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by Annie Dalton
The story so far...
Thanks to a hit-and-run joyrider, Mel Beeby's 'real life' ended dramatically the day after she turned thirteen. And being an angel wasn't all sweetness and light, bringing peace, harmony and whatever to humankind. Most of her time now is spent at the Agency learning to deal with the constant threat from PODs (Powers of Darkness agents) who are the opposite of angels in
every way. Angel trainees are especially vulnerable, but so far Mel has come back from Earth unscathed. Her soul-mate is Lollie, Lola Sanchez, and she has a massive crush on Orlando - the most gorgeous boy at school. Orlando is a genius and the agency regularly sends him on solo-missions.
Mel is thrilled to be invited by him for a 'talk' in the library but realises when she gets there that it isn't a date at all. The room is full of boy trainees - she's the only girl - who have been called in by Orlando to volunteer for a special operation in Ancient Greece. By the end of the meeting, Mel has agreed to join a trainee task force for a dangerous mission to earth.
Several days of intense training teaches Mel about Nero's Rome. She has to learn quickly how to dress, behave and wear her hair like a Roman woman, despite struggling with all those hairpins. Nervous about her new mission, she is comforted by Michael the Archangel who reassures her that the lucky bee charm she chose was fated because her Roman name is to be Mella, which is latin for honey. How can you fail when your charm has been personally touched by an archangel?
Chapter 4
In Departures, no-one turned a hair at our Roman costumes. It's always mad down there, even in the early hours of the morning. Agents milled around making calls. One girl was sitting in the lotus position beside her backpack, meditating while she waited. A group of trainees were playing a card game just inches away, but she was oblivious. Our portal needed some last-minute TLC, but eventually we all squeezed inside. Al, my fave maintenance guy, closed the door with a thunk. Michael gave us a reassuring smile through the glass. This was huge for Orlando, and Michael wanted him to know he had the Agency's blessing.
The last moments before take-off always make me nervous. I wish Lollie was here, I thought. It feels weird going without her.
I think Reuben read my mind. In a husky, not entirely in-tune voice, he started to sing our private theme tune. It goes, "You're not alone. You're not alone." One by one everyone joined in. Some of the more musical guys even put in harmonies. We were still singing as our time portal lit up and we blasted through the invisible barrier that divides the timeless angelic fields from the unpredictable world of human history. En route, Orlando filled us in on a few essential details.
"We're going to Ostia, a Roman port, a few miles from the capital. I did tell you we'd be posing as slaves?" he added anxiously.
He hadn't, but by this time Orlando could have told us we were walking into a fiery furnace and we'd have followed him like lambs. That's the kind of angel he is.
Reuben patted my shoulder. "May the gods protect you, my little honey bunny," he whispered in Latin.
"You too, Sweetpea," I answered fluently. Being able to understand every language going is one of the cooler perks of being an angel.
I noticed my buddy scratching absently at the collar of his rough woollen tunic. I fingered the fine white cotton of my stola. How come I'm the only one on this mission wearing good clothes? I wondered. But there was no time to puzzle about this. Outside the portal, the colours had grown unbearably intense. We were coming in to land.
Seconds later I stepped out into a crowded Roman market place. I could smell fish and sewage and something that might be incense. Hungry white seagulls wheeled over my head screaming. Hello seagulls, I thought lovingly. Hello icky smells.
I was back on my favourite planet.
I don't know about you, but when I feel happy, I immediately have to tell someone!
"I think there's still a part of me that really misses being human," I burbled. "Like, here we are in a totally unknown sea port, in a totally unfamiliar century, but something inside says, 'I'm home!'!!"
"Mel, shut up and move your angel butt, NOW!" Reuben ordered.
Make way, scum...
This was SO not the reaction I expected. Next minute my buddy practically threw me into a very smelly doorway. A shaven-headed guy in a tunic came striding past with a big stick, whacking anyone in his path. "Make way, scum!" he bellowed, only in Latin obviously.
People scattered as a curtained litter carried by two male bearers came swaying into view. A warm salt breeze was blowing off the sea. Suddenly it lifted up a corner of a curtain, revealing a middle-aged Roman inside, lounging on piles of cushions. He glared at us and twitched the curtain closed.
I felt really shaky. I'd been in Nero's time for less than sixty seconds and I'd almost got my skull bashed in already! "Thanks Reubs," I said.
My buddy looked traumatised. "That human saw us," he said. "That feels so weird."
When you're invisible, you have time to adjust to being back in the material world. But if humans can SEE you, it's full-on right away.
