Theodorus Makes Plans for his Daughters

      It has been a long time since I posted the first chapter of Calli's Story (working title only). This is an historical fiction set in the 1st Century Roman Empire. Calli is a young Greek woman who's father announced in chapter one that he will marry off his three older daughters within two months. Here we get a better look into his character, and are introduced to the initial antagonist of the novel, Zeno.


    “Have a seat,” Theodorus waved toward the empty chair. He did not take his eyes from Zeno’s face as the younger man obeyed. He had the same dark hair and green eyes that still made his wife draw the attention of every man in the room. The family resemblance ended there.


    “Why have you called me here, Uncle?”

     Theodorus motioned to his slaves to bring the wine and fruit. He did not answer until he’d drained his first gobletful. “You are the son of my wife’s brother and as such I am employing your assistance.” The slave filled his goblet again as he bit into a peach. “My three elder daughters require husbands. I am too busy here on the estate to seek them out. You will find me eligible bachelors and I will make the final decisions.”

     Zeno shifted in his chair and took a gulp of wine. “How soon do you need them?”

    “In four weeks time, at the latest,” Theodorus answered, spitting peach juice across the platter of fruit. “I want all three of them married and out of my house within two months. I’ve pandered to them long enough. It is time they learned what a woman’s duty is – to make a good marriage and bring healthy sons into the world.”

      “Four weeks time won’t be long to negotiate the terms of a marriage, Uncle. What do I tell these prospective husbands when they ask about the dowry your daughters will bring?”

     Theodorus snorted and began to choke on his wine. “Tell them,” he paused to cough, “that they can take that up with me. You are not to speak of it.”

     Zeno nodded. “Very well.” He stood, and left the room without a backward glance.

     Theodorus threw his goblet to the floor. Young people had no respect anymore. He would be much better off when he was rid of his worthless daughters and using their new husbands to further spread his influence through the region.

     Both of the slaves hurried forward to clean up the spilled wine. Theodorus kicked the darker-skinned one in her ribs as she knelt at his feet, sending her sprawling. “Clean up this filth and do not let me see either of you for the rest of the day.”

     He stalked from the room and out into the olive grove. The rustle of wind in their branches whispered of money. He pulled a limb down and plucked an olive. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger to test the firmness, he walked between the rows. There would be a good crop this season. Dowries would not be difficult to supply for the three girls, but what he would get in return would be worth far more than a few barrels of olive oil.

     The soft sound of footfalls drew his attention upward. The sunlight glistened on Calliope’s pale hair. She crossed the balcony, unaware of his presence. Her full, rosy lips moved, but he could not make out what she was saying. Something dangled from her left hand and as she leaned over the railing Theodorus saw that it was a necklace. The gold pendant flashed as she lifted it up and drew her arm back. She flung her hand forward, but did not release the jewelry. He recognized the medallion carved with the likeness of Demeter that had been given to her at birth. Every child born to his family had been given one. All three of his sons were buried with theirs.

      Calliope turned and their eyes met. She had her mother’s delicate features but his light hair and blue eyes. In her face he saw what his first born son might have looked like had he lived. Theodorus would gain what he could from the fate the gods had dealt him. As quickly as she’d turned to face him his third daughter spun on her heels and rushed back inside. Soon he would not have to worry if she were happy, angry or sad. Her feminine irrationality would be her husband’s trouble and Theodorus would make certain to choose a man strong enough to tame her wildness.

     He tossed the olive to the dirt and smashed it beneath his sandal.

Beware the Ides of September

My best friend (who unfortunately lives in Kentucky right now) was here this past week. YAY! Her husband was trying out for the Oregon State Police, but was disqualified at the last minute because of a slight limp (due to a previous knee injury) that developed while he was running. Boo. It was disappointing because they really would like to move to the west coast. But we had fun while they were here.

