Sharpie

"My mother, domine," Rufus replied, a little nonplussed at the question, although he supposed it was only natural; his colouring was unusual here in Italia. He stepped away to lay the tunic down, as it was evidently not wanted. As he did so, the citizen unfastened his loincloth, which slipped ungracefully to the floor. Nudity was nothing unusual, to the Romans or the slaves who served them, and Rufus said nothing as he bent to pick the discarded undergarment up and fold it, laying it aside on the folded tunic the citizen had been wearing earlier.

His own cock was stirring, which could be good, or bad; it was hard to tell at this moment, although Rufus did not think that his service was going to end tonight with him being sent to his own sleeping-place. It would not be the first time, and better it was someone he found attractive, he thought.

"What is your will, domine?" he asked quietly, taking the slaves' position of readiness, with his hands folded in front of him and his eyes lowered.

@Gil

It was not always a good idea for a slave to be smart - or rather, to show it. Thankfully, his temporary master didn't seem to mind. He moved the basin and picked up the towel, concentrating on one foot at a time, making sure that he was not rubbing so hard it would hurt nor so softly that it would tickle, and careful to dry everything. Once done, he rose smoothly to his feet, setting the basin and towel aside out of the way and testing the warmth of the wine, listening as Flavius Alexander reminisced about his time in Africa.

He poured and was about to step to the side of the room to wait to be again called upon but the command came before he could do so: Unfasten te man's belt and and help him to undress. His breath caught in his throat suddenly as the thought occurred to him: Would he be pressed into a more personal service? He could not say no, and did not think that he would really mind anyway, if the man was everything he had seemed to be.

"Yes, domine," he said, reaching for the belt buckle to unfasten it. He rolled it carefully, setting it aside on the writing table before moving to assist with the tunic, which would be more awkward than necessary due to the difference in heights.

It was not so awkward as it could have been, and the body it had concealed was revealed, a soldier's body with varying scars. Rufus caught himself a hairsbreadth from touching his finger to one in particular, a long one running down the man's right side. He covered his momentary confusion by turning to pick up the tunic that had been laid out on the bed as nightwear.

"If it please you, domine?"

@Gil

Rufus concentrated on the task at hand, carefully cleaning the last vestiges of the evening's venture out from the other's skin. The sudden light touch to his hair made him look up, startled but not unpleasantly so. His current master, the man he had been summarily lent to, was actually rather handsome, under the casual superiority of a free Roman dealing with a slave.

He looked back down, shivering a little with... something, as the other reached to trace the edge of his ear. "I would think, domine, that it would be easier to adjust to comfort than to discomfort," he said quietly, addressing the other's knees, wondering when he had become so bold as to offer a thought or opinion unasked. Everyone knew that slaves didn't have opinions about anything unless they were ordered to (though that was patent nonsense; nobody could just... stop thinking!).

"It was..." he stopped, thinking. "Exhilarating, sir," he finished. It had been frustrating, but the wind and the sound of the waves trumped the frustration. He decided he liked the memory, it was a good one, however cold it had been, and however briefly it had lasted.

"Perhaps more so, thinking about it indoors, with the weather safely barred outside, domine?" he ventured, daring to lift his head again, although this time his eyeline rose no higher than the man's belt (very finely tooled leather, must have cost almost as much as Rufus was worth).

@Gil

"I hope I'll be able to earn my freedom one day."

What's your very earliest memory?

Rufus moved the tray to a table near the bed, to be close to hand if the citizen decided he did want to eat something, and then retrieved the basin of water and the towel. There was something hungry about the way that the man was watching him, he thought, but he could be imagining it.

"If you will permit...?" he began, lifting his eyes to meet Flavius' for a split second before dropping his gaze again. Citizens wanted their slaves (even the borrowed ones) to be docile and humble and not bold and pushy. He knelt, placing the basin on the floor where the other could slip his feet into the warm water without having to stretch to do so.

"If I may ask, domine... did you find your walk acceptable this evening?" he ventured, dipping his own chilled hands into the water to begin washing the chill and flecks of sand and mud from the other's feet. If he was not permitted to ask, well, he would be told so, wouldn't he?

