Julia could imagine what Marcus would say to such ideas. It made her smile slightly thinking of it. Calabah looked her way and raised a dark brow in question. “You don’t agree, Sister Julia?”
Julia felt uneasy beneath Calabah’s steady stare and asked a question to avert it. “I haven’t decided, but I’d like to hear more. How do we attain this godhood of which you speak?”
“By not giving away our power to men,” Calabah said simply, her smile patient rather than patronizing. She rose and moved around the occupied couches in the room. “We must achieve our full potential in all spheres to earn our godhood,” she said. “We must train our mind, exercise our body, commune with the gods through meditation and sacrifice.” She stopped beside Octavia and caressed her shoulder. “A little more time marching and less pursuing pleasure.”
Octavia blushed as the others laughed. Her hand whitened on the golden goblet. “You mock me, Calabah? I’m not a chattel like others I know,” she said and looked pointedly at Julia. “I have a life of my own and am free to do as I please. No one tells me when I shall get up and when I shall get down.”
“We’ve all been chattels at some time, dear Octavia.” Calabah smiled slightly. “Do you control your own purse strings?”
Octavia’s eyes glittered as she glanced up at the older woman. Calabah was well aware of her true financial situation. They had discussed it during a private moment a few days before. How could Calabah bring it up now in front of Julia and the others? “A kind and cutting question,” she said, feeling betrayed.
Calabah gave her a condescending smile. “Better that you use your head and marry than waste yourself on barley men,” she said, referring pointedly to Octavia’s numerous alliances with gladiators.
Octavia blushed. “I thought you were my friend.”
“I am. Doesn’t a friend speak the truth? Or do you prefer lies and flattery?”
Octavia glared up at her. She had come expecting Calabah to be delighted to see her and equally delighted to verbally dismember Julia. Instead, Calabah had welcomed Julia and aimed her biting words at Octavia’s undeserving self. Her anger at the injustice of the situation loosed her tongue. “Better a strong young gladiator than a weak old man.”
The others gasped at her insult, but Calabah laughed softly. “Dear Octavia, you’re still far too sensitive. Men will use that as a weapon against you. Be warned, fair sister. If you go on living by your emotions, you’ll end up with nothing but a remembered pleasure in the arms of a man long dead.”
Octavia sipped her wine and said nothing more, but her resentment burned within her. It was all very well for Calabah to say one should marry. It was not so simple for Octavia. Her father had no money to offer as dowry, and no man would step forward with a bride’s price when all she had to offer was a father so deeply in debt that he would probably be required to commit suicide to save his honor.
She glanced at Julia, who watched Calabah with the open fascination of a child. She was swallowing every idea Calabah spewed forth, her eyes aglow with what could be rather than what was. And Calabah seemed to be speaking only to her. Octavia’s lips tightened.
Life was unjust.
“Our gods and goddesses have come down to earth to show us that we can raise ourselves to their heights by the pure power of our minds,” Calabah continued. “It is true that men are stronger than women physically, but they are ruled by their passions. It isn’t Jupiter that controls the heavens with his might, but Hera with her mind.”
Julia sipped her wine. It had a cloying aftertaste and made her head feel fuzzy. One of the others asked a question then, and the discussion veered off into politics. Momentarily distracted, Julia gazed about the room and realized the walls were covered with erotic murals. The one straight across from her was a scene of a man and woman entwined. Behind them was a winged creature with frighteningly grotesque features and a body that was both man and woman. Julia couldn’t take her eyes from it until laughter drew her startled attention. They were all watching her.
“A god of fertility?” she asked, trying to salvage some dignity.
“My husband’s depiction of Eros,” Calabah said with a sardonic smile.
Two ladies rose to leave. One kissed Calabah on the mouth and whispered something to her. Calabah shook her head and ushered them toward the courtyard, where a slave waited to show them to the door.
“We should go as well,” Octavia said, rising. The day had been a disaster from the onset. Her head throbbed. All she wanted to do was get rid of Julia and go home.
Calabah turned back to them and looked disappointed. “You mustn’t leave now that we’re alone. I’ve had no opportunity to become acquainted with your friend, Octavia.”
“It’s late, and she wasn’t supposed to go out in the first place,” Octavia said brittlely.
“I’m in mourning,” Julia said and laughed uneasily. “Or I should say, I’m supposed to be in mourning.”
Calabah laughed also. “She’s delightful, Octavia. How good of you to bring her to me.” She took Julia’s hand and drew her back to the couch. “Sit a while longer and tell me all about yourself.”
“Julia,” Octavia said in annoyance. “We must leave.”
Calabah sighed wearily. “You leave, Octavia. I’m tired of your testiness.”
Octavia’s eyes smarted. “I’ve a headache,” she whined.
“Then by all means, go home and rest. You needn’t worry about Julia. I’ll see that she’s returned safely to her home. Now, go. Julia and I have much to talk about. And the next time you come, Octavia, please come in a better mood.”
Calabah apologized to Julia as Octavia stormed out of the room. “Would you like some more wine?”
