Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If I get 100 views on a single post of One More Life, I will self-publish a digital and printed copy with an exclusive Epilogue. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 6 here.

The slave deftly wound Cassia’s hair into an intricate pile on her head, tugging curls loose here and there to soften the effect on her mistress. Cassia was the picture of female Roman aristocracy. Her dress wound round her body to emphasize every curve, her head high and eyes bright. She was also vain, often petty, with an insatiable appetite for the excesses of society. The slave had served her for nearly a decade now. She pinned another glittering bauble into her mistress’s hair. Since Cassia was only a child, she had been styling her hair, cleaning up after her, and even playing with and otherwise entertaining her. 

Cassia rose as the slave stood back from her work, turning her head this way and that to survey her hair. Nodding, finally, she snatched the scarf off her chair and headed towards the door. “Avita, please make sure you bring money for the games this afternoon,” she reminded unnecessarily, “I don’t intend to watch them with no refreshment.” 

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Avita nodded her dark head and set about tidying the room. She was nearly finished when she heard her mistress calling from the triclinium. Hustling across the opulent villa, she caught up a pitcher of wine being proffered by another one of the servants shaking her head at his eye roll. All of the servants found Cassia spoiled to the point of obnoxiousness. They could not fathom what their master saw in her.

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But Avita could. For all her self-absorption, Cassia was not very much different from the little girl Avita had practically helped raise. When Cassia had been married to the master, Avita had seen the trepidation in her eyes as her father had introduced her to her future husband–a wealthy merchant who had made his fortune importing sands from Egypt for the floor of the Colosseum. Cassia had feared, like any other girl, that she might not be loved. But she was. Even though she was often thoughtless of her husband’s regard for her and would blurt out stinging comments, she was loved by him, and Avita believed that Cassia loved the master. Beyond that, when Avita had fallen in love with Cassia’s father’s physician, Cassia had not hesitated to facilitate and bless their marriage. She had even convinced her father to gift the physician his freedom so he could follow them to Cassia’s new home. 

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Avita thought of her husband warmly. He had left the domus early to take food to their friend, imprisoned now and sentenced to death. Avita shook her head and prayed silently for them both. 

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“Avita, do you think that Atticus will take long on his business this morning? I wish he would come to the games with me.” Cassia plumped her lower lip in a petulant gesture, then bit it in uncertainty.

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“I don’t know, mistress. His work is very involved. Perhaps you could ask him to teach you about it?” 

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Cassia made a face. “You jest, certainly?”

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Avita chuckled aloud at her mistress’s appalled expression, but responded warmly. “I’m sure he does not only work to provide for the household. He must enjoy it as well.”

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Cassia shook her head and drank from the newly-filled cup placed in her hand. “You say the strangest things, Avita.” But she was smiling, too, considering. 

An hour later the slave noted Cassia entering the master’s study. She did not exit for some time, but did so with a smile. Cassia caught Avita’s eye and turned toward her chambers. 

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Avita demurely followed the mistress and, with the doors closed, immediately set to straightening her hair and dress. “His work is diverting?”

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Cassia flopped back on her bed. “Heavens no! He lost me after the names of his ships.” Her head popped up. “Did you know he named a ship for me? He says she’s high maintenance, but that she sails more swiftly than any of the others.” Her head fell back to the pillow and the slave smiled at the contented expression on her mistress’s typically restless face. She knew the feeling. 

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She brought a cloth and water to help clean her mistress and began once again preparing her for the games, which the master had agreed to attend with her. Avita suppressed a shudder at the thought of the games. 

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Before long, they were bustling out the door, the master and mistress sharing a palanquin. Avita walked along beside the tall “matched” slaves shouldering the ornate vehicle. She murmured soft conversation with Vallus and Talius, brothers captured from Gaul. Vallus’s wife was newly expecting and Talius heckled him good-naturedly about the possibility of twins. Avita chuckled, reminding them that any number of babies would be a treasure. They both nodded, grinning warmly. The handmaid congratulated Vallus and asked him to extend that to his wife. 

