Liv

Her joke seemed to have been well-received from the way the friendly giant was grinning. He certainly didn't admonish her for thinking too highly of herself; what with the flirty compliments he had been spewing, all things pointed to him agreeing with her. Well, now that Clio pondered it, he seemed to be agreeing with her on almost all counts - yet another mark of the professional flirter. Clio had to suppress a chuckle at the man's mention of 'feminine skills' the gladiatrices could use. What would they do, bare their breasts in hopes of stunning a male opponent? Moan sultrily and blow kisses? There was no doubt that sort of match would still draw an audience, but then again, a brothel would provide similar entertainment. For a brief second, she wondered what Thessala of the Magnus would say if she could hear the man at that very moment. Possibly run him through with a sword in a very feminine display of skill. She sat up a little straighter and slowly pushed her cup towards the man in a silent request for a refill as she paid more attention to his words. So he did go to the other ludi... And when his sudden admission came, Clio was glad that she had no cup in her hand nor drink in her mouth, because she would have made a spectacular mess of it all. She had not seen it coming. "You were a gladiator?!" Her voice strained with incredulity and surprise, but somehow Clio managed to keep it low enough that the other patrons would not hear. Yet it made perfect sense. He definitely had the physique for it, even now. And he must have been successful and well-liked, since the ludi allowed him to come and go. And then he even went on to make it as lanista! Mouth agape, Clio looked at her companion with newfound respect. "Wow... That is very impressive. You must have been very good." He had to have, since he was still in one piece, not missing limbs or eyes, and sported no disfiguring scars. "What were you called? And when did you retire? Did you gain your freedom?" Clio rattled off breathlessly, looking at the man with big astonished eyes. @Atrice

3- Struck hard or knocked on the ground.

Listening with only half a mind to the other two's conversation, Titus silently concurred that it wasn't everyone's fate to join the Eagles, and Barbatius' inheritance of his father's business made much sense. He had been taught well in Titus' opinion, and better to celebrate a good barber than to mourn the loss of a soldier that never was - and just what kind of soldier Barbatius would have made, Titus wasn't keen to find out. And as to women and slaves doing the work, well - many imperial slaves were administrating the minutiae of running the empire on a daily basis, and Titus trusted his own body slave to make sounder decisions than many of the old coots in the Senate. But the order of things was as it was and should not be changed. Titus ran both hands through his now completely smooth cheeks after the tickling brush was put away and nodded his approval as he looked in a small mirror, doing his best to ignore the obscene whistling coming out of Longinus' lips - partial hearing loss had its blessings, he noted not for the first time. "Very satisfied, good Barbatius. As usual," he added with a smile. He pondered making a curt and barbed comment about having a wife to impress in the first place, but decided to be the better man - his best friend was a widower, not a divorced man, and had had no part in Antonia's untimely death, unlike a certain barber to his slaves, according to his suspicions... "Why thank you, for once I hope you're right." Impressed was probably not the right word - the sight would be nothing new to Valeria. Relieved? Grateful? Indifferent? There were certain times and occasions on which stubble was a nuisance. But Titus couldn't recall her ever having expressed a preference, perhaps because she knew how ultimately futile it would be. He stood up from his seat and approached his friend, making a show of whispering low enough that it would seem like he was indeed trying to be discreet, and loud enough that Barbatius would hear. "You should have told me you were in difficulties, Longinus. Of course I'll pay for you." The concerned tone with which he mollified the other patrician was betrayed by a sardonic twinkle in his hazel eyes; his poker face held thanks to years of practice and a natural disposition for it. Titus fished some coins out of his money purse and handed them to Barbatius' right-hand slave. There was more than enough there to cover both cuts and shaves plus the wine and grapes that glutton Longinus had helped himself to, but he motioned for the slave not to bother with change with a lazy, dismissive gesture. Once payment was out of the way, Titus turned to Longinus with a questioning look. "Shall we be on our way? Or was there anything else?" @Atrice @Sara

