Good, sound, sensible advice. Even if he did smell like an outhouse on a hot summer day, Titus Calidius Severus was a good and sensible man. But Nicole hadn’t got to Carnuntum by being sensible. “I’ll take my chances,” she said.
He shrugged again. “Hey, I’m not your family. You’re not stuck with me.” He smiled that crooked smile again, too, which did the oddest – just this side of annoying – things to her middle. “Like I’m telling you something you didn’t already know.”
Oh, she could read him perfectly well. You used to want me and now you don’t, and I can’t figure out why. That was what he meant. Still, he didn’t say it, not out loud. He didn’t sound angry, either, just perplexed. When you got down to it, that was a pretty… civilized way of going about things. It was a hell of a lot more civilized than the come-ons she’d suffered through in California. The guys who’d made those hadn’t even been to bed with her, and they were assuming rights she damned well didn’t want to give them. Calidius Severus had slept with her, or thought he had; and he was letting her decide just how to handle this thing between them.
Damn, she was starting to like him again. Worse; to sympathize with him. She wasn’t used to sympathizing with a man. Men were pains, every last one of them. Except – this one didn’t seem to be, nor did he seem to be pretending. He really was a decent sort. She should have hated him for it. Instead, she hated herself either for letting down the side so far as to actually like a member of the Y-chromosome set, or for being such a bitch that she couldn’t see a decent human being when he stood in front of her face.
He had to make it worse, too, when she wouldn’t rise to his bait. He shrugged one last time, reached into his belt pouch, didn’t push or lecture her, but just said, “I know what I owe you for everything but the snails. You don’t do those often enough for me to remember.”
“A dupondius a plate,” she said. It came out clear enough, after all, through a throat just a little tight.
Calidius Severus didn’t complain. No one else had, either. He paid the bill, then put down an extra as. “Give this to Lucius. The hunter deserves his reward.”
Gaius Calidius Severus set down anas, too. “Can Julia have it?” he asked, adding, “She did cook them up very nicely.”
Nicole looked at Titus Calidius Severus. The fuller and dyer pursed his lips and looked up at the sooty ceiling. He didn’t say anything. He very loudly didn’t say it. Watching him not saying it, watching his son thinking he’d been subtle and not given away what was really on his mind, or perhaps on his crotch, made Nicole want to laugh – or snarl.
All right. Titus Calidius Severus had given her one victory. She could give him this other, minor one. As she was expected to, she said, “Yes, Julia can have the as.”
Gaius Calidius Severus looked as if he would have clapped his hands and bounced up and down, if he hadn’t remembered his manly dignity. “Oh, good!” he said with another of his goofy grins.
His father pursed his lips again. This time, instead of looking at the ceiling, he glanced at Nicole. They shared a moment of silent amusement.
Yes, shared it. It felt… good. Dammit, it felt good.
Titus Calidius Severus ended it with ease that Nicole could envy. He got to his feet, moving briskly but comfortably, and said, “Come on, son. We’d better get back. No matter how much you wish it would, the work doesn’t do itself.” He nodded to Nicole. “See you soon.”
“All right,” she answered automatically, and a little more warmly than she’d expected.
Both women watched the Calidii Severi walk back across the street, the son a slighter, paler copy of the father. Nicole didn’t know what expression Julia wore, nor did she care to glance at her, to find out.
Julia came up beside her, a redolence composed of garlic and wool and unwashed body – the same as ever, but somehow more bearable than it had been just a few days ago. She picked up the copper coin the younger Calidius Severus had left for her. “I think Gaius is very nice,” she announced.
“Of course you do,” Nicole said. And caught herself too late. Her tone was snide, and worse than snide.
It didn’t offend Julia, or Julia didn’t admit to being offended. She nodded, that was all, and slipped the coin into her mouth till she could go up to her room. She accepted Nicole’s meanness as plain truth. Compared to that, Nicole would sooner have seen her offended.
Slaves accept such things, she thought. Free women rebel against them. But she didn’t say anything – which was a cowardly thing, and a sensible thing, and a thing she didn’t admire herself for; but she did it nevertheless. This place was getting under her skin. The next thing she knew, she’d be deciding to keep Julia a slave, because The Family objected to the waste of such valuable property. Giving herself to herself – what a horrible thing.
Nicole was comforted, a little. She still had most of her irony intact. She was safe enough – for now.
A woman left the tavern looking less happy than she might have. Julia said, “Tsk, tsk,” a sound that hadn’t changed much when Nicole dropped back in time.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked, a bit distracted: she was taking the latest batch of bread out of the oven.
“I’m afraid you might have offended your cousin Primigenia, Mistress,” Julia said, which, given the care slaves had to use when speaking, meant Nicole sure as blazes had offended Cousin Primigenia. Julia went on, “You treated her like you’d never set eyes on her before in your life.”
Nicole lifted out the last of the loaves and set it on the counter to cool – carefully, because the bread was hot and the action kept her from hitting the wall that she could see rushing toward her at freeway speed. With Brigomarus, she’d lucked out. With other people, she’d either been given enough clues to go on with, or she’d been able to cover for her ignorance – most often because of Julia.
Nicole slid a glance at the slave. Julia was wearing one of her blander expressions. Was she figuring things out? Had she kept quiet deliberately, to see what would happen?
Of course not. Nicole thought. How could she know Umma wasn’t Umma anymore? Nicole had been scrambling as fast as she could, as hard as she could, to keep up with things. She’d been doing well, she’d thought. Till now.
She had to say something. Julia was starting to shuffle her feet. She put on a kind of frantic nonchalance, straightening up, dusting her hands, making a show of inspecting the row of nicely browned loaves. “Well,” she said, “that’s done. As for Pnmigenia… I must have had too much on my mind. I swear I didn’t even see her. I’ll make it up to her next time, that’s all.”
That was only about half true. Nicole had seen Primigenia. The woman was a little hard to miss: she had the beginning of a harelip. A surgeon in the twentieth century would have repaired it while she was a baby. Here, she had to live with it. Nicole remembered thinking, What a shame. She’s not bad-looking otherwise.
At the moment, she hoped Julia hadn’t seen her looking. Or had taken her stare for abstraction, figuring the accounts, maybe, or making a mental shopping list for tomorrow’s trip to the market.
Julia didn’t appear to have seen, or else had decided to play the game by Nicole’s rules. In a way. “I hope she doesn’t take it too hard, “ she said. “Your brother’s angry at you as it is. You don’t want to get your whole family up in arms.”
“That’s the last thing I want.” Nicole paused. That was it; she’d had it. She had to say it, and never mind what Julia thought. “No, the next to last thing. The last thing I want is for people to think they can tell me what to do.”