With a sigh of profound satisfaction, Melidulci rolled onto her side and smiled at Sanct-Franciscus. "I wish I knew how you do that," she said contentedly, languidly, her sumptuous body still quivering in apolaustic abandon. Her bedchamber was faintly illuminated by three perfumed oil-lamps that filled the room with the scent of sandalwood and made her naked flesh shine as if dusted with powdered pearls; her hair was a glorious, disorderly nimbus on her pillow, looking dark as bronze in the dusk before sunrise. Luxuriating in the aftermath of passion, she closed her eyes as slowly as a cat, and opened them so that she would not be deprived of the vision of her partner. Beyond the windows, the first flush of dawn limned the hills in pale, luminous pinkish-gold. Birds heralded the morning, and occasionally a cock crowed. "No one has ever given me so much joy. No one has known how."

"But you have allowed me to touch you, to know you," said Sanct-Franciscus, his voice deep and gentle as his endearment.

She put her fingers to his lips to keep him from speaking. "You need not tell me that it is the same for you, because it is not: you could not know what you know without experience; I know that-you could not have learned what you know without loving many other women-and I have no complaints."

He smiled fleetingly. "You are a most understanding woman, Melidulci," he said kindly.

"I am a most gratified woman," she corrected him with an alluring smile, pulling the disordered sheet up to her chest as if to signal the end of their lovemaking. "I would thank you for all you do, but you dislike it, so I will say only that I am most fortunate that you have turned your attentions to me."

"I, too, am fortunate," he said, and kissed the corner of her mouth. His black kalasiris whispered its silken compliments to the linen of her lower sheet as he moved. "You have accepted me and my ... limitations without question."

"I would have to be a fool to question such largesse as you provide." She laughed softly. "Your so-called limitations do not trouble me, particularly since you explained your nature."

"I would repay you most cruelly if you did not know what my continued love can impart." He looked toward the open window. "Sunrise is coming. You can see the shine of it on the eastern horizon."

"Shortly the sun will be up, and you will need to be away." There was a kind of regret in her acknowledgment.

"I should leave," he told her. "The native earth in the soles of my peri will protect me, once I put them on, but I would like to keep as much of our night together flourishing in me as long as possible." He stroked her hair. "To do that, I must go."

"How long must I wait before you lie with me again?" She stretched, the lack of self-consciousness making this provocative in a way it would not have been had she done it deliberately. "Now that we have shared a bed as often as we have, there is no reason not to continue to do so, is there? I have passed into the shadow of your nature months ago, and nothing you can do will change it. I am prepared to do all that is necessary when I die to remain dead, so you need not hesitate on that account. I have no wish to live as you do, isolated amid the world of men, no remnant of my living life left to comfort me, none of my gens to remind me of my bonds. Say what you will about the Blood Bond, it isn't the same. No, thank you: I will seek my delights in life and have no regrets that death will end them."

Sanct-Franciscus touched her shoulder, his fingers moving lightly. "I would like to spend time with you again in eight days. I have other obligations that demand my attention, and you deserve time to yourself."

"I'd rather have time with you," said Melidulci.

"You may want such a thing now, but I fear in time you would grow jaded." He was not quite serious, but there was a note of concern in his musical voice.

She lolled back on the pillows, baffled and teasing at once. "With the splendid things you do, with your generosity, with your-Very well. In time, yes, everyone grows jaded. In my work, I've seen it often. The sweetest rapture can pall, the most delectable dishes become dull to the palette: it is what makes death acceptable. Our wants and our fears are all worn out." She pulled the sheet over her shoulder. "How have you contrived not to become wearied by life?"

He shook his head a little. "Ah, but I am not alive: I am undead."

"It's the same thing," said Melidulci, stifling a yawn. "Pardon me."

"You are sleepy, and no wonder," said Sanct-Franciscus, sliding back from her. "You need rest. I'll leave you to it."

She reached for his hand. "I don't mind being tired if you're the cause."

"But you and I will have so much more to share if both of us are rested." He rolled onto his back, swung his legs over the bed and sat up. "You know what your response does for both of us."

