Household Gods

“Hmm.” Calidius Severus gave her another look, an appraising one this time. “While you were teaching yourself to read and write, you made yourself into a philosopher, too, didn’t you?”

Nicole laughed shortly. “Why, of course not,” she said with bitterness that surprised even herself. “I’m a woman. I can’t possibly be anything as elevated as a philosopher.”

“Socrates’ teacher was a woman,” Calidius Severus said, and that startled her, too. Then he shook his head. His expression was odd, half a smile, half a scowl. “You’re sticking pins in me to make me jump. I don’t much feel like jumping today, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Not even a little?” she asked with a touch of archness – God, she was flirting. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. It had to be the atmosphere in this place. It warped her out of her usual, enlightened self.

He didn’t mind it a bit. His scowl faded; his smile grew just a little. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the arena.

The aurochs’ death and the arrival of the beast-handlers hadn’t put an end to the show. The lion had been an easy capture: there was only one of him, and he was weak with starvation and loss of blood. There were still half a dozen wolves, which weren’t in any mood to be herded back to their cages. They had the taste of fresh blood, and a glimpse of freedom.

The first one or two were taken by surprise, netted and hauled away. The rest had time to fight back. They circled the handlers as they had the aurochs, snarling fit to curdle the blood.

The handlers seemed impervious. Their shields were long and tall, and looked heavy. They were as much weapons as defense. The handlers crouched behind them, and the wolves leaped futilely, snapping at the portable walls. One that moved quicker, or was luckier than the rest, almost got around a shield. Its edge caught him and sent him flying, to fall limp, with a split skull.

The wolf the aurochs had disemboweled was still alive, still feeding on the carcass. It hadn’t joined the pack against the handlers. Maybe it was confused, or maybe just intent on finishing its last meal.

It looked up as one of the handlers advanced on it, and lifted its lip in a snarl. Coldly, calmly, the handler smashed its skull with a club.

Nicole swallowed bile. It was hideous, disgusting. It was also merciful. The man had put the wolf out of its misery. No lethal injections here. No peaceful slipping into sleep.

She wasn’t any happier for knowing that. Whose fault was it, after all, that the beast had been in pain?

When the last of the wolves had been caught or killed, and taken away dead or alive into the bowels of the amphitheater, a team of mules hauled off the aurochs’ carcass. They made a great deal of noise and some little fuss, braying and kicking against the drover’s whip.

Titus Calidius Severus was not amused. “Takes too long between fights,” he muttered in Nicole’s ear. Other people had taken advantage of the intermission to call for wine or sausages, or to slip away to – the privies? There must be public privies somewhere in this man-made hill.

Nicole thought about it, but she wasn’t inclined to fight the crowds. There’d probably be a line for the ladies’ here as there always was in the twentieth century. Potty parity wasn’t any more likely here than it would be in eighteen centuries.

The man beside her wasn’t showing signs of going anywhere, either. He yawned and stretched and cracked his neck, and grimaced as Nicole winced. “Not getting any younger,” he said, “and the day isn’t getting any shorter, either.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, the gods will have fat-wrapped thighbones for their altars, and the butchers will have fresh meat for their stalls.” He paused. His eyes sharpened. “Are you all right, Umma? You look a little green.”

“I’m fine,” Nicole lied. Here was a beast killed by wolves, and they were going to sell the meat? If that wasn’t the most unsanitary thing she’d ever heard of… She caught herself again. If that wasn’t, then any of several other unfortunate practices was. The Romans’ notions of hygiene, however proud of them they were, left damn near everything to be desired.

The day dragged on. There was no discernible end to the slaughter, and precious little variety, either. Bears and wolves and another aurochs – smaller than the first, but more agile, and almost fast enough to kill all of its attackers before the survivors pulled it down. And once, to frantic applause, a leopard. “Don’t see that every day,” Calidius Severus declared, clapping and stamping his feet along with everybody else.

Nicole would sooner not have seen any of it. Whenever a vendor came by with wine or food, she bought a cupful or a handful. By the time the leopard sprang snarling into the arena, she was full to the gills and halfway down the road from tiddly to snockered. Knowing she was abusing alcohol to keep from watching animals being abused didn’t make her feel any better.