"One couch still awaits its guest."
She nodded languidly.
"Tristan—the pilgrim. He is late. Know you aught of him, my lord?"
There was an air of mockery in her tone, not unmingled with concern.
Basil's thin lips straightened.
"Perchance the holy man hath other sheep in mind. What is he to you, Lady Theodora? Your concern for him seems of the suddenest."
"What is it to you, my lord?" she flashed in return. "Am I accountable to you for the moods that sway my soul?"
A mocking laugh startled both the Grand Chamberlain and Theodora.
Low as the words between them had been spoken, they had reached the ear of Roxana. Watchful of every shade of expression in Theodora's face, she was resolved to take up the gauntlet her hated rival had thrown to her, to draw her out of her defences into open conflict, for which she longed with all the fire of her soul. Determined to wrest the dominion of Rome from Marozia's beautiful sister, she was resolved to stake her all, counting upon the effect of her wonderful beauty and her physical perfection, which was a match for Theodora's in every point.
This desire on Roxana's part was precipitated by the strange demeanor of young Fabio of the Cavalli. From the moment Theodora had entered the banquet hall his fevered gaze had devoured her wonderful beauty. A feverish restlessness had taken possession of the youth and he had rudely repelled Roxana when she tried to soothe his wine-besotten brain.