CHAPTER III

 

Alysia felt as if she were becoming another person. She wasn’t rude by nature; she had always been civil to everyone, even to her servants. But after having the midday meal at the rear of the house with the other slaves, she discovered that she was pointedly ignoring them and didn’t know why. It was as if by refusing to acknowledge them she could somehow refuse to acknowledge that she was one of them.

The girl who had brought her clothes did not attempt to be friendly. There were two boys who stared at her, and a female cook who was unusually fresh looking and lithe of figure (it was Alysia’s experience that cooks were often overweight and out of sorts). There was a silent Egyptian who she learned was the butler; he gave her a solemn nod. Others drifted in and out. They were all quiet but looked at her curiously.

Afterward, Selena came and escorted her into the library, where she received an outline of her duties in stony silence. It seemed that her sole function in life was to be Selena’s shadow and to attend to her every need and comfort. She must always stand straight unless given permission to sit, must never speak unless spoken to, and she must always be at the beck and call of her owner. She was to see that Selena’s clothes were laundered and laid out each day; she was to help her dress; she was to be trained in the art of hairdressing so that she might create an enviable coiffure at a moment’s notice.

Now she sat listlessly as Selena slept with a volume of poetry on her chest that moved slowly up and down with her breathing. It was the Roman custom to nap in the afternoon, Selena had told her—wasn’t it that way in Greece? But Alysia must not even close her eyes… “unless, of course,” Selena said with a wink, “you think you can get away with it.” She’d been sleeping for a long time, and before that had read for a long time. Alysia was so bored she could have chewed up the book and spit it out. That should prove very entertaining!

From far away she heard the sound of the knocker at the front door and presently she saw the Egyptian, whose name she had learned was Omari, pass down the hallway. Selena stirred and sat up at the sound of voices.

Omari appeared in the doorway and bowed stiffly. “My lady, your sister-in-law has arrived.”

Before Selena could reply, a woman fanned into the room, her scarlet gown billowing and trailing the scent of a strong perfume. Omari disappeared on silent feet.

“Megara, what a lovely surprise,” Selena said, stifling a yawn.

The woman sat down, looking at Alysia without speaking. Selena followed her gaze and frowned disapprovingly. Alysia remembered she was to stand in their presence, unless given permission to do otherwise. She made a motion to rise and stopped, resentment flooding her once again. She pretended not to see Selena’s glance.

“Where is Phoebe?” Selena asked quickly, as Megara delicately arranged the folds of her palla about her.

“Sick—again! I left her at home.” Megara seemed disgusted by the absent Phoebe. “She’s the laziest slave I’ve ever seen and I may sell her to those Arabian merchants I saw in the forum today. It would serve her right, having to live in a tent and be in their—harems or whatever you call them.”

Selena giggled. Megara again cast a questioning eye in Alysia’s direction, and again Selena hastened to speak. “How is Paulus? I only saw him for a moment this morning. I spent yesterday with Cornelius’ family in the country.”

The other woman sighed. “I wouldn’t know. Probably I see less of my husband than you do.”

Alysia glanced up sharply, regarding the woman with more interest. From what the legate had said yesterday, she had assumed that Lucius was his stepbrother, and had mistakenly concluded that this woman must be Lucius’ wife. There was something about Megara that brought Lucius to mind—a kind of alert wariness that somehow made you feel you were not quite to be trusted. She didn’t seem suited to Paulus somehow, though she was very beautiful, with red hair (probably dyed) adorned with jewels set in a tiara, and large light brown eyes, almost topaz, which were rather cold and remote. She was taller than Alysia and quite old—at least in her late twenties.

She had a rich, throaty voice and spoke with precise enunciation. “I see you have a replacement for—what was her name?”

“Lydia. Yes, this is Alysia. Paulus got her for me yesterday.”

“Indeed?” Megara’s face became very still, but something in her eyes leaped into life.

Selena said, with deliberate nonchalance, “Paulus must have been much impressed. He despises slave auctions, you know, but I begged until he gave in. I don’t like to go myself, and I don’t trust anyone else. I expected him to buy the first one he saw, so I could hardly believe it when I saw she was so elegant, and such a beauty.”

Megara smiled. “How brotherly of him. I trust you didn’t pay more than a few hundred denarii?”

“He wouldn’t tell me, though I suspect it was much more than that. He gave her to me as a gift.”

For a moment, the other person Alysia had become hated them both, hated them so fiercely she thought she might lose her breakfast upon the white cushions of the couch. She almost wished she would, just to see their horror-struck expressions. They would certainly think her elegant then!

Why am I thinking this way? she asked herself, dismayed to realize how bitter she had become in so short a time. She jumped when Selena called her name. “Alysia, go and have Nerva prepare a tray of honey cakes.”

