by Nhys Glover
‘Listen to them, Titus, the plebs love him. And you swore they’d have the last say at these games.’ Her husband was supporting her now, as he always did. She sent him a mental kiss of gratitude.
Caesar nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then I’ll show benevolence and allow him to live, but cousin, he’ll have to become your wife’s slave.’ He turned to her and smiled magnanimously. ‘I give him to you, beautiful Livianna. You’ve saved his life. Now do with him as you will, short of freeing him.’
As always, there was no note of lechery in the Emperor’s tone, as he would have used with a lesser woman. Raised to honour Roman matrons, he gave them his utmost respect and deference. Having heard of his debaucheries, Livianna could only be grateful for these ingrained values. Had he not been educated in early Republican morality she would have been in Titus’ bed the moment he’d laid eyes on her, wife of his cousin or not. She gave thanks for small mercies.
While Titus turned away, his illness apparent once more, Livianna stared disconcertedly at her husband.
‘It would seem you have a new slave, my dear. Have you another daughter who needs rescuing?’
Sabinus was the love of her life but he had his faults. One was the pleasure he still gained from teasing her as mercilessly as he’d done when they were children. In this moment, when he reminded her of how she’d purchased Nexus right out of the arena, she wanted to hit him for making light of the situation. Two years ago, she’d sent Nexus in search of her daughter, who’d been hidden from her by the loathsome Fabius Festus. It had been one of the most soul-destroying periods of her life.
But instead of rising to the bait as her darling husband expected, she smiled benignly. ‘Who knows Titus, who knows. Only time will tell.’
Durnonovaria Town, BRITANNIA
Livia stepped down from the carrus and looked across at the hovel that passed as a tavern in the small settlement. It was little better than the hut she’d grown up in. Rough wooden benches lined the mud-packed outer wall, where customers sat under the cover of the thatched eaves drinking their fill.
It was still hot even this late in the day, and it looked as if they were in for an extended summer this year. The heat had brought out the thirsty locals by the dozen, and they now sat chatting and laughing over their horns of beer in the gathering shadows.
On one of the benches, a familiar figure sprawled. His huge black form dwarfed the seat and anyone who had the misfortune of sitting near him. Even after only two months, Livia could see the change in his body. Nexus was losing weight. Obviously, he was doing more drinking than eating.
Her heart went out to him, and the ache from the loss of her best friend nagged afresh at her. It had been six months since Niobe had died of a sudden fever but it still hurt. And her grief had reawakened more painfully two months ago when Nexus has finally returned from Africa to find his lover dead. Since then he’d been adrift in his grief. No one could reach him.
Livia had decided she needed to do something to arrest this self-destructive spiral. It had gone on too long. That was what had brought her to town today. She strode toward her hero heartsick to note that he didn’t even look up from his beer at her arrival.
‘Nexus. Will you please come back to the estate and take up its running. Allyn doesn’t have your skills. We need you.’
The Nubian’s handsome face finally turned up to her. His dark eyes were bloodshot, his skin clammy. There were hollows beneath his cheekbones that hadn’t been there two months ago. His hair was no longer trimmed back tight to his well-shaped skull, as had been his habit. Always the most meticulous of men, Nexus’ slovenly appearance now filled her with dread.
‘I will, I will. I just need a few more days to… to come to terms with… with Niobe. I’ll come to the estate at the end of the week,’ he mumbled, almost unintelligibly.
How long had he been drinking that day? Since he woke up? She shuddered.
‘You said that last month. It’s September and the harvest is almost done. We need you.’ She didn’t like to harp but she couldn’t do anything else. What she wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.
He wasn’t someone who gave up like this. The man who’d saved her from her murderous first husband wouldn’t give up like this. He’d fought the fiercest gladiator of the Roman arena and won. Surely he wouldn’t let Niobe’s death defeat him now?
‘I know… just a few more days, Livia. Please. I’m not ready.’
