Liv

Could Titus please have a home in the Domi Quirinalis?

The man revealed himself to be far more observant than Clio ever had considered. Few noticed the kohl lines she usually decorated her eyes with, conceivably because they were used to seeing them on women of all classes and origins across the empire. Except Brittonic women, apparently. If the rumours had any truth to them, his people preferred to decorate their whole bodies with blue drawings, which she found just as baffling as he her eye makeup.

"Um, not quite. Women everywhere paint their eyes like this, from Hispania to Syria. And in Bithynia too. It's to keep away the evil eye." It wasn't its only purpose, though: it protected the eyes from the sun and made eyelashes look longer. "And to look pretty, too," she added with a giggle. "But mostly for protection from curses." Curses were present in all cultures and places, so the gladiator should be able to relate to that. Maybe he even thought of his captivity as a curse... But, unlike her, he had been pointed towards a way out and provided with the tools to reach it; the rest would depend on his luck and skill in the arena. If Clio had been given the same opportunity, she was not sure she would have taken it. Her homeland, as the Briton had called it, was fuzzy memories of her mother's hands braiding her hair and the scent of ripe apples. Her family had only existed on borrowed time, until the master's whim or need for coin split them forever. Freedom had long become but a pretty word with no real substance; for some it was like the most beautiful of jewels, for her it had been a trap. Never again.

Clio allowed her imagination to picture herself in gladiator garb, and the humorous result made her chuckle for a few seconds. She wouldn't last a minute in the arena, which was just as well considering she had no intentions of ending up there. "There are women who fight, but not me. They are called gladiatrices. One gladiatrix, two or more gladiatrices." It would do the man well to learn more correct Latin quickly; patrons were fickle and the barbarian novelty wore out soon. Years of watching training gladiators had taught Clio that those who adapted well to their circumstances stood a better chance of succeeding. "I think the Ludus Magnus has a few. This ludus does not, as far as I know." Fighting women were a cool gimmick every now and then, but spectators, patrons and lanistas all knew that what the public really wanted was to see big burly men fight to the death. That's where true fame and riches lay. "But people prefer to see men fight. It's more impressive," she added conclusively for his sake - he needn't entertain any thoughts of finding love in the arena.

A new thought occurred to her. "Speaking of fighting... I have seen that you limp sometimes." Clio pointed at the gladiator's legs and mimicked a lame gait. "What happened to you?" That could be quite the handicap in bouts, but Titus Canicus Phiscerus was not the sort of man to let such a thing go unnoticed. Perhaps it wasn't relevant to the Briton's performance.

@Polarity

The girl said she was all right, but Clio didn't quite believe it - the breathlessness, the eyes wide like a trapped animal's, the whole uneasy vibe she gave off. Was this some sort of new pickpocketing technique? Or could she be running away from someone? Worse yet, a fugitive slave? That would be a disastrous thing to be involved in. Hesitant, Clio took a step back, and was about to turn around and get out of there when the fair young woman spoke up again.

Clio thought she'd heard wrong.

"Huh? Stay... with me?" Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise. There was definitely something going on, and Clio wanted to know what it was. But being out in the open in the middle of the street would not get the girl spilling the beans; it felt too unsafe. But there were ways around that.

"I suppose so, why not?" she shrugged, returning the smile with a strained one of her own. She moved to stand at the other's side, seizing the opportunity to check their surroundings for anyone blatantly following the girl and failing to detect them. They should go somewhere a bit more secluded, but still busy, and Clio knew just the place.

"There's a tent under the arcades over there that sells nice hair ornaments, and they're usually not very expensive. Would you like to take a look?" Clio asked as she pointed northwest, and then let her voice drop to a whisper. "You can tell me what this is all about on the way there."

@Beauty

The shrine of Cybele by the Circus Maximus offered a much more intimate experience than the main temple on the Palatine. At this time of day, it was practically empty, and even slaves like Clio were welcome to go in and pay their respects to the Magna Mater, as the Romans called the mother goddess. As usual, inside the shrine stood an empty throne, flanked by figures of lions and the goddess's consort, Attis. Clio joined her hands in prayer before the throne and murmured a short hymn in her native Greek. "Metera moi panton te theon..."

