Roman blood rsr-1

by Steven Saylor

  A slave answered the door, a tall, muscular young man who looked more like a bodyguard or gladiator than a doorkeeper. His manners were disgustingly servile. He never stopped smiling, bowing and nodding as he led us to a low divan in the gaudily appointed anteroom. We had to wait only a few moments before the proprietor himself arrived.

  My host presented an appearance of roundness in all his aspects, from his belly to his nose to the balding crown of his head. What little hair remained had been industriously oiled and coiffed, and his jowls were grotesquely powdered and rouged. His taste in jewellery seemed as overwrought as his taste in furnishings. All in all he presented the spectacle of an Epicurean gone to seed, and his attempts to recreate the air of a Levantine brothel bordered on parody. When the Romans attempt to mimic the East, they seldom succeed. Grace and true luxury cannot be so easily copied, or purchased wholesale.

  'Citizen,' he said, 'you come at an unusual time of the day. Most of our clients arrive closer to sundown. But all the better for you — you shall have your choice of the girls, with no waiting.

  Most of them are sleeping now, but I shall happily rouse them from their beds. That's how I find them most attractive myself, newly risen, still fresh and fragrant with sleep, like morning roses moist with dew.'

  'Actually, I had a specific girl in mind.'

  'Yes?'

  'She was recommended to me. A girl called Elena.'

  The man stared at me blankly and took his time answering. "When he spoke I detected no guile, only the sincere forgetfulness of a man who has bought and sold so many bodies over the years that he cannot be expected to remember them all. 'Elena,' he said, as if it were a foreign word whose definition he could not quite recall. 'And was she recommended to you recently-, sir?'

  ‘Yes. But it's been some time since my friend last visited her. He's away from Rome, busy at his country estates. Business affairs keep him from visiting the city, but he writes to me with fond memories of this Elena, saying he wishes he could find a country woman whose caresses could satisfy him even a fraction as well.'

  'Ah.' The man touched his fingertips together, pursed his lips, and seemed to count the rings on each hand. I found myself staring at the painting on the opposite wall, in which Priapus paid court to a band of naked courtesans, all of whom seemed appropriately awed by the overgrown stalk that rose rampant from between the god's legs.

  'Perhaps you could describe this Elena.'

  I thought for a moment, then shook my head. 'Alas, my friend makes no mention of her appearance, oddly enough. He only gives me her name, and a guarantee that I won't be disappointed.'

  My host brightened. 'Ah, well, I assure you that I can make the same guarantee for any of my girls.'

  'Then you're certain you have no Elena?'

  'Actually, the name is familiar. Yes, I seem to remember the girl, dimly. But I'm sure there's been no Elena here for quite some time.'

  'But what could have happened to her? Surely your girls are healthy.'

  'Of course they are; I've never lost a girl to illness. She was sold, as I recall — to a private citizen, not to a rival house,' he added, as if to forestall me from searching for her elsewhere.

  'A private citizen? My friend will be disappointed to hear it. I wonder if I know the buyer — perhaps there's some joke afoot behind my back. You couldn't tell me who the man was?'

  'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly recall any details without consulting my accountant. And I should tell you that as a matter of policy I never discuss the sale of slaves except with a prospective buyer.'

  'I understand.'

  'Ah, here, Stabius is bringing a selection now. Four beautiful girls. Your only problem will be deciding which you want most. Or perhaps you'll insist on two at once. Or perhaps you'll want to try all four, one after the other. My girls turn even ordinary men into satyrs, and you, sir, look like no ordinary man to me.'

  Compared to the brothels of Antioch or Alexandria, my host's initial offering was disappointingly humdrum. All four were brunettes. Two of them struck me as ordinary, almost homely, though for men who look only below the neck they possessed ample charms. The other two were attractive enough, though neither was as beautiful as the widow Polia, or at least as beautiful as the young widow must have been before her face was scarred by suffering. All four wore sleeveless coloured gowns of a fabric so clinging and sheer that only the finest details of their bodies remained a mystery. My host touched the youngest and prettiest on the shoulder and ushered her forward.