‘Niobe would hate to see you like this,’ she said, finally admitting defeat.
‘I let Niobe down by not being here when she needed me, so letting her down even more now seems irrelevant. I’m responsible for too many deaths, Livia. I’m so tired of being responsible.’
‘You’re not responsible for Niobe’s death. She was happy, healthy and looking forward to your return when she fell ill. There was nothing you could have done to save her. There was nothing I could do!’
‘I should have been here. I’m poison to everyone I touch…’
‘You saved me, Nexus. You aren’t poison…’ Her voice sounded small and pathetic, even to her own ears.
In that moment, she felt as insecure as she had when she’d first met him. Back then, she’d been his mistress and he’d helped to save her from his master, her diabolical first husband. He’d been sent to the arena and nearly lost his life for what he’d done for her back then. But he’d survived and gone on to help her escape the destruction of Pompeii. Both she and Allyn owed him everything. Couldn’t he see that?
‘Go away now, Livia. I’ll come to the estate in a few days. Go now, please.’
With heavy heart, she did his bidding.
CHAPTER TWO
14 September 81 CE, The Island of RHODOS
Galeria hurried along the cobbled streets of the inner city with Orpheus at her side, trying to stay in the shade of the buildings. It was nearing midday and the sun was fierce. Helios, or Sol as her own people preferred to call him, had been over-zealous in his attentions to them in the last few months. The unending heat this late in the season was crippling. She felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and wriggled as it tickled her clammy skin.
The Graecians believed that when Zeus took power for the Olympian gods he divided up the land between his children. Helios was not with them at the time and so missed out on his share. Later he demanded what was rightfully his and was awarded any land that rose from the sea. Then, an island beautifully arrayed in wildflowers and butterflies of all colours rose from the oceans of the Aegean and Helios happily accepted his prize, knowing he had the most beautiful place on earth to call his own. He shone his light on the island to show his divine favour from that time on.
Another tale told it slightly differently, having Helios fall in love with Poseidon’s daughter, the beautiful sea nymph, Rhode. He shone his light on her and the island rose from the sea. Helios and Rhode had many children, and later their grandchildren built the cities of Kamiros, Ialyssos and Lindos, and named them after themselves.
Of course, that was long ago and the cities built by the grandchildren of a god were not the grand places they once were. Not even the city of Rhodos was. It was no better than the fallen Colossos, the huge bronze statue of Helios, which had once stood overlooking the entrance to their harbour. Back then, it had been considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World. But an earthquake had felled that great monument hundreds of years ago, its remains left strewn around the harbour shore never to be removed, as decreed by the Oracle of Apollo. So now, the monstrous, green pieces of the fallen god littered the port, making for points of interest for travellers but adding nothing but more traffic hazards and a bittersweet reminder of past glory for the locals.
Yet even if Rhodos was no longer as great as it had been in the past, for Galeria it was still magical. Not for the manmade structures, but for the beauty of the natural world. That had not changed since the island rose from the sea covered in wild flowers and butterflies.
&nb
sp; Her family was lucky to own a small villa on the slopes of the hill on the outskirts of the city. It overlooked the aquamarine Aegean Sea and benefited from the cool etesian winds that came in from the north. If it required a long walk in the predawn darkness to get to their ludus every morning, it was worth it. After all, exercise was good for the body and mind. And the walk home in the late afternoons was always a time to be enjoyed, talking philosophy with her beloved father and anticipating the tasty meal Mater and Galerianna would have waiting for them when they reached their destination.
‘Little Potnia, you should have let me go to the agora this day. It is hot enough to fry eggs on the cobblestones!’ Orpheus grumbled in his deep voice that was oddly disconcerting for such a short man. But what the Greek slave lacked in height he made up for in width. He was as solid and muscular as a bull, his neck so thick it made his head look too small for his body.