Alysia’s jaw tightened. She saw the contemptuous way Megara regarded her and, for some reason, this gave her the impetus to stand and walk stiffly from the room.

Megara watched her departure. The slave did have an uncommon beauty, and it was easy to see why Paulus had been attracted to her. It was not unusual for a man to free a female slave and set her up as his mistress. The wives of such men usually shrugged and pretended not to care, many really didn’t care, and promptly found lovers of their own. Never mind that Augustus had once made adultery a state crime; it was an old-fashioned statute that no one paid any attention to these days.

But Megara did not intend to share Paulus with a slave. She knew he’d had a few affairs, but always very discreetly and with ladies of breeding. Never let it be said that he preferred a slave to his own wife!

“She’s not very pleasant,” Megara said. “I shouldn’t think you’d want her.”

“Oh, she’s still indignant about losing her station in life. But she will recover. I remember Lydia was that way for a while.”

“If she’s proud, she’ll never make a good body-slave. You’ll do well to get rid of her and find some girl simple-minded enough not to care about a meaningless existence.”

“Meaningless—oh, really, Megara! We treat our slaves very well. If she’s loyal she can live a very good life, and I might even free her someday.”

Megara sighed. “She’s a troublemaker. I can tell simply by looking at her. If you change your mind my household manager will dispose of her for you, and even get you another maid.”

“No, thank you. I intend to keep her, if only because Paulus went to the trouble of finding her for me. Here she comes…”

Alysia returned with a tray prepared by the cook and passed it to the two women. She set the tray on a table and went to stand beside Selena, not knowing where to look, and finally focused her eyes on a painting of a woman covering the opposite wall. The woman’s almond-shaped black eyes stared blankly back at her.

The afternoon wore on. A trip to the theater was planned. There was a wedding to attend next week. The women discussed a chariot race to be held the following week—the chief attraction of which seemed to be one of the drivers, known for his handsome face and his skill on the track.

“I’m betting very heavily on him,” Selena said. “I swear he is a Hercules, Megara, and yet he handles those horses as if they were kittens!”

“I know, and he’s thoroughly conceited. I’ve met him.”

“Oh, Megara, do give a party and invite him! I’d give anything to meet him!”

“Dear, I wouldn’t have him at my table. Don’t you know his parents were slaves? Decius is having a banquet day after tomorrow. Tell him to invite your Hercules.”

“He wouldn’t either.” Selena frowned. “But I’ll find a way. Maybe Paulus can arrange it.”

“Do you think Paulus would introduce his precious sister to such a rascal? The man has a veritable stable of women.”

Selena was wide-eyed with curiosity and the conversation turned into a recital of names and places associated with the apparently tireless chariot-racer. Alysia was able to relax and listen with some interest, for her presence had been completely forgotten.

 

* * * *

 

A cool, if somewhat noisome breeze drifted in from the Tiber as the day arrived for Decius’ dinner party. He had had a profitable day collecting his rents and spent an enjoyable afternoon at the baths, and he was in a festive mood. Slaves had been cleaning and cooking since dawn. In the kitchen, waiting to be served course by course, were platters and silver trays of roasted pheasant, clams, mussels, assorted fruits and melons, baskets of smoking breads and dainty pastries, and pitchers of fragrant wine mixed with honey.

The Greek gardener had cut some of Antonia’s tall, vigorous roses, ranging in color from almost white to garnet, and they held various posts of honor throughout the dining room in delicate blue and white vases. In a darkened corner, three hired musicians plucked their instruments in a soothing cadence. Just outside the room, Selena gave instructions to Alysia, looking rather anxious. “There will be a steward overseeing things, and two boys serving the table. But Decius wants you to serve the wine.”

“Why?” Alysia asked, trying not to betray her own nervousness.

“Because you are beautiful, of course, and are a credit to his household. It’s a simple task, but you must be vigilant.”

“By that you mean that no one should have to ask for more—I should simply pour it.”

“Not only that, but before the pitchers are empty, send the boys back to get them filled. Don’t go into the kitchen yourself. It’s hot and you’d come back smelling of garlic and fish sauce.”

They entered the dining room and Alysia took her place beside the wine table. It was a long room, edged with marble pillars behind which were large square panels of varying colors. The floor was tiled in black and white, and the couches were covered in some heavily padded material the color of peaches. Bronze lamps hung in chains from the ceiling and burned with perfumed oil. The two serving boys were singing softly and moving nimbly about, setting out seasonings and little bowls of water and lemon.

Two senators were already present, with their wives. The men, Camillus and Laurentius, were elderly; their wives were considerably younger. Megara had arrived without her husband. Soon another man arrived, also a senator—middle-aged, overweight, his toga rumpled and his mostly bald pate edged with feathery wisps of gray hair.

