by Martha Marks
“Is that your family crest?” Flavia asked.
“I’ve never seen it before.” Theodosia turned toward Alexander. “Are these family pieces?”
“No, mistress. My lord Gaius brought them from Rome last year.”
“Oooooh, they’re exquisite!” Flavia ran her finger around the edge of her goblet and down the raised silver face of the ruby-eating snake. “Look at this... even little rubies in the eyes. You’re lucky to have such beautiful things, Theodosia.” She made a show of pouting. “Father’s just so tight. Won’t spend money on anything. Everything we use is as dull and practical as what our slaves use.”
“Soon, my girl,” her father said, “you can squander Lucius Sergius’ money. Let’s hope he’s rich enough to buy you all the things you want.”
Titus strolled across to stand beside Theodosia, who was leaning against the waist-high stone wall.
“Bother you to talk about Gaius’ death?” Titus wrapped his fingers around a vine as thick as his wrist.
“No. We weren’t close at all. I don’t think he ever forgave Father for marrying my mother. When Father died, Gaius banished me to Rome with Phoebe, my old Greek nurse. Kept title to Phoebe, too. He wouldn’t give her to me legally, so we were always afraid he might decide to take her back or—” she shot a glance at Alexander, who was standing apart from the Romans, “even sell her to someone else. My poor Phoebe died before it occurred to him.”
Theodosia pulled a leaf off the vine, tore it into pieces, and dropped them one by one into the sea below.
“Gaius never gave me any money, either.”
“What’d you live on?”
“Well, he bought me a tiny house with a couple of shops on the street and let me keep the rents.”
“I didn’t know you lived by yourself in Rome,” Vespasian said. “Just assumed you were with Gaius.”
“Out of the question! He wanted nothing to do with me. No, I was in the Subura.”
Titus looked as if he might choke on his wine.
“The Subura? I wonder you didn’t get killed yourself, what with all the drunken foreigners and freedmen in that miserable slum.”
“Well, I never went out at night, and not all that much in the daytime either. Couldn’t afford to buy much. The rents never amounted to anything. One of the shops stays empty half the time, and in the other there’s an old sandal maker who’s sick a lot. Lately he’s paid me nothing, so nothing was just about all I had these last few months.”
“You didn’t even have a maid?” Flavia was shocked.
“It was four years after Phoebe died before I saved enough to buy a maid, but at least then I had something that Gaius couldn’t take away from me. Lucilla’s the only slave I ever owned till now.”
Just then, a troop of houseboys arrived with a round wooden tabletop, a stone pedestal, five chairs, and cushions, and began arranging them under Alexander’s direction.
“I never wanted to live in Rome,” Theodosia went on, “but Gaius wouldn’t let me stay here in our home. Not once did he invite me to that mansion he built on the Caelian Hill. And guess how many times I saw him in those eight years.” She paused for effect. “Three times... and it was coincidental each time. He would be out in his litter with his friends, and I would go say hello to him. My beloved brother always acted as if I were some trash blown up on the street.”
Soon came the Ethiopian waiters with an assortment of fresh fruit, bread, olives, and an array of cheeses. The bowls and trays they carried all bore that same ruby-serpent design.
Titus sat down next to Theodosia and laid his hand on her arm.
“How is it that you’re not married yet?”
“Never found anyone I wanted to marry who wanted to marry me. And at this point, I’m probably too old.”
“Not a chance!” said Vespasian.
Flavia had pulled a roll apart and was stuffing it with cheese. Now she stared into Theodosia’s face.
“That’s unbelievable. Someone as beautiful as you had no suitors?”
“Nobody I’d consider. A couple of greasy freedmen. What Roman nobleman wants an orphaned, half-Greek girl with no dowry?”
Flavia shook her head in mock sympathy, her eyes agleam.
“Oooooh, well... I guess that’s one thing you needn’t worry about any more!”