She was done after a few minutes, and exchanged a nod with the attending gallus as she exited the shrine. However small the shrine may be, the priest kept it proper for the goddess with dignity and devotion; he took surely pride in his sacred duties.

Outside, the feeble winter sun managed to produce an unexpected glare, causing Clio to almost bump into another person; thankfully, she took a step to the side quickly enough to avoid collision. "Apologies," she offered in a contrite tone, examining the would-be victim with a quick once-over. It was a young woman, fair of hair and skin and dressed unassumingly - a foreigner, possibly a slave -, but what caught Clio off guard was the look of distress on her face. "Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Clio was quite sure she hadn't, but maybe their arms had brushed after all... but something as trifling as that should not cause this kind of reaction. They were in Rome, the largest city to ever exist and home to a million souls - of course people were going to bump into each other!

@Beauty

Clio watched the work of the thermopolium's slave in silent appreciation. The man's fingers were as nimble as a seamstress's as he packed the buns carefully - and his owner seemed to be satisfied with his work too, since he wasn't barking orders. They had probably been a team for many years.

The shop owner required her attention now, busy listing the types of spiced buns. She wrinkled her nose at the mention of garum; that was far too common. You could put garum in essentially everything to begin with, so if she was going to impress Annia Comna with her (hopefully) good judgment, garum would not cut it. Nutmeg, on the other hand, was notoriously difficult to obtain and thus ridiculously expensive... which led Clio to wonder if a simple, no-name shop owner in Rome could afford the real thing.  Best not to take chances on that one, especially with the mistress's money. 

Basil and dill, however, sounded just as tasty while having more believable authenticity. Just as Clio opened her mouth to order, someone bumped into her and lingered too long before stepping back. Bothered, she was saved from having to address the patron by the shopkeeper's booming voice. It was clear he didn't tolerate such behaviour under his roof, and Clio was thankful for it, especially because slaves weren't very well supposed to talk back. Fortunately, the sleazy patron did as he was told and slithered off to a corner.

"Yes, I would appreciate that very much. I was thinking about basil and dill." If those were as good as the pork and cheese ones, then that would be it for a first order.

@Gothic

Huh. He did understand more than he let on, or so it seemed to Clio. Words and phrases pertaining to fighting and training would come to him soon enough - if they hadn't already -, but it was good that he was picking up a broader spectrum of the language. Increased his value, which Titus Justinius Canicus Phiscerus would definitely appreciate. His explanation was basic but clear, earning a nod of acknowledgement from her. He might have had some business in the domus after all, but apparently knew better than to loiter.

She laughed again at his words. If this Briton failed to become a successful gladiator, he might have some luck as an actor at some theatre; his comedic sense, however involuntary it may be, was on point. "No, I am not Roman. I come from Bithynia, in the east." He probably had no clue where that was, but that mattered little. Home for a slave was wherever the master was, anyway. Chortling, she agreed with the young man. "True, you no pretty dress." Maybe an explanation of the different degrees of servitude would not be lost to the gladiator after all.

"Can't complain, I'm treated very well," Clio beamed. "And you, I think, are treated well too." No source of income and, potentially, fame and repute would be laid to waste at the Ludus Dacicus. In many ways, it was better to live in captivity and risk life and limb in the arena, relying on the gods' favours and one's own skills, than to be "free" and  fall victim to starvation or die of exposure. Gladiators didn't have it that bad according to Clio: food in their stomachs, a dry place to sleep, and a chance of gaining glory and freedom.

"There are many different sorts of slaves. Like the different kinds of gladiators, yes? Murmillo, thraex, retiarius..." The terms would hopefully be familiar to the young man. "You fight other people while Romans watch," she stabbed an imaginary opponent with an equally imaginary gladius. "They like to watch fights. And they like to see blood. Clothes hide blood, and are not practical for fighting. So you," Clio emphasized with a finger pointed at his bare chest, "don't need pretty clothes." He barely needed any clothes at all save the bare minimum to stave off the cold, and even then, not always, as the subligaculum proved. 

