'I did. As I serve his successor today, Julius Trevillus.'
Another survivor, I think. Armies march, empires topple, and slaves serenely persist. 'You were the cook?'
'I commanded the house staff.'
'Except for the maidservant of lady Valeria, the slave Savia.'
Marta shrugs in dislike, saying nothing. She's wearing a simple wool workstola fastened by a copper brooch in such a way as to give a glimpse of her breasts and the valley between. It makes me wonder which lover gave her the brooch.
'You were satisfied working for the praefectus and his lady?'
'They did me no harm.'
'What was their relationship?'
She looks at me as if I'm simple. 'Married.'
'Yes, of course, but how close were they? As people? As man and woman?'
She laughs. 'They were married! Familiar but formal, like any highborn couple. Stiff as statues, that's what aristocrats are. Cold as marble. The Romans work at it. Marcus was decent enough but more scholar than soldier, dull as a scroll.'
I take this metaphor as evidence she's illiterate. 'He wasn't interested in love?'
'What do you mean by love?' Her smile is a little wicked. 'His sword wasn't just for her scabbard, if that's what you're getting at. A praefectus is a busy man, but he's still a man. Like you.'
'So you lay with him.' I know how common this is.
'Like any master, he sampled his property. But it was for relief as much as pleasure, if you understand the difference.'
I nod, gloomily conceding that Marta too knows the difference, and knows entirely too much about those she serves. A slave is the most complicated of belongings. Owned and yet owning, subservient and yet vital. Many are mirrors of their masters, as vain or clever or base or indifferent as the Romans who bought them. They know us intimately, learn our weaknesses, and flatter, cajole, and abide. In ancient days Oriental slaves died with their owners, and what a splendid system that must have been: their master's secrets died with them. In these modern times, slaves have become outrageously expensive, truculent, proud, and indiscreet. So difficult is it to find a good slave that some landowners are actually experimenting with freed labor. This is what we've come to! And as I muse about their abject class, I think of Savia again, whether her comfort as companion would be worth her trouble as slave…
Scolding myself for letting my mind wander, I come back to it. 'And you knew Galba Brassidias as well?'
'He was the senior tribune.'
'No, I mean, did you know him personally? Lie with him as well?'
'I did.' There is no embarrassment in her answer.
'And was he good at showing his interest?'
A smile again. 'Galba was a man of strong appetites.'
'He liked women?'
'He desired them.'
Of course. These distinctions are important. 'Did he desire more than you?'
She knows where this is going. 'Undoubtedly.'
'And acted on it?'
'He was a man who acted on everything.'
I take a breath, finally getting to the point. 'And did Galba desire the lady Valeria?'
She laughs again, short, sharp. A sardonic smile, a bittersweet memory. 'You could warm yourself by his heat. And as she made herself the little queen of the Petriana, all of that energy turned on her.'
My guess is confirmed. This emotional Galba, this womanizing Galba, doesn't sound like the enigmatic senior tribune that others have described. 'And yet he concealed this from others.'
'Galba concealed everything from others.'
And by so doing, I ponder, concealed it even from himself. Lied to himself. And was tormented by his twin desires to possess Valeria and destroy her. This is my theory, anyway. 'I'm told she was very beautiful.'
'The most beautiful woman most men at that post had ever seen.' There's no rivalry or regret in that statement, simply an expression of fact. No slave is going to compete with a senator's daughter, and Marta knew it.
'I've been interviewing soldiers about the time that Marcus and the Petriana attacked the druids in the grove. He left Galba in command of the fort.'
'Yes. He wasn't just dull, he was stupid.' It's an arrogant observation for a slave to make, but she senses I value candor. Besides, she's probably had sex with half the surviving officer corps and has allies I can merely guess at.
'Did Galba visit the lady Valeria while Marcus was leading the strike on the druid's grove?'
'He did, inquiring about her health and how well she was settling in. It was unusual for him to do so, for he cared little for the feelings or opinions of others. It was also amusing to see him less commanding: more human, out of his armor and away from his men. She was cool, properly reserved, but when he told Valeria that he'd found her a horse, she changed from Roman matron to excited girl. He said he was planning to canter between the fossatum and the Wall and invited her to come along.'
The fossatum, I have learned, is the ditch and dike and road behind the Wall to the south. The space between, a bowshot wide, is the military zone. 'She agreed?'
'Immediately. Galba was shrewd. He'd found Valeria's weakness.'
'Her weakness or her desire?'
'They're the same thing, don't you think?'
XXI
I'm having the senior tribune to supper, Marta.'
Valeria's eyes were bright, her skin pink and shiny, her hair curled at its edges from the sweat of her ride. Her breasts were still rising and falling in visible animation, not from shortness of breath but from excitement.
It amused the cook because she knew how the senior tribune could ignite a woman. It wasn't Galba's looks, it was his intensity.
'Your husband is still on campaign, lady?' Marta asked innocently.
'Yes.' Realizing his omission sounded improper, Valeria elaborated. 'I'm hoping to improve relationships with the senior tribune. Galba has been generous to us, and now I wish to be generous to him.'
'Of course.' Marta gave a slight bow. 'Something ambitious for supper, then. A hot sauce for roast venison, perhaps. Sweet wine cakes.'
'Yes, and those peas you make.'
'Vitellius. With the essence of anchovy.'
'Exactly. All of it served with a good wine.'
'I think you enjoyed your outing, my lady.'
In truth the ride had been magnificent. Galba had shown her how to handle the harsh cavalry bit and allow her body to bind itself to the saddle, flowing with its rhythm. Then they'd ridden very fast, he on his black stallion Imperiurn and she on the white mare she'd first spotted in the stables and dubbed Boudicca, after the Celtic warrior queen. Because Hadrian's Wall commanded the high crest of this part of Britannia, the space between it and the fossatum dike and ditch undulated with the topography, dipping precipitously into narrow gaps and steeply climbing the next promontory. They'd galloped this hilly course like the wind, plunging recklessly down one slope and surging up the next, her horse's muscles rippling under her thighs with equine power. It was an exhilarating pounding that had left her breathless. Galba, saying little, had kept a watchful eye, pointing out hazards and leading her through thickets she wouldn't have dared thread through herself.
His company had been flattering. The ride had been release.
