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"Put this on," the tailor snapped at Kal, shoving a pair of trousers, a tunic, and a jacket at him as Marcus shrugged back into his own coat after his fitting. Sometimes when Marcus was being fit, the tailor drew the curtain across the back of the shop so he wasn't on view to every other customer and everyone passing on the street, but he made no move to do that for Kal. Marcus dropped into the tailor's chair and picked up the newspaper, giving Kal an expectant look, like stripping nude anywhere but the bathhouse was completely routine.
Kal kept his face perfectly blank as he stripped down, tunic off first and new tunic and coat on, then trousers, to maintain what tiny shred of privacy he had with Marcus watching him and everyone and their uncle passing the big front window. Kal hadn't even known that he'd be getting fit too, since all his clothes still fit and nothing had holes, but Marcus liked that sort of nonsense, like it mattered whether Kal was wearing whatever color was fashionable that season or whether Kal's coat complimented Marcus' waistcoat.
When Kal was dressed, the tailor walked around him once with a critical eye, then made him stand on a box and walked around him again. Marcus read his paper, unconcerned.
"Do you prefer dressed to the left or the right?" the tailor asked, cupping Kal's cock. Kal took a sharp breath, not sure what that even meant.
"Right is fine," Marcus answered without looking up from his paper, before Kal could answer.
Of course. The tailor hadn't even been looking at Kal when he asked.
The tailor made a little chalk mark on the trousers, to one side of Kal's cock, hard enough to jolt the piercing. He tapped Kal's thigh to turn, continuing to make more marks across Kal's ass and thighs while Marcus read the reviews section. Kal kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the ceiling, letting himself be turned and posed and marked like he'd done at the whorehouse. He didn't need to be there for the tailor anymore than he had for a client. Marcus didn't even watch until Kal was stripped again to put his own clothes back on.
"We'll have that ready for you in a few weeks, sieur," the tailor said to Marcus as Kal finished dressing. Marcus gave Kal one last up and down look before settling up the account with the tailor; delivery for this, another appointment to have an embroidered waistcoat fit, once the embroidery was finished. The tailor's helot loaded Kal up with neatly tied paper packages of gloves and stockings and other nonsense Marcus had ordered; Marcus owned more clothes by himself than an entire whorehouse.
"That dove grey will look good on you," Marcus said, bumping Kal with his elbow as they left the shop, making Kal almost drop his stupid expensive packets of gloves.
Packets of gloves put away in the carriage, the driver took them back to the townhouse. Kal sat on the floor so Marcus could idly play with his hair, messing it all out of place and jolting Kal's spine every time the driver went over cobbles too fast. Marcus didn't make a move when they arrived home except to pull Kal up onto the seat with him, so Kal did nothing but stare out the window blank and annoyed; he'd been hoping to finish painting a panel that afternoon with Marcus out of the way, but Marcus' errands sometimes took all afternoon and evening, and it wasn't as though he ever bothered to tell Kal what he was being dragged along for, because why would he.
The grand front door of the townhouse burst open, trading one annoyance for another. "Uncle Marcus!" Titus said, racing down the front steps with his dour tutor Petronius at his heels.
Titus, eleven or twelve and the gangly, spitting image of Marcus, climbed up into the carriage without waiting for the driver to properly open the door for him. He all but landed in Marcus' lap for an enthusiastic hug, too many knees and elbows like he didn't know yet where to put them all. Petro sat on the bench across from Kal, giving him just the barest hint of a smile, not so dour as Culsans at the estate or Bruno.
"How are your lessons?" Marcus asked once Titus was settled on the bench across from him. Titus was all but vibrating with excitement as the carriage started rolling along again. Kal couldn't remember ever being that excited about anything at that age; maybe when he and the other laundry boys had been given some candies by a gladiator after sneaking into a fight, which felt a very long time ago. The gladiator must have only been as old as Kal was now, Kal thought with a jolt, nineteen or twenty at most. Kal wondered how many more fights he'd lived through after that.
"Fine," Titus sighed dramatically. "I don't want to go to finishing school. Stupid old Petro already makes me practice my pretty letters and dancing, I don't need more of that nonsense. I want to ride horses and go fishing like Sosia."
"Apologize to Petronius, please," Marcus said mildly as the carriage jounced them all along.
"What for?" Titus demanded.
