Fighting Fit Read online

  My pure angel buddy never gets caught up with his emotions the way I do. He didn’t give a hoot about missing out on gladiator school. Kennel boy, gardener, beggar, thief - it was all one to him. He didn’t even need to be told that Aurelia needed us. Pure angels always go with the flow.

  “Sixteen sestercii for the pair,” said the dealer promptly.

  Aurelia’s father opened his mouth to protest. “It’s a good price,” said Aurelia quickly. Her father counted out coins with a dazed expression.

  I gave Orlando a hurt look. “I can’t believe what you just did.”

  “I needed a way to get an agent into Aurelia’s house. This was the obvious solution. I don’t see why you’re so upset.” His voice became soft and gentle. “Being her ornatrix isn’t who you are. Melanie. It’s just your cover.”

  “It is?” I quavered. I SO wanted to believe him.

  “I keep telling you, she needs our help,” Orlando insisted.

  “Yeah, after all she is totally alone,” I said sarcastically. “Ooh, except for her rich daddy and a gazillion slaves, not to mention helpful angels falling over themselves to heal her little puppy dog!”

  The dealer was coming back with the lanista.

  Orlando looked genuinely worried. “Promise me you’ll look after her?” Please, Helix? he added silently.

  Helix is my angel name. Orlando was appealing to me as a fellow professional. So I had to say yes, didn’t I?

  The lanista and the slave-dealer were closing their deal. Any minute now, Orlando and I would be taken off to our different destinations.

  My throat ached with misery. It wasn’t meant to be like this. “You could have explained, you know,” I told him reproachfully. “I’d have understood. Do you even know where they’re taking you?” I heard my voice crack with distress.

  But before he could answer, Orlando, the rest of his task force, plus Flammia and five regular-sized barbarians were all led away in chains by the lanista.

  Aurelia was watching with a sympathetic expression. “It’s too soon for you to trust me,” she said in a low voice, “but maybe one day, you’ll tell me your story.”

  In fact, I’d sensed some kind of mysterious bond with Aurelia from the start. I think Aurelia sensed it too. Maybe she wasn’t as ordinary as I’d thought.

  “Will you tell me your name?” she asked gently.

  I touched my bee charm and reminded myself that I was always connected with my heavenly power source.“It’s Mella,” I said huskily.

  Aurelia’s father hired horse-drawn wagons to transport us and their possessions back to Rome. Reuben went up front with Aurelia’s dad. As vulnerable females, Aurelia and I had to travel in the middle of the convoy. I thought these precautions were a bit extreme, but she explained that there were bandits on some stretches of the Via Roma.

  It wasn’t far to the capital city in miles, but in a Roman-style wagon train, the journey seemed to go on forever. But it gave Aurelia and me the opportunity to get to know each other. I tried not to tell too many lies. My mistress assumed I was a freeborn girl who’d fallen on hard times and been sold into slavery, and I just went along with it. To explain my unfamiliarity with Roman ways, I said I’d grown up in Carthage. Our instructors had mentioned this mysterious ancient country, and it had stuck in my brain.

  Mostly, though, I got Aurelia to talk about herself.

  Aurelia was born in Rome, but when she was a few months old her dad had been posted overseas to administer Roman law to the troublesome Brits and she had to go with him. There were very few Roman kids where they lived, and she’d often felt isolated.

  “This is the first time I’ve had a person of my own age to talk to in a long time,” she told me.

  We both went back to gazing out of the window. The scenery was gorgeous: shady cypresses, lush vineyards and peach groves. Now and then we’d glimpse a small red-roofed farm among the olive trees.

  “My mother described this countryside so vividly that I feel as if I remember it myself,” Aurelia said in a wistful voice. “My mother died when I was ten,” she explained. “People say you’ll get over it but you never do.”

  “True,” I agreed. “But it stops hurting so much.”

  Aurelia’s grey eyes went soft with sympathy. “Did you lose your mother?”

  I swallowed. “My mum and my little sister.”

  The night before I died, Jade sat up in her sleep and said, “You’re my best sister in the universe.” I said, “I’m your only sister you nutcase.” How was I to know it was our last conversation?

