A majordomo hurried forward to greet the two gentlemen, his eyes widening with shock at the sight of the girl following them. “My lord?” he questioned faintly. “Is this person with you?”
“Jovian has bought her in the public market, Paulus,” the sterner man replied. “You will have to ask him what he wants done with her.”
The majordomo looked to Jovian, and the plump man laughed at the servant’s distress. “I shall take her to the baths myself, Paulus,” he said. “Make certain the bath attendants are on duty. They certainly have their work cut out for them, don’t they, but wait until we have finished. This filthy piglet I have purchased will turn into a peacock, I promise you. And I only paid four folles for her!” He turned to Cailin. “Come, girl. That bath you so desire is but steps away.”
“My name is Cailin,” she replied, following him.
“Is it? And what kind of a name is ‘Cailin’?” They exited the large atrium and moved through a scented corridor lined with many doors. “And,” he continued, “where is Cailin from?”
“My name is Celtic, sir. I am a Briton,” she told him as they entered the reception room for the baths. Two attractive women came forward, bowing to Jovian and looking slightly dismayed by the sight of the girl accompanying him.
“You have a great deal of work to do with this one, my dears,” Jovian told the bath attendants. “She tells me she has not bathed in eight months.” He chuckled. “I shall join you while you attend to the girl. Her name, she says, is Cailin. I like it. We shall let her keep it.”
“I will answer to no other name,” Cailin said firmly.
“You were obviously not born a slave,” Jovian noted.
“Of course not,” Cailin replied indignantly. “I am a member of the Drusus family of Corinium. My father, Gaius Drusus Corinium, was a decurion of the town. I am a married woman of property and good reputation.”
“Who is now a slave in Constantinople,” Jovian answered dryly. “Tell me how you came to be here,” he said as they entered the dressing room.
Cailin told him what she could remember and what she had managed to piece together during her months of travel, while the bath attendants undressed them and brought them into the tepidarium, a warm anterroom where they would wait until they began to perspire. The fact that she was now naked, as was Jovian, did not trouble Cailin. She felt no danger from this man. Indeed, she felt he might become her friend. Seeing their perspiration begin, the bath attendants scraped away the dirt and sweat with silver strigils as they talked.
“You were obviously betrayed by this Antonia Porcius,” Jovian noted wisely. “A woman who believes herself wronged is a very dangerous enemy to have, my dear. Selling you into slavery was her revenge upon you, and upon your poor husband. No doubt she told him you were dead. If not, he would have forced her to reveal your whereabouts and come after you, I expect. The news of your death, however, would cause him the same deep pain that his execution of her husband caused her. She has been quite clever, this Antonia. It is a plot worthy of a Byzantine. You survive to suffer in slavery, not knowing what happened to your child, while your husband suffers anguish over your alleged death.”
Cailin was silent. How succinctly Jovian had put it, and he was probably correct. What was worse, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She was helpless, and so far from her beloved Britain that she would never be able to get back. Until this moment she had not even considered it, but now she had no choice but to face reality. She was alive, and obviously likely to remain so. She had her future to consider.
“Why did you purchase me?” she asked Jovian as they moved on into the caldarium to be bathed.
“I could see that beneath the dirt you were beautiful, and beautiful women are my business,” he told her, then turning, said to the bath attendants, “Wash her hair first, my dears. I want to see its true color. It is so mud-caked I cannot tell.”
“My hair is auburn,” Cailin told him. “I take my coloring from my mother, a Dobunni Celt.” Then she could say no more, as the two girls bathing her began to scrub her head and scalp with great vigor. “Ouch!” Cailin complained as their fingers forced themselves through the almost impossible tangles her hair had knotted itself into over the last months. Finally her hair was rinsed with warmed water that smelled of a pungent substance. “What is in the rinse water?”
“Lemon,” Jovian said. “The gods! Your hair is wonderful!”
“What is lemon?” Cailin demanded.
“I’ll show you later,” he said. “Come now, and let the girls bathe you, my beauty. No.” He motioned to the bath attendants. “I shall care for myself. Devote your time to Cailin.”
They washed her with a soft soap that seemed to melt the remaining dirt from her skin. Cailin could scarcely contain her delight at being clean again. They continued on into the frigidarium for a quick, cold plunge bath, and then into the unctorium, where they stretched out side by side on two benches to be massaged with sweet oils.
“How are beautiful women your business, sir?” Cailin asked.
The two bath attendants giggled.
“This is Villa Maxima, Cailin,” Jovian explained. “It is the most elegant brothel in all of Constantinople. We serve both ladies and gentlemen seeking entertainment of a more exotic, exciting kind.”
“What is a brothel?” she asked him, annoyed to hear the two girls’ renewed amusement. They sounded so smug.
Jovian raised his head up in surprise and looked at Cailin, who lay comfortably next to him, enjoying her massage. “You do not know what a brothel is?” he said, amazed.
“I should not have asked you if I knew, sir,” Cailin replied.
“You say you come from Corinium,” he began, but she interrupted.
“My branch of the Drusus Corinium family came to Corinium in the time of the emperor Claudius,” Cailin told him, “but I was raised away from the town. I only visited it three times in my whole life, the last time being when I was six years of age. I am the only daughter of a good patrician family. I do not know what a brothel is. Should I?”
“Oh, dear,” Jovian said, almost to himself. “Finish your massage, Cailin, and then I will explain to you what you need to know.” Then he glared in an unusual show of irritation at the giggling bath attendants, who immediately fell silent. It was rare for Master Jovian to grow angry, but when he did, it was highly unpleasant.
When the bath attendants had finsihed their work, they escorted their charges into a warm dressing room, where Jovian donned a fresh dalmatica, this one of sky-blue silk. A fresh white silk tunica, belted with a gold cord, was supplied for Cailin.
“Come, my dear,” he said, taking her hand in his. “We will have honey cakes and wine in my private garden, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”
The garden was exquisite, small and surrounded by a wall covered in ivy. A little marble fountain was in its center, shaped like a shell, from which water dripped into a rounded basin. There were half a dozen damask rose bushes already coming into bloom, perfuming the air with their luxurious sweetness.
“Come, and sit by me,” Jovian said, settling himself upon a marble bench. “Ahh, the wine has been iced. Excellent!” he said with a smile at the slave serving them. “Now, Cailin, to answer your question. A brothel is a place where women sell their bodies for the amusement of men. You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”