Marcus frowned, his disappointed but not angry look that still turned Kal's belly ice cold even when it wasn't aimed at him. Petro caught Kal's look and just tilted his head a bit with eyebrows raised, like this was all a joke. "Petronius does what your mother and I ask him to," Marcus said, oblivious to what passed between Kal and Petro, "don't abuse him for doing what he's told. Apologize."
"No," Titus said mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's just a helot, I don't need to apologize."
Marcus rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. "Back to the house," he called up to the driver.
"Uncle Marcus, you promised–!" Titus started, outraged as the carriage trundled around a curve and began to turn around.
"I promised to take you to the club for lunch because Petronius said you'd been doing well in your lessons," Marcus said. "But clearly you're not ready to be out of the nursery."
"Your friend Julius slapped his boy at Saturnalia," Titus said sulkily.
"Is Julius your uncle?" Marcus said evenly. Julius could use a good sharp lecture himself, Kal thought. When Titus stayed silent, Marcus said, "Have you ever seen your uncle Lucius slap Florian? Or your mother slap Mayke?"
"No," Titus said sulkily.
"Kallius, have I ever slapped you?" Marcus said without looking at Kal.
"No, master," Kal said promptly, even if he was thinking about the humiliation of that morning at the tailor's. Titus cut Kal a guilty look, shockingly like Marcus even if Kal couldn't recall ever seeing Marcus look so petulantly guilty.
"Titus, have you ever kicked a dog?" Marcus said, and Kal's face suddenly burned at the comparison; Petro's expression stayed perfectly blank, eyes on the ceiling of the carriage just above Kal's head like he was reading something fascinating there.
"No!" Titus protested.
"So don't abuse your helot," Marcus said, sharp, "especially not for doing a task he was set, which is to make a marriageable gentleman out of you whether you like it or not. You're responsible to your people just as much as they're responsible to you."
Titus scowled out the window of the carriage, arms still crossed over his chest. Petro gave Kal a look, expression still carefully blank except for the shadow of a smile. "I'm sorry, Petronius," Titus said finally. "I shouldn't have said that for doing your job."
"Thank you, master," Petro said, mostly to Marcus, but with a small incline of his head to Titus.
"Shall we go to lunch at the club after all, then?" Marcus said, rapping on the roof of the carriage again.
"Uncle, you said–"
"Master Titus has been working very hard, master," Petro said. He gave Kal a conspiratorial wink as Marcus told the driver to turn around.
Titus, both mollified and chastened, dutifully answered Marcus' questions for the rest of the carriage ride about his dancing, piano, etiquette, and poetry lessons. Kal listened with only half an ear and wondered if Marcus had been so petulant at that age; Kal had had his ears boxed enough by eleven to know better than to talk back to anyone like that. He supposed Marcus had been improved a bit by age.
When the carriage deposited them at Marcus' club, Marcus gave Kal a long-suffering look like Titus was also Kal's problem. "I think I had that exact same lecture from my uncle when I was twelve," Marcus said to Kal as they mounted the steps of the club, Titus and Petro at their heels. "Am I old now?"
"No, master," Kal said dutifully, opening the door of the club for Marcus and Titus. At twenty-four, Marcus sometimes seemed much younger and much older to Kal.
Marcus' club was a bloated, expensive old thing, somewhere for men whose wives and mothers had too much money to show off how idle and venial they were. Dark, polished stone and thick carpets covered everything, tall ceilings swallowing up the sound of rich idiots like Marcus helloing and gossiping and flirting. Kal liked the club, mostly, when he could get away from Marcus and sneak drinks and dice and gossip below stairs; upstairs was just endless hours of Marcus showing off Kal's idleness and playing cards himself.
Kal followed Marcus back to the main members' dining room, grand windows overlooking the courtyard garden where Marcus liked to brood when he was feeling particularly petulant about his sisters. Today, though, Marcus' uncle waited at a table before the windows, one of the best tables in the big, crowded dining room.
"Uncle Cornelius!" Titus said, racing up to Marcus' uncle, Titus' great uncle for a hug like he'd done Marcus. Titus caught up short when Cornelius held out his hand, pretending not to smile. Aurelius stood behind Cornelius, hand on the back of his chair and looking dour as ever even if his ear was newly healed where it had been clipped where his earrings had used to be. He wore a coat like Marcus or Cornelius', more richly embellished and heavily tailored than the narrow, plain coats Kal and Petro wore, but he had no cravat, to show the absence of a collar. Kal looked him up and down from the corner of his eye and wondered if he'd be happy to have his ear clipped just to stand behind Marcus' chair when they were old.
