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Hostage was responsible only for the inspection and continuation of permits granted by the Forum. For the high priest to claim political power she did not possess…
    The director’s eyes gleamed angrily. But before he could reply, the door opened and Culhane escorted in Anne Boleyn.
    Lambert pressed her lips together tightly. The woman had sewn herself a gown, a sweeping, ridiculous confection of amber velvet so tight at the breasts and waist she must hardly be able to breathe. How had women conducted their lives in such trappings? The dress narrowed her waist to nearly nothing; above the square neckline her collarbones were delicate as a bird’s. Culhane hovered beside her, huge and protective. Anne walked straight to the high priest, knelt, and raised her face.
    She was looking for a ring to kiss.
    Lambert didn’t bother to hide her smile. A high priest wore no jewelry except earrings, ever. The pompous little hostage had made a social error, no doubt significant in her own time.
    Anne smiled up at Her Holiness, the first time anyone had seen her smile at all. It changed her face, lighting it with mischief, lending luster to the great dark eyes. A phrase came to Lambert, penned by the poet Thomas Wyatt to describe his cousin Anne: And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.
    Anne said, in that sprightly yet aloof manner that Lambert was coming to associate with her, “It seems, Your Holiness, that we have reached for what is not there. But the lack is ours, not yours, and we hope it will not be repeated in the request we come to make of you.”
    Direct. Graceful, even through the translator and despite the ludicrous imperial plural. Lambert glanced at Culhane, who was gazing down at Anne as at a rare and fragile flower. How could he? That skinny body, without muscle tone, let alone augments, that plain face, the mole on her neck…This was not the sixteenth century. Culhane was a fool.
    As Thomas Wyatt had been. And Sir Harry Percy. And Henry, king of England. All caught not by beauty but by that strange elusive charm.
    Her Holiness laughed. “Stand up, Your Grace. We don’t kneel to officials here.” Your Grace . The high priest always addressed hostages by the honorifics of their own state, but in this case it could only impede Anne’s adjustment.
    And what do I care about her adjustment? Lambert jeered at herself. Nothing. What I care about is Culhane’s infatuation, and only because he rejected me first. Rejection, it seemed, was a great whetter of appetite—in any century.
    Anne rose. Her Holiness said, “I’m going to ask you some questions, Your Grace. You are free to answer any way you wish. My function is to ensure that you are well treated and that the noble science of the prevention of war, which has made you a holy hostage, is also well served. Do you understand?”
    “We do.”
    “Have you received everything you need for your material comfort?”
    “Yes,” Anne said.
    “Have you received everything you’ve requested for your mental comfort? Books, objects of any description, company?”
    “No,” Anne said. Lambert saw Brill stiffen.
    Her Holiness said, “No?”
    “It is necessary for the comfort of our mind—and for our material comfort as well—to understand our situation as fully as possible. Any rational creature requires such understanding to reach ease of mind.”
    Brill said, “You have been told everything related to your situation. What you ask is to know about situations that now, because you are here, will never happen.”
    “Situations that have happened, Lord Brill, else no one could know of them. You could not.”
    “In your time stream they will not happen,” Brill said. Lambert could hear the suppressed anger in his voice and wondered if the high priest could. Anne Boleyn couldn’t know how serious it was to be charged by Her Holiness with a breach of hostage treatment. If Brill was ambitious— and why wouldn’t he be?—such charges could hurt his future.
    Anne said