Authors: Bertrice Small
“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?”
She nodded, her eyes wide, and he noted their marvelous violet color. “I have never heard of such a thing,” she answered him. “I know that men lie with women other than their wives, but I never knew women got paid for such things.”
“Oh, there is nothing unusual in it,” he replied. “It is done all the time, and has been done since the beginning of time. There are, however, varying degrees of such an arrangement. Some women sell themselves in the streets. They are called whores, or prostitutes. They couple with their customers up against walls and in alleys. They cannot be discerning about the men with whom they involve themselves, either. Consequently they end up diseased, and often dead at an early age, which is probably a blessing. It is not easy being a woman of the streets. They can fall prey to a single man who steers other men their way, but takes most of their pitiful earnings for himself. It is a hard life.
“Women in brothels are usually better off, although there are different sorts of brothels. Those serving the lower classes tend to treat their women little better than those poor souls plying their trade in the streets of the city. These brothels exist because there is always an unending supply of poor girls willing to take their chances making their fortunes within their walls, but alas, few, if any, do escape to live to a grand old age in comfort.”
“Why do they do it, then?” Cailin asked him.
“Because they have no other choice,” he told her frankly. “Villa Maxima, however, is not like most other brothels. We cherish our women, and pamper them in luxury. They are not common whores, but courtesans, highly trained, and skilled in giving the men who come to patronize them the utmost in pleasure. We also have handsome young male courtesans who are much in demand among certain wealthy women of the city and the court. There are men among our clients who
enjoy—indeed they prefer—the company of other men, and women who would rather have a woman for a lover. We cater to every taste.”
“It is all very strange to me,” Cailin told him.
He nodded. “Yes, I imagine it would be, considering your former life in Britain. I know it will be difficult for you, but you will adjust to this new life if your mind is open. Are you perchance a Christian?”
Cailin shook her head. “No. Are you?”
He chuckled. “It is now the official religion of the empire,” he said. “Like a good citizen, I obey the emperor in all things.”
Cailin laughed for the first time in many months. “What a prevaricator you are, sir. I fear I do not believe you.”
Jovian shrugged. “I do what I must to avoid difficulty,” he said. “This new church fights among itself as to what is correct and proper doctrine, and what is not. When they have settled it among themselves, perhaps I shall find my faith. Until then.…”
“You will give lip service to it,” she told him. “I know very little about the Christians, sir. I think, however, that I prefer my own gods: Danu, the mother, and Lugh, our father. They are represented by the earth and the sun. Then there is Macha, Epona, Sulis, Cernunnos, Dagda, Taranis, and my favorite, Nodens, the Goddess of the Forest. My mother particularly loved Nodens. The Christians, I am told, have but one god. It seems a poor religion to me that only has one god.”
“You should learn about it, as you are to live in Constantinople,” Jovian told her. “I will have a priest tutor you in the intricacies of the religion. We have several rather important clerics as clients.”
“Am I to be a courtesan, then, sir?” Cailin asked him.
“Not immediately, my dear. You lack training, for one thing, and for another, I must be certain you are disease-free. The women who live in this house are healthy. I do not allow them to consort with men who are not. Some brothel owners are penurious when it comes to the health of their women.
My brother and I are not. For a single solidus a good Greek physician can be purchased in the market. We own one who lives here and oversees to the health of all the residents of Villa Maxima.”
“Then once he has decided that I am healthy,” Cailin said, “you will have me trained to be a courtesan.”
“Eventually,” he answered. “Does it disturb you to know that you will be expected to entertain a variety of lovers, my dear?”
Cailin considered his words. In another time and another place, the mere thought of such a thing would have horrified her beyond anything, but this was not Britain. She was so far from home she could not even ascertain the distance. Her husband probably did believe her dead. Mayhap he had already taken another wife.
Wulf
. For a moment she saw his strong, handsome face before her, and tears sprang to her eyes. She quickly blinked them away. It would not be easy at first to take another man between her thighs, but she supposed in time she would grow used to it. “What future have I beyond my youth?” she asked Jovian.
For a moment surprise suffused his features, and then he said in admiring tones, “How wise you are, my dear, to consider the future. So many of them do not. They think they will be young and desirable forever. Of course, that is not the case. Well, I will tell you what that future can hold for you if you will trust me. Learn your lessons well, Cailin, and you will, I promise, attract the best lovers Constantinople has to offer to your bed.
“Learn more than just the sensuous arts, my dear. Many do not realize that to be truly fascinating a woman must be a clever and a knowledgeable conversationalist as well as a desirable female. Lovers will shower such a woman with expensive gifts, gold, jewelry, and other valuables. Eventually you will be able to purchase your freedom.
“At the beginning of each year we put a value upon each woman in our house. If during that year she decides she wishes to buy her freedom, there is no argument over price,
for it is already set. Today I purchased you for four folles, but your value is already more now that your beauty is visible to all. You are worth at least ten solidi.”
“How many folles is that, sir?” Cailin queried him.
“There are one hundred and eighty copper folles to each gold solidus. Eighteen hundred copper folles equals ten gold solidi, my dear,” he said with a grin. “I am almost tempted to take you back now to that foolish slave merchant who allowed you to go so cheaply for want of a little water. No, I cannot. He will howl, and cry he’s been cheated, despite the fact that I warned him. They are all alike, those people.” He stood up. “Come, we will go and show my brother Phocas that I have not lost my ability to see a perfect gem beneath the mud in the road. Isis,” he called to an attending slave. “You will accompany us.” Then he turned back to Cailin. “You will address gentlemen who enter this house as ‘my lord.’ My brother, and myself, as well. ‘Sir’ is such a provincial mode of address, dear girl.”
“Yes, my lord,” Cailin answered him, following Jovian through the house to where Phocas sat awaiting them. When she was disrobed the elder of the Maxima brothers expressed his surprise at and his approval of her newly restored appearance. She stood silent as they spoke, until finally her garment was restored to her.
“Isis,” her new master instructed the slave girl, “take Cailin to the quarters I have ordered prepared for her.” When the two women had departed, Jovian turned to his brother, an excited look upon his face. “I have the most marvelous plans for that girl,” he said. “She is going to make us a fortune, Phocas, and our old age will be secure!”
“No single courtesan, however well-trained,” his elder brother answered, “can make us that much gold.”
“This one will, and she will not have to personally entertain any of our clients. At least not for some time, brother dear,” Jovian finished. Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he sat down next to Phocas.