"Young man," Cornelius said, taking Titus' hand in his for a brisk, businesslike shake.
"Uncle," Titus said, very serious even as Cornelius broke the facade and gave Marcus a beaming smile over the boy's shoulder. "Uncle Aurelius," Titus said.
Aurelius' cheeks pinked, just a little, even if Cornelius waved the boy into a chair as Aurelius, Kal, and Petro stayed standing. Marcus dropped into a chair next to his uncle, all louche unconcern that Bruno would hate. Kal settled himself at Marcus' feet and Petro took up his decorous station standing behind Titus' chair. "Not so bad, huh?" Marcus said to his uncle, waving at one of the club helots to bring drinks. Kal could all but feel Aurelius' sour look on the top of his head. "Our young man is halfway to a gentleman."
"Well, when you're the point of comparison, the only direction for the boy to go is up," Cornelius said, patting Marcus' hand fondly. The server poured a little half glass of wine for Titus, and Marcus reached over to top it up with water. "Aurelius," Cornelius said, "be a dear and go fetch a deck of cards, then you can take your lunch in the kitchen if you like."
"Yes, m–Cornelius," Aurelius said, still deferential as he'd ever been, stumbling on calling Cornelius by his name. Kal wasn't sure he'd ever be able to call Marcus by his name, even if he'd had his ear clipped for ten years.
"Did aunt Helena write back about what I asked?" Marcus asked, leaning towards his uncle anxiously as Aurelius went to fetch the cards.
Cornelius glanced uncomfortably at Aurelius bringing the deck of cards back. Titus, oblivious to the little drama, drank too much of his watered wine. "I told you not to get your hopes up," Cornelius started.
Marcus sighed heavily and sat back again. He flicked a hand to dismiss Kal and Petro away to follow Aurelius to the kitchens. "I thought if she'd signed for Aurelius–"
Whatever else Marcus was going to complain about was lost as Kal followed Aurelius and Petro out through one of the service doors to the kitchen below stairs.
"You put the brat up to that, didn't you," Aurelius said to Petro sourly as they descended the steps.
"I did not, he's a good boy," Petro said mildly. "He's very fond of you for some reason." Because Aurelius couldn't say no to playing checkers with them at Saturnalia when all their uncles and aunts were giddily drunk, Kal thought, and then had the sudden image of himself playing nursemaid to Titus' children some years in the future, not sure how he felt about that. Aurelius gave Petro a half-grimace, half-smile as they rounded the corner from the stairs to the noisy kitchen, hot and crowded.
"As long as he turns out better than Marcus," Aurelius said, and then flicked a hand at Kal to go fetch the food. Petro having never been to the club before and Aurelius nominally free, Kal got to trot after the both of them like he was Aurelius' boy and not Marcus'. At least it saved Kal from having to defend Marcus, who mostly he thought had turned out fine. For a rich idiot. Small humiliations aside.
Kal snagged one of the jugs of cheap, stale beer, a handful of disposable clay cups, and a plate of stuffed rolls as Petro followed Aurelius to the below stairs dining room. With no windows the whole place echoed and sweated with too many warm bodies, and Kal had to elbow his way through to Aurelius and Petro. Kal scanned the room for anyone else he knew, so he could excuse himself from Aurelius and his sourness as soon as possible.
"How has housekeeping been, uncle?" Kal asked politely, pouring for Aurelius, then Petro, and then himself last. Aurelius watched him closely, looking for something to criticize.
"You're a smart boy, what do you think?" Aurelius said sharply when Kal had finished pouring without spilling a drop from the big cheap jug. "That sniveling idiot Florian is getting sold next week," Aurelius said as Kal sat.
"Too bad," Petro said, taking a drink of his weak beer. The last time Kal had seen Florian was at the club, flirting outrageously in every direction trying to get his master Lucius to pay any attention to him. Aurelius had taken him by the ear and lectured him until he'd nearly cried.
Kal frowned at the table and picked at his roll. Aurelius reached across the table to pat Kal's hand awkwardly. "Marcus won't do that to you," he said. "You're a good boy, you don't embarrass him."
"Yes, uncle," Kal said dutifully. Kal wondered sometimes if Marcus felt this way about his uncle Cornelius, unhelpful advice he didn't want to make him a marriageable gentleman whether he liked it or not. Kal liked Aurelius even less when he was trying to be nice, and didn't like the thought of himself sitting across the table from some boy of Titus' in ten years or so. Kal hated to even think about Aurelius sometimes, so clearly unhappy with Cornelius and himself and the world. Not a marriage, but the best to be hoped for in their situation, whether they liked it or not. At least Petro would always be able to teach no matter how old he got; no one cared about old whores.