"You mean that your pleasure increases with mine, that you can have nothing I do not experience; I understand," she said, sounding disappointed. "You've told me that before, and I will believe you, although you are the only man I have ever known who thought that."

"I think it because it is true," said Sanct-Franciscus, rising, then bending down to kiss her mouth. "I have what you have, and only what you have. Your passion is a precious gift." His lips brushed hers.

As they broke apart, she closed her eyes in resignation and somnolence. "You're probably right," she said. "I will have to hold this past night in my memory until-"

"Eight days," said Sanct-Franciscus as he found his peri and bent to put them on his feet; his feet, like his hands, were small and well-shaped. "I will send you word if there are any changes."

"I will hope that means you will come sooner rather than later," she murmured; she was already half-asleep, her breath slowing and deepening.

"You tempt me, Melidulci," he said softly.

"Good," she responded just above a whisper.

He left the room quietly pausing at the alcove of lares and household gods to leave a small topaz on the altar, then he nudged the dozing footman awake. "Make certain that all the locks are secure," Sanct-Franciscus reminded the man. "Some beasts prowl by day as well as night."

The man blinked and nodded as he pulled back the bolt to allow Sanct-Franciscus to leave. "Fortune and favor for you today, honestiorus."

"Thank you," said Sanct-Franciscus., flipping a denarius to the footman as he went out into the morning twilight, walking as quickly as he dared, unwilling to draw untoward attention to himself. Sunrise would come shortly; already he could hear the sounds of carts and wagons lumbering in to the fora: the law required them to unload the vehicles, then drive them outside the city walls to large paddocks for the day, which made the predawn morning on a market-day a busy time in the city. Sanct-Franciscus walked more swiftly through the tangle, never allowing himself to be distracted from his purpose in spite of the confusion of traffic bound for the city gates.

A small contingent of Watchmen patrolling the streets stopped him less than five streets from Melidulci's house. "Where are you coming from and where are you bound?" asked the leader of the six men; they were armed with spears and daggers and short flagella.

"I am coming from the house of a friend and bound for the Temple of Hercules," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"Without bodyguards?" The Watchman looked askance at him.

"At this hour, with you Watchmen about, I thought it would be safer to walk by myself than to attract attention to myself with an escort of four retired gladiators." This was true enough. "Many thieves target men with bodyguards."

The Watchmen chuckled, and one with a strong Aquitanian accent said, "Too bad more honestiora don't think of that."

"The same with their dwellings," said Sanct-Franciscus. "They build on the Palatinus and the Capitolinus hills, with walled estates and many guards, then wonder why robbers know they have valuable possessions."

The leader of the Watchmen actually laughed. "Right you are."

Sanct-Franciscus could see the first, brilliant shaving of the sun emerging from behind the hills; he nodded to the Watchmen. "May I walk on?"

"Of course," said the leader, smiling cordially. "Fortune and the gods bring you your desires."

"Thank you; may Mars and Janus hold you safe." As he said this, he held out three denarii. "For all of you." While the Watchmen made approving sounds, Sanct-Franciscus strode briskly away. He was more than half-way back to Domina Clemens' house when the sun lifted above the eastern horizon, poking long, brilliant fingers among the hills and houses of Roma. As he neared the Temple of Hercules, he saw a cluster of young men and women standing before it, hands raised, all praying loudly to the Christ. Among them he noticed Marius Octavian Laelius, a skimpy beard on his chin, his clothing ornamented with designs of fish. His whole body quaked with emotion, fervor in every lineament of his being. Stopping to watch them, Sanct-Franciscus was somewhat surprised when Octavian broke off his prayers and approached him.

"Why are you watching me?" he demanded.

"I was not specifically watching you," said Sanct-Franciscus calmly. "I was observing your group."

"If you aren't watching me, what are you doing here?" His chin, with its sparse beginnings of a beard, came up.

"I live here," said Sanct-Franciscus, nodding toward the gates of Domina Clemens' house.

