Chapter 4
After leaving Penthesilea, Kallias made his way back to Flaccus’s home.
The second-floor apartment sat over a bakery, which explained the sack of grain that had broken the man’s fall.
The yeasty smell of bread tickled Kallias’s nostrils as he mounted the steep outside staircase to the second story landing.
Sextus, the young man, opened the door at his knock.
“Oh! It’s you. Please come in.” He eagerly beckoned Kallias inside.
The front room of the apartment was small and dimly lit, but clean.
A woman, sitting at a loom near the single window, rose to her feet when Kallias entered.
Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, a wary look entering her eyes as she assessed his fine clothing.
Kallias nodded respectfully to her. “Lady. My name is Kallias. Forgive the intrusion. I met your husband and son yesterday, and I wished to see how his injury fared.”
“Ah, yes. I’m Vibia, Flaccus’s wife.” She returned his nod. “We owe you our gratitude for your assistance yesterday, but I’m afraid we don’t have the funds to spare for a physician. I don’t want to waste your time.”
Kallias waved a hand. “No payment is necessary. I’m lucky to be well-compensated by my employer. I can see the occasional patient on a complimentary basis.”
“Very well,” Vibia said. “Sextus, fetch your father.”
Sextus disappeared into the second room and reappeared a moment later with Flaccus. Kallias was pleased to see the man’s arm still bound in the sling Kallias had put it in. At least someone listened to him, he thought darkly.
“My husband claims you told him he needed total rest,” Vibia said as Sextus helped Flaccus into a seat at the central table. “Been waiting on him hand and foot since yesterday—not that that’s much different from usual.” She gave her husband a good-natured scowl.
“I’m only following the physician’s orders!” Flaccus protested. “Far be it from me to reject medical advice.”
“I did tell him to rest,” Kallias admitted.
“His arm should stay in a sling for a few weeks until it’s fully healed.
” Kallias untied the sling. He questioned Flaccus about his pain level and tested the range of motion in his shoulder.
Everything seemed to be progressing as expected, so he withdrew the second container of poultice, a slightly different formulation than the one he’d used on Penthesilea, since the skin wasn’t broken.
He bade Flaccus remove his tunic, leaving the man clad in a loincloth, and Kallias spread the poultice on the injured joint.
Sextus hovered at Kallias’s shoulder. He sniffed as Kallias doled out the thick salve. “Is that…frankincense? And vinegar, and…something else?” He took another inhale. “Galbanum?”
“Yes,” Kallias said, impressed that the young man had recognized the spicy fragrance of the plant resin. “You have a very astute nose.”
Sextus beamed. “What does it do?”
“It should reduce the swelling and lessen the pain,” Kallias said. “The shoulder would heal without it, but this will hasten the process.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Vibia muttered. But the hand she laid on her husband’s good shoulder was gentle, and there was unmistakable warmth in her eyes as she gazed down at him.
“I’ll leave that with you,” Kallias said, gesturing to the container. “You can reapply it once or twice a day. I’ll bring some more the next time I’m in this area.”
Kallias accepted their thanks with a nod, then bid the family goodbye and made his way back down the stairs to the street.
As he walked back toward the palace, he couldn’t help contemplating the family, especially the easy rapport between Vibia and Flaccus.
It sparked a bittersweet tugging sensation in his chest. No one had ever looked at him that way.
Kallias had precious little experience with the concept of family.
Born into slavery, he’d been soon parted from his mother, and ended up in service to a physician with one of the Roman legions stationed in Greece.
Kallias had learned the healing arts from his master, and after a few years, they’d moved to serve the legion commanded by Gaius’s father.
Soon, he and his master became attached to Gaius’s household, and when his master died, Kallias assumed the position in his stead.
He’d had friends over the years, of course, and lovers too, but no one to whom he belonged. His life had been fraught enough that it was a blessing to only have to worry about himself. But now, he wanted more.
No, that was dangerous territory. He needed to appreciate what he had, and stop longing for things he never could.
Kallias had barely stepped foot within the walls of the palace when an anxious young man jogged up to him.
“Sir!” The youth, one of the household slaves, grabbed his arm. “The emperor has been looking for you. It’s Julia Drusilla—she’s dying!”