Kal finished his food and excused himself to the cramped little courtyard where the kitchen received deliveries. He waved hello to some of the helots owned by the club, too busy with the lunch rush to play dice. Kal should have left well enough alone, some boys he knew playing dice in the corner, but Caius' boy sat smoking by himself and gave Kal a look when he came out.
"You're Leander ad Caius Valeriae," Kal said, reading the name on his collar as he dropped onto the bench next to Caius' boy. Kal had a more expensive collar; it didn't really mean Marcus liked him better than Caius liked Leander.
"Kallius ad Marcus Hortensiae," Leander said, formal, reading Kal's name off his collar like Kal had done to him. He watched Kal warily as Kal took out a cigarette, but offered to light it for him politely. Leander looked a little too like Marcus for it to be an accident, broad guileless face and dark hair. Kal decided he didn't like Caius much.
"So did they fuck or not?" Kal asked once his smoke was lit, deciding to just put it on the table.
Leander barked a laugh, caught by surprise. "A long time ago, I think, but not long enough ago, I guess," he said with a smile, all the tension gone out of him like it was a relief to confess. Foolish and too open like Marcus too; Kal decided he liked Leander.
"They are awfully stupid about it," Kal said, flicking ash on the cobbles.
Leander tipped towards him, glancing around them like he was telling a secret. "Caius got a new tailor just to avoid Marcus. He's still annoyed about it."
"Marcus just moons about him," Kal said. "You don't think they'll fuck again, do you?" Marcus mooned enough that Kal worried sometimes that he'd jump into bed if Caius ever gave him the time of day again. Marcus wouldn't ever need Kal to housekeep for him when they were as old as Cornelius and Aurelius if he was sleeping with some other citizen.
Leander glanced up, towards the dining room, like checking if Caius was listening. "Maybe they would have, but Caius is getting married next spring."
"Oh," Kal said, thinking of Florian. "I'm sorry."
Leander shrugged. Not much he could do or even think about it. He let Kal tug him over to the game of dice in the corner, as good a way as any to spend a few hours at the club while Marcus played dice above stairs. Cigarette stakes and penny antes and stale beer with Leander leaning against him wasn't such a bad way to spend the afternoon, the tailor and Aurelius and Marcus forgotten for a bit.
Dice in the courtyard was a good way to catch up with gossip; whose master embarrassed himself at the theater, which housekeeper was fucking the delivery drivers, which of the bathhouse attendants had pearls to sell. Leander pretended nonchalance telling the details of Caius' upcoming engagement party, but he turned the conversation to Aurelius and his clipped ear as soon as he could.
"He's terrifying," Dimos, one of the other boys said. "I don't know how you can bear it."
"Well, he likes Kal," Nicon, another one said. "My master's uncle's helot is like that, never had a nephew of his own."
"Is he nice to you?" Leander asked Kal.
"Your master's looking for you," one of the club helots said to Kal before he could answer that, juggling a tray for the dinner service as he went by. The sun had slanted down behind the bulk of the building towards evening, late before they'd noticed the time. "He's not happy. Yours too," he said to Leander.
Kal and Leander shared a look as they scooped up their few pennies each and started to hurry back above stairs. Petro and Aurelius were both long gone from the below stairs kitchen.
Neither Marcus nor Caius were up in the dining room where they'd left them. Kal's least favorite part of the club was jogging in and out of every little parlor and sitting room looking for Marcus when he decided to play cards or gossip; he didn't have the decency to have a favorite spot, especially when he was meeting Cornelius.
In the little side parlor where Kal finally found him, Marcus caught Kal coming in with Leander at his heels, and Marcus' look immediately went from annoyed to seriously displeased. Across the room, Caius frowned at Leander. Kal did his best to not look surly as he went to kneel at Marcus' feet. Aurelius, decorously perched on a chair on account of his age, frowned at Kal from where he sat just behind Cornelius clearly not included in the conversation or the card game.
"I didn't bring you to flirt below stairs all night," Marcus snapped at Kal before he'd even settled. "You stink like an ashtray."
Kal didn't say anything to that, surly and annoyed. Marcus could use a lecture from his own uncle, Kal thought.
"Your father says you haven't written him back in a few months," Cornelius said, going on with the conversation like nothing had happened.