How was he supposed to trust the words of a barbarian wench who up until a few seconds ago was alternating between insulting him and attacking him? Parenthood might just about be the only thing they had in common, but that would not make Titus let his guard down. Just because she looked at him with surprise in her tear-streaked face now did not mean she would go back on her affirmation later. Since she thought him capable of harming her child, she might eventually decide to return the favour - and if she were daft enough to try in the wake of the turmoil, crucifixion would be a merciful punishment compared to what he would inflict on her. "Good," Titus stated with finality. He didn't need to tell her to remember that. Again completely unfazed by the heavy mood, Valeriana giggled, then nodded with a knowing look. "Me too, when I was little! Then I got a tummy ache." She looked up at Titus for confirmation, who couldn't help but give her a small amused smile. "When you were little, pip? Are you grown up now?" The little girl nodded again, her fine blonde locks bobbing up and down. "Well, grown-ups need to help with packing. Have you put your toys away?" This time she shook her head with a "Nuh-uh", and realising she'd been had, let go of her father's legs and sped off towards the house, probably to collect her precious playthings before a zealous slave hid them too well. Turning his attention back to Zia, Titus nodded stiffly as he looked down on the woman, giving her silent permission to go get cleaned up. She would probably not get any sleep that night - might even keep other slaves awake with her sobbing, he reckoned -, but resting her body would be wise given the month-long journey ahead of them. He raised his voice to call for a nearby slave with an 'Oi!' and seconds later a woman trotted up to them, her round face glistening with sweat. "Find this one a bucket and a cloth and a vacant cot. She may have some bread and cheese too." Unsure of what sustenance the Dacian had been provided in camp, Titus thought it better to have her reasonably fed for a meal or two; the last thing he needed was for her to pass out from hunger and delay the journey in its early stages. The moon-faced slave muttered the customary 'yes, domine' and motioned for Zia to follow her into the house. Titus watched the two women walk away and disappear into the building, a pensive look on his face. Had it been the right thing to do, to keep this Dacian cunt and her man and a few of their wretched kin alive? Only time would tell, and if it had been the wrong call... They were all slaves now, and slaves were property. Property was easy to dispose of if needed. @Sara _____________ Thanks for this emotional rollercoaster of a thread!

Now she was back down on the dusty ground - where she belonged and would learn to stay. The punch hadn't been premeditated, or even one of his best moments, but Titus be damned if he was going to stand there and let her take her fury out on him in front of an audience of slaves. It would most likely leave a mark and turn an ugly shade of purple in the next few hours, but he wasn't keeping her for her looks. Then again, he couldn't really say that this was marginally better, the pathetic way she spat out blood and cried and shook and sobbed. Somewhere, very deep down inside, Titus felt sorry for her: the pain must have been unlike anything she'd ever imagined. But he squashed that spark of sympathy like a bug and looked on dispassionately, telling himself that she had brought it upon herself. If the woman had cooperated that day a month earlier in his tent, she could have had it so much easier - doing menial housekeeping tasks, maybe even kept her son close by. But she had chosen differently, and so the consequences were hers to bear, then as now. He would not commiserate over an arrogant Dacian slave who was finally understanding her place. "That's a new slave, pip." Valeriana dropped her pointing finger and simply gave an "Okay", content with the answer. To Zia, Titus replied in Latin. "One of them." He would not give her the mercy of using her pig language, and definitely not in front of a very impressionable four-year-old who soaked up new words like a sponge. Said child hid behind her father's legs and poked out her head, watching Zia curiously from a safe distance. Titus had half a mind to lead her back into the house given the Dacian's instability, but let it be since she was staying close to him. The slave seemed to have regained part of her bearings, although her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her suffering; she should be steady enough to receive and obey orders. He dropped his voice to a sharp, deadly whisper. "If you so much as think about harming a hair on her head it will be the last thing you ever do." Oblivious to the tense exchange overhead, the little girl continued her visual examination of the new slave from behind the safety of Titus' legs. "Papa, her mouth is blue. Did she eat too many blueberries?" @Sara

Titus almost regretted his words with the heartbreaking show the woman was putting on. He really had thought the self-satisfaction of hitting her where it hurt the most would not feel this... bitter, but he had turned out to be wrong. Maybe it was because he too was a parent and could relate to everything the Dacian was going through and had overestimated his ability to distance himself from that fact. As it was, his single comfort was knowing that the scenario had robbed her of the will to resist, for the time being at least. The future had suddenly become difficult to predict, but Titus hoped there would be no revenge in the form of rebellion in it. The ruse had achieved the desired result, though, and so it would have to be kept up until moods had calmed and behaviours had changed, however long it took. Titus's face remained a wax mask, even under the watchful eyes of other slaves, distracted from their tasks by Zia's pitiful sobbing. "Only the gods have power against disease, not mortal men." In a metropolis like Rome, all sorts of pestilence claimed lives on the daily - it would be nothing out of the ordinary to add a little boy to the statistics. Best to let her and the rest of her ilk think he'd perished to swamp fever or dysentery. By Mars, for all Titus knew, the boy might have even fallen ill for real since the last letter he had received from his associate in the capital. First shock, now anger. He watched wordlessly as she pushed herself up, the very picture of anguish with her wide eyes and untold pain swimming in them. The first shove caught Titus by surprise, making him take a step back to regain his balance. He had not expected her to do that nor had he expected her newfound strength, undoubtedly born out of despair. The second time he was not so passive, and returned her pushing and angry words with a punch to the jaw that connected very satisfactorily with the bone underneath and sent her reeling. The world around them was silent for a split second, and as if directed by an invisible conductor, the slaves suddenly returned to their tasks all at once, some a deal louder than they had been before. The taut string had snapped, the tension had come and gone, and life could resume its pace. For some. "You can't. He's not here." Let her think he'd already been buried or cremated or whatever it was these people did. That would have to suffice. Amidst the background cacophony, a familiar sound grew louder and nearer - the pitter patter of small feet running at full speed towards them before coming to a sudden halt as outstretched arms made contact with Titus' leg in a poor mimicry of a braking mechanism. His youngest daughter looked up at him, then at the slave woman, and astutely summed up the situation in a single childish word. "Ouch." @Sara

