The Lady Out of Time

18 - Adjustments

 Julia stared at her reflection for the first time since being transported to this ancient era she didn't belong in. She didn't like what she saw. A too young face even if it was admittedly pretty, even beautiful. Eyes that weren't her own even if they did look just as keen, the delicate, elfin nose that she would never get used to, the lips that were pinker and softer looking than hers had ever been. She looked weak, she thought in disgust.

Worse, the clothes were too unfamiliar now as well. Gone were the linen clothes, the woolen fabrics. Not even cotton, something that was semi-valuable in this region since it had to imported from the East. No, now she was wearing a white silk stola, a long, pleated tunic dress that went all the way down to the floor. She had two attendants this morning help her get dressed - two! - because of the needless complications that came with attaching the embellishing ribbons to the slender belts around her waist and just under her breasts.

Ribbons! Honestly. The dash of vibrant red that they provided her too-angelic appearance was the only reason she didn't tear them off and stuff them back into the wooden bureau that they had come out of. If she were alone, and if this hadn't been her own body that she stared at in appalled horror in the mirror, she would have laughed herself sick at what she saw.

Augustus hadn't allowed her to keep her old clothes and ordered the servants to dispose of it in the fire. It invited bad fortune, he said, to bring the remnants of her unjust slave life with her as she adjusted to her rightful position. (She had wanted to ask him exactly what kind of slave life would be 'just' for anyone, but decided to not antagonize the most powerful man in the world at that moment.) But as she ran her fingers over the pleats and folds of the beautiful stola, she found herself missing the light freedom of rushing around in her old clothes. Now she had to worry about tripping over the hem of her dress if she walked any faster than at a snail's pace.

She felt like a prisoner in all this silk. Her bedchambers were just as suffocating, with the two guards who always stood outside the doors and the two servant girls in the corner perpetually watching her in case she needed so much as an itch scratched. It wasn't the luxury of it all that chafed so much, though; she wouldn't lie to herself. She was used to the best in life and had demanded it before, tailored women's suits from Hugo Boss and Armani, Aston Martins and Ferraris, houses far bigger than she would ever need since she had sworn up and down that she would never let a man come before her career, much less a family.

No, it wasn't the luxury that put her off. It was - the sensation of something missing, a vacancy that echoed around her no matter what she did. Like she had just left a room and forgotten to bring something with her.

She looked away from the mirror and turned to face her handmaids standing at attention behind her. She didn't even know their names, but for some reason she didn't feel like asking. Ordinarily, she would have done her best to dignify them the best she could even if she didn't quite want to be friends, but their every doting, fawning action and movement made her infinitely more uncomfortable and all too aware that she had been shoved yet again into a strange, unfamiliar world.

Just when she had been getting used to things. Her hands twisted in the folds of her stola and balled into fists.

"I'm not very hungry this morning," she told them. "I guess - make yourself at home. You wouldn't be offended if I offer you the rest of my breakfast, would you?"

'Breakfast' was the feast of five plates piled high on her table with various fruits, vegetables, as well as some strange looking pancakes drizzled with honey. Augustus had had them sent to her room before he left for official business early in the morning, but how the man could possibly think that she could finish all of that was beyond her. The doting father role that he had taken on was reaching far past the boundaries of excess.

She gestured at the food that she had barely touched and nodded at both girls, who stared open-mouthed at her 'generosity.' "Really," she insisted. "Don't let it go to waste if you can help it."

"It would be a privilege," one of them gushed, and sadly, Julia was sure that it was. She'd lived long enough at the bottom of Roman society in this time to know that most slaves never got to touch so much as a grape unless they had the favor of their masters.

"Then eat up. I'll explore the place for a while and then head to class on my own once it's time."

"...Actually, Your Ladyship," the other said in a hesitant voice, "we need to accompany you wherever you go."

She stared at them for a moment. Accompany her? As in tag along at her heels and never let her out of their sight even when it was just within this house?

"I'm so sorry, please forgive us. But the emperor said..."

Ah. Of course. She shouldn't be surprised that the emperor would attach people like Velcro to her, especially in his absence. The one time that she actually wished something would transport her through space and time to anywhere else...

"I get it. I'll just...wait here and read some, then."

As she lounged on the downy, luxurious bed and went over some papyrus documents that she had requested to take out of Augustus's personal library last night ("Of course! What delights of my house would I deny you"), she held her sulking at bay. She ought to be glad that bubble wrap and hamster balls wouldn't be invented for another two millennia, or else the man would probably have her rolling around in a crinkling sphere wherever she went, escorted by a full platoon of armed guards.

Speaking of guards, which reminded her of soldiers, which reminded her of generals, which reminded her of Agrippa -

Where was he now? Was he heading this way or had he already arrived? She hadn't yet left her room other than to bathe in the private baths attached to the house, and she itched to jump up and search the house for him. It felt too strange, getting up and doing things at her leisure instead of getting ready for a busy day of attending to him.

Wait, but if she was no longer his personal attendant, who was it now? Who would he have chosen?

It wouldn't be Annia, would it? Anyone but her, that crafty, spiteful piece of work. Julia had seen her making eyes literal hundreds of times at Agrippa, and he was too perceptive to have missed it himself. Surely he wouldn't...

She was still pondering each and every one of the female slaves in his household that he might select his new personal servant from (forgetting until the last second that he might just choose one of the men instead) when one of the girls called her name in a cautious voice. She sat up in the bed, scrolls rustling in her lap.

"Sorry to disturb you, Your Ladyship. But if you'd still like to explore the house before your lessons, we've just finished eating."

"You shouldn't have rushed."