Galeria giggled at the idea of frying eggs on the stones. ‘You’re funny, Orpheus. You should have been an entertainer instead of a house slave, and please stop calling me Potnia; I’m no goddess.’
‘Potnia means mistress or lady in my tongue, which is what you are to me. My little lady mistress.’ He grinned at her in his disarming way that left her unwilling to chide him further. He would do as he chose. He always did. And he had right from when he’d come into their service when they first moved to Rhodos ten years ago. Then she had truly been a ‘little’ girl of nine years. Now she was slightly taller than Orpheus was and at nearly twenty, was a woman grown. ‘Little’ no longer fitted her, just as ‘Potnia’ was a grossly exaggerated form of address for one such as her.
‘I needed to get out of the ludus,’ she said instead of further argument. ‘My students had all gone home for the day and I needed to stretch my legs. I feel so cooped up in that small, airless room and you know how much Pater loves the bean stew from the market. ’
‘You have more students than your father. You should have the big room, not him.’ Orpheus grunted as he swatted away a lazy fly that was hanging around his head.
‘I’m merely the litteratus, and the boy’s higher education that Pater provides is more important than what I do.’
‘The payment is the same. It is not what is taught that differentiates your classes; it’s that you teach mainly females and your father all males. Women are equal to men, so your father teaches, just as slaves are men, not mindless property, so why is that not reflected in their education?’
Galeria shot the slave a surprised glance. ‘Equal in mind but not in society. Be careful what you say in public, Orpheus. Rome doesn’t approve of those who talk of equality, either of men and women or of slave and master. Pater is always very careful how he phrases himself. You should do the same.’
‘I’m sorry, Little Potnia, I forget myself sometimes. You are wise to remind a foolish slave of the realities of the world in which he lives. Theories are one thing; realities are always another.’
Galeria hated to hear the bitterness in Orpheus’ voice and she hated that she had to be the one to put it there, but her father walked a fine line as a Sophist philosopher. So much of their beliefs, which had fitted perfectly with the values of the old Republic, were now at odds with Imperial Rome. The emperors regularly banished philosophers from Rome when they felt their ideas threatened their power base, and they thought nothing of having them executed if they continued to cause unrest. Her family had left Rome voluntarily when Vespasian had begun to banish offending Philosophers in ‘71, and they had not returned to the city since.
Just as they turned the last corner and finally met up with the wider street that led into the centrally located forum, a disturbance drew Galeria’s eye. Over at their edge of the forum in one of the outermost porticos, men were gathering – pushing and shoving – to get a better view of what was going on.
This wouldn’t have been remarkable as it was the spot often set aside for the mime performers, the lowest form of entertainment. It was the terrified screams that marked this as something different, something more ominous than a simple lewd and explicit mime performance. Orpheus was immediately on guard, drawing his short sword and attempting to step in front of Galeria. She wouldn’t allow it. Striding around him, she hastened closer to the disturbance.
Normally, an upper-class unmarried woman like her would avoid such situations, and if Orpheus had his way, that was exactly what she would do right now. But there was something about that scream and the men’s lecherous laughter that turned her blood cold.
As she strode toward the gathering, a sudden space was formed between the solid bank of male backs and through it, Galeria caught a glimpse of a tall girl-child being bent forward by a rough oaf as he tried to mount her from behind. The girl screamed and fought like a wildcat, her tunic torn from her body in the assault.
Before she could think better of it, Galeria waded into the crowd determined to save the girl from the violent assault. She was only half-aware that Orpheus had pushed in beside her clearing the way for her.
‘Stop this at once!’ she yelled loud enough to get over the male voices. For a moment, all fell silent as they took in the sudden and unexpected entry of another female into their midst. The silence lasted no more than seconds before she was ignored for more interesting pursuits.
That was when Orpheus slashed out with his sword, drawing blood from the men closest to his mistress. ‘My Mistress says stop! Do as you’re told, scum!’