“Yes, thank you. It’s very good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I added some special herbs to it to open the mind.” Calabah asked questions and Julia answered, feeling more relaxed as time passed. Calabah was easy to talk to, and she found herself confiding her frustrations.
“Fighting your father will not gain you what you want. You must use logic and reasoning to win his respect,” Calabah advised. “Deal kindly with him. Bring him small gifts and sit with him and listen to his woes. Spend some time with him. Flatter him. Then ask what you want and he won’t refuse you.”
A slave entered the room and remained standing silently nearby until Calabah acknowledged his presence. “Marcus Lucianus Valerian is here asking for his sister.”
“Oh, by the gods,” Julia muttered in quick distress and rose. “Oh,” she said and sank down again, her head swimming. “I think I’ve had too much wine.”
Calabah laughed and patted Julia’s hand. “Do not worry about anything, Julia.” She nodded to the slave. “Bring her brother here.” She took Julia’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “You and I are going to become good friends, Julia.” She let go of her and rose as the slave escorted Marcus into the room. “How nice of you to come visit me, Marcus,” Calabah said, her tone full of sardonic amusement.
“Julia, we’re leaving.”
“Alas, Julia. Your brother doesn’t seem to like me,” Calabah said. “I think he’s afraid I might corrupt you with new ideas about womanhood and our role in society.”
Julia looked between them. “You know one another?” she said, slurring slightly.
“Only by reputation,” Calabah said. Her smile was full of venom. “I know Arria. I know Fannia. I know a great many women who have known your brother.”
Marcus ignored her and went to his sister. She swayed as she stood up. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded softly.
“She’s had a little too much wine,” Calabah said casually.
Marcus took Julia by the arm. “Can you walk, or must I carry you out of here?”
Julia pulled free angrily. “Why must everyone order me about? I’ve been enjoying myself for the first time in months, and you come barging in and spoil it.”
Calabah clucked her tongue at the two of them and came to Jul
ia. She put her hand on Julia’s arm and spoke soothingly. “There’s always another day, little sister. Go peacefully or Marcus will give in to those passions we discussed earlier and carry you out over his shoulder like a sack of grain.” She kissed Julia’s cheek, her eyes sparkling with laughter at the look on Marcus’ face. “You’re welcome to come to see me anytime.”
Seething, Marcus took Julia by the arm and firmly escorted her from the room. She was half-running by the time they reached the front door. He lifted her into the covered litter waiting outside and sat beside her. Calabah’s slave quickly followed, handing Julia her packages. The four slaves hefted the support bars to their shoulders and started the journey home.
“You’re worse than Father,” Julia pouted, glaring at him briefly before staring out through the thin veiling. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life!”
“You’ll survive it,” he said dryly. He knew Julia well enough not to forbid her from seeing Calabah again. To do so would guarantee she would. “I suggest you start thinking of a good story to tell Father and Mother, unless you want to spend the rest of your mourning period locked in your room with a guard at the door.”
Julia gave him a mutinous look. “I thought you were on my side.”
“I am, but all the headway I’ve made with Father you obliterated with this foolery today. Shut up and start thinking about what you’re going to say to them when we get home.”
“How did you know where to find me?” Julia said, and then her eyes flashed. “Hadassah!”
“She did not betray you,” he said harshly, seeing it was not unlikely that Julia would lay all blame at the little Jewess’s feet. “She told me nothing until I forced her, and then only because she wants you protected. Hadassah knows as well as I what will happen if you’re found out.”
Julia lifted her head. “I told her to tell Father and Mother I went to worship at the temple of Hera.”
“That’s exactly what she told me. The temple of Hera!” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “I knew better, and so will Father if Hadassah gives that lame story to him. Enoch told me Octavia came visiting, and everyone in Rome knows your friend isn’t interested in bowing down to a goddess of hearth, home, or childbirth!”
“She’s not my friend anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Julia said with a jerk of her chin. “I’m tired of her always patronizing me and putting on airs. Besides, Calabah is far more interesting.”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “You liked her idea of women being superior to men, I take it. You liked the idea of eventually being able to become a goddess.”
“I liked the idea of having control of my own life.”
“That’s not likely to happen any time soon, dear sister. Not unless we can get you back into the house unseen.”
They didn’t. Phoebe was waiting for them. “I went to your chamber a while ago and you weren’t there. Where have you been, Julia?”
Julia launched into her story about worshiping Hera, then added that she went to the marketplace afterward to look for a healing amulet for Father. Surprising Marcus, she produced a carnelian pendant from a leather pouch. “The merchant assured me that the stone is a highly evolved healer.” She handed it over to Mother. “Perhaps if Father wore it, he might feel better.”
Phoebe held the carnelian crystal in her hand and looked at it for a long moment. Phoebe didn’t want to ask any more questions; she wanted to believe that Julia’s motivation for leaving the villa had been a desire to worship and buy a gift for Decimus, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t so. The carnelian pendant came from a pouch filled with other pendants Julia had bought for herself. The “gift” was, in truth, a bribe—or an afterthought.
She let out her breath slowly and handed the carnelian crystal back to her daughter. “Give this to your father when your mourning ends, Julia. If you give it to him now, he’ll want to know when and where you purchased it.”
