries by something as simple as sneaking into the house and observing the ritual?”

“What?”

“Every pregnant woman would be blighted,” came the ominous reply. “Each woman would have to take the medicine to make the baby exit their wombs. If a baby is born alive, especially if it is a male, it is abandoned outside the city limits and left to die. There are no exceptions and no woman tries to make one, even for her child... because if Bona Dea is displeased, no baby shall be born whole. Each one, it is said, would be born monstrous and deformed. That is her curse.”

She felt a small pause in Natsuki’s breathing, an indication of amazement.

“The religious colleges would have to do their best to appease her,” she went on. “Both men and women. The state augurs—I am one of them—would watch the skies constantly for any omens of misfortune. And the rites would have to be held again, of course, with added sacrifice. That is what no man wishes to risk, for the sake of a little curiosity.”

She felt a squeeze on her thigh.

“Bona Dea is an awful goddess,” the other woman breathed. “A great one.”

“You see?”

“Yes.”

She tugged at the edges of her crimson cloak, pulling it forward so that it wrapped both of them in an embrace. Natsuki nestled closer, still rubbing her thigh.

“I would attend those rites were I there,” Shizuru told her. “I still recall the sight of all those women, coming together in their finery.”

She smiled at the memory. “Everyone looked so wonderful.”

“What do you wear?” Natsuki asked. “The women?”

“Dresses,” she replied. “Everyone comes in dresses and gowns and glittering with jewellery. It is a special night, after all.”

“Hm.”

“Which reminds me,” Shizuru said, smiling broadly into her hair. “You do know I expect you to wear a dress on my birthday, yes?”

The girl tried to turn her head, but was prevented by a playful bite on her ear. She let out a sound of surprise.

“No arguments, Natsuki,” Shizuru murmured, her lips still on the other woman’s ear. “And yes, I know that you need to protect me, but there is no reason you cannot do a good enough job of that while wearing a dress, since I am not entirely defenceless on my own merits. Unless you think me a perfect cripple?”

Natsuki made a sound of denial.

“Good,” Shizuru went on. “Between the two of us then, that should compensate for any lack of mobility you have if you are not wearing this uniform.” She tugged at the girl’s sleeve. “So... since that is my special night, you shall humour me by wearing a dress. Yes?”

She felt the relaxation in Natsuki’s posture that signalled concession. She smiled.

“Wonderful,” she exclaimed as she angled her head, placing a kiss on the hollow of a fair cheek. “I doubt you brought a dress with you on this campaign, so I thought we could buy or have one prepared. Would you like me to help you find one later or tomorrow?”

The younger woman turned her head.

“Um,” she said hesitantly. “I will do it.”

Shizuru lifted an eyebrow before bringing it down slowly when it suddenly occurred to her that Natsuki might want to surprise her with her choice of attire. Not disliking the idea, she tilted her head enquiringly.

“You are sure you can manage by yourself?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“All right, then.”

She brought her lips to Natsuki’s ear again, only nuzzling it this time. Pretty little ears, she thought, liking the way they looked against the stream of blue-black that was the younger woman’s hair. They were just so white and delicate, with a little pinkish tinge in the shell, that she could not help thinking of them as newly made. She murmured little endearments into one of them now, not words but just short breaths meant to caress the pale skin. She felt Natsuki shiver, the younger woman’s finger tracing circles on her thigh.

“Shizuru,” she heard her say, a few moments later. She looked at the top of the dark head on her shoulder.

“Yes?”

She received no answer, however, and decided not to bother the girl for one. Natsuki had a habit of doing that, after all... saying her name and no more. She felt, on such occasions, that the younger woman was merely saying her name for the sake of saying it and not to actually call her attention. Did Natsuki, perhaps, simply like the feel of the name on her tongue?

She did it at night too, or in the early morning. Sometimes, Shizuru would wake with the dark form still half-tangled with her, but far enough apart for her to be able to peek at the younger woman’s face if she opened her eyes. She would pretend to still be asleep then, knowing the girl was already awake. The first time she acted so, it was out of curiosity to see what Natsuki would do while waiting. She had been pleasantly surprised by the girl’s actions, which had been to stroke her back so gently she almost failed to feel it. She had continued her farce then, feeling those large green eyes on her and wondering what expression would be there if she looked. But then she heard the girl whisper her name in that half-caressing, half-marvelling tone, and she knew she had no need to look.

The mornings after, that she would do the same, simply basking in the secret attention given by the other woman. Sometimes, she could feel Natsuki’s fingers ghosting above her brow, just barely brushing the mark she had sustained in the Battle of Argentum when an enemy

falx cut her eyebrow. Other times, the fingers simply laced into her hair or stroked it. What she liked best of all the silent caresses was the low whisper of her name, though, because there was simply something in the way Natsuki said her name that made her thankful for it. Natsuki said her name with something like wonder. And how many people could say it that way?

I know of no one else, come to think of it, she thought. Perhaps that is part of her gift, that she can say my name and make it seem like the only name in the world. Natsuki was not a woman used to speaking gentle things aloud, not someone used to exteriorising her feelings. And indeed, she rarely did so, even with when she said Shizuru’s name like that, the older woman could not help but feel that there was little need for her to do anything else.

