Isobel

by Chloe Garner

“Puppies heal almost as fast as little girls,” the woman said.

  “But they hit him,” Abigail whispered. “Why do they hit him?”

  “Why do they hit you?” the woman asked.

  “Because I’m a stranger,” Abigail said, using their word for themselves. The woman stood.

  “That’s no reason.”

  Abigail shrugged. It was a reason she’d come to accept.

  The adults from the camp appeared one by one from the trees, silent, waiting for Cassiona. Abigail’s mother arrived, standing tall, her arms crossed and the thin coins in her hair clinking.

  “We’ll take her,” Cassiona said.

  The dark woman stood to look at Abigail’s mother and the rest of the family.

  “Your people are welcome on my land. It’s the haunted forest back just that way,” she said.

  “What haunts it?” Abigail asked. The woman looked down at her, the corner of her mouth curling ever so slightly.

  “I do.”

  Abigail looked back at her mother with a grin. Cassiona was in queen mode.

  “We aren’t looking for offers of friendship,” she said, her voice stern. “We’ll stay here until we go.”

  “I know who and what you are,” the other woman answered. “I’ve seen your kind come through before, and I’ll see them again, I’m sure. But the villagers are narrow-minded people. They don’t trust what they don’t know, back at least three generations. Add in that your people sometimes walk away with more than anyone noticed, at first…” the woman paused, glancing at several of the men, then shrugged. If they can’t hold on to it, we will, Cassiona always said. Abigail commonly stole baked goods when the whim hit.

  “We aren’t looking for offers of friendship,” Cassiona said again, putting out a hand toward Abigail. Abigail went to stand with her mother.

  “You see to that dog,” the dark woman said, giving her a small smile. “He’s a loyal friend to you.”

  Abigail nodded, then Cassiona pulled her back toward the camp. One of the men found Titch and caught up to them, carrying him.

  “Why can’t we stay with her?” Abigail asked.

  “Because anyone who isn’t afraid of us, just a little, is someone we ought to be afraid of,” Cassiona said. “Why didn’t you run?”

  “They were hurting Titch,” Abigail said. Cassiona shook her head, then looked back at the miserable puppy.

  “Standing and fighting is for people who will win,” Cassiona said. “He needs to learn that, too, or he’s no place with us.”

  Abigail looked back over her shoulder, towards the dark woman, then twisted her mouth to the side, looked up at her mother, and nodded.

  Aemelia

  They told her Sicily was an island, but Aemelia thought it was big enough.

  They told her there was a great big world out there, with lots of people. People who looked strange and dressed strange and acted strange. She once wondered why no one told them how to act, but mostly they never crossed her mind. She was happy.

  The maids watched out for her, and the cook told her stories about the wars, and the men taught her how to make the dogs sit and fetch sacks stuffed with sand and covered in feathers. But no one could make her do anything.

  The upside of being an orphan, Isobel called it. No one but Isobel and Rafael held authority over her. Aemelia was expected to do certain household chores; she was training to take a job in a wealthy household someday.

  Sixteen, Isobel told her. At sixteen she was a woman, and she was expected to take care of herself.

  Sixteen was lifetimes away.

  It was up to her to put in the effort to learn the tasks associated with running a house, but she had years to do that. Now, she ran in the grain fields and played on the endless coasts. She didn’t like being far from the coast; she didn’t like being anywhere that she couldn’t smell the ocean. She’d spent her whole life on a tiny island between a barrier island and a harbor. Somewhere, if you shaded your eyes and used a generous portion of imagination, you could see Lilybaion, out at the point of the promontory. Everyone said you couldn’t see Lilybaion from here, but Aemelia could.

  She played in the ruins on the island, making friends out of nothing, and visiting them often. Some of the house staff said that the island was haunted, and refused to go out any more than they had to, but the farmers said that if the place was haunted, it was with friendly ghosts. The ground had lain fallow for many, many decades before Isobel and Rafael had come, and it gave good crops. They had endless sun and plenty of rain.

