Rubies of the Viper

by Martha Marks

  Theodosia noted with pride that more than a few in the throng gawked back at him.

  The Forum was, as always, a jumble of noblemen and their clients and slaves, acrobats, legionaries, soothsayers, beggars, pimps, horses, dogs, and trained monkeys... all shouting and gesticulating and bumping into each other.

  Theodosia and her retinue stopped at the Rostra to listen to a seedy-looking man in a threadbare toga harangue about the price of fish. She sat on a bench, smiling to herself as her slaves—standing behind her—made rude jokes about the shabby citizen at the podium.

  “What’s that?” Stefan pointed to an oddly shaped building on the north side of the Forum.

  “The Carcer Tullianus,” said Alexander.

  “The famous prison? So small?”

  “It’s mostly underground.”

  “They say you go in alive through a hole in the floor,” Lucilla said, “and come out dead in the sewer below.”

  “What happens in the meantime is anybody’s guess,” added Marcipor. “But if they want to keep you alive for a while, they stick you in some underground cave where the Cloaca Maxima enters the Tiber.”

  Alexander chuckled without mirth.

  “And then they allow you the luxury of dying of fever and starvation, instead of torturing you to death.”

  “A place to stay away from,” Lucilla whispered. “They say it’s easy enough to wind up there without trying.”

  <><><>

  Around midday, they strolled down the winding Via Sacra, through the chaos of the commercial district, past stores whose stocks of pots, sandals, tin ware, and cheap fabrics overflowed into the streets. Eager shopkeepers pounced on anyone who slowed; their voices accounted for much of the din. Bakeries spewed delectable smells into the air, as did the cook shops and taverns.

  The hubbub stretched all the way to the immense market near the river, where slaves from the great houses fearlessly elbowed aside the free poor to buy nuts, dormice, pheasants, spices, and other necessities for their masters’ tables. The assorted squawks, bleats, squeaks, and quacks of the live merchandise blended with the clamor of negotiation and the protests of those kept waiting, just as their odors merged with the more savory aromas of the produce stands.

  Amid this tumult, Theodosia showed off bargaining skills honed in more frugal times. Then, in the quiet of a nearby temple garden, she shared with her servants a feast of fruit, bread, olives, and wine. Finally, they set out for the little house in the Subura that had been her home for eight years.

  “Just to show you I know what the world is really like,” she told the men as they headed into the maze of cramped and smelly alleyways that made up Rome’s most notorious slum.

  Overhead loomed the wooden firetraps where thousands of Rome’s poorest, mostly foreigners and former slaves, found crude shelter but little else. So tall and tightly packed were the buildings that the sun made its way to the streets for only a few hours a day. An open window on the top storey of one building belched the sounds of a ferocious argument. Balcony-hung laundry—flapping and snapping in the breeze—formed a counterpoint to the slaps and curses and breaking pottery.

  Nor was life any more pleasant on the ground. A pack of feral dogs—nosing through the offal and creating more—snarled if anyone came too close. Four naked toddlers played unattended in the dirt. A trio of drunks quarreled in a corner bar. The streets stank of urine, sewage, and rotting garbage.

  Theodosia’s house stood in a slightly better neighborhood in the heart of the Subura, where people owned their single-storey homes and attached street-side shops. Buildings were lower, so there was more sunlight. At one time, the entire area had been like this, but the surrounding blocks had been razed over the years to pack in more cheap housing.

  She stopped in front of the shop where Dinos—the elderly sandal maker who was her tenant—and his slave eked out a living and slept on the floor. Dinos’ meager payments had been Theodosia’s main income for years, but she had charged him no rent since Gaius died.

  Dinos was sitting on a shaded stool just inside the doorway, a bright-eyed spider alert for prey in the web of sandals spread out along the edge of the street. Now he hopped down... eyes agog at the sight of Theodosia.

  “It is you, lady! I never expected to see you again.”

  “You’re well, Dinos?”

  “As well as possible, and still very grateful to you.”