Theodosia felt a blush creep into her cheeks. Titus’ hand on her arm suddenly felt very warm; she slipped out from under it on the pretense of reaching for a roll.
As they were eating, Domitian bolted from the table, raced down the steps, and headed around the side of the pergola, toward the cliff.
Alexander sprinted after him again and hauled him back.
“If you wish, sir,” he said to Vespasian, “I can find a playmate for him.”
“Yes, please.” Vespasian smiled as he spoke.
Theodosia blinked in astonishment.
A famous general... cordial to a slave!
She’d never seen such a thing before.
Alexander set off for the house and soon returned, hand in hand with a curly headed boy of six or seven. Before long, the two children were chasing each other down the graveled garden paths.
“It’s hard to believe that Gaius is dead,” Vespasian remarked, watching the boys. “I remember when he was just Domitian’s age. What a brutal way to go.” He sighed. “There are so many thugs around nowadays, and not all of them are poor foreign folk. I know for a fact that some of our finest young patrician blood runs wild and rough at night.”
“But the Praetorians never seem to catch them,” Titus said, “as long as their rich papas are in the Senate.”
“So the gossips have it. Just remember, my son... I’m not rich, and I’m not in the Senate. There’ll be no bailout if you ever get into trouble.”
“Have things really gotten so bad in Rome?” Flavia asked. “I knew street gangs beat people up sometimes, but I didn’t think they were murderers, too.”
“It was robbers killed Gaius,” Theodosia said.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Titus glared at the silent slaves standing off to one side. “I still think it was the bearers.”
“My son, they questioned them thoroughly.”
“Tortured them?”
“Of course, and their stories all matched. Two men. Hooded. Armed with daggers. Some of the slaves even had stab wounds.”
“They could have done that to themselves.”
“Titus, that’s silly.” Flavia looked disgusted. “If they murdered Gaius, why would they wait around to get caught? Even a litter slave has more sense than that!”
“Well,” said Theodosia, weary of the topic, “the investigators must have been convinced they weren’t guilty. Otherwise—as Flavia said—they’d have put to death all of Gaius’ slaves in Rome, not just the ones who let him get killed. That’s the law, isn’t it?”
“Suppose the killers weren’t strangers?” It was plain that Titus was enjoying this game. “Suppose someone had a grudge against Gaius?”
The others simultaneously burst out laughing.
“Zeus!” Theodosia said. “My brother was a wastrel and a brute... and everyone knew it. But who would deliberately set out to kill the son of Aulus Terentius Varro?”
She looked the young man squarely in the eyes.
“It was a random act. Nothing more.”
Chapter Four
The houseboy on duty in the atrium responded to the clap of Theodosia’s hands.
“Tell Alexander to come here at once.”
“But Alexander is—” The boy fidgeted nervously. “He was just starting to eat, mistress.”
Theodosia hesitated. Alexander had stayed in the pergola with the waiters to serve her and her guests. In fairness, he should be allowed to finish his own lunch. But there would be others with him in the kitchen.
Good chance to show them all who’s in charge now.
“Do as you’re told, boy.”
Before she knew it, Alexander was standing in the curtained doorway, no ex
pression on his angular face.
“As I told you last night,” Theodosia said in Greek, “we have many things to discuss and do today. My family’s personal items, to start. It’s time you turned them over to me.”
Without a word, Alexander stepped to the enormous strongbox and unfastened a leather loop from his leather belt. The iron keys jangled against each other as he selected one, inserted it into the lock, and turned it with both hands. Theodosia remembered when it was a punishable offense for a slave to loiter near her father’s strongbox.
Now a slave keeps the key.
The ancient lock snapped as it gave way. Alexander lifted the lid, retreated a step, and motioned toward the chest.
The mustiness of long-stored goods half choked Theodosia as she looked in at scores of wooden boxes stacked to fill three quarters of the large space. She could reach the top ones, but it would be difficult—and undignified—for her to lean over and rummage through the chest.
She looked at Alexander.