Octavian started to laugh and then thought better of it. "You do not-" The compelling look that Sanct-Franciscus directed at him silenced the challenge Octavian was about to deliver. "You should not live so near that temple; it is a vile, damned place," he muttered.

"Are you afraid it will influence me: I thought your Christ is more powerful than any pagan god or demi-god, and protects the righteous," Sanct-Franciscus said, irked by the presumptuous attitude of the young man.

"So long as they worship Him, He does. The rest, though virtuous, are damned."

"So your faith is an appeal for clemency?" Sanct-Franciscus suggested.

Octavian bristled. "We must proclaim the one True God and His Son, and our Savior."

"No doubt," Sanct-Franciscus said, suddenly feeling very old.

"The Last Days are coming; all the signs foretell it. The world must make ready to be Judged, and as long as there are pagan temples for the adoration of pagan gods, the Last Judgment will be one of wrath, not mercy. Paul the Apostle warned us that Christ will return very soon, so conversion must happen shortly for those who would be saved." He stood defiantly in front of Sanct-Franciscus, the shadow of the temple covering his face as the sun rose behind the hill on which it stood. "If we cannot bring redemption to all, then ours is forfeit."

"Must the end come so quickly?" Sanct-Franciscus asked, amused and saddened at once.

"Yes, it must, or so prophecy has revealed: the Blessed Paul declared that God would return in the blink of an eye; day and night we must be ready. Day and night we must strive to be worthy of His Love. All those who seek Him may hope to be raised up to join Him in glory-the rest will be cast into outer darkness. Everyone must prepare. Everyone must come to the Christ, and the worship of the True God." He touched the golden fish pectoral suspended on a leather thong around his neck. "The end will be upon us soon. No man may know the hour, but surely it will come."

Sanct-Franciscus sighed. "You are certainly sincere, but I would think you would serve your god better by helping tend to your mother than to spend the night attempting to shame a Roman temple into conversion with your prayers."

"That is not what we are doing," said Octavian hotly.

"No? Then what might it be?" He held up his hand to keep Octavian from answering. "I know something of your religion; do not think I am not aware of its precepts." He recalled the accounts of the preacher who had so offended the High Priest of the Temple in Jerusalem, proclaiming that each man was a temple unto himself. "It began as a Jewish sect, then gradually gathered Jewish, Greek, and Asianan converts, then other followers, to become a separate belief with sects of its own. Your sect within the group is the most stringent and condemnatory of those who do not agree with your faith or your interpretation of your faith: there are other sects within the Christian faithful whose beliefs and practices are less intrusive, but equally as sincere."

"The others are misled and a disgrace for the Christ, Who died to redeem all mankind." Octavian folded his arms.

"The same is believed of Mithras, and many others." Sanct-Franciscus shook his head once. "You will say that such gods are lies-only yours is true. And the others would say the same of your tenets." He gave Octavian a long stare. "Go home, Octavian. Tend to your mother, help your sister. This will not spare the world anything, and it will bring you no nearer to salvation than any other man."

"So you say! You disbeliever! Blasphemer!"

Sanct-Franciscus was about to turn away, but he stopped to give Octavian one last remark. "I believe to the extent that I know a man may rise from the dead, but I know also that rising does not make him a god." He had been told much the same thing when he was young and alive-that he would become one with the gods of his people, but over his two millennia of vampiric life, he had realized that was not the case, that undead existence was not divinity no matter how long he continued in that state.

Octavian took a deep breath. "You may be a physician, and a capable one for the flesh, but you have no understanding of the soul." He swung around and was about to return to his companions when Sanct-Franciscus stopped him, saying, "Perhaps not as you and your faith understand it, but I hold intimacy to be the highest expression of life one person may share with another."

The apparent leader of the praying group intervened, calling Octavian to order before that impulsive youth could continue his disputes. "Leave him alone, Octavian. God will deal with him when the time comes."

"Yes, God will judge him," Octavian said loudly enough to be certain that Sanct-Franciscus heard him. "He will know the Wrath of God at the end, when he learns what his fate is to be throughout eternity."