A master in the art of flirting, this friendly giant. Yet he was refilling her cup and hadn't made any outrageous comments yet, so Clio was willing to play along a while longer. She took a gulp of fresh wine and chuckled at his poor explanation and devilish wink. "Why, thank you! Let us hope we never cross paths while you're working, lest you become distracted and I take the blame for it." Maybe with a bit of teasing banter the man would tell her what he did for a living, and she could adjust her words accordingly. "She is indeed." Too clever, in truth. "Sweaty bodies training in the sun, rippling muscles, breezy clothes or none at all... Both sides could get ideas," Clio suggested in a tone that was anything but innocent as she hid an amused grin behind her cup and another swig. If anyone were to ask her, the green-eyed man was the sort to have aaaaall the ideas, and possibly act on them. He seemed to be the easy-to-read type. He made a good point. Ares facing off against Thessala would have been a match fit for the emperor! Both were graceful yet deadly, and beloved by the crowds for their entertaining antics. Perhaps in a future collaboration with the Ludus Magnus, Clio could make the suggestion to her master - but best to run it by domina first to see if it could be well-received. "I have. She's very feisty, and very skilled too. The Magnus is very lucky to have somebody of her calibre." The aforementioned ludus had certainly played a part in honing the gladiatrix's skills, but Clio would obviously neglect to mention it. She shook her head in disagreement with the man's opinion. "That would never be a remotely fair fight, men are much stronger." A gladiatrix could train long and hard, but when it came to sheer strength, even a middling gladiator would overpower her. Speed and agility helped little when a single blow could floor her. "It'd be over very soon, and then the public would be displeased." And nobody liked that - not the booed gladiators, not the humiliated client, and certainly not the emperor. Angry poor people were hard to control. "Do you visit the other ludi as well?" If so, who was this man that apparently had carte-blanche to come and go as he pleased, and why? @Atrice

Between the proximity of the glistening blade that could turn really dangerous really quickly and his simple desire for a smooth hairless face, Titus was well aware that continuing to participate in the conversation, if it still could be called one, would be counter-productive. Besides, he didn't fully trust himself not to let the veneer of manners crack even more than it already had... so he did what any sensible man would do: closed his eyes, inhaled and counted to ten in his head. He knew from experience the trick didn't work on him, but it kept him distracted for a few seconds. As requested, he tilted his head back and wished for a fraction of a second it would be as easy to block out sounds as it was sight. To go through a relaxing haircut and shave in complete silence, what a wonderful dream that would be... Maybe he should consider having his body slave take a very accelerated apprenticeship under Barbatius. Unable and unwilling to reply verbally, Titus gave a thumbs up at Longinus' claim that he had high standards for his slaves (which was true, but nobody had died because of them yet), followed by its opposite sign with the same thumb pointing downwards - of course he held the Dacians to the same standards! He just afforded them a bit more time to learn the ropes, until his patience inevitably ran out. Eyes still closed, he shifted slightly in his seat to get more comfortable and let his attention drift between Longinus' questioning of the barber and a nice daydream in which he received a scalp massage for hours on end with only birds chirping or rain falling as background noise. @Atrice @Sara

A new friend for one of his children was always welcome when their family was as interesting an acquaintance as Tertius Quinctilius Varus. It couldn't hurt either to keep an eye on possible future matches for his son, even though the boy was at least another nine years away from carrying his bride over the threshold provided all parties involved survived until adulthood. "Publius is a little bit younger, he's only recently turned nine. Now he's moved on from his rock collection to marbles. If your daughters can handle that, I'm sure he'd be very happy to tag along." By some mercy of the gods, Titus managed that entire tirade without more than a hack. The slave's concoction with its boatload of pepper really must be having some effect - or maybe it was the honey smoothing over his poor sore throat. But whilst talking about children was all fine and dandy, hearing what Varus had to say about the life of a praetor was far more interesting. Making friends and connections, as the other man put it, was a very nice bonus that came with the job - but Titus wondered to himself how many enemies the man had also made, from jealous senators to those simply not happy with Tertius' deliberations. If there were many such types, their host was magnanimous (or shrewd?) enough not to mention them. He returned Tertius' toast with a raised cup of his own and downed a bit more of the spicy cure-all. He nodded his agreement with the other two. "It's never a good idea to appear too leisurely." As enjoyable as the baths and races could be, a man needed more structure in his life than those activities could offer... and some accomplishments to boast of, too, whether acquired in actual battle or in the court system. Titus pointedly ignored the sidelong glance his friend flashed him and instead directed his full attention to Varus. He was obviously very curious about the answer to the question Longinus had just posed, but the gods damn him if he was going to let it show in front of his friend and Varus. "How knowledgeable about law are you required to be?" Titus hoped the position did not require a level of expertise in jurisprudence close to Cicero's, because he was very far from having it - and all those jurists had to earn their keep somehow. Probably. If it was mostly paperwork and quick deliberations, then that would be no problem at all. A mental image of Longinus seated at a desk and involuntarily barricaded by a mound of scrolls up to head height crossed Titus' mind briefly, and he smirked wryly at his friend. @Atrice @Sara

