to deck themselves out so crankily, and to pay handsomely for it. Only much later, much too late, did Lucilla concede that, creatively, her mother must have possessed an impish sense of humour.
By that time, Lachne was gone. During their flight from home in the terrible fire, she was already breathless. She must have been affected by smoke, yet was also sickening. Lucilla had supposed she was terrified that her jewellery collection, hastily retrieved, would be lost in the crush or discovered by Orgilius, who would realise she had tried to dupe him. Mother and daughter quarrelled, badly. Already feeling ill in truth, Lachne forgot her need for Lucilla’s dexterity. She goaded the girl, who had nowhere else to go, no means to support herself – unless she wanted to become a waitress in a street bar, which was the same as being a prostitute. Lucilla in response made vicious comments on her mother’s men. ‘That would include my father – if I knew who he was. But even
you
don’t know, Mother, do you?’
If Lachne did, she took the secret to her grave. As the quarrel flared more violently, Lucilla fled. She went back to their old apartment, but Lachne had paid rent only sporadically, so very soon the landlord kicked her out and put in new tenants. Helpless, the unhappy girl slunk back to see Lachne, only to learn that her mother had caught the plague that was running through Rome in a populace weakened by famine after the eruption of Vesuvius.
The epidemic was virulent. Lachne had died.
There was a funeral. People Lucilla barely knew turned up, one of them Lara, whom Lucilla had always believed was a young aunt. Fellow slaves of Lachne’s had clubbed together to put up a memorial.
To Flavia Lachne, freedwoman of Domitilla, hairdresser. She lived forty-three years. This was made by Flavius Endymon, clothes mender; Flavius Nepos, cook; Flavius Afranius, litter-bearer; Flavia Lara, hairdresser.
Lucilla wondered whether Endymon, Nepos or Afranius could be her father, though she felt no affinity with any of them.
Members of the Flavian family sent gifts, there was never any suggestion these imperial patrons might attend in person; the gifts were selected on their behalf by the same freedmen and women who supplied the undertakers and provided the inscription stone. Since those who had generously paid for the stone wanted their names listed on it to advertise their piety, there was no room to mention Lucilla.
She was terrified about her future. People at the funeral had fallen upon Lachne’s clothes and other possessions, taking them away as ‘keepsakes’. The young woman Lara, who had a useless husband and several small children, was particularly eager to gather up mementos. All Lucilla kept was the famous jewellery collection. It was her only fallback. Otherwise, her choices were to work or to marry someone with a job or little business; marriage would probably entail hard work in any case. Lucilla ought to be entitled to a basic corn dole, but it was never enough to live on and had to be claimed by her male head of household; Lucilla had no head of household.
Orgilius said she could stay at the apartment for a while. How long, or on what terms, he did not specify. Lucilla soon found out. One evening he visited, plied her with drink, pleaded with her to be nice to him, and seduced her.
It was no surprise. Nor was it brutal rape. Lucilla knew the rapid coupling was no different from abuse meted out daily to slaves in most homes. Orgilius felt he had inherited the girl, a fair return for financial investment in her mother. True, Lucilla was young, but much younger children had to service the rich. He blamed Lucilla, murmuring, ‘You encouraged me, you naughty minx!’ as he slunk off.
Lucilla saw that Orgilius had some shame and would stay away for a while – a short while. Inevitably, he would return. He took her compliance for granted. Who could blame him? Though he had made her tipsy, she had not tried to fight
By that time, Lachne was gone. During their flight from home in the terrible fire, she was already breathless. She must have been affected by smoke, yet was also sickening. Lucilla had supposed she was terrified that her jewellery collection, hastily retrieved, would be lost in the crush or discovered by Orgilius, who would realise she had tried to dupe him. Mother and daughter quarrelled, badly. Already feeling ill in truth, Lachne forgot her need for Lucilla’s dexterity. She goaded the girl, who had nowhere else to go, no means to support herself – unless she wanted to become a waitress in a street bar, which was the same as being a prostitute. Lucilla in response made vicious comments on her mother’s men. ‘That would include my father – if I knew who he was. But even
you
don’t know, Mother, do you?’
If Lachne did, she took the secret to her grave. As the quarrel flared more violently, Lucilla fled. She went back to their old apartment, but Lachne had paid rent only sporadically, so very soon the landlord kicked her out and put in new tenants. Helpless, the unhappy girl slunk back to see Lachne, only to learn that her mother had caught the plague that was running through Rome in a populace weakened by famine after the eruption of Vesuvius.
The epidemic was virulent. Lachne had died.
There was a funeral. People Lucilla barely knew turned up, one of them Lara, whom Lucilla had always believed was a young aunt. Fellow slaves of Lachne’s had clubbed together to put up a memorial.
To Flavia Lachne, freedwoman of Domitilla, hairdresser. She lived forty-three years. This was made by Flavius Endymon, clothes mender; Flavius Nepos, cook; Flavius Afranius, litter-bearer; Flavia Lara, hairdresser.
Lucilla wondered whether Endymon, Nepos or Afranius could be her father, though she felt no affinity with any of them.
Members of the Flavian family sent gifts, there was never any suggestion these imperial patrons might attend in person; the gifts were selected on their behalf by the same freedmen and women who supplied the undertakers and provided the inscription stone. Since those who had generously paid for the stone wanted their names listed on it to advertise their piety, there was no room to mention Lucilla.
She was terrified about her future. People at the funeral had fallen upon Lachne’s clothes and other possessions, taking them away as ‘keepsakes’. The young woman Lara, who had a useless husband and several small children, was particularly eager to gather up mementos. All Lucilla kept was the famous jewellery collection. It was her only fallback. Otherwise, her choices were to work or to marry someone with a job or little business; marriage would probably entail hard work in any case. Lucilla ought to be entitled to a basic corn dole, but it was never enough to live on and had to be claimed by her male head of household; Lucilla had no head of household.
Orgilius said she could stay at the apartment for a while. How long, or on what terms, he did not specify. Lucilla soon found out. One evening he visited, plied her with drink, pleaded with her to be nice to him, and seduced her.
It was no surprise. Nor was it brutal rape. Lucilla knew the rapid coupling was no different from abuse meted out daily to slaves in most homes. Orgilius felt he had inherited the girl, a fair return for financial investment in her mother. True, Lucilla was young, but much younger children had to service the rich. He blamed Lucilla, murmuring, ‘You encouraged me, you naughty minx!’ as he slunk off.
Lucilla saw that Orgilius had some shame and would stay away for a while – a short while. Inevitably, he would return. He took her compliance for granted. Who could blame him? Though he had made her tipsy, she had not tried to fight
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