The Flavian Amphitheatre was paid for by Vespasian’s booty from the Judaean wars. It took ten years to build, required a whole new quarry to provide its travertine marble fittings and facings, remained incomplete when its venerable founder passed away and was formally opened by his son Titus. The enormous and iconic gift to the people of Rome would one day be known as the Colosseum because of an adjacent hundred-foot bronze statue of Nero, which stood in the vestibule of the Golden House. All memory of Nero was being obliterated in Rome so Vespasian had added a sunray crown to reconfigure the gigantic figure as a tribute to Sol Invictus, the undying sun. He was not a man to waste anything expensive. So in his ever-genial way, he set a precedent that statues to an emperor who was damned to the memory — written out of history for abominable crimes — should be recycled. Vespasian had probably not envisaged that one day the head of the Emperor Nerva would replace that of his own son Domitian.
Since the amphitheatre was slathered in many other statues, sculptors were happy; their agents and middlemen, who took the larger share of their fees, wore even bigger smiles. When Titus dedicated the arena after the fire, suppliers of exotic animals and gladiators enjoyed a smackeroo bonanza. The opening games lasted around a hundred days, with nine thousand wild beasts slain in the process — together with some humans. The knock-on effects as obscene profits were splurged would bring joy for years to bankers, builders, silver- and goldsmiths, gourmet chefs, marble importers, traders in silks and spices, providers of carriages with expensive coachwork, undercover betting agents, suppliers of performing dwarves, and everyone in the multiple branches of the sex trade.
Less obvious was that a hundred days of public partying were a boon to hairdressers. Every woman who disported in the spanking new seats, and many men too, wanted to look smart. Although some relationships would break apart under the strain of so much enjoyment, numerous other pairings were begun, developed or cemented, during the arena games. This required endless work with curling irons, colours and conditioners, wigs, toupees and topknots.
Though still a young girl, Flavia Lucilla worked hard while she had that chance. She earned good money. She even won more, because one day when she was sprucing up imperial locks that had drooped in the hot sun, her quick fingers managed to grasp and hold one of the gift balls that Titus flung into the crowd; some were for clothing or food, but hers gave a cash prize. At the same time, she established a presence, gained her confidence, and acquired clients who would stay faithful to her throughout her working life. Titus’ inaugural Games left her just about safe financially, although immediately beforehand — during the few months after she went to the vigiles — her life had been perilous and maturity dropped on her abruptly.
The first shock was the unexpected loss of her mother. Lucilla had furiously planned a break with Lachne straight after her interview with Gaius Vinius, but a quarrel was pre-empted by the fire raging so close to where they lived. She found Lachne hysterically running up and down stairs from their apartment and loading their possessions onto a cart sent by her lover, Orgilius. Smoke filled their street, yet members of the vigiles were telling everyone to wait, though to be ready to evacuate if the fire crossed the Via Flaminia. It never did. People disobeyed the orders anyway.
Lucilla deferred her quarrel. She helped Lachne load the cart, then struggle through the crowded streets to another apartment that Orgilius put at their disposal. This would have been generous, Lucilla thought, if he had not so obviously been protecting his own sex-life. The place was better — one storey lower — though it was not where Orgilius lived himself. Lucilla was sure he must be married. Oblivious to this glaring conclusion, her mother declared how useful it was that he owned so many properties. Lachne settled into the improved accommodation like a smart limpet who had drifted to a more promising rock. Even if their old apartment survived, she was not going back.
Flavia Lachne had the fine features that were common among slaves and ex-slaves of the aristocracy, who could afford to buy their staff not simply for potential use but for appearance. The Flavians were a frugal family who usually picked their slaves because they were affordable, yet Lachne had been ornamental too. In later life she inclined to stoutness, but she always had a striking, regular face with large dark eyes and a figure she made the most of. She looked like a woman who was up for anything; Lucilla presumed she was.