I've been to a few eras now, but I've got to say, Ancient Rome was different right from the start. It wasn't any one thing that blew me away. It wasn't the towering public buildings of stone and marble, or the grimy Roman flats, where poor people lived packed like sardines. It wasn't the spicy whiffs of unfamiliar hot snacks, or even the babble of voices talking Latin and other ancient languages that had been totally forgotten by my time - it was everything. Everything was different. Even the sunlight on my skin. It seemed clearer, brighter. To me it felt like the world was still new. As if all its colours hadn't totally dried yet.
I love those first moments of a mission when you're still sussing out humans, wondering who you'll really get to know, and who'll be like, cosmic extras. Take that girl sitting at a table outside a bar called The Shower of Gold. She's got an unusual face, I thought. She was loads paler than the olive-skinned locals I'd seen so far. That must mean she was wealthy enough to stay in the shade while slaves do her dirty work. The tiny rubies at her earlobes were another giveaway. That girl's been treated like a princess her whole life, I thought. You can just tell nothing has ever happened to her.
Tough-looking slaves stood by with cudgels, keeping a wary watch on the family's luggage.The girl was fussing over a fluffy little dog in her lap. It was so fluffy, in fact, you couldn't tell where its eyes were. "Minerva's been stung, Pater," the girl said to her dad. "She whimpers when I touch her paw." Minerva, I thought. Now that IS weird. On a mission to Victorian times we met a fake medium who called herself Minerva. I'm not sure I'd have named that puppy after the Roman goddess of wisdom myself. Goddess of fluff maybe.
"It seems really swollen," the girl persisted.
Her father didn't answer. He was gazing confusedly around at the buildings, as if he feared this was all a strange dream from which he might wake any moment.
At that moment I heard Orlando calling to us on a wavelength used only by angels. Mel, Reuben! Get over here now!
We hurried through the crowded forum following Orlando's vibes. Suddenly a gap appeared in the crowd and I saw the slave market.
The slaves in the slave market at Ostia were mostly barbarians, white-skinned tribes-people. They peered out fearfully through matted hair, shivering in their filthy rags. We nervously joined Orlando and the others. Typical Melanie, I hadn't thought how it would feel to be this close to half-naked humans who'd been cooped up in slave ships for weeks. For one thing, they didn't smell very nice, though this was hardly their fault. But it wasn't just the smell that made me feel ill. The air was thick with human fear and hatred. The kind of vibes that make it hard for an angel to breathe.
The dealer was chalking prices on crude wooden tags. He'd glance along the line of slaves, do a quick calculation, scribble a price and matter-of-factly hang it round someone's neck. In the forum a shoe mender went on mending a broken buckle. The fishmonger roared out the price of his freshly-caught squid, and the owner of The Shower of Gold came out to place olives and fresh bread in front of the girl and her father.
"We'll get a good price for you"
It didn't seem to trouble them that dozens of fellow humans shivered a few metres away, with price tags round their necks. I'm not going to pretend I know how it feels to be a slave. This was my first ever glimpse of slavery. But when I looked into the eyes of these sullen, shivering men and women and children, I felt ashamed for humankind.
I was standing beside a hairy little barbarian, who was covered with tribal tattoos. His hair and beard were grey and his face was lined with age. But he was only about as tall as the average six-year-old.
"We'll get a good price for you," the dealer said approvingly. "You dwarves are worth big bucks. Can you juggle?"
The man shook his head. "No juggle."
The dealer sighed. "Give me a break, sunshine. Even boneheaded barbarians can juggle a few oranges."
"I am not Sunshine. I am Flammia," the man said with dignity. "I swallow fire."
The slave dealer broke into a delighted grin. "Well well, a fire-eating dwarf. Some days you just know Jupiter is on your side."
When the dealer reached me, he looked me up and down as if I was a calf in the livestock market. He immediately registered the bulla. "Hmmm, freeborn," he muttered. "Tall for a girl. Nicely turned-out. Quite pretty. Make someone a good ornatrix. Might get seven sestercii if I'm lucky."
He scribbled a Roman numeral on a wooden tag and hung it round my neck. For the first time he noticed I wasn't shackled. He clicked his tongue with annoyance. "Now how did that happen," he grumbled and hurriedly found some rusty old shackles.
"Please don't," said Orlando. "She won't try to escape."
I was SO touched. It's like, even though we weren't real slaves, Orlando totally couldn't bear to see me in chains.
The man gave a derisive laugh. "A slave's promise, now that's really worth having!"
"None of my friends are chained," Orlando pointed out. "We're here of our own free will."
