“Liberty — from care?” Again, Nicole’s echo was hesitant and filled with a dismay she tried to hide from Julia. That fit too well with what the god and goddess had done, her last night in West Hills. She’d been filled with care then. Liber and Libera had taken her out of it, had sent her back to their time, back to their town, where she’d thought — where they must have thought — she would be carefree.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Carefree? Wine, lice, slavery — and now sexism, too? Some freedom this was — all the new worries of this time and place, and a whole set of old ones from California, too. It was more than she could take.
She almost prayed to Liber and Libera to ship her back to California. But she wasn’t giving up yet, even for Kimberley and Justin. She’d asked for this. She had to make the best of it.
“Mistress?” Julia said. Nicole nodded to show she’d been paying attention, even if she hadn’t. “Mistress,” Julia said again, “I was thinking. If I work here as a freedwoman, not as a slave, I’ll be able to take men upstairs and keep all” — Nicole’s expression gave her pause, but she misinterpreted it — “all right, not all. But more of what they pay, for myself.”
“If you work here as my freedwoman,” Nicole said through clenched teeth, “you will not prostitute yourself.”
“But why not,” Julia asked, “if I’m free and if I want to?” She searched Nicole’s face as if she could find an answer there. “Mistress, I don’t understand.”
Nicole opened her mouth, then closed it again. Here was an issue she’d never imagined she’d have to face. If a woman wanted to go on selling herself, did another woman have the right to forbid it? She couldn’t face that, not on those terms. She sidestepped instead, as she had with Lucius and Aurelia: “Isn’t there anything else you’d rather do?”
Julia raised her hands and let them fall. “Mistress, you keep saying that, but what else can I do? I can cook some and bake some, so maybe I could work at another tavern, but it’s hard to find one that doesn’t already have its own slave — and slaves work for free. Remember that woman you wouldn’t hire last year because you owned me?”
Again, Nicole made herself nod. Because you owned me. Julia said it so calmly. She took it for granted. However unhappy she might be as a slave, she never blinked at slavery itself.
“I’m good at something else, too,” she said, “or the men say I am. But I don’t want to do that for a living, either. I’d have to take on men I didn’t want at all, and I wouldn’t much care for that.’’
Nicole lowered her aching head into her hands. Had she really expected life here to be simple? In California, she’d always known how to react, what to think, what was right and what was wrong. In Carnuntum, there was no such thing as simplicity — not to her twentieth-century mind.
She settled on the one thing that was simple, the thing she had decided on. “Let’s do what we have to do to get you free,” she said, “and then we’ll worry about everything else. How does that sound?”
“All right, Mistress.” Even now, Julia sounded more dutiful than delighted. “Brigomarus won’t like it, I’ll bet.”
“Brig —?” Nicole needed a moment to recall the name of Umma’s brother — now, effectively, her brother. “Don’t you worry about Brigomarus. Just leave him to me.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Julia still sounded dutiful. She sounded, Nicole supposed, very much the way a slave was supposed to sound. The contrast with Julia’s usual, freer manner was strong enough to bring Nicole up short, and to stab her with guilt — which was probably what Julia intended.
Slaves and children, Nicole thought. They’re powerless — but they can manipulate the ones in power, to get what they think they want. And hadn’t she done the same thing herself more times than she could count, growing up and going to school and working in a law firm that took equity so far and not an inch further?
Two afternoons later, Brigomarus breezed into the tavern. Luck was looking after Nicole again. She didn’t need to wonder who this casual type was who blew in as if he owned the place. Lucius, who’d been cracking walnuts, shouted “Uncle Brigo!” and tried to tackle him.
He swept the boy up, tipped him upside down, and bonked his head on a tabletop. Lucius squealed in delight. Brigomarus tipped him back upright and set him bouncing on his feet, and pulled a handful of candied figs from his belt pouch. Lucius snatched them as eagerly as if he hadn’t been eating as many walnuts as he dropped into the bowl, and danced around the room while Aurelia, who’d heard the uproar and come downstairs to see what was happening, fell on her uncle and held him hostage till he surrendered a second handful of figs.
“Greedy kids,” he said affectionately, planting himself on a stool and thumping the table with a fist. “Let me have some wine, would you, sister? I’d have been back sooner, but they’ve had us making shields from dawn to dusk. The war with the tribes across the river isn’t anywhere near over yet, you mark my words. “
Nicole dipped a cup of Falernian for him, figuring family deserved the best. Maybe Umma hadn’t been that generous: Brigomarus’ eyebrows rose and he smacked his lips. He downed the cup with as much pleasure as thirst.
She studied him while he drank. He looked like one of Umma’s relatives, sure enough. He was, she suspected, a younger brother, though not by much. He was a little fairer than Umma, his eyes hazel rather than brown, but they shared long faces and prominent noses and sharp cheekbones. His beard obscured the shape of his chin, but she supposed it was narrow and rather pointed, like her — Umma’s — own. He was rather good-looking, in a lean and hungry way. If she’d been her California self, she might not have wanted to know him; he looked hard and a little dangerous, though his ready smile and easy manner tended to conceal it.
Lucius pestered him, tugging at his arm, voice escalating into a whine: “Wrestle me, Uncle Brigo! Come on, let’s wrestle, come on, Uncle Brigo!”
“No,” Brigomarus said. Lucius kept at him, tugging harder, ignoring Brigomarus’ frown and reiterated, “No!” Brigomarus casually hauled off and smacked him upside the head, harder than Nicole had ever hit a child in her life. “Cut it out, kid,” he said. “I want to talk to your mother.”
Lucius rocked with the blow, but he didn’t start crying or screaming. “Oh, all right, Uncle Brigo,” he said, disappointed but evidently undamaged.
If he had started to cry, Nicole would have been on Brigomarus like a tiger. As it was, she wanted to yell at him anyhow. It was hard to hold herself back, to be sensible, to keep from giving herself away. Julia was inclined to take Nicole’s odd moments in stride. Somehow, Nicole didn’t think Brigomarus would be so accommodating.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked him, and hoped she sounded enough like his sister to pass muster.
Evidently she did. He answered a question with a question: “What’s this I hear about you wanting to set Julia free?”
Nicole’s heart jumped, but she held steady. “It’s true,“ she said. “I do.” She’d had time enough over the past couple of days to frame a response that, from what Julia had said, a person from here and now could legitimately have made: “I decided that I didn’t want her to have to sleep with customers to get a little spending money.” She kept wanting to say pocket change, but nobody in Carnuntum knew about pockets.
Brigomarus raised his eyebrows. “What? That never bothered you before.” He sucked on a front tooth, as if it helped him get his thoughts in order. “I hate to lose the money she cost, too — and if one of those customers knocked her up, the brat would bring a nice piece of change.” By his tone, he might have been trying to talk his sister out of a real-estate deal he thought foolish. Like Julia and everyone else Nicole had seen in this place, he had not the slightest sense that anything was wrong with or about slavery itself.
It drove Nicole crazy. The casual way in which Brigomarus spoke of selling a child for profit made her belly go tight and cold. “Setting Julia free is what I want to do,” she said with unshaken determination, “and I’m going to do it.”