26. Insects

Insects

Rose

She looks at me like I’m a particularly disgusting insect. Like she might try to squash me if I get too close. I try not to squirm under Tristan’s mater’s scrutiny, but the giant emeralds around her neck glimmer wickedly and the gold bangles at her wrist clang with each sharp and demure movement.

Tristan is to my right, his pater is at the head of the table, and across from Tristan is his mater, Camilla. I assume Augustus would sit across from me if he was here, but I haven’t seen him. There is more room, the table so long I can hardly see the other end. I suppose this isn’t that sort of dinner.

I continue to meet the discerning eyes of Tristan’s mater. She’s golden like him, her hair like the aurei Tristan used to barter my life free from the man in front of the Sabines. It’s coiled and piled on top of her head, with just a few ringlets bursting free at her neck and temples, like she’s made her own crown.

“Mater,” Tristan finally says. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me?” He looks angry, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright.

“It’s not my place,” she says stiffly. That must be a yes. I look down at the small fist sized roasted hen on my plate. I’ve never eaten like this. Hens are a luxury. Fish and goat are what Daisy and I grew up on, and half the time we caught the fish ourselves. Well, I caught the fish, but Daisy strung the line with thread and hook.

“Yet, here you are,” Tristan’s pater says. He asked me to call him Pater, and I suppose he is now. He bought me, after all. “Unable to behave like a Divusian wife should.” Unlike Tristan, he doesn’t look angry. He looks bored.

She shoots me a look, as if it’s my fault that Pater would admonish her so publicly, but I haven't said a word. Besides, she should know better than to be so forward. It’s not appropriate to question Tristan and his pater, and a lady of her standing should know that.

Or perhaps, it’s because of her standing that she’s able to do that? The thought strikes me as odd. I know it’s not suitable. What should standing or wealth have to do with appropriateness?

Tristan had said his familia is different than mine. For the first time I wonder what he really meant. What it really looks like, to be part of this familia.

Tristan’s pater looks at me when he continues. “A Divusian woman is meant to obey.” He doesn’t ask, because it’s not a question, but I nod anyways. Heat floods my cheeks. Have I done something to upset him? Have I disobeyed without realizing it? “You are weak,” he says. “Soft.” He stands, coming around to stand behind his wife. “In need of strength and discipline.” He clasps his hands over her shoulders, dwarfing her. She doesn’t look so threatening now. She looks just as Pater says, weak and soft and so, so small.

His dark brown hair and blue eyes meet mine. “Divusian men must also obey.” My eyes widen, confusion unfurling. “We obey the gods by providing for our wives and our children. It’s give and take, yes?”

It feels like a test, a trap. I stare at Camilla and she stares back. I can’t read her expression though, it’s guarded, a virgin Vestal under lock and key.

When no one speaks, Pater goes on. “Marriage is not child-rearing. It’s not a domushold matter. It’s political. Communal.” He kisses Camilla on the top of the head. “It’s not a woman’s domain.”

How strange, to hear that my marriage is not a woman’s domain, not mine. I’m half of the equation, and Tristan said he loved me. Is love political?

Am I?

“Rose understands,” Tristan says. Lies.

His mater looks to Tristan, as if she senses the deception. She can see right through me, how over my head I am. “If she doesn’t, it’ll come back on you, Tristan.” She spits his name and it hits him in the face like a slap. I feel him flinch beside me, but when I turn to him he looks composed. Confident.

Just then, Augustus walks in. “Sorry I’m late,” he calls from the end of the hall. He sounds happy, if a little out of breath, but when he sees me he lets out a soft, “oh.”

“ Princeps ,” Camilla says. “Come sit.” I almost look around to see who has spoken. Camilla's voice is transformed, soft and kind. Little prince . A sweet name, usually given to the oldest son as a term of endearment, but Tristan is the elder. Shifting my eyes to Tristan, I see his jaw tighten, his shoulders stiffen.

Camilla has forgotten about the bug of a woman in front of her. She pats the seat beside her and Pater returns to the head of the table, everyone but Tristan seeming calmed by Augustus’ presence.

“Yes, come sit,” Pater says. “We were just discussing a woman’s place.”

“Right by your side?” Augustus says, kissing his mater’s cheek. She beams.

Tristan stands abruptly. “I think we’ll retire. Rose has a long day tomorrow.”

Augustus looks worried and I shoot him a small smile. I want him to know things went alright with his familia. Not as bad as it could have been, by far, but I don’t have a chance to even say goodbye as Tristan pulls me from the room without another word.