Chapter Two
I was put to work in the kitchens, scrubbing floors, scouring pots, carrying heavy buckets of water from the well in the Palace courtyard. The work was arduous and backbreaking. Each night I collapsed onto the mattress in my tiny sleeping alcove, aching all over from the day's exertions, calluses forming on my hands. My efforts must have pleased Trincula, the kitchen supervisor, for soon I was "promoted" to what we dutifully termed "upstairs tasks." This meant that I, along with the other "upstairs workers," would be responsible for the cleaning and maintenance of the vast rooms, corridors and walkways of the Imperial Palace. For the first time I was truly terrified, for this meant I would be interacting directly with the Imperial Family themselves. I was afraid to leave even the tiniest speck of dust, of accidentally breaking a statue, bust or vase. I simply buried my fears and got on with the tasks laid out before me. It was all I could do.
I haven't yet described the Imperial Family, so I will do so now. There was the Emperor himself, snowy-haired and elderly; once a strong and active man, he had difficulties with his mobility nowadays. His name was Marcus Aurelius; we had to address him as "Sire." He seemed pleasant enough; he would spend most of his spare time writing at his desk in the comforting enclosure of his chambers. Sometimes I would be scuttling around, duster in hand, or kneeling on the floor of his chambers, darning a robe, as he wrote. It was here that the numerous tracts, philosophical musings, essays and poetry that formed a crucial part of his life's work took shape. He never spoke harshly to me; in fact, he hardly ever spoke to me at all, except to ask me to fetch him another cup of warm tea, place a fresh log on the fire, or to compliment me on a job well done. He was a very gracious man, and I thought him a fine Emperor.
There was also Lucilla, his daughter and eldest child, her husband Verus, and their two-year-old son Lucius. Lucilla was exquisite, tall and slender like the branch of a willow-tree, with abundant honey-coloured hair, wide-set green eyes and an intelligent brow. Her husband was a fine, strong-featured man with curly blond hair. They seemed happy together, although I once overheard a conversation between Trincula and Portia, the head cook, casting doubts on this observation...
"The Lady looked a little peaky this morning when I gave her breakfast." mused Trincula.
"That wouldn't surprise me in the least. She hasn't been really happy for a long time, not since you-know-who married his childhood sweetheart. Hmpf!" Portia's mouth formed a tight line, and she turned her attention to the pot on the stove, stirring its contents vigorously.
"Oh come on Portia. Any fool can see that she adores Verus...having said that, she did marry him rather quickly, not long after he flew the coop...You don't think she married Verus on the rebound, do you?
"I'm saying nothing " Portia muttered. "You were the one who found that love poem to Centurion Maximus on her dresser, so work it out for yourself..."
"Hmm, now that you mention it...Vinca? Could you fetch us some more pots please?"
The Emperor also had a young son, Commodus, whom I had never seen. He was living at the family's country villa in Etruria under the dutiful care of nurses and tutors. He was scheduled to return soon to the Palace, and so I was anxious to meet him.
One morning I was rushing along a corridor, bearing a heavy water bucket. My priority that day was to scrub the floors outside the Imperial Chambers. I had to move swiftly because, as I said, the bucket was rather cumbersome, and I feared I would drop it before reaching my destination. Rounding a corner, I promptly collided with a boy about my age, who was, until that moment, swinging a wooden sword in the middle of the corridor. The shock of impact caused me to drop the bucket, water sloshing all over his feet and mine.
"You great, clumsy fool!" he screamed. I could only blink in reply, taken aback by the vehemence of his words. I straightened, trying to get a proper look at this little tornado. He continued his tirade against me. "Are all slaves as careless and ignorant as you?" He glared at me, his fierce little face contorted with rage, as though trying to goad me into responding in kind.
"I-I'm sorry..." I exclaimed, though it emerged a thin and futile whine. The boy was small for his age, a fingers-breadth shorter than I in those days. His hair was dark, wavy, a little unkempt, his skin alabaster-pale; but it was his eyes that astounded me the most. They were the colour of stormy teal, a luminescent turquoise-green, and filled with strange lights and shadows. I can say in all honesty that I have never encountered their equal, before or since. Over them lay a pair of haughty black brows, like the outstretched wings of a raven poised to strike. The upper lip of his insolent mouth bore a strange scar, adding an interesting dimension to his features, like a sudden flash of gold in marble. He was the most hauntingly beautiful young man I had ever seen.
I thought he was the son of a Senator, or of one of the Emperor's numerous guests. Whoever he was, I thought, he clearly needed a lesson or two in manners; despite him being my superior. Then a thickset man appeared in a doorway nearby. "Come, Master Commodus," he said. "It is time for your grammar lesson."
The boy spun round to face the man. "Oh Castillus, do I have to?" he whined.
"Your father will be displeased if you refuse to attend, Sire," the man replied.
Smashing his sword against the wall in temper, the mercurial youth turned on his heel and stalked after the man, pausing in the doorway to stick out his tongue at me.
That was my first encounter with the young man who, once grown to manhood, would change my life forever.
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A week later, I overheard a second conversation between Trincula and Portia. This is how it went:
"I tell you, Trincula, he's turning into a right nasty little so-and-so! I assure you, I'd give him a right good hiding if he were one of mine! Doesn't his father ever bother to check him?"
"His father's hardly ever around to check him," sighed Trincula. "Be fair, Portia, he took it bad when his brother passed away, and his mother not long afterwards. It's no wonder he's been...difficult..."
They were discussing Commodus, who had allegedly flung a drink in the face of Cleandrus, a young male servant, claiming he had asked for something else. (He hadn't.) Later that day, he'd apparently "seen fit" to kick poor little Hestia hard on the shin after she'd failed to spot and remove a discarded pear core under his bed. Poor Hestia was perched on a stool in floods of tears as Cleandrus attended to her injured leg, both of them commiserating about their less-than-fortunate encounters with the heir to the throne. I said nothing, but was fully aware of Commodus' seemingly inexplicable bouts of cruelty, having been subject to them myself. He was horrible to me. He was horrible to everyone. He was a bully and, like all bullies, a quivering coward protected only by the name and status afforded him. Over the next ten years we came to dread his visits to the Imperial Palace. All of us felt a deep, profound sense of relief whenever he boarded his chariot to return to his Etrurian villa. I had the distinct impression his family was relieved too, his father in particular.