  The cook had a daughter, and the head stableman had a son, and a number of the young men and women working in the household had come from poor farming families, sent in hopes of making a better life for themselves working for Isobel. Some of them were runaways, others, refugees. The house was an awkward mix of Greek and Punic, but Isobel and Rafael spoke Greek, and so did everyone else. They made it work, on their little island on the end of the world.

  Aemelia had many friends and many confidants, but she was free like a wild animal. She had a bed in the staff quarters, but she slept where she liked.

  “She needs discipline,” she heard a woman complain once to Isobel.

  “The moment you create a haven for creatures such as her, you’re welcome to impose your rules,” Isobel had answered. Aemelia had stuck around for several more minutes, to see if they’d talk about her any more, but they didn’t, so she went outside to play.

  They didn’t have many visitors, but there were enough to keep the house exercised in hospitality. Other families would come to see Isobel and Rafael, sometimes brining offerings, sometimes payments. Aemelia wasn’t sure why they were different, but she could tell that they were. She didn’t speak the Punic tongue very well, but she made friends with the children that visited with their families, taking them out to see the ruins. The entire island had been a city, once, and there were still below-ground stores that hadn’t collapsed entirely, and she could find the foundations of the bigger buildings. They would balance, hopping from stone to stone, out the middle of the wheat fields, and laugh. She’d never needed to speak a common language to make friends, because she could laugh.

  It was midsummer when the man arrived by himself.

  Aemelia came to stand in the courtyard while Rafael and Isobel greeted him and the stableman took his horse. It was a pretty black horse, with expensive tack. The man didn’t bring anything for Isobel and Rafael.

  They spoke for a moment in another language, then the man looked at Aemelia.

  Hard.

  She made a face at him and ran away. He didn’t have children with him, so she wasn’t particularly interested. She made for the fields.

  “That’s her?” Claudio asked, watching after the scruffy little ruffian Isobel had indicated.

  “That’s her,” Rafael said.

  “She looks like you,” Isobel said. He ignored her. He never understood why Rafael let his wife act out like she did.

  “I’d love to see you try to control her,” Rafael had said, when Claudio had mentioned it.

  “I’d have no problem,” Claudio had said, perhaps a bit too far into his wine. Rafael had shrugged, ever the bigger man.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Would you like to come in and sit?” Rafael asked now. “Perhaps a glass of wine?”

  Claudio nodded, shifting under his gear. He was used to long months away from home, but getting rid of the grit and being back in civilization always brought him relief. He looked around. Not that this was civilization. It was a nice villa, without doubt. Built at great expense, he was sure. But it was a country home in the midst of Sicilian backwaters, and no one was up on modern fashion. At least the scamp apparently wasn’t getting any attention, either.

  Men came and took the heaviest of his armor and left with it, while women brought out trays of food and wine. Claudio reclined on his couch and drained the first cup of wine in two swallows, holding it out for a serving woman to refill. It was cool and satisfying
, but foreign.

  “Where is this from?” he asked.

  “Here,” Rafael said. Claudio grimaced at it.

  “Should import the Roman stuff,” he said. “It’s better.”

  “Also very expensive,” Isobel said.

  “So?” Claudio asked. He was annoyed that she had been allowed to stay.

  He finished the second glass and waited for more before rolling slightly and studying the mosaic on the ceiling.

  “War is coming here,” he said. Isobel snorted, and he jerked to look at her.

  “When isn’t it here?” she answered. He felt his nostrils flare.

  “Not any of your petty little skirmishes,” he said. “Roman war. You need to be ready.”

  “I’m ready,” Rafael said.

  “Your island doesn’t even have a wall.”

  Rafael gave him one of his mysterious, careless smiles.

  “A reputation is often all the wall I’ve needed,” the man said. Claudio snorted and drank more of his wine.

  “You’ll all be Roman subjects, soon enough.”