Clio continued her clarifications. To one born free in a barbaric land, she supposed, the idea of specialised slaves could be a challenging concept to wrap one's head around. But to someone like her, born into servitude and knowing no other life, serving a master was as indisputable as the sun rising in the east. It was the natural state of things. She puffed out her chest with pride. "I am domina's personal slave. I do things for her. Help her dress, bathe, get things for her." There were other things she had to do occasionally, but the Briton did not need to know about them."Domina likes to dress well. Here in Rome, good clothes are expensive. So if domina has a pretty dress, that means the family has money. And if I, domina's slave, also have a pretty dress, then it means domina's family is very rich and important." Granted, her current garments were not particularly flattering despite the good quality of the wool, but when carrying hidden jewels along the city streets it was wise to look a tad more ordinary.

Had he managed to grasp most of what she had said? "Do you understand now? Why you and I are both slaves, but not the same?" Clio cocked an eyebrow in curiosity. She'd got a bit carried away, but she had so seldom an audience... And it did not look like anyone had bothered telling the Briton about the minute but significant separations in slave society. For an instant, Clio felt sorry for him.

@Polarity

@Beauty whatever you decide, I'm up for a thread with Clio sometime in the future  She's now become acquainted with Ambrosius, so that could be useful/interesting for Nymphias at some point. 

Another day, another errand for Clio to run, so long the mistress could bear to dismiss her for a few hours. This time it was nothing urgent, just a few items to take to the goldsmith: the lock on a necklace that needed fixing and a few rings with stones that needed buffering and polishing. Her domina knew that Clio could be trusted not to abscond with them or be tricked by the goldsmith, and so the jewels were safely kept inside a tiny purse, hidden from view by one of several folds in her rust-coloured tunic. The task allowed for some free time; delays could always be attributed to some hold up on the streets or a very busy jeweller.

As she walked through one of the smaller rooms and out into the hallway, the body slave pondered on what to do for only a few seconds, her thoughts dispersing at the sight of a tall, muscular man looking at her. Clio returned his gaze with an inquisitive frown. If memory served, this was one of the ludus' newest acquisitions, and one domina was fond of watching train. A flicker of recognition passed through her face. Ah, yes, it was the young Briton with arms like gourds and sometimes a limp at the end of the sessions. 

Hearing his apologetic words, Clio could not help but laugh out loud. Domina? She? The notion was as ludicrous as it was amusing, and Clio quickly stomped out the tiny, stubborn part of her that clang to that silly daydream from a few years ago before it had a chance to pipe up.  This, the misassumption of a confused new gladiator, was all she would get, and while maintaining the illusion would have been a fun game to play, the possible consequences of being found out made it a moot point.

"No, no," she shook her head to dispel the young man's misgiving. His Latin still sounded quite clumsy; it would be better to keep things simple. She brought an extended finger up to her chest, pointing at herself. "My name is Clio. I am a slave. Slave," she enunciated slowly, "like you." The finger now pointed at him. Well, not quite like him, but that would've been too much for the barbarian to understand, given his childish Latin and his presumably nonexistent Greek. "Domina," and here she mimed Annia Comna in one of her ornate wigs, "is the master's wife. She watches you train sometimes," she explained while pointing to her eyes, then to the gladiator and making a few fighting gestures. "I am domina's personal slave. Do you understand?"

Did he? And more importantly, what on earth had possessed her to give such a kindly explanation when she could have just laughed, turned her back on him and continue on her way? Perhaps it was a foggy memory of having once had halting Latin, too. She glanced around for any onlookers; despite finding none, she kept her voice clear and louder than usual, so no suspicion would be aroused if someone were to pass by them.

"Are you lost? Do you need help to get back to your quarters?" She waved in the general direction of the gladiators' barracks. He might have had some business in the domus, but if he was done, it would be best for him to return to his cell. 

@Polarity

All of those sound wonderful, to be fair, but I'm leaning more towards the third or second option. The second would likely lead to Ambrosius being teased to death by the other gladiators which is always fun, but your third suggestion would probably be best for talking more or less openly, or as openly as slaves can, anyway. So maybe the third one, if you're feeling it?

Not quite sure where this might lead, but my character Clio is the body slave of the Ludus Dacicus' mistress. She wouldn't be in the gladiator's quarters much, or actually ever, but her domina enjoys watching the men train and fight and so Clio is essentially made to watch too. She's curious and yet to meet a Briton, so Ambrosius would be interesting to her on account of that alone.