The best part? We went to Powell's. Anyone who lives near the Portland, Oregon area knows about Powell's. It takes up an entire city block and is three (or is it four? I get so dazed in there) stories of books, glorious books! They have out of print, current, used and rare books. And the best part is that they have an entire wall of books on Ancient Rome. I found four that I think will really help lend a lot of detail to my novels. How sad is it that my heart leapt when I was looking through a book titled "Every Day Life in Ancient Rome" and saw a chapter that contained children's games? I thought, that would be something fantastic to include in the background of a scene.

I bare my nerdy soul to you because I know you will understand, my fellow writers. :) You have all felt that thrill of delight, though perhaps not over something so, well, nerdy. lol.

And as a final point, though this has nothing to do with writing. I am planning to go and try to audition for Wheel of Fortune on the 26th & 27th of this month. They pick people to audition by a random drawing, so no guarantee I will be chosen, but nothing ventured, nothing gained -right? I'll keep you updated.

Sporadic Inspiration

Well, while I was on break at work today I decided to do some reading in a new book I bought on gladiators - research for my Artemisia novel. But about halfway through the second page a scene flashed into my mind. I kept reading, not wanting to begin something I couldn't finish at that point, but this particular scene was very persistent. It actually took over my thoughts as I was reading and none of the words made sense. All I could see was Calliope and her father. That's right, my inspiration wasn't even for the novel about Artemisia but for the prequel about her mother!

Well, needless to say I started scribbling in my notebook - thank the Muses I had one there for taking notes!! :-D The scene is still unfinished, but it's coming along well. Calli isn't very pleased with her situation right now. She's being told by her father that she has to marry her boorish, disgusting and crude cousin so her father's estate will remain in the family when he dies.

I'm not sure how I'm going to handle working on these two novels simultaneously, but I'm giving it a try. Worst case scenario is that I put one on hold until finish the other. My only dilemma would be which one to finish first? The proper chronological order would dictate I finish the prequel first, but authors write series out of chronological order all the time. Well, best not to worry about it too much. I suppose if it comes to that, I'll have a good sense of which novel is flowing better for me and I'll just go with it.

Well, off to finish that scene.

Artemisia's First Battle & novel status update

Artemisia update - I have been working on adding new characters (Marius being my favorite so far) and the book is coming along nicely. But the largest development so far has been that I've finally decided on a time period. The book will be set during the reign of Titus (79 - 81 AD). This was a particularly interesting period in Roman history, given that Vesuvius erupted during 79 AD and Titus finished his father Vespasian's building projects - the most notable of these being the Colosseum in 80 AD. The Colosseum was opened with games lasting 100 days. This will be a perfect setting for the ending I have planned for my book.

Here is Artemisia's first battle in the arena. She's taken Apollo's place because he's become very ill and is too weak to fight.

The noise of the crowd ebbed and rose with curses and taunts. From the shadows of the tunnel, Artemisia could just make out the forms of four gladiators and two summa rudis in the arena. Two Thracians were pitted against two murmillos. The Thracians, their helmets graced by griffins, wielded bent sickle swords. Behind their square shields they attempted to flank their opponents. The sun reflected off the murmillos’ fish scale embossed helmets as they used their long, rectangular shields to deflect the Thracians’ blows. The summa rudis stayed out of the way, tending to their duty as referees and, if necessary, weapons suppliers.

Artemisia twirled the short sword in her hand, testing its weight. She was thankful that at least Apollo had been assigned to fight as a provocator. The chest plate of his armor hid her breasts, but the leather straps chaffed her back. She rolled her shoulders and laid a hand on her bare torso trying not to think about all that might go wrong.

It wasn’t going to be so bad. The matches were already decided before they began. Apollo was expected to win. Artemisia adjusted her helmet; the weight was already making her neck ache. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

The crowd roared into a steady chant. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Her attention snapped back to the fraction of the arena floor she could see. The murmillos had the Thracians backed against the wall. Gladiators didn’t fight to the death anymore. What were they doing demanding the death of valuable slaves?

An eerie silence fell over the arena.