Kallias let out a tight sigh. He’d been expecting this. “She’s not dying, but I’ll attend to her straightaway.”
He paid a brief visit to his office to fetch the supplies he kept for these instances, then headed to Drusilla’s bedchamber.
This scene played out in one form or another every month.
Drusilla became afflicted with her monthly courses, Gaius thought she was dying, and it fell to Kallias to sort them both out.
Kallias found the emperor red-faced and pacing next to Drusilla’s bed. The young woman lay on her back, propped up by pillows, with a bundle clutched to her stomach. Kallias knew it contained a wide, flat stone, heated to a comfortable temperature and wrapped in wool padding to soothe her cramps.
“Where have you been?” Gaius demanded as soon as Kallias entered the room. “My sister is practically on the banks of the Styx, and you are nowhere to be found!”
Kallias summoned the tone he often used with the emperor. His position required a careful combination of obsequiousness and confidence. It was a delicate balance to walk; he could hardly reprimand someone like Gaius as he had Penthesilea after she’d disregarded his directive to rest.
“I briefly left the palace to tend to the injured gladiator from yesterday. As you commanded.” Kallias did not mention the unauthorized patient he’d taken on.
“You shouldn’t have left for so long,” the emperor insisted. “We have need of you.”
“Sir, we spoke of this last month,” Kallias said gently. And the month before that, and before that… “Drusilla’s affliction is temporary, and quite normal. I can prepare something to ease the pain, but the worst will pass in a day or two.”
“This time is worse,” Gaius insisted. “Look at her. Look how pale she is!”
Drusilla surveyed her brother wearily. “If I look worse, it’s only because your yelling is giving me a headache.”
“A headache?” To his credit, Gaius did lower his voice to a tense whisper. “Surely that can’t be good. What if that portends something—a, a brain fever, or—”
“Blessed Juno,” Drusilla muttered. “Gaius, get out and let Kallias tend to me.” She was the only person who dared speak to the emperor in such a tone.
Gaius shot her a chagrined glare, then turned his attention to Kallias. “I want a full report on her condition every hour,” he announced. “You must not leave her side until she’s fully recovered!”
Kallias bowed his head. “Of course, sir. Julia Drusilla will have my full attention for as long as she requires it.” This was why Kallias struggled to find the time to care for others in the palace who needed it; he spent altogether too much time in unnecessary attendance on one or the other of the imperial siblings.
He sympathized with Drusilla’s plight, but there were many women in this very building who did not have the luxury of lying abed whenever their courses struck.
The emperor gave his sister one last anxious glance, then slunk from the room.
Drusilla exhaled once her brother was gone. “He is so tiresome.”
“He cares for you very much.” Too much, in Kallias’s opinion; Gaius’s attachment to his sister bordered on obsessive.
But Kallias understood where it came from.
Those stressful years together as Tiberius’s hostages had forged a strong bond between the siblings, and after losing his mother and brothers to the old emperor’s paranoia, Gaius now clung to Drusilla.
His two other sisters did not merit the same attention, likely because they’d both been married for years and lived elsewhere.
Drusilla herself had been briefly married to one of Tiberius’s allies, but one of Gaius’s first acts as emperor had been to dissolve that marriage, and her former husband had quickly departed for a long tour of the provinces.
A wise decision, Kallias thought.
Kallias beckoned to a maid hovering by the door, and asked for a pitcher of hot water. He then returned to Drusilla’s bedside and began mixing the herbs for the infusion to ease her pain.
“You said you visited the gladiator?” Drusilla asked as he measured out a quantity of dried chamomile leaves into a terracotta cup. “Penthesilea?”
Kallias nodded. “Her wound is healing satisfactorily.”
“Oh, good.” Drusilla adjusted the position of the hot stone on her stomach. “Imagine how interesting it must be to be a female gladiator!”
Kallias wasn’t sure “interesting” was the word for being enslaved and forced to fight, but he nodded politely.
He liked Drusilla; she was intelligent, genial, and displayed a rare talent for managing her brother’s moods, but that didn’t change the fact that she was one of the most privileged people in the empire and had little concept of the struggles that ordinary people faced.
