“Yes, my lady.”
Dejected, Julia watched her handmaiden find the blue palus and place it on the couch. She pushed her hair back from her face and entered the room with as much dignity as she could muster, ignoring Didymas as she left the room to fetch the water.
Clutching the edge of her marble vanity table, Julia sat down heavily. She stared into the shiny metal surface of her mirror and saw reflected there a pale thin face with dark circles beneath large brown eyes. The dark hair was in disarray as though the stranger she stared at hadn’t bothered having it brushed or combed for days. How long had it been?
She picked up a tortoiseshell comb and began to work it through the tangles. Finally, giving up, she decided to wait for Didymas to return. When she did, Julia rose and washed her face. As she dabbed her cheeks with a cloth, she sank down once again on the chair before the mirror and commanded Didymas to comb her hair.
Julia winced at the first tug of the comb and turned on the servant in a rage. “Stupid girl! Hurt me again and I’ll send you to the lions. I did it once before, in case you didn’t know. And I’ll do it again!”
Didymas’ face whitened. Gratified to have cowed the slave, Julia turned around and lifted her chin. “Now, do it properly.”
Hands shaking, Didymas worked with tedious caution.
After a few minutes, Julia felt worse than before. The slave girl’s fear was more depressing than her animosity. Lifting her eyes, Julia looked at Didymas’ pale, tense face. The girl’s eyes flickered, and Julia felt her work even more slowly. Disheartened, Julia looked away.
“Your hair is very lovely, my lady.”
Julia took a strand of dull, dark hair and wound it around her finger. She knew the words for what they were. Empty flattery. “It used to shine,” she said bleakly.
“Would you like me to brush some scented oil into your hair, my lady?”
So deferential now with the threat of the arena hanging over her head. “Yes, do that,” Julia said tersely, glaring at her in the mirror. “Make it shine again by whatever means we have available.”
Didymas’ hands shook as she poured a few drops of oil into her palms, rubbed them together, and then worked the oil gently into Julia’s hair and scalp. Sighing, Julia relaxed slightly, for the massaging felt good. “Braid it into a crown,” she said.
Didymas did as commanded. “Are you pleased with it, my lady?” she said when she was finished.
Julia studied the effect critically. The coiffure that had once made her look like a queen now made her look austere. “Eudemas used to weave pearls into my hair,” she said.
“There are no pearls, my lady.”
“I didn’t ask you to remind me!”
Didymas took a step back, her eyes reflecting her fear.
Julia regretted saying anything about the pearls. What did the servants think of her circumstances? Did they whisper among themselves and gloat over her reversal of fortune? They were only concerned with their fates, not hers.
“What is there in the jewelry box?” Julia said imperiously.
Didymas opened the box and studied the contents. “Three glass-bead necklaces, my lady, and some crystals.”
“I must have more left than that,” Julia said impatiently. “Bring it here.” She snatched the box from Didymas and put it on her lap. Sifting through the contents, she found nothing more than what Didymas had said. She took an amethyst crystal from the box and held it in the palm of her hand. She had bought it long ago in Rome from an eastern magus who had set up a booth in the marketplace. Her friend Octavia had been with her. Last she had heard, Octavia’s father, deep in debt, had committed suicide. What had become of Octavia? Julia wondered. Was she still giving away her favors to whatever gladiator would accept them? Or had she finally found a man of her own station who was fool enough to marry her?
Julia held the amethyst in her hand. What had the man told her about it? Hadn’t he said the crystal had some sort of healing quality? She slipped the chain around her neck and held the crystal tightly in her hand.
Asklepios, let it be so.
“See what you can do with the beads,” she said, and Didymas undid her hair. She braided it again, weaving the glass beads into the strands this time. Julia studied the finished effect and sighed. “That will have to do.”
“Yes, my lady,” Didymas said.
“You may go.”
“Yes, my lady.” Didymas bowed low and hurried from the room.
Julia picked up a pot of white lead and smoothed some of it beneath her eyes to erase the dark shadows. How much would it take to erase the darkness beneath her eyes now? She worked expertly and set it down again, taking up a pot of red ocher. She added a final touch of kohl to her eyelids and then stared at her reflection.