The Gods of War. Conn Iggulden
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She glanced in gratitude at him for the chatter that smoothed over the moment of sadness. ‘Let me summon the girls, Belas. You are always better when there are pretty women listening to you,’ she said, relaxing now that their business was over.
‘It is my curse to have them inspire me,’ he said. ‘May I choose a favourite when I am done? An actor of my quality must be rewarded.’
‘Just one, Belas,’ she said.
‘Two? I thirst for love, Servilia.’
‘One,’ she said, ‘and a cup of wine for the thirst.’
Caecilius shivered as the cold sea spattered over the bows of the tiny boat in the darkness. He could hear the hiss and slap of waves, but on the moonless night it was as if he were floating through absolute darkness. The two rowers never spoke as they guided the craft and only the stars glimpsed through drifting cloud kept them on course for the Greek shore. The sail had been brought down some time before and though Caecilius was no sailor, he guessed the act had some significance.
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