Outside in Rome the air was cool and the sun bright. Pius approached the bathhouse and immediately felt the warmth radiating out from the building. The walls were hot. As he was told, he arrived at the bathhouse at the daily lull in activity, when the bathhouses empty out for a few hours and they seem desolate in comparison to the usual liveliness of voices. A few old men marched out into the street from the bathhouse, glistening and damp, with their servants trailing behind them. Pius passed into the main entrance hall and descended into the atrium. Light faded away, only seeping through skylights and illuminating mosaic scenes high up on the walls. The atrium was nearly empty. He began putting on his sandals.
After undressing, he began searching for “Lupa”. That was all he was told he should be searching for. No other hints were given. This Lupa was supposed to know exactly when the bets are taken for the upcoming triumph races, how they are handled, and where they are stored. Pius slowly walked into the first doorway, through the steam and the darkness.
The floor was warm enough to heat his feet through the leather sandals. One man was slowly, silently pacing back and forth at the edge of the room, near the only small sliver of light. Cave-like, the room echoed Pius’s careful footsteps as he approached the man, assuming it was his contact. From the floor a low crackling noise whispered through the tiles; it was the furnace system evenly heating the room to a sweltering temperature. In the corners, steam flowed up the walls and swirled in the domed ceiling. The man stopped his walk, and lifted his head towards Pius. Sweat and moisture dripped from his nose and chin. They stared at each other, one waiting for the other to speak.
“Master. I’ve gotten your clothes.”, a servant broke the silence.
The man marched off past Pius and exited the steam room. It wasn’t him.