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The Colosseum loomed before them, a vast monument to the darkest appetites of human nature. The master and mistress were delivered to the entrance and Avita bade the other slaves farewell as she accompanied her mistress to the seating for citizens of the upper crust. She arranged their cushions on the stone and hurried off to gather refreshments, her skin crawling as the “criminals” were ushered onto the sand. She prayed silently for them, knowing their suffering would end soon. She did not tarry, although she would have given almost anything to be elsewhere. She could almost hear the echoes of the perished souls entombed in the shadowy halls of that massive wonder. She brought wine, fruit, and cheeses as well as cooked meat from the vendors outside; morsels that would not satisfy. 

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She could see in the eyes of the master, his clear distaste for such entertainment. But, just as evident was his adoration for the mistress and so he stayed, content to watch her. Avita stood silent beside the pair, gaze intentionally diverted. She prayed fervently for the souls on the sand struggling to block out the cries of the fighting and dying. 

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By the end of the afternoon, she was exhausted physically and emotionally. Considering the architectural wonder that was the Colosseum, would comfortable shoes be too much to ask? She walked on weary legs beside the palanquin. The mood on the way home was always more subdued. The Gaul’s were familiar with the kindly handmaid’s compassion for the unfortunate victims of the ghoulish Roman games and spoke quietly of sweeter things. Talius’s son had lost his first tooth. Vallus had helped pull it, consequently teasing him about the resulting gap-toothed grin. Avita’s spirits gradually lightened at the gracious efforts of the towering slaves. 

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The palanquin halted before a sumptuous bathhouse exclusive to the wealthy. Avita followed the mistress into the women’s tepidarium where she assisted the woman to disrobe and descend into the refreshing waters. Avita retrieved salts and oils to rub into Cassia’s skin and stood patiently nearby to attend her every need. Other women soaked nearby, some making idle conversation about politics before an energetic discourse on one of the gladiatorial matchups erupted. It seemed that a favorite of one of them had been cut down by one of Cassia’s favorites. The discussion seemed to wind down before one of the women–the wife of some politician, Avita thought–eyed the others mischievously.

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“I was with him last night, you know.”

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The other women gasped and tittered. Cassia’s cheeks flushed red and she looked down at the water. Avita brought salts as though summoned and began to fuss over her so as to distract from the mistress’s obvious embarrassment. 

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“You needn’t act so scandalized. Many women do it. Our husbands are not all so attentive,” she glanced toward Cassia with veiled envy and lifted her chin slightly, “and we must sate our appetites another way.”

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Avita was appalled for her young charge. She loved the woman like a sister and would gladly shield her from all manner of insult or embarrassment if she could. She proffered a woven towel. 

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“Would the mistress prefer the frigidarium? The evening has grown very hot.”

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Avita took Cassia’s outstretched hand and led her from the room. 

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Cassia murmured a polite, “Of course, Avita. Always thoughtful. Farewell, ladies.”

As soon as they had passed the archway, though, she was nearly fuming with embarrassment. 

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Avita thought of her own husband’s sweet attentions, his steadfast years of love and care. She took the Roman debutante’s hand pulling her face to face, less a slave now and more a mother. “There is no shame in the faithful love of a good man.”

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“They make foolish my youth and inexperience,” she whined.

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The slave arched a brow, “Inexperience like this morning?”

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The woman could stop neither blush nor smile. 

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“You make foolish their exploits. The treasure of your marriage shines light on the shoddy–” Avita searched for the word, “tarnished state of their own. Thank God, for the master, that his eyes do not wander.”

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Cassia nodded gratefully to Avita and suddenly threw her arms around the slave. “Let’s not go to the frigidarium and instead see if Atticus is ready to go home.”

Avita nodded and went in search of Atticus’s man. 

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The evening was relatively short. Cassia retired to the master’s chambers, seeming much calmed and happy. Avita retired to her own quarters where her husband was certainly waiting. 

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The lights were burned down low as she began untying her tunic. She heard his footsteps behind her, felt his fingers touch hers as the garment slipped to the floor. Turning, she pressed into his embrace. 

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“How is our friend?” She asked into his shoulder savoring the sensation of his familiar, solid frame.

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“He’s as well as can be expected.” His voice rumbled gently in his chest, a comfort always, “He was writing letters. I told him to send my greetings.”

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“That is good, I suppose. I fear that one of these days, it will be him on the sand.”

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“Think not of it, but of lovelier things,” he murmured into the nape of her neck as his hands slid down the curve of her waist. “I know I am.”

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She chuckled and tipped her face up to look at him…

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