The dealer shook his head. "I hate to hurt your sensitive feelings, sunshine," he sighed, "but I'd prefer a little bit of insurance."
He went hurrying along the line of angel trainees, hanging inflated prices round their necks and securing them with chains. "Don't know where you came from," I heard him saying. "But you've been well cared for. I'll get a fortune for you beauties."
"This is sick," Reuben whispered.
"Isn't it?" I said. "What a way to run an empire!"
I was totally off the Romans by now.
"Be fair," said a trainee, "they've got incredible ideals."
"Ooh, absolutely, plus they invented central heating!" I said sarcastically. "I'm sorry, a civilisation built on human misery sucks."
Just then someone came limping up to the dealer. He was really alarming looking. He'd lost part of one ear. He wore an eyepatch over one eye, and he had horrific scars on his legs. To judge from his limp, one of them was still giving him trouble. I decided he must be an old Roman legionary who'd received his injuries fighting the barbarians in some distant corner of the empire.
He must have been a good customer because the dealer was instantly all over him. "Festus Brutus - good morning! How have the gods been treating you?" And he went into a spiel about this special purchase deal he could give him.
"That guy must be a lanista," whispered Reuben.
"Very probably, but I don't know what that means," I hissed back. It must be something they'd covered while I was perfecting my plaiting skills.
"It's Roman slang for 'butcher'," Reuben explained. "He's on the lookout for raw recruits he can train up for the arena."
OMIGOSH! I thought. Suddenly everything made sense. That's why Orlando picked me for his task force! This butcher person was going to buy us for his ludus and turn us into gladiators. OK, so this might be a bit of a challenge, but if Orlando thought I could handle it, I was up for it, no question. Admittedly, you don't tend to hear about girl gladiators, but like Lola says, if you relied on history books for your info, you'd think girls didn't even exist in some time periods!
I shut my eyes and beamed a grateful message to my soul-mate. I owe you babe! All that fitness training you made me do, all that martial arts - it's finally coming together!
Next minute, it all fell apart. The girl with the lapdog had left the bar to wander around the slave market. Now she was heading purposefully in my direction. Keep walking, I prayed. Pick someone else. The girl walked right up to me, and looked intently into my face, almost as if she knew me from somewhere. I felt angelic tingles shimmer through my bones.
Don't do this, I pleaded silently. I'm sure you're a sweet human but I can't be your personal angel, OK? I'm on a v. dangerous cosmic mission. The girl was a year or so older than me, but not nearly so tall. Up close I could see her eyes were grey and when she smiled I saw she had a dimple in her cheek. My nan would have said that was where she'd been touched by an angel. I had to admit there was something appealing about her. In another time, or another place, I'd have been delighted to get to know her. Just not here and now.
Please, may we buy her?
"This must be horrible for you," she said quietly. "I've always thought it strange that a country which thinks itself civilised, should be dependent on slave labour. My name is Aurelia Flavia, by the way."
"You don't introduce yourself to slaves!" Her father had caught her up. But there was no real energy to his words. It was like he was going through the motions. "She probably doesn't even speak Latin!" he added in a tired voice.
I unfocused my eyes, willing them both to go away.
Aurelia didn't take the hint. "We've been living in Britain for years," she explained. "My father thinks I've gone tribal!"
I was genuinely shocked to hear her mention my country.
Aurelia saw it. "She understood, Pater! You can see how intelligent she is. Her soul shines out of her eyes."
Her father sighed heavily. "Souls," he muttered. "Just like your mother. She talked of souls."
"Please, may we buy her?" Aurelia pleaded. "You agreed I needed an ornatrix. She does her own hair beautifully."
A distressing thought flitted into my head and once it was there, it refused to go away. He wouldn't, I thought. Orlando wouldn't do that to me. Omigosh, he had! Was that why I didn't need gladiator training? Was that why I got the deluxe Roman makeover treatment, while the others had to make do with hessian? I'd even got my own personal Roman name...
"Your hairstyle is so pretty!" Aurelia was prattling. "My hair is impossible. Every slave I have just despairs."
I wanted to howl with disappointment. Festus Brutus was prowling down the rows of slaves, checking us out for gladiator potential. If Aurelia kept chatting to me about hairstyles, he wouldn't think "Feisty fighting girl", he'd think "Personal maid".
Go with her, Melanie!
I heard Orlando's voice as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud. He didn't say that, I thought. He didn't say what I thought he said. Oh, but he did.
Aurelia needs you, Orlando told me. It's why I brought you.
You brought me to Rome so I could be some rich girl's hairdresser!
I was so upset, I only just stopped myself from stamping my foot.
