Roman blood

My host clapped his hands. The slave called Stabius ushered the girls out of the room. Talia, the young blossom whom our host had unveiled for us, who had blushed and looked away with such conviction, covered her mouth with her hand as she left, yawning.

'Stabius!'

The slave turned back. 'Stabius, bring us Electra.'

The woman called Electra took her time. When my host at last announced her, I knew at once that she was the woman I wanted.

Her hair was her most striking feature, a great mass of black tresses accented with a spray of white at each temple. She wore her makeup with a skill attainable only by years of practice; my host might have done well to take lessons from her. If her features were too bold to be called delicate, if her skin was no longer pristine, still, under the soft light of the atrium, one could say with complete conviction that she was beautiful. With age she had earned the dignity to wear a gown less revealing than those of the younger girls, a loose, long-sleeved white robe belted with a sash at the waist. The curves of her hips and breasts were alluring enough without being glimpsed through gossamer.

There is at least one such woman in every brothel, and in those cities dedicated to the specializations of pleasure one may find entire houses of them. Electra was the Great Mother. Not the mother of a grown man, but the mother one remembers from childhood; not old but wise, with a body neither lean and girlish nor old beyond beauty, but fulsome, primed, nourishing.

I glanced at Tiro and saw that he was quite astonished by her. She was not the type of woman he was likely to meet very often in the service of a master like Cicero.

I stepped aside with my host and negotiated. Naturally he wanted too much. I fretted again over the missing Elena. He grimaced and lowered his price. I demurred. He lowered his price again. I acquiesced. I instructed Tiro to pay him. He handed over the coins with a look of shock, whether because he thought the price extravagant (especially coming from his master's account), or because he realized what a bargain I had made, I couldn't tell.

Electra turned to lead the way to her room. I followed and gestured for Tiro to come along.

Tiro seemed startled. So did my host.

'Citizen, citizen, I had no idea you intended to take the boy along with you. Of course there must be a surcharge.' 'Nonsense. The slave goes where I go.' 'Sir—'

'The boy is a slave, mere property. You might as well charge me for taking along a pair of sandals. I was led to believe this was a comfortable establishment. Of course, I was also led to believe that I would find a certain girl here—'

My host turned the coins in his hand. Then jingling added to the clacking of the rings on his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, smacked his lips, and turned aside.

Electra's room was nothing like the vestibule and hallways. I suspected she had decorated it herself; it had the unerring simplicity of Greek taste and the comfortable feeling of a room long lived in. She reclined on a long, wide divan. There were two chairs. I motioned to Tiro to sit on one. I sat on the other.

She smiled and laughed quietly, perhaps thinking we were shy, or pretending to be. 'It's more comfortable here,' she said, smoothing her hand over the well-worn fabric of the divan. Her voice held only the trace of an accent.

'I'm sure it is. But I want to talk first.'

She shrugged knowingly. 'Of course. Would you like me to undress? I glanced at Tiro, who was already blushing. ‘Yes,' I said. 'Take off your gown while we talk. Do it slowly.'

Electra stood. She brushed her hair back and reached behind her neck to undo the clasp. Behind her, on a small table beside the divan, I spotted a tiny hourglass. Its upper chamber was full; the sand flowed freely. She must have turned it when we came into the room, so smoothly I hadn't noticed. Electra was a true professional.

'Tell me about Elena,' I said.

She hesitated for only a heartbeat. 'You are a friend of hers? A client?' 'No.'

'How do you know her?' 'I don't.'

She seemed amused. "Then why do you ask me about her?' The gown slipped easily from her shoulders and gathered in folds about her waist, trapped by the sash. Her flesh was surprisingly smooth and firm. Against her pale nakedness I noticed the jewellery she wore, silver bangles about her wrists and a slender necklace that defined a sumptuous curve above her breasts. Though she might not own them, obviously she had chosen the ornaments herself. Again her taste eclipsed her master's.

She seemed to make a point of ignoring Tiro, which left him free to stare at her. He watched with a kind of helpless intensity, his hps pursed and his eyebrows drawn together as if he might be in pain.

'Perhaps you should simply answer the question. I've already paid for you, after all. Displease me and I shall complain to your master, demand my money back. Perhaps he'll beat you.'

She laughed out loud. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'And neither do you.' She picked up a comb and a small mirror from the table and sat on the bed, gazing at her reflection and combing her hair. She was really quite extraordinary. My host should have demanded twice his starting price.

‘You're right. I only said that to titillate the boy.'

She looked away from her mirror only long enough to arch an eyebrow at me. ‘You have a wicked mind. I think we're wasting time, talking like this.'

I shook my head. 'Tell me about Elena. When did she leave?'

'Some time in the autumn. Before winter.' 'September, perhaps?'

'Yes, I think so. Yes, it was just after the Roman Festival. I remember because the holidays always bring in so much business. That would be late September.'

'How old is Elena?'

'A child.'

'As young as Talia?'

'I said a child, not a baby.'

'And what does she look like?'

'Very pretty. One of the prettiest girls in the house, I always said. Quite blonde, with skin like pale honey. I think her parents may have been Scythians. She had quite a beautiful body, very sumptuous for her age, full-breasted with wide hips and a tiny waist. How vain she was about her tiny waist!'

'Did she have a special client? A man who seemed to care for her in a special way?'

Electra looked at me uneasily. 'Is that why you're here?'

'Yes.'

'Are you a friend of that man? What is his name, Sextus?' 'Yes, that was his name. No, I was not his friend.' 'You speak as if he's dead.' 'He is.'

She put the comb and mirror in her lap. 'And Elena? Was she with him when he died? Do you know where she is now?'

'I know nothing at all about her, except what you can tell me.'

'She was a lovely girl. So delicate.' Electra looked suddenly very sad, and very beautiful. After a moment she took up the comb and the mirror again. 'She was not here for that long a time. A year, I think. The master bought her at auction at the temple of Castor, along with a half-dozen other girls, all the same age and colour. But she was the special one, even though he never saw it.'

'But Sextus saw it.'

'The old man? Oh, yes. After the first time, he came at least once every five or six days. Towards the end he sometimes came every other day.'

'The end?'

'After she became pregnant. Before she left.’ 'Pregnant? Who was the father?'

Electra laughed. This is a brothel, in case you had forgotten. Not every client is satisfied simply to watch a woman comb her hair.' She shrugged. 'In a place like this a girl never really knows which man it might have been, though some girls like to have fantasies. It was Elena's first time. I told her how to get rid of it, but she wouldn't. By rights I should have told the master.'

'But you didn't. Why not?'