  “Never,” Isobel said.

  “You intend to fight back?” Claudio asked, surprised.

  “You know I would never fight against the empire, Claudio,” Rafael said. “But they will find me an elusive subject.”

  Isobel nodded, her feline eyes not leaving Claudio. It made him angry. One of the serving women spoke to Isobel, and Isobel answered. Claudio frowned.

  “Is that Greek?” he asked. She looked at him with feigned nonchalance.

  “It is,” she said. “We run a Greek household.”

  “You’re raising my daughter as a Greek?”

  “We are.”

  “Bring her to me. I’ll remove her head from her shoulders and be back on the road tonight,” he said. “I won’t stand for her being a Greek dog.”

  Isobel didn’t even move.

  “She’s mine now. You are a guest and you have no authority here.”

  Claudio looked at Rafael, aghast.

  “You let your wife speak to me thus?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Rafael asked, sounding annoyed. The last time Claudio had heard Rafael sound annoyed, dozens of men had died. It didn’t matter. He stood, spitting mad.

  “If you won’t reprimand her, I will,” he said.

  Isobel was on her feet in an instant, snatching Rafael’s sword from where it stood propped against the end of his couch.

  “You’ll not lay a finger on me or any member of my household,” she said.

  “You taught a woman to handle a sword?” Claudio asked, taking a step back in quick evaluation.

  “Not me. Her first husband,” Rafael said.

  “You married a divorcee?” Claudio asked. Isobel glared at him.

  “A widow.”

  Her balance with the sword was good. She was tall and lean, rather too thin for Claudio’s taste, built like a young soldier. He put up his hands.

  “I won’t fight a woman. Clearly you have the madness. Bring me my daughter and I will go.”

  “You won’t touch her,” Isobel said. “Out. Get out of my house.”

  “Isobel,” Rafael said. Claudio and Isobel both turned to look at him in surprise.

  “We won’t send a guest out of our house on the day he arrives,” Rafael said, sipping his wine. “It has been good to see you, but you have offended my wife and threatened a member of my household. I think it would be best if you left in the morning. You can see that we have lived up to your expectations.”

  “This? You would throw away our friendship over your raving wife and that bastard child?” Claudio asked, stunned.

  “You’re the one throwing it away, my friend,” Rafael said, setting his cup back down. “Consider yourself.”

  “You think your wife doesn’t know?” Isobel asked. “That by hiding her away here, she wouldn’t figure it out? When that poor girl came back pale and exhausted, you think she didn’t realize immediately? Is that child even still alive?”

  In point of fact, the girl had died a few months later of an accident at home, but Claudio saw no profit in admitting it.

  “She’s fine. And it’s not as if Paula would be surprised. This is the way of the world.”

  “I pity the woman who accepts that as her lot in life.”

  “You think he doesn’t have other women in his bed?” Claudio asked. “If you knew half the things I knew about his time with us in the field.”

  He didn’t know, it was true, but he still knew. All of the men found their relief somewhere, on the long campaigns.

  “Thank you, Claudio. That will be all, tonight. I will ensure that your lodgings are comfortable,” Rafael said.

  “It’s barely past noon,” Claudio complained. “We should be up tonight talking about the old days.”

  Rafael stood.

  “That will be all. Good night.”

  Claudio stood, dumbfounded, as Rafael left the room. Isobel glared for another moment, then sheathed the sword and carried it with her as she left. Claudio was alone.

  One of the farmers found Aemelia asleep under a scrubby tree, belly-up in the spotty shade. She woke, drowsy and comfortable in the warm dust, when he shook her arm by her wrist.

  “Isobel is looking for you,” he said.

  She blinked at him.

  “Why?” she asked. She hadn’t played any particularly interesting pranks lately, and it wasn’t mealtime. At least, her stomach didn’t think it was mealtime. The farmer shook his head at her.

  “I don’t ask silly questions,” he said, pulling her to her feet in a kind, paternal way and brushing dust off of her back.

