5. The Sabines

The Sabines

Rose

I don’t admit it to anyone, not even Daisy, but I sit near the window every day just in case someone comes to call.

Not someone, actually.

In case Augustus comes to call. He said he would, after all, and he knows my familia's name. I wouldn’t look for him, of course, but even if I considered it, I didn’t know his gens.

I hadn’t considered it, because that wouldn’t be proper.

But if I had…

I finish sweeping the disobedient floors, perpetually dusty despite the punishment they see in this domus. They don’t have to answer for their failures, instead waiting for me to make them shine.

“Stop looking for that boy,” Daisy calls from our shared room. “We need to prepare.”

I spare another glance out the window, but the street is empty. When I reach our room, Daisy has our dresses laid out. “What boy?”

“Rose.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m younger than you, but I’m not blind. He’s very handsome.”

I drop into the small desk chair that we share. “Too handsome for me, I suppose.”

“No,” Daisy says. “Maybe not handsome enough.” She taps her chin. “I do think he liked you. He kept looking at you after everything he said, like he wanted to see if you liked it.”

Daisy’s observant like that. Aware. She cuts to the heart of the matter. “Maybe, but I thought he’d call on me if he did.”

“It’s only been a few days. And you know how everyone gets around the festival.”

Daisy’s right. It had only been a few days, not even a full clipse. The Vinalia Prima is close enough to touch and Venus' spell is firmly closing around Divus. Between the fervor of spring blooms and the charged feeling of the air, it’s a surprise goods are still sold in the market and the Forum still meets. They won’t after today, not for a full clipse after the festivities end.

She grabs my hand and tugs me towards our bedroom. “Let’s change and leave before Pater returns. We’ll have fun, and maybe Augustus will be there,” she says. I don’t think she believes it, but the thought is enough to get my legs moving. I need a marriage, and if Augustus isn’t there I can’t wait for him forever. I only have eighteen days.

My stomach sinks but I hide it with a smile, the way I always do for Daisy. “You’re right. We’ll have fun.”

I keep my hair loose the way I’ve seen other women do, pinned up on the sides to show my face. Mater had done hers this way, too. I’m dressed in my long-sleeved tunic despite the heat and Daisy eyes my arms for a moment. She doesn’t ask why I wear so much cloth, and I’m glad for it.

It’s the unspoken agreement between us, that I can bear it as long as I can do so in silence. She used to ask if I was okay, when we lay on our small pallet together at night. I’d cry myself to sleep in her arms until eventually I stopped answering the question; after a time, she stopped asking.

Daisy is perfection. Her white blonde hair makes her eyes appear unnaturally blue beneath her long lashes. She wears white, and it gives her a divine aura, like she belongs in Vesta’s temple.

“Beautiful,” I say, kissing her cheek.

“ Idem to you,” she says, smiling. Same . “Let’s leave before it’s too late.”

But it already is.

His feet announce his arrival before I’ve opened our door. He’s stomping through the threshold, dirtying the floors I labored over all morning. I let out a breath, my hand still on the handle. Daisy freezes behind me.

“Let’s wait,” I say.

Daisy’s already shaking her head. “He won’t retire for hours without work tomorrow.”

Venus, she’s right. “Fine.” I take another breath and we quietly file down the hall.

He’s in the cabinets already, taking stock. I think we can slip out, both of us moving towards the door.

I’m wrong.

Glass shatters against the door, narrowly missing my head. My body jolts, but we don’t cry out, don’t scream.

He hates that.

Biting my lip, I turn towards him with Daisy mirroring the movement.

“Where in Jupiter’s stones are you going?” Pater asks.

We dip our heads and with my eyes on the floor I say, “The festival, Pater.”

“Finally admitting you’re a meretrix , is that it?” Prostitute . He stalks closer, the air chilling around Daisy and me, both of us wilting and shrinking beneath the frost.

“It’s the first day, Pater, we always attend the first day.” I regret it as soon as I’ve said it. We always attended with Mater, and she’s too dangerous to bring up with him.

“Look at me,” he says, hand snaking out to grip my upper arm. I hide my wince, meeting his eyes. So brown they’re almost black, they bore into me, judging. “Are you a whore?”

I shake my head. “No, Pater. I would never dishonor you.” I never know the right amount to say. Less is usually better, and silence is ideal. Responding to a question is different, though. Too short and he’ll take it as insolence, too long and it’s an excuse.

After all these years, I still haven’t learned the appropriate length, apparently. He yanks me closer, rough. “You already have. I can’t even give you away!”

Wincing, I look down again. I should have a dowry, but it’s long gone. Maybe Daisy’s is, too. A young, respectable man wouldn’t be given a wife; he’d be given a wife and a dowry. Without a dowry, of course Pater couldn’t give me away.

I swallow the frustration, knowing it’ll be worse if I say what’s on my mind.

Daisy isn’t as good at keeping quiet. “Pater, it’s hard without a dowry.” Her voice is thin and plaintive, as if sounding weak and young will protect her from his wrath. It didn’t work when we were children, and it certainly won’t now. His face turns red and he looks at her, then back to me.

Pater’s free hand wraps into my hair, ripping my head back. “I’m the one who should be given a dowry, for having to raise not just one but two of you.” He spits the words, and I know the part he doesn’t say. Alone. He’s had to raise us alone. Without a mater. He might have been a good pater, if she’d been here. Or perhaps if we’d been boys. Any pity I could feel for him evaporates when he continues. “Yes. Go ahead and make some friends at the festival. The Sabines are paying a pretty denarius for girls like you. And it’s about time you bring me something other than grief.”

He shoves me away, but Daisy catches me before I hit the floor and guides me through the door. My body isn’t my own, it’s limp and numb and confused.

He can’t mean it.

He wouldn’t sell me to the Sabines.

I don’t say anything as Daisy leads me through the streets, away from the man who holds my future in his hands.

“He wouldn’t sell me.” My voice pitches higher than usual, and Daisy doesn’t say anything. “He won’t,” I whisper, lips trembling.

My hands are cold in Daisy’s, pinpricks of numbness gathering at the tip of each finger, either from her hold or the way my blood rushes through my ears. Daisy is silent as I struggle to regain control, but when my breathing evens and my heart slows, she finally speaks.

“He’s not going to sell you.” The lie rolls off her tongue so easily that I almost believe it.

Almost.