honest enough. Go now and bathe. Rid yourself of the grime of yesterday.’
‘I am to have my own servant?’
Her husband smiled. ‘Bellatrix, you command a household of them.’
*
Perspiration trickled down Caecilia’s nose into the hot, deep, blessed water of the bath. She gazed up at the ceiling to survey the mural of a chase. A footrace was depicted. A woman was bending to pick up a golden apple while behind her a man sprinted to overtake her.
The colours were brilliant, the characters almost alive. The billowing robes of the man were so real that she swore she could reach up and grab his hem. How was it that no Roman walls were so adorned? Were the Rasenna the first to learn how to decant beauty into paint?
Relaxing in this marble bath she’d been seduced by the intensity from the light well that flooded over her. She was at peace, letting her mind rest, feeling only sensations, the silence punctuated by the occasional drips from the ceiling or the swishing sound that accompanied tiny movements of her limbs.
Where was the dark, dank cupboard of a room that housed her uncle’s bath? The murky, unfiltered water? The cockroaches that scuttled in dim corners? An ordeal she had tried to suffer only once a week.
Next to her, the maid named Cytheris stood occasionally sprinkling rose petals and orange blossom into the water. Caecilia pointed to the naked woman above her, only a swirl of cloth flying around her waist.
‘Who is she?’
‘Oh, that is Atlenta. Have you not heard of her?’
Caecilia shook her head.
‘A woman of great beauty, a huntress as fearless as any warrior. Fleeter, too.’
‘Why is she stooping to collect an apple?’
‘Her suitor tricked her. He dropped three golden apples to distract her and win the race to claim her as his bride.’
The water was cooling and yet Caecilia lingered.
‘And her father let this happen?’
‘It is a sad story, mistress. Her father first abandoned her when she was born, then made her a prize to be claimed by any man who could beat her in a footrace. This was cruel, too, you see, because there was a prophecy that, should she marry, a terrible fate awaited her.’
The Roman stared at the painting again, feeling for this Atlenta. ‘And what was her future?’
Cytheris extended a sheet to dry her mistress, making it clear she wished Caecilia to finish her bath, but the Roman hesitated to step out, naked, in front of the girl, unused to being undressed in front of other women. She quickly wrapped the cloth around her.
‘They displeased the goddess of love, I’m afraid, when they wandered into a sacred grove. Their punishment was to be eaten by lions.’
Wringing the water from her hair, Caecilia felt uneasy. Atlenta’s story had hints of her own. She prayed she would not have so sad a fate.
*
The bed was wide.
Large enough for three people to sleep soundly. Large enough, she hoped, for her to avoid touching him by accident. Not wide enough, though, to escape.
The bed was high. It would need a footstool to clamber onto it. There was a linen cover stretched over the deep soft mattress decorated with a strange crisscross pattern of red, blue and green. Cushions of silk were piled high against a headboard fashioned from beech. If she could use the bed merely for sleep, she would have thought it a divine gift.
A heavy red curtain extended the full length of the bedchamber, thinly separating it from the loveliness of light, water and warmth as well as noise and bustle and intrusion. Looking out, she could view the garden arcade where grape vines with plump, purple grapes were entwined around the columns. Caecilia weighed up the agreeable prospect of greeting the sun while lying in her bed with the discomfort of being seen doing so by all in the household.
On one wall of the room there was yet another mural. A leopard rampant, outlined heavily in red and painted yellow, who displayed black spots numerous and distinctive. He stood in a grove of
‘I am to have my own servant?’
Her husband smiled. ‘Bellatrix, you command a household of them.’
*
Perspiration trickled down Caecilia’s nose into the hot, deep, blessed water of the bath. She gazed up at the ceiling to survey the mural of a chase. A footrace was depicted. A woman was bending to pick up a golden apple while behind her a man sprinted to overtake her.
The colours were brilliant, the characters almost alive. The billowing robes of the man were so real that she swore she could reach up and grab his hem. How was it that no Roman walls were so adorned? Were the Rasenna the first to learn how to decant beauty into paint?
Relaxing in this marble bath she’d been seduced by the intensity from the light well that flooded over her. She was at peace, letting her mind rest, feeling only sensations, the silence punctuated by the occasional drips from the ceiling or the swishing sound that accompanied tiny movements of her limbs.
Where was the dark, dank cupboard of a room that housed her uncle’s bath? The murky, unfiltered water? The cockroaches that scuttled in dim corners? An ordeal she had tried to suffer only once a week.
Next to her, the maid named Cytheris stood occasionally sprinkling rose petals and orange blossom into the water. Caecilia pointed to the naked woman above her, only a swirl of cloth flying around her waist.
‘Who is she?’
‘Oh, that is Atlenta. Have you not heard of her?’
Caecilia shook her head.
‘A woman of great beauty, a huntress as fearless as any warrior. Fleeter, too.’
‘Why is she stooping to collect an apple?’
‘Her suitor tricked her. He dropped three golden apples to distract her and win the race to claim her as his bride.’
The water was cooling and yet Caecilia lingered.
‘And her father let this happen?’
‘It is a sad story, mistress. Her father first abandoned her when she was born, then made her a prize to be claimed by any man who could beat her in a footrace. This was cruel, too, you see, because there was a prophecy that, should she marry, a terrible fate awaited her.’
The Roman stared at the painting again, feeling for this Atlenta. ‘And what was her future?’
Cytheris extended a sheet to dry her mistress, making it clear she wished Caecilia to finish her bath, but the Roman hesitated to step out, naked, in front of the girl, unused to being undressed in front of other women. She quickly wrapped the cloth around her.
‘They displeased the goddess of love, I’m afraid, when they wandered into a sacred grove. Their punishment was to be eaten by lions.’
Wringing the water from her hair, Caecilia felt uneasy. Atlenta’s story had hints of her own. She prayed she would not have so sad a fate.
*
The bed was wide.
Large enough for three people to sleep soundly. Large enough, she hoped, for her to avoid touching him by accident. Not wide enough, though, to escape.
The bed was high. It would need a footstool to clamber onto it. There was a linen cover stretched over the deep soft mattress decorated with a strange crisscross pattern of red, blue and green. Cushions of silk were piled high against a headboard fashioned from beech. If she could use the bed merely for sleep, she would have thought it a divine gift.
A heavy red curtain extended the full length of the bedchamber, thinly separating it from the loveliness of light, water and warmth as well as noise and bustle and intrusion. Looking out, she could view the garden arcade where grape vines with plump, purple grapes were entwined around the columns. Caecilia weighed up the agreeable prospect of greeting the sun while lying in her bed with the discomfort of being seen doing so by all in the household.
On one wall of the room there was yet another mural. A leopard rampant, outlined heavily in red and painted yellow, who displayed black spots numerous and distinctive. He stood in a grove of
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