  Dinos’ slave, Rubol, stepped through the doorway and bowed. Sometimes in the past, when Dinos was out, Theodosia would slip food to Rubol, for she knew how little he got from his master. And she had talked with him enough to know his story. Long before Theodosia came here to live, Dinos had bought the boy, brought him to this shop, and taught him his trade.

  Rubol was tall but stooped from years of hunched-over toil. Though he was no more than thirty, poor nourishment had depleted his body. A lifetime in the windowless back room had left his thin face gray. He winced now in the glare of the street.

  “It’s good to see you, Rubol,” Theodosia said.

  He bowed again and squinted to focus on her face.

  “And you, lady.”

  “Give Dinos a hundred sesterces,” Theodosia said quietly to Alexander, who was carrying her money. “Buy yourself and Rubol a good meal, Dinos, and hide the rest. You may need it someday.”

  “The gods bless you, lady!” the old man said as Theodosia turned to her own doorstep.

  The lock resisted the key in Lucilla’s hand, but at last it gave way. The slaves stood aside so Theodosia could enter first.

  A legion of real-life spiders had invaded the tiny atrium. The flowers that Lucilla had planted in the narrow peristyle last spring had died of thirst. Theodosia headed for the kitchen where she and Lucilla had prepared and eaten all their meals together.

  “You lived here by yourselves?” Stefan asked. “Just you two?”

  Lucilla smiled pertly at him.

  “I was here a couple of years. Miss was alone before that.”

  Stefan turned dismayed eyes to Theodosia.

  “In this neighborhood? All alone?”

  “Yes, for almost four years after my nurse died. I never went out past midafternoon.”

  “Someone could have come in over the roof.”

  “Well, I was prepared.”

  Theodosia stepped to the wall behind the kitchen table and pulled out a loose brick. In a cavity behind it lay a long-bladed knife with a bone handle. She pulled the weapon out and handed it to Stefan.

  “It’s sharp!” He fingered the blade, which showed no sign of rust.

  “Very.” She returned the knife to its niche and replaced the brick. “There’s another in the bedroom wall. Phoebe pried the bricks loose soon after we moved in, and together we hid the knives there. She wanted to make sure I knew where they were and that I could get to them. Hard to believe I was only eleven at the time.”

  “Why didn’t you ever show them to me?” Lucilla asked.

  “I thought for a while I might need them to defend myself against you. We had some problems at first, remember?”

  Alexander’s eyes shot to Lucilla’s face.

  “Problems?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Lucilla said.

  “Oh,” Theodosia said with a slight laugh, “Lucilla was upset after her master died and they broke up his household. She seemed to blame me, for some reason.”

  “I loved a man there, and she wouldn’t buy him.”

  “Couldn’t buy him. I was barely able to buy you.” Theodosia turned to the others. “Sometimes, I’m still not sure she’s forgiven me.”

  <><><>

  Otho’s promise of good behavior overcame Theodosia’s reluctance to be with him again, and she accompanied him to banquets three nights in a row. He hadn’t yet made it to the Senate, but his father had already put up the requisite million sesterces in his name. Everywhere they went, his election was toasted as if it were a fact. Favors were sought and granted at those parties; new allia
nces took shape. Every politician in town wanted to be seen with the future emperor’s closest friend.

  On the fourth day after her arrival in Rome, Theodosia received an invitation to dinner from Livia, the wife of a consul whose support Otho had just won. “No men allowed!” the message read.

  Intrigued, she decided to go.

  Gaius’ litter bearers had been executed in May and no more had been bought, so Otho lent Theodosia his litter and a team of bearers, plus a set of liveried guards to clear a path. Stefan went along, too, walking close by to protect her from the rabble in the streets.

  Theodosia had ridden with Otho in his immense two-person litter; she found it an unsettling experience. The eight men were closely matched in height and trained to carry their load steadily, but Theodosia disliked the jostling as they made their way through the crowds.

  She felt uncomfortably conspicuous, too. Few litters were more opulent than Otho’s, so everyone recognized it. Not only that but... how could anybody fail to notice the green swarm of identically clad slaves who accompanied Otho on all his outings?

