Yes, safe. That was how it felt here – that we were at the heart of the Empire, not on the borders. Look wherever you wanted, you saw only Rome. It was hard to believe that this was all under the control of someone my father had once played marbles with. Even harder to believe that in the year I was born, the Empire had been in such chaos that it was sold off by its soldiers to the highest bidder. I thought of Septimius Severus with more awe and fear than I had ever done before. It was as if we were going to meet Hercules or Dionysus.
My father had arranged for us to break the journey with an old friend who was spending the summer in one of these villas. We left the main road and followed a path up the hill. Cypress trees cast long shadows over the fields where some slaves were still toiling. I remembered Nurse, and wondered where she was and if she was safe. In the distance, sunlight flashed from metal and I thought of hot metal burning, branding skin.
“What a beautiful house,” my mother breathed, breaking into my sad thoughts.
The sun was setting, casting a pink and lilac glow over the villa and the vineyards that ran down the hill to the river. As we approached I could see my father’s friend standing smiling and waiting for us under the portico. We stepped down from the carriage, rattled and tired and sweaty.
“Quintus Camillus, my friend!” the master of the house called out, and hurried to embrace my father. Lucius was a big, jolly man, whom my father would have diagnosed with an excess of yellow bile if he had met him in the street in Leptis Magna.
“Lucius!” My father’s eyes were full of tears of joy. “And, Aemilia, you don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.”
Lucius’ wife stepped forwards with a gracious smile. She was tall and dressed in silk, with gold and pearls around her neck and a jewelled ring for every slender finger. I felt travel-dusty and awkward, next to her.
“You’re back from exile in the provinces!” Lucius clapped my father on the back.
“Finally,” my father replied. “Back at the heart of things, where I should be.”
“Ah, there is nowhere like Rome,” Lucius said with a grin. “You have been away for so long – you must hear the latest gossip. Did you know that the senate. . .”
They vanished into the depths of the house, leaving us with Lucius’ wife.
“Your house is beautiful, Aemilia,” said my mother.
“Oh, just a country villa, but we have a good site for it,” she said modestly. “But come in, you must be so thirsty and hungry after your long journey!”
We went in and paid our respects to the family gods, Lares and Penates, in the entrance hall. As we walked into the courtyard, slaves came scurrying with bowls of rosewater and dried fruits. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to notice how comfortable, well-designed and carefully tended the house was. Water danced in fountains, cooling the air. Vines embraced the pillars, making shade from which ripe grapes hung down temptingly. If you glanced towards any window or arch, you were sure to see some especially beautiful bit of mountain or sea, framed as if in a picture. It was clear that it had all been planned to show off everything that was beautiful about the area. There were no stray cats slinking about, and although there were plenty of slaves, none of them were sitting by the impluvium, comfortably carding wool that still smelled of sheep. I swallowed, feeling homesick for our simpler world.
Aemilia looked at us with fascination as we washed our hands and politely nibbled the fruit.
“It must be so hard to live in the provinces,” she murmured. “I hear it is complete desert in Libya – dry as a bone! With barbarians and wild beasts swarming everywhere!”
My mother and I opened our mouths at the same moment to protest.
“There are beautiful gardens in Leptis, and we too have green mountains,” my mother said. “And our theatre has the most magnificent views of the sea.”
“Really?” Aemilia was clearly not sure that Leptis Magna contained anything to match up to Rome. “Just one theatre? Poor you.”
When we went for dinner, we were even more amazed. We had owned one bust of the Emperor. Here, in the triclinium alone, there were several, all in different colours of marble. Everywhere you looked were elegant bronze statues, or murals that looked like real life.
“So close to Rome, one can get anything,” Aemilia said with a wave of her elegant, pale hand, ringed with cameos and gold. “Our next project is a new bathhouse.”
“We have a bathhouse,” grumbled Lucius.
“Yes, but it’s so tired-looking – I hate setting foot in there.” Aemilia made a face. “So important to be up to date. I’m sure Camilla will agree?”
She smiled at me and I blushed. Not even Livia’s family had a bathhouse of their own.
Even in this cool spring weather, when the sun had almost set, I noticed Aemilia did not step outside without a slave coming running to hold a parasol over her head. When her fingers brushed my arm, they felt like cool marble. For the first time ever, I felt as if my skin was coarse and sunburned. After all, in all the pictures of the imperial family, Julia Domna, the Empress, was shown with ivory-pale skin. I washed extra hard that evening, not that it made any difference. I was as brown
