Household Gods

She could learn. She was sure of that. She’d learned in the United States, and things were undoubtedly simpler here. But where would she find the time? Most days, at least before the Germans came, she’d had trouble finding time to use the chamberpot. Even if by a miracle she could squeeze a spare hour out of the day, where would she find someone to train her, or books from which to study? The next book of any sort she saw here would be the first.

She’d missed a few words of the aide’s reply. He condescended, superciliously, to repeat himself: “I will be certain this comes to the Emperor’s attention. It may intrigue him. Let me see.” He glanced again at the statement. “Yes, you have described your place of residence most precisely. Should anything further be required of you, you will be summoned.”

That sounded altogether too much like, Don’t call us: we’ll call you. “What if I’m not summoned?” Nicole asked.

“The choice is the Emperor’s,” the aide replied. “As I say, I will bring this to his notice. Past that, the matter is in his hands. Who could be above the Emperor, to compel him to change his mind?”

“The law could. Justice could,” Nicole said. That was certainly true in the U.S.A., where no one was above the law. Did it also hold in the Roman Empire? If it did, did it hold for Marcus Aurelius?

Maybe not, by the way his administrative assistant’s jaw dropped. But the man didn’t tell her she was crazy, either. “What a – sophisticated attitude for a tavernkeeper to hold.” His nod had a certain finality to it, an air of dismissal.

Nicole didn’t bother to argue. There was a limit to how far anyone could push a bureaucrat. She’d tested his limits and then some. It was the best she could do; the rest was in the hands of the gods.

Julia was waiting at the tavern, fairly dancing with eagerness. She barely let Nicole get in through the door before she started in. “Did you see him? Did you?” She might have been talking about a god, or a god’s first cousin.

Nicole almost hated to disappoint her. “No, I didn’t. I had to leave a petition with an aide. We’ll see if anything comes of it.” It had better, she thought. If Marcus Aurelius ignored her case, how much trouble would picketing the town-council building cause? Plenty, she would imagine. She almost smiled at the prospect.

“I hope something does come of it,” Julia said. “I think it will, I really do. He is supposed to be a good man.”

“We’ll see,” Nicole said. She wasn’t as sure of Marcus Aurelius’ goodness as Julia was. He was the Roman Emperor, after all. She’d taken time to find out what exactly that meant. He wasn’t a king, not exactly, and it wasn’t necessarily hereditary, though it could be. What Marcus Aurelius was, was the chief political figure in a vast, ancient, and sometimes terribly corrupt empire.

Nicole had precious little use for politicians – which, considering the state of politics in late-twentieth-century America, was hardly surprising. As far as she was concerned, the higher a politician rose, the more lies he had to tell to get there, and the more likely he’d tell even bigger lies once he got to the top.

Julia didn’t share Nicole’s worries, or her cynicism either. She was already off on another subject. “While you were out,” she said, “a crier came by. There’ll be grain in the city in a day or two.”

That caught Nicole’s attention. “Oh! That is good news.” Bread, real bread. Cakes. Buns and rolls and… She stopped before she got carried away. “I hope the price isn’t too outrageous. Though they probably wouldn’t dare to try too much gouging, not with the Emperor right here to see it.”

Before Julia could answer, an odd, rhythmic clanking brought them both to the windows and the open door. This wasn’t the sharp clash and clang of swordplay. It was duller, steadier. Down the street toward the eastern gate marched a somber procession of Marcomanni and Quadi – Nicole never had learned to tell the tribes apart – chained together in gangs of ten. Many, many gangs often. Roman soldiers herded them onward, some with knotted whips, others with drawn swords.

“They’re on their way to the slave markets,” Julia said with vindictive satisfaction. “I hope they all get worked to death in the mines.”

But Nicole was watching the legionaries, not the Germans. Was one of them the man who’d violated her with such callous – practiced? – efficiency? Of itself, her left hand rose to her neck. She’d felt a Roman blade there. Had she given the legionary any trouble, she had no doubt that blade would have drunk her life. In the capture of a city, what was one body more or less?

Her gaze might have gone fearfully from one Roman soldier to another, but more people were watching the Quadi and Marcomanni. Passersby on the sidewalk jeered the captured barbarians. One of the locals almost echoed Julia: “A short life and a merry one, boys, grubbing for iron or lead!” He laughed, loud and long.