As far as anyone knew her origins, Lachne came from the Aegean coast of Asia, somewhere south of Troy and east of Lesbos. This happened to be a region with olive oil production and the related creation of cosmetics, but although a knowledge of beauty treatments was later useful, Lachne had in fact wangled a career ornamenting the adult Flavian women simply because she wanted to avoid getting stuck as a nursery carer. So another slave called Phyllis was subsequently able to boast she had looked after the infant Domitian and Titus’ daughter Julia, while instead Lachne plaited and coiffed her mistresses. It appeared, even to her own offspring, that she did not like children. This was felt keenly by her daughter Lucilla.
Like most mothers, Lachne believed she had brought up her children well. Nobody could complain there was a lack of love (thought Lachne) yet there was little demonstration of it (thought Lucilla). The pair had lived together for fifteen years, shared meals and chores, sometimes went shopping, very occasionally had outings to see acquaintances, rarely quarrelled, but often failed to communicate. Lachne would have said she knew her daughter inside out; the reserved Lucilla would have scoffed. But Lucilla did know Lachne. There was much about her mother that she tended to despise, though she generally refrained from argument or attempting to change her.
Lucilla had barely reached her teens when a subtle shift in their relationship came, and it was over the famous Flavian hairstyle. Then, Lachne seriously needed her.
The Flavian women were not tall. This was never recorded by poets or historians who, unless there was scandal to report, only cared to mention women’s names and their marriages. Up until now no Flavian ladies had inspired scurrilous writing, where physical attributes might have been mocked. Even the existence of Antonia Caenis, Vespasian’s ex-slave concubine, had caused more surprise than censure. Julia’s reputation would be fouled, though not yet. Domitian’s wife was said to brag about her conquests, though perhaps this was a vindictive slur, retaliation because she was proud and ignored critics contemptuously. Most Flavian women stayed silent and practically invisible. That included Flavia Domitilla whom Lachne and Lucilla knew best. Her mother had been Vespasian’s daughter.
The Flavian ladies’ moderate height can be deduced from the extremely tall hairstyle that Lachne devised for them. She was a good hairdresser. She understood impact. Despite moving with the slow sway of a pregnant dairy cow, as the darting Lucilla saw it, Lachne always did her job. She knew how to suggest brightly that a rather dumpy, ordinary-featured, unassuming, no-longer-young woman, perhaps wearied by pregnancies and children dying, or simply depressed by long years of humouring a husband, might cheer herself up with a new look. This carried a promise of renewed marital excitement, not to mention a subtle gloss that the put-upon client was a woman of worth; she still possessed needs, desires, allure and sexual fire of her own.
Having a good eye and more creativity than her sleepy manner implied, Lachne became so much loved by the Flavian ladies that she won her freedom on the strength of it, though on condition that as a member of the extended Flavian ‘ familia ’ she would always remain available to do her ladies’ hair. Intent on escaping drudgery, Lachne moved out — one advantage of becoming a freedwoman was that she had now some choice in this — but she always lived very close to the most important Flavian women. She could be summoned in an emergency, though was not on instant call. Lachne had time to herself and if she shooed Lucilla out of doors she could freely entertain men.
So Lucilla had grown up near the Quirinal Hill in the Seventh Region. By the age of fifteen, part of the tension with her mother came from Lachne’s determination to keep control of her. Lachne herself no longer had nimble hands. Lucilla’s small, extremely dexterous fingers were essential for constructing the court ladies’ hairstyle.
Nothing like this startling edifice had been worn before. In previous times, Roman women harped piously on ‘traditional simplicity’. The more ostentatiously virtuous relatives of the Emperor Augustus, starting with his chilly sister Octavia, had scraped modest ringlets on the nape of their necks. Some parted the front and took their hair down each side to their bejewelled ears, an effect that could be achieved naturally, though it was in hairdressers’ interests to suggest waves either side of the parting, which required curling rods. Other women had a rolled topknot just above the forehead. It looked severe but added ‘lift’. This noun is frequently dropped into hairdressers’ conversation. ‘Lift’ needs assistance, whatever the hair type.
Lachne’s new style had stupendous lift. It consisted of a comical crescent of false or real hair, covered all over with a crush of pincurls. It lofted above the wearer’s face from ear to ear, like a curly tiara. Of course the look required support, either a wire framework, which was lighter, or padding, which was more comfortable but heavier — though women found it altered how they held their heads and gave them a sense of dignity. Their own hair,