  “Go on,” he said. She yawned and took off toward the house in a half-jog, half-skip. She got distracted by a house where one of her imaginary best friends lived, now just a stone hearth and a pair of cornerstones, and she paused to talk to her. Several hours later, one of the dairy maids told her again that Isobel was looking for her, and she made it all the way to the house, this time, at a hard sprint, just because she could. One of the women inside directed her to the study, where she found Isobel sitting, reading a book.

  “Isobel?” she asked, coming to stand in the room with her hands behind her. She was suddenly nervous, trying to remember what she’d done that she’d managed to forget.

  “Aemelia,” Isobel said, putting a marker into the book and setting it down. “Come sit with me.”

  This was worse than she had imagined. Isobel’s corrections tended to be short, to the point, and terrifying. Aemelia didn’t often earn them. The benefit of being an orphan. She hopped up into a chair and tried not to kick. Isobel looked at her for a long moment, and Aemelia squirmed. She hadn’t done anything that bad recently. She was sure of it.

  “There are things I need to tell you,” Isobel said. “Things I’ve kept from you for a long time.”

  “Why?” Aemelia asked.

  “Because I promised I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was the only way to keep them from killing you.”

  Aemelia paused.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s ashamed of you.”

  Several of the members of the household were ashamed of her, but no one important had ever been ashamed of her before.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re his daughter.”

  “Who?”

  “The man who came today.”

  She tried to remember. He’d been wearing expensive equipment, but mostly she remembered his horse.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a Roman. A soldier that Rafael knew. Your mother was one of his maids, and he was just going to leave you outside when you were born - they do that, there - but she begged for your life.”

  Isobel paused, watching her. Not an orphan. Abandoned. Aemelia looked around the room. She wasn’t often allowed in here. There was a shelf of books on the wall, more than anyone else had, she knew for sure, and lots of pretty, fr
agile things that Isobel owned. If she was going to be abandoned somewhere, this was a good place.

  “What is she like?” Aemelia asked. Isobel sat back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling as she spoke.

  “He waited too long to leave Rome with her,” Isobel said. “When she got here, she was exhausted, and heavy with you. You came early, and she wasn’t ready.” Isobel smiled. “You were actually better off than she was.” There was a long pause. “She was very afraid and in pain, but she fought for you. She was barely twice your age, Greek. And she wanted very much for you to live. I promised her you would be happy here.” Aemelia smiled. She was happy. Isobel frowned, looking back at her again. “The next day, he threw her back up on a horse and took her away. She cried.”

  Aemelia thought that was very sad. That her mother had been sad to leave her.

  “Why did he come back?” Aemelia asked. Isobel grunted. That was one of her scary noises.

  “To make sure I was treating you like a servant rather than a daughter.”

  Aemelia wrinkled her nose, and Isobel laughed.

  “But that man. That man.” She shook her head. “No, he pushed me too far. I won’t let him tell me what to do any longer. If he told me specifically to keep you from becoming a queen of the Greeks, I’d do that, just to spite him. He wants to make sure you don’t become a noblewoman, I’ll make sure you surpass all of his other children in prestige.”

  Aemelia stared at her, and Isobel laughed.

  “What do you want, Aemelia? If you could have anything?”

  “A horse,” Aemelia said. Isobel laughed.

  “You can have any horse you want. We can go to Lilybaeum and buy you one, if you want a different one.”

  Aemelia felt her eyes light up at the mention of a trip to Lilybaeum.

  “Where else do you want to go?” Isobel asked. Aemelia had never thought about it. She just liked the bustle of the city and the color of the clothes and the foods. “Do you want to go to Syracuse?”

  Syracuse was on the edge of the world, as far as Aemelia was concerned. The far end of Sicily. She nodded.

  Isobel put her hand on the book.

  “You’re going to learn to read and to write. We’ll travel. You’ll learn Punic and Latin and anything else you want to learn.”