She couldn’t see where the patron sat, but she knew they were awaiting his decision. A raucous cheer swelled until she couldn’t hear her own thoughts.
A few moments later the two murmillos limped away and several men scurried out onto the arena floor. The bodies of the Thracians were carried off toward the south where the trash wagons waited.

The calm she’d felt before evaporated. What would she do if the fight didn’t go as planned? The sword in her hand felt useless.

“You there, get your shield ready!” One of the guards pointed at her. “When that gate goes up you enter the arena. If you don’t,” he held up his spear with a smirk, “I’ll give you a bit of encouragement.”

Artemisia wiped the sweat from her palm and picked up her shield. The rattle of chains signaled that her time to fight was near. The gate rose before her and she could see her opponent stumbling out into the bright afternoon sun.

She stepped forward, shading her eyes from the sudden blinding light. Hoots and jeers followed her progress across the hot, blood-stained sand. Together, she and her opponent marched to stand before the canopied box seat where the patron of the games sat with his family and the senators he wished to impress.

As she’d waited in the wings Artemisia had still believed that their greeting to him was only tradition. Now as she looked at the man she would fight, a few inches shorter than herself but with much broader shoulders, she could no longer soothe her fear with that illusion.

She raised her sword. In unison with her opponent she intoned, “Hail sire, we who are about to die salute you.”

The patron, a young man with light hair, nodded to them and with a slice of his hand bid them to fight.

Artemisia leapt back just as her opponent swung his sword in a wide arc. She felt more confident, the attack was lacking in skill. She settled into the stance ‘Pollo had taught her in secret. She gripped her sword and shifted her shield to protect her torso. The other provocator stabbed at her with a grunt of effort, and she side-stepped the attack with ease. Letting her brother’s training erase her fear, she slipped into the familiar steps and attacks.

She blocked another swing and lashed out with her shield. It caught the man’s shoulder and connected with his face guard, knocking him backward. Instinct pressed her forward, sword raised, but her opponent was quick. The strike just missed his thigh as he rolled left.

Artemisia backed away, giving him time to rise. The crowd could turn on her in an instant if it felt she weren’t giving them the show they deserved. The chant of “kill, kill, kill” echoed in her thoughts as she circled to her right.

An uneven place in the sand caused her opponent to stumble slightly. Artemisia took the opening and thrust her sword forward. It met its mark in the man’s right shoulder. He howled and the crowd went wild as she drew first blood.

The crowd roared louder as she was forced to fend off a wild attack. His sword stirred the air beside her left cheek as she dodged right. It crashed into her shield as she made a quarter turn to gain better footing. The fierceness in his green eyes pinched her throat closed as they locked weapons.

“Don’t plan for this to end as you’ve been told, boy,” he growled. “The mob is out for blood today and I’ll be damned if you spill any more of mine.”

A worm of pain squirmed across her stomach as they separated their swords. Dribbles of warmth raced toward the short tunic skirt wrapped tightly around her hips. The cut wasn’t deep and the sting was already fading.

Artemisia twisted her left shoulder and caught him in the chin with the corner of her shield. The clack of his teeth against each other sounded like a hammer on an anvil. With her left foot she hooked his right ankle and tumbled him onto his back again.

He jumped up cursing her.

In a flurry of slashing, aimless blows he pressed her backward. Losing ground was the first step to defeat. Artemisia knew the prize for this fight had become worth far more than the two silver denarii promised. The true prize today would be her life.

She spun left and stabbed at his abdomen. Her sword sunk into the unarmored flesh of his right side just below his ribcage. Artemisia was completely unprepared for the sensation. Until now her battles had been for training only. The firm, yet soft, yielding of his muscle and fat to the sharpened blade knotted her stomach. She fought the strong urge to vomit as she wrenched it free.

Her opponent stumbled and fell, his chest heaving. He made a feeble attempt to rise and the crowd’s roar reached the apex of its crescendo. Artemisia backed away when she realized what they were chanting.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Her eyes involuntarily turned to where the young, fair-haired patron of the games sat. A golden laurel leaf pin sparkled upon the shoulder of his rich burgundy tunic. The canopy cast his face into shadow but his arms glowed ivory in the afternoon light. He raised his right hand.

