by Martha Marks
Delicate gold silk sandals, a gift from the fabric merchant, completed her dressing.
She pivoted before the polished bronze mirror, feeling as sunny as if Apollo, not Neptune, ruled the day. Then she headed to the atrium.
Water had been pouring through the roof opening all afternoon; now it splashed in a widening circle around the flooded pool.
Stefan, in a heavy woolen cloak, and Alexander, holding Lycos by the hand, stood talking in a dry space near the foot of the lamp-lit stairs. They fell silent as Theodosia came down to them, and she saw her sparkle reflected in their faces.
“Well, Alexander,” she said, pausing a few steps from the bottom and tilting her head coquettishly to show off the emeralds against her skin, “what do you think?”
Her steward responded in an equally indecorous manner.
“Of the jewels or… the lady?”
“Is there anything wrong with either?”
Such talk was shamefully close to flirtation, but Theodosia felt lovely and, after her talk with Otho, safe for the first time in weeks.
Alexander answered with a look of frank admiration and a shake of his head. A simple “no”—low, soft, and unexpected—was all he said.
Theodosia felt that embarrassing warmth rising to her cheeks. Quickly, she turned her attention to Lycos.
“Think they’ll let me into the party, Lycos?”
The boy nodded, but it was Stefan who spoke.
“You look so beautiful, miss.”
The unmistakable wistfulness in his voice sobered her.
Better put a stop to this.
“Thanks, Stefan,” she murmured. “Is the carriage ready?”
<><><>
Long before she reached Caere, rain blasting across the Via Aurelia had soaked the curtains of Theodosia’s carriage, permeating the interior with the pungent smell of wet wool. She heard Stefan shouting at the horses from his perch overhead, and she worried about him... with nothing but a cloak to protect him from the angry god.
After an eternity of bouncing, the carriage pulled up under Vespasian’s portico. A bolt of lightning exploded just as Stefan jumped down to open the door. Grooms scurried to hold the jittery horses.
Vespasian greeted Theodosia in the atrium and introduced her to his other guests. Publius Cornelius Sulla, the patriarch of one of Rome’s first families, was her nearest neighbor to the south. Sulla held her hand for a moment and murmured a few compliments before introducing his wife. Decades younger than her husband and a great beauty, Annia was notorious for cutting the locks of her German slave women to make blonde wigs for herself.
Annia smiled coolly and gave Theodosia an equally cool kiss on the cheek. Stepping back, she eyed her emeralds and brilliant green silk.
“I’ve never seen a patrician wear a color like that,” she said by way of greeting, “but it does look right on you.”
“Sordus brought this silk out the other day.” Bright colors had been Theodosia’s main indulgence throughout her years of poverty. Although she knew society women disdained them as the mark of a courtesan, she still enjoyed wearing them. “I really do love the color!”
“Brought it out?” The sharp tone contradicted Annia’s fixed smile. “Sordus traveled all the way to your villa?”
“He made the trip with Reuben ben Judah. I didn’t even know they were coming till they got there.”
The smile on Annia’s face soured quickly, but before she could say more, Vespasian presented his other guests. Vibius Appius Lucanus, a centurion grown wealthy in the conquest of Britain, stood beside his wife, the matronly Julia. Flavia and Titus stepped forward to greet Theodosia. Lucius Sergius Silus, the emperor’s chief legal advisor and Flavia’s future husband, completed the perfect set of nine for dinner.
Theodosia was surprised, then, when Otho came up behind her and noisily kissed the top of her head.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
“The storm caught me just outside Caere, and you know… a dinner party makes an appealing refuge.”
Theodosia looked at Vespasian, who shrugged.
“We’ve squeezed one couch in a bit. I can always find room for an old friend’s son.”
The dining room was plain by Roman standards and the pottery positively Spartan, but at least there was a slave at each couch. Vespasian escorted his guest of honor to the center, then took his place to her right. Titus sat to her left as the other guests assembled on the remaining two couches. A slave moved around the table, replacing each guest’s sandals with soft slippers before they reclined on their sides for dinner.