"Oh, no, we're so grateful -"

Grateful. They were grateful to serve as slaves in the house of another, eating the leftovers of those they served. She felt a rush of pity and frustration at how helpless she was even in her position of privilege. She could try to share her blessings, but even then, they would always be 'grateful' and groveling instead of aware of their innate rights as fellow humans, equal in dignity. Her chest felt tight as her anger grew -

"What are your names?" she asked.

The one on the left, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and taller than her friend, answered first. "My name is Flavia."

Then the other, a brown-haired girl with lovely hazel eyes and perpetual dimples: "My name is Alba."

"And you'll be with me from now on?"

"For as long as you like, madam."

It bothered her to be called madam and Her Ladyship. Besides the fact that she didn't like being put on a pedestal for anything but her own hard-earned accomplishments rather than some arbitrary pedigree, it reminded her too much of Agrippa. He called her 'madam' too, in that mocking, teasing tone that never failed to send a thrilling prickle through her entire body. When she saw him next, would he call her the same way, or would he only address her as 'madam' in all somberness and propriety, now that things were so, so different?

She wished she could see him. He had felt like the only friend she had in all the world, the only one who could match her wit and intellect and make her feel like herself despite living in a foreign body in a foreign time. Maybe she couldn't tell him the truth, but she could be as sharp-tongued and quick as she liked around him without fearing the consequences. He respected her, and in ways that she wished she had acknowledged when she had the chance, he protected her. God knew that with her temperament, if she had been forced into the servitude of nearly any other man, she might well be dead or crippled by now, made victim of a cruel master with no time to trade banter with a mere slave.

"...Actually, I'll leave the touring for later. Take me to where the lessons are being held, I want to be settled in by the time they start."

Of course, the truth was that she was hoping Agrippa had shown up early. An hour early.

...It was good manners, right? She wasn't hoping for too much, in her opinion.

Flavia and Alba led her out of the residential area of the villa and through the courtyard to the other side. It was a beautiful day out, the heat of summer already dying and moving closer to the advent of autumn, but she could hardly appreciate it as she craned her neck and tried to check for the presence of a familiar carriage outside the stone archway on the far side. Damned walls, she cursed, but the truth was that she knew there was nothing there. Agrippa hadn't arrived yet. Disappointment pooled in her gut like hot magma, and she grimaced as she turned to face forward again.

"Not much farther, madam," Flavia murmured in an apologetic voice, and Julia realized too late that the girl must have glanced back and mistaken her impatience for something else. She nodded and fixed her expression so that it was neutral once more.

Soon, they arrived outside a set of elegant, arched double doors, and they opened one side each so that she could enter between them. They stayed outside, however, and proceeded to close the doors after her.

She paused there and examined the large room, noting the extensive collection of scrolls that covered one entire wall. There was a single table large enough to seat four in the middle of the area along with high-backed wooden chairs. Another table along the far wall with a bowl of assorted fruits in it, some candles, this and that. Hm.

More importantly, there were two young men in the room already. One of them she recognized, standing just a few feet away and staring at her with a fierce intensity that seemed like it had only brightened since last night. Tiberius, the stepson of Augustus and the son of Livia Drusilla, dressed in a white toga with twin sashes of bright red and burnt orange draped around his torso. He came forward suddenly, drawing up close to her with two long, fast strides. In an instant, he was nose to nose with her, forcing her to take in those cold blue eyes and short blond curls that bore such a strong resemblance to his mother's.

"Are you an imposter?"

Julia's eyes closed in a slow, incredulous blink as she tipped her head back at Tiberius. Excuse the hell out of him, that was going to be their first direct exchange? And he was up in her face, too. Did he not understand the concept of personal space? Well, stepson of the emperor or not, he was going to learn today. With no fear at all, she planted her hand in his chest and pushed him away. He must have been surprised by the abrupt motion - he rocked back on his heels and stumbled a step back.

And then the second young man who had been standing closer to the doors on her other side grabbed her hands, just in time to distract her as Tiberius shot her a vicious glare.

"I knew it! I told you she'd show up early, aren't you glad I made you come, Ti? Gods, your hands are so soft. A true lady -"

Julia yanked her hands away with a frown. What in the world! It was the first time she'd ever seen this boy, what did he think he was doing, grabbing at her like that? Modern day or Ancient Rome, it didn't matter. He'd crossed a line.

"But of course you'd come early. Who wouldn't be excited to meet me! Say, we have about an hour to ourselves, how about we all go riding together! The horses have already been groomed in the stables."

This kid, had he had too much sugar this morning? She couldn't get a word in edgewise -

"Oh, by the way, I'm Marcellus. You probably knew that already, though -"

No, she hadn't, and she pulled her hands away again when he reached to lay a kiss on them. "No. Anyway, Agrippa hasn't arrived yet, has he -"

"Oh, no worries. I keep forgetting that you're from the - ah, poor countryside or something, aren't you? Uncle told me a little about it before he left this morning. Fear not. I'll teach you all about how to ride horses like a master, you don't have to be afraid. Besides, even if you were brought up like a bumpkin, you have the blood of kings in you. It'll come quickly so long as I help."

Afraid - afraid, ha. Ha-ha. Bumpkin! Oh, this poor baby. What was he, seventeen? Eighteen? He could scarcely be older than the body she inhabited. A tiny baby, she fumed. Childish and loud with his baby blue eyes and soft, fluffy brown hair. He had no idea who she was, what kind of woman he was speaking to. Oh, she was going to enjoy this, and he most certainly was not.

"We shouldn't ride," she said. "We should race."

He blinked at her several times, taken aback. "Hey, now. It's not that easy for beginners, you know. Trust me, you'll hurt yourself -"

"And if I win, you have to listen and do as I say from now on. Got it?"