The Tea Machine (19 page)

CHAPTER 19

The marble floor was cold
and hard. And not as pretty when her nose was pressed up against it. Millicent lay clutching her stinging face. The patter of bare feet rushed towards her, and she was hauled up by hands more concerned with haste than care or courtesy. From the corner of her eye, Millicent could see that the matron and Cassian had moved aside and were in deep discussion, ignoring her prone position.

“I know I still owe you from the last time, but I would really like this one for myself,” Cassian spoke in a pleading, urgent voice. “Couldn’t you keep her aside, just for me? I’m bringing a few friends back after the games.” He pressed a small bag of coins into the matron’s hand. “I’ll bring the rest with me this evening,” he added, rather desperately, as she weighed the bag thoughtfully. “And we’ll have a pound of your finest Oolong in honour of the goddess.”

“Come this way. Quickly.” A voice whispered in her ear. Millicent was manhandled away by a young woman dressed in a short tunic. “If she notices you’re still about, she’ll hit you again harder,” the girl said.

“If she so much as touches me, I’ll…I’ll…” Millicent didn’t have words for what she would do; she had never been physically assaulted before and felt a little in shock.

“Come.” The girl led her through a doorway and down a chilly corridor. Sunlight did not penetrate this part of the building, and the shadows loomed long and gloomy from the flickering tallow candles. From far off, she heard the splash of water, and the farther they progressed down the corridor, the noticeably warmer it became.

“Where are we going?” Her heart was still thumping, and her face felt hot and bruised. She was thoroughly agitated by the assault and unsure how much danger she was in. Why should she trust this girl? “Where are we going?” she repeated, trying to squelch the panic in her voice.

“The bathing rooms.” Her guide relented.

The answer was not what she had expected. It did not reassure her either. They could be about to drown her for all she knew. Her travels into Sangfroid’s time had been dangerous, but she had always been more or less in command of her own destiny, if only because Hubert was in the background engineering her exit. Here it was different. Here she was trapped and vulnerable. She had felt it in the streets, and now she had been attacked by that fat slattern! Lord only knew what else awaited her. The muted whispering between Cassian and the broodmare, who seemed to own the place, was another worry. What she had overheard was calculated and menacing, and she knew it concerned her.

The girl pulled her into a side room. Fragrant heat bloomed around them.

“We’re in the caldarium. Leave your clothes there.” The girl pointed to a stone bench on the far wall. Millicent looked around her. The room consisted of a small pool wreathed in delicious clouds of scented steam and surrounded by stone benches. The walls were garishly painted with forest scenes filled with romping nymphs and hoary centaurs.

“Oh, you are slow.” The girl began hauling at Millicent’s clothes. “Where are you from? Your colouring is unusual; are you Gallic?”

“I can manage myself.” Millicent slapped away the groping hands.

“Well you better get on with it then. Matron will be here in a minute to see how you clean up.” The young girl was equally irritated. “I’m Jana, by the way. What do they call you?”

“Millicent,” she muttered and tried to decide what to do. She was overheated. Her undergarments stuck to her body, and her hair had escaped from its pins and now fell around her shoulders. She was certain her cheek was black and blue, but she absolutely refused to cry. The scented water called to her. Flower petals floated on it, for heaven’s sake. It was irresistible. Surely a quick wash could only help her refresh and re-focus? Not that she would let Jana assist with her toilette. She was no more to be trusted than any of her Roman counterparts.

Millicent fretted for her friends. Were they going through equally bizarre experiences? She particularly worried about Sophia. She was least equipped to cope with the vagaries of time travel and could be in mortal peril. She hoped either Gallo or Sangfroid were with her, looking after her.

“Come on.” Jana’s hands were pecking at her again, twisting and tugging her clothes loose. “I’ll get in trouble because of you.”

“Who is that…that woman? The matron?” Millicent could think of a better name for the hard faced harridan, but desisted. She began to reluctantly undress.

“Cybele is the tea matron. She manages the temple and the tea maids, and she’s a bitch. Don’t be getting on the wrong side of her or you’ll suffer and then some.” She sighed. “Gods, but you wear a lot of clothes. Is it cold where you’re from? Where was that; did you say?”