They commiserated over their shared woes in quiet agreement, and Clio took a swig of her drink. Was there ever a slave who had it 'easy'? There were so many more occupations and positions than what she herself was familiar with, and some of those might be pretty cushy. Perhaps slaves to the Imperial household had it easy? But no, surely their masters and mistresses could be demanding beyond belief. At the end of the day this was their lot in life as the gods had willed it to be, and from Clio's viewpoint the best thing one could do was learn to accept it and make the most out of it. From what he had shared thus far, she surmised Helenus to more or less think the same way. Good grief, she was going to sound like a stereotypical pretty slave, one of those vapid creatures whose interests in life consisted of playing up their own beauty and gossiping about the lives of others. Now skittishly aware that she needed to find better, more interesting pastimes, Clio flushed again. It was her turn to be embarrassed. "Um, I like to walk about the city. Check out the taverns. Visit temples. Go see if my favourite merchants have any new wares I can afford, like hair pins and bracelets and that sort of thing. Watch the games or races if I'm allowed." The former was a given as long as her domina was in attendance, but the latter was a far more occasional treat. She gave Helenus a shy smile and finished her little list with a humorous addition. "And invite a thermae slave out for a drink, of course." "Do you get any free time at all? I imagine you're made to work until late at night..." Even when the baths were closed to patrons, there were sure to be plenty of tasks to be done: floors that needed wiping, water that needed cleaning, furnaces that needed feeding, and things she didn't even know existed. And now in particular, after that little incident with the fearsome woman, Helenus might have had some privileges revoked. Yet somehow he had found a way to meet her at the arranged time and place, and the realisation warmed Clio's heart. If he had bad intentions, he was a very thorough scoundrel; if he genuinely wanted to keep her company with no malevolent intent, then... Well, that was a much nicer prospect! Clio found herself smiling from ear to ear at the thought, choosing now to think of how silly she looked at that very moment. "But supposing that you do, what do you like to do?" She turned the question back to Helenus, wondering if they had common ground somewhere. Did they pray to the same gods? Which chariot faction did he cheer for? Most bafflingly - why was she suddenly hoping for at least one favourable answer?! @Atrice

Clio tried very hard not to sigh audibly at the cheap compliment and successfully managed to only exhale with a little more force than usual. Had she been more sure of the man's rank, she might have added an eye roll for good measure, but uncertainty determined her reaction. If he turned out to be someone of relative import and make a complain with her master, it would put her in an uncomfortable position no matter how much influence her domina exerted with her husband. Fortunately her new companion seemed to be in a talkative mood, and Clio put into place the patient rictus that slaves all over the world had down to a science. Much to her surprise, the man was refreshingly candid about his reasons for visiting the ludus and chatting her up. Her brown eyes grew wider in something akin to disbelief as she tried to make sense of his words. Since he was not drunk, he could only be of the brutally honest, straight-to-business variety; whether that came from stupidity or simple lack of malice remained to be seen. Seeing that he had eyed her cup to check how full it was, Clio hurried to bring it to her lips and have a drink, putting it back down on the table when it grew half-empty. A stray drop of wine left a reddish trail down the corner of her mouth, and although she normally would have licked it off, she did not want to encourage the man by making him think she was doing it at him (flirty men were capable of thinking anything!); instead, she wiped it off with her thumb. "That's true. Although he could also have come to offer his services," Clio replied with an ambiguous smile, leaving it up to interpretation just what sort of services those could be. "Many a man seek out glory in the arena of their own free will." Was this one such a type? He certainly had the build for it, although he didn't look to be a spring chicken anymore. "So you say you went to watch them train, yet you saw me watching them. I don't know that I believe you..." she trailed off in a playful tone, tucking her black hair behind her ear. Turn up the charm a little and he would most likely lap it up, this poor sod. And maybe refill her cup while he was at it. "Or are you easily distracted? That's not a good trait for a gladiator to have," Clio continued to tease, now smiling a little as she looked at him. It was a bit odd, but the man seemed to be almost as interested in the whole gladiator thing as he was in her. Could he be a spy for a rival ludus, trying to pry some secrets out of her with his admittedly handsome looks? If that was the case, he would return to his boss empty-handed - even if she had actually known something, Clio would not say a word of such dealings to a perfect stranger. On the other hand, he could be a doctore looking for new employment, and that might be worth scouting out. "My domina doesn't like me getting too close to them, says it could give them ideas. I find myself fully agreeing with her. Watching from afar is enough for me." The overwhelming majority of them were oafish and uncouth, even the ones relatively pleasing to the eye like Ares or the limping Briton, and if that hadn't been enough to put her off them, the risk of incurring her domina's wrath definitely was. "Ares is my favourite though, if you must know. He's very entertaining to watch. Knows how to work the crowd, reads his opponent well, takes risks. Who is your favourite?" Clio asked impishly, flashing the man a coy smile. @Atrice