Sanct-Franciscus moved on toward the gate to Domina Clemens' house, calling out, "I have returned. Please let me in." The rays of the early sun touched him, promising a warm day.

Aedius, still shrugging off the last vestiges of sleep, opened the gate to Sanct-Franciscus. "Fortune favor this day, Sanct-Franciscus," he said as a matter of courtesy.

"Thank you, Aedius," said Sanct-Franciscus, stepping into the shade of the high wall around the courtyard. "Tell me, how long have those zealots been praying out there?"

"They came shortly after sundown. They had oil-lamps, but they burned out hours ago."

"Oil-lamps," Sanct-Franciscus repeated. "How provident of them." He looked around. "Has anything happened since I left last evening?"

"Someone has come," said Aedius. "I have put him in the second guest-room." He coughed discreetly. "I have told him that you will receive him upon your return."

"Is he a Roman or a foreigner?" Sanct-Franciscus asked, then added before Aedius could speak, "Never mind; I shall learn for myself."

"He comes from afar," said Aedius.

"On one of my ships, perhaps?" Sanct-Franciscus ventured.

"Perhaps," said Aedius. "I did not inquire."

"Excellent," said Sanct-Franciscus. "If this guest is awake, would you ask him to come to my study, and see he has something to break his fast."

"At once," said Aedius, and added, "Holmdi will man the gate while I do this."

"As suits you best," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"Who knows what that group of avid youths may decide to do? I have heard that they do more than exhort good Romans: the honestiorus Cyrillus Herminius Acestes had a band of them break into his house and destroy the altar and alcove of the lares, not six days ago. The Urban Guard were called out to contain them; the Watchmen were not sufficiently armed to do it."

"I would be very surprised if the group outside turned their attention to this house-they are too outraged with Hercules to demean themselves with a simple Roman abode." Saying this, Sanct-Franciscus hastened away toward his private apartments, thinking as he went that he should order the bath prepared; perhaps after he received his guest. He frowned faintly, wondering who could have come unannounced to see him; a foreigner, Aedius had said, and that was more perplexing. He made his way up the stairs to the second floor, sensing the last lingering sweetness of his night with Melidulci fade away; suddenly the eight days until their next time together seemed much too long.

In his outer chamber he stripped off his kalasiris and donned a black linen dalmatica, one that was long enough to reach his ankles. He found an ebony comb and ran it through his hair, then felt his chin and jaw to reassure himself that his beard was not too long; he had been without a reflection so long that he no longer missed referring to it, relying on touch instead of sight. Last he chose a heavy Egyptian-style silver pectoral with small disks with raised wings-his eclipse sigil-at the end of each segment of the collar, which he fastened around his neck. Satisfied, he left the room and made his way to the study, wondering afresh who might be waiting for him.

The study was sunk in half-light, for the shutters had not yet been opened. Sanct-Franciscus slipped into the room, seeing a figure wrapped in a dark-blue byrrus seated so that the visitor faced away from the door. "I am sorry you have been kept waiting on my account."

"You had no reason to expect me, my master," came the answer as Rugeri stood up and turned toward Sanct-Franciscus. A slight smile brightened his austere features.

Sanct-Franciscus recovered quickly from his astonishment. "I am delighted to see you, as always, my friend, but what brings you here-and so covertly?"

Rugeri took off his byrrus, revealing a tunica of dove-gray linen and high, laced calcea that reached almost to his knees. "I took the advice of Domina Clemens and came without notice to report to you. I borrowed one of the messengers' bigae in Ostia yesterday, and reached Roma just before the gates were closed. The Urban Guard questioned me on my business for two or three hours before permitting me to come on to this house, so I did not arrive until long after you had departed for the night."

"I hope you were received cordially," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"Luckily I brought the letter from Domina Clemens; no one here would deny hospitality to the deputy of the owner," said Rugeri.

"Olivia sent you?" Sanct-Franciscus asked, startled once more.

