General Maniakes came over the rise, leading his horse down the pathway that snaked between the fields to his villa. The cornfields cleared, the wheat gathered, his household carrying out their duties with their usual precision. He allowed himself to relax, the sweet early autumn air filling his lungs, transforming him from the rough, unforgiving soldier he was in the great city, to a more pliant and passionate individual. The promise of tranquillity afforded by his estate, a haven in which to rest and recuperate always did this. His wife was there. Helen. She was fair enough, a little heavy around the hips now, but she kept herself to herself, filled her days with the accounts, running the household. Their physical closeness was nothing more than a distant memory, but he needed her to kee