It hovered.

His thumb thrust out from his fist and he jabbed it to his neck.

The mob’s frenzy rose even higher. Their chant dissolved into a cacophony of sound.
Artemisia looked down at the man lying upon the ground. Crimson leaked from the wound in his side. The wound she’d given him. She lifted her sword. Death was what the patron demanded for him. Death at her hand.

She began her downward strike but at the last moment threw her weapon aside. She tossed her shield down beside it. The crowd shouted profanity and jeers. Holding her head high, she kept her gaze fixed on the patron.

He stood and moved to the edge of his box. As he leaned upon the railing she saw the aquiline nose which curved over his thin lips for the first time. A hand raised to the sky was all it took to quiet the crowd. Within minutes the silence became more deafening than their shouting had been.

“Obey me slave,” he demanded. “I will not be defied. The crowd wishes to be entertained.”

Artemisia made her voice sound as much like her twin’s as she could. “That is the old way. I will not put a good fighter to death.”

She waited, willing her knees not to tremble. What was she doing? This would certainly mean her death instead. The patron stared, eyes openly filled with shock.

Then a shout came from the crowd. “Mercy!”

“Hail the merciful gladiator!”

“Show mercy, my lord!”

The sentiment was echoed again and again until the mob had changed its wishes entirely. The Romans were fickle, she had been told, and now Artemisia was seeing it for herself.

The patron’s mouth turned up in a resigned smirk. Again his raised hand silenced them. “Very well, gladiator, mercy is granted to your opponent this day. But I would see the face of the man who dares defy my command.”

Artemisia did not move. She could not move. To reveal her face would be her destruction. “I beg of you, my lord, to allow me to keep my face unknown. I do not wish for fame.”

“You defied me once, do not do it again. Reveal yourself, gladiator.”

Artemisia’s hands resisted as she reached up and removed her helmet. The sight of her auburn hair cascading down her back brought cries of shock from the lips of the mob.

“How dare you make a mockery of my games woman!” The patron’s once pale cheeks now flushed with anger. “The punishment for this deception is death. Seize her and carry out the sentence immediately.”

An outcry spilled from the crowd as the summa rudis rushed forward and took hold of her arms. Shouts of sympathy.

“Spare her!”

“Show mercy to the merciful!”

Artemisia could not believe her ears. The mob was asking for her life to be spared. But the patron’s decree was just. It was the proper punishment for what she had done. Their words ceased to have meaning as she waited for the patron to silence them again.

His face wavered. He turned to his left and then to his right. The senators on either side of him had also taken up the mob’s cry.

The summa rudis tightened their grip, watching him with her.

An alabaster hand silenced the mob one final time.

“Release her. How can I execute the crowd’s new favorite? What is your name woman?”

“Artemisia, my lord.”

“Well, Artemisia. I believe you have failed in your goal to avoid fame. May your deed bring you all that you deserve.”

With that he dismissed her.

She took the back alleys home to avoid admirers and those who might wish to do her harm. When she arrived, she paused outside. How would she explain this all to Mana and Papa?

Artemisia - Prologue

This is my current pet project. My historical fiction which is set in Ancient Rome. I don't have a set year just now, but it will be after A.D. 50. This is the prologue, which seems to be out of fashion with a lot of agents, but I can always blend bits of it into the main text later if necessary. There are a still some parts I need to rework but I think it does a great job of giving you some background on Artemisia's character. So here it is. :)

Kneeling, Calliope wiped the sweat from her brow and plunged the rag into the filthy water once more. With a grunt of effort she bent forward and continued to scrub the tile floor. Her enormous belly made the task even more difficult than usual, and the heat of the July sun did not ease her discomfort.