"Yes. She said in her letter to me that she supposed that some of our regular correspondence had been intercepted-I gather she has intimated as much to you, as well-and that to ensure you have accurate information, she advised me to come to Roma, unannounced, to speak with you. That way, she thought, we might be able to discover where the letters were being seized without alerting the culprits of our interest." Rugeri shrugged, his faded-blue eyes revealing more than fatigue. "I concurred. Ecce. I am here."

"Why do you believe that our letters are being ... shall we say, diverted? from their destinations?" He went to open the shutters and let in the new day; light suffused the room, revealing the murals in full richness and detail, depicting the Roman gods at their pleasures, the largest of which showed Vesta and Mercury engaged in a lively debate about the happiness of home versus the excitement of commerce and travel.

"I believe it because I have asked you for decisions on certain matters that you have not addressed, and I have reason to suspect that the information you have received is incorrect." Rugeri held out a sheaf of fan-folded scrolls. "These are my copies of what I have sent you."

Sanct-Franciscus took the sheaf, but did not untie it or open any of the letters. "I knew something was wrong. I had a letter from you at the end of January that seemed most unlike you."

"How is that?" Rugeri asked, looking troubled.

"I will show it to you later; you will understand my apprehension," said Sanct-Franciscus. "In the meantime, tell me what has happened? There must be something specific, or I doubt you would be here."

"There are a number of matters you and I ought to discuss, and not just about your business in Alexandria." He did not wait for permission, but sat down again in the chair he had occupied when Sanct-Franciscus arrived.

"You mean there are other things bothering you?" Sanct-Franciscus took the chair opposite Rugeri's. "What has happened, that you are so troubled?"

"I wish I could tell you," said Rugeri, and lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "All the way here," he said a bit later, "I tried to decide how to explain my concerns to you, and I determined that it would be a simple matter of reporting instances of-but then, once I arrived, I realized that this would not be as easily done as I supposed." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands laced together. "I am certain someone managing the customs taxes in Alexandria has taken to stealing portions of your cargos after the taxes on the whole have been paid, and profiting twice-from the overpaid taxes and the purloined cargo. I am certain he must have an accomplice, either in Ostia or here in Roma, someone with direct ties to you and your trading company." He stopped, staring directly at Sanct-Franciscus.

"I gather you have mentioned these possibilities to Olivia," Sanct-Franciscus remarked. "It seems the sort of precaution you would take."

"I sent her a letter yesterday, and I used one of your private messengers at the shipping office." Rugeri's mouth pressed to a thin line. "It may be difficult to gain the kind of credibility we will have to have to persuade the Prefecture of Customs to investigate these crimes."

"True enough," said Sanct-Franciscus, sighing once. "And I do not relish making the kinds of bribes that would be needed to compensate for lack of specific evidence: such a strategy can bring about unwanted results."

"You are thinking of the Persians," said Rugeri with a single nod. "I would not like to have such an experience again."

"Nor I," said Sanct-Franciscus. He put his hands together, studying the middle distance over the tops of his fingers. "Do you think," he went on in the Persian tongue, "that someone in this household-not in the business, but this household-may be part of the trouble we have had?"

"I fear it is possible," said Rugeri. "Although I cannot guess who is behind it, or what he hopes to accomplish."

"It is most perplexing," agreed Sanct-Franciscus, beginning to stride down the room again. "You were wise to come to me yourself. We must go cautiously, I think."

"I didn't like leaving your business in Alexandria, but the Priests of Imhotep have sent their most accomplished man of numbers-Djuran is his name-to monitor all the accounts and records. Do you have anyone here you would trust with such a task?"

Sanct-Franciscus shook his head slowly. "Urbanus manages such things for this household; I have not caught him doing anything suspicious, but if he is clever, I doubt I would." He glanced toward the door. "I cannot promise we are not overheard."

"That is to be expected." Rugeri coughed and went on in Latin, "I would prefer to remain here for a time."

"I would like that as well," said Sanct-Franciscus. "I need more eyes and ears than anyone could possess, at least until I know what is going on, and why."

