Daughter of Rome

by Tessa Afshar

  “We shouldn’t bring a whole menagerie to the senator’s house,” he grumbled.

  “The donkey is a necessity and the dog is security.”

  Ferox approached a large man in soldier’s garb, his tail wagging, mouth wearing its customary grin. He did not even bother with a small growl.

  Benyamin gave Aquila a long look. “You were saying?”

  “If I start bringing along a cage stuffed with lovebirds, then you can grumble. Ferox will prove useful. Wait and see.”

  The senator’s house was a two-story villa featuring arched windows and fluted columns with elegant Doric capitals. The walls had been painted a stately terra-cotta color, set against an ivory portico. Leaving the cart and donkey tied to a post, they met the steward at the door and followed him to the back garden. The awning was to be set up over a copse of white oleanders and scarlet roses.

  The free-standing wooden frame for the awning had already been erected as Aquila had directed, and he circled around it to ensure the measurements were accurate.

  “Looks good. Let’s fetch the awning,” he told his uncle.

  They hefted the heavy roll of leather between them, grunting as they wound their way back to the garden. The steward fetched a sturdy ladder and left them to their work.

  Aquila was about to set the ladder against one side of the frame when he noticed two young women walking down the narrow path toward him. He almost dropped the ladder on his toes when he recognized one of them as Priscilla. No less shocked than he, she came to a sudden stop, her eyes widening.

  “Aquila!”

  The tall girl walking alongside her looked from one to the other. “You know one another?”

  Priscilla nodded. “We have met. Good day to you, Aquila.” She turned a fraction, noticing his uncle for the first time. “Peace to you, Benyamin.”

  “Did they set up an awning in your brother’s house, also?” the young woman asked, brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. It was not every day that daughters of the nobility counted Jewish workmen among their acquaintances.

  Priscilla gave an awkward shake of her head. “No.” Ferox interrupted whatever explanation she might have offered by bounding up to her, yapping a happy greeting as though she were a long-lost friend.

  She laughed. “I see you kept him.”

  “Ferox?” Aquila shrugged. “He is useful.”

  “You named him Ferox?” She laughed again and bent down to pet the black dog, who embarrassed himself by melting into a puddle at her feet, allowing her to rub his belly. “Are you sure that is a fitting name?”

  “That is what I said,” Benyamin grumbled.

  “He will be ferocious when necessary,” Aquila said with conviction. “With friends, he is gentle.”

  The dark-haired girl accompanying Priscilla bent down and drew a cautious hand down Ferox’s head. “He is very big.”

  “And he eats a lot,” Benyamin said. “I will have to get a second job merely to feed him. But he is harmless enough.”

  The girl petted Ferox with more confidence when he lay supine with complete surrender under the attentions of the women. “I wonder if I can convince my father to buy a dog,” she said.

  “You can convince the senator to buy a tiger if you put your mind to it. Your mother is another matter,” Priscilla said.

  The girl laughed, her oval face lighting up. “That is the true state of things in this household. My father may be a member of Rome’s all-powerful senate. But it is my mother who rules the world.”

  Aquila heard the conversation with only half an ear. He had lost his equilibrium the moment Priscilla appeared before him, as if sprung from the mists of his imaginings. Despite his best efforts, he had thought so much about her over the past few days that seeing her in the flesh felt something between relief and agony.

  Lord, of all the places in Rome, did you have to bring her here today?

  He pulled his hand through his hair and tried to focus on the awning. That was his reason for being in this garden. He should not be conversing with a Roman girl who lived in a villa in Pincio. Too many things divided them.

  He turned and moved the ladder against the wooden frame, grabbed one end of the roll of leather, and began to climb. Benyamin held the other end aloft, bearing the weight of it. At the top, Aquila set the edge of the awning upon the crossbeam, shifting his weight on the ladder for a better angle. For a moment, the ladder wobbled.

  Priscilla shot to her feet with a gasp. “Have a care!”

  He waved a hand. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  She rushed to the base of the ladder. “I will hold it steady,” she said, her fingers already grabbing hold of the wooden poles.

  He was touched by her show of concern. “You are not planning on falling into the roses again, are you?” he could not resist asking, as she stepped into the bushes to get a better grasp.

  “I will make you a proposal,” she said, her lips tilting. “I won’t pitch into the bushes if you don’t fall off the top.”

  The sun beat down hot and stifling as Priscilla held on to that ladder, refusing to budge even when he warned her that her skin was turning an alarming shade of pink. He had never attached an awning so fast in his life.

  Six

  THAT EVENING, weary from labor and limp with heat, Aquila settled Ferox on the mat he had prepared for him at the foot of his pallet, then crawled under his threadbare sheet. He barely had time to close his eyes when with a quiet rustle Ferox plopped down at his side. Aquila grunted, rolling to sit up.

  “A worthy bedmate for you,” his uncle said from the comfort of his pallet on the other side of the chamber.

  Aquila ignored the gibe. “Go back to your own mat,” he commanded and tried to push the dog off his sheets. Ferox licked his hand and ignored the hint.