@Gil

"Yes, domine," Rufus murmured, stepping forward to accept an armful of damp wool. The imperious tone was back - in truth, Rufus wasn't really sure it had ever completely vanished. Submerged momentarily in the thrill of scrambling over rocks at night for no real reason, more than anything.

There was one person still awake, just, in the kitchen when Rufus entered to hang the citizen's cloak and his own paenula up to dry. The wine was easy enough to get, and the fire hadn't burned so low that there couldn't be warm water very soon - Rufus was chilled and he didn't think his master's guest would be much warmer. He could at least offer warm water for his feet.

It was a few minutes later that Rufus, barefoot again, returned to the guest chamber carrying a tray with a bronze jug of wine, a wine-cup and a plate with some grapes and bread on, just in case he found he was hungry. He was accompanied by a sleepy maid carrying a basin of warm water, with a towel draped over her arm.

"Domine?" he called, quietly, before opening the door. The girl put the basin down, with the towel beside it and stood, ready to leave the moment permission was given, as Rufus set the wine to warm before turning to attend the guest once his hands were free.

@Gil

"Yes, this is Master's..." Flavius Alexander didn't stick around to hear the answer but headed off in the direction of the villa before Rufus had even finished talking.

And here came the threatened rain. Of course it did. Cold wet raindrops.

Flavius Alexander was not running, he possessed far too much dignitas for that, but Rufus was shorter. And also a slave with no dignitas whatsoever (because he was a slave). The only way he could keep up was by almost running, which was far easier to do up here on the packed dirt of the cliff-top pathway. It was only a mile or so and the villa would be easy enough to spot, and the side-door was unlocked, waiting for them.

It was actually quite exhilarating, or it would be, if Rufus hadn't already had a long day!

"Domine! Domine, the right-hand path at the fork!"

It must be a human-made path, but really, this part was made for (or by?) goats. This was ridiculous - there was probably a decently walkable path only a few metres away, but they would never find it in the dark. The gods must be laughing at them!

He handed the lantern over, with a grateful, "Thank you, domine!"

It was a scramble, and the citizen was right: Rufus would never make it if he had to hold the lantern. He couldn't help grinning shyly at the citizen as he passed the light over, and tried not to sigh: it would also be easier in proper footwear and a proper cloak, but he was limited to his light sandals and the heavy felt poncho his master provided. At least he hadn't had to come out into a January night barefoot and with only his linen tunic on. Small mercies, but Rufus was grateful for them.

Five metres really wasn't far, though, and it wasn't too difficult if you didn't mind using your hands to help - it could not possibly be walked up. Rufus made it to the top in a scramble, testing handholds and footholds - the very last thing he wanted to was end up dropping something on the citizen's head, or landing on top of him. He shifted out of the way a little, but lay full-length in the grass at the top - actually, there was a path up here; he could feel a sharp stone poking his leg.

"Domine," he said, reaching down to take the lantern in one hand, holding it to cast as much light as possible (which wasn't much, if the truth were known) for the citizen. He could offer his other hand, if it was needed, but it wasn't such a great distance and the citizen was probably heavier than he was, too.

@Gil

"I think that looks like the best way, sir." Really, the cliff was so low along here that there was no reason at all there wouldn't be some sort of path down - or up! - but Rufus didn't know it, and hunting for it in the dark wasn't going to be easy.

He wasn't entirely sure at what point this adventure had gone from 'Master's guest is taking a walk, you're accompanying him' to 'you and the young master are sneaking out for... invent a reason'. But that question had been a genuine one, there had been a ring of veracity in the tone of it, a desire for actual knowledge rather than an undercurrent of implied superiority over the ignorance of a slave.

"The cliff isn't so high it can't be scrambled up, if we're careful, sir. But I think it looks like there's an actual path." Saving the need for scrambling at all, which opinion he didn't add - anyway, the citizen, with his wealth of travel experience, would surely be able to work out better than Rufus if that was an actual path and not just a trick of the moonlight, or wishful thinking.