"I will do what I can to make your situation less confusing, although it may take some time to sort out the problem." He rose. "I will set about the work at once, my master. Do you want me to return to my duties as your body-servant?"

"I would welcome that, but I will have to arrange for Tigilus to have a new assignment, something that does not cause him disgrace." Sanct-Franciscus tapped his finger-tips together.

"Does he require such attention?" Rugeri asked.

"As much as any attentive servant does," said Sanct-Franciscus. "If I lessen his position in the eyes of the other household slaves, he will suffer for it, and hold me to blame for his misery. I need not remind you how conscious slaves are of such matters."

"He would lose his place in the household," said Rugeri; as a bondsman, he had not been subjected to the stringent order among slaves, but he had seen it work over fifteen decades, and realized Sanct-Franciscus was right.

"Unless he has something of equal importance to replace his post, yes."

"And that would distress him," said Rugeri.

"And that would distress me," said Sanct-Franciscus. "To lack concern for those around me lessens my humanity, and I know what desperation lies down that road." He had an appalling memory of his centuries of captivity in a Babylonian oubliette, surviving on terrified monthly sacrifices; he suppressed a shudder.

Rugeri saw the flicker of anguish in Sanct-Franciscus' dark eyes, and said, "Those times are long behind you."

"By all the forgotten gods, I hope so," said Sanct-Franciscus quietly, but with such intensity of feeling that the air seemed to shake with it.

"So," Rugeri said after a brief silence, "a new assignment for Tigilus."

"I will decide what it is to be before prandium is served," said Sanct-Franciscus.

"And you wish me to work with Urbanus."

"If you would; let us say that we wish to integrate the foreign accounts with our Roman ones," said Sanct-Franciscus. He started toward the door, then stopped and turned to look at Rugeri. "I thank you for coming, my friend. You have taken a burden off me."

Rugeri ducked his head. "Then I am pleased to be here, my master," he said.

Text of a letter from the Praetorian Centurion Fidelis Mais Paigni to Senator Valericus Hyacinthus Modestinus Vitens, carried by private messenger.

To the illustrious Valericus Hyacinthus Modestinus Vitens, Senator and member of the Curia, Ave!

On your order, we have investigated reports submitted by decuriae to the Curia for review of the foreigner, Ragoczy Germainus Sanct-Franciscus, resident in Roma at the house of the esteemed Roman widow, Atta Olivia Clemens, near the Temple of Hercules, although he also owns and maintains a sizeable villa-Villa Ragoczy-some three thousand paces beyond the Roman walls, beyond the Praetorian Camp, where he raises horses and mules. Our investigation is not complete, but so far, I must inform you, that there is nothing we have found that suggests that he has attempted to avoid paying legal taxes on any of his property or on his present leased residence, or has worked against the Emperor or the Roman State. In fact, our results thus far have revealed quite the opposite: he has on all occasions, when there was any question about amounts due, he has agreed to pay the higher assessment. This man, known to be an exile, has conducted himself with dignity and propriety, has maintained his businesses as required, paid all his taxes, occupies the Clemens house with all necessary legalities attended to, and has no complaints against him from any Roman merchant with whom he has done business.

Further, we have been informed by the Prefect of the Litigianus Prison, Herminius Mirandus Guion, that this Sanct-Franciscus has on several occasions come to the prison to treat injured or ailing prisoners, for which service he has charged nothing. The first of those he treated, a thief named Natalis, this Sanct-Franciscus has given employment, and brought into this household as a servant-his private messenger, according to the records held by the decuria Telemachus Batsho of the Basilica Julia, who has said that he believes that any exile who is as observant of Roman law as Sanct-Franciscus is must have some hidden purpose in his excessive scrupulousness. While I do not entirely concur, I and my men will continue our inquiries until you and the Curia decide that you have sufficient information to reach a conclusion pertaining to this man.

Ave, Caesar. Ave, the Vestal Virgins. Ave, the Senate and the People of Roma.

Fidelis Mais Paigni

Centurion, Praetorian Guard

At the Praetorian Camp on the 12th day of April, the 972nd Year of the City