The Sacrilege(4)

“Welcome home, Senator!” he cried, causing every head in the street to rotate. Cassandra blubbered as if she’d just received news of my death. Nobody can beat a house slave for sentimentality. It struck me that this was the first time I had been addressed with my new title, and I decided that I liked the sound of it.

I embraced Cassandra and she wept with redoubled fury. “I am so ashamed, master! That boy came by with your horse and belongings less than an hour ago, and I haven’t had time to set the house to rights. It’s disgraceful.”

“I’m sure it is immaculate,” I said, knowing they always kept my house so. They were too old to do anything else. “The horse isn’t mine. Where is it?”

“I told the boy to leave it at the freedman’s stable down the street.”

“Good,” I said. The stable hired out litters and slaves to carry them, but there were stalls for a few horses and mules. I would go there later and arrange for a rider to take the beast back to Ostia. “The rest of my belongings should arrive sometime soon. I left them with a freighter.” I caught sight of someone hanging back in the shadows to the rear of the atrium, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Who is this?” I asked.

“Your father sent him a few days ago,” Cato answered. “He thought you’d be needing a body servant to dog your heels, now you’re a Senator. He’s from the house of your uncle Lucius.”

I sighed. In my family, we did not just go out and buy slaves in the market. That would have been unthinkably vulgar. We only employed slaves born within the family. This sounds terribly well-bred, but it meant severe disadvantages. Instead of going out and choosing a slave who had just the combination of skills and qualities you wanted, you got whatever some relative wanted to fob off on you. I knew that before long I would discover why Uncle Lucius wanted to be rid of this one.

“Come here, boy, let’s have a look at you.” The lad complied. He appeared to be about sixteen, of moderate growth and wiry. His face was narrow and foxy, with a long, thin nose that provided far too little distance between his eyes, which were an alarming shade of green. His dense, curly hair grew to a sharp peak over his brow. His whole look was shifty and villainous, with a touch of surly arrogance. I liked him instantly. “Name?”

“Hermes, master.”

I do not know why we name our slaves for the gods, kings and heroes. It must be odd to achieve true greatness and know that someday your name will be borne by thousands of slaves.

“Well, Hermes, I am your new owner, and you’ll find that I am a good one, within reason. I never use the whip without reason. On the other hand, when there is reason I wield it very well indeed. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Very reasonable, sir,” he assured me with utmost sincerity.

“Good. As your first duty in my service, you may attend me at the baths. Fetch my bath articles, a pair of sandals and one of my better togas. I call on a very distinguished man this afternoon.” The boy was about to rush off, but I stopped him. “Stay. Better let me pick out my toga.”

With my clucking slaves dogging my steps, I went to my bedchamber to scan my wardrobe. Cassandra had aired the room and placed fresh flowers in the vases. I was touched by this. At this time of year, to get fresh flowers on such short notice they must have bribed the slaves of my next-door neighbor, who had a greenhouse.

I picked out my second-best toga and a pair of sandals. It was a mild winter, so I did not bother with foot wrappings. They always look undignified, and after the chilly climate of Gaul, I felt no need of them.

“I may return late,” I told my slaves. “If anyone calls, I shall be at the baths, the Forum and then the house of Metellus Celer. But nobody knows I am in town yet, so there should be no visitors.” I walked as I spoke, and as I walked my aged slaves patted me, dusted me off and all but swept the ground before my feet.

“All will be ready for your return, master,” Cato assured me.

“I’ll have dinner ready, should none of your friends invite you home,” Cassandra said. I knew this would not last. After a few days they would revert to their usual scolding, complaining selves.

I went out into the street with Hermes behind me, carrying the toga, towels, vials of oil and a strigil of fine Campanian bronze work, the gift of a friend in younger, more carefree days. Its handle was decorated with lewd images which the imp admired as we walked.

“Are you familiar with the city?” I asked him.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else,” Hermes said.

“Good. I shall probably have more use for you as a messenger than as a body servant.” Rome is a chaotic city, and it is difficult to find anything except the Capitol, the Forums and the major temples and Circuses unless you have had long experience of the city.