  'Here, sir, I offer you the tenderest bud in my garden, my newest, my freshest blossom: Talia. As pretty and playful as a child. But already a woman, have no doubt.' He stood behind her and gently lifted the gown from her shoulders. It parted down the middle and for a brief moment she was displayed to me nude, her head bowed and her eyes averted. Behind me I heard Tiro gasp.

  The brothel master gently fondled her breasts and ran his fingers down to her abdomen. I watched the gooseflesh rise from the downy skin below her navel. 'She blushes, you see — what a colour it gives her cheeks. Talia blushes in other places as well, too delicate to mention.' He covered her up. 'But despite her girlish modesty, I assure you she is shameless in bed.'

  'How long has she been with you?'

  'Oh, not long at all, sir. Only a month. Almost a virgin still, and yet astonishingly skilled with every orifice. Her mouth is especially talented—'

  'I'm not interested.'

  'No?'

  'I had my heart set on Elena.' My host clenched his teeth.

  'Still, if she isn't here, then bring me your most experienced whore. I care nothing about looks. These girls are too young to know what they're doing; I've no interest in children. Bring me your most veteran whore. Show me a fullblown woman, a hot-blooded woman, no stranger to every imaginable scheme of love. And she must speak passable Latin. Exchanging words is half my pleasure. Is there such a woman in the House of Swans?'

  My host clapped his hands. The slave called Stabius ushered the girls out of the room. Talia, the young blossom whom our host had unveiled for us, who had blushed and looked away with such conviction, covered her mouth with her hand as she left, yawning.

  'Stabius!'

  The slave turned back. 'Stabius, bring us Electra.'

  The woman called Electra took her time. When my host at last announced her, I knew at once that she was the woman I wanted.

  Her hair was her most striking feature, a great mass of black tresses accented with a spray of white at each temple. She wore her makeup with a skill attainable only by years of practice; my host might have done well to take lessons from her. If her features were too bold to be called delicate, if her skin was no longer pristine, still, under the soft light of the atrium, one could say with complete conviction that she was beautiful. With age she had earned the dignity to wear a gown less revealing than those of the younger girls, a loose, long-sleeved white robe belted with a sash at the waist. The curves of her hips and breasts were alluring enough without being glimpsed through gossamer.

  There is at least one such woman in every brothel, and in those cities dedicated to the specializations of pleasure one may find entire houses of them. Electra was the Great Mother. Not the mother of a grown man, but the mother one remembers from childhood; not old but wise, with a body neither lean and girlish nor old beyond beauty, but fulsome, primed, nourishing.

  I glanced at Tiro and saw that he was quite astonished by her. She was not the type of woman he was likely to meet very often in the service of a master like Cicero.

  I stepped aside with my host and negotiated. Naturally he wanted too much. I fretted again over the missing Elena. He grimaced and lowered his price. I demurred. He lowered his price again. I acquiesced. I instructed Tiro to pay him. He handed over the coins with a look of shock, whether because he thought the price extravagant (especially coming from his master's account), or because he realized what a bargain I had made, I couldn't tell.

  Electra turned to lead the wa
y to her room. I followed and gestured for Tiro to come along.

  Tiro seemed startled. So did my host.

  'Citizen, citizen, I had no idea you intended to take the boy along with you. Of course there must be a surcharge.' 'Nonsense. The slave goes where I go.' 'Sir—'

  'The boy is a slave, mere property. You might as well charge me for taking along a pair of sandals. I was led to believe this was a comfortable establishment. Of course, I was also led to believe that I would find a certain girl here—'

  My host turned the coins in his hand. Then jingling added to the clacking of the rings on his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, smacked his lips, and turned aside.

  Electra's room was nothing like the vestibule and hallways. I suspected she had decorated it herself; it had the unerring simplicity of Greek taste and the comfortable feeling of a room long lived in. She reclined on a long, wide divan. There were two chairs. I motioned to Tiro to sit on one. I sat on the other.

  She smiled and laughed quietly, perhaps thinking we were shy, or pretending to be. 'It's more comfortable here,' she said, smoothing her hand over the well-worn fabric of the divan. Her voice held only the trace of an accent.