Hi Beauty! I've only got two characters, but I'll put out some feelers.

Clio is body slave to Annia Comna, mistress of the Ludus Dacicus where Turi/Ambrosius has trained.  If they were to be in the same household she would definitely view Nymphias as competition and treat her accordingly. Otherwise, she's sometimes sent to run errands in the city for her mistress, so there's opportunity for chance meetings. Clio is generally curious and eager to learn, and would find it interesting to get to know more about Britons.

If you're looking for a master who won't try to drag her into bed at every opportunity and mostly leave her to her own devices, Titus Sulpicius Rufus could be an option. He recently returned to Rome with his family after a couple of years in Dacia as legatus, and has three kids (all NPC for the time being) ages 13, 9 and 4 who could definitely use some younger slave company. Titus is quite happy with his wife Valeria (who's an available canon) and has had a lot on his mind lately, so he generally doesn't pay much attention to his female servants. 

Clio listened in silence as the master laid out his expectations for domina's actions. Standard fare - be witty, charming and elegant. This would not present a problem for her mistress, and neither would bribes or gifts. Domina was skilled enough at making it look authentic, to those beneath their class at least. The poor were easy to fool.

"Yes, Domine. I shall remind her of it. I'm sure many would be pleased to be invited to come visit the ludus." She bowed, and out of servile habit noticed how the goblet in her master's hand might be approaching emptiness. "More wine, Domine?" The words left her almost on instinct, like a trained soldier going through well-practiced moves. Still, she would wait for his assent before moving to fill his glass; many a slave had fallen into the trap of pretending to know their master's desires. It would give her time to steady the slight tremor in her grip, too.

"New men, Domine?" She blinked in surprise. Her mistress had said nothing of this, which led Clio to guess she didn't know about it. "I hope they will not disappoint you and will honour the ludus." She dipped her head again, ready to be called out on speaking out of turn at any moment. But curiosity was such a difficult beast to tame!

"Will you be purchasing Britons, Domine? It is said they are ferocious warriors." She'd heard stories on the streets and at the market of that strange people who covered themselves in blue before battle, perhaps hoping to frighten their enemies into retreat. The novelty effect of a gladiator from one of the newest provinces could not be understated, either - tickets would sell faster and the public would go wilder. And, maybe most important of all, better Britons than two bronze-skinned young men from Bithynia - if her brothers yet lived.

@Brian 

The barber slave came swiftly, bearing the tools of his trade. Titus glanced at him, then at the wine and delicacies Quintus' slaves had set out, and knew he had a couple of seconds to decide what to do first. Neither option was particularly good manners, but he was at home, with family, and that stubble was itchier by the minute, so manners be damned. 

He nodded at the tonsor and the man set to work with practiced ease. Titus could only grunt in agreement and acknowledgement at his brother's words, as nodding or speaking would have been an unnecessary risk with a sharp blade sliding along his face and neck at the tonsor's whim.

It was over a few minutes later, and Titus ran a hand through his newly-shaved face. The skin was as smooth as a baby's, and he thanked the barber with a "Very good" and a nod of dismissal. Now he was presentable again, if one of their lady wives or sister suddenly made an appearance.

"That was the best shave I've had in months, make sure to keep that man around," Titus commented as he held out his hand for a goblet of wine, which a slave quickly filled and passed to him. The drink was exquisite, a fine vintage that felt like liquid velvet as it went down his throat. Quintus spoiled him.

Titus raised his half-full goblet in a toast. "To you, brother! And to the gods that have held us in good health and allowed this meeting to happen." He helped himself to some fresh bread and sausage. After the boring meals of his journey, this felt like a banquet fit for an emperor, and it was only embarrassment that kept him from licking his fingers.

"I bet he will be good as new when he sees Valeria," Titus jested about his father-in-law; however, the smile quickly gave way to a more serious countenance. "I do hope so, too. Old Publius may be grumpy, but he's a good man." And a doting father and grandfather, even if he did not always want or like to show it.