Gods, the fragrances from the oils must be turning those two's heads into mush - how else could the inane conversation have taken a turn like that? And now they were ganging up on him, too. He wasn't even the one who had brought up the subject of slaves in the first place! The scene was starting to play out like so many episodes of Titus' childhood, but whereas he had been a little boy then at the mercy of his younger siblings, he was a grown man and a paying customer this time. An increasingly annoyed paying customer. He couldn't bite his tongue any more. Fuck the glassy-eyed slave woman, fuck the barber, fuck his slave assistant, fuck Longinus who could definitely live out the rest of his days with matted buttocks-length hair and a Nabatean beard and see if Titus cared. "You just said your fairly new slave was 'troublesome'," he snorted at Marcus Barbatius as the man tussled with his tools. "What is that if not hard to train and a waste of coin?" Did he keep blunt razors too, even if he failed to sharpen them? Titus didn't dignify Longinus' question with more than an eye roll, and simply stared straight ahead in his seat (no, he wasn't sulking) as oil was worked into his cheeks. He was done talking for the time being anyway, at least as long as the shaving part went on. @Atrice @Sara

He was willing to bet pure gold that this wench had never been innocent in her life, not even as a newborn babe. Whether she was used to fooling most men with her wiles, Titus couldn't tell, but he found it very hard to see anything in her other than a snake permanently readying its next strike, ready to inject its venom into less-advised victims. It would not outside the realm of possibility that under the cover of her gender, the Dacian had conspired with her husband and his family to cause trouble for Rome. From their interactions thus far, she certainly seemed to be calculating enough for that, and that bastard Diegis had some measure of concern for her... This was an insight worth diving deeper into, if only to keep an even closer eye on her when she joined the other slaves in his household. "Don't act all coy, we both know it's not who you are." And no matter how hard she tried to bait him with her sneaky words, his pride won over curiosity - he had no interest in knowing just what 'the other girls' had been saying about him. It wouldn't have been anything nice or worth knowing, anyway. Women were prone to wagging their tongues at leisure and good things seldom came out of such gossiping sessions; he couldn't imagine that a ragtag band of camp whores would fare any better. "You will call me dominus." Titus ignored her question; she knew the answer already, and if she had any wits about her she would hear what was left unsaid and drop the subject. If she didn't, he would have to make good on his threat. Try as she might to hide it, to a reasonably trained eye the signs of unease were easy to spot to the point of obviousness. Folded arms, pretence of control, clear displeasure - and, maybe, just a very small hint of panic - in her expression. She was not liking this one bit, and Titus allowed himself to savour the moment, an eerie calm before the storm came crashing down upon her. He schooled his face into a carefully impassive one, more adequate to what he was about to say. The gravity of the message would hit her much harder and faster than if he were laughing like a madman. Its delivery was as flat as the packed dirt beneath their feet. All that was left was for her mask to drop. "Luto... is no more." @Sara

Titus Sulpicius Rufus to his dear friend Longinus, birthday greetings. As a birthday present allow me to impart some wisdom that you should have acquired many birthdays ago: the sun does not revolve around you, and neither do I. It both gladdens and saddens me to read that the highlight of your day is this humble note. You are even more miserable than I realised, and I cannot fail to notice that the passage of another year deposits a new layer of grumpiness upon your very being - remind me to set up a contest between you and my father-in-law when he is in better health. As of this moment I can only account for myself with certainty, but do save two tentative seats for us. It intrigues me to see how we shall go about this great discussion in the presence of your lady mother, but I will place my trust in your resourcefulness (or perhaps in your body slave's). Your segue leads me to believe Sestia Vaticana (who I have indeed met, how very well-informed you are) will be a topic in said discussion. Await another birthday gift on the day of your party. I think it will go well with your decoration. In the meantime, I will toast to your continued good health with some fine Falernian while you drown your sorrows in that frightful ale. Farewell, my dearest friend and brother. _______ The letter was delivered a few hours later on the same day by an illiterate Dacian, who asked that his own greetings be passed on to his friend Celsus. @Sara

"I'm good, but thank you for the offer." He only did so out of politeness - putting his haircut on hold to screw the daylights out of his barber's slave and then resume it as if nothing had happened was a far too unconventional prospect for his pragmatic mind to even consider. Was it such a selfish request to put to the gods, that Marcus Barbatius' scissors and blades could snip and cut away in peace? Titus was very close to regretting having brought Longinus to this place, or at the very least having brought him in a healthy state. Next time, if there was one, he would not make the same mistake; first he would wait for his friend to grow quite literally speechless at the hands of a mighty winter cold lest he incite the barber to ramp up the chitter-chatter even more. Yet despite himself and his reservations as to where the whole conversation was headed, Titus couldn't help but hum his sympathy for Barbatius' reluctant slave (because nodding would have been a very unwise thing to do, given the care with which the plebeian was trimming his hair). He had his fair share of troublesome, undutiful slaves - one more than he was willing to put up with, which was none. And he would have to find a solution for that soon. Perhaps Marcus Barbatius had an interesting idea or two... He seemed to be a crueller man under that very ordinary mien than Titus would ever have imagined. "Why get new slaves if they're so hard to train?" he asked, moving only his eyes to glance up in the barber's direction. It didn't seem like Barbatius was hurting for money; surely he could spend a little coin in better-quality slaves...? @Atrice @Sara