Marcus shifted in his chair the way he did when he wanted to avoid something and knew he wasn't going to get out of it. At least it got his attention off Kal. "He only ever writes about his flowers and compost and bees and whatnot, I haven't got anything to write back about that."
"Papa's roses won the neighborhood association competition this year," Titus said proudly.
"Well, there you are, perhaps Publius should write to his father-in-law sometime," Marcus said brightly.
"Marcus," Cornelius said, chiding. "You should write to your father. Even better, ask your mother if you can go visit."
"Yes, uncle," Marcus sighed. Across the room, Leander exchanged a look with Kal as Aurelius frowned at the both of them. It was going to be a long night.
Kal poured Marcus into the carriage sometime late that night after supper and too many drinks, well after Cornelius took Titus and Petro home at a decent hour.
"Rough night," the carriage driver said after Kal helped Marcus up into the carriage.
"He's fine," Kal said, starting up the step after Marcus.
"Didn't mean for him," the driver said, closing the door after Kal.
Marcus dozed on the carriage ride home, oblivious to Kal on the bench across from him, frowning at him in the dark. He hadn't dozed the night he'd bought Kal, cheerfully bright about how pretty Kal was. Nervous, Kal thought now that he knew Marcus better, but at the time he'd been terrified that the new master would sober up and think Kal wasn't as pretty in daylight.
When the driver deposited them at home, Kal walked Marcus through the dark townhouse the way they'd done the first night, when Kal had startled at every creak of the stairs trying to figure out what to do with the drunk new master in a strange house. Marcus could have been anyone then, as bad as Julius or worse.
Kal dumped Marcus into bed unceremoniously, waking Marcus up just enough to sit up and interfere with getting him undressed. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed and petted Kal's hair as he knelt to get Marcus' shoes off him.
"Do you ever want to run off and forget all–" Marcus waved a hand vaguely, at everything, "this?"
Kal kept his head down and his thoughts blank and focused on undoing Marcus' shoes. Marcus was too drunk for it to be a trap, and Marcus wouldn't be so spiteful anyway. "No master, of course not, master," Kal said, stupid and obsequious as he undid the laces of one shoe. If Marcus wanted to ask stupid questions, he could get stupid answers.
"Hmm," Marcus said, petting Kal's hair clumsily as Kal got one of his shoes off. Maybe Kal could suck his cock and shut him up that way, if Marcus wasn't too drunk to get it up. "Don't you think it would be nice to go off somewhere, just the two of us?"
"Yes, master, of course, master," Kal said, finishing the other shoe. Marcus probably wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning; Kal wished he didn't have to.
"You're just humoring me," Marcus said as Kal rose up on his knees and started on the buttons of Marcus' waistcoat.
"Yes, master. You're very drunk." Kal would have liked to have been.
"Hmm," Marcus said. He stroked Kal's face as Kal got his waistcoat off him. "You're very pretty," Marcus said while Kal stood and got his shirt off him. "You should come to bed and kiss me."
"Yes, master, in a moment." He helped Marcus shuffle off his trousers and Marcus lay back to watch Kal help him off with his stockings.
"I'm annoying you," Marcus said to the ceiling as Kal gathered up all his clothes from the floor to throw on a chair.
"No, master," Kal sighed, coming back to sit on the bed beside him, tired of dealing with this mood Marcus was in. He'd been fine at the tailor's.
"I know you don't like me very much, it's fine," Marcus said, eyes closed.
Kal froze. That was a trap, especially with Marcus so drunk. "I like you very much, master," Kal said carefully. He did like Marcus, mostly, when he wasn't being cranky with Kal for no reason.
"You're just a helot, you have to say that," Marcus said with half a smile and his eyes still closed. "And you only say master so much when you're annoyed with me."
Kal made a face, annoyed that Marcus knew that. "Yes, master," Kal said, all the more spiteful because he was annoyed.
Marcus hmmed again at that, eyes still closed. "Do you think Aurelius is happy? You talk to him," Marcus said, half asleep. "He doesn't seem happy."
"I don't know, master," Kal said carefully. Aurelius didn't seem like he'd ever be happy with anything, but that didn't mean Kal wanted anything to travel back to Marcus' uncle.
"Cornelius seems happy," Marcus said vaguely.
Kal had nothing to say to that, so he said nothing. Cornelius did seem happy. It didn't really matter how Aurelius felt about it.
