7. Venus

Venus

Rose

Myrtle sprigs decorate every corner of the forum, along with barrels of wine and legumes. Divus is a living flower itself, each person brightly adorned in their most colorful tunics. Goats move around the square, nibbling from eager children’s hands, while women twirl in the middle of the forum on a wooden dance floor.

It’s just as I remember.

Despite what Pater says, everyone attends today. Men and women. Young and old.

Married and especially the unmarried.

We used to come with our mater, and she’d weave flowers in our braids and remind us of the steps to the maidendance, again. We forgot it each year, our young minds at once sieves and sponges.

We remember now. Daisy and I spin around each other, bowing and kissing the back of one another’s hands. Her skin is cool beneath my lips, the way my mater’s cheeks always were.

She’d spin us both for hours on the dance floor until Pater would call us back, tugging Mater into his lap. It had always been that way with her, smiles and laughter and love.

Or perhaps this was just one memory I’ve distorted and layered over years to make our life with her seem better than it is now. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Or forgetful.

They wove together, one happening in tandem with the other. It’s hard to be fond if you remember too much.

There is a strength to staying soft, of course. A demureness to choosing the good over the bad, to staying sweet. Daisy whirls me into a spin and releases me, following the steps to switch partners. Her hands move to grasp Ceres' and mine fall into a stranger’s.

She smiles at me, blonde hair and blue eyes, and she makes me think of who I could be. Her hair is completely loose, and she looks as if she’s dancing just for her. Then she smiles, and I think maybe she’s dancing for me, too.

I smile back and she winks, spinning me away from her as she switches partners. Daisy falls back in with me, and then the song ends. I spare one last look at the blonde woman as she disappears into the crowd, and hope some of her confidence has rubbed off on me.

Ceres follows us off the dance floor and she and Daisy soon have their heads bowed together, all whispers and smiles. Their faces tilted towards one another, as if they’re in their own dance, meeting upturned lips with twinkling eyes.

I head towards the refreshments. Long tables of drink— sapa , cut wine, posca, honey water, and goats milk—line the side of the forum in front of the basilica. There’s no water, since the fountain near the steps would make that redundant. I trail along the tables, debating the posca for a moment before I decide on the honey water. The metal cup is cool and I intend to find some shade to soak up the festival. I even mean to mingle, to talk to the single men who are likely here to find wives.

I want to look for Augustus.

Instead my feet carry me away, my mind turning over Pater’s words. The honey water turns bitter on my tongue. He will sell me, if the price is right and the barriers are low enough. That’s why I want to find my own husband, my own match. If I can choose it, it’ll be kinder. Softer.

Maybe it would even be sweet.

“Stay sweet,” my mater had bade me. How could I, with Pater’s bruises and threats marring every breath I took?

At first I wander aimlessly. Or perhaps I just refuse to admit where I’m going until I’m looking at it.

I bite the inside of my cheek, grounding myself.

It’s a small building compared to the temples, but large compared to a domus. The squat, flat roofed building is dark. Bars adorn each curtained window, and it’s silent this time of day. The building is at the edge of Divus, pushed to the corner of respectable society.

I shouldn’t be here, but I had to see.

The Sabines.

It’s not a brothel in the traditional way. The women don’t work here for coin. They’re owned by the domus. No freedom, no money, no familia.

Slaves.

The Sabines are a bedtime horror story. Don’t stay out too late, or you’ll be kidnapped for a sabine. Don’t disobey, or you’ll be sent to learn how good you have it.

Don’t turn twenty, or you’ll be sold for a denarius.

A shiver moves up my spine and I turn to leave, but the door bangs open. A tall man, fully cloaked, flees in my periphery and I hear shouts from the open door behind him.

“You have to pay for it; doesn’t matter how cold it is.”

Before I can take another step, a ruddy face and dark hair blur my vision as the man from the building grabs my arm. I try to back away, arm throbbing in his grip, and the honey water falls from my hand. The metal cup clatters to the cobblestones and the sound echoes through my bones as the man snarls, “Blessings on Venus. She takes some, she gives some.”