"You speak as if we ever stood a chance against Sulpicia's own plots and schemes!" He laughed raucously and snapped his fingers for more wine. "She was the teacher and we the hapless victi--pardon me, students. Ah, good times." The sofa was so very comfortable, and Titus leaned back onto it.

He took a swig of the wine, almost emptying the goblet. "So tell me, Quintus. What has transpired while I was away that I should know of?" 

@Gothic

This topic was inspired by two books I bought just the other day. I've got a few fiction titles set in Ancient Rome, but don't actually own much non-fiction on the subject (though I sometimes borrow from my library).

What have you got on your bookshelf that may serve as reference or inspiration for the denizens of AeRo?

Me, I've got:

• Invisible Romans by Robert Knapp. One of the new purchases. Have only skimmed it, but goes into the lives of common folk - slaves, soldiers, outlaws, women, etc. from the little information available (mostly from funerary inscriptions, grafitti and the Bible). Doesn't seem to be broken up into age or location, though.
   
• Pax Romana by Adrian Goldsworthy. The other new purchase, haven't started on it either. Attempts to explain how the Romans forged alliances and quashed rebellions, what they provided the conquered peoples with and how and why did the empire last as long as it did with relatively few breakaway conflicts. Haven't yet checked how it's broken up.
   
• Antony and Cleopatra, also by Adrian Goldsworthy. I'm about 100 pages into this one, and so far it's done a good job of introducing the backgrounds of both the Ptolemies and the Antonii, as well as the political environment of the time. It tries to separate myth from fact, but the writing is a bit dry. Interesting for someone with an interest in politics.

Clio made to swallow and found out her throat was as parched as the swaths of land the Nile did not reach, according to her meagre knowledge of Ægyptus. Up until today, the image she had of her dominus was of a serious man, continuously (pre)occupied by business matters, but after this meeting, that image would be tinged with a shade of fear. She got the feeling that even freeborns would not enjoy finding themselves on the bad side of Titus Justinius Canicus Phiscerus... As her master exhaled, Clio's own breathing caught in her chest, and she tightened her fists until her knuckles shone pale against her brown skin. Was a storm coming? Had she said the wrong thing? 

The moment of doubt was over as quickly as it came, and Clio allowed herself to let out a shaky breath. No more talk of gladiators, unless the master brought it up first. Domina was an intelligent woman with a keen eye for quality wares, but when said wares were fighting men, it would be unwise to arouse her husband's suspicion, and if Clio were the one to do it by mistake... well, it would be a very costly mistake for everyone involved.

She quivered as the master spoke to her, but somehow managed to relax her hands; her fingernails had left crescent-shaped marks on her palms, and they were starting to smart a little. "Yes, Domine, I shall!" she nodded vigorously. "Is there anything that should be brought to Domina's attention before the next event?"

What Clio really wanted to ask, but would never dare to, was how much longer this interrogation would go on for. She hoped she had a little more tact than that, and so she would stand up as straight as her unease would let her until the master dismissed her.

@Brian

Surprisingly, neither  men made a fuss about his confession. Titus was counting on, at the very least, a raised eyebrow from Aulus Calpurnius Pratextatus - politeness, or pity, would suggest a gesture no more reproving than that - and the slave biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing... But instead, all he saw and heard was a shrug, a comment on the advantages of sea travel, and a slightly thoughtful, wondering look in the slave's eyes. Could Felix, too, be reluctant about travelling through Neptune's domain? Or was he perhaps picturing in his mind's eye already how Achaea was like?

He gazed at the crude map drawn in the dirt, pondering what to do while listening with only half an ear to the other two. Time was of the essence in this situation, and even if he were to ride day and night, and be so lucky as to find fresh horses at every outpost... No, who was he kidding? Only himself. With or without seasickness, the truth of the matter was that the sea route was a good ten days or so faster. Legions could be mobilised, and cities besieged and destroyed in ten days.  Titus pinched the bridge of his nose in defeat.

The others were talking. "I can't converse about philosophy or anything, but yes, my mother talked to me in Greek." Good, so Felix had some knowledge of it. Spared them from having to translate for him, though few would bother doing it for a slave. "Well, nobody really expects a slave to wax eloquent about philosophy in Greek, unless that's exactly what they were purchased for," Titus deadpanned, letting his irritation seep through. He almost regretted having come across the pair, for otherwise he could have carried on with his merry, time-wasting delusion of taking an overland route. His stomach would have appreciated that... but it was not meant to be.

