Olaf was surprised when rather than going to the baths just next door, Philandros headed for the forum instead...the forum baths were always busier and were usually less to his master's taste. He didn't ask about the change of plan, but followed a step behind his greek owner, carrying the bathing equipment box. It contained a sponge, some perfumes and oils, and Philandros' own silver strigil.

As usual the baths were busy with the sounds of food-sellers and other vendors going to and fro trying to earn some coins, and the hum of voices as people talked business, politics on the upcoming elections, and were listening to poets and singers. The voices were a mix of Latin and Greek, with the greek being more common in this long-established greek town. It was often said that you could walk the streets of Pompeii and imagine yourself in Greece itself so much did the natives retain their cultural ties to the founders of the city.

Olaf scanned the alcove where his master stored his clothes--the identifying fresco caused the youngster to blush--and was surprised further when Philandros told him to use the space next to it for his own clothes.

"Today is a day to relax, Olaf...you will join me in a massage and a plunge." He looked at the still-obvious scars and frowned. "I think we'll skip any exercise today...I don't want you to risk any reöpening of those wounds."

Philandros called a bath slave to attend them, but Olaf insisted on oiling and scraping Philandros himself, so the slave contented himself with the larger task of scraping the huge german. Philandros noted that the boy was very thorough, and tipped him an extra copper for his labors.

While they bathed, Philandros talked of many things, asking questions of Olaf's homeland, his people...and his family, trying to find some connection which would confirm Eirik's story. For all his questioning, he learned very little: Olaf hardly remembered his father at all, but had been told the man was dead...and of his mother, he would not speak at all. Philandros couldn't tell if that was because the boy was ignorant of her as well, or if he just didn't want to talk of her. He sensed that it was more likely the latter.

As the masseurs worked on their bodies, rubbing and flexing and pounding their muscles into a state of relaxation, Philandros decided it would be for the best if he just came out with the news of Eirik's impending visit.

"Olaf, tomorrow we are having guests for dinner; I met these two when they arrived at Green Acres, and can tell you very little about them--other than that one is Roman, and the other--a german."

Olaf looked startled, it was very rare for Germans to travel among the southern lands, where the heat was oppressive to them. "You wish me to translate for you, master? I will try my best."

Philandros raised himself to a sitting position, and placed a hand gently on the giant's arm. "Olaf...the man claims...he says....well, says he can prove--that he's your father!"

When Olaf's only reaction was a blank stare, Philandros went on: "He looks faintly like you...but that doesn't provide proof...for tall blondes tend to have some features in common to us...so, I invited him to dine with us so that you could see him for yourself, and perhaps talk with him to prove his story."

Olaf looked the same, the blankness had not fallen from his features, and Philandros began to fear that the shock had been too much for the boy. He kept his hand on Olaf's arm, rubbing and stroking gently while his eyes searched the blue ones for any sign of an answer. When Olaf spoke at last, it was Philandros' turn to be stunned...

"Master, have I done something that you wish to send me away?"