  I hastily cast around for a different subject. “I guess you must look like your mum. You certainly don’t look like your dad.”

  She smiled. “I don’t look like either of them. I’m adopted.”

  “Oh, sorry! I didn’t know!”

  Luckily Aurelia didn’t seem offended. “Except for my older brother, Quintus, none of my parents’ natural children survived more than a few hours after birth. When my mother’s last baby was stillborn, she told my father she no longer wanted to live if she couldn’t give him any more children. Next morning a slave found me on the doorstep. My mother thought it was a miracle and begged my father to adopt me. My father was so grateful to see her happy again that he agreed, even though I was only a girl.”

  I couldn’t imagine how it would feel, not knowing who your real parents were. My dad left us when I was six years old, but I knew him at least.

  “So you have no idea who you really are?”

  “No,” she said cheerfully. “I’m a complete mystery.”

  “Wow, that must be so weird. You could have other brothers and sisters somewhere.”

  Aurelia laughed. “When I was little, I was obsessed with the idea that I had a missing twin. I used to see her in my dreams. She looked exactly like me, but did all the naughty things that I was too scared to do! We would have these really long, complicated conversations.”

  “You won’t believe this but I had a twin fantasy, too,” I told her.

  Aurelia smiled. “Probably all lonely little girls have it.”

  Inevitably, we got on to boys. Aurelia asked mischievously if anyone had ever wanted to marry me.

  “In Carthage, we think thirteen is too young to marry,” I told her. That sounded snotty, so I added quickly, “Has anyone asked to marry you?”

  She blushed. “Once.”

  “Oooh!” I giggled. “Was he a barbarian with tattoos!”

  Aurelia took a breath. “Gaius was Roman.”

  My smile faded. She’d said “was”.

  “He came to Londinium from Rome on the Emperor’s business. We entertained him at my father’s villa.” She glanced at me from under her lashes. “He was very handsome.”

  Was, I thought.

  “He visited us several times after that. He hated British weather - all those low, grey clouds. But I told him mist could be romantic.” She darted me another look under her lashes. “I really liked him. He was homesick and I’d make our cook prepare his favourite dishes.” She pulled a face, “You can’t imagine how disgusting most British cooking is. He started dropping in when my father was out. He was always very respectful,” she added hastily. “We’d just talk and read together. One day we hired a boat and took a picnic on the river. There was white mist hanging in the willow branches. It looked like bridal veils. Gaius said, ‘You’re right, mist is romantic.’ Then he asked if I’d be his wife.” The memory made Aurelia go dreamy-eyed.

  I don’t care how romantic it was, I thought. Gaius had no right proposing. She was just a kid. Then I remembered our instructor saying the average Roman woman wouldn’t live beyond twenty-eight. Maybe Roman girls had to grow up fast?

  “Did you accept?” I asked.

  “I had to say no. My father hasn’t been himself since my mother died. I thought perhaps when we came back home.” Aurelia’s voice shook slightly. “And now it’s too late.”

  I waited.

  “He died,” she explained huskily, “
just a few hours after he returned home. My brother, Quintus, told us it was a sudden illness, but I fear—” she faltered. “I fear he may have been poisoned. Oh, Mella, these are such dangerous times.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I told her. “But who would—?”

  But this subject was obviously too painful for Aurelia. “It’s all in the past now,” she said quickly. “Did I tell you I am to marry? Quintus has found me a suitor.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Um, congratulations.”

  Aurelia explained that she didn’t exactly know Quintus. He was fourteen by the time she came along, almost adult by Roman standards. When their father got his British posting, Quintus had chosen to stay behind.

  “These days he’s one of Nero’s most trusted senators. You will meet him, Mella. He still uses my father’s house for entertaining important guests. It’s supposed to be very beautiful.”

  It was evening by the time the jumbled rooftops and towers of Rome came in sight.

  To get to the city gates, we had to drive through the necropolis. Romans were forbidden to bury their dead inside the city and a vast graveyard had gradually grown up outside the city walls. It went on for miles. Sometimes I saw the flicker of camp fires where a homeless person was settling down to sleep among the dead. I also saw my first Roman spook, flitting among the burial urns wearing a ghostly laurel wreath.