He caught himself an instant later, though, and tried to smooth over any ruffled feathers. "It's definitely a plus that you speak it, though. One can never have too many eyes and ears in circumstances like this."

Titus made to stand up; his mind was finally made up, and the sooner they got on with it the sooner it would be over. "How often do you think ships depart for Corinthus or Tarsus from Ariminium?"

@Chevi @Sharpie

I recently finished "The three body problem" by Cixin Liu, and am now on my library's waiting list to borrow its sequel "The dark forest". A pleasant read if you're into sci-fi!

Clio winced instinctively when the towel hit the old man, who grumbled at the interruption but wiped his arms on his stained tunic before resuming his meal. The owner clearly had no qualms about setting his clientele straight, and she found his no-nonsense manner refreshing. To his his straightforward question about her funds, Clio replied by patting the coin pouch she was trusted with and letting the sound of metal clinking on metal speak for itself. "I've got a bit."

She took the piece the shopkeeper offered her and put it in her mouth. It tasted great, and the longer she chewed the more complex the flavours became. The salty ham was the perfect counterpart to the richness of the cheese. Her masters would like it, possibly paired with some wine. Cheese always went well with wine. "It's delicious!" she beamed.  No wonder the thermopolium was almost always full, if all the food was like this. "I think I'll take..." Clio trailed off, looking at the ceiling for a split second as she did some reckoning, "four of these." One for domina, one for dominus, one for young Canica, and maybe one to be split among Clio herself and dominus' body slave, if the masters were feeling kindly towards them.

But just one filling wouldn't be enough; there had to be more variety. "And I'll have four with pork, too." Best to take fewer pieces of different flavours. "You mentioned ones with spices. What sorts?" There were probably more types of fillings than she could afford at the moment, so she would have to select the ones more likely to be approved of. Two or three more should be enough, taking both palate and budget into account. Hopefully the man wouldn't try to rip her off - but if she tried, she had a secret weapon ready to be used!

@Gothic

Titus had been absent from Senate proceedings for years, courtesy of his service in the provinces, and most of the time he did not miss the stuffy, formal speeches that had senators talking in circles and boring each other to inaction. During this meeting, however, his colleagues seemed to have come to the same conclusions rather quickly, and not yet once had he had to steel his jaw to tame a yawn threatening to escape. It must have been Caesar's influence, transforming the venerable institution from an ineffective assembly to an energetic decision-making organism over the better course of a decade.

As the young Tiberius took his seat again, Titus stood up. "Esteemed colleagues, I find myself seeing the truth in your words, and agreeing with it. These children must not be left to suffer the whims of Fortuna, but instead aided so that they can contribute to the grandiosity of our homeland." Many had ended up in their situation through no fault of their own, and petty criminals and gangs would step in to claim them to their ranks if those of means did nothing.

"For many generations, Rome has been cleverly exploiting whatever resources are available. Our forefathers turned marshland into terra firma, and our soldiers build roads as they conquer foreign lands, all so that their successors will thrive. These children are a resource for our patria, one that we should take advantage of today lest we lose it forever tomorrow." He paused to clear his throat.

"Let us do as Tiberius Claudius suggests: send the brightest to a grammaticus, so that they may help shape the minds of the future. Send the strongest to our legions, so that they may bring glory to Rome and themselves. Send the others to be apprentices to tradesmen, so that they learn the virtues of being a Roman through honest work. And as for the girls - true, our mothers, wives, daughters and sisters may know best how to handle them. There would be value in letting them into our own homes, so that they may learn how to be good Roman women. But seamstresses, too, need apprentices, and the temples are often in need of novices. For if we offered our help to ten girls, how could we justify not extending the same charity to a hundred, or a thousand more who would reclaim it?" Let them all know meaning through hard work, males and female alike. Idle hands made for idle minds, and these orphans could contribute to society by providing useful work. Rome didn't need any more ne'er-do-wells.

Having spoken his mind, Titus sat back down, gazing attentively at the next speaker.

