Time ~ Autumn, 170 AD
Place ~ Baetica, Hispania, Roman
Spain
I saw him again today, the young
officer, home from far-off
Germania to recuperate from
wounds gotten there in service
of the Roman emperor. He didn't
see me - not that he would have
noticed me if I'd been in plain
view instead of peering from
behind the shelter of some broad
trees, stealing the sight of him
the way a thief steals gold from
a rich merchant's strongbox. It
pleased me to look at him this
way rather than to boldly walk
by where he lay on the cot in
the sun his servants had
arranged for him. If I had been
bold enough to do that, I'm not
sure he'd have even opened his
eyes at the sound of my boot
sole on the marble terrace.
He is so beautiful, this Decimus
Meridius. I had noticed him
years earlier, before he ever
rode off to become the soldier
and officer he is now. He had
been so beautiful as a youth
that even the men of the
surrounding area pined for him
like we girls did. Now that he
had his growth and had become a
man, his face with its neatly
trimmed black beard was even
more beautiful to my eyes. The
men into the Greek perversion
scoffed that he had once been as
comely as the most lovely girl
and that now his looks were
dimmed, as though somehow
damaged by the effects of his
maturity. They were welcome to
their disillusionment; it meant
less competition for him. Even
the young women found him too
fierce for their liking now that
he was scarred and obviously an
accomplished warrior. That left
only me, happily mooning over
him on a daily basis, knowing
he'd never look at me in the
same way. Despite that, I loved
him so well that I felt it must
be plainly written on my
forehead for all to see.
"Decimus Meridius," I murmured
now, "I love you. There will be
no other for me, ever."
Holding my words inside me,
wrapping them in swaddling bands
of dreams, tying them up with
wishes, I kept them to myself
and told no one. I found time
each day to seek him out and
spend some time just gazing upon
him, then I'd return to my life
as the daughter of a rich,
though not particularly glorious
household that counted itself
neighbors and friends of the
Meridii. If not so grand as the
Meridius family, we were, at
least, not so low as the common
folk thereabouts. Which
frustrated my mother, Susanna
Uwinta, to the point of
despairing that her elder
daughter would ever outgrow her
tomboy ways. "I will never find
a suitable match for her," she
would complain to my father.
"Leave her be," he'd say, my
darling Papa, intent on breeding
his horses, raising his fine
cattle and living off the
proceeds of both, as well as the
fine fruit and wheat his land
produced with virtually no work
other than the occasional
weed-pulling. The soil was as
rich and black as Decimus
Meridius' midnight hair, and the
proceeds from that soil were
banked in Emerita Augusta,
growing yearly. My dowry, I
knew, was a hefty number of
those bags of coins and boxes of
gold jewelry. I would never get
it, according to Mama. Not that
I wanted it. Unless. . .
Best not to dwell on that dream,
I told myself yet again. Decimus
Meridius would find no comely,
plump lass if he looked upon me.
I knew he favored the voluptuous
charms of the girls with more
traditional looks. He liked the
Spaniards, the black-haired
women with large breasts, tiny
waists, ample hips - Hispanic
Venuses, they were called.
Beautiful creatures, I thought,
if one liked being overwhelmed
by flesh and didn't mind tons of
black, coarse hair in curls,
ringlets, lovelocks or
what-have-you. I likened it to
my horse's tail, only less fine.
As for myself, I was as small as
a ten year-old, although that
made me lithe and quick when it
came to my second favorite
pastime - my horses. I had light
hair the color of the fresh
straw I bedded my horses' stalls
with - a kind of honey color
with strands of almost white in
it in the summer once the sun
got to it. I had brown eyes -
ordinary eyes, I said, though
darling Papa said they were the
color of amber wine with
sunlight shining through it. He
is blinded by love, Papa. I
think that is why I am so
attached to him and find Mama so
wearing. She is blinded by
nothing. She sees me as I am.
She compares me to my younger
sister, Claudia, and finds me
wanting next to Claudia's
taller, more rounded self.
Claudia is a slug, a tattle-tale
and a thorn in my side since
birth. I have as little to do
with her as possible.
I could hear my old nursemaid,
Luisa, calling me now, her
shrill voice echoing between the
stone out-buildings. I'd heard
that call since I was old enough
to first run away and find some
trouble or other to get into - I
would no doubt hear it until I
was as old as she is, because I
had no intention of changing
until I was too doddering and
feeble to mount a horse and run
off to seek some adventure away
from the conventional life Mama
wanted for me. "Joannaaaaaaa!"
it echoed on the cool autumn
wind, "my ladyyyyyyyyy, come now
please!" She was making her way
through the olive trees. I'd had
no idea she knew enough to
follow me even that far. Bother!
She was also beginning to sound
desperate. I sighed in
resignation and turned away from
my mooning over the sleeping
Decimus Meridius. I would have
to go home or Luisa would get
into difficulty for not finding
me. Worse, she would find me and
know I wasn't so much hunting
for trouble to get into as I was
standing in one place staring
right at it.
I
sighed again, and just as I rose
to my feet from where I'd been
sitting on a downed tree,
Decimus muttered something and
sat up. From where he sat, all
he had to do was look straight
across a narrow strip of grass
into the first line of oaks and
there I'd be, plain as day,
gaping down at him like the
rankest peasant. "Oh, no," I
whispered, and, as though he
heard me - though it was really
too far for a whisper to reach
his ears - his gaze inevitably
moved across the trees and found
me. "Damn and blast!" I said
aloud and poised to run. My
eyes, though, were locked to
his. His eyes - which I knew
were a changeable blue-green -
held my gaze and I stood
stock-still as though my boots
were glued to the ground.
"Decimus," I heard my longing
whisper and thought I sounded as
lovesick as any of the more
normal girls I often made fun of
over the objects of their
affections.
"Hello little one," I heard his
surprised greeting as he sat up,
holding onto his bandaged
middle, wincing a little against
the stretch of his knitting
wounds. He'd been almost dead,
they said, when the army finally
got him home to recover. I had
despaired and come every day,
hoping to catch some scrap of
news of him, glad beyond reason
the first time he'd been carried
outdoors to catch some sun and I
could see him getting better
every day. Now, he spoke to me
as if I were a child peering at
him through his own woods. "Come
out and talk to me," he coaxed,
one large hand lifted, fingers
beckoning.
If I only could! I thought, but
if I did, the little girl would
be revealed to be ordinary,
unremarkable me, and way too old
to be gallivanting around
dressed in boy's clothing, no
doubt dusty and grass-stained,
smelling of horse, hair a tangle
of yellow strands escaped from
their raggedy plait. Instead of
going to him as I so wanted to
do, I found the strength to turn
and flee, all the while hearing
his soft laughter and his
farewell call, "Come back,
little one - tell me who you
are, I'll play draughts with you
or tell you stories of far-off
Germania. . ."
Gods, if I dared! I'd have
willingly burnt to a cinder in
the light of those eyes.
Someday, I promised myself as I
mounted Arrow, my black mare,
and rode to find Luisa before
she got herself lost in the
woods. Someday I would take him
up on that offer.
If I ever got that brave.
Click on the button to go to
part two. . .
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