  Theodosia also knew that her return to Rome had renewed gossip about Gaius’ murder. People in the streets pointed at the Varro heiress passing by in Marcus Salvius Otho’s litter. Otho liked to be seen as he traveled about, but she did not. A few blocks into this solo trip, she pulled the curtains closed.

  The dinner was exactly what Theodosia had expected... too much food, wine, and witless chatter. Though not pleased to see Annia, the wife of Cornelius Sulla—once again with a slave’s blonde hair atop her head—Theodosia resolved to treat her civilly.

  She had met her hostess and several other patrician women earlier in the week at the Baths of Agrippa, where both the common people and the flower of Roman aristocracy went to be steamed, oiled, scraped, soaked, and invigorated. When they lived in the Subura, Theodosia and Lucilla had taken advantage of these free public baths, but never had they availed themselves of the other services favored by those who could afford to pay for greater indulgences than simply being clean.

  At the baths this week, her new acquaintances had giggled at Theodosia’s refusal to be massaged by one of the dozens of slave men available for that purpose. Sophisticated ladies, they assured her, paid no more attention to male slaves than to male horses or male dogs. Being unsophisticated, however, and unaccustomed to naked massages by any man, slave or otherwise, Theodosia declined the opportunity, though she sat by as the other women enjoyed vigorous rubdowns under the carefully controlled hands of the bath slaves.

  Now, as Livia’s dinner party neared its end, discussion turned to Theodosia’s odd behavior in the baths.

  “Do you have only females at your villa, Theodosia?” asked a dainty young patrician in yellow.

  The other guests howled in laughter.

  “Poppaea Sabina is the only one who’d think that!” said Annia. “Everybody else knows that Gaius would have only men around him. The handsomest men money could buy.”

  “Interesting household, Theodosia,” said Marcia, the wife of Camillus, a popular and powerful senator who had not yet agreed to support Otho’s election. Otho had told Theodosia several times how critical it was for him to get Camillus’ endorsement.

  Others chimed in.

  “If it were mine, I’d love it! All those gorgeous men around, and no husband to spoil the fun!”

  “And she pretends to be so modest.”

  “You’re turning red, my dear. Are you ill?”

  “Speaking of gorgeous men... anyone notice that big fellow who tagged along with her today?”

  “I saw him, too!”

  “Those were Otho’s men, don’t you know?”

  “Not the one Claudia’s talking about. He wasn’t wearing Otho’s livery.”

  “Did you all see the way he looked at her?”

  “Now, that would be a great one to attend your bath, Theodosia. With those hands... what a massage he could give!”

  “Well, which is it, Theodosia?” said Annia. “Is he yours or Otho’s?”

  “He’s mine. My bodyguard.”

  “They grow big in the country, don’t they? Got any more like him stashed away out there?”

  “Hey, this isn’t fair!” said Poppaea, who had unwittingly introduced the topic. “I didn’t see him.”

  “Bring him in then,” Livia said, “for Poppaea’s education.”

  “Oh, Stefan may not be here right now,” Theodosia said, hoping it was true. “I told him he might go see a bit more of the city.”

  Titters erupted around the table.

  “He must be something special then,” Poppaea said. “What good is a bodyguard if he’s not around to guard your body when you need him?”

  Livia snapped her fingers at the slave behind her couch.

  “Go and see if the lady Theodosia’s bodyguard has returned from sightseeing in the city.” Her tone was droll. “If he has, tell him to come here at once.”

  Soon Stefan appeared in the doorway.

  “Here he is,” Livia said. “What did you say his name is?”

  “Stefanus. But I’ve always called him Stefan.”

  Theodosia wanted nothing to do with this game but didn’t know how to stop it.

  “Come here, Stefanus,” said Livia, pointing to the space between her couch and the one occupied by Poppaea Sabina. “We all want a good look at you.”

  Stefan stepped warily across the room. Theodosia felt a swell of pride... until his eyes reached hers. They were seething.

  Juno, I wish we were both anywhere but here.