A wave of pain ripped through her abdomen and Calliope’s arms gave way beneath her weight. She rolled onto her side, gritting her teeth as she waited for the pain to cease. When it did, she went back to scrubbing. The baby was coming but it would be some time yet, and if she left the task unfinished her lanista would be angry. Childbirth was a natural function and no excuse for a slave to abandon her work.

When the floor was spotless, Calliope waddled into the courtyard and tossed the dirty water onto the sandy earth. She doubled over, stumbled and fell as another contraction seized her.

“Calli!” Augusta rushed to her side. “The baby comes?”

Calli nodded, unable to speak. Augusta helped her up, and whispering encouragement led her toward home. Laurentus had made their dwelling comfortable during the years of their marriage. As his fame as a gladiator grew he’d been allowed to keep a larger portion of his winnings, and Calli was grateful that her child would be born into a household of plenty.

“Lie back, dear.” Augusta lifted Calli’s feet for her and helped her to lean back against the wall.

“I’ll fetch Herminia.”

Calli wanted to beg her to stay; the last thing she wanted now was to be alone. If she were still at home in Thebes her mother and sisters would have been by her side. She took a deep breath as the pain ebbed. This was not her first labor. The previous two had borne her only silent babes. But Herminia was a devotee of Venus, the Romans’ name for Aphrodite, goddess of motherhood. Her presence would surely bless this birth. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Soon she heard footsteps and opened her eyes to the sight of Augusta ushering in Herminia who carried a branch newly broken from a poplar, Venus’ tree. She placed it on Calli’s globular stomach and smiled.

“May Venus watch over us during this blessed time and bring to you a healthy babe with the strength of its father and the cunning of its mother.”

She leaned down and kissed Calli’s brow as another contraction contorted her face, forcing a primordial growl from her lips. A warm gush of liquid against her thighs warned her that the pain was about to get much worse. She said a silent prayer to Aphrodite, took the hand which Augusta offered and squeezed it with all her strength.

It was growing dark outside. Calli could hear snatches of distant conversation from the men waiting outside when she paused to catch her breath. Augusta wiped her face and throat with damp cloths and did her best to offer comfort. Herminia had tied the poplar branch in place over her stomach to ease the babe’s exit from her womb. It was not helping.

Calli screamed.

Herminia urged her to push.

At long last she heard the cries of her newborn babe and Augusta whispering in her ear, “It’s a girl, Calli. You have a lovely girl.”

As Herminia placed the tiny child in her arms another burst of pain wracked her exhausted body. But that could not be. The pain was supposed to stop once the child was born. Augusta whisked the child away with a worried frown. Laurentus appeared in the doorway a grin of relief upon his bearded face.

“Get him out of here,” Herminia barked over her shoulder. In a voice meant only for Calli she said, “There is another babe yet to bring into this world.”

In her muddled state Calli did not understand fully what she had heard. Another?

“Push,” Herminia ordered. “Oh merciful Venus, look over this woman in her distress.”

Calli only wondered for a moment if she’d been meant to hear the prayer as well and then obeyed. If pushing this second child out of her body was the only way to end the suffering, then she would find a way to do so.

******

“You may come in, Laurentus.”

He looked up from his seat upon the ground outside at Augusta’s pale, tired face and sprang to his feet.

“The babe? Calli?”

“Come and see for yourself,” she whispered and shuffled back inside.

His wife lay upon their bed, her beautiful, round face streaked with dirt. Her flaxen hair clung to her face in sweaty clumps. Her eyes were closed. She was so still, so peaceful. It was as if the hours of pained screams he’d heard had never happened at all.

A tiny movement drew his eyes away from her face to the bundle in the crook of her arm. It mewled like an animal and Laurentus reached down to push back its wrappings. A wrinkled, purple face blinked up at him.

“Say hello to your daughter,” Calli whispered without opening her eyes.

Relief poured through his veins, warmer and sweeter than the feeling which came with having drunk too much wine. He leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek.

“She will have to strive hard to match her mother’s beauty,” he murmured against her salty skin.
“And your son will have to work equally hard to be as dashing as his father.” She replied opening her eyes at last and hoisting a second bundle cradled in her other arm.

