by Mira Zamin
* * *
Tents for the sponsalla had been assembled outside of the villa, close enough to the beach to allow for a stupendous view of the ocean when it slowly flushed rosy with the sunset. Excitedly, people chattered as they moved to the Circus Maximus, where, in honor of Calista’s engagement, Lucretius had sponsored chariot races, causing a great deal of good-natured uproar.
“Who is this lord who has come to marry Domina Lucretia Calista?” asked a matron. A few fine strands of silver running ran her meticulous knot of hair and her wide hips were draped in good, soft fabric. Judging from its quality, she was undoubtedly the wife of a wealthy man and smug in that too.
A group of wives had taken root near the forefront of the seats, sitting slightly behind their husbands, near enough to be at hand for their needs. With hooded eyes, they observed all: fellow women, young girls, men and, of course, the event about to commence.
“Talk says he is very wealthy and powerful in Rome,” replied another woman, whose dark hair shone like lacquered wood. She carried a babe in her arms, whom she handed off to the wet nurse behind her. “Here, take the child; walk her around,” she told the nurse absently. “However,” said the woman conspiratorially. “I have heard nothing of him from Ivmarus, and you know how my husband travels in all of the proper circles.”
The matron, Marcella, looked disinterested. “Well, whatever the case, Kosma, there is now one less man to marry our girls, and one less girl to take away their men.”
“It is a wonder anyone marries out here. There are so few good social events here so far from Rome,” Kosma said wistfully.
They nodded in agreement but someone, a younger woman, with a maid following her about said, “I was in Rome recently and heard some rather unsavory tales of a man who bore the name Avaritus.”
“Ooh!” squealed the lacquer-haired Kosma excitedly, but Marcella shushed her, adding, “Of course, names mean nothing, but gods know who might hear.”
The women were distracted, even from their gossipy chatter, by Calista’s entry. After all, it would be untoward for their voices to carry when the rest of the party had fallen into silence.