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different world, there, from the one I had glimpsed with Nesmut yesterday. Here, there were no men save the attendants, quiet and unobtrusive. It was filled with women, young and old, chattering voices raised in a mixture of Hellene and the occasional word of Menekhetan. We bade the carriage-driver to wait and paid our fee, entering the bath-house. A bowing attendant handed us each a thick cotton towel and robes of fine-spun linen at the door to the changing-room.
    It is the Tiberian fashion to commence in the cold waters of the frigidarium; a custom I have always found unnecessarily rigorous. We went straight to the caldarium, with its vast pool. It was here that the majority of patrons lingered. Conversation did not exactly cease as Denise Fleurais and I entered the heated bathing-chamber, but there was a lull, followed by a murmur of resumption. Looking at Denise, I could understand why. Her intelligent face had a high-boned beauty, and even wreathed in steam, her hazel eyes shone. The careless grace with which she had piled her hair atop her head, the way an errant lock coiled over one shoulder as she removed her robe ...
    We were D’Angeline. It was enough.
    The tiles, emblazoned with fish, were slick beneath my bare feet, heated beneath by an unseen hypocaust. I slipped the robe from my shoulders and descended the steps into the steaming water, ignoring a collective gasp as I did so.
    “It is your marque, Comtesse.” Sinking into the bath with a sigh of pleasure, the Lady Denise glanced at me with heavy-lidded amusement. “They’ve not seen the likes of you before.”
    Betimes I forgot it myself.
    A pair of Menekhetan noblewomen, giggling, dared one another to approach us. The braver of the two drifted near, addressing us in excellent Hellene. “Kyria,” she said. “My friend and I, we were debating. Is it customary for D’Angeline women to ...” she pointed at me with her chin, “... to so adorn themselves?”
    I opened my mouth to reply, but Denise answered for me. “It is the marque of Naamah, who is our goddess of pleasure,” she said with candour. “And the Comtesse Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève is sworn to her service. Do you not have such things in Menekhet?”
    “No!” blurted the shy one of the pair, and they dissolved in laughter, clutching at one another. “It is true, then?” she asked. “Your gods demand you do service ...” her voice dropped, “... in the bedchamber?”
    I raised my eyebrows and looked at Denise.
    “Oh, yes,” she said blandly. “But only the most noble and beautiful, such as my lady Phèdre. You can see, can you not, that she is fit to serve only princes and kings?”
    It seemed they could, from the merriment that ensued. One, greatly daring, asked if she might touch it; if one might, they all must. I endured it with good grace, standing waist-deep in the steaming water as tentative hands stroked my skin, tracing the elegant black lineaments etched the length of my spine, the cunning crimson accents. It is a unique torment for an anguissette .
    “It feels no different!” the bold one said in astonishment. “I thought it would be raised, like a scar ... Auntie, come here, feel, her skin is like silk,” she added before switching to Menekhetan, beckoning to a veritable grandmother with wizened breasts and bright, curious eyes. All of them crowded round me, oohing and prodding.
    “For this, you brought me here?” I asked Denise Fleurais.
    “My mother was an adept of Bryony House,” she said in D’Angeline, head bobbing low above the water, giving me her shrewd smile. “Amaury Trente may not care to guess how you might gain access to Pharaoh’s quarters, but I can. If you mean to bring your Cassiline, you’ll need to allay suspicion and let it be known it is a pearl of great price you bestow, worthy of guarding with the utmost care. To gain the upper hand in any trade, it is best to establish an outrageous value at the outset.”
    “Ah.” I turned to face my admirers, inclining my head politely; curiosity satisfied, they acknowledged the tacit dismissal and withdrew, laughing and splashing as they went. “I have not made that decision,” I said to Denise. “It would be premature to consider it.”
    “To decide, yes.” She shrugged, cream-white shoulders rising from the waters. “Not to lay the foundations.” She regarded me through the steam. “Her majesty assigned me to this delegation because I am skilled in matters of trade,”