Household Gods

She bought the board and dice for Lucius, bargaining Furius Picatus down to a price that was almost reasonable. Then she found a little greenish glass jar of rosewater for Julia, packaging that would have been the height of trendiness in Neiman-Marcus, and a pair of sandals for Brigomarus. She measured his feet from prints he left on the muddied tavern floor – pretty damn clever, if she thought so herself. For Gaius Calidius Severus she bought a belt of woven leather, very fine and fancy, with a gleaming brass buckle. She was vastly pleased with that, and with the price she’d got the leather-worker down to – her bargaining skills were honed by now to a wicked edge.

Two days before the first day of the festival, Gaius Calidius Severus came over for a cup of wine. He hadn’t been by for a day or two: busy, she’d supposed, with orders for gifts. He greeted her less brightly than usual, and stumbled as he sat down. Then, as she brought him his cup of two-as wine, he doubled up in a fit of sneezing and coughing. It looked – oh, God, it looked like the pestilence.

He straightened, wiping his eyes. Something in his face told her not to say anything. He drank his wine, made small talk that she forgot as soon as the words had gone through her head, and went back home, mumbling something about a dye lot that had to come out right then, and he hoped it was the right shade, too; it was for one of his pickier customers.

Nicole stood by the bar, watching him go. There was no one else in the tavern just then, only Julia kneading a batch of the best bread in Carnuntum. “It’s not fair,” Nicole said to her, bursting out with it before she even had time to think. “It’s not right. He took care of his father. He took care of us. The sickness passed him by. Now it’s been gone for months – and he’s got it. Why?”

Julia shrugged. She knew as well as Nicole did, there wasn’t any answer to that. After a bit, she said, “He didn’t seem too bad yet, did he?”

“No,” Nicole said, “not yet. But we know it gets worse. Don’t we?”

“Oh, yes.” Julia didn’t say anything more than that. She didn’t need to. Her cheekbones still showed sharp as wind-carved rock under her skin, with no padding of flesh to smooth their outline. She’d have been a knockout in certain parts of Beverly Hills, where you could never be too rich or too thin, but in Carnuntum Ofanius Valens was right: she was a creature in sore need of feeding up.

She finished kneading the lump of dough on the countertop, washed her hands in a bowl of water, and dried them on her tunic. Then, in a tone that said she’d made her decision and that was that, she said, “He took care of me when I was sick. I’m going over there to take care of him. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Nicole blinked, startled. Julia had never asserted herself this way before. Nicole should be welcoming it as a declaration of freedom. Instead, she found herself – annoyed? No, of course not. She was being practical, that was all. There was work to do here. “If he’s not that bad, he won’t need to be taken care of yet,” she said.

Julia looked at her. They were both speaking Latin, but they were not speaking the same language. As if to make that clear, the freedwoman said, “He’ll still enjoy it now. Later… who knows? He may never have another chance.” While Nicole was still groping for a reply, Julia walked calmly out of the tavern and down the sidewalk, toward the stepping stones.

Nicole opened her mouth to call out, but closed it again. Julia was a free woman, and an adult. Even if she was Nicole’s employee, her mind and her decisions were her own. As Nicole watched, she came up the walk on the far side of the muddy street and opened the door to the shop where Gaius Calidius Severus now worked alone. She closed the door after her. Nicole couldn’t see any more than that, but she didn’t need to. Her imagination worked perfectly well.

She’d never used sex to say thank you even to Frank, let alone to a neighbor who’d been nice to her. Most of the time, Julia’s freewheeling approach to such things made her want to pound her head against the top of the bar. This once, she resolved to say not a word.

Frank would have been amazed. She was the epitome of the Midwestern prude, he’d told her often enough. “Judge plenty, and be damned sure nobody judges you,” he’d said. She didn’t even remember what she’d replied. Something lame, she was sure.

Julia came back not too long after – an hour, maybe; maybe less. She wasn’t any more or less kempt than ever, but there was a flush on her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. It almost made her look like her old robust self.

Nicole didn’t ask, but Julia answered regardless. “Tomorrow might have been too late,“ she said, “but today – it was fine. “