Julia clenched it tightly in her fist. “You don’t believe me, do you? My own mother thinks the worst of me!” she said, full of angry self-pity. She stuffed the carnelian pendant back into her hoard, expecting her mother to protest. When she didn’t, tears sprang to Julia’s eyes. She lifted her head and saw the disappointment in Phoebe’s eyes. Guilt made her blush, but rebellion made her stubborn. “I’d like to go to my room. Or must I ask your permission to do that as well?”
“You’re excused, Julia,” Phoebe said quietly.
Julia stormed through the room and down the hallway. Phoebe watched her beautiful young daughter stalk away in anger. She was weary of trying to make Julia see reason. Sometimes she wondered if either of her children possessed a conscience. They never seemed to comprehend the consequences of their actions on those around them, especially on Decimus. She looked up at Marcus.
“Did she go to the temple to worship?” she said, then shook her head and turned away. “Never mind. I don’t want to put you in a position of having to lie for her.” She moved across the room and sank down onto a chair.
Seeing his mother so dejected concerned Marcus. “She’s young, Mother. This mourning period Father has set upon her is unreasonable.”
Phoebe said nothing for a moment. She struggled with her own feelings. She frequently agreed with her son, for Decimus could be harsh in his dictates, not taking into account youthful zeal and individual differences. Yet, neither Marcus nor Julia understood where the real issue lay. She lifted her head and looked at him solemnly. “Your father is the head of the household.”
“I understand that only too well,” Marcus said. It was one of the reasons he spent so little time at the villa and had purchased his own apartments.
“Then respect and obey him.”
“Even when he’s wrong?”
“That’s a matter of opinion, and Julia is his daughter. Your interference only worsens the situation.”
He clenched his hand. “You blame me for what happened today?” he said, angry. “I have never encouraged her to disobey Father.”
Phoebe stood. “Indeed you have, though you are too blind to see it for yourself. Every time you argue openly with your father and accuse him of being unreasonable and unfair, you encourage Julia to defy him and please herself. And where did she go today, Marcus? What pleases Julia?”
“You have so little confidence in the morals of your children?”
Phoebe’s smile was pained. “Of what morals do you speak, Marcus? The old ones that say children are to obey their father, or the new ones that tell you to do whatever pleases you?”
“I’m of age, Mother. Julia is sixteen and a widowed woman. Neither of us are children, though you and Father seem determined to see us as such. We are each individuals, and we have the right to pursue happiness in our own ways.”
“No matter the cost to others? Even to yourselves?” She stood before him, saddened and distraught. “You walk blithely along the path you’ve chosen, pulling Julia along with you, and you don’t see what’s ahead. You only see the pleasure of the moment, not the future pain.”
Marcus’ mouth tipped in a faint smile. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young, Mother.”
“I haven’t forgotten, Marcus. Oh, no, I haven’t forgotten. Youth is no panacea for any generation. But the world today is so much more complex, so filled with destructive influences. Julia is too easily swayed.” She put her hand on his arm. “Can’t you see your father doesn’t want to destroy her pleasure, only protect her from harm?”
“What harm is there in a young girl going out with a friend to buy trinkets and watch the soldiers practice drills at the Field of Mars?”
Phoebe had no more words to explain. She lowered her head, knowing further argument was useless. At her defeated gesture, Marcus leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mother, and I see your point, but I don’t think you give Julia enough credit.”
“She’s far too strong-willed.”
“Would you and Father be hap
pier with a weak-minded daughter? I doubt it. Up to now, Julia has had no freedom whatsoever. How can she learn to handle it if she’s never had it?”
“Too much freedom can sear a conscience.”
“Too little can wither a mind.”
“And if your father was to agree to shorten her mourning period and allow Julia more freedom, what do you suppose she would do with it?”
Marcus thought of Calabah Shiva Fontaneus. “You could make conditions,” he said. “Certain people are acceptable, certain people are not.”
“I’ll discuss it with your father later this evening,” she said. Freeing Julia might be the only way to attain any peace in the household. Even better, though, would be finding her another husband. . . .
Chapter 17
Atretes lifted his head from the massage table and looked skeptically at Bato. “The proprietor wants to pay me twenty aurei to spend one night in his inn? What does he want me to do while I am there?”
“Nothing but sit in his dining room and sleep in one of his beds,” Bato said. “You’ll get many such offers, Atretes. You have moved into the ranks of the favored few—those whose kills continue to increase. Twenty-one now to your credit, isn’t it? And the more kills you have, the more your fame will grow. Fame brings fortune.”
Atretes laid his head down again and closed his eyes. “Will it bring freedom?” he said as the masseur pounded his muscles and kneaded them expertly.
“Eventually, perhaps. If the gods continue to smile upon you.”
Atretes swore. “Gods are fickle. What will it take for me to gain my own freedom? How much will it cost? What do I have to do?” He shoved the masseur back as he sat up. The masseur glanced at Bato, but the lanista jerked his head toward the door, dismissing him.
“You may never gain your freedom,” Bato said frankly. “As you increase in reputation, so increases the price of your freedom. The best you can hope for is retirement and a position as a lanista.”