He bit his lip to keep himself from chuckling. "Well, I can see why you'd say that, suppose they all feel like that when you're that loose." The bruise on her face might be the newest of many, the old ones now healed, or it might be a standalone thing; either way, it was proof that the legionaries had not accorded her particularly favourable treatment on account of whatever status she had previously held. With her middling clothes and unkempt hair, this Zia was now a fair cry from the defiant woman who had walked into his tent over a month before. His eyes narrowed and all traces of humour vanished from his expression as a wave of chilly, self-possessed anger washed over him. So she fancied herself a comic, this barbarian cunt. How satisfying it would have been to slap away that arrogant look of hers, make the blood spurt again from her mouth like a flower in bloom... but she was the type to relish the knowledge that she'd got under his skin, and so Titus opted to swallow his ire instead, the feeling like bile pooling on his stomach. He would let her have her fun once and not a single time more. "Say that again and I'll have your tongue cut off. It's not like you'll need it where you're going, anyway." Time to break the news, then. He faced her unblinkingly, only a very light suggestion of amusement in his otherwise stern tone. "I'm going back to Rome, and you're coming with. Need a few more household slaves." Plus, he wanted to keep an eye on her, just like the saying recommended - friends close and enemies closer still. "That's the first piece. The second is that your husband's coming too, but don't count on a happy reunion - actually, don't count on a reunion at all," he added quickly before looking her over from head to toe slowly, stopping at her face and waist for a fraction of a second longer as he curled his lip in disgust, as if the Dacian were a steaming pile of dog shit ruining a morning stroll. "Doubt he'll want anything to do with you now." @Sara

61 AD - my love, my life He cradled her clumsily but gently in his arms, taking care to support her head, unable to take his eyes off of her as he held her close to his chest. By what miracle of the gods had two ordinary people created such an extraordinary being? Twenty perfect little fingers and toes altogether. A tuft of brown hair, feather-soft and almost fur-like, a tiny little mouth that had been clamouring for food not long before but seemed now content to open and close occasionally with muted mewls. Her small soft hazel eyes blinking lazily up at him before closing again, the tiny fingers that gripped his with surprising strength, her wrinkly and yet silky skin, so fragile-looking he feared a careless touch or breathing too hard might leave a mark, break her forever. What a thing of wonder. He had known her for all of a few hours, and from the very first second his life had been irrevocably and permanently changed. He had known her for all of a few hours, and from the very first second he knew he would kill and die for her and everything in between just to see her happy and healthy. Was it like this for everyone, the delightful terror, the breathtaking fascination, the never-ending awe? If they were blessed with more children in the future, would he have yet more pieces of his heart forever taken from inside his chest, swelling with pride and shrinking with fear? Had his own father felt anything like this when he was born, or his siblings? It was a herculean task that would never see completion, and he wanted it to stay that way – never finished, never done, never over with. Now that he had become it, he never wanted to stop being her father. Up until that day, he had thought love at first sight was only for poets. He had never been more delighted to be proven wrong.

Summer Geckos or iguanas?

June, 74 AD Titus took in his surroundings, filtering out the hubbub of furniture being dragged and moved and trunks being filled amidst the shouted orders of the most senior slaves. Although he had only spent a fraction of his time in Dacia in the villa, it was bittersweet to see it coming to an end and say goodbye to the place his family had called home for four years. By the time the next month came to an end they would be back in their real home - Rome. Not all were equally pleased by the move, but it was happening, and the only thing that remained was tying a few loose ends. As if on cue, a guard came into the courtyard and announced his presence with a salute, presenting one of said loose ends to Titus as he turned around and returned the salute. He smirked at the woman the guard had brought and dismissed the man, who went back to his post, leaving the two to stand in the large open space, an island of stillness among the commotion caused by preparations for the move. "Long time no see, Dacian. Fia, right? Or was it Zia?" Provided she hadn't been given a new moniker yet. A slave's name was whatever its master wanted it to be, anyway. Titus seized her up with a clinical look as if he were appraising a horse or a new supply of weapons. "It seems like you had a good time with my legion. I heard rave reviews of your performance." She looked a little less haughty now, just as he had hoped she would, but the fire of defiance in her gaze had not been fully extinguished yet, despite the ordeals she had endured in captivity. But that was all right - he had a trick up his sleeve of an entirely different variety from what the legionaries had been producing from under their subligacula that he was keen to show her, if she insisted on keeping up the petulant act. "I've got news for you. What would you like to hear first, the good or the bad?" @Sara