It worried her sometimes, though. Natsuki’s taciturnity made it difficult to talk of certain things, particularly those which Shizuru had on her mind these days. Several times now she had begun conversations meant to probe the girl’s affections for her, only to retreat in the face of a fearful discomfort in those emerald eyes. In a way, though, those eyes were her only ally in that stoic countenance, for they spoke twice as much as the rest of the other woman. During those situations, they would speak of a terror of being seen through, even while holding a kind of desperation for understanding. It was as though there were things Natsuki wanted to say, but never could.

She supposed this was partly due to the way Natsuki had been raised. From what little she had learned of the Otomeian’s childhood, it seemed that she had been brought up within the ranks of her nation’s military, most of her caretakers being officers and the like. What else was to be expected, then, but for her to hold expression in distrust and cultivate a careful detachment proper to soldiers in the army? What else but to shackle expression and exteriorisation?

The difficulty is that she hardly ever takes it down, Shizuru said to herself, still burrowing her nose into the girl’s hair. Natsuki seemed to have been taught from the beginning to be a soldier, and so learned to apply her wary reserve not only to those situations where it was regularly called for, but to every other she came across. The readiness for conflict required of any soldier seemed to have been drilled into her too effectively, almost entirely crippling her ability to show the vulnerabilities of emotion. True, she was a little more expressive with Shizuru now and growing more so each day... but there was still such anxiety in her eyes on such instances... so much feeling seemingly held back and straining in the glassy confines of those deep green orbs.

This is why I am against the Spartan concept of raising them entirely in the military, she decided with a frown. One only had to look at this girl’s eyes to see how those shackles could hurt. You ended up teaching them how to put on chains without teaching how to take them off... or teaching that latter lesson too , you tended to produce excellent soldiers or mercenaries in that manner. But if you viewed them not only as warriors but also as persons, you also created a monster. You created a being forever caught between a functioning capacity to kill and a stifled desire for life.

You produce a chimera with the heart of a child.

Natsuki stirred, jolting her from her meditations.

“Shizuru,” she whispered again, making a movement to indicate that she wanted to get up. Shizuru held her fast, however, and looked questioningly at her.

“Yes?” she said, expecting a reply this time.

Natsuki fidgeted again.

“Someone. Coming.”

“Oh?”

She looked around—while still keeping her hold on the younger woman—and searched for an intruder. She found one approaching from a path on her left.

“Ara... it is Nao-han.”

Finally disengaging herself gently from her bodyguard, she arranged herself so that both feet were resting on the ground. Natsuki stood up beside her, looking faintly uncomfortable.

“I never shall understand how you can hear them approaching no matter how far off they are,” she told the girl, while waiting for the primipilus. “Your hearing must be keen as a bat’s.”

Natsuki looked at her, saying nothing.

“How Chie-han would love to have the same capacity.”

The younger woman smirked.

“But then again, it would probably come with a trade-off,” she continued mirthfully. “The gods are Greek when granting gifts. She might find the price too high to pay.”

“She would,” Natsuki said, smiling now. Shizuru grinned in surprise at the response, quirking an eyebrow.

“What is the price for having godlike hearing?” she asked playfully.

Natsuki smirked again before answering.

“Keeping... godlike silence.”

That broke the older woman up. She was still bent over laughing, Natsuki trying not to smile at her side, when Nao finally reached the two of them. The primipilus’s lips twitched as she regarded the pair, seemingly infected by their good humour. After Shizuru finally managed to greet her, she delivered her report.

“I’m glad you’re in good spirits,” the redhead announced. “Because I have good news.”

Shizuru returned her smile. "What is it?"

"We have a name."

-

-

Omake:

This is irregular, yes, but here is something which one thought to share. I recall the conversation I once had with a male friend—who watches anime—when I told him that I was about to write the sex scene for this story (the first such scene, in ch.21). After a quick review of the plot, I went on to ask:

I. Have you any suggestions?

He. Maybe some exhibitionism? To add to the excitement?

I. Yes, that is a fair idea, I suppose.

He. There you are.

I. D’accord. How does it go?

He. Hmm... They have a bathroom, right?

I. Yes.

He. And they share a bedroom.

I. Yes.

He. Then how about they go to the bathroom, get into some heated foreplay there, make out desperately in the hallway because they’re both really aroused and can’t wait, and finally burst into the bedroom to have sex in the bed.

I. That sounds nice.

He. Doesn’t it?

I, frowning. Ah, un moment...

He. What’s wrong?

I. I realised it just now... That cannot work.

He. Why not? It’s sexy, it’s exhibitionist. They’ll love it.

I, smiling. The readers or Shizuru and Natsuki?

He, grins. It’s safe to say all of them.

I. Cela va sans dire... Oh, but, wait... that was not what I meant to say. (Head-shake) Pardon, but your idea cannot work.

He: Like I said, why not?

I: Because they start in the bath, move to the hallway, then finally to the bed. Was it not so?

He. Yes... Well?

I. Well, the bath is adjacent or connected to the bedroom by a door.

He, after pausing for a few seconds. Oh... So... the bathroom is connected to the bedroom? Directly?

I. Mm. They do not need to pass through the hallway to get from the bath to the bedroom or vice-versa.

He. So... to make it clear... if you go with my idea, that means they start to make out in the bathroom... Then dash out and pass through the bedroom so that they can for no apparent reason leave the privacy they already have there and snog passionately in the hallway...

I. ... Then run back into the bedroom to finish doing it.

(Awful silence, where equally awful grins spread on our faces)

I. That sounds rather like nonsensical fan-service for Exhibitionists Anonymous.

He, sniggering. Ye-eah, you’re right. I guess that just wouldn’t work.