Alysia began pouring wine; the fat man was drinking it as if it were water. Then Lucius arrived, with another man and two women who must be their wives. Lucius’ wife was attractive and plump with a quick, nervous air; the other woman was plain and hardly said a word. Alysia’s eyes widened when she looked again, for the second man was the very one she had kicked at the slave auction. Magnus apparently suffered from poor eyesight and failed to recognize her as he was seated, but Lucius was smirking in her direction and she felt certain he’d brought Magnus for some perverse reason of his own.

She tried to become part of the wall.

“Decius, when are you going to reveal the occasion?” demanded one of the guests, the drinking one, his huge girth pressed tight against the edge of his couch.

“No occasion, Eustacius! My genuine affection for you is the sole reason you are here tonight!”

The massive senator bellowed with laughter, as if that were quite a joke.

“Why, Father,” said Magnus. “I swear the only time I see you is at other people’s parties.”

“Seems so, my boy, seems so!” Eustacius yelled. He, apparently, suffered from poor hearing.

After a few more inanities, Decius turned the conversation to other topics … the dwindling water supply and whether or not the rains might be plentiful this winter, and did they think the Tiber might flood in the spring…Had they seen the repairs made to a basilica near the business district? An earthquake had damaged it years ago, surely the senators remembered…

“Megara,” said Senator Laurentius, when a brief silence fell, “I heard something about Paulus today that I hope you will speak with him about.”

“Indeed?” Megara asked cautiously.

“There are many who would like to see him elected consul. When we approached him about it he only said that consuls aren’t elected anymore—they’re selected , by Sejanus and Tiberius, in that order. You know how sarcastic he can be. But today there was some serious talk about it. I think that Tiberius would approve.”

Megara didn’t speak but her eyes were snapping with interest.

“My son is a little young for the consulship, isn’t he?” Antonia said, but she looked pleased. “He’s only thirty-one.”

“It might not happen for several years,” answered the senator. “We merely want him to start thinking along those lines. He needs to gain more political experience, though he does have some as city prefect. Besides, age is no longer a strict requirement. Things have changed somewhat, haven’t they? As his wife, Megara, perhaps you could convince him.”

Megara said slowly, “My husband loves the army. I fear he would never consider leaving it—at least voluntarily.”

“Of course, he could still command an army as consul. We like him in the Senate. We feel he could do a great service to Rome. Though there are those who would thwart us, Tiberius seems to hold him in favor.”

“Obviously you’ve forgotten how my stepbrother hates politics,” said Lucius boredly. “If he had his way he’d send the entire government into exile and start a new one. A republic, mind you. And would probably free all the slaves, too.”

The legate entered the room at that moment, and since he was looking at Lucius it seemed obvious he had heard the remarks. He still wore his uniform. He apologized for his tardiness, handed his mantle to one of the serving boys, and went to an ornate table in the corner to wash his hands.

“Isn’t that so, Paulus?” Lucius said, smiling coldly.

“Is it true that I hate politics? As much as I hate hypocrisy and pandering and unctuous speeches.”

“About the slaves , I mean.”

Paulus wiped his hands and eyed his stepbrother with mock gravity. “There are certain aspects of slavery I find objectionable, but a mass freeing of slaves would achieve nothing but chaos. Especially since they outnumber their owners twice over.”

Decius looked puzzled. “See here, Paulus, we couldn’t survive without—”

“Slaves,” muttered Magnus thickly, having partaken of the wine almost as liberally as his father. “And where is that vixen you bought the other day? Kicked me in the head, then before I could stand up straight she was gone.”

Paulus stood perfectly still, having just noticed Magnus, for that one had been slumping over his plate and was hidden by his father’s bulk. Everyone seemed to think they had misunderstood the remark. It was unfortunate that Eustacius chose that moment to demand more wine. Alysia had completely forgotten her task until he thumped his couch and bawled, “I say, more wine! Is your slave daft ?”

The dining room steward, a stout Thracian who had remained almost invisible all evening, suddenly froze and looked terrified. Selena grew pale and gestured at Alysia, whispering, “More wine for everyone.”

Magnus giggled. “Father’s beastly drunk!”

Alysia moved forward, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. But Magnus was peering at her, his eyes squinted, his nose wrinkled and his mouth open, and she knew with a sinking heart what he was about to say.

“That’s her—by Jupiter! She kicked me in the face!”

“Alysia?” Antonia cried. “When?”

“At the sale!” Magnus hiccupped and continued, “I hope you gave her a wall—walloping Legate!”