“Shall I hand them to you, mistress?”
“Yes, please.”
As soon as she spoke, she realized that she had mimicked Vespasian, answering a slave with all the politeness she would accord an equal. That “please” had come naturally, though. She decided not to sour the moment by retracting it.
She sat near the chest as box after box of treasures passed across her lap... more money and jewels than she had ever imagined existed in the world. Boxes of gold and silver coins. Boxes of long gold bars. Boxes of necklaces. Boxes of bracelets. Boxes of rings. Boxes of earrings. Boxes of pearls. Boxes of unset gemstones of all sizes, colors, and shapes. And boxes and boxes and boxes of rubies.
At first, Theodosia marveled at each piece, taking it out and holding it up to catch the warm afternoon light, delighted by what she saw.
But the delight didn’t last long.
After an hour, she began to grow restless. Alexander continued handing box after box to her, placing its predecessor on the floor in an ever-widening circle around her chair. Another hour later, she was no longer picking up even the finest pieces. Her eyes could no longer focus on them. Her head hurt. Her mouth felt dry.
Alexander was still standing by the strongbox, holding another unopened box. Theodosia let him take the previous one from her hand; then she shook her head and glanced at him, catching a faint smile in his eyes.
“No more. Leave the rest where they are.”
“You are tired, mistress?” Alexander spoke indulgently, as one humors a child, but there was irony in his voice.
Theodosia chewed on the inside of her upper lip, feeling ludicrous.
“I had no idea we were talking about anything like this. Where did it all come from?”
Alexander shrugged.
“Who knows? Some of the mounted pieces are family heirlooms, but my lord Gaius acquired many others, and all the unset gems. He couldn’t resist a beautiful stone, especially a ruby. He’d buy whatever the dealers showed him, no matter what it cost. A few dozen pieces he had made into jewelry and the dinnerware we served you on today, but everything else ended up here, unset and unworn.”
Theodosia stared at the large circle of boxes on the floor. Nothing in her past had prepared her for the way she felt right now. She had been raised with the standard Roman indifference to inferiors; never before had she stopped to think about the source of her family’s wealth. Now, gaping at the absurd fortune at her feet—a sight far more evocative than lists of men and mines and machinery—she realized what it meant.
Immortal gods! Four thousand slaves!
In shock and guilt, she struck out at the bearer of the bad news.
“So... Alexander! The slaves in the mines and quarries and fields spend their lives sweating to produce vast sums of money, and Gaius throws it away on useless baubles and pretty boys. That’s disgusting! Didn’t you ever try to stop him?”
Alexander shook his head slowly and deliberately.
“He had a right to spend his money as he wished. He was the master, not I.”
“But you could have said something! You were his steward!”
“A steward is still a slave, mistress, and a slave does not tell the man who owns him what he may or may not do with his property.” The smile had faded from Alexander’s face, but the bite was not gone from his voice. “That’s not the way to live a long and happy life.”
Half blind with a fury that even she didn’t fully understand, Theodosia leaped to her feet.
“But why should you care so much about his money when he was determined to waste it? Why keep such meticulous records of his property? Why exert yourself so far beyond what was required?”
Her rising voice sounded odd to her, as if it came from someone else.
“I don’t understand you, Alexander! You had the key to that chest! Why didn’t you help yourself to a few of these boxes and head straight for the port at Martanum? Nobody would’ve stopped you. You could’ve gotten away without being challenged, and just a fraction of this would’ve bought a secure hiding place for the rest of your life. By all the gods, I wouldn’t have hesitated an instant in your place!”
Suddenly aware of what she was saying, Theodosia jerked her head around and fled to the nearest window.
What a fool!
She was sweating now.
Forgetting every common-sense rule of how to deal with a slave... Suggesting that he steal and run away...
She turned to face him, propping her hands on the window frame behind her, as if braced for an attack.
How do I recover from this?
Alexander exhaled through pursed lips, his intense eyes piercing hers as he produced a crooked smile.
