Authors: Judith Tarr
Household Gods (22 page)
Inside Nicole, something snapped. “Stop that!” she shouted at the straw boss. “You stop that this instant!”
“Ah, butt out, lady,” he said, sounding barely even annoyed. “I ain't gonna hurt him so bad he can't work.” He hardly paused to talk to her, but kept right on whaling the slave. He was only doing his job, his manner said. No point in getting upset. If it was nastyâwell, that was life, wasn't it?
The guards at Auschwitz had been like that, Nicole had heard somewhere. Just doing their job. “Leave him alone,” she said. “You've got no business abusing him that way.”
“Who says I don't?” the boss retorted. “I'm supposed to get work out of him, ain't I? How's he supposed to feed the fires if he's out here picking up all this crap? His skull's so thick, the only way to get anything in is to beat it in.” As if to prove his point, he laid into the slave again.
“Stop that!” Nicole's voice held itself just on the edge of a scream.
“You don't like the way I do my job, take it up with the town council. I'll tell you, though, they like it fine.” The straw boss' stick went right on flaying the poor man's hide, rising and falling, rising and falling.
But the worst part was that the slave didn't even bother to cower, except when the stick cut a little too close to an eye or an ear. By all the signs, he'd been through it before. While the blows rained down on his back, he gathered up his burden again and mended the lashings till they'd hold without snapping. While Nicole stood gasping for breath and coherence, he looked up and snarled, “Shut up, lady, why don't you? You're just making it worse.”
Where nothing else had, that stopped Nicole cold. She didn't want to make trouble for the poor fellow. She wanted to save him from it. But she couldn't, dammit. That was the worst thing she'd seen about slavery yet. An instant later, she shook her head. No. The worst thing about it was the way the slave himself accepted it.
Aurelia plucked at her tunic. “Mother, are we going to have a bath, or are we going to quarrel all day?” By the way she said it, she was ready for either, but would have preferred the bath, probably because it was more unusual.
Nicole drew a slow, careful breath. “All right.” As tight-lipped with fury as she'd been sinceâ
since Frank's e-mail,
she thoughtâshe stalked past the straw boss, Aurelia skipping at her side. The look she gave the man should have scorched him to a cinder. He leered back, running his eyes over her as if he were stripping her naked under her tunic.
since Frank's e-mail,
she thoughtâshe stalked past the straw boss, Aurelia skipping at her side. The look she gave the man should have scorched him to a cinder. He leered back, running his eyes over her as if he were stripping her naked under her tunic.
Her back stiffened. He laughed, impervious to the heat of her glare. Testosterone: it gave a man all the tact and sensitivity of a rhinoceros.
He laid off the slave, at least, and let him make his way wincing and stumbling through the side door to the baths. Nicole was a little bit glad of that.
The attendants at the top of the stairs today were women. Nicole eyed them with horrified fascination. Were they slaves, too? If she'd grown up here, she'd know as automatically as she breathed. Since she hadn't, she couldn't tell. Things weren't so cut-and-dried here as they had been in the South before the Civil War, where if you saw an African-American you knew she was a slave.
How did the Romans keep all their slaves from walking
off and settling down two towns over as free men? She couldn't for the life of her see. There were rules, obviously; but no one had bothered to give her a rulebook. It was like walking cold into a game of bridge, being handed a pack of cards, and told to playâwithout even knowing what trumps meant. And if she asked, or was too blatant about not knowing, all the other players would think she'd gone insane.
off and settling down two towns over as free men? She couldn't for the life of her see. There were rules, obviously; but no one had bothered to give her a rulebook. It was like walking cold into a game of bridge, being handed a pack of cards, and told to playâwithout even knowing what trumps meant. And if she asked, or was too blatant about not knowing, all the other players would think she'd gone insane.
No time to worry about it, not now. She'd be here for the rest of her life. It hit her hard, thinking thatâknowing it as surely as, say, Julia knew she was a slave. Right behind it came a stab of real pain, a pang of longing for Kimberley and Justin, so strong that she almost couldn't go on.
She put it down. There was nothing she could do for them but pray. She'd done that. For the rest of it ⦠sooner or later, she'd have to sit down, take a deep breath, and do some serious sorting out. For now, for this moment at least, she gave one of the women an as for herself and another for Aurelia, then walked into the baths. She was getting good, perhaps too good, at segueing in and out, alternating between near-horror at her situation and a somewhat desperate determination to cope with it. Coping was all she could doâunless she broke and ran screaming into the Danube.
