I was about to say no when a happy thought struck me. ‘Yes,’ I said suddenly, ‘I would like my own attendant. Have Junio sent to me.’
Chapter Nine
Junio was endearingly pleased to see me. He was not accustomed to endless hours of waiting. Back at the Glevum workshop, he was my only servant. He helped me with everything, and I was additionally teaching him the rudiments of pavement-making. One day, when he gained his freedom, when I was gone or he was old enough to manumit, I intended that he would have a trade to support himself.
Several hours of idleness in the attic had been hard for him to bear, and he threw himself into my service with enthusiasm. A pair of matching slaves had been sent to tend me, but Junio would not allow them near me. He insisted on doing everything himself. He stoked the braziers, trimmed the wicks, fetched water to bathe my hands and feet, combed oils through my hair and beard, plumped up my cushions, extricated me from my outer garments, lighted my way to the latrine and finally tucked me up, cleansed and shining, under the woven blankets on the luxurious Roman bed — wooden frame, webbed base, padded mattress and all. When, after all that, he sat down on the floor beside me and began to fold and brush my toga, I took pity on the waiting pair and sent them away.
Junio, who up until then had been according me unaccustomed respect, and speaking only when spoken to, put down his work as soon as they were gone and grinned at me cheerfully. ‘No spiced mead tonight, master.’ It was my favourite nightcap, but not one I expected to find in a Roman household. ‘How will you ever sleep? And on such an uncomfortable bed, too.’
I found myself grinning back. My bed at home was a humble pile of reeds and rags. ‘Doubtless I shall manage. The physician has promised me a sleeping draught.’ I explained to Junio the events of the day.
He nodded. ‘I heard that Quintus Ulpius was dead, of course. Eventually. We thought something must have happened — Marcus’s slave and I — we were promised bread and cheese in the attic, but no one came near us for hours. We did not worry at first: we had a gaming board, and I was beating him at twelve-stones.’
I sighed. It was no use remonstrating with Junio: he had been raised in the sort of Roman household where even the slaves learned to gamble as soon as they could count. Even if the dice were loaded, as they often were, he could calculate odds faster than I could measure a pavement. ‘I hope he could afford it?’
‘I took four as coins from him before he lost interest. Then finally one of the servants brought us word.’
‘And your bread and cheese, I hope?’
Junio chuckled. ‘No, in fact, when the food did come we ate like kings. Pickled beef and fruit. I don’t know who authorised it. The girl who brought it gave us the news, and said that the whole household was in uproar.’
I nodded. ‘What else did she tell you? I should like to know the servants’ gossip.’ A man’s slaves often know more about his household than he knows himself. ‘Did she have anything to say about Julia, for instance? What do her maidservants think of her?’
Junio made a wry face at me. ‘They think she takes an insufficient interest in the household, and devotes herself too much to men’s affairs. She is vain about her looks, too. She surrounds herself with unattractive maidservants on purpose, and is forever taking potions and spending a fortune on powders and perfumes. Though it is doubtful that the male slaves think the same. Julia can charm anything in a toga, and I hear that every man in the household has fallen for it to some degree, from the kitchen boy to the surgeon. The secretary in particular is quite besotted with her.’
I thought of tall, awkward, pedantic Mutuus and laughed. ‘And what did Quintus Ulpius think of that?’
‘His reaction was very much like yours. More amused than anything, from what I hear. This Mutuus is a citizen by birth, taken in noxal surrender. He apparently has ideas above his station and follows Julia about like a pet lamb. He makes himself quite ridiculous. Thinks she values his learning, since she seems to like clever men, though he is simply a slave to her. Quintus thought it was funny, by all accounts, though he could be obsessively jealous if there was any real rival. He hated Julia’s former husband, for instance. Flavius, is that his name?’
I nodded. ‘It was quite mutual.’ I knew that there was no love lost between Quintus and Flavius. ‘So Quintus was fond of his new wife?’
‘Devoted to her. He quarrelled violently with his son about it. Maximilian resents Julia — he must be the only male who does. He has never forgiven his father for marrying again. His own mother died last year, drinking bad water from a well, but Ulpius divorced her many years ago. She was a beauty once, apparently, but she had no dowry, and then she caught the pox.’
Poor creature, I thought. It would not be the first time an illness had stripped a woman of both her looks and her husband. ‘No wonder Julia is so careful of her health and appearance, if her predecessor caught a disfiguring disease.’
‘All this attention to her looks certainly seems to work. Quintus Ulpius is delighted with her — or was. He would have liked another son, they say, and was prepared to work very hard to have one.’ He gave me a wicked smile. ‘But there was no sign of success, and she was consulting Sollers secretly.’ His grin broadened. ‘Not so secretly as she thinks, of course. One of the slaves found out, and now they all know. Though they do say that perhaps the fault is not with Julia.’
I frowned at him. ‘With Quintus, then? But surely, Maximilian. .?’
‘Is not much like his father, do you not think? But this is merely rumour. Of course, if Quintus could not sire an heir, no doubt Mutuus would have been very glad to help.’
‘You are not suggesting. .’ I was horrified.
He grinned. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. Quintus would have had his nose cut off if there was any suggestion of that! No, it is just that Mutuus has dreams. The maidservants think it is hilarious.’
‘Who told you this?’
He gave me that impudent look again. ‘Don’t look so startled, master. You’ve taught me how to ask questions. I was told by a bald-headed slave girl.’
I gazed at him in surprise. ‘Bald-headed?’
‘Julia isn’t a bad mistress, but she is heartless in some ways. She sometimes does buy good-looking slaves. She won’t let them attend her, but she gets them for their hair. She has them forcibly shaved and then sold on again when their locks have grown back a little. The girl who brought us our supper was one of them — she was bought and sheared last week and is still balder than a rat’s tail. She is feeling her humiliation deeply — it was not difficult to make her talk about her mistress.’
I nodded. A girl with no hair. This, clearly, was the explanation of that caped female in the garden. She would have been sent to serve the slaves, because she was useless for public duties. The cape was obviously to cover her head while she went to the kitchens for the food. But she would have been punished severely if anyone knew she’d been seen — I was glad I had not confronted her in the grotto. But I could not resist the enquiry. ‘Why did Julia want the hair?’
‘She has several elaborate hairpieces, for different occasions.’
This was an unpleasant idea. I thought of my Gwellia and her lovely hair. Had that, too, been brutally shaved off to serve some mistress’s vanity? Or, worse still, lovingly dressed and brushed to rouse a master’s fancy?
I said sharply, ‘I want to see Julia in the morning. There is something about her that I can’t get out of my mind.’
Junio seized upon my words at once. ‘You have felt her charm too, master? You surprise me. I thought you immune to such things.’
‘That is not what I meant,’ I said severely. ‘There is something I would like her to explain, that’s all. You should be able to work out what it is.’