“Britannia.” Millicent took a chance on mentioning her homeland as the last of her clothes fell in an ungainly heap at her feet.

“Britannia!” Jana exclaimed in horror. “No wonder you’re bundled up. I hear it would freeze the teats off a pig up there.”

Millicent had no answer for that.

“Get into the water, and I’ll send these off to the laundry,” Jana instructed. She was a bossy little thing, but Millicent complied.

“When will I get them back?” she asked, wondering if the steam mechanization she saw everywhere allowed for extra quick laundering.

“You’ll wear a tunic like mine during the day, and then there’ll be a toga for the evening when the worshipers arrive.” Jana indicated her simple mustard coloured tunic with its plaited belt of stringed leather. Millicent was aghast, she didn’t want to wear that…that horse blanket, not even for one second. Nor did she like the way Jana said
worshipers
, as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I prefer to wear my own clothes,” she said, reaching for them.

Jana whipped them out of reach. “No way; they stink of fish. Did you come here in a trawler?”

“You don’t like these worshipers, do you? Who are they?” Millicent asked to distract her while she attempted to snag back a garment. It was turning into a game where she was outsmarted by Jana’s sneaky twists and turns every time she made a lunge for her clothes.

“They’re the creeps that come here for evening worship and buy tea so they can fill up the urns.” The derision was clear in her voice.

Cassian had called her an urn. “What exactly do you mean by urns?” She suspected it would be something distasteful.

Jana spluttered with bitter mirth before realizing Millicent wasn’t joking. Her face fell serious. “You, and young women like you, are brought here to be urns. You entertain the worshipers with your bodies,” she said plainly. Millicent recoiled in horror, and Jana took the opportunity to deftly whisk the clothes out of her reach once and for all.

“That’s why the matron bought you. Some girls are selected to be urns, and others, like me, see to the domestic chores. Let me tell you, if I had your looks, I’d be tempted. Some urns end up marrying well. Granted the old coots are knocking on Hades door, but even so—”

“I have absolutely no intention of being an urn!” Millicent made a doomed grab for her clothes. She had to get out of this heinous house of iniquity. How on earth had Sophia managed to build a cult around tea and debauchery? They hardly went hand in hand.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Jana said. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’ve got work to do. In you go, little urn.” And she pushed Millicent into the pool.

Millicent surfaced spluttering angrily. The water came up to her chest. Above her Jana slipped out of her own tunic, collected a dish, and joined her in the water.

“I made this fresh this morning,” Jana said and began to rub an exfoliate over Millicent’s back and shoulders and then her upper arms. It was lovely. Millicent stopped surging about to appreciate the luxuriant massage. The oil smelled beautiful.

“What is that?” she found herself asking. It felt wonderful to have the sweat and grime scrubbed off so deliciously.

“Olive oil and sea salt. And I added some neroli.” Jana began to sluice Millicent’s back and arms. “Fresh is best. If it’s left too long the olive smell is overpowering.” She handed Millicent the bowl. “You can do your face. Mind your eyes though, the salt stings.” She began to lather Millicent’s hair with an equally divine smelling product. “This is my own recipe,” she said. “The stuff they use here is shocking. Lye soap, I ask you? No wonder their hair looks like rats nests.” She massaged up a surplus of lather, and Millicent moaned at the luxury of it all.

“This is why Matron keeps me on,” Jana continued. She was obviously in a chatty mood for her hands became less brisk and she took her time. “I mayn’t be a beauty, but I’m indispensable to her. I manufacture all the soaps for the urns.” She began to rinse. “Keeps me on her sweet side, otherwise I’d be down the market quicker than a whiplash.”

Having seen the matron’s unsweet side, Millicent could only agree with Jana’s philosophy.

“Don’t annoy her. She’s dangerous,” Jana warned. Then said, “Now hold your nose.” She forcefully ducked Millicent under the water. When she spluttered back to the surface, Jana was still yammering on about the abuses young women underwent to partake of the tea. “We sign our lives away to come here.”

“Like a nun.” Millicent wiped the water out of her eyes. The correlation popped into her head and out of her mouth at the same time.