  “You need a wife in your bed, not a dog.” Benyamin smirked.

  “I don’t need either in my bed.” Aquila sighed and, rising, pulled on the dog’s leather-and-bronze collar, which he had fashioned himself. “Next time you invade my sanctum, I will put you outside. Don’t think I won’t.”

  By the time Aquila lay down again, all semblance of sleep had left him.

  “There is something very alluring about Priscilla, do you not agree?” In the faint light of the single lamp that burned in the room, Aquila could see the flash of his uncle’s teeth.

  “I have seen prettier women,” he said, voice stiff.

  “And she is godly.”

  “She is a Gentile!”

  “As was Ruth, whose blood flowed in the veins of our Lord. I suppose you would find her too unclean to eat with as well?”

  Aquila was silenced. Ruth, the childless widow. The outcast. The great-grandmother of King David. And a forebear of Yeshua of Nazareth. The Lord had certainly welcomed her among his people. Included her. Blessed her.

  Chastened, he nodded. “I would eat with Ruth. And I will eat with Priscilla. Satisfied?”

  Benyamin raised himself on an elbow. “Dietary laws are not your problem, Nephew. We were speaking of a wife.”

  “I hope you are not implying that I consider marriage to a Roman.”

  “You wouldn’t consider marriage to anyone. You are entangled in the past, still holding on to Esther. To a dream that never had much substance to begin with. You were betrothed to Esther since you were children. She was more a habit than your heart’s desire. You have to let her go.”

  Aquila hissed through his teeth. “Leave off, Uncle!”

  Benyamin threw his hands in the air. “Fine. Sleep with a dog for the rest of your days.” He pulled the sheets over his head, and moments later the sound of his snores filled the chamber.

  Esther. The very name made Aquila’s stomach clench. Benyamin’s words rattled about his mind. Had she only been a habit? Had loyalty rather than love made him build a life around her, refusing to think of any other possibility?

  His mind flashed back to a gray day three years before, a day that had started with rejoicing. He had just co
ncluded the sale of a new flock of young sheep for his father. Esther and his brother, Lucinus, had joined him in the courtyard for a small celebration.

  It was the first year his father had given Aquila the full running of the farm. The ewes had had their best season yet, birthing more healthy lambs than ever before. Aquila had overseen the whole process, changing the ewes’ pasture when they became pregnant, adding to their feed, going with little sleep for days when the lambing started in order to give a hand to the mothers that experienced problems.

  A few months later, when they were old enough, he had found a buyer and negotiated a fair price for the new flock. Aquila knew that in the long run, an equitable price would benefit their family’s business. Gouging the merchants he traded with might win him a bit more silver today, but ultimately, he would lose custom and trust. He had chosen his price with care, making it just, but not too steep.

  Lucinus and Esther were congratulating him on his success when his father sauntered in. “What do you call this?” his father asked, waving the receipt from the sale of the sheep.

  Aquila tensed as soon as he saw the sour expression on the old man’s face. His father had never spoken a single word of praise for his son’s achievements. But he did not run short of words when he was displeased.

  “You stupid boy! How could you sell my flock for this price?” his father spat. “They practically robbed me, thanks to you.” He began walking away, then stopped partway to hurl one final insult before leaving. “Gullible half-wit.”

  The air left the courtyard. For a moment, Aquila could not breathe. What had been a merry gathering turned into a mausoleum. Lucinus laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him distress you.”

  Esther shook her head. “He never has anything good to say.”

  Aquila smiled, relieved that she understood how he felt. Here was his true family. These two were the ones who loved him. “It’s no matter,” he said.

  “At least he only calls you stupid once in a while. He calls me useless every day,” Lucinus said.

  Aquila frowned. “You are not useless, Brother. One day, all of this shall belong to us. You will prove, then, your many talents.”

  “It shall belong to you, dear older brother, as it should.”

  Shaking his head, Aquila clasped Lucinus on the shoulder. “What is mine is yours, Lucinus. And yours, Esther. We are a family. You would do the same for me.”

  His future had always been woven with these two. He belonged to them, and they to him. He could not think of his life apart from them.

  Esther, clearly, had not suffered from the same allegiance. When on his twentieth birthday the day of their wedding had finally approached, she had given him an ultimatum. Choose her or his faith. He could not have both.

  At first, he thought he could sway her. They were meant for each other, after all. But Esther, soft and subdued in her opinions, had put her foot down with a strength that hinted at a will of iron. She would not marry a follower of the Nazarene. Not unless his father accepted his faith.

  She delayed their wedding again and again, neither of them willing to be swayed from their convictions.

  Six months passed. Then a year. Aquila sent up a storm of prayers. Nothing changed. After two years, Esther broke their betrothal legally. His father did not even protest. The contract was broken and Aquila watched his future crack into pieces. Still, he held on to hope. He waited for a miracle.

  He could not have imagined, then, that the worst betrayal was yet to come. The point of that particular knife, plunged in his back by the people he had loved best, still twisted inside him, its ache never leaving. He was living a life poisoned by that wound.