@Gil

"Whom Jupiter wishes to destroy, he first makes mad," Paulus replied. "Which must mean a slow lingering destruction, I suppose, for the length of time the summer is."

Summers in Rome were intolerable; hot, humid... a heavy heat that anybody avoided by any means possible - the rich by swanning off to their villas in the countryside (Baiae was a popular choice, or the seaside near Pompeii) and everyone else by shuttering their windows against the worst of the heat and refusing to have anything to do with outside world from mid-morning to mid-afternoon, if they were sensible about it.

The server appeared with a jug and two beakers, which suited Paulus just fine, even if the wine was cheap posca rather than decent Setinian (what wineshop would stock Setinian, anyway? Not one around here, that Paulus was aware of!) She waited till it was paid for before pouring for them both and flouncing off to deal with someone else.

"Your health, sir, if you can stomach the wine. It's probably nearer vinegar than anything else."

@Gil

"Well, Lucius Licinius," Paulus said, giving the struggling fountain a quick glance - nothing that couldn't be fixed, if he was correct in his estimation. He knew a man who could do the work, too, if the recommendation would be appreciated, but would save that for later in the conversation.

"The Claudians did like their over-decorative swags and things," he said, settling into a chair and taking the glass of wine offered by an attentive slave. (Syrian glass, very nice - tasteful and refined. Worth a sesterce or two - but worth keeping hold of for showing off purposes, especially if he was planning on refurbishing in the more austere, elegant Flavian taste.)

"Worth thinning out on - a few pieces here and there have more appeal than a house stuffed to the gills with acanthus-carved benches and swags all over everything." A lot had to do with positioning, too, of course - and that was for the owners of the house to decide on, not some random person off the street. "Of course, you do not want to denude the house completely and leave it bereft of any home comforts"

He sipped the wine, thinking - it was good wine too. "If you have anything you really don't like, and would gladly be rid of, I am sure there is someone in Rome who would disagree with your fine taste and buy it for their own home. Naturally you will get the proceeds - my house merely takes a percentage in these cases, for our time and trouble."

He did not add 'if that would be acceptable to you' - either it was and they would do business together, or it was not and they would part ways. Lucius Licinius seemed a sensible enough sort of man, who knew how things worked in Rome. And the knowledge that the pieces in question were from the house of Lucius Licinius would surely attract buyers; he was not unknown, after all.

@Drusus

No indoor voice, Paulus noted, only to revise that a moment later. salutatio, then - the crowd of clients and hangers-on who were expected to attend their patron every morning in exchange for financial aid and occasional business advice, the men who would, in turn, support their patron when he ran for election or in any other way he required them to.

The door of the house was flanked by Egyptian obelisks that Paulus noted looked genuine, rather than some of the fakery knocked up in a back alley of the Subura or the Aventine and passed of as genuine to any incredulous idiot whose had never been closer to Egypt than the Temple of Isis and Serapis.

"I am indeed in that business, sir," he agreed levelly, and raised an eyebrow. Licinius Macer was not far off Paulus' own age, indeed Paulus probably had another five or six years on top of the other's age. Self-deprecating, likes being liked, was Paulus' next thought.

"Crassus, Crassus, rich as Croesus?" If the mast was true-to-life, Crassus hadn't looked much out of the ordinary. "I believe everyone would like to be richer than their neighbours, sir, whether on a small scale, or a larger one."

The house had some very nice things, even just in the atrium. The question was, what was the reason for selling, and selling (seemingly) anything Paulus wished? It could not be to bring in money to pay off debts; the first things to be sold in a slide into genteel poverty, would be the slaves, who required food and clothing as much as any human did, if not so much as a citizen.

Selling in order to refurnish - perhaps he was thinking of marrying, and a wife would like to have the chance for a clean sweep. If so, Paulus could potentially profit from supplying the needs, and he did deal in things as nice as these, although not to every Marcus, Gaius and Quintus who wandered in. He would keep an eye out for items as tasteful as these (and Licinius Macer had as good an eye, perhaps, as Paulus himself, if he had been responsible for furnishing the place).

