tribe.”
“My father traded in far lands in his youth. My name is from the Goths.” His mouth had drawn into a hard line. His name had caused him trouble.
“Jergan will do.” She liked it. It seemed … familiar. She couldn’t have guessed what he would say before he said it, but now that he had, it seemed she had always known it. “And when you are asked, you will say you are the slave of Livia Quintus Lucellus.”
A tiny, wizened man poked his head in at the doorway. “My lady called for a barber?”
“I did,” she said, stepping off the bench. “Put this slave on your regular list. He should be shaved every three or four days.”
The little barber nodded, his bright eyes surveying the barbarian terrain as he opened his bundle of blades and scissors. “His face, of course, but his body should be shaved as well.”
Julius Caesar was to thank for the fashion that led Roman men to have much or all of their bodily hair plucked or shaven. “No, just his face. I rather like him natural.”
“Sit, slave,” the barber said, as he took out a gleaming blade. “And be still.”
“You would shave me like a woman?” Jergan growled. His look was so menacing the barber flinched away.
“You are in Rome, Jergan, not some backwater of the empire. Romans shave. Even their slaves shave. It is not effeminate. In fact, Romans would think your long hair womanly.”
Oh, dear. That made him glare even more fiercely.
“Do you want it cut off, Lady Lucellus?” The barber enjoyed Jergan’s discomfiture.
Jergan mastered himself and relaxed his shoulders. Had he realized that it was not up to him anymore whether he was shaved or had his precious hair cut short? That deserved a reward.
“No. The contrast between his masculinity and his long hair is exotic, don’t you think?”
“That is one way to name it, my lady.” The barber made his face blank.
Livia tilted Jergan’s head back, baring his throat to the barber’s razor. That would demonstrate just who was in charge here. She watched the barber ply his trade until Jergan was pink-cheeked and smooth, then sent the barber in to Lucius for payment. As she turned back, she stopped and stared. Her slave had a cleft chin under that beard. And his lips were full. She hadn’t noticed that before. He was really a fine figure of a man. And she was not the only one who had noticed it. Caesar’s sisters had noticed him. She’d have to be careful of those two vipers.
He rubbed his chin, looking so thoroughly disgusted with himself she had to smile. “You’ll get used to it. And to being clean. Romans bathe every day, even slaves, though most must use the public baths. You will bathe here.”
He shot her a speculating look.
“Yes, with me. I require protection even in my bath. The emperor frequently sends his guard to take his enemies prisoner at their bath. Now let me see that wound of yours. Javelin?”
“Short sword.”
She poured astringent in it. He couldn’t help but flinch. The wound had been deep, but it was healing well in spite of the fact that it had probably had no treatment at all. The flesh had drawn together into a jagged, shallow trough, though it still seeped a little clear fluid. Too bad it had not been stitched. The scar would be more pronounced as a consequence. She poured again.
“Why does a woman have enemies?” His voice was tight. He was trying to take his mind off the pain.
“My enemies realize I am working behind the scenes to depose those in power. They would rather I stop, and they mean to see that I do, even if it means killing me.” Did Gaius Caesar really know who was behind the Senate’s plot against him? He had tortured several senators’ slaves to find out. But not, she thought, anyone who actually knew. Had one of her fellow conspirators leaked her name? But then why hadn’t Caesar just sent the Praetorian Guard to arrest her? Or them?
“A woman depose a man in power?” Jergan snorted, drawing her attention back to
“My father traded in far lands in his youth. My name is from the Goths.” His mouth had drawn into a hard line. His name had caused him trouble.
“Jergan will do.” She liked it. It seemed … familiar. She couldn’t have guessed what he would say before he said it, but now that he had, it seemed she had always known it. “And when you are asked, you will say you are the slave of Livia Quintus Lucellus.”
A tiny, wizened man poked his head in at the doorway. “My lady called for a barber?”
“I did,” she said, stepping off the bench. “Put this slave on your regular list. He should be shaved every three or four days.”
The little barber nodded, his bright eyes surveying the barbarian terrain as he opened his bundle of blades and scissors. “His face, of course, but his body should be shaved as well.”
Julius Caesar was to thank for the fashion that led Roman men to have much or all of their bodily hair plucked or shaven. “No, just his face. I rather like him natural.”
“Sit, slave,” the barber said, as he took out a gleaming blade. “And be still.”
“You would shave me like a woman?” Jergan growled. His look was so menacing the barber flinched away.
“You are in Rome, Jergan, not some backwater of the empire. Romans shave. Even their slaves shave. It is not effeminate. In fact, Romans would think your long hair womanly.”
Oh, dear. That made him glare even more fiercely.
“Do you want it cut off, Lady Lucellus?” The barber enjoyed Jergan’s discomfiture.
Jergan mastered himself and relaxed his shoulders. Had he realized that it was not up to him anymore whether he was shaved or had his precious hair cut short? That deserved a reward.
“No. The contrast between his masculinity and his long hair is exotic, don’t you think?”
“That is one way to name it, my lady.” The barber made his face blank.
Livia tilted Jergan’s head back, baring his throat to the barber’s razor. That would demonstrate just who was in charge here. She watched the barber ply his trade until Jergan was pink-cheeked and smooth, then sent the barber in to Lucius for payment. As she turned back, she stopped and stared. Her slave had a cleft chin under that beard. And his lips were full. She hadn’t noticed that before. He was really a fine figure of a man. And she was not the only one who had noticed it. Caesar’s sisters had noticed him. She’d have to be careful of those two vipers.
He rubbed his chin, looking so thoroughly disgusted with himself she had to smile. “You’ll get used to it. And to being clean. Romans bathe every day, even slaves, though most must use the public baths. You will bathe here.”
He shot her a speculating look.
“Yes, with me. I require protection even in my bath. The emperor frequently sends his guard to take his enemies prisoner at their bath. Now let me see that wound of yours. Javelin?”
“Short sword.”
She poured astringent in it. He couldn’t help but flinch. The wound had been deep, but it was healing well in spite of the fact that it had probably had no treatment at all. The flesh had drawn together into a jagged, shallow trough, though it still seeped a little clear fluid. Too bad it had not been stitched. The scar would be more pronounced as a consequence. She poured again.
“Why does a woman have enemies?” His voice was tight. He was trying to take his mind off the pain.
“My enemies realize I am working behind the scenes to depose those in power. They would rather I stop, and they mean to see that I do, even if it means killing me.” Did Gaius Caesar really know who was behind the Senate’s plot against him? He had tortured several senators’ slaves to find out. But not, she thought, anyone who actually knew. Had one of her fellow conspirators leaked her name? But then why hadn’t Caesar just sent the Praetorian Guard to arrest her? Or them?
“A woman depose a man in power?” Jergan snorted, drawing her attention back to
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