Alysia paused, but Selena nervously waved her on, and she began to pour the wine. Her hands shook, and as she filled Magnus’ cup the wine splashed against the sides and onto Magnus’ bejeweled fingers. He swore and shook them, flinging droplets across the table, then rose unsteadily from his couch and whipped his hand across her cheek.

Burning tears rushed into her eyes. Without thinking she tossed the entire contents of the pitcher into Magnus’ face, amid a chorus of horrified gasps. Magnus dropped back into his seat, spluttered, and shook his head like a wet dog. He grabbed Alysia’s hand in a surprisingly strong grip until she cried out and fell across the table before him. She had a blurred glimpse of his face coming toward her, and to her disgusted amazement he pressed a wet, loathsome bite upon her throat. She clenched both her fists and was about to send them flying against his ears when he was yanked abruptly from his couch. When Magnus could focus his eyes, he saw the legate towering over him with a dark scowl on his face.

“This is my mother’s house,” Paulus said evenly. “It is a house of honor, and you have assaulted the property of my sister.”

It was too much for Magnus. His eyes rolled in his head and he slid slowly to the floor, where he sprawled amid a pool of wine. His father had preceded him in slumber, having dropped his head into his plate immediately after demanding the refilling of his cup. His snores punctuated the music, which—after an uncertain pause—played serenely on.

Everyone stared at Paulus, who said with a heavy inflection of mockery, “I’ll leave him now to the ministrations of those who love him.” His eyes found Alysia, who had risen to a sitting position on the table. “Come with me.”

Lucius began, “The slave will have to answer for—”

The legate didn’t wait to hear the rest, striding from the room with Alysia reluctantly following behind. They crossed the atrium and entered one of the reception rooms at the front of the house. Lamps set into the walls burned dimly. Paulus turned and she saw that he was angry, but she couldn’t tell if his wrath was directed toward her or Magnus.

“Slaves have been killed for lesser offenses,” he said. “Perhaps you have a death wish?”

“Did you think I should have stood there while that—that jackal beat me? He’s not even human, he’s an animal!”

“From the moment he struck you, you should have assumed complete submission. I would have stopped him from doing any further harm.”

“How was I to know that? Would you stoop to defend a slave?”

“You have complicated a situation that was already—complicated.”

“Through no fault of my own!”

“You should not have done what you did.”

Alysia caught her breath and tried to speak calmly. “So I am to remain still, and do absolutely nothing, and allow myself to be abused or even killed?”

“As long as there is someone to defend you, yes. As I said before, slaves have been killed for doing less. In this household abuse of slaves is not tolerated.”

Alysia turned away from him, overwhelmed with a feeling of despair. “You don’t understand how—” she began, but no more words would come. It didn’t matter. She was only a piece of property to him, and he must protect his property. She said more clearly, “Perhaps I do have a death wish.”

“I suppose I don’t understand,” he said quietly. “But I cannot spend the rest of my life interceding in your behalf. Why do you inflict this misery on yourself? Why not accept what has happened? As a slave you have great value, and will be treated well. If you were free, where would you go? I happen to know that you have no family left. Have you any means to support yourself?”

“Do you know what happened to my father?” she asked suddenly.

He looked into her eyes. “I only know that he’s dead,” he answered in a low voice. “Felix had it written in his records. I don’t know—how. He was accused of treason.”

“A false accusation! My father was a good man.”

“Good men often die these days. I can only say I’m sorry.”

She turned her back and felt his hand on her arm. “Alysia,” he said.

When she heard him speak her name it was almost as if he’d done something kind and intimate, and it was too much to bear. She would rather he stayed angry with her. She refused to look at him and felt his hand tighten on her arm.

“Paulus?” A voice from the doorway broke the silence.

He turned slowly. “Come in, Megara. Alysia, go to my sister. She probably thinks I’ve killed you by now.”

“My dear husband, you did not look as if you were going to kill her,” Megara said flatly, giving Alysia a cold stare as she hurried out.

Alysia paused outside the door. She was frightened now, as the folly of what she had done began to be clear to her. She could be stripped and flogged, or worse, as a lesson to all. Listening hard, she heard only a murmur of voices. Down the long hallway, she could hear Magnus’ wife crying and the rumble of Decius’ deep voice speaking in conciliatory tones. She couldn’t go back there; someone else could pour the wine, and Selena didn’t need her. She went upstairs to Selena’s room and entered her own tiny chamber.

She sat for a long time staring at the wall. At last she heard Selena come in, moving about and then getting into bed and growing quiet. The fact that she didn’t say anything seemed far more ominous than had she flown in with screams and remonstrations.

Alysia slowly undressed and lay down on the bed. The legate would protect her, she thought. He was of high rank; he was prefect of the city. He took care of his property, and that of his family. Only that comforting thought allowed her to finally drift off to sleep.