Though my entire being wanted to dwell on the notion, I knew that I could not, or I would go mad. Instead, I elected to focus on getting through what lay ahead for me with Gaius.
With derision, I looked down at the clothing that Gaius had left for me to wear. A toga the color of the sky and a palla—a woolen shawl—that matched had been laid out on the bed. When I bent over to look closer, I saw that the toga had slits up each leg, nearly to the hip, and that the front draped so low that my breasts would be almost entirely exposed.
I would not have felt comfortable in such a garment ever. The fact that Gaius had likely chosen it specially, as a part of his sick fantasy, meant that I would rather wear my leathers until they rotted from my body.
Clenching my fingers in the bedspread, I opened my mouth to scream again. Perhaps if I caused enough of a fuss, if I was more of a pain than he could ever have imagined, he would let me go.
It was more likely that he’d kill me, but I could hope.
A knock sounded at my door. My scream froze in my throat, and I looked suspiciously at the entry to the room.
Gaius would not knock. Who could be there?
The door opened, and a face peered around tentatively. Wide violet eyes dominated a small, white face and were offset by clouds of pale red curls.
My visitor was the girl from the night before, the one who had showed us to the cave.
“Apologies, miss. The dominus has given us instructions.” The young girl did not look in my eyes as she gestured behind her. Her attitude had changed from the night before—she was now skittish, her every movement tense with nerves.
Two other women, who were also slaves but much sleeker and more self-assured, had followed the young girl into the room. One carried a vat of something that had steam rising from it, and another a tray filled with pots that I could smell even from where I stood across the room. They deposited their burdens by a wooden tub, turned some kind of knob that had water gushing from a lead pipe, and left.
Running water! What an extravagance!
The pregnant girl clutched a pile of linens in her hands, her fingers worrying the fabric until I thought that it might rip.
“What is happening?” Though I was still angry and highly suspicious of anything initiated by Gaius, I tried to soften my voice, so as not to further frighten the young girl.
She looked up at me from between her long golden eyelashes, then back down just as fast.
“We have been given instructions to . . . to groom you, lady.” The poor girl’s hands were trembling, and for a moment I could not think why.
I stepped closer, and she flinched. I understood then.
“Did Gaius tell you that I would hurt you?” The girl’s head snapped up, and a flush stained her cheeks.
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again.
My rage against Gaius built all over again. For the sake of the girl who was no more than a child herself, I swallowed it down, and stepped toward her again.
“I will not hurt you, girl.” Something in this fragile creature reminded me of myself, but a very, very long time ago. Yes, I saw a shadow of the girl that I had been when my father had sold me into slavery, so many years before.
I had had that innocence, that fragility, torn away from me, and so had this girl, or at least I assumed so. Such a timid creature would surely not have made the choice to get with child, not in her situation.
I took an instant liking to her, felt a softness that I had not felt for anyone in years.
“If I had wanted to harm you, I would have done so last night.” I felt the urge to harm Gaius all over again, for the fear that I saw etched in this young girl’s face.
“You do not have to touch me, if you do not wish it.” I stood perfectly still, waiting for her to make the next move. Her eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically, which was not what I had expected.
“I must, lady! You do not understand.” Her eyes grabbed at the mound of her belly—a protective gesture—and she dropped the towels. Rather than letting her stoop clumsily to pick them up, I knelt and slowly, calmly began to refold them.
“Why must you?” I stood and handed her the towels, then crossed to the wooden tub and examined the knob that the other slave girl had turned to obtain the gush of water. An experimental turn in the other direction made the stream cease, just before the contents of the tub were to flow out onto the floor.
The girl inhaled deeply, then crossed the room to stand beside me. I saw her eye me with a sidelong glance, and hoped that I gave her no cause for concern.
What had Gaius done to her to make her so afraid?
“What is your name?” I tried this question instead, hoping to give her something, anything, with which to break the silence.
“Viola.” The word was soft, but as she spoke, she looked up at me, looked me in the eye, which I thought was a step in the right direction.