“An
urn
.” Jana looked at her as if she were stupid. “Young women come here from all over the Empire hoping to either make a fortune, or marry one. Even the temple slaves can make enough to buy their own freedom, if Matron approves, that is.” She seemed cheered by the thought of wealth for all.

“I thought the temples belonged to the state?” Millicent recalled her school lessons from long time past.

Jana shrugged. “The tea temple is different. It’s a franchise and Matron owns this one.” A sliver of pride crept into her voice. “And I make it smell good. Now, out.” She was all business again. “We need to get you dry as toast.”

This time Millicent did as she was told. Jana clambered out, and Millicent followed her to an adjacent chamber. There was no pool and the room was heated to a high temperature. Millicent assumed she was to stand here until her body dried. Instead she was given a cup of water and ordered to sit down.

“It’s best to keep drinking in the heat. Now sit quietly while I get my oils and give you a nice rub down.” Then Jana was gone.

Millicent considered sneaking away, but she was naked and lost and the lethargic heat was sucking the last ounce of resistance from her weak limbs. The stone seat was warm under her bottom, and she leaned back against the painted wall. This time, the murals were an elaborate seascape of shells, waves, and fantastical fish. Instead of drying off, she found she was perspiring, and her bones were melting with the delicious, relaxing heat. Tension oozed out of her. She sat and sipped her water in an exhausted stupor. Her resolve was at an all-time low, completely outflanked by circumstance and the dull, perpetual nag of not knowing what to do. She needed to find the others and somehow organize an escape, yet the task felt gargantuan, and she felt so small.

“No snoozing.” Jana appeared beside her. “Let’s get you to the unctorium before you nod off. I’ve got the oil warmed and ready. Then you can have a bite to eat and afterwards take a nice nap.”

The unctorium was next door. Millicent sprawled face down on the stone slab as Jana liberally covered her from head to toe in sweet smelling almond oil, and then massaged it deep into her muscles.

Millicent moaned. She had never felt anything so luxurious, or so decadent, in her entire life. This had to be the work of the devil, but she was beyond caring. She would happily burn in hell for such a wonderful, relaxing experience. A cold knife blade touched her skin and made her jolt. Fear coursed through her. She had let her guard down and was about to be stabbed to death.

“What’s wrong?” Jana asked. “This is the best bit.”

Millicent turned over to find the girl standing beside her with a strigil in her hand waiting to scrape the excess oil off her body. She felt silly. She knew how Roman baths worked.

“Are they all as jumpy as you in Britannia?” Jana grumped and went to work with the curved blade. “Now, roll over so I can do the back of your legs.”

It was another seductive temptation, and Millicent fell into it with shivering bliss.
I am a weak, ineffectual woman,
she scolded herself, but gently.

“That’s you all done. Shiny as a new kettle, you are,” Jana said eventually. She helped pull a simple linen tunic over Millicent’s head. It was pure white and practically glowed beside the drab yellow one Jana wore.

“Use this to gather it in.” Jana handed over a thin plait of leather that knotted at the waist.

“Follow me,” she ordered and took off down another long corridor. They were moving into the bowels of the temple, and the air grew cooler and quieter.

“This is a huge building,” Millicent said. “It didn’t look half as big from the outside.” As Jana was a friendly, talkative type, Millicent began to question her, hoping not to reveal the true complexity of her alien status.

“It’s Rome. Everything has to be the biggest and the best, or Severus will tear it down. This is the High Tea Temple of Rome. There are thousands of them all over the Empire. Sure, weren’t you were recruited from one in Britannia?” She cast Millicent a curious sideways look.

Millicent didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to orientate herself. It was becoming clear to her the temple had a web-like layout, with a central hub she had yet to see.

“Or were you bought at the market?” Jana asked, slyly. “You were, weren’t you?” Surprise showed in her eyes before turning to sympathy. “Nevermind. I was, too,” she added, taking any sting out of her words.

Millicent hesitated. She was more aghast than stung. Bought?
Oh, good Lord, Jana’s a slave, and she thinks I’m one, too.
It never occurred to her that this might be the case. This was not good; if she was supposed to be a slave, then it could seriously limit her mobility in this world.

“Was that why the people at the fish market were giving me harsh looks?” she asked. Perhaps a female slave should not be out and about without a chaperon?