Â
Though the sun streamed in through many windows, her eyes needed a moment to adapt from the brighter light outside. As her vision cleared, she had to work hard not to burst into a torrent of helpless giggles. When, back in the twentieth century, she'd thought about the Romans at all, which wasn't often, what came to mind was cool white marble, as at the Getty. She'd learned in the street that that wasn't exactly accurate, but she hadn't realized, till just now, how very far off the mark it was.
They had cool white marble hereâhad it and painted it. Or, even better, plastered it over, then painted it. Statues decorated the antechamber, every one of them painted in the same disturbingly lifelike and gaudy style as the ones at street corners. The plastered walls were painted with garden scenes, each individual flower or shrub rendered realistically
in itself but without perspective, so that everything was on the same flat, oddly dreamlike plane. The ceiling, lost in lofty dimness, showed a glimmer that might have been gilding and probably was. And as if all that had not been enough, the floor under her foot was a riot of reds and greens and golds, browns and bronzes and blues, hundreds, maybe thousands of vividly glazed tiles arranged into a mosaic of hunters and hounds, stags and wild boar.
in itself but without perspective, so that everything was on the same flat, oddly dreamlike plane. The ceiling, lost in lofty dimness, showed a glimmer that might have been gilding and probably was. And as if all that had not been enough, the floor under her foot was a riot of reds and greens and golds, browns and bronzes and blues, hundreds, maybe thousands of vividly glazed tiles arranged into a mosaic of hunters and hounds, stags and wild boar.
The room beyond that was unroofed, a courtyard open to the sky. Something about that, about the transition from enclosed space to outer air, the shape and placement of entry and courtyard, reminded Nicole of something, as if she'd seen them before. Of course: on her honeymoon in Carnuntum, she'd walked in the ruins of this place. She looked around, taking it all in, trying to keep it in memory so that she could come back here and know where she was.
The flowers in this courtyard weren't painted on the wall. They were real, planted in orderly rows, the bushes near the walls trimmed with geometric severity. Women exercised in the middle of the yard, some with dumbbells, others tossing around what looked like green balloons. “Pig bladders!” Aurelia was jumping up and down with delight. “Mother, may I? Pig bladders are so much fun!”
“Pig ⦠bladders.” Nicole had already seen that the Romans used every part of the pig except the squeal. One more proof here. They had to paint or dye the bladders that interesting shade of green: it didn't look like anything one would find inside of a pig.
Most of the women who were exercising had rounder, fleshier bodies than Umma'sâthey were built more as Nicole had been back in twentieth-century California. They had to be exercising to lose weight, Nicole thought, as in a health club in that other world and time. She had a moment's sensation almost of reliefâat last, something that resembled the things she'd known before.
Then she overheard two women sitting on a bench, watching the show and offering commentary. One pointed to a woman who to Nicole's eyes was somewhat on the beefy
side. “What's Pollia doing hefting those weights? Her figure's perfect as it is. Her husband never complains about sticks and bones.”
side. “What's Pollia doing hefting those weights? Her figure's perfect as it is. Her husband never complains about sticks and bones.”
Her friend, whom Nicole would have called nicely if not overly slim, sighed in clearly evident envy. “Doesn't he now? Nor,” she added with a flash of malice, “her boyfriend either.”
“Do tell!” the first woman said. “So who is it now? Faustus still? Or is she creeping around in corners with that pretty young Silvius instead?”
“Why, both!” her friend declared.
They laughed together, rocking back and forth on the stone bench, clinging to each other as if they'd never heard a better joke. When they were under control again, the second woman said, “It's chic, that's why she does it. Run around, show off your nice breasts and your firm buttocks, let everybody admire your technique. What's it to her how much meat and oil she needs to scarf up, to keep the weight on? Everybody knows she married old Aulus for his moneyâand his handsome slaves.”
Nicole moved past them before they could guess she was eavesdropping, taking a second, longer look at the women playing what looked like a cross between volleyball and soccer.
Their rings and earrings and bracelets were gold, most of them. They're the rich ones, she realized with yet another shock to the tottering structure of her assumptions: the ones who can eat enough to put on weight, and who don't do enough real work to take it off again. She thought of her own new body, and how she'd admired its slimness. A sighâhalf rueful laughâescaped her. Wasn't that just like her luck? Thin was not In in Carnuntum. The body that had been on the chunky side in California would have been perfect hereâand this one, which would have been a killer in the latest in short, tight, and Spandex, was too skinny by local standards. “You can't win,” she said to herself.
