Household Gods

“I’m afraid it’s worse, “ Gaius Calidius Severus murmured, but he managed a smile at Nicole.

To her amazement, she found a smile in return. “Thank you for your help, Gaius,” she said. “It was very, very kind of you.”

She’d been a bit daring in calling her lover’s grown son by his praenomen, but he didn’t protest. He dipped his head to her, that was all, and went quickly across the street.

Nicole stayed by the door, staring at the space where he had been. It was better than what she wanted to stare at, which was the place where the brewer had collapsed.

She hadn’t known how long she stood there, until Julia asked, “Are you all right, Mistress?”

“No, I’m not all right,” Nicole said, “but I’m not sick, either, if that’s what you mean.”

Julia didn’t look too greatly reassured. Nicole didn’t have any reassurance to give her. All she had had drained away when she looked into Julius Rums’ face, and saw that he was dead.

If anyone had asked her afterwards, she couldn’t have said how she got through the day. When sunset came at long last, and business slowed and then mercifully stopped, she did something that she’d have been horrified to contemplate, back in West Hills. But in this place and time, it was the only reasonable or rational thing to do. She got quietly and systematically drunk.

14

Hard times through the whole city. When Nicole had said that to Gaius Calidius Severus, she’d had only an intellectual understanding of what it meant. Over the next month or two, as summer passed into autumn, as sunlight softened and morning mists from the Danube began filling the streets of Carnuntum with fog, she felt the meaning of hard times in her belly as well as her head.

In the early days of the pestilence, hardly an hour seemed to go by without the shrieking and moaning of professional mourners, as funeral processions made their somber way out of the city and toward the burial ground. After a while, however, the sounds of formal lamentation, almost as formal as the Mass, began to diminish.

Ofanius Valens explained that to Nicole when he stopped by for breakfast one morning. “From what I hear,” he said, “so many of the mourners are dead, the rest can’t come close to keeping up with all the funerals.”

“That’s horrible,” Nicole said.

“It’s not good,” he conceded, taking an unenthusiastic mouthful of bread and oil. “My family’s been lucky so far, the gods be praised. I’ve only got one cousin down with it, and she doesn’t look like dying. If you make it through the rash, they say, you’re likely to get better, and she’s done that. Half her hair fell out, and she’s peeling like the worst case of sunburn you ever saw, but she’s still with us. How about your kin, Umma?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t heard a word.” And she wouldn’t have much cared if she had, she thought but didn’t add. Whatever Umma thought of her relatives, Nicole had no earthly use for any of them.

Ofanius Valens looked shocked. Everyone in Carnuntum was shocked when someone failed to keep minutest track of anything that had to do with family. But, after a moment, his face cleared. “That’s right.” He nodded as he reminded himself. “You had that squabble with them after you manumitted Julia. Still haven’t made it up, eh?”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m the bad apple in the barrel, as far as they’re concerned.” She straightened. ‘‘They can think whatever they please, for all of me. I’ll get along just fine.”

“You certainly seem to be getting along.” Ofanius Valens spoke with no small wonder. “I’ve known other people who fought with their families. Most of them act like fish hauled out of the Ister” – by which he meant the Danube. He imitated a fish out of water with such popeyed aplomb, Nicole couldn’t help laughing.

Julia laughed, too. So did Lucius, who’d come downstairs while Ofanius Valens was eating. Nicole said, “It’s good to hear people laughing. Not much of that sound in the city these days. “

“Not much reason for it these days,” Ofanius Valens said. “Let’s see what we can do about it.” He aimed his dead-fish stare at Lucius, who broke up in giggles.

Julia started to laugh again. It was like a yawn: contagious. Nicole caught herself just as Julia’s eye caught hers. Their laughter died. They’d been startled into it the first time. They couldn’t invoke it with conscious effort. Lucky Lucius, to be so young and so untroubled.

“Off I go,” Ofanius Valens said. “The gods grant you all good health.” He made one more fish-face at Lucius, who crowed with delight, nodded to Nicole, and blew Julia a kiss. She blew one back. Whistling a jaunty tune, he went on his way.

“He’s a nice man,” Lucius said.

“He is nice,” Julia said with the hint of a sigh. She meant something – several different somethings – other than what Lucius did. Nicole gave her a sharp look, which she ignored. Julia thought with her body first and her mind definitely second.