Berit sidled closer, water lapping at her dimpled chin. “I haven’t had rabbit stew in years.”
One of the Hildas splashed her. “You requested that last month! What we need are globi.”
Tilla moaned in assent at the mention of the fried and honey-dipped bread balls.
“Yes, bring back globi,” Berit agreed. “And good luck to you.”
Adel finished the circuit of baths, moving from the hot pool to the warm one, and finishing with a plunge in thefrigidarium. She climbedout and wrapped herself in a linen towel, shivering as she stepped through an adjoining door into the costume chamber.
After the steamy humidity of the baths, the costume chamber set her skin in the sharp prickle of gooseflesh. Water droplets from her hair splattered the pale tiles at her feet as she paused just inside the room. Piles of colorful linens, silks, and belts mounded atop tables and spilled from cabinets. A chest of cheap jewelry was tipped and spread across another table, the pieces clinking and clattering as the costumer sorted through them. He looked up as she entered and gave a disinterested wave toward a pile of linens stacked on yet another table.
“It’s all there. I’ll help with the draping when you’re ready.” He held a silver armband to the light, spit on it, and rubbed it against his stomach.
Adel moved to the stack and pulled the subligaculum out first. She stepped into what was normally an undergarment similar to a loincloth—unless one was exercising or a gladiatrix—and pulled it up to her hips, tightening the ties on either side. Next came the strophium. She turned away from the distracted costumer and dropped the towel so she could wind the band of cloth tightly around her chest, flattening her breasts into a figure that more resembled her father’s than her mother’s. Unlike her own people, the Romans found large breasts clownish and unflattering. She’d forgo the discomfort and leave them be out of spite if they didn’t invite so much disgusted interest. Every laugh, every greedy grab was Eadric and his friends all over again. After all this time, he should not have the power to continually inflict pain.
Forcing back the memories, she tied and tucked the ends securely, then turned at the approach of footsteps.
The costumer held out an armload of gauzy blue linen, squinting from it to her and then shaking his head. “Wrong shade for you.”
She shrugged. “I don’t care.”
He shook his head again and turned away to dig through another cabinet. “This is my job, and I won’t send you out looking anything lessthan perfection. I hate it when they request colors. It is so much better when I can pick what suits you. Green is your best color.”
Adel said nothing. It was no use to argue. She was paid to appear, to perform, nothing more.
The costumer returned with another stack of linen, this one in a brighter, cool blue. He rested it against her shoulder, eyes shifting back and forth between the cloth and her face. “This is much better.”
Another slave entered, arms laden with brushes, hair needles, and combs.
Adel held out her arms to let the costumer pin and drape the fabric to his liking. The top took shape, twisted straps and a swooping neckline that replaced the flattened curves of her chest with fabric. The hem fell well above her knees in a short tunic more resembling that of Diana the Huntress, rather than the long gown of a proper Roman woman. There would always be a distinction. She could only be one thing and never the other. The consequences of her actions with Eadric reached her even here.
“Hold still. Nearly done.” The costumer’s careful ministrations were a waste of time. His efforts would last only through dinner, when she was paraded around the room for the guests, like an animal at auction. Her body inspected and spoken of as if she could not hear the jabbing comments. And then, as the tables were changed from savory to sweet, she’d be taken to another room, stripped to the undergarments, and armored, ready to fight as soon as the guests were plied with spiced wine and sweets.
The costumer and hairdresser grumbled and elbowed each other as they jostled for space around her. Adel squeezed her eyes shut, feeling every bit like her aipei’s needlework. The hairdresser twisted her hair into two braids and stitched them into a crown on top of her head, weaving in cheap brass leaves.
As soon as she sensed them stepping back to admire their work, she bolted for the door.
“I advise silver armor for that shade of blue!” the costumer called after her.
“Absolutely not,” the hairdresser shouted over him. “Not with those brass leaves!”
She didn’t care one way or another. It was her performance and her actions, not her looks, that would earn her coin this night.
“Felix?” Jovan poked his head through the clinic door.
Felix settled the last two jars from his market order on the shelves and turned. “Yes?”
“A dinner party request came in at the last moment and I need you to accompany. No one can find Sergius.”
“You know how I feel about attending fights.” He wiped the counter with a rag, sending a rush of dust into a beam of fading afternoon sunlight.
“I’m not asking you to watch and cheer. I’m asking you to stand on the street in case we need you. No different than what you do on match days with the other schools. Sergius rarely has to do anything but eat and drink and enjoy a dinner party.”
That was true on so many levels. Sergius was probably in a closet somewhere, two amphorae deep, if Felix had to guess.
He sighed. “I will not make a habit of this.”
“You’re in luck, on that count. Sergius loves to attend these dinner spectacles. He’ll be upset you’re going in his stead, and I don’t fancy upsetting him by asking you more often. I’ll double your wages for tonight if you’ll go now.”