  'I'm sure it is. But I want to talk first.'

  She shrugged knowingly. 'Of course. Would you like me to undress? I glanced at Tiro, who was already blushing. ‘Yes,' I said. 'Take off your gown while we talk. Do it slowly.'

  Electra stood. She brushed her hair back and reached behind her neck to undo the clasp. Behind her, on a small table beside the divan, I spotted a tiny hourglass. Its upper chamber was full; the sand flowed freely. She must have turned it when we came into the room, so smoothly I hadn't noticed. Electra was a true professional.

  'Tell me about Elena,' I said.

  She hesitated for only a heartbeat. 'You are a friend of hers? A client?' 'No.'

  'How do you know her?' 'I don't.'

  She seemed amused. "Then why do you ask me about her?' The gown slipped easily from her shoulders and gathered in folds about her waist, trapped by the sash. Her flesh was surprisingly smooth and firm. Against her pale nakedness I noticed the jewellery she wore, silver bangles about her wrists and a slender necklace that defined a sumptuous curve above her breasts. Though she might not own them, obviously she had chosen the ornaments herself. Again her taste eclipsed her master's.

  She seemed to make a point of ignoring Tiro, which left him free to stare at her. He watched with a kind of helpless intensity, his hps pursed and his eyebrows drawn together as if he might be in pain.

  'Perhaps you should simply answer the question. I've already paid for you, after all. Displease me and I shall complain to your master, demand my money back. Perhaps he'll beat you.'

  She laughed out loud. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'And neither do you.' She picked up a comb and a small mirror from the table and sat on the bed, gazing at her reflection and combing her hair. She was really quite extraordinary. My host should have demanded twice his starting price.

  ‘You're right. I only said that to titillate the boy.'

  She looked away from her mirror only long enough to arch an eyebrow at me. ‘You have a wicked mind. I think we're wasting time, talking like this.'

  I shook my head. 'Tell me about Elena. When did she leave?'

  'Some time in the autumn. Before winter.' 'September, perhaps?'

  'Yes, I think so. Yes, it was just after the Roman Festival. I remember because the holidays always bring in so much business. That would be late September.'

  'How old is Elena?'

  'A child.'

  'As young as Talia?'

  'I said a child, not a baby.'

  'And what does she look like?'

  'Very pretty. One of the prettiest girls in the house, I always said. Quite blonde, with skin like pale honey. I think her parents may have been Scythians. She had quite a beautiful body, very sumptuous for her age, full-breasted with wide hips and a tiny waist. How vain she was about her tiny waist!'

  'Did she have a special client? A man who seemed to care for her in a special way?'

  Electra looked at me uneasily. 'Is that why you're here?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are you a friend of that man? What is his name, Sextus?' 'Yes, that was his name. No, I was not his friend.' 'You speak as if he's dead.' 'He is.'

  She put the comb and mirror in her lap. 'And Elena? Was she with him when he died? Do you know where she is now?'

  'I know nothing at all about her, except what you can tell me.'

  'She was a lovely girl. So delicate.' Electra looked suddenly very sad, and very beautiful. After a moment she took up the comb and the mirror again. 'She was not here for that long a time. A year, I think. The master bought her at auction at the temple of Castor, along with a half-dozen other girls, all the same age and colour. But she was the special one, even though he never saw it.'

  'But Sextus saw it.'

  'The old man? Oh, yes. After the first time, he came at least once every five or six days. Towards the end he sometimes came every other day.'

  'The end?'

  'After she became pregnant. Before she left.’ 'Pregnant? Who was the father?'

  Electra laughed. This is a brothel, in case you had forgotten. Not every client is satisfied simply to watch a woman comb her hair.' She shrugged. 'In a place like this a girl never really knows which man it might have been, though some girls like to have fantasies. It was Elena's first time. I told her how to get rid of it, but she wouldn't. By rights I should have told the master.'

  'But you didn't. Why not?'

  'I told you, Elena was so lovely, so delicate. She wanted the baby very much. I thought to myself, if she can hide it from the master long enough, he'll have to let her have it, even if he won't let her keep it.'