  He turned on his thin mattress, feeling the lumps under his back as keenly as the one in his throat. His uncle had the right of it. It was time he let go of these old shades.

  God, it seemed, liked irony. Priscilla’s brother, who would probably prefer the extraction of a perfectly good fingernail to offering his sister any favors, became the source of a great blessing to her. Had it not been for Volero, she would not have met Senator Pudens and his family. The day after Quintus’s feast, the senator coaxed, cajoled, and wheedled her brother into allowing Priscilla to visit his daughter, Pudentiana. Coaxing and cajoling was something the senator was very gifted at, Priscilla soon discovered.

  When Volero insisted that Priscilla attend another event sponsored by Quintus, the senator noticed her anxiety and induced a confession from her. By some trick of charm or personal pressure, the very next day Pudens convinced Quintus to sell his land to her brother at an acceptable price.

  Having gained his objective, Volero no longer cared if Priscilla attended upon Quintus or not. But he was impressed enough by Pudens that at his insistence he allowed Priscilla to become a regular visitor to the senator’s house.

  One afternoon, Priscilla was kneeling under the awning Aquila had erected, helping Pudentiana and her younger sister, Praxedis, pull out weeds while their mother idly directed their activities from her seat in the shade.

  Pudentiana straightened her back, fanning her face. “Thank the gods for this awning. What a hot year this has been.”

  Mindful of the man who had erected the structure, Priscilla hoped her friends blamed the reddening of her cheeks on activity. It had been an astonishing shock to find Aquila in this house. Her heart had leapt into her throat at the sight of him, though she could not explain why the man should have such an effect on her.

  “Girls,” Sabinella called, “will you fetch some refreshments for us, please?”

  Priscilla noticed Pudentiana shoot her mother a worried glance. “You should not be left alone here.”

  “Priscilla can stay with me, then. Go on. Tell the cook to make us a salad with herbs and cheese. And have him fetch a fresh loaf of bread from the bakery.”

  Sabinella pushed strands of limp hair behind her ear, a pronounced tremor making her fingers unsteady. Priscilla studied the older woman, for the first time noticing the lines of strain around her eyes. “Are you unwell, Sabinella?”

  “A little pain. It will pass. Always does.”

  Priscilla noted the woman’s unusual inertia, the rigid way she held her body in the chair, the trembling she could not stop in her fingers. She began to understand the look of concern Pudentiana had given her. This was no passing malady. Her heart sank, for though she had not known Sabinella long, she already felt a deep attachment to her.

  “I will pray for you,” she said before she could think better of the offer.

  Sabinella drew a gentle, unsteady hand down Priscilla’s hair. “Thank you, my dear. To what gods do you pray? I myself have offered libations to many. But in recent years, I confess, my faith has abandoned me.”

  “I pray to the Lord, my lady,” Priscilla said. She spoke the words knowing they might close the door of friendship. Still, they were worth saying, for they might open another portal, one far more precious than any human could offer.

  “The Lord? I am not familiar with this divinity.”

  “He is the God worshiped by the Hebrews, my lady. They do not believe in a pantheon of gods, but worship only one, Creator of heaven and earth, and sustainer of all that is in them.”

  “I suppose that makes life simpler.”

  Priscilla thought of the convoluted complications of being a Gentile follower of the Lord, always living a little on the outside. “I have not found it simple. But I have found it peaceful.” She took Sabinella’s hand into her own. “The God I serve makes a way in the deserts of life. He creates streams in the wasteland places of our hearts.”

  “Then pray for my husband, for I fear when I am gone, my Pudens will find himself in a barren and parched land.”

  With the Sabbath arrived sweltering heat and gray skies that refused to break into rain. Priscilla and Lollia left the house early, before the heat became unbearable. Priscilla burst into laughter when outside the Campi synagogue, Ferox snapped to attention at the sight of her, barking a few times, before
remembering his manners and settling down with the bearing of a dog that knows it belongs. Someone had tied him to a tree and placed a small bowl of water next to him.

  She knelt by his side and patted his head. He was already losing a little of that lost, mongrel look, his ribs filling out, his wild fur brushed and clean. Her heart beat faster when she realized that the dog’s presence meant his master could not be far. With a sigh, she came to her feet.

  Today she was determined to avoid the man. Her heart did not need this entanglement. Not with a Jewish man who refused even to eat in her company.

  She settled on the back row, nodding a greeting to familiar faces while Lollia flitted about, conversing with friends.

  “You seem very somber today,” Mary said, enfolding her in a fond embrace before sitting down next to her. “Will you come to our home after worship? I have roast pork, a favorite among your mother’s people, I believe.”

  Priscilla gave her a horrified look. Mary laughed softly. “I jest. I wanted to remove that scowl from your face. But my invitation is earnest. We have simple lentil stew today. Will you come? I would have sent word earlier, but I know we cannot intrude upon you in your brother’s house.”

  Priscilla squirmed. She suspected that Aquila and his uncle would also be attending, which meant she had to avoid Mary’s house at all costs. “They are about to start.” She pointed to the man taking his place at the front. The deflection would buy her time to think of a gracious way of refusing.