Daughter of the Sea

by Mira Zamin

Downing a bunch of grapes in the name of breakfast, Calista was dressed hastily by a maid in preparation for the meeting with her parents in the solarium. Despite her apprehension, Claudius’ face kept swimming before her eyes. She could not shake the feeling that she remembered him from somewhere, a place before this world. But he was plebeian. There was surely no way she could have known him before. He was of an inferior class. And in the end, that was what truly mattered. Had Claudius been patrician than it would have been another matter entirely…

  After checking her hair and stola in the mirror, Calista tramped down the stairs with trepidation. Her sandals flopped with every step.

  Finally arriving at the threshold of the solarium, she pushed the door open. Sparse raindrops beaded on the thick, uneven glass of the windows. Her parents and Avaritus reclined on couches, clutching goblets. She recognized the sweet aroma of