Perhaps he had merely inherited and was looking to put his own stamp on the house... Paulus dismissed that thought immediately. The man was too familiar withthe things around him.

"You have a very fine home, sir. Perhaps we should discuss how much of your household furnishing you wish to sell - do you wish to empty the house of all but the lararium, or are you only looking to rid yourself of one or two pieces?"

And did Paulus have as much of a free hand in selecting those pieces as had been implied?

Beyond the sea, somewhere, lay Britannia, his mother's home, a place he had only heard vague stories about. He could not wonder about it - madness lay down that path.

He watched the taller man, the yearning evident in the line of his shoulders, and wondered at it. Everything home is not... Home was a known quantity, would be safety and security, family, for a citizen. To leave home for a slave was probably because he was being sold to someone else, unless he served a master who had a need to travel, and then home and master were inextricably bound up in each other.

He stepped back as the citizen passed, not even pausing as he informed Rufus he would commend him to his master. It had been infernally hard to keep up, but Rufus had not expected that - it was easier, for a slave, not to expect, and Flavius Alexander was an unknown quantity. He replied, eyes appropriately lowered despite the darkness, "Thank you, domine."

Back on the sand, the citizen looked up at the cliff, which no longer towered above them here, and asked whether it was better to return that way or the way they had come.

"Neither better nor worse, domine, merely different. Although one can see further from the cliff-top, and it is an easier path." But Rufus had actually been offered the choice, although was it really a choice? Who knew. Far better to let the citizen make the actual decision - even if Rufus chose one, he would have to obey the other man who could choose the other anyway. Such was the life of a slave.

"Yes, he makes wine and sells it, domine," Rufus asked, although he did not know the ins and outs of it - how could he, when he was merely a house slave and not the vilicus, the farm bailiff?

And abruptly the taller man turned away and went striding out across the sand.

Flat the beach might be. Smooth, it certainly was not; it was loose dry sand. Rufus was fighting under several disadvantages - he was shorter than the citizen, with worse footwear, and had been working all day. And he was carrying the lantern. It was hard work, trying to keep up with the other's much longer stride, but what choice did he have but to try?

Eventually they reached a point where the rock ran out into the sea a short distance, forming a natural barrier. And of course Flavius Alexander (gods damn it!!) wanted to go running out along it. Rufus took a tighter grip of the lantern and followed him until he paused and half turned back, looking over his shoulder, probably to make sure Rufus was still where he was supposed to be.

He gaped at the question asked then, almost nonchalantly, as though the other man had forgotten Rufus was a slave, was property. He had remembered all right only a short while before!

"Yes... No, domine. I..." Yes he had been born here, no, he hadn't been out in a boat. As for the last question... He swallowed. What use was it to him to dream of what lay over the horizon when he would never get to see it? His dream was something else altogether: to buy, or be given, his freedom, to own himself. He could wander where he liked then, rather than staying here, or travelling there, as a master dictated.

"Sometimes, domine," he said in the end, floundering for a suitable reply before the question got away from him and the silence between them stretched too long. He was, perhaps, a little resentful that he could not then ask a question in return, but if he tried, no doubt he would get a slap for the impertinence of thinking he could converse with a citizen.

There was a pause then, and Rufus shrugged mentally. There was one way a slave could pose a question. It didn't guarantee that he would receive an answer of course, but if the citizen was going to pretend, for however brief a period, that they could hold a conversation on any footing, he might as well try. "May I ask what it is like, domine?"

@Gil

Rufus gave his report - he had smelt peppermint in the steam Gallus had been breathing in, and his breathing had seemed easier, at least. If the other wasn't feeling better by the time his master had done... whatever it was that he was in Campania to do, Rufus would be surprised.

"The sea? Yes, domine."

The sea... it was an easy enough path down to the sea in daylight, not steep, but slick now and Rufus was careful of his footing, trying to give the citizen as much light as he could while fumbling a little in the dark himself. Part and parcel of a slave's life, of course, and not something either of them would remark on.