  Poppaea Sabina reached out and ran a single fingertip down Stefan’s arm; then she let it wander on down his leg.

  “He’s magnificent! I’ve never seen a man this big so close up. Is he a gladiator?”

  “He’s fit for one, I’m sure,” said Claudia. “Ever thought of having him trained?”

  Numb with guilt at treating her old friend this way, Theodosia shook her head.

  He’ll think this was my idea.

  “What a shame,” Marcia said. “Pull out those pins at your shoulders, fellow. Give us a better look at you.”

  Stefan’s jaw tightened, but he did as he was told.

  There was a ripple of appreciation around the table as the brown tunic fell to his belt.

  “Now... that is a man!” someone said.

  Theodosia saw Annia’s eyes dally around Stefan’s chest, waist, and legs. It was clear she would gladly force him to strip completely.

  “Why not make a gladiator of him?” chirped Poppaea Sabina in her little-girl voice. Her yellow sleeve rippled as she poked a finger into Stefan’s abdomen. “Turn around, slave. Oh, just look at the muscles on his back! He’d be the best of the lot!”

  “Stefan and I grew up together,” Theodosia said. “We were playmates as children. I’d never send him to the arena.”

  “Hogwash!” said Marcia. “You know, Camillus needs new fighters for the games he’s sponsoring right before the election. He was negotiating with Gaius last spring to buy one of the Varro slaves. It must have been this fellow.”

  “Your husband was negotiating—?” Theodosia said, dumbfounded.

  So, it’s true. Gaius really was about to sell Stefan.

  “They’d almost reached an agreement when Gaius died. Camillus had raised his offer to fifteen thousand denarii. He’s still interested, Theodosia. Has he approached you about it yet?”

  Theodosia shook her head again.

  “Well, the offer still stands.”

  Fifteen thousand denarii.

  It was an immense amount of money.

  Theodosia couldn’t bear to look at Stefan, just shook her head.

  “Nonsense, child.” Marcia sounded like one unaccustomed to being thwarted. “What’s one slave more or less to you?”

  “She’s right, you know.” It was Annia. “Come on, Theodosia. Don’t be so selfish. Share this magnificent fellow with all of Rome.”

  “Tell you what,” Marcia said,
“we’ll give your Otho credit for the new gladiator. He’ll surely win once the mob sees this fellow in action.”

  “He’s not my Otho!”

  “Don’t be so coy. Think about it. Your fortune combined with Otho’s senatorial rank... You’ll be one of the most powerful couples in the empire. That’s not a bad swap for a single slave.”

  “Maybe she wants him for something else,” Poppaea Sabina said, setting off another round of titters.

  Theodosia felt herself flush again, even hotter than before. She was beckoning for her sandals when her hostess reacted with indignation.

  “Friends, I am offended by your rude treatment of my special guest, and especially your insinuation, Poppaea. Theodosia is a lady from one of our most distinguished families. She’d never squander herself on a slave.”

  Marcia turned to Theodosia and smiled.

  “Here’s a deal. I’ll go out on a limb and double my husband’s offer. Thirty thousand denarii for that fellow. An incredible sum by anyone’s standards, Theodosia. Even yours. But if you don’t sell him to us, Camillus will deny Otho his support, and Otho will lose the election.”

  Marcia paused for effect.

  “Otho will lose the election,” she repeated. “I guarantee it.”

  Theodosia stood and offered her hand to her hostess.

  “Thirty thousand denarii for you,” Marcia said again, “and a seat in the Senate for Otho.”

  Theodosia caught Stefan’s eye and motioned to the door.

  “Stefan,” she said, “is not for sale.”

  <><><>

  Stefan said nothing as he helped Theodosia into the litter. He said nothing as he helped her out. Then he disappeared.

  Theodosia told Lucilla to find him and send him to the garden.

  She strolled to an ancient stone wall at the end of a torch-lit path. Hundreds of other torchlights twinkled in the city that nestled into the valley below and spread onto the surrounding hills.

  She didn’t hear Stefan approach, but when she turned, there he was—stiff and angry—some distance away.