  Brice would stop and chat to him, I thought. Brice has this bizarre empathy with ghosts. I suppose if you hang out in Hell dimensions long enough you’ll talk to anyone. This led me on to worrying about what was happening to Orlando and the others…

  Sometime later I felt Aurelia gently shaking me. I couldn’t believe I’d dozed off! A fine angel you are, Melanie! I scolded myself.

  A slave helped me down from the wagon and I stumbled sleepily after Aurelia. Her dad was banging wearily on a bronze knocker, calling to the porter to let them in.

  Their house hasn’t got any windows, I thought in surprise.

  A peephole slid back and a wary eye looked out. I heard someone gasp, “Thank Jupiter! The master’s back!”

  An elderly watchman let us in, beaming all over his face. “Dorcas dreamed you’d come, master! She’s been cooking all day long.”

  Slaves came hurrying to welcome us, helping us off with our sandals, bringing jugs of warm scented water for us to wash off the dust, offering us honeyed wine.

  I’m in a Roman house, I told myself. But I couldn’t quite believe it.

  We were in the atrium, a large central space with rooms leading off on all sides. There was a skylight in the roof to let in air, and light during the day, I guessed, because of the lack of windows. By night, oil lamps gave off a soft amber light, which reflected back from a gleaming marble floor. The furniture was minimal: a couple of couches, woven wicker chairs and a stone bust of the Emperor Nero. A fountain tinkled into an indoor pool, with gold sparkles in the marble basin.

  The actual decor was totally alien to modern tastes. Three walls were painted blazing red. The fourth featured a large mural of a horribly realistic battle scene - noble-looking Romans in armour, versus hideous barbarians in chariots.

  I noticed Aurelia’s father look up hopefully every time someone came in. Finally he asked a slave if his son was expected home that night.

  “Quintus Flavius is a very busy man,” the slave said tactfully. “He sometimes finds it more convenient to stay at the palace.”

  “Pater, let’s go and see if mother’s quince tree is still alive,” Aurelia pleaded. “She talked so often of that tree.”

  “You go, child,” he said in his tired voice. “I am going to rest.”

  “Mella can come with me, then.” Aurelia seized my hand and pulled me into a room with couches arranged around a low round table. The mural in the dining room showed gods and goddesses feasting in flowery meadows.

  On the far wall, beyond the open door, I was amazed to see waterfalls of white roses glimmering in the dark. I’d forgotten that Romans put their gardens inside their houses! This one was completely enclosed by a beautiful stone walkway with doors opening into yet more rooms and apartments. I thought Aurelia’s house was the closest thing to a palace I had ever seen.

  To her delight, the quince tree was still alive. It was old and bent but I could see tiny yellow baby quinces gleaming faintly in the moonlight. I glanced up through the leaves and was thrilled to see stars. Stars inside your house, now that IS cool!

  Then I noticed Aurelia furtively wiping her eyes, so I tactfully slipped off to find Reuben.

  Reubs and I had our supper in the slave quarters. The food was actually not bad; a kind of Roman sausage, followed by small deep-fried pastries, dipped in honey. Reuben isn’t big on Earth food though, so he sneakily fed most of his sausage to Minerva, who was now his faithful shadow.

  The other slaves stared at us quite openly while we were eating. But suspicious slaves were the least of my worries. For absolutely no reason, I was deeply depressed.

  Reuben put his arm round me. “You forgot your protection procedure didn’t you?” he murmured.

  “Might have done,” I admitted.

  “Well, do it now. This house is seriously toxic.”

  It was a relief to know these weren’t just my personal bad feelings. But where were they coming from?

  “You think there are PODS, here in this house?” I asked nervously.

  “Something just doesn’t feel right. You should stay with Aurelia tonight.”

  That was easy to arrange. When I told my mistress I was too scared to sleep by myself, she immediately offered to let me sleep on a couch in her room.

  “Won’t the other slaves think it’s strange?”

  “Of course not,” she laughed. “I’ll just say you’re my personal bodyguard!”