Marcus said nothing for long enough that Kal thought he must have fallen asleep, and started to undress to join him in bed. Marcus stirred sleepily when Kal lay down on his side of the bed. Without the lamps lit, it was hard to tell whether Marcus was still awake or not.
Marcus groped for Kal's hand in their big bed. "Kallius, do you know–" Marcus said, and Kal braced for–he wasn't sure what. A love confession, like Lucius had done to Florian before selling him. Marcus' fingers laced in Kal's and the moment stretched out, Kal on edge listening to their breathing. "I do try to do my best by you. You mean a very great deal to me," Marcus said finally, and Kal felt like he could breathe.
"Yes, master," Kal said in the dark, but Marcus had actually fallen asleep this time, breathing slow and even as Kal untangled his hand from Marcus'.
"Fuck," Marcus said when he woke up, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. Kal, in the study at his desk with one knee pulled up as he sketched, stopped what he was in the middle of to fetch Marcus his dressing gown. Marcus rolled to his feet unsteadily and let Kal help him into it before stumbling over to the breakfast table.
"I had too much to drink last night," Marcus said, slouched far down in his chair. He eyed the tray Bruno had left skeptically; Kal had already eaten the sweet rolls, the sausages, and the dried fruit.
"Yes," Kal said, pouring his coffee. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't made Marcus drink water, but not very.
"Did I say anything stupid?"
Kal paused on that too long, long enough for Marcus to pick up his head and squint at him. "Not–more than usual, master," Kal said. He'd never been a good liar. Kal kept his face carefully blank and poured his own coffee.
"Well, I meant the parts about running off and kissing you, but I don't remember most of the rest of it," Marcus said as Kal knelt at his feet. Marcus put his head back down on the back of the chair. Kal pretended to stir cream into his coffee even though Marcus had his eyes closed. So Marcus remembered basically everything, but wanted Kal to say something.
Kal considered his coffee, looking for something safe to say. After so long, Kal felt sure Marcus was too guileless to trap him into something, and something so obvious, but he'd be jealous and unbearable if he thought Kal actually wanted to run off. He was unbearable enough when he thought Kal was only talking to Caius' boy.
"Where would you go if you ran off?" Kal said finally. "Master." Because he was annoyed with the conversation and Marcus might as well know that.
Marcus hmmed, head still tilted back against the chair with his eyes closed. "Somewhere east, where they've got bigger theaters and nice cafes," he said, groping for Kal's hair.
"Like Abritus?" Kal asked carefully. It was one of the cities he saw in the paper often, and seemed important from how everyone argued over which side of the border it should be on. Kal thought maybe if he ever got the courage to run away he might go there.
"Abritus?" Marcus said in disbelief, picking up his head just enough to laugh at Kal. "That's just a little armpit with a couple of silver mines, did someone at the brothel come from there?"
"Yes, master," Kal said dutifully. Better for Marcus to think he was stupid, still, after all this time.
Marcus laughed under his breath at that and pet Kal's hair. "Leucarnum is the capital over there, I think I'd run off there," Marcus said, drinking his coffee. "Lots of theaters and lovely public gardens. Octavia quite liked it when she visited our aunt and her wife, but she said it's too republican. No helots, though, I don't know how anyone gets laundry or anything done."
Kal drank his own coffee and didn't say anything to that. He thought probably someone could pay a free person to do laundry just as well as pay a free person to make their helots do laundry, but people like Marcus had helots so they could keep their money and still have the laundry done without paying anything at all. And anyway, it wasn't as though Marcus was actually going to run off anywhere.
"Maybe we'll visit sometime," Marcus said after a bit.
"What would we do?" Kal said carefully, treading a dangerous line between letting Marcus spin the pretty fantasy and sounding too interested.
"The papers say there's four big theaters and a dozen little ones," Marcus said, head tilted back against his chair with a smile and his eyes closed. "We could go to a different play every day of the week and still have some left over."
Kal leaned his head against Marcus' thigh and let him spin out a nice little story of where they'd go and what they'd visit. Tours of ruins and big scenic plazas, little cafes and a holiday to a white sand beach. Marcus played with Kal's hair as he talked, a pleasant distraction from whatever had gotten him in such a mood the night before and Kal's own brooding about ending up as narrow and unhappy as Aurelius.
The papers said that anyone who crossed the border into republican territories was free as a matter of law. Kal wondered if Marcus knew that, but thought it better not to ask. It was too pleasant a fantasy to ruin for the moment; they could pretend for a little bit that things might be different for them than they were for Cornelius and Aurelius.