The conversation focused quickly on Theodosia and her new situation. Annia seemed especially curious.
“Don’t you feel vulnerable? You wouldn’t catch me stuck out like that by myself, especially after what happened to poor, dear Gaius.”
“I don’t feel vulnerable in the least. My servants keep an eye on me.”
“I bet! All those gorgeous men Gaius bought.” Annia snickered. “But who keeps an eye on them?”
“So far, I’ve had no trouble. Not expecting any either.”
“You’re used to managing slaves, then? How many did you have in Rome?”
“Two.”
Just not at the same time.
This confession of Theodosia’s previous poverty appeared to satisfy Annia, who busied herself with a platter of leeks with mussels, snails, and oysters being passed around on the outspread palms of a well-trained boy.
“You spent a lot of time with your maid, didn’t you?” said Flavia.
Theodosia swallowed her first oyster and nodded.
“Lucilla and I got to be quite close.”
“That’s nice,” said the matronly Julia, “when you’re young.”
“Close to your maid?” Annia made a face.
“Oh, the maid’s a sweet thing,” Otho said. “Really devoted to Theodosia, and she’s got good sense, too.”
“How do you know?” Theodosia was astonished.
“I talked with her for a while yesterday, before you returned from gallivanting to the farm on a horse with your steward.”
After a period of embarrassed silence, Lucius Sergius Silus turned toward Theodosia.
“How’re you getting along with Alexander?”
“Just fine. He’s going to be a big help to me, I think.”
“I’ve been warning her not to turn her back on him,” Otho said.
Theodosia frowned. That refrain was becoming tiresome.
“Why?” Vespasian asked. “Alexander’s one of the finest stewards anybody ever had. Wish I could afford to own one like him.”
“Oh, the fellow’s clever, for sure… and sly,” Otho said. “Too sly for my taste. Been in charge so long he resents the situation now.”
“And how do you know that?” Theodosia asked.
“I talked with him, too. You should hear what he says about you.”
“It seems you had chats yesterday with all my servants.”
“Not all. That would take months. Remember not to turn your back on that Greek, Theodosia. He’s dangerous.”
“Nonsense!” Sergius Silus said. “I’d trust him with—”
“I hear her slaves just hate having a woman own them,” said Annia.
“How would you know that?” her husband asked.
“One of my maids said so.”
Theodosia couldn’t resist the temptation.
“I thought you weren’t close to your maids.”
“Listening to their gossip isn’t the same thing as being close to them! Besides... they do know everything that’s going on.”
“Well, Annia’s right as far as that Greek is concerned,” Otho said.
“I’m sorry, but... I really don’t agree,” Theodosia said. “Alexander has accepted the situation well enough. He may not like it, but he knows where he stands. In these first few days, he and I have established the foundation for a good working relationship.”
Otho grunted.
“A slave is like a horse, Theodosia. Gaius let that one run loose for years. So, here you come along and think you can break him, but... are you sure you’ll have the strength to control him when he begins to buck?”
“Nonsense!” said Sergius Silus again. “I’ve known Alexander since Gaius bought him. I’d trust him with anything I own. I respect him. The man may be a slave, but he’s honest, hardworking, and competent.”
“Oh, he’s competent all right,” Otho said with an impatient gesture, “and arrogant and impudent.”
“Of course.” Sergius Silus chuckled. “Alexander is convinced he’s superior to us poor, piddling Romans.”
“What that horse needs,” Otho droned on, “is a strong master. If he belonged to me, I’d slam a bit into his mouth and yank the reins hard.”
“The fact is,” Theodosia said, “Alexander belongs to me, and with me he is anything but impudent.”
Annia snickered louder at that and whispered something to Titus.
“You must have found some magic method of dealing with him.” Otho seemed determined to pursue the subject. “I can still see Gaius in a frenzy one morning, slapping that impudent bastard in the face, back and forth, over and over and over again.”