@Chris

The last man who had complimented Clio on her name had deceived her and sold her off, so she was naturally not quite as elated by the comment as one would think. "Thank you. She is the muse of history. I don't know who chose it, probably my first master..." She trailed off, allowing herself a moment's silence to wonder what of the mousy man. He would be in his fifties now, if he lived still. And his daughter, who she had played so often with, was likely married with children of her own. Before her thoughts turned to her parents and siblings, Clio snapped back to the present - no use wondering what had become of them; she  knew they would not meet again in this life.

No segregated baths for the slaves? How very generous. "Such progressive overseers you have," she chuckled mirthlessly, letting herself be drawn along. "What do the old codgers say to the likes of you or me bathing alongside them?" In the households Clio had been a part of, the slaves would take care of their personal hygiene at times when it didn't inconvenience the masters, but the thermae were clearly their own little world, in more ways than one.

And in this little world, a headstrong slave was putting Clio's resolve to the test. She blushed and averted her eyes from his, unsettled by Helenus' intense gaze. "I, um..." She tensed up,  not realising the instinctive action had accidentally tightened the grip of her hand on his. "I d-don't really think I should..." Somehow her voice had naturally dropped a tone to match his, but she was now sounding more unsure than ever. With a modicum of courage, Clio looked up again, feeling the heat on her cheeks as they made eye contact once more. "My domina would have me killed if she found out." It wasn't an understatement; for this kind of transgression, Annia Comna's trust in Clio would be so irreparably broken that mere flogging would not sate her desire for punishment.

Finally aware of how tightly she was gripping Helenus' hand, Clio released it in a sudden gesture, as if it burned her. "I'm sure you value your life, within the bounds of our kind. I value mine too, and especially as it is now." Her voice was still quiet, but sterner; a little of her resolve had returned, now that it was no longer being drained away by the warmth of his hand. "In a place like this, I'm sure every brick and stone has eyes and ears, and many who would snitch and gossip simply to sow strife, I think." She bit her lower lip, still holding his dark gaze.

"Am I wrong?" 

Can you prove me wrong?

@Atrice

Titus nodded in acknowledgement of the slave's admission of ignorance. "Fair enough." Indeed, not all of them had a need for education; not every tool needed to be sharp. Yet, Felix had just been presented with a quick lesson in Italian and Eastern geography, courtesy of his master. Aulus' sketch was a very reasonable likeness to the real world, the distance between towns even sufficiently proportional.

His enthusiasm waned somewhat as Aulus pointed out his intended stops. It was beginning to look like a long sea journey was inevitable, since it was the faster - and given the circumstances, preferred - option. "It often is, so long as Neptune is in a jolly mood." A storm could appear seemingly out of nowhere, and many a good ship and crew never made it to their destination. Overland, as far as Titus was concerned, was safer to a certain extent: inclement weather could be waited out someplace dry, it was easier to stay on course and resupply, and ambushing thieves were easier to escape or deal with. But... it would take longer, even with fresh horses at every stop. 

He exhaled deeply. "Your plan is sound. There should be ships going at least halfway there, to Corinthus or thereabouts." Titus turned to smile at Felix. "You would get to see your mother's homeland," he suggested with no scorn or malice in his voice. Had the slave ever wondered about it?

Directing his attention to Aulus once more, Titus figured it was time to come clean. Admitting weakness did not come easily to him, but he'd done less brave things. "You may have noticed my hesitation regarding sea travel..." He twiddled his thumbs, voice trailing off. "It's because I find it extremely unpleasant. It does not agree with my body."

There, he'd said it.

And prepared for the laughter he knew would ensue.

@Chevi @Sharpie

Hi Mord!

I have two characters, maybe one or both of them strike your fancy?

Titus - younger brother to Gothy's Quintus, also a senator and newly back in Rome after a stint in Dacia as legatus. Doesn't quite know if he wants to start taking political life more seriously or keep kicking barbarian behind in the provinces. Has a 13-year-old daughter and should probably start looking into possible suitors for her...

Clio - body slave to the mistress of one of the ludi. Is happy with her current lot in life and entertains no thoughts of running away, though a tiny part of her hopes she one day can buy her own freedom. She can wander about the city on errands for her masters or in her sparse free time.