“And she lives with all those men…” A sly smile curved Drusilla’s lips. “Do you think she takes lovers?”
Kallias nearly dropped the flask of poppy juice he was holding, as he spooned out one tiny drop to add to the chamomile. “I—I have no idea.” For some reason, he didn’t like to contemplate the idea of Penthesilea consorting with her gladiator colleagues.
Though there had been that one good-looking gladiator who’d been concerned about her after her injury. They’d seemed friendly. If she were going to sleep with anyone, it would probably be him.
“You’re frowning,” Drusilla said. “Is something wrong?”
Kallias hastily wiped his features clear of the scowl that had tightened them and summoned a bland expression. “Forgive me. I was merely concentrating on the measurements.”
The hot water arrived, so Kallias busied himself adding the herbs to it, stirring with more focus than he’d ever expended before on such a simple task.
He tried to examine each leaf to make sure it was steeping evenly.
Anything to distract himself from thinking about Penthesilea’s intimate affairs.
Why did the thought of her with that other gladiator make his insides feel as if they’d sprouted thorns?
It was perfectly reasonable that she might have struck up a relationship with one of the men she lived with. And it was of no consequence to him.
“I’d like to see her again,” Drusilla said as he set the steaming cup on the table beside the bed. “I want to ask her what it’s like to be a gladiator. Will you invite her to dinner the next time you see her?”
Kallias blinked. “Do you wish her to attend…as entertainment?” Dinner parties occasionally featured staged fights between gladiators. “She’ll need some more time to recover.”
Drusilla shook her head. “No, as a guest.”
Penthesilea, a dinner guest of the imperial family? He didn’t know her well, but he had a feeling she might not be pleased at the prospect. But this invitation was not one that could be refused. “Of course. I’ll extend the invitation on your behalf.”
“Good.” She reached behind her to plump her pillows. “Now, is my tea ready?”
Lea stared at Kallias, sure she’d misheard him. “What?”
He lifted an elegant brow. “Do you require a remedy for your hearing?” It had been two days since his last visit, and the physician had returned to give her a fresh jar of poultice for her wound.
She scowled at him. “Maybe I do. Because I think you just told me that the emperor’s sister has invited me to dinner.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” he replied airily, as if there were nothing so strange in that sentence. “Next week, on Tuesday.”
“I don’t want to.” She could imagine nothing less appealing than attending a dinner party at the imperial palace. She’d been uncomfortable enough when facing the emperor and his sister for a few brief moments after her victory. How was she supposed to survive an entire meal?
And those meals probably took hours.
“You don’t have a choice,” he informed her.
“Maybe I’m busy.”
“Cancel your plans.”
She huffed. “Are you sure they don’t want me to fight for them? I can do that.” Even with her injury, that scenario would be vastly preferable. A quick fighting demonstration, then she could leave.
Besides, she understood fighting. She didn’t understand patrician dinner party etiquette or what they talked about. They probably discussed poetry and politics and theater—things she had precious little knowledge of.
He shook his head. “I made sure to clarify. Drusilla is intrigued by you. Humor her for one evening. Her curiosity will be satisfied, and that will be that.”
Her jaw tightened. “Will you be there?”
“Yes.”
That eased a bit of the tense reluctance in her chest. At least there would be one person she sort-of knew.
She wanted to ask if he’d promise to sit next to her, but bit back the question.
That would be too pathetic to voice. She was a gladiator, capable of facing death in the arena without flinching.
She could survive one little dinner party with a bunch of patricians.
Lea let out a groan of defeat. “Fine.”
“Do you have…something to wear?” His gaze swept over her dubiously. The question implied that the loose, knee-length tunics she wore most of the time were not acceptable attire for an event like this.
She leveled her chin at him. “I own clothes.”
“Nice clothes?”
“Yes,” she lied. She had one long dress, and it was nothing special—just a plain linen dress dyed a faded blue. But it would have to do.
He made an unconvinced noise but dropped the subject. “I’ll send someone to escort you Tuesday afternoon. Be ready.” He gave her a charming smile that only made her glower. “See you at the palace, Penthesilea.”