“I thought you said Gaius kept this Alexander fellow on a loose rein,” drawled Appius Lucanus in a slow, ironic tone.
“Oh, when it came to handling Gaius’ business affairs, the slave was on his own. But Gaius still liked to make him jump.” Otho turned to Theodosia. “You know that scar on the Greek’s jaw?”
Theodosia nodded.
Otho refuses to dignify Alexander with a name.
“You’re wearing the instrument that made it, right there on your finger.”
“My ring?”
She studied her heavy signet, noticing the sharpness of the triangular projections surrounding the “V” in the center, any one of which could gouge out a chunk of skin if it landed with enough force.
“It was Gaius’ ring, too. So, don’t forget what a wicked weapon it can be on an impudent slave’s face.”
Theodosia recalled how graciously Alexander had presented to her the family’s most precious heirloom... and also how many of her other household slaves bore facial scars similar to his. Even little Lycos.
“Have you ever loved someone you were powerless to protect?”
No wonder Alexander hated Gaius! Gods, I’d have killed Gaius myself if I ever saw him hit that child with this.
As the main course arrived, Vespasian began telling her of his son’s genius for rhetoric and his prowess with horses and a sword. Titus would enter the Centuriate next spring; that would be—Vespasian assured her—the start of a glorious military career. Theodosia nodded, amused. Vespasian’s elder son was tall for his age and bright, but it was hard to picture such an immature youth bringing the enemies of Rome to heel.
After dinner, Vespasian offered a series of toasts. Boys with pitchers kept the wine flowing. For entertainment, the general had hired a freedman and his company. The freedman chanted classic tales of heroism, plus newer tunes popular at court, which his wife interpreted in dance as his kneeling slaves accompanied them on cithara and pipes.
After listening to the music for half an hour, Theodosia turned to Vespasian and confided that she, too, played the cithara.
He reacted with surprise, for music was a servile art, not practiced by patricians. Emperor Claudius’ grand-nephew and son-in-law, the prince Nero, was a notable—and much-criticized—exception.
“My friends,” Vespasian remarked above the noise of clinking cups, singing musicians, and passing servants, “Theodosia has just told me that she also plays the cithara. Perhaps we could persuade her to perform.”
There was a sudden silence as everyone turned to stare at Theodosia. Annia’s eyebrows rose, and she glanced toward Julia, who shot back a look of equal amazement. Annia’s husband applauded with inebriated enthusiasm as his wife whispered behind her hand into Otho’s ear. Otho laughed.
Theodosia moved around the table and took the cithara from the slave who had been playing it. At a gesture from Vespasian, one of the waiters ran to fetch a chair. Theodosia sat and let her fingers play across the strings a few times, then she closed her eyes and began to sing one of the old Greek poems that she had set to music long ago in Rome.
When she finished and raised her eyes, they met a variety of expressions. Appius Lucanus was asleep. Titus and Vespasian wore astonished, trying-to-look-polite looks. Sergius Silus, Cornelius Sulla, and Julia seemed embarrassed, while Annia’s eyes gleamed with undisguised malice. Otho’s bore an expression that Theodosia couldn’t interpret. Only Flavia was smiling.
“That’s beautiful!” the girl said. “Who taught you to play?”
Theodosia wanted to hug her.
“My Greek nurse. I like to compose music spontaneously to go with poems I enjoy.”
“How wonderful!” Flavia’s appreciation sounded genuine. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Bring a book of Virgil,” she said, snapping her fingers at a slave. “Theodosia, if you don’t mind, I’d love to hear you compose something spontaneously for us.”
When the man returned, Flavia unrolled the scroll and selected an eclogue.
“This one.”
It wasn’t the most pleasing marriage that Theodosia had ever made of poem and melody, but her audience wasn’t the most discerning she could imagine, either. She was still singing when the wife of Sulla sat up and gestured to a slave for her sandals.
