Cleopatra’s Daughter

cosmetics shop. “She wants everyone to be as plain and ugly as she is.”

I noticed that Gallia kept silent, though secretly I was sure she agreed. “What about this shop?” Gallia asked.

“Are there paints?”

“Of every color.”

We went inside, and Julia wanted a name for everything. Suddenly I knew how Marcellus must have felt when we were riding into Rome and my brother and I had asked him question after question.

Julia held up a jar of ochre.

“For the lips,” I said. “Sometimes for the cheeks.”

She placed the jar on the counter. “What about something for the eyes? Like Terentilla.”

“Domina!” Gallia gasped. “Terentilla is—”

“A whore? I know,” she said brightly.

“But she’s married to Maecenas,” I protested. “How could she be—?”

“She was an actress. And we all know there’s not much difference between an actress and a lupa. But my father arranged their marriage.”

“To one of his closest friends? How can he—?”

“Oh, Maecenas isn’t interested in women. But he needed a wife, and my father needed an excuse for her to be near him.”

“Then why not marry her himself?” I asked.

“Terentilla? Because she doesn’t have a clan.”

“None at all?”

“Oh, I’m sure she has some clan. But they have no power to speak of. So what would he gain? But she’s beautiful, isn’t she? What do you think she uses for her eyes?”

I glanced warily at Gallia, whose look was disapproving. “Malachite,” I said slowly, “with antimony to line them.”

Julia gathered her purchases on the counter, and when the old man gave a total, Gallia exclaimed, “Nonsense! You are trying to overcharge.”

“So what?” Julia said. “My father has plenty of denarii to give him.”

Outside the shop, Julia passed her purchases to Gallia, who shook her head with deep misgivings. “We should hurry, Domina. The exercises will be over soon.”

“But what about Selene?” She turned to me. “Isn’t there anything you want to shop for?”

“I can’t. Alexander has our money.”

She waved her hand in the air. “You can send the bill to my father. He’ll never know who bought it.”

I smiled. “Perhaps in a few weeks I’ll get some new reed pens and ink.”

“That’s it?” Julia wrinkled her nose, but even when she made such an unbecoming gesture, she was beautiful. A hundred women were walking around us, but men’s eyes still lingered hotly in her direction. “What about the theater?” she demanded. “What will you wear?”

“Whatever Octavia gives me.”

Julia shook her head. “Absolutely not. We both need new tunics.”

“Domina!” Gallia protested faintly. “There is no time for that.”

“Then we’ll just purchase the fabric! No fittings,” she promised, and disappeared into the next shop before Gallia could protest further. Inside, bolts of beautiful cloth shimmered in the afternoon light. Silks in peacock blue, celadon green, and pewter gray were laid out among plainer fabrics of every hue. Julia held up a swath of gold silk against my skin. “This would be beautiful.”

“Domina Livia will never accept it,” Gallia warned.

“Livia doesn’t accept anything.” She glanced wickedly at me. “Let’s get it anyway. What can she do once we buy it?”

“She’ll take it back! An entire tunic of gold is not for the theater. And if Domina Octavia is offended, it will be the end of your shopping trips,” Gallia advised.

Julia hesitated. “Fine. Then this one.” She chose a bolt of violet silk that would go nicely with her dark skin, and while she arranged with the shopkeeper where to send the bill, I studied the riot of colors on display. Perhaps I should begin to add color to my drawings, I thought. Jars of red ochre and dazzling azurite were sitting entirely useless in my chests. I wasn’t allowed to wear them on my face, so why not use them as additions to my sketches?

As we left the shop, Gallia said sternly, “This is it. No more shopping anywhere. Understand?”

“Yes,” Julia said with a hint of mockery. We followed Gallia through the Forum Holitorium, where vegetables were being sold in stalls along the Tiber, and Julia babbled gaily about how I was going to dress her hair, and which colors would go best with her eyes. “Violet,” she decided, “to match our new tunics. I’ll have our tailor make them tonight, and tomorrow, when I come over we can—”

I stopped.

Julia looked behind her. “What’s the matter?”

In front of a towering column of the Forum, painted with graffiti and splattered with birds’ droppings, dozens of infants were lying in baskets. Some of them were wailing pitifully, others were holding up their arms to mothers who would never come. “What are these children doing here?” I cried.

“They’re foundlings.” Julia made to keep walking, but I remained. “You know,” she said in exasperation, “children who aren’t wanted.”

I looked to Gallia, who nodded sadly.

“You mean, they’re just left here, to die?”

Julia shifted uneasily. “There are wet nurses,” she pointed out. “That’s why they call this the Columna Lactaria.”

“But only some of the children are being fed!”

“Of course. How many wet nurses do you think there are who have nothing better to do with their day?”

I stared at the tired women who were leaning in the shade and doing their best to feed the crying infants. “But what about the others?” I asked.

“They die. They aren’t wanted, Selene.”

Gallia saw my look of horror, and added, “Not all of them. Some are taken as slaves, and others will go to lupanaria.”

“So how is that any better than death?”

Gallia said quietly, “Even in the most wretched life, there’s hope.”

Nothing like the Columna Lactaria existed in Egypt. There were herbs for women who wanted to be rid of pregnancies that happened while their husbands were at sea, and there were childless couples who were willing to adopt from unmarried mothers. Gallia took my arm and steered me away, but that evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about the abandoned children.

“What’s the matter with you?” Alexander asked testily. “You’re supposed to be helping me with Homer.”

I put away my schoolwork and took out my sketch book. I wasn’t in the mood for the Iliad.

“Selene, how am I supposed to do this alone?”

“You’ll manage. It’s not like we haven’t read it all before in the Museion,” I said flatly.

My brother stared at me. “Is this about the foundlings? Julia told me—”

“What?” I snapped. “That she didn’t look twice in their direction?”

Alexander held up his hands in a gesture for peace. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, you should. It was terrible, Alexander.” I blinked back my tears.

“There were children in baskets?” he asked.

“Everywhere. Just left out to die.”

“Surely not all of them—?”

“No. Some of them become slaves. And the unlucky ones end up in a lupanar.”

“The Romans have strange laws, don’t they?” he whispered.

There was a knock on the door, and I said angrily, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep.”