Laurentus dropped to his knees, with a mixture of elation and shock. A son and a daughter in one day? He would make certain to give Venus a proper sacrifice, for it was only through the goddess’ divine guidance that such a miracle could be possible. He had only time to kiss each of his babes on the tops of their heads before Herminia and Augusta hurried him out again so they could tend to Calli.

Eager eyes met him as he stepped into the fresh air once again. So great was his joy that Laurentus could only grin at them. Cassius spoke first.

“Well man, tell us the news. Have you a son or a daughter?”

Clamping a hand upon his old friend’s shoulder Laurentus shook his head in disbelief. “My dear Cassius, I have both.”

******

“Artemisia! Apollo!”

Putting her fingers to her lips, Artemisia implored her twin to keep silent. Their mother would punish her for it, but at seven the temptation to play games was far too great.

“Arrr-te-m-iii-sia! A-polll-o!”

She was closer. Apollo choked, trying to hold back his laughter. Artemisia cuffed him on the back of his head and scrunched her brows. He buried his face in both hands to further muffle the sound.

Footsteps approached their hiding place and stopped.

“Alright you two, come out of there.”

Artemisia pinched her lower lip between her teeth and stood. The bags of wheat reached only to her knees and without anything to cover them, they’d been easy to find. Apollo’s sweaty fingers intertwined with hers and squeezed.

“Mana, we’re sorry,” she whispered looking down at her dirty feet.

“Then hurry home so that you can help me finish the supper and chores,” she snapped, hands on her slender hips.

Artemisia scurried homeward, pulling Apollo behind her. Mana just missed her backside with a swift swat. Papa waited for them outside the hut door. His ruddy hair stood out in sweaty spikes from his hours of training in the yard. He ran his hand through it, making him look just as Artemisia imagined Jupiter himself did.

“So, where have you two been while your Mana was calling you?”

Her stomach felt like it was trying to leap out through her skin and she didn’t understand how her knees still had the strength to keep her from crumpling into the sand but Artemisia looked up at him. His eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black, smiled at her despite the frown on his face.

“We were only playing a game, Papa. We won’t do it again.”

“Hmm, best convince your Mana of that. She’s nearly here.”

Papa pointed behind them and in unison the twins turned to face her. Sunlight glinted off her beautiful golden hair, dancing along its curls. Artemisia wished she had curls as lovely as Mana’s. Her sky blue eyes snapped with irritation as she addressed Papa.

“Have they told you what they’ve been up to, Laurentus?”

“That they have.”

“Well, I’ve half a mind to switch the both of them until sitting would be a chore on its own.” She clamped a hand on first Artemisia’s shoulder and then Apollo’s and pushed them inside. “But I suppose this will have to do instead.”

Artemisia blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the cool dimness inside after the brilliant heat of the July afternoon. Familiar shadows dotted the hut. That black lump in the corner was the pallet she shared with her twin. The round blotch near the center of the room was Mana’s big cooking pot. Two strange shapes beside it drew her attention. They hadn’t been there before. At last she could see clearly.

The bundles were made of cloth. Mana handed the green one to Apollo and the deep blue one to her. “Happy birthday, my babies,” she whispered with tears shining in her eyes.

Artemisia cradled the bundle in her arms. It was heavy and tied with smooth, lavender ribbon instead of rough twine. She touched the luxury, feeling it slide effortlessly between her fingers. Apollo was already tearing at the cord binding his package. Not to be outdone by her younger brother, she pulled at the bow and gasped as it came open with ease. The cloth was a new tunic and the ribbon was meant to tie it at her waist. Nestled inside the tunic was a wooden sword, like the gladius Papa practiced with in the yard, but made just her size.

The new tunic forgotten, she took the weapon in her hand. It was solid and cool against her palm. She gave a tentative slash through the air. Seeing it, Apollo rose to challenge her.

“Stand up and defend yourself with honor,” he said, shuffling into a clumsy guard position.

