I sat down and closed my eyes, willing to shift into my bird shape, as I had once before when my life was in danger on the druid isle. But whatever power had come to me then, whatever grace, it could not find me here. I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth and slipped into a doze. The only release was sleep.
“Wake up, toots.” A hand closed on my upper arm, not gently but without intent to hurt. “She wants you in the cubiculo. Pronto. I’ll show you the way.”
I rubbed my eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented. I started to get up, but my back, where I’d leaned against the wall, was still stiff and sore.
“Come on,” said Reginus, and he helped me up, careful not to touch my back.
I followed a pace or two behind him, trying to memorize the turns and count the number of corridors and courtyards. If I was ever going to get out of here—or even survive here—I’d have to learn my way around, but high walls and right angles confounded my natural sense of direction that had been based on observation of light and water, the contours of land, the moss on rocks and trees.
When we reached a deserted atrium, Reginus dropped back beside me.
“Don’t ask me why I’m doing this,” he said in a low voice, looking around to make sure we weren’t being watched. “I guess it’s out of the goodness of my heartlessness. Trust me!” He held up his hand as if I’d protested, which I hadn’t. “I don’t have a heart. I cut it out myself a long time ago and ate it, because I was starving. I do have my balls, in case you were wondering about that. I just don’t do it with women. The noble Publius Paulus, in whose house I served for many years, found my predilections disgusting—though I’m not quite sure why, considering the perpetual stick he has up his ass. He was going to sell me off to a bathhouse (dear gods, I wish he had; how have I offended you?) when it occurred to him I’d make the perfect a cubiculo for his would-be slut of a daughter. But forget my life story. Not that you asked. It’s just that I hate to see those dumb, dazed animals in the beast shows that just wander into the arena and get slaughtered. A weakness of mine. But you get my drift.”
His patter was a little hard to keep up with, but this image went home.
“You mean—”
“Enough said,” he cut me off. “Now I’m going to explain some things to you this once. But don’t look to me for help after this. I’m not your friend. I’m not anyone’s friend. A few words to the wise, then you’re on your own. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Everyone here, everyone you see is working for someone. The ones who like to play dirty and dangerous are working for more than one someone. The ones who are really good at the game have people reporting to them. They’re information brokers.”
That had been part of Bone’s job description. I was not unfamiliar with the pettiness that was Rome.
“So?” I said. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Tell me you’re not that stupid.”
“I’m a stupid slut,” I said with disinterest. “That’s the general consensus.”
“Play it that way if you want to.” He shrugged. “It might work. Depending on who you’re working for.”
“What if I don’t want to work for anyone?”
“Then you really are stupid. Listen, honey, in Rome everyone from emperor to the slave who empties the slops is out for himself. But no one belongs to himself.”
There was that phrase again, that charged phrase. No one belongs to himself.
“The only power you have at all is how you play the game. You can be clever or you can be a fool. I’ll give you a tip. Now that Decius Mundus is back, the stakes have gone up.” Reginus was whispering now. “Appius Claudius still hasn’t chosen an heir. The contenders are like buzzards around a wild beast show. You can be sure Claudius will play them for as long as he can, but it’s a dangerous game—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “I don’t get it. Isn’t that the main reason he’s married to Paulina—to get an heir? Why else would anyone marry a spoiled little harpy who—”
“Ssh!” Reginus put his hand over my mouth as we heard someone approach from the other direction. “You’ll have to figure out the rest for yourself. Now drop behind me again, there’s a good rookie slave.”
When we got to the courtyard below Paulina’s cubiculo, my guide stood aside and gestured for me to pass.
“You first,” I said.
“I’m not going.” He grinned, not a very nice grin, more like a leer. “Thanks to you, I get to have an afternoon with the boys at the bath.”
“Thanks to me?”
“She’s cleared everyone else out. Have a ball.” He walked away, whistling so softly I could only hear him for a moment.
Here goes everything, I thought, and I mounted the stairs.
When I stepped into Paulina’s cubiculo—for all its luxurious appointments still small and stinking of perfume and hair oil—I had a moment’s false hope. She appeared to be asleep, sprawled on her couch, one arm under her head, the other under her breasts, her hand resting on the curve of her pubic bone. Her shift rode up her thighs stopping just short of where her hand lay, as if she had been lifting it and then thought better of it. Her bare legs were shapely, her feet slender with beautifully curved arches and well-tended toenails painted silver. Her elaborate hairdo had come undone, and her hair fanned out like the rays of a black sun. I studied her face, her lips moist and slightly parted, her eyelids twitching a little.
Then her breathing quickened, and I realized: no one sleeps that artfully. She knows I’m here. This is a test. The mistress spread out, seemingly vulnerable in her sleep; what will the slave do? I sat down, leaned against the wall, and narrowed my eyes to slits. If she was going to fake sleep, then I would, too. For quite a while we each regarded the other through a thicket of eyelashes.
“Red.”
She gave up first. Score one for me. No, wait. I am not playing.
“Red.” Her voice was plaintive when I didn’t answer. “Don’t make me cross. Look at me.”
When I opened my eyes, she pulled up her shift the rest of the way, shifting her legs and parting her thighs to reveal her swollen, glistening sex.
“Now we’re back where we started,” Paulina said. “Only I’m not going to make a grab for you this time, and I don’t think even you would be stupid enough to raise your hand to me again. Why should you? You’re a whore. My whore. Mine. You know what to do. Do it.”
I
