“Habit?” she said with a shrug.
He laughed at that but sobered quickly. “You haven’t upset the domina recently, have you?”
“Valeria? No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“She’s sent for you.”
“Again? Why? I haven’t even spoken to her since the match at the Coliseum.”
Ennius couldn’t answer that question. They walked together through the long, echoing halls of the villa, Attia subtly slowing her pace to accommodate him. She was struck with an immense feeling of guilt over what she’d done to his leg. He walked a bit easier now, but there was still a pronounced limp.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She’d refused to apologize before, but everything seemed different now. “Really. It wasn’t personal. I know that sounds like an excuse, but…”
Ennius looked at her in confusion until he saw her pointedly staring at his leg. He shrugged. “I’ll heal.”
“Will you?” she asked. “I’ve used that technique on others, and I don’t think they ever walked straight again. Of course, they were enemy soldiers, and I didn’t really stick around afterwards to find out.”
“Attia. I said that I would heal, and I will. Straight or crooked, I’m still walking.”
“You should hate me.”
“Hate you?” Ennius said with a soft smile. “How could I? You make me laugh almost every time I see you. You’re clever and strong, and I understand why Xanthus loves you.”
Attia stopped in her tracks. “What did you say?” she asked. Or, at least she meant to ask that. She couldn’t be sure if any sound came out of her mouth.
Ennius paused, too. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Didn’t you know?”
Attia couldn’t even manage to shake her head. She just stared at him, unblinking, her brain refusing to work again.
“Do you…?” His voice drifted off.
Attia still couldn’t think straight. In some distant part of her head, she recognized Ennius’s question. Do I love Xanthus? But her mind was being rather obstinate and refusing to share the information with the rest of her, so she simply continued to stare at Ennius like an idiot.
He sighed. “Come on, Attia.” She was so distracted, he had to guide her by the elbow to keep her moving in the right direction.
A few minutes later, they reached Valeria’s quarters. It was a part of the house that Attia hadn’t seen before, though they hadn’t been in Pompeii long enough for her to explore.
Ennius walked her to the door, but before she left his side, he whispered, “Forget about what I’ve just said, and pull yourself together now. You’ll have plenty of time to think about it all later.” A house slave opened the door and let her in.
Valeria’s room was bedecked in blinding white. The curtains, the couches, the chairs, the walls—everything was the color of ivory and marble. And it wasn’t really just one room. Attia could see doorways branching off on either side, probably leading to a bedroom and washrooms and closets and whatever other rooms wealthy Roman women enjoyed.
Attia took a step forward, and her feet touched a white rug made from the pelt of a snow leopard. She grimaced. What a shame the poor animal had to die to decorate this place. She found Valeria in her bedroom, sprawled across her bed. Her beauty paint was smeared across her cheek and pillow, and her eyes were partially closed. Wine stained the sheets. She looked drugged. Or dying. Or both.
When Valeria heard her enter, she opened her eyes and propped herself up on her elbow. “It’s you. The pretty little Thracian.”
“You asked for me, Domina?”
“Yes, I did. Though I can’t remember why.”
Hopefully not to paint her face again. “Would you like me to go?” Attia asked.
“No!” Valeria said quickly. “Don’t go. Stay. Keep me company. Tell me about the champion. What’s he like behind closed doors?”
“Domina?”
“Does he treat you well?”
“Yes, Domina.”
Valeria let herself fall back onto her pillows with a sigh. “You’re lucky. It’s been so long since a man treated me like anything. I knew one once who had the gentlest hands. When he touched my cheek, I…” Her voice broke, and her glazed blue eyes filled with tears. Then she blinked and turned away. “But that was a long time ago.”
“I have heard a little about Legatus Bassus—that he was a strong, honorable man,” Attia said, and it was true. Lucius had told her of his father—the Roman general who believed in Roman decency.
Valeria’s eyes focused on Attia. “Oh,” she said finally. “Him. Yes. Lucius Bassus was quite strong and … honorable.” The last word was said with a bitterness that surprised Attia. “My son is like him in some ways. He’s also like me.”
If she’s expecting me to say that she is honorable, I’ll eat my sandal, Attia thought. But apparently, Valeria didn’t expect that at all.
“Do you sing, Thracian?” she asked.
“No, Domina.”
“Did your people not have songs?”
“Some.”
“Sing for me.”
Oh, the woman couldn’t be serious. “I can’t quite remember any of the words, Domina.”
Valeria rolled onto her side. “My children make up their own songs, you know? Meaningless words. No melody at all. I don’t know where they learned to do that. Certainly not from me. Old Vespasian once said I sang like the sirens who lured men from their ships.”
Attia smiled to herself. Her own father had once told her she sang like a dying seagull. But since she knew nothing of sirens, she couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing to sound like one. Then Valeria opened her mouth, and chills blossomed across Attia’s skin.
She could honestly say that she’d never heard anything so beautiful. Valeria’s voice—shrill and strained when she spoke—suddenly became ethereal and resonant, a sound Attia never would have expected from looking at her. When she closed her eyes, blocking out the sad sight of the woman sprawled on the bed, Attia thought this was probably what the Christians and Jews meant when they spoke of angel voices.
The moment Valeria stopped singing, the air rang hollow and empty. Attia opened her eyes to see a tear slip down Valeria’s face.
“Do you believe in the gods, Thracian?” she whispered. “Do you pray?”
“No,” Attia answered honestly. “Not anymore.”
“Me neither,” Valeria said with a sad smile. She blinked several times and craned her neck to look out the window. “It’s raining. I think I’ll have a bath.”
Attia spent the next two hours sitting beside Valeria’s gold-plated tub. Neither spoke, though the echo of Valeria’s song hung heavy in the air for Attia.