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“He told me something else as well—that he does not desire women.”
“What of it?”
“I wondered if you knew.”
“Of course I know. Don has been in my service many years, and he’s a dear friend. I don’t care who he desires. I want to see him happy. And safe. These are dangerous times.”
“Were you the one who freed him?”
“His former master did that on his deathbed. I believe there was a strong affection between them.” He sat back in his chair.
I watched him smoke, thinking about the first time I had seen Don in the parlor at Casa Caligine.
“Oh, wait just a minute. Let me see. Speaking of affection.” He shifted a pile of documents and books on the table, searching for something. “Ah, here it is.” He handed me a small piece of parchment.
It was Straba’s letter.
“Did I ever translate this for you?” he asked.
I looked it over. “No. But I think I could translate it now on my own. Or nearly, anyway.”
“Pull a chair over and let me see if Cassius is still the excellent teacher he once was.”
I dragged a chair around to sit beside him and began to read the letter aloud, translating as I went.
“‘My dear Aemilia, I send this note with the draft manuscript I promised you, my observations from months of travel. How I miss your—’ What is this word?”
Sebastianus made a gesture with his hands.
“‘—bosoms now that I am parted from you. Nights spent kissing your—’ and these?”
He smiled. “Delicious mouth.”
I sighed. “‘—delicious mouth are ever in my mind. I write to you from Carrac, a hard three days’ ride through the mountains. What a change from the—’ I do not know this word either.”
“Hmmm … maybe ‘languid’ or something like that?”
“All right. ‘—from the languid nights we spent under the stars. You and your sweet sister, Bruccia, singing in the moonlight. And the lyre. What a pleasure those few nights of leisure were. I will pause here in Carrac to write what I have seen on this part of my voyage and then, alas, I journey on, hoping to reach Mys before the equinox. But I shall carry with me the scent of your sweet—’ What’s this?”
He winked at me. “Perfume.”
I poked his arm. “You think this is very funny.”
He laughed. “I do.”
I cleared my throat and continued. “‘Do you remember how I chased you around the well? Lucky for me, you let me catch you. I hope to come back through the mountains next spring, and it’s my sincere wish that I should find you waiting for me. Yours with love, Straba.’”
“That last isn’t quite love,” Sebastianus said. “The word means something more like affection or fondness.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I think love requires time. You must really know a person to love them. Although I suppose we’ll never know about these two. He did give her this manuscript, after all.”
“You’re an expert on love at twenty?”
“I am nearly twenty-one now: the age you were when you went out to explore for your uncle. And some things should be obvious to anyone, no matter how old they are.”