That got their attention. The crowd backed away. The attacker stood up and turned to them, his uncovered erection suddenly going flaccid. The girl cowered away as best she could, still held by her rat’s nest hair by the oaf.
Another man stepped forward arrogantly, his clothing and ornately styled hair and makeup marking him as a mime. ‘Mind your business, woman! This is my slave. I do what I like with her. She won’t perform as she should so she’ll perform in other ways. I’ll get my money’s worth out of the worthless bag of bones one way or another!’
‘This is a public thoroughfare. Such behaviour is unseemly!’
‘You prefer I move it down the lane a way, Mistress? We can do that, can’t we men?’ He looked to his audience who now appeared less sure of their entertainment. They knew she was right, mime performances were lewd but they didn’t usually involve a real rape, slave or not. Some of them might even recognise her as the litteratus of their children.
‘I would prefer it that you let the girl go! If she’s so worthless to you then I’ll buy her. What is she worth? A sesterce? No more, surely!’
‘Two! I paid one for her in the market this morning. I was told she was a Parthian dancer but she won’t dance. So I’ll use her in other ways. Unless I get my money back with interest!’
‘Two it is!’ She removed two large brass coins from her pouch and held them out to the man. From the expression on his face, she knew she’d been duped. It was likely the girl had cost much less than a sesterce that morning, but Galeria didn’t care. Her blood was up and she wouldn’t stand for this kind of violence a moment longer, no matter what it cost to stop it.
‘Let her go!’ The mime told the oaf who still held the child. ‘I’ll give you your money back and more.’ He hastily slipped the brass coins Galeria gave him into his pouch and removed several ‘as’, which were small copper coins, instead. He threw them to the ground in front of the rapist. The man released the girl and lunged for the coins before those around him could do the same.
‘Her papers,’ Orpheus demanded, still holding his sword aloft in case any of the riffraff wanted to take issue with the end of their entertainment.
The mime pulled out a scrap of parchment and held it out to the slave as Galeria moved towards the girl. As the stifling heat and smell of tightly packed bodies cleared, Galeria was able to take her first full breath since the drama had commenced. She leaned over the fallen child to see if she was badly hurt.
‘Girl, do you understand me? You have nothing to fear now. You’re safe,’ she said clea
rly. But when she placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder to comfort and reassure her, the slave-girl scuttled away from her trying to draw her tunic up over the front of her body.
It was then that Galeria saw her mistake. This was no pubescent girl. What she had taken for a flat chest was in fact a butchered one. Angry red scars crossed her chest where breasts should have been. Thanking the gods that she hadn’t eaten anything since early morning, Galeria felt her stomach rebel. It took all her concentration to stop herself from dry retching at the sight.
‘Oh, by the gods, who did this terrible thing to you?’ she gasped out, drawing back a little in shock.
The bowed head suddenly jerked up and the most beautiful eyes Galeria had ever seen stared fiery daggers at her. ‘My last master didn’t like my sense of humour.’
‘Your sense of humour?’ Galeria was unable to make sense of this statement. Why would a master debase a slave’s value so badly because she had a poor sense of humour?
‘I laughed at his ridiculously small appendage.’
Galeria felt the blood rush into her cheeks and her already overheated body grew more so. ‘Oh, I see. Well, you’re safe now. I’ve bought you. No man will ever take you against your will again.’
‘But a woman might?’ The bitterly sarcastic reply confused her. Galeria didn’t understand what the girl meant, but when Orpheus puffed up in offense, she realised that her new slave had insulted her in some way.
Ignoring the affront, she continued to assure the girl of her safety. ‘No one will ever hurt you like this again. Can you stand?’
The filthy, ragged creature tried to lever herself off the ground, but after several moments of trying Galeria placed a stilling hand on her shoulder. This time she didn’t withdraw it when the girl tried to shrug her off.
‘Orpheus, can you carry this girl back to the ludus for me? I think there will be no bean stew for any of us this lunchtime.’
