Household Gods

Best not get into that. So: nothing shameful. Even noticing that he wasn’t circumcised, or calling to mind that no one else she’d seen pissing in front of his shop was, either. Like the doors that swung on pegs rather than hinges, it wasn’t any better or worse than what she’d known before. It was just different.

Titus Calidius Severus went inside his shop, leaving Nicole to look after herself. He hadn’t even said good-bye. She didn’t know why that should matter, but it did.

6

She gritted her teeth, picked up the leg of mutton with its pendant fish, and lugged them into the odorous dimness of the tavern. The scent of wine and sweat, must and hot oil, garlic and herbs and unsubtle perfume, struck her like a wall. She clove her way through it.

Julia materialized out of it, imperturbably cheerful as ever, and fetched in the wine and the raisins and the scallions. As she came back in, Nicole asked her, “How are the children?”

“They haven’t been too bad, Mistress,” Julia answered, as willingly as always. If she’d been a babysitter in West Hills, Nicole thought, she’d have been booked from one end of the week to the other. “They’re using the pot more than they should, but I think they’re getting better. Are you all right?”

Nicole’s stomach rumbled alarmingly. She set her teeth and ignored it. “I’m not too bad, either.”

“You were lucky,” Julia said. “A lot of times, when people’s bellies gripe them like that, they keep on shitting and shitting till they die. That’s what happened to Calidius’ wife a few years ago, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Nicole said. Of course she didn’t, but from now on she would. Titus Calidius Severus hadn’t been two-timing anybody when he came visiting her, then — no, when he came visiting Umma. A point in his favor. Did it balance off that rude remark he’d made about women? Not even close, Nicole thought. That was exactly the attitude that she’d fled in the twentieth century. She’d prayed for a place that was free of it. Liber, Libera — what were you thinking? Couldn’t you understand what I meant?

They didn’t blast her where she stood, but neither did they answer. She was left where she’d been before, face to face with a monumental wall of male chauvinist piggery.

And he’d seemed so decent, too. A pleasant man. A nice man, as her mother in Indiana might have said.

“There ain’t no such thing,” Nicole snarled to nobody in particular. Nobody answered, or even seemed to notice that she’d spoken.

Snarl though she might, fact was fact. And men, it seemed, were men. Nicole dug fingers into a sudden fierce itch in her scalp. Damn, it was getting worse. She needed a shower, shampoo — even a bath would do. All over. In hot water.

Tomorrow was ladies’ day in the baths. She’d live till then. Maybe.

Julia’s voice startled her out of her funk. “Business was good while you were gone, Mistress,” Julia said brightly, “and I got a couple of dupondii for myself. May I keep them?”

Had she slipped her hand in the till? Had she snaked out a good deal more than a couple of dupondii and claimed the smaller amount, hoping Nicole wouldn’t notice? Listening to her, looking at her, Nicole didn’t think so. Her tone was eloquent. She’d asked because she might get in real trouble if she kept the dupondii without asking, but she didn’t think Nicole could possibly say no.

Nicole couldn’t see any good reason to refuse. “Yes, go ahead. That’s more than you got from Ofanius Valens yesterday morning. How did you do it?”

“Usual way,” Julia said with a smile and a shrug. The smile had an odd edge to it, but nothing Nicole could lay a finger on. “Customers thought I was nice.”

“All right,” Nicole said. “Here, will you take the hide off this leg of mutton while I tend to the rest of the things I bought?”

“Of course, Mistress,” the slave replied.

I have to set her free as soon as I can, Nicole thought again. The Romans don’t have paper, right? So how bad can the paperwork be?

As Julia went to get a knife for the mutton, she said over her shoulder, “Oh — Mistress, I almost forgot. Your brother stopped by while you were gone to market. He said he’d come back another time.”

“Did he?” The words were entirely automatic — they didn’t have anything to do with any rational thought processes on Nicole’s part. Up till this moment, she hadn’t known she, or rather Umma, had a brother. Up till this moment, she’d never had a brother. Two sisters, yes; a brother, no. She supposed she had to make the best of it. “If that’s what he said,” she said, she hoped not too lamely, “that’s what he’ll probably do.”

Julia nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. Brigomarus is always very reliable.” Now Nicole not only had a brother, she knew what his name was. That helped. If only she’d be able to recognize him when he walked through the door…

Julia skinned the leg of mutton with nonchalant competence. Nicole was sure she couldn’t have done it half so neatly. She’d never had to try anything like that before — but she was going to have to learn. Another survival skill in this world without supermarkets, like pissing in a chamberpot and haggling in the market. Next time, she decided, I do it myself.

While Julia worked, Nicole checked the cash box, doing her best not to be too obvious about it. Julia saw her doing it even so. The slave went right on with her task. Even as an ordinary employee, she wouldn’t really have had any grounds for complaint. As a slave, she doubtless could land in very hot water if she got out of line.

Nicole didn’t like the small stab of relief — almost of approval — that accompanied the thought. It was the same less than laudable gut reaction and the same tardy pang of guilt that she’d felt when she saw a police car patrolling a Latino neighborhood while she was driving through it. She didn’t want to be glad the cops came down harder on poor minorities than on affluent whites — but just at that moment, she couldn’t help it. She was glad.

Lucius came running down the stairs, pulling a toy cart on the end of a leather thong. It squeaked almost as much as a real one. By the way he squealed laughter, he wasn’t at death’s door or anywhere close. All the same, Nicole asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mother, thanks,” the boy answered, as carelessly as if he hadn’t had the galloping trots in the middle of the night. Kids, Nicole thought, half in amazement, half in envy. Lucius was kind enough to add, “Aurelia’s fine, too.”

“That’s good,” Nicole said. Even so, she snagged him as he loped on by, and felt his forehead. Normal. He was grubby, too, but there wasn’t much she could do about that on short notice. “If you are feeling fine,” she said, “I have a job for you. Would you help me put the groceries away? Here, I got some raisins, and some scallions. Put them where they belong, will you please?”

As clever stratagems went — Nicole had no idea where either item belonged — it was about as successful as she might have expected. “Oh, Mother,” Lucius said with the indignation of a child in any country, in any time, faced with the adult insistence on doing something useful instead of running around making a nuisance of himself. Nicole armed herself for battle, but he amazed her: once he’d registered his complaint, he did as he was told. Maybe he was afraid he’d get whacked if he didn’t. Maybe he was just a good kid.

By what Nicole had seen here, anybody in Carnuntum would have loudly maintained that those last two notions had something in common. She didn’t care what anybody in Carnuntum would maintain. She didn’t believe it, not for a minute.

Lucius scratched his head. The gesture was as contagious as a yawn. Nicole gave in to the irresistible urge to scratch. Her scalp — no, Umma’s scalp: it wasn’t her fault — never stopped itching, any more than her tooth stopped aching or her heart stopped beating.

Lucius stopped suddenly and let out a very grown-up grunt of satisfaction. He reached up and squished something between the fingernail of one hand and the thumbnail of the other. Nicole’s stomach did a slow lurch that had nothing to do with the water she’d drunk the day before. “Lucius!” she said sharply. “What was that?”

He grinned. “Louse,” he said, wiping his hands on his tunic. He sounded insufferably pleased with himself.