“Is Caracalla going?”
“Yes, and Geta is staying here to rule in place of his father. The Empress knows you are a clever, good girl. You can make yourself useful to her – but don’t make yourself too useful. You understand.”
I understood. I did not want to know the Empress’s secrets. It would put me in danger.
My father opened his medicine chest. It was a wooden chest, decorated with a carving of the holy serpents of Asclepius. Inside were many compartments, full of the most extraordinary and rare things: venoms and bitumens, spices and dried dungs. He mixed these together in his pestle and mortar to create the cures that amazed people. In every city we had visited, he had been to the market, bargaining with the traders about things he had a shortage of. I knew the uses of some of his medicines, but not all of them.
“I’ll leave you some of my stock,” he told me, measuring some of his medicines out into smaller pouches and wraps. “Diphryges, that’s for nasty tumours. And a small, very small amount of theriac, against poison. Don’t waste that. It is for emergencies only. You are no doctor, but you are a sensible girl and you have learned a lot from me. Be worthy of the education you have received.”
“Thank you, Father, I will,” I replied sincerely.
This made things different. I was not being left behind like a useless lump of luggage. I was being left with a skill – with work to do.
14.
Avitoria
The Empress herself gave me a medicine chest. It was a silver box, with the staff of Asclepius worked on the lid, the snakes curling around the staff. On the sides, the figures of Hercules and Dionysus were engraved, because the box had been made in Leptis Magna. It was the most expensive thing I had ever owned, and looking at the gods of my home made me feel homesick.
“Perhaps you have the skill of your father,” the Empress told me. I hoped I had. I did not want to disappoint her – or her slaves, who had come to rely on me to take care of their health.
My first job, however, was nothing to do with medicine.
The Empress’s hair was styled every day by a team of slaves who had been trained in the latest methods. For an hour daily, she sat in her chair while three women worked like architects to create a crowning glory for her. Finally they decorated it with gilt, ivory and glass hairpins, which sparkled like a halo when the light touched them. Other slaves applied her make-up, the scented creams and perfumes. These all came in glass or gold pots and vessels, inlaid with patterns or images of serpents or birds. Finally they draped her in her silk stola and the woollen shawl she wore now that we were in cold Eboracum. All this time, she dictated her letters and notes to me, and I did my best to take down every word, in Greek or Latin.
But illness comes suddenly to everyone, and one day the hairdressers were all sick: feverish and vomiting. I arrived to find the Empress as upset as I had ever seen her.
“Camilla,” she greeted me at once, “take the slave Aisopos and go out and find me a hairdresser.”
She must have seen the hesitation on my face, for she added, annoyed: “You have been here every day. You have seen exactly how I like my hair. Go and find someone who can dress it as well as my slaves, or I’ll have the three of them beaten. Go!”
I went. Aisopos was an elderly lame Ethiop who looked after the Empress’s petty cash. I had treated him for fever before, on several occasions. He was clearly as doubtful as I was of the wisdom of sending me to find a hairdresser, but there was no going against the Empress’s orders. I put on my heavy shoes and cloak for the streets and, with Aisopos following close behind me, set out into Eboracum in search of someone who could do hair the way they did it in Rome.
Where should I look for a hairdresser? I wondered. I turned away from the smelly, noisy streets where the potters and the smiths and the leatherworkers lived, and instead headed towards the forum. I led the way hesitantly, occasionally glancing at Aisopos in hopes of a hint. I didn’t want to ask him – after all he was the slave, I was supposed to be in charge – but he caught my eye. I raised my eyebrows hopefully, and he widened his and looked completely blank. Clearly he too had no idea where to find a high-class hairdresser in a city full of soldiers.
I prayed under my breath to Fortune to guide my footsteps, and she must have listened, for as I passed the marketplace, I ran full-tilt into a blonde girl, who cried out and dropped the basket she was carrying. Out clattered hairpins, polished mirrors, combs, ribbons, false hair, and all kinds of other things.
“Fool of a child!” she burst out, and then spotted the richness of my dress and the fact I was followed by a slave. Her eyes widened and she ducked down as if to avoid a blow, and hastily collected her things back into her basket.
“You’re a hairdresser!” I exclaimed.
“One of the best,” she replied cautiously. “I belong to Theodora.”
I had no idea who Theodora was, though I did think it was an unusual name – Greek. I did not care, however. I grabbed all her fallen goods and returned them to the basket as fast as I could. Baffled, she stared at me.
“Come with me,” I told her. “If you’re really as good as you say, the Empress will make you and your mistress rich, and I hope I will live another day!”
We hurried back through the streets to the palace.