Aurelia was tugging at her tunic again. “Mother! Mother, can I play?”
“No,” Nicole said absently. Then, with more focus: “No, there's no one else your age playing. Come on inside.”
Aurelia didn't protest too loudly. She was too excited by the whole adventure to quibble over every detail of it. Nicole didn't need to do anything clever to get her to lead the way. She aimed unerringly toward one of several doorways on the far side of the colonnade, into a room whose function was unmistakable. Two of the walls were bristling with pegs, some draped with items of clothing, others empty. While she stood just inside the doorway, letting her eyes adapt again from sunlight to indoor dimness, a woman slipped out of her tunic and drawers and hung them with her sandals on a peg. A clothed attendant sat on a stool nearby. She was probably supposed to be keeping an eye on things, but she looked half asleep.
Nicole hadn't been nude in public since she'd escaped her last high-school p.e. class, for which she was heartily glad. No choice nowâand the woman who'd just stripped off wasn't anything special, either. Defiantly, she pulled her tunic off over her head and yanked down her loincloth. The roof didn't fall in. The walls didn't shake with laughter and jeers and cries of
Skinny Minnie!
and
Hey, Horseface!
No one took any notice of her at all.
Skinny Minnie!
and
Hey, Horseface!
No one took any notice of her at all.
Aurelia got out of her clothes in one fluid motion. She took it altogether for granted.
When in Rome ⦠,
Nicole thought, and grinned to herself. She wasn't sure how amused she was, but the irony of the situation was hard to escape.
When in Rome ⦠,
Nicole thought, and grinned to herself. She wasn't sure how amused she was, but the irony of the situation was hard to escape.
She looked down at herself. Sure enough, halfway between her belly button and the edge of her indifferently shaven bush was a nondescript brown mole. No doubt about it: Calidius Severus had seen this body nakedâand paid attention to what he'd seen.
She sighed. Well, so had she, now.
And isn't it about time? Now everybody's happy.
And isn't it about time? Now everybody's happy.
Once her eyes adapted, she saw the room was larger than she'd thought at first, and more crowded. A counter stood along the wall at the far end. A second attendant sat there, looking as bored as the first. When Nicole and Aurelia came
up to her, she did as she'd done for the woman just ahead of them: she handed Nicole a small, cheap earthenware jar without a stopper and a bronze tool resembling a half-scale sickle.
up to her, she did as she'd done for the woman just ahead of them: she handed Nicole a small, cheap earthenware jar without a stopper and a bronze tool resembling a half-scale sickle.
What am I supposed to do with this?
Nicole wondered. She looked around for the answer. Women sat naked on benches rubbing the stuff from the jars over themselves and then scraping it off with the sickle-like tools. She didn't see any boys Lucius' age, or any other age either. A soft murmur of conversation filled the room. A few women sat in pairs and threes, oiling and scraping one another, but most seemed to be there alone and comfortable with it.
Nicole wondered. She looked around for the answer. Women sat naked on benches rubbing the stuff from the jars over themselves and then scraping it off with the sickle-like tools. She didn't see any boys Lucius' age, or any other age either. A soft murmur of conversation filled the room. A few women sat in pairs and threes, oiling and scraping one another, but most seemed to be there alone and comfortable with it.
While Nicole took it all in, Aurelia spotted an empty bench and dashed over to lay claim to it. “Come on, Mother!” she called. “You're so slow today. Will you do me first, Mother, please? I want to go swim in the pool!”
Nicole picked her way past the benches full of preoccupied women. None of them looked up. Nobody stared or even seemed to notice her. She sat on the bench. Aurelia presented her narrow back and shoulders with an air of someone who knows very well what she is in for.
Nicole poured a little of the liquid from the jar into the cupped palm of her hand. It was olive oil, as she would have guessed by Julia's odor fresh from the bathsânot so good and, by the scent, not so fresh as what she used in the tavern, but unmistakably olive oil.
This is going to get anybody clean?
This is going to get anybody clean?
One thing was certain: Aurelia had plenty of dirt on which to experiment. Nicole rubbed the oil over her. Aurelia was still at the age where she made a perfect figure oneâall vertical lines, no curves whatever. But, though she was slim enough for her ribs to show, she wasn't scrawny; her arms and legs had plenty of flesh on them.
“Mother!” she squeaked when Nicole began to scrape off the olive oil. “The strigil tickles!”
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