All my foolish fantasies had crumbled into dust. To think I'd imagined he saw me as an equal. A bimbo, that's all I was. A joke. I felt totally betrayed. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. I was dangerously close to tears.
Bottle it up, I scolded myself. Swallow it down. Whatever. Don't let Orlando see you cry. But just then the universe supplied an unexpected distraction. Our teachers are constantly telling us that the Agency works in mysterious ways. Like, one tiny thing can change the whole course of human history. Even a silly little fluffball of a pooch.
While I struggled with my feelings, Minerva suddenly noticed Reuben. My angel buddy has an affinity with all furry or feathered creatures. Birds, bees, dancing bears, universally adore him.
With a weird whimpering sound, the little dog jumped out of Aurelia's arms and went wriggling up to Reuben, holding up her injured paw.
Disregarding his chains, Reuben stooped down and began to pet her, talking so softly that no human would guess he was speaking in a very ancient language we use for communicating with birds and animals. I'm not nearly as fluent as my buddy but I got the basic gist.
"Did the wasp sting you?" he was saying. "Do you want me to take the hurt away?"
Reuben touched her paw with a gentle finger. I saw an arrow of glowing pink light beam from his heart into Minerva. By the time Reubs straightened up, her limp had totally gone.
I don't know what Aurelia saw, but she was looking totally amazed. "I want to buy the boy too," 'she told her father. "Minerva will need a kennel slave and he's obviously wonderful with animals."
"I'm also wonderful with plants," Reuben said shamelessly. "Give me a free hand in the garden and you'll think you're living in paradise."
My 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, beggarman, thief - it was all one to him. He didn't need to be told that Aurelia needed us. Pure angels tend to 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."
"Melanie, 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. Being her ornatrix is not who you are. It's your cover."
"It is?" I quavered. I SO wanted to believe him.
"I keep telling you, she needs your help." Orlando said.
"Yeah, after all she's totally alone," I said. "Ooh, except for her rich daddy and a gazillion slaves. Not to mention helpful angels falling over themselves to heal her little puppy!"
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," I told him reproachfully. "Did you think I was this little airhead who wouldn't understand?"
Orlando seemed shocked. "Of course not! I told you at the start, you'd have to trust me."
"Do you even know where they're taking you?" My voice cracked 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, but maybe one day, you'll tell me your story."
The stupid thing is, I'd sensed a 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 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 bolshie Brits. Aurelia said she'd been happy, but there were very few Roman kids in her area, 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. "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." Well, I didn't 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, I'm sorry! I didn't know!" I said.
Luckily Aurelia didn't seem at all offended by my remark.
"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'm a complete mystery
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 said 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 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 clouds. But I said 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.' And 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 knew they didn't have much time. Maybe they had to grow up fast.
"Did you accept?" I asked.
"I had to say no. My father has not 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 dangerous times."
"I'm so sorry," I told her. "But who would-?"
I could see this subject was 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. "Erm, 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 is 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 grown up outside the city walls. It went on for miles. Sometimes I saw the flicker of camp fires, as a homeless person settled down to sleep among the dead. I saw my first Roman spook, flitting among the burial urns wearing a ghostly laurel wreath. Brice would want to 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 on to worrying about what was happening to Orlando and the others...
Some time 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. This 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 very busy," 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." 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. Then I remembered 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. Aurelia's house was the closest thing to a palace I had ever seen.
This house is seriously toxic
To her delight, the quince tree was still alive. It was old and bent but I could see tiny 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. But Reuben isn't big on Earth food, 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 said sternly.
"Might have done," I admitted.
"Well do it now. This house is seriously toxic."
It was a relief to know these weren't my personal bad feelings. But where were they coming from?
"You think there are PODS, here in this house?" I asked nervously.
My buddy shook his head. "Something isn't 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 said I could sleep on a couch in her room.
"Won't the other slaves think it's strange?"
I asked.
"Of course not," she laughed. "But if it worries you I'll 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 upset her. Romans are SO superstitious, I thought.
I helped Aurelia into her night-gown, then brushed her hair until it was smooth and silky.
"Your hair isn't so bad," I told 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. So I did!
Two slaves came in, lugging a small couch between them. 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, "She's 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. For some reason Aurelia was important to them. 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.
Suddenly 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 felt 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 muttered 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 was trembling with shock. Omigosh, what was that about? 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 lay clutching my bee charm in the dark, 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 knew why.
This is the last instalment we'll be featuring on a4M.E. so to get the rest of the story, get hold of a copy of 'Angels Unlimited' from:
Copyright Harper Collins
