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Sinric lead Hannibal out of a doorway and into the warm light of spring afternoon. He cranes to look up, following the line of the wall and the buildings. "We're in the right place. The bath should be just through there."

He points to a alley that leads out the road and the grand entrance to the bath houses. "It is small by some standards. Only large enough for thirty or forty people. Many of the greater baths have closed for the cost to keep them is very high and many wealthy households have smaller bathes of their own."

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From:

cook_the_rude

"Harbours," Hannibal says. "It is an island -- that is why it was so easy to close when they finally did it."

From:

thewidewideworld

But surely even an island city has walls.

Not that Sinric asks that aloud. That he can find out for himself later. For now he simply enjoys the setting sun at his back.

"Then one day perhaps I will see their harbour for myself. As you see my city now - as a traveller and collector of experiences."

From:

cook_the_rude

"And an amazing and unique experience it is," Hannibal says, putting his arms back around Sinric.

From:

thewidewideworld

He leans back into Hannibal for a minute, eyes closed as he centres himself. "But I am robbing you of the core of it with my maudlin thoughts. Let us bathe and take in the beauty within the city as well as the view across it."

From:

cook_the_rude

"I am as interested in listening to your thoughts as I am in experiencing your beauty and your talents," Hannibal says. "But yes, let us."

He bends to kiss Sinric again.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric returns the kiss with a soft sigh, permitting himself to enjoy it but glad of the fall of dark curls that protect him from being recognized.

What he is doing is treason here - to have taken a lover without his master's consent, to be absent from the palace without leave. For all Constantine's kindness and love, Sinric is outside the rule of law in this.

Pushing that from his thoughts, he breaks the kiss and leads Hannibal down the stairs.

The entry hall of the bath is large and majestic, retaining all the glory of its pre-Christian art in the sculpted figures that line each wall of the domed room.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal follows him, looking left and right and stopping when they reach the entry hall.

He takes a deep breath.

"It reminds me of a hammam, but there is a subtle difference," he says. "Thank you for bringing me."

From:

thewidewideworld

"You will have to tell me of this hammam when we return to the bar." Sinric smiles. He speaks to Hannibal in the English of Hannibal's time, as he has learnt it at the bar. Without the bar's native translation, his accent has a slight clip of the something between modern Italian and Greek.

A Nubian girl greets them, her skin onyx black and lightly oiled to shine. She bows to them and smiles, a little mechanically.

Sinric requests entrance for two and use of a private area in the palestra. He paid her with two bronze 40 nummus. With a slight of hand visable only to anyone really watching, he slipped her a third coin, meant as a tip and an understanding between slaves.

Her smile turned genuine for a moment and she bowed. "This way, sirs." She guides them into the apodyterium, fetching them each a clean linen towel, showing the clothing niche intended as their locker.

From:

cook_the_rude

"I have seen a place like this in ruins," Hannibal murmurs. "It is lovely to see it alive, as it were."

He's taking off his cloak already, and opening his belt.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric bows to the girl as she leave them and starts helping Hannibal out of his clothes, folding them with a servants practice hand. "It is sad to think of such places as ruins. But I suppose it is the nature of time to grind even the most splendid of man's works to dust.

He sheds his own clothes and gestures Hannibal to a stone table, fetching a pot of oil and a scraper.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal sits on the table, and looks at Sinric. "Should I lie on here?"

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric chuckles at himself and sets the oil down, checking the blade of the scraper. "Forgive me. I forgot this practice is strange to you. Lay down and I will oil and massage you, then remove the oil and dead skin with this." He holds out the elaborately decorated bronze scraper.

From:

cook_the_rude

"In theory, I know that," Hannibal says, lying down. "But I've never seen it done. The oil reacts with the salt in one's sweat to something resembling proto-soap, which is why this method of cleaning is in fact remarkably successful."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric chuckles again and starts on Hannibal's legs, his small hand graceful and practiced as he rubs the god clean oil onto Hannibal's skin and pores, kneeding tight muscles as he goes.

Unself-conscious in his nakedness, Sinric sings softly as he works the oil in.

Other men enter, not paying the pair much attention as they chatter in Greek. Other than a brief and open admiration of Sinric's exposed form.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal gives thos people a Look, but mostly simply ignores them, stretching like a great cat under Sinric's ministrations.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric doesn't notice, accustomed to being an object of interest and admiration, a walking piece of art.

He adds a little more oil and starts to work with the scraper, his touch even and firm. The blade removes dirt, dead skin, oil and hair in swift, easy strokes.

He works right up to Hannibal's crotch, his touch professional but intimate in this open, exposed place.

From:

cook_the_rude

On Hannibal's back, though, there is a large round brand showing a boar's head -- clearly not a slave's brand, but something strange and artful.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric's hands move lightly over the areas of the brand, carefully testing that it causes no pain to Hannibal. He has seen the edges of it but never the whole design so clearly.

He touches Hannibal's shoulder lightly, catching the doctor's eye. Part of him wants to ask but he knows now is not the time. "Let me know if my touch causes you any discomfort, please?"

From:

cook_the_rude

"It does not," Hannibal assures him. "It's over three years old. It was given to me by an enemy who was rather obsessed with pigs -- it was the brand he used on the pigs he raised and slaughtered by the thousands."

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric rests a gentle hand on Hannibal's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, sir. That was cruel of him." Branding is used to mark slaves, a permanent and brutal act.

More men come in, laughing loudly. Like the other men, they start to oil and scrape themselves down.

One of the calls to Sinric in Greek, brash and loud. "Hurry up with him, boy! You can do me next."

Sinric's hand tightens minutely on Hannibal's shoulder as he turns to address the man, his voice even and controlled. "My apologies, sir. I do not belong to this house. If you would like assistance cleansing, I'm sure the staff here will help you."

From:

cook_the_rude

"He is here for me," Hannibal says coolly, in quite passable Medieval Greek.

From:

thewidewideworld

"And who are you to own such a pretty slave?" The man challenges but his friends hush him. It's clear they've all been drinking.

Sinric ignores the man, focusing his attentions on Hannibal's arms and shoulders, blocking the brand from the man's view.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal doesn't answer, instead relaxing into Sinric's touch and ministrations, like somebody who doesn't need to pay any attention to such rude rabble.

From:

thewidewideworld

Sinric too focuses working the knots out of Hannibal's shoulder, cleansing his skin with care. He gestures for Hannibal to roll over, beginning on his front.

The man and his friends make their own preparations, still muttering and casing lewd looks at Sinric's naked form.

From:

cook_the_rude

Hannibal rolls over, shamelessly offering himself to view while obscuring the brand, which might have aroused undue suspicion.

He smiles up at Sinric.