Steam hissed out of a copper pipe, filling the wooden bathhouse with a delicious fog. Thyatis sank into the water with a groan of pure pleasure. A Greek manservant stood by, carrying a kettle filled with hot water. She motioned for him to add more to the tub. He tipped the kettle and very hot water joined the steaming water in the wooden-sided bath. She closed her eyes and submerged, luxuriating in the clean water. The manservant left the kettle and some soap behind, along with a curved bronze strigil. She spent an hour in the bath, scraping herself clean.

There were towels too, though the cotton weave was a little bare. It did not matter to her; to be clean and have her hair free of grease for once was“ reward enough. She sat in the little wooden room for a long time, toying with the strigil and thinking of the dead. In the steaming room, no one could tell, should they enter, that she was crying.

Finally there was a polite knock on the door and Thyatis looked up. She sniffled and blew her nose, then scrubbed her face vigorously with the towel.

“Come in,” she said, wrapping the towel around her thighs.

Jusuf ducked into the room, then saw her, naked from the waist up, and blushed a bright red.

“Pardon.” He gasped and stepped back out hastily, closing the door. Outside he slumped back against the wall of the. bath, his breath a white puff in the chilly air. He closed his eyes, still flushed with the sight of Thyatis almost naked, and then they snapped open again. He ground his fist into the wooden planks of the wall. Whenever he closed his eyes she was there, her breasts dewed with steam, rich red-gold hair tumbling around her pale freckled shoulders.

“Well?” Thyatis’ voice was querulous from inside the bathhouse. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry, my lady, I had no idea you were naked. My apologies for barging in.”

Thyatis laughed and poked her head out of the door. Her hair, undone, fell in a long cascade almost to the ground. In the cold air, it began to steam and wisps of white vapor curled up around her. “I’m not naked,” she said, still laughing, “I have a towel on.”

Jusuf looked away, out over the canvas awnings and tent poles. The trees the camp was set among were beginning to tunfcolor. Soon snow would fill the mountain passes. “My lady, among my people it is customary for women to remain fully clothed unless in the presence of their husband. I meant no disrespect.”

Thyatis frowned and closed the door. Her good humor was fading slightly in the face of this barbarian’s peculiar customs. “You’ll have to wait, then, until I’m properly dressed. Tell me. Did they fix Dahvos’ eye?”

Jusuf swallowed and turned to face the wall, arms outstretched, palms flat against it.

“Yes,” he said, “they fixed his eye, he can see out of it again. He says that it’s blurry, but he’ll still be a whole man. He can still… he’s fine. The others are gating now, and everyone we could find is fine. There’s only one man still unaccounted for. My lady, I don’t…‘•’

Thyatis stepped out of the bathhouse; her hair tied back with a green ribbon, in dark-gray leggings with laced-up leather boots and a heavy woolen shirt dyed a cobalt blue. Her belt, sword, sheath, and knife hung over one shoulder. She eyed him from under her bangs while she finished tying her Hair back. “Who is missing, Jusuf?”

He turned, seeing her face set and grim. “Sahul is gone, my lady. I can’t find him anywhere. No body, nothing. He always stays with us, save if he needs to go-then he would tell at least me! Or Dahvos-someone!”

Thyatis nodded, her face a mask, but she was stunned. The thought of the quiet older brother gone was numbing. He was so reliable that she had begun to take him for granted. “He was with you at the northern gate? When did you see him last?”

Jusuf spread his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t know. We attacked the gate, and then it was dark and we were righting… I can’t get anything out of the Armenians either. Bagratuni just shakes his head and says it’s the fate of battle.”

Thyatis gripped the young man by the shoulder and met his gaze. “Jusuf, I will believe that Sahul is dead when you bring his corpse before me, cold and stiff. Until then, at least in my mind, he lives and will be with us. He probably met some girl…”

The Khazar nodded, staring at the ground. Thyatis cuffed lightly him on the side of the head and pinched his ear.

“Go,” she said. “Find any of the rest of our band of brothers and make sure they’re at our tents in a glass. I’m off to see the quartermaster about horses and equipment. Oh, and if you see a messenger from the Augustus, send him on after me.”

She stared after him as he made his way along the muddy path between the tents. She thought of her own brothers, but then pushed the memory away. That was too painful. She sighed and snugged the weapons belt around her waist and made sure that nothing was loose. Around her, the camp was gray and the trees seemed shrunken with the onset of winter.

“Centurion. Please, sit.” It was well past midnight, and Marcus Galen Atreus had finally put aside the piles of wax tablets and papyrus scrolls that filled his days. Thyatis looked around and, at the nod of the Emperor, cleared off a winged wooden stool and sat down. She had changed into a plainer tunic and had carefully restrained all of her hair. Galen looked her over; the girl he had sent out from Con stantinople on a wild throw of the dice had come back to him leaner and grimmer.

Almost a woman, he thought, but one out of legend… a Roman Boudicca, standing triumphant in the back of a war chariot, her armor flashing in the sun.

Still, even knowing that she was his tool, a dart to be thrown at the heart of the enemy, he still felt a queasy reluctance to use her. It seemed dreadfully foreign to assign a woman the rights of men-to bear arms in the service of the state-even, to use a damning word-oriental.

“This Prince of the city, he speaks well of you. He was surprised to see a woman in arms for the Empire. He calls you-what is it?-ah, he calls you Diana the Huntress.”

Thyatis smiled politely. The harried general she had last seen in the drafty palace room in Constantinople was gone, replaced by a languid man in pale robes, at ease in his tent. Something about Galen had changed, she thought. He seemed more Imperial somehow, a sense of power was apparent around him. Odd, that it would be so, here in the back end of the world, but perhaps victory brought such changes. She only felt drained and worn out.

“That was very good work that you did. Heraclius did not believe that it could be done-it cost his purse ten thousand denar? on a foolish bet! A pity that so many of your Romans were killed. But… you seem to have found new men to replace them. These Bulgars-fierce as Sar-matians, they say. Do you trust them?”

Thyatis’ eyes narrowed. The Emperor was fishing for something. “I have trusted them with my life, Augustus Caesar. They did not fail me, and they paid in blood for that service. Yes, I trust them.”

Galen nodded and idly rubbed his ear. He thought for a while, staring off into one corner of the field tent he was living in. He turned back to her, and the Imperial presence was gone. “Can you do it again?” His voice was honest, without the echo of a disputation in the Forum. “Can you take a band of men into hostile lands again and do what you have done here?“

Thyatis stiffened in her chair, and her head turned a little to the side as her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Augustus Caesar? You have more work for me?”

Galen nodded ruefully.

“There will always be work for you,” he said with a wan smile. “You are a rare leader, even among men. If I have you in my quiver, should I not put you to the bow and loose? The Easterners are still astounded at my daring and at your success. Do you know, they still think you are a man? It surpasses their comprehension for you to be a woman! Fools.”