Author's Note: The kitchen is the heart of the home.
Disclaimer: A slave owns nothing; I own no more.
As in any good Roman household, the culina, where food was prepared, was the province of slaves. Esca approached it with caution. The Aquilas, avunculus et nepos, might have accepted him, but there was still the unknown Stephanos to consider. One's fellow slaves could often be more difficult to deal with than one's masters.
He hesitated in the doorway of the smoky little room, uncertain of his welcome, and watched the white-haired man whom he supposed must be the mysterious Hellene standing at the work table arranging a bowl and some fruit on a small bronze tray. Behind him, a charcoal fire burned in a masonry counter brazier, and Esca, who had thought the house soulless because it lacked a central hearth, was vaguely comforted. Hidden here with its slaves it might be, at least the house had a heart. That was something.
The Greek spoke. "You're Esca?" he inquired.
The Briton nodded.
"Old Aquila tells me he's bought you to serve young Marcus." The look on the old man's face said he hadn't decided yet what he thought about that. "I'm Stephanos." As the finishing touch, the old man set a clay cup on the tray. "He says there's to be no proper cena tonight. Thinks the games tired his nephew out too much."
Esca thought of the young Roman's grayish countenance. "He's probably right."
"I'll take this tray to the tablinum in a bit. How about the young one? Does he want some supper?"
"He says not. He had me help him into bed."
The old man nodded. "He never eats much. Not like a young man should. You'll have to do something about that."
Esca wondered what the Hellene thought he could do.
"What about you?"
Esca was puzzled. "Me?"
"Are you hungry?"
He should be. Yet he felt no emptiness, only a knot in his belly. He nodded anyway. Sometimes hunger left long enough manifested itself that way, and in any event, experience had taught him that any slave who refused food was a fool.
"Sit," the Greek instructed. "I'll get you something."
There was a stool nearby, and Esca sank down onto it with a sigh. What was he going to do? He couldn't just—
"Here." Stephanos handed him a bowl of brown porridge, then watched the young man dip the spoon into it, and slowly raise it to his mouth. Eyelids nearly purple with fatigue closed over the blue-gray eyes.
The porridge was made of wheat, the high-status corn favored by the Romans. This had been gently cooked down to a soft, pleasing jelly that caressed his tongue with sensual nourishment as easing to the heart as to the hunger which had roared to life in the presence of food. Aen, taen, tethera, fethera, phubs—
The slender hand gripping the spoon shook with rigidly supressed desire until the count had reached ten, then dipped again into the wheat pap. Esca kept his eyes closed, but didn't even try to feign indifference, because the second spoonful was shear bliss. Gods, he'd almost forgotten what food tasted like. Aen, taen, tethera, feth—
"How long since you last ate?" Stephanos inquired softly.
The boy swallowed, but didn't open his eyes. He licked his lips. "Three days. They don't waste food on those about to die."
The old man nodded. "Slowly then, as you've been doing, or you'll make yourself sick."
Esca sighed. He knew all about that. Too well. A surge of bitterness rose in him, and to quench it, he opened his eyes and said, "This is delicious, Stephanos. I'm grateful."
The older slave laughed. "You must be hungry if you think so. I don't get such praise from Aquila. Speaking of which, I'd better take him his tray."
"I'll take it," Esca offered, quickly. He could use an excuse to—
"You will not." Stephanos drew himself up haughtily. "I am Aquila's body slave; I will serve him."
Oops. The Briton lowered his head submissively. "I'm sorry, Stephanos, I wasn't thinking. I only meant-"
"I know," the old man relented. "Eat your porridge. I'll be back in a moment, and I'll explain how things work here."
Esca nodded. He had a feeling he was going to be spending a lot of his time from now on apologizing to the old Hellene. It was a pity about the tray though, because excuse or no excuse, he knew he was going to have to talk to old Aquila tonight.
Aquila had finished eating and returned to his scroll. He was just contemplating calling Stephanos to light the lamp when a noise in the passageway made him look up. It was the new slave, Esca.
The old Roman chuckled. "My nephew throw you out already?"
The boy shook his head.
"That's good." He wondered what the boy was doing here in his study. "Stephanos give you something to eat and show you around?"
The boy nodded, his hair appearing almost bronze in the dim light.
"Stephanos send you to get my tray?" Aquila suggested. That certainly woke him up. I think he actually jumped.
Esca glanced back down the corridor as if afraid Stephanos would catch him.
"No," he whispered. If he came back to the kitchen with Aquila's tray, Stephanos would kill him.
"Then what is it you want?" Aquila finally demanded. The old Roman had little patience for guessing games. "Tell me, or get back to my nephew where you belong."
The young man moistened his lips. "About your nephew… he needs a healer."