  As Aurelia’s ornatrix, I had to unpack her clothes and put them away in the cedar-wood closets in her room. Then I carefully set out all her little perfume bottles, tweezers, brush, comb, pretty hairpins and so forth on her dressing table. Before she went to bed, I had to help her remove her jewellery and lock it in a special casket. You couldn’t be too careful in Roman times, even in a house full of watchful slaves.

  When I went to take off her bulla, Aurelia suddenly jerked away. “Leave it on please, Mella. I never take it off.”

  “I didn’t know, sorry,” I said apologetically. I could tell I’d genuinely distressed her. Romans are SO superstitious, I thought.

  I helped Aurelia into her night-gown then brushed her hair until it was silky. “Your hair isn’t so bad,” I comforted her. “It’s out of condition that’s all. Perhaps we can buy some almond oil tomorrow. That’s what Lola uses.”

  “Is Lola your friend?” Aurelia asked.

  “She’s more like my spiritual twin,” I said truthfully.

  My mistress looked wistful. “So you actually found your twin, Mella?”

  Oh yeah, I thought, and I felt a happy tingle of angelic electricity. I suppose I did!

  Two slaves came in, lugging a small couch. They solemnly positioned it to form a solid barrier between my mistress’s bed and the door. They bowed to Aurelia and backed out, looking faintly puzzled. I heard one mutter, “Isn’t she a bit small for a bodyguard.”

  “Size is irrelevant with Carthaginians,” hissed his companion. “All Carthaginian girls carry knives, it’s a known fact.”

  Aurelia was asleep minutes after we blew out the lamp.

  I lay awake going over the events of the past few hours. I still had no idea why I was posing as a slave in Ancient Rome. But the Agency had gone to a great deal of trouble to establish my cover. This meant that Aurelia Flavia was important to them for some reason. I decided I was honoured that Orlando trusted me to take care of her.

  I won’t let you down, I swear, I told him silently.

  Next minute, my mouth went dry with fear. Unsteady footsteps were coming towards our room. The door opened very softly and someone came in, stumbling in the dark. My heart gave a massive thump as I fel
t the intruder lean over me and peer into my face. I could smell his breath, a suffocating mixture of garlic, fish and alcohol.

  This isn’t a burglar! I thought in a panic. This is deeply creepy!!

  “Pollux!” he swore in disgust. “It’s only her slave.”

  For Aurelia’s sake, I had to control my terror. I made my breathing deep and regular. I’m just a slave girl, I told myself, not even worth bothering with. I’m a tired slave girl dreaming whatever Roman slave girls dream about.

  It worked. After some minutes, whoever it was stumbled away.

  I lay there still trembling in the dark. I was almost positive the intruder wasn’t PODS. But from the vibes, he wasn’t totally human either. There was no way I’d be able to fall asleep now. I clutched my bee charm like a talisman, jumping out of my skin at every tiny household creak. I remembered Aurelia saying, “He may have been poisoned.”

  “That girl needs you,” Orlando had said. And now I know why.

  Chapter Five

  Two weeks later, I was still so worried about keeping Aurelia safe, that I had developed major angelic insomnia.

  At night, that is. In the day, I only had to sit down in the sunshine to shell a few peas to find myself dropping off! One afternoon I actually dozed off at the baths.

  Unlike other rich Romans, who took hordes of slaves everywhere they went - one to unbuckle your sandals, one to help you into your litter, a third to run ahead clearing the rabble out of your way - Aurelia Flavia preferred a more democratic approach. On our daily visits to the baths we took it in turns to guard our possessions. I’d watch them while she bathed and had her massage, then she’d do the same for me.

  Apart from the constant risk of robbery, the atmosphere was wonderfully relaxing. I tucked my feet under me, leaned my head against the tiled wall and settled down happily to wait.

  I was now a complete convert to Roman-style bathing. It was like the ultimate spa experience. First you washed off the dust from the street, then you were slathered in scented oil and massaged vigorously by a trained masseuse. Then all the oil was scraped off with a little gadget called a “strigil”. After that you went through warm pools and sweltering steam rooms and icy plunge pools, until every last speck of dirt had been extracted from your pores. By the time you floated back on to the street, you were so clean you could hardly speak!