Lagos hurried down the stairs. “A . . . wet nurse, my lord?”
“Make sure she’s German.” He strode through the courtyard toward the baths.
Lagos followed, distressed. He had had several masters, and this one had by far been the most mercurial. Lagos had been greatly honored to be counted among the slaves belonging to Atretes, the foremost gladiator in all of the Roman Empire, but he’d never expected the man to be on the verge of madness. During the first week he’d spent in this villa, Atretes had smashed all the furnishings, set fire to his bedroom, then disappeared. After a month, Silus and Appelles, two gladiators Atretes had purchased from Sertes as guards, had gone out looking for him.
“He’s living in the hill caves,” Silus reported upon their return.
“You must bring him back!”
“And risk getting killed? Forget it! You go, old man. Not me. I value my life.”
“He’ll starve.”
“He’s eating the flesh of animals he hunts down with one of those bloody framea Germans use,” Appelles informed him. “He’s gone feri again.”
“Shouldn’t we do something?” Saturnina said. The slave girl was clearly distressed that her master had reverted to a barbarian savage and was living like a wild beast.
“What would you suggest we do, sweeting? Send you into his cave to improve his mood? You’d have better luck with me.” Silus said, pinching her cheek. She slapped his hand away and he laughed. “You know you’re secretly happy the Lady Julia spurned your master. If he ever regains his mind and comes back, you’ll be waiting in the doorway.”
While Silus and Appelles lolled around, drinking and talking about old battles in the arena, Lagos had taken charge of the household. All was kept in order and readiness should the master regain his mind and return.
Which he had, without warning. After being gone for five months, he simply strode into the villa one day, threw off the furs he was wearing, bathed, shaved, and donned a tunic. Then he sent one of the servants for Sertes, and when the editor of the games came, they were briefly closeted together. The following afternoon, a messenger came telling Atretes the woman he sought was in the dungeon. Atretes left as soon as it was dark.
Now, he was back asking for a wet nurse. A German wet nurse, as though they grew like grapes on a vine! There was no child in the household, and Lagos didn’t even want to contemplate his master’s reasons for the demand he was making. He had one main concern paramount in his mind: survival.
Steeling himself, he gathered his courage and opened his mouth to make his master aware of certain unavoidable facts. “It may not be possible, my lord.”
“Pay whatever the going price is. I don’t care how high it is.” Atretes tossed his belt aside.
“It’s not always a matter of price, my lord. Germans are in great demand, especially if they’re blonde, and the supply is sporadic. . . .” He felt the blood draining from his face at the sardonic look Atretes gave him. If anyone knew these facts, he would. Lagos wondered if Atretes was even aware that a new statue of Mars had been erected, and its resemblance to the gladiator who stood looking at him so impatiently was remarkable. Statuettes of Atretes were still being sold outside the arena. Just the other day, at the marketplace, Lagos had seen idolmaker shops selling figures of an Apollo that looked like Atretes, though it was slightly more well endowed than nature made any man.
“I’m sorry, my lord, but there may not be a German wet nurse available.”
“You’re a Greek. Greeks are resourceful. Find one! She doesn’t have to be blonde, but make sure she’s healthy.” He stripped off his tunic, revealing the body that countless amoratae worshiped. “And have her here by tomorrow morning.” He stepped to the edge of the pool.
“Yes, my lord,” Lagos said grimly, deciding it was best to work quickly rather than waste time trying to reason with a mad barbarian. If he failed, Atretes would no doubt eat his liver like the raven that feasted perpetually upon the god Prometheus.
Atretes dove into the pool, the cool water a relief to his feverish mind. He came up and shook the water from his hair. He would go back to the city tonight. Alone. If he took Silus and Appelles with him, they would draw attention. Besides, even two trained guards were no match against a mob. It would be far better if he went into the city by himself. He would wear commoner’s clothing and keep his hair covered. Thus disguised, he should have no difficulty.
When he finished bathing, he roamed through the house. Restless and tense, he strayed from room to room until he came to the largest on the second floor. He hadn’t set foot in this chamber since setting it on fire over five months ago. He glanced around, seeing that the servants had taken it upon themselves to remove the charred furnishings, wall hangings, and shattered Corinthian vases. Though they had certainly scrubbed the marble, there was still physical evidence of his rage and the destruction he had intended. He had purchased this villa for Julia, intending to bring her here as his wife. He had been well aware of how Julia reveled in luxury and remembered how proud he had been when he had furnished it with the most expensive things. They would have shared this room.