“Please excuse us, Vespasian, but my husband and I must go. Never have we seen such coarse behavior in one who purports to be a patrician.”
Theodosia stopped in mid verse and stared around the room. Then she rose with as much dignity as her reddening face would allow.
“General, Annia has been baiting me all evening. I suggest that it is she, not I, who exhibits coarse and unbecoming behavior.”
“The family of the illustrious Publius Cornelius Sulla does not socialize with riffraff,” said Annia.
“Since when are the descendants of the illustrious Marcus Terentius Varro considered riffraff?” Theodosia demanded.
“Since they began marrying Greek sluts.”
There was another stunned silence.
“I expect an apology,” Theodosia said at last, “for that insult to my mother and my family honor.”
“You’ll get none from me. I’m only saying what everyone in Rome is thinking. And I don’t apologize to riffraff.”
Annia stood, nodded with exaggerated respect to all but Theodosia, and marched from the dining room.
Every other pair of eyes in the room had been swinging back and forth between Annia and Theodosia. Caught in the middle of a spat, but not sober enough to mediate it, Vespasian reached for the comfort of his cup, downed its contents, and emitted a deep burp. Titus rolled onto both elbows and gaped at Annia as she disappeared into the atrium. Otho appeared to be barely stifling a laugh. Cornelius Sulla and Sergius Silus exchanged discomfited glances. Appius Lucanus snored on as his wife swung her legs to the floor.
“We should leave as well,” Julia said, nudging her husband awake. “Sounds like the storm is getting worse.”
“I must go, too,” said Theodosia, trying to sound unaffected by Annia’s affronts.
Regretting that her unorthodox behavior had hastened the party’s demise, she called for her sandals and offered her hand to the general.
“Thank you for hosting this wonderful dinner on my behalf. I hope I haven’t disgraced myself.”
“Of course not, my dear.”
Titus sent a waiter with instructions to have her carriage brought around. Shortly afterwards, he escorted Theodosia through the atrium to the front entrance. Stefan was waiting a few feet outside... his wet, billowing cloak giving him the look of a dolphin fished up from the sea.
“May I come for a visit in a day or so?” Titus asked Theodosia.
“If you still want to, after what happened tonight.”
&nb
sp; Before Titus could answer, Otho stepped between them.
“Just because you’re our host’s son, that doesn’t give you the right to monopolize Theodosia’s attention. I’m sure she’d prefer the company of a man with experience in the world.” He took her arm. “I’ll see you home. You shouldn’t be out alone.”
“Thanks,” Theodosia said, twisting away, “but I’m not alone. My coachman will take good care of me.”
She stepped around Otho and rose on tiptoe to give Titus a sociable peck on each cheek.
“I look forward to your visit.”
Without warning, Otho seized her arm, tugged her to him, and kissed her hard on the mouth until Titus pulled him back. Otho reacted with his characteristic grin, but Theodosia saw fire in the younger man’s eyes.
<><><>
“Horrible night!” Theodosia muttered to herself as she pulled up her lap robe for the rough ride home.
If that’s society, they can keep it.
But at least it was over. Nothing else could go wrong tonight.
A short time later, Alexander met her at the door with news of her first big crisis.
Chapter Twelve
“We’ve got trouble.” It wasn’t Alexander’s way to mince words. “Lightning hit the old double oak. The kitchen’s demolished.”
Demolished?
Theodosia whirled about, sped through the peristyle to the rear entry of the villa, and leaned out into the horizontal rain as wind whipped her clothes and hair. In the next flash of lightning, she saw the broad, leafy top of the broken tree lying across the crumpled building where most of her servants ate and slept. Alexander came and tugged her back into the sheltered passageway.
“Anyone hurt?”
“Not seriously. Two men were pinned against a wall. It took us a while to free them. Half a dozen others have cuts and broken bones.”
Theodosia let out a relieved breath as he continued.
“General Vespasian lends us his Egyptian physician whenever we need him. I’ll send for him at first light.”