“I will cut you down where you stand!” she shouted with glee.

“Not in here you won’t,” Mana warned. “Outside, both of you.” Then to Papa she said, “I knew those swords were a bad idea.”

As Artemisia rushed past him out the door she heard him chuckle. “They’re only children, my love; to them it’s only a game.”

“That’s what worries me.”

She heard no more of her parents’ conversation. The clack of her sword against Apollo’s drowned out all other sounds. When they’d worn themselves out, they went back inside where Mana had supper waiting. Barley porridge again.

After supper it was time for bed. Dawn would come early and she had to accompany Mana to The House. They would begin scrubbing the main hall’s floor tomorrow. It always took twice as long as the other rooms because the lanista, his family and guests tromped back and forth through it, heedless of the slave woman and her daughter who toiled at their feet.

But for tonight Artemisia was content. She fell asleep cradling her new sword. Her dreams were filled with battles in which she always emerged victorious.

******

One afternoon, not long after their birthday, Mana called Artemisia and Apollo to come and sit with her. With one twin snuggled beneath each arm she began.

“Have I told you the story about why I gave you your names?”

“Yes, Mana.” They intoned in unison. They’d heard the story so many times they both knew it by heart.

“I have?” She raised her delicate eyebrows in mock surprise. “But,” she whispered, suddenly secretive, “have I told you all of the story?”

“Yes, Mana.”

She grinned. “Are you sure?”

Artemisia felt her insides squirm. Was there really something new that Mana hadn’t told them before? A few moments passed in silence. She couldn’t tell what Apollo was thinking, but he seemed to be searching his memories just as she was.

“Please, tell us, Mana,” she begged at last, squeezing closer to her mother’s side. “Tell us all of the story.”

Mana kissed them each on the brow. “Alright, but you must promise not to interrupt, even if I tell you something you’ve heard before. It is all very important.”

“We won’t,” they answered together.

“The night you were born was very warm. Your Auntie Augusta was there and so was Herminia. They helped me bring you safely into the mortal world. But before that, you dwelt with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus, in Greece.”

“Mana,” Apollo whined, “you’ve told us this part before.”

Artemisia jabbed her elbow into his ribs, “Shh!”

Mana smiled and shook her head. “I thought you promised not to interrupt.”

Sorry, Mana.”

She gave Apollo a quick squeeze. “It’s alright, my treasure. Let’s see now, where was I? Oh of course, you were given to me by the gods as a blessing. It was only through their care that I was allowed to keep you both with me. Because you were born a girl,” here she kissed Artemisia on the nose, making her squirm and wipe the moistness away, “and you were born a boy,” she gave Apollo an identical kiss, “your names were already chosen. Zeus was blessed with his own twins –”

“I know! Let me tell this part, Mana! Please?” Artemisia couldn’t contain herself. This was her favorite part of the story.

“Very well, go ahead.”

“Um, Zeus’ twins are Artemis the moon goddess who never, ever got married and hunts with her friends and lots of big hounds.” She paused to glance at Mana who nodded encouragement.
"And Apollo the sun god who gives us warmth so crops can grow. Oh! And sometimes he helps his sister Athena in wars. Right?”

“Yes, Artemisia, you are right. But do you remember they were born of a mortal woman, just as you were? They were blessed with gifts and nothing could stand in their way. Let nothing stand in your ways either my babies. Your births were a miracle and your lives will be nothing short of extraordinary. Never doubt it. My heart knows that one day you will know more than the lives of slaves.”

“How do you know, Mana?”

“That is the part of the story I haven't told you yet, Artemisia.” She leaned down closer and whispered. “I know because the gods have told me in my dreams. When you are older, your names will be the most well-known in all of the Roman Empire.”

Artemisia gazed into her mother’s beautiful, solemn face and somehow she knew it would be so.

Artemisia - Laurentus is injured

This scene comes later in the novel. I'm not exactly sure where yet, but it's definitely in there somewhere.


