Household Gods

But Julia had a ready answer: “Things were just – the way they always had been, till last year. Then the pestilence came, and that was worse, and then the Marcomanni and Quadi, and that was worse yet, and then the legions drove them back across the river, and that was better for the city, yes, but it was worse for you, wasn’t it, on account of that one cursed soldier?”

She had to stop there, to draw a breath. Nicole fired back before she could go on: “Yes, and how many other bastards like him are there in the army that we’ll never, ever hear about, either because the women they raped are too ashamed to come forward, or because the legionaries killed them after they were done screwing them?”

“Bound to be some,” Julia agreed with chilling calm. “But that isn’t what you asked, is it, Mistress? You asked how things could be worse. I told you.”

Nicole shook her head so violently that the tears veered wide of their accustomed tracks. “That’s just how things have got worse already. Not how they could get worse than they already are.”

Julia blinked, then stared, then started to laugh. For sure she was amused, and a little taken aback. Maybe she was trying to jolly Nicole out of her gloom. “No wonder Marcus Aurelius listened to you when you complained about that legionary. You can split hairs just like a lawyer.”

But Nicole was not about to be jollied. “And a whole fat lot of good that does me, too,” she said.

“It got you ten aurei,” Julia pointed out.

“Getting raped got me ten aurei,” Nicole said with bitter, legalistic precision. “Believe me, I’d rather not have them. Besides,” she added even more bitterly, “who ever heard of a lady lawyer? Who ever heard of a lady anything in Carnuntum?”

Julia sighed. “Well, Mistress, it doesn’t look as if anything I can say will cheer you up. Do you want a jar or two of wine? Would that help?”

“No!” Nicole stamped her foot. If she’d been Kimberley, that sort of behavior would have earned her a time-out. If she’d been Lucius, it would have got her a whack on the fanny. Because she was an adult, she could do as she pleased – but nothing she could do here pleased her. There was nothing to do, except get drunk or get screwed. She wasn’t in the mood to invite a hangover. The other… her whole body tightened, and her stomach clenched. If she tried very hard, she could remember that last, tender night with Titus Calidius Severus. But no matter how hard she tried to cling to it, the Roman legionary’s hard hands and mocking voice ran over it and drowned it.

Julia had given up on her. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Why don’t you do that, too? And hope – or pray to Liber and Libera, since you’ve become so fond of them – that you’ll feel better in the morning.” She turned away from Nicole and headed for the stairs. “Good night,” she said over her shoulder.

That was as blunt, and as close to outright rude, as the freedwoman had ever dared be. It demonstrated rather forcibly how far Nicole had strayed from anything resembling decent manners.

She didn’t care. She had perfectly good reason for being unreasonable. If Julia couldn’t see that, then too bad for Julia.

As soon as Nicole had shaped the thought, she knew a stab – small but distinct – of guilt. Julia had been her best friend and ally in this whole ugly world. She didn’t deserve to be treated this way. “Then she should try harder to understand how I feel,” Nicole said to the air.

Nicole knew she should go up after Julia, and if not apologize, then at least try to smooth things over. But Julia was long gone.

Tomorrow would be soon enough. She’d wake again in Carnuntum as she always had. She’d do something to make it up to her freedwoman – something small but telling. She didn’t know what. She couldn’t, once she’d made herself think like a civilized adult, think much past the moment, or past the burden of this whole awful age.

She sniffled loudly, and blew her nose on her fingers. No Kleenex, no handkerchief. She grimaced and wiped her fingers on the rammed-earth floor, which at least had the virtue of being newly swept. She rubbed her hand on her tunic. A smear of dirt stained the faded wool. She brushed ineffectually at it. It was a losing battle. Every bit of it was the same: futile and hopeless.

She thrust herself to her feet, went over to the bar, opened the lid of one of the winejars and stared down into it. Plenty of wine in Carnuntum these days, with so many legionaries in town. The rich, fruity scent filled her nostrils. Even through the heaviness of tears, she grew a little dizzy with the fumes.

When she first came to Carnuntum, the very smell of wine gave her the horrors. Now she saw in it only oblivion, and blessed numbness.