Out of the Waters Read Free Page B

an important factor in his decision.
    Hedia made sure that her husband got full value whenever she enticed him into her bed, but she was invariably the instigator. Saxa appeared to enjoy himself, but he was past fifty and couldn’t have been much of an athlete—in any fashion—even in the flush of youth.
    As best Hedia could tell, Saxa was a sweet man who had chosen to protect a pretty girl who was being bullied. That she was one of the most notorious women in Carce may have had something to do with it as well. Saxa, for all his wealth, had been considered a foolish eccentric when anybody thought of him at all. The husband of the noble Hedia was a subject of interest to both men and women.
    Storm clouds painted on flats descended over the stage. A troupe of attractive boys representing the Winds—a placard identified them—danced, while the actor playing Hercules’ companion Ithys sang about his leader’s battle with Geryon.
    According to the song, this was merely a prefiguring of the greater battles which the divine Caesar and his heirs would fight in coming days. Silver foil on the scenery reflected torchlight to mimic lightning, and pairs of stagehands rattled sheets of bronze thunderously between stanzas.
    The fellow playing Ithys was well set up. In other circumstances, Hedia might have invited him to perform at—and after—a private dinner some night.
    In her present mood, though, Hedia didn’t want to think of darkness, even when it was being spent in pleasant recreation. The night before, Hedia had dreamed of Latus in the Underworld, screaming out the agonies of the damned.
    If those who wrote about gods and men told the truth, her first husband was certainly worthy of eternal torture … but until recently, Hedia had never imagined that such stories—such myths —were true. A few days ago she had visited the Underworld herself. She had talked with Latus, who had been in the embrace of broad, gray-green leaves like those which wrapped him in her dream.
    In last night’s dream, three figures had coalesced through the shadowy fronds about Latus. They looked like men; or rather, they looked like human statues which had been found in a desert where the sands had worn their features smooth. These were of glass, however, not bronze or marble; and these moved as though they were human.
    In the dream, Latus was screaming. Hedia had awakened to find her personal maid Syra leaning over her with a frightened expression and a lamp. Behind Syra were three footmen and a gaggle of female servants, all wearing expressions of excitement or concern.
    Hedia had closed her mouth. Her throat had been raw; it still felt tender, though she had sucked comfits of grape sugar most of the day to soothe it. The screams had been her own. Something terrifying was going on, though she didn’t know how she knew that.
    On stage, the painted storm had lifted, and Hercules was back on his plaster hill. A large mixed company danced on, wearing silks and chains of tiny metal bells which tinkled to their movements. Hedia wasn’t sure whether the troupe was meant to be the conqueror’s companions, his captives, or more nymphs and sprites.
    She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. Something was wrong, badly wrong; but there had generally been something wrong in Hedia’s life, before her marriage to Latus and most certainly afterward. She would see her way through this trouble also.
    Hedia gave her husband’s hand a final squeeze, then crossed her fingers on her lap. Composed again, she glanced to her right at Alphena, Saxa’s daughter by his first wife. The girl sensed her stepmother’s interest and immediately blushed, though she didn’t respond in any deliberate fashion.
    Hedia nodded minusculely and turned her attention to the audience. She suppressed her knowing grin, just as she had swallowed her laughter at the monkey’s antics.
    As she expected,