“Want to take that speech back, mistress? I can pretend I never heard it.”
Theodosia just stared at him.
Juno, help me! What do I say now?
“You have my word,” Alexander went on. “I’ll never mention it again. Not to you or to anyone else.”
Theodosia leaned against the window frame and closed her eyes.
“No.” She looked into his face. “It was a mistake for me to say what I just said, and we both know it, but it’s no good pretending I didn’t say it. My questions to you were improper and unwise—not to mention unfair to you—but I did ask them and, in truth, I’m curious to know. Don’t feel compelled to answer though.” She risked a smile of her own. “As you reminded me this morning... no one has the right to probe too far into the privacy of another, not even that of her slave.”
Alexander stepped closer. Last night, he had frightened her, but now, for some reason, he no longer did. The fragile air of trust she felt would have seemed impossible, even that morning.
“Thank you.” The irony was gone from his voice, replaced by a warmth that Theodosia hadn’t heard there before. “I appreciate your frankness and your sensitivity, mistress. There are many things—many memories—that are painful for me.”
As he spoke, Alexander rubbed a finger absentmindedly across the jagged scar on his jaw.
Theodosia made no reply. He might volunteer more information than she could ever force out of him.
“My lord Gaius once tried to make me talk about myself, and I refused, as I did with you this morning. Only he didn’t let me out of the fire so quickly as you. But,” his tone sharpened a bit, “if we may go back to your dangerously honest outburst... There’s no reason why I shouldn’t give you some answers. Why take such pains? Why not steal a box or two? Why not run away? Fact is, I’ve asked myself those same questions and others, many times. I don’t have any answers.”
“Maybe you were afraid.”
“Afraid. That must be it.” The irony was back. “If you say so, anyway.”
“You’re insolent, you know.”
“Can a slave be both insolent and afraid?”
Theodosia paused, studying the angles of his face.
“Probably not.”
Her eyes lingered on his, and after a while she shook her head.
“No, Alexander, I don’t think you’re afraid. It’s something else. Am I right that you were once free?”
“How do you know?”
“It shows. The look on your face. Your voice. The way you carry yourself. You don’t have the bearing of a man born to slavery. And didn’t you tell me last night that you had a name before you had a master?”
“You were listening. I wasn’t sure.”
“I was listening. I just didn’t like what I was hearing.” She gave him another tentative smile. “Anyway, what I suspect is that you opted to serve Gaius better than he deserved to be served as a way of proving something to yourself, about yourself.”
“You’ve read Seneca, it seems.”
“So have you, it seems.”
Theodosia was still propped against the window frame, facing into the room. Alexander came up beside her and peered out through the glass.
“As a way of proving... what?”
“Well, you’re a proud man. Odd thing to say about a slave, but it’s obviously true.”
“A lot of good pride does me.”
“So one might think, but— Look, I know what my brother was, and so do you. Everyone in Rome knew he was a monster and a fool. Gaius was nowhere near you, mentally and morally, and you knew it, but things like intelligence and morals don’t matter much between Roman masters and Greek slaves. His power over you was absolute, and that galled you.”
Theodosia stopped to give Alexander a chance to respond, but he said nothing. After a few breaths she went on, feeling her way through the tangle of her thoughts.
“I think you saw your mind as the only thing that Gaius couldn’t command. By serving him better than he deserved to be served, you stripped a bit of power from him.” She chuckled at the idea forming in her head. “I think your dedicated service was a form of rebellion that my brother was just too stupid to see.”
Alexander stood gazing out the window as Theodosia watched his face. When he finally spoke, it was as if to the sea outside. His words were open and honest, and there was no hint of servility in his voice.
“Well, we’re certainly being candid today.” He nodded, eyes still on the sea. “You’re right about one thing, at least. It did gall me to be forced to serve and obey a man who had absolute power over me simply because he was a Roman and I a Greek. And yes, you’re right. I hated him.”