Eutopia (First version)

Chapter 13

The only thing Eirene could be sure of was the ache in her heart as the little nightingale lay still and cold in her upturned palm.

She and Aisha had been tending the formal flower beds in the garden that sprawled lushly in the centre of the villa complex, walled in on all four sides by the smooth sandy stone of the dwelling. A veritable trap for the afternoon sun, it was looked out upon from the peristylium colonnaded walkways. They had been supervised, as always, by Phoibe who mostly sat snoozing in the shade of a cypress tree with her ample bottom spread out on the cool marble of a curved bench. Eirene had been slipping earthworms into the folds of her toga as she scrabbled around between the blooming lilies, much to Aisha’s disgust, and had waited until the gentle snores of the old woman reached her ears before downing tools and slipping off to her cubiculum. Aisha had watched her go without comment, simply shaking her head as she trimmed off a handful of thyme from the wiry plant that grew along the edge of the lily bed.

Eirene had rushed along the mosaicked hallways of the villa, leaving a trail of crumbled earth behind her, hoping to feed the nightingale and get back to the garden before Phoibe woke with a grunt to find her missing. She had knelt down beside the golden cage that sat on the floor at the foot of her bed, nibbling her lower lip in worry as the little bird didn’t hop joyfully over to her on his good leg as he usually did when she entered the room. The small feathered body, dusty brown against the yellow straw, lay unmoving with tiny black eyes that were lacklustre and dull. Very gently Eirene had lifted him out from the cage, the handful of worms she had pulled out from her toga were massed in a forgotten, wriggling pile on the unadorned stone of the floor.

‘Oh no,’ Eirene whispered softly, feeling the coldness of death seeping through the feathers as dry as old leaves to taint her hand. The absence of the bird’s tiny, fragile heartbeat was almost deafening to her. Alexis had been right. For three days she had needlessly dragged out the poor creatures suffering for her own selfishness. One finger stroked the creamy coloured feathers of the nightingale’s upturned belly as it lay on her hand. Why had she been so stubborn?

‘You did your best, Eirene; no one can fault you for that.’ Alexis’ warm tone drifted in from the doorway, the thin curtain bunched in one of his large hands as he held it to one side.

‘Master!’ Eirene exclaimed in surprise as she jumped to her feet, unfortunately standing on the little pile of worms she had left on the floor. They felt cold and slimy as they squirmed beneath her bare toes but she barely flinched, hardly noticing as she looked up at the handsome Alexis. The gloom that had engulfed her heart at finding the nightingale dead was suddenly lifted at the unexpected appearance of him. ‘I thought you and the Mistress were dining with Senator Cato this afternoon?’ Alexis let the curtain drop, the plain white wool finely woven swung back to fill the doorway as he came to loom over Eirene.

‘Eirene, you are standing on your earthworms,’ he remarked, gently lifting the bird from her loose fingers to examine it more closely. The girl hurriedly lifted her foot and scooped the somewhat crushed but still writhing worms into her hands before scattering them out of the window to the dry earth below. Eirene stayed where she was, her back to the casement, facing the room as she fidgeted nervously with a fold of her simple, draping toga that was twisted and secured at either shoulder with a plain silver broach. She hadn’t seen Alexis since the fateful day that he had given the nightingale and its golden cage to her. Aisha had reliably informed her a few days ago, having heard it from the lips of Liviana, that the Master would be in and out of the house for a while on business with the Senator and that a lavish dinner was planned at Senator Cato’s villa on the conclusion of this commerce. This was a huge relief to Eirene who hadn’t savoured the thought of serving Cato at a feast since the last debacle. Liviana had taken to lounging luxuriously in the vine hung pergola of the pleasure garden, or retreating to her cubiculum to pout at being excluded from her brother’s business and refusing to be served by none but Aisha. That morning the favoured slave had spent even longer than usual curling and coiffing the Mistress’ golden hair into an elaborate up-do, studded with blush-pink pearls and caught up in a shimmering silver net as fine as a spiders web. She had helped Liviana to slip into a delicate silk toga of pure white, decorated with twists of silver thread woven intricately into the fabric itself and connected at the shoulders by two strings of small, ivory pearls. A glittering silver snake with two grass-green emeralds for eyes lay around her neck, dipping into the plunging neckline of her toga before looping up to engulf its own tail; another gift from Alexis that had convinced his narcissistic sister to stay in Rome longer than already promised. It was a method that never ceased to fail; no matter how many times Alexis used it. Aisha had described Liviana to a wide-eyed Eirene earlier that morning as they began work in the garden. Phoibe had walked Liviana through the winding streets to the large, though less sumptuous villa that belonged to the Senator before the old woman had bustled back to supervise the two girls outside. Both Alexis and Liviana hadn’t been expected back until later that evening and so the Master’s sudden appearance in her room had startled Eirene into silence. She watched as Alexis ran a thick finger along the unruffled feathers of the nightingale still laid in his palm.