Another day off rounded off by a visit to a tavern before heading back to the ludus. This had been one of Clio's routines for quite some time, and she enjoying the hustle and bustle of the establishments and their many colourful patrons; sometimes she wished she could stay a while longer, and sometimes what she saw and heard made her return to the ludus and its familiar surroundings a veritable relief. Her particular circumstances shielded her from much unpleasantness all things considered. On that particular day, however, the pit stop at Bacchus' Cup was a relaxing one. Even their cheap wine was more decent than most other places, and the no-nonsense attitude of the owner left little place for altercations and rowdiness. Clio was enjoying her drink, nothing to herself how smoothly it went down her throat, when a male voice sounded just by her, greeting her and complementing her looks all in a single breath. She looked up at the intruder, frowning when she did not recognise him. Although he was holding a jar and a cup, he didn't seem to be drunk yet. Just one of those over-friendly types, then, on the prowl for a bit of fun. And given his looks, he probably found what he was looking for quite often, Clio admitted to herself. Tall, well-built, a good-looking mug and lovely green eyes. The sort of man her domina would enjoy a romp with. She debated informing him that she did in fact mind and could he please look for a bed mate somewhere else, but his last words left her intrigued. He had been to the ludus, then. Yet he was completely unfamiliar to her. Was he perhaps a former gladiator who had left before her time there and had gone back to say hello? Or a new business partner of her master's? Either way, she didn't appreciate that he knew of her whilst she knew nothing of him, and was intent on remedying that situation. Appraising the man from head to toe with a curious look, Clio nodded and gestured at the empty seat beside her in a silent invitation for him to take it. "If you're in a sharing mood, then do go ahead." She gave him only a very slight curl of the corner of her lips, not a fully fledged smile - for him to earn that she'd first have to find out a bit more. "If you frequent the Ludus Dacicus, you probably have. Though I can't say I've seen you there..." she trailed off, eyes narrowing into a suspicious squint. "In what capacity did you visit?" Best to measure her words carefully at first, just in case this big bloke turned out to be someone more important than his appearance suggested. @Atrice

Finished Dammi mille baci today and it's a little gem of a book! Accessible, humorous language and a wealth of information spanning several centuries, from Republican to Imperial times. Mostly focused on Rome itself and Italia, unlike Knapp's heavy drawing from Roman Egypt sources. Was also pleasantly surprised to see abortion and adultery approached from both male and female points of view (no primary sources for the latter, unfortunately). If you read Italian, definitely recommend this one.

If he broke his word, then what? Would she, this conceited shrew of a woman, unleash terrible punishment upon him? Even if she had been a priestess with a direct channel to the gods, and Titus very much doubted that was the case, all she had were empty threats and no conceivable way to make good on them, unless she went as far as to cut off her nose to spite her face. But she wasn't entirely stupid, and so she obeyed and left the tent after composing herself, though there was less certainty in her step than she pretended. He followed close behind to make sure she wouldn't try and leg it - a very foolish decision given the place where they were, but cornered beasts hardly thought logically. Unfortunately he failed to account for petty aggression tactics in the very short distance that separated them, and caught a face full of soggy leather as the tent flap smacked loudly against his skin and left it smarting. Bitch. Well, if she wanted to be petty, so could he. Busy as she was schooling her posture into looking unaffected, she never noticed him skulking up right behind her and shoving the tip of his boot into the bend of her knee (or where he thought it was, hidden from view by her clothes). The result was as expected: a glorious face-plant onto the muddy ground, and her clothes, ornaments and face instantly stained a mucky brown - and a cacophony of laughing sounds from men passing by or watching from a respectful distance. "Watch your step. It's slippery." He sidestepped her prone form with ease and raised a hand half in greeting, half in request to wait at the camp prefect that was just walking by a few yards away. The middle-aged man stopped in his tracks and let out a hearty guffaw at the sight of their captive covered in mud. Not even the battle-hardened prefect was above childish humour, especially after a night as tense as the previous. He approached the prefect and cast a dubious glance at the Dacian woman, letting the other man know what would be the subject of the conversation. "I want every single piece on her written down and accounted for, and signed by two unrelated men." Although it had happened almost a decade ago, that little episode in Britannia during his time as quaestor had imparted the significance of irreprehensible bookkeeping, and though he may have many shortcomings, that would not be one of them. "Gold or silver, big or small, don't let anyone get their hands on them until we've tallied up everything." The prefect nodded his assent, knowing that obeying his orders might just net him a larger pool of spoils as reward for his loyalty. Titus then raised his voice so the woman would hear them, but didn't bother to look at her. "What are you called, Dacian?" Not that it really mattered, chances were she was getting a new name anyway. He turned his attention back to the prefect. "Think she's good enough for the lads?" The middle-aged man's bushy eyebrows raised in suggestion and he gave a lewd smile from which a couple of teeth were missing. "A new face's always popular, legatus, and she's not half-bad looking. Might clean up nicely behind all that mud." Titus gave a chuckle of his own and turned his head to glance at the woman. "You hear that? You'll be making lots of new friends from today on, starting with good Lurius here." The prefect's brows shot up into his forehead, almost reaching his receding hairline. "Truly, sir? First pickings for me? I-I mean, sec-- no, thirds, after you and tribune Servilius, sir!!" The man flustered a ruddier red than his rank should permit, evidently elated at the prospect. "Oh, I've already had my fun," Titus merely smirked enigmatically, eyeing the woman with a mean twinkle in his eye. @Sara

