“Perhaps a votive offering would help,” a novice priest said as she was led away.
To which god? she wondered in despair. How would she know which deity among the pantheon would intercede on her behalf? And to whom would that god appeal? And if she had offended one god among them all, how would she know which one to appease with an offering? And what offering would suffice?
Her head ached with the endless possibilities.
“All will be well, my lady,” Eudemas said, and her comfort grated on Julia’s already raw nerves. Julia was well aware Eudemas’ sympathy lacked sincerity. The slave pretended to care because her survival depended on the goodwill of her mistress. Julia had Prometheus to thank for the way the slaves treated her. Before he had run away, he had told every servant that she had sent Hadassah to the arena.
Tears smarted Julia’s eyes as she looked away from the girl. She should have sold all of her household slaves and bought others fresh off ships from the farthest reaches of the Empire. Foolishly, she had chosen to sell only a few, never considering that those new to the household would soon hear what happened to those before. Within a few days of their arrival, Julia felt their fear like a palpable force around her. No one ever looked her in the eye. They bowed and scraped and obeyed her every command, and she hated them.
Sometimes, against her will, she remembered what it was like to be served out of love. She remembered the sense of security she had felt in trusting another human being completely, knowing that person was devoted to her even when faced with death. At such times her loneliness was greatest, her despair the most debilitating.
Calabah said fear was a healthy thing for a slave to feel toward her mistress. “One who is wise in the ways of the world should learn to cultivate fear. Nothing else gives you more power and advantage over others. Only when you have power are you truly free.”
Julia knew she held the power of life and death over others, but it no longer gave her advantage or security. Hadn’t she hated her father when he controlled her life? Hadn’t she hated Claudius, and then Caius, for the same reason? And even when she had fallen in love with Atretes, she had feared his hold over her.
Power was not the answer.
Over the past six months, Julia had begun to wonder whether life had any meaning at all. She had money and position. She answered to no one. Calabah had shown her every pleasure the Empire had to offer, and she had embraced them all wantonly. Yet, still, something within her cried out, and the abysmal emptiness remained, unfulfilled. She was so hungry, hungry for something she couldn’t even define.
And now she was sick, and no one cared. No one loved her enough to care.
She was alone.
This wretched lingering illness only made matters worse, for it made her vulnerable. When the fevers were upon her, she was forced to rely on others: Like Calabah, whose lust for life was turning to others. Like Primus, who had never cared about her in the first place. Like Eudemas and all the others who served out of fear.
Julia walked out of the temple. She craved the warmth of sunlight. Jannes, a well-proportioned slave from Macedonia who had taken Primus’ fancy, assisted her onto the sedan chair. After sending Eudemas to the market to buy a vial of sleeping potion, she gave Jannes instructions on how to reach her mother’s villa. He and the three others lifted her and carried her through the crowded streets.
Weary from the ordeal in the temple, Julia closed her eyes. The sway of the chair made her dizzy, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Her hands trembled. She clenched them in her lap, struggling to squelch the rising sickness. Glancing out once, she saw they were carrying her up Kuretes Street. She was not far from her mother’s villa, and hope made her bite her lip. Surely her own mother would not refuse to see her.
Only twice in the last months had her mother come to her own villa. The first time, conversation had been strained and stilted. Primus’ anecdotes about high officials and well-known personages made her mother uncomfortable. Julia had grown accustomed to his crass innuendoes and acid humor, but in her mother’s presence, his words embarrassed her. She had also become acutely aware of her mother’s subtle reactions to Calabah’s openly possessive and affectionate manner. Julia had begun to wonder if Calabah was behaving so deliberately and had given her a pleading look. She had been surprised at the venomous anger sparkling in those dark eyes.
On the second visit, Calabah made no effort to be discreet or polite. As Julia’s mother was ushered into the triclinium, Calabah rose, tipped Julia’s chin up, and kissed her full and passionately on the mouth. Straightening, she gave a taunting, contemptuous smile to Julia’s mother and retired without excuse. Julia had never seen her mother look so pale or repulsed, and Julia found herself mortified by Calabah’s behavior. The scene had caused the first rupture in Julia’s infatuation with her mentor.