I must warn you I'll be going on holidays soon and my internet access will be spotty, so if you'd like to defer any ideas to after my return I completely understand

It was good to be back, but it was great to be home. Rome was, of course, home to any Roman worth their salt, but sometimes the lofty ideals of patria were supplanted by a simpler, baser need for refuge and belonging. As one of the household slaves welcomed him into the house that had been their parents' and was now his brother's, Titus couldn't help but reminisce. It had been years since he had last set foot in it, and the decorated walls had been witness to many things: his decision to join Quintus Caesar in the east, his brother Quintus' own one to stay in the city and protect the family from the lunatics that pretended to be the righteous rulers of Rome, their shared worries as to the safety of their wives and children... And older things still: Quintus' marriage, Sulpicia's cunning schemes to get out of trouble, himself swinging a wooden gladius at one of the slave boys in a play fight. It had been so long ago that it may as well have been in another life, a more innocent one.

As he saw his older brother come into the atrium, Titus broke out into a merry grin. "Quintus, my brother! It's been far too long!"He returned his brother's hug with a bone-crushing one of his own. Despite the years and miles that had separated them, their bond remained as strong as ever. "Is she here? I better borrow your tonsor before she shaves my face off too!" he laughed heartily. Sulpicia was a formidable woman of an even more formidable temper, and only the unwise should tempt her to unleash it. Yet it was also true that he should start to look more presentable and get rid of that itchy stubble, now that he no longer had the excuse of a long journey with limited tools and no skilled barber.

He followed after Quintus through the familiar spaces, studying his brother's back. He looked healthy, but tired, and when he'd pulled back from their hug, Titus thought there were deeper lines on Quintus' face compared to the last time they'd been together. Politics could be far more gruelling than most would believe, and a consulship could be just as much work as it was an honour, if not more - and was Quintus any less busy now, as a former consul, than he had been two years ago? For a fleeting moment, Titus felt what he thought was pity; at least in Dacia they fought the enemy with gladii and pila, not with intrigue and rumours.

"You're a far better host than I deserve, brother," Titus chuckled. There would be no shortage of delicacies, and dared he hope for some honey cakes too? "I trust Cornelia is in good health?" His brother's wife had seemed to recover well after the difficult birth of their youngest a few years ago, but one never knew with women - healthy as a horse one day and at death's door the next. Valeria seemed to be an exception so far, seemingly having a stronger constitution than most women, but for how long would the gods maintain their favour? "Oh, she's doing well. Grew chattier and more excited the closer we got to Rome, though you know she'd never admit it. That is, until we got word on the way here that her father was doing poorly, so she made a detour to go see him first - sends her deepest apologies to her beloved brother-in-law, of course, and hopes you can forgive her rudeness - and will join us later along with the children."

He smirked conspiratorially at Quintus. "So for now it's just us two brothers, eh?"

@Gothic

Me, for sure! I grew up on Horrible Histories and other "Horrible" titles, can't wait for the film to come out near me.

She was not the target of the shop owner's irritation, and still Clio couldn't help but flinch at the mention of the mines. They were a slave's worst nightmare, their mention more fear-inducing than Medusa's face. Many owners would insult their slaves; a few, like this one, would threaten them with promises of a terrible fate, but only a very small part of them actually made good on it, the gods be thanked. Perhaps this vendor was like the fire-spitting mountains to the south that Clio had heard of: troublesome , unpredictable and sometimes inclined to blow everything around them up, but also capable of great periods of rest between explosions. Looking at the scene around her, there was no doubt the man and his household would be stretched thin at times. 

Still, the man wore a kinder expression when he turned to her and requested she speak up. Of course the cacophony of voices and sounds would leave anyone a little hard of hearing if they had to deal with it day in and day out. That, and short on patience, probably, so she'd better hurry up and pick something from their selection. "I was sent by my masters to purchase your specialties," Clio started tentatively, smiling back at the vendor. "It seems like meat and cheese are popular with your patrons." She leaned forward a little, raising her voice - hopefully without sounding too shrill - as she looked at the plates of her bench neighbours. The meat looked juicy and tender, and an elderly man was going at it with such gusto that he even licked the juices dripping down his forearms. "I take it you have several kinds of each?"

@Gothic