“Calliope! Calliope!”

Artemisia paused in her chore of planting the jasmine shrub to see who shouted her mother’s name across the inner courtyard. Quintus raced into view a second later, his dark hair plastered down with sweat and dirt.

“Calliope!” he shrieked again.

The sheer panic on his young face was enough to make her stomach lurch. She dropped the spade and ran to him just as her mother emerged from the kitchen.

“What is it, Quintus?” Mana demanded. Then she saw the boy’s face and her body went rigid.

Artemisia started toward her, but stopped when Mana waved at her to stay where she stood.

“Quintus?” Mana’s voice was even, but empty.

“It’s Laurentus, ma’am. He’s been injured. They’re bringing him home now.”

Mana opened her mouth but no sound came out. The usual pink tint of her cheeks blanched to ashen gray. Artemisia rushed forward. Just before Mana was safely in her grasp, an odd gurgle escaped her lips and she collapsed.

Without hesitation, she scooped her mother from the ground and started for home.

Artemisia stumbled into the house and laid her mother on the chaise in the corner. Her limbs trembled from the effort of carrying her home. Still struggling for breath, Artemisia hurried to her parents’ room. Two slaves she didn’t know were laying Papa on the bed.

He did not look like her strong, jovial father. Blood stained his abdomen and flowed down his left leg. A large wound on his cheek also flowed freely. His deep brown eyes were closed.

“Is he –?”

One of the men laid a hand on her shoulder. “No, he’s alive. The doctor has been sent for.”

Artemisia could only manage a nod in return. The man she’d always believed to be invincible lay before her, unconscious and bloodied. She felt like she were in someone else’s body. What she was seeing could not possible be true.

Soon after, the doctor arrived. Mana was fully recovered after a sniff of his ammonia salts. Then he put them both to work as his aides.

“Boil water. Tear rags. Hold this candle. Not that high!”

The list of orders and demands seemed endless, but she obeyed him as fast as she could.
The wound was deep and Artemisia averted her eyes as the doctor threaded a needle with horse hair. She started to lose her grip on the candle and felt Mana’s warm, rough fingers close over hers.

“Go and fetch more water for the pot, darling.”

She nodded and stumbled from the room.

“How bad is it?” Mana asked.

“It is difficult to say . . . missed his lung . . . .”

Artemisia heard no more as she grabbed the water bucket and raced to the well.

Finally the doctor announced he had done all he could do. He gave Mana a bottle of acetum and instructions for how to use it to clean Father’s wounds. He told them to change the bandages after each application and left.

Artemisia stood in the bedroom doorway. Mana sat by Father’s side holding his hand. The candlelight sparkled on her unshed tears. It bounced from her angular cheekbones and left shadows beneath her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed Father’s lips.

“I knew this would happen,” she whispered, her voice choked. “What are we to do without –”

Artemisia left them then. It was time to make supper.

------------------

The fire crackled and snapped beneath the cooking pot. Artemisia was almost numb to its heat as she stirred the porridge. A hand squeezed her shoulder and she jerked her arm back from the pot so quickly she almost spilled it onto the floor.

“Sorry, Arti.” Apollo squatted beside her. “Didn’t you hear me say your name when I came in?”

She looked at him and shook her head. “No,” she whispered and concentrated on stirring the porridge again.

“How’s Father?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t awakened since they brought him home.”

“Mana?”

“By his side.” Artemisia looked at her twin again. “She’s very upset. Maybe you can sit with her until I’m finished here.”

He smiled, “Of course.”

As he started to rise, she grasped his hand. “How did this happen, ‘Pollo?” She felt the tears in her eyes.

He crouched and hugged her. “He’s going to be all right, Arti.”

She let herself sob into her brother’s shoulder. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The outcomes were already decided! Her father wasn’t supposed to die.

Apollo let her cry until she was finished and then went to see Mana and Father. Artemesia stirred the glop in the pot. While she’d allowed herself to be weak, the bottom had burned. It was going to take forever to clean up.