  'But Elena told someone besides you. Some girls have fantasies, you say. What was her fantasy?'

  Her eyes flashed with anger. 'You know already. I can tell by the way you ask.'

  'I know only what you tell me.'

  'All right. She told the old man, Sextus, that she was pregnant. She told him that the baby was his. And the fool believed her. Men that age sometimes want to make a child very badly. He had lost his son, you know; he talked to her about it constantly. Perhaps that's why she knew he would believe her. Who knows, perhaps it really was his child.'

  'And how would this help Elena?'

  'How do you think? It's what every girl in a house like this dreams o£ at least until she learns better. A rich man falls in love with her, buys her from the master, takes her into his household. Or perhaps he even sets her free and settles her in her own apartment, where she can raise her baby as a citizen. In her wildest fantasies he might even recognize the bastard, make it ~ an heir. One hears of such miracles. Elena was still young enough to dream like that.'

  'And how did her dream end?'

  'Sextus promised he would buy her and set her free. He even spoke of marrying her. So she told me. I don't think she imagined it.'

  'And then?'

  'He simply stopped coming. Elena put on a face for a while, but she was beginning to show the child, and the days kept passing. I held her in my arms when she wept at night. The cruelty of men…'

  'Where is she now?' "The master sold her.' 'To whom?'

  'I don't know. I thought perhaps it was Sextus who bought her, after all. But you say he's dead — and you know nothing of Elena.'

  I shook my head.

  'They came for her, at the end of September. With no announcement, no preparation. Stabius came bursting in, saying she was to gather up her clothes. The master had sold her and she was to leave at once. She trembled like a kitten. She cried from happiness, and I cried with her. She didn't bother to take any of her things, she said that Sextus would buy her finer things. I followed her down the hall. They were waiting for her in the vestibule. I knew when I saw them that something was wrong. I think she knew it too, but she tried to hide it. She gave me a kiss, and she smiled as she walked out ofthe door w
ith them.'

  'Not Sextus,' I said. 'Sextus Roscius was dead by then.'

  'No, not the old man. Two men. I didn't like the look of them. Neither the big blond one nor the one with the limp.'

  I must have made some noise or sign without realizing it. Electra stopped brushing her hair and stared at me. 'What's wrong? You know him — the man with the limp?'

  'Not yet.'

  She laid down her brush and stared at me with smouldering eyes. 'What sort of puzzle is this? Do you know where Elena is or don't you? Do you know who bought her?'

  'I told you before. All I know of Elena is what you tell me.'

  'That's a lie,' she said.

  Tiro squirmed in his chair. I think he had never heard a slave talk in such a way to a citizen.

  'Yes.' I nodded. 'It is a lie. There is one thing I know about Elena; it's why I'm here. I'll tell you. On the night that Sextus Roscius was killed — not far from here, Electra, only a few steps up the street — on that night he was at a dinner party in the house of a great noblewoman. Caecilia Metella: have you ever heard the name? Did Elena ever mention it?'

  'No.'

  'It was after dark when a messenger came. He brought a written

  message for Sextus. It was from Elena, urging him to come at once to the House of Swans.'

  'Impossible.'

  "Why?'

  'Elena couldn't write.'

  'But perhaps someone else in the house could.'

  'Stabius can, a little. And the clerks, but we never see them. It doesn't matter. Sending a message to a wealthy man, fetching him like a dog from a great matron's house — Elena was a dreamer, but she wasn't mad. She would never have done such a thing, certainly not without asking my advice.'

  'You're certain?'-

  'Absolutely.'

  I nodded. I looked at the hourglass. There was a considerable amount of sand remaining. 'I think we've talked enough,' I said.

  It was Electra's turn to check the hourglass. She closed her eyes for a moment. The agitation and anxiety slowly vanished from her face. She stood and unbelted the sash at her waist. 'Only one other thing,' she said softly. 'If you should hear news of Elena and the baby, would you let me know? Even if the news is bad. You wouldn't need to see me again if you didn't want to. You could simply have a slave leave word with Stabius. He would see that I received the message.'