"Master grows grapes and olives - it's good soil for grapes. There is some grain, mostly wheat and oats. There's pasture for sheep -" the wind snatched at the heavy felt of his paenula and he broke off to wrap himself a little more warmly, grateful for the rope handrail along the steeper parts of the path. "Sorry, domine. There's pasture for some sheep and cows, but they mainly supply the villa - the dominus sells the excess in Paetum. It's mostly the grapes and olives - they nearly always do well. Master sells the olive oil in Rome - he says it's better than the stuff from Baetica and doesn't have so far to travel, so it's better quality when it gets to market."

He paused as they reached the trickiest part of the path, holding the lantern so that the citizen could see where to put his feet. "I understand that it makes a reasonable profit, domine - my master has bought out two smaller farms, though it isn't one of the big latifundia."

Probably the citizen owned one of those big slave-worked latifundia, that produced almost everything an Italian farm could possibly produce.

The beach at the bottom of the cliff was sand, whipped up now by the wind and stinging as it blew against Rufus' bare legs. He waited for the citizen to decide what he was going to do; down here, Rufus would be expected to take the three paces behind of a well-trained slave. The beach was easy enough footing for that, after all.

"Yes, domine." Rufus accepted the abrupt dismissal with equanimity, hurrying to the slave quarters on silent feet. It was the work of moments to grab a poncho-like paenula from where they hung, each to its own nail. Gallus was steaming his head, and looked up as Rufus enquired after his health. He was obviously not feeling too much better, but he had a mug of the mistress' favourite honey-and-lemon combination by his arm and one of the maids was fussing over him, despite the late hour. He'd do all right!

With that cool commanding impersonal Hurry up, now! ringing in his ears, he turned to find his own outdoor sandals - lighter, naturally, than the patrician's solid boots, but who was going to spend more than a few asses on footwear for a slave? It took only a few moments longer to find and light a lantern and he headed to the garden, passing on the message that he was accompanying the visitor on a late-night walk and they would return the same way; he had no intention of getting locked out because nobody realised they were not in the house!

The next question was, did he walk behind the citizen as he would during daylight, or in front so he could see where the path was?  The crescent moon was hidden behind scudding clouds and would be of little help in finding their way. At least it wasn't raining, although it had done so earlier and seemed to be threatening more later in the night.

The citizen was waiting by the fountain, his cloak pulled around him. There was a proud set to his shoulders and an arrogant cast to his head, but Rufus would have been surprised had there not been; he was of the Imperial family.

"Domine," he said quietly, before he got too close. He didn't want to startle the man, who looked as though he might have the reflexes of a soldier - if Rufus startled him, he was willing to bet he'd find himself pressed backwards against the fountain with a dagger to his throat - or being held under the water.

@Gil

It should not need to be said that Paulus Annius Faventinus did not often travel by litter. Equally, it should not need to be said that he was glad that he did not have to walk up to the Esquiline, but could leave that to others. It was a pleasant enough day, if a little brisk (it was still only March, after all!) and he twitched his pallium straight as they neared their destination.

Apparently not straight enough; he had brought a slave with him and the boy was panting a little, flushed from the journey up the hill. He still managed to dart forward as Paulus descended from the litter and adjust the folds a little, determined that his master should not look anything less than his best for his meeting with a Senator. Paulus waved him away with an impatient gesture.

He let the slaves bustle around him, imperturbable to their fussing and stepped forward with the clear expectation that his own slave would follow him and the others could sort themselves out.

There was a knot of men outside what looked like a barber's shop, with one man the centre of focus. Paaulus ignored the other - clients, hangers-on and slaves, no doubt, and nodded civilly at the man who had just risen from the barber's chair, if his newly-shaven face was any clue.

"salve! Do I have the honour of addressing Lucius Licinius Macer?" he asked, clearly not expecting a negative answer.

Rufus spied the citizen's outdoor shoes tucked neatly into the corner - he had been looking for them and the citizen hadn't, not really - and brought them over to the bed, quickly unlacing and removing his indoor shoes to replace them with the far more sturdy footwear, not bothered that the citizen wasn't raising a finger (perhaps that should be toe?!) to help him. Not knowing whether he was superstitious as a lot of Romans were, he was careful to do the right foot first, setting the light indoor slippers to one side when he was done.