As expected, the man had taken the opportunity to steal a glance at her legs. Let him look, if that increased Safinia's chances of having food or drink on him. And by the question he asked next, she reckoned they weren't all that bad. He might just be interested enough. She took a bite out of her pork roll to keep the pretence of a demure young woman not wanting to answer right away, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. It was a bloody good roll, and fairly priced, too. Could have used a bit more meat, but the vendor had to make his profit too. On the other hand, whoever had made them had not been shy with the spices, and that alone was worth the coin the roll had cost. Like most of Rome's poor working class, the only seasonings available to Safinia were garum and the few herbs she grew on small flowerpots on her window sill. Feeling the broad man's eyes on her, Safinia wiped her lips with the back of her hand and looked up at him. "Yeah," she nodded for emphasis. She had no male - or female - guardian left to tell her what she could or could not do, and thus every decision she made in her private life was solely her own. She very much liked it that way. "Safinia," she offered simply in guise of introduction. As was her habit, she left out the platitudinous 'nice to meet you'; she found it a most peculiar and senseless thing to say when one had no idea how the acquaintance would turn out. "Anyone you're looking forward to seeing?" she asked, looking towards the arena to indicate she meant the gladiators. @Atrice

"I'd kill myself before I ever descended to that level of madness," Titus deadpanned lightning-fast back to his friend, letting him (and Barbatius by association) know in no uncertain terms just what he thought of him as a potential bed partner. He far preferred women anyway, with their curves and soft supple skin, but even floating the thought of Longinus in that sort of situation made him feel like throwing up in his mouth a little. Good thing Barbatius had some good frankincense; the pleasant smell was distracting enough in a positive way. At first blush he didn't quite know how to take the barber's explanation. It seemed logical enough that death would be the harshest of punishments, and yet at least one slave had willingly chosen it rather than suffer his master's discipline any longer. Did Marcus Barbatius not see the dissonance in that? Or was it that he did see it and relished it? And while he was right in that slaves were replaceable, it was so much trouble to train one up to standards. Dealing in hair wasn't as cut and dry as that either, judging by the little bit of preparations Titus had been able to observe - the oils, the mixing of ingredients, the sharpening of tools, knowing precisely which one to hand to your master... Learning such things took time, so it made no sense to him that Barbatius would value his so little that he saw all the slaves that helped him as immediately disposable. The whole affair was unsettling, but he had gone there for two things only - drag Longinus into a cut and shave and get the same for himself. As much sympathy as he had for the silent, nearly motionless slaves of the barber, there was nothing he could do for them, and by their master's own admission they had learnt how to deal with him. So he frowned at the finger suddenly pointed at him and hit back with a barbed statement. "You clearly are, since you always seem so impressed when you come to my place and see my slaves doing their jobs like they're supposed to. Unlike yours, for whom it is Saturnalia year round." He tilted his head minutely, shrugging at the same time. There, he'd said it. "The lash does its job well enough, but I prefer to take away their privileges. Lease them to a brothel or a farm for a week or two and see how much more obedient and grateful they are when they come back. If they're repeat offenders, then it's off to the markets or the mines. No use wasting coin and food on them." @Atrice @Sara

Titus fought the urge to snort when their host referred to Longinus as 'an interesting and handsome visitor' and instead took another sip of his spicy concoction; if he failed to contain himself anyway, at least he had the perfect excuse and could blame it on choking on the drink again. It might spell trouble for Nymphias' slave sister, but that mattered little to him. She had tried to poison him, so she deserved it - or that was how his muddled brain was deciding to view things. He fought the same urge for the second time when Longinus bumbled his way through little Cassia's age, and took yet another sip. One child - one! - and he couldn't even remember her age. Titus shook his head in silence and made a mental note (that would surely end up forgotten in about half an hour) to elucidate his friend on the importance of dates for women. Birthdays, anniversaries, festivals, the day she first farted openly in his presence - they loved it when a man was able to remember all of these things and more. Compared to remembering every Gaius in a cohort as he'd once been pressed to, something of that calibre should be a piece of cake for Longinus. The change in conversation topic was immensely more interesting, though perhaps a little less comical, but Titus felt a familiar wave of self-directed frustration as his friend spoke. He was in no condition to be discussing politics right now - in all honesty, in no condition to have left home -, but it would be foolish to pass up such a golden opportunity. He would simply have to do his best to perk up his ears and not make an even worse impression than he had already managed to. "You must be terribly busy all the time," he added, "and yet you still find enough hours in a day to welcome us into your home. Has the praetorship lived up to your expectations?" @Atrice @Sara