"Yes, domine," he said, quietly, standing again. The cool tone in the citizen's voice was no more than expected if he considered Gallus (and probably every other slave including Rufus) to be simply īnstrūmentum vōcale, a tool with a voice.

Grey eyes flickered briefly up to the citizen's face at the question of whether or not he could ride, before Rufus caught himself and looked down again. "Yes, domine, I can ride." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Shall I help you with your cloak, domine?"

@Gil

Go and fetch his cloak, and a light? Rufus was very glad the citizen was not looking his way, and schooled his features back into imperturbability.

"Yes, Domine," he said instead, shuddering a little at the possibility of allowing such a distinguished citizen (a Flavius Alexander, no less - a relative of Caesar Augustus!) to fall headlong over a cliff. If that happened, better Rufus joined him in going over the cliff, otherwise he'd be crucified. Literally. Nailed to a cross and left to die writhing, unable to breathe... No, he was not going to let his master's guest within a hundred paces of a cliff-top if he could possibly keep him away from it.

"There's a door out from the garden, Domine," he ventured, in response to the next questions, which had seemingly been spoken as idle speculation. "I'll be quick - shall I meet you here, and show you, sir?"

He glanced down at the man's feet; he was wearing the light indoor slippers citizens wore in the house, and surely did not mean to go walking in them. "Shall I help you with your outdoor shoes, sir?"

It would take mere moments to locate a paenula - one of the thick felt cloaks worn by slaves to keep the cold out - and a pair of sandals. Only a very little longer to find a lantern and light it; the citizen would not be kept waiting long at all.

@Gil

Could we have the Saepta Julia?  It's in Regio IX, near the Campus Martius.

Oh, do! :D That'd be awesome!

@Drusus

Paulus will be more than happy to help out a senator, whether directly or through an intermediary! He'll be very glad to keep some stuff back for a private sale. (Not everything goes to auction anyway! The private sales are for the best customers!)

@Drusus

There's a Youtube channel dedicated to historical hairdressing, with several videos looking at Roman hairstyles. It includes the first recreation of the Vestal Virgins' hairstyle in nearly 1700 years, since the closure of the Vestal cult.  Linky link!

Watching these vids goes to show just why high-class Roman women preferred to own their own hairdressers!

It had been a day like many others for Rufus, from the usual early morning until just after lunch when a guest arrived, one Titus Flavius Alexander, having made the crossing from Sicily in weather that was none too kind right now. Naturally, he preferred to stay in a private home and so Rufus' master had extended his hospitality - which included lending him Rufus himself for a few days - and after listening to the visitor's own slave coughing and hacking, Rufus knew why. He just hoped that he, and the rest of the household slaves, would not be kept awake with it; what did it matter to the free citizens whether their slaves were bothered so long as they themselves were not?

Rufus had served the man during the evening meal, more attentive than usual, perhaps, because while he was used to his master's unspoken gestures of command, someone else's signs were not always easy to interpret. Finally, however, the master was ready to withdraw to bed, and Rufus received the first words spoken directly to him since the man had entered the villa.

"Yes, sir," he replied, eyes lowered. He stepped around him, careful not to get too close and invade the citizen's private space, and led him along the colonnade past the garden and across the atrium. The cubiculum had a brazier set up in one corner for warmth, and Rufus was glad to see that there was a tunic laid out ready for the next morning, and another laid across the bed, evidently the guest's nightwear.

He went to the bed to turn down the bedclothes before stepping back, suddenly slightly hesitant. Some visitors required their slaves to undress them ready for bed.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" he asked, aware that it might not be - and that lending a slave meant lending his body as well as his services. Would the visitor require that? Rufus stole a quick glance up at him - he was at least a head taller than Rufus, with a bearing that said he was used to command. He was good-looking, too, though that meant little to a slave, in the grand scheme of things.

I can count to ten in... six languages, including Latin. (I can get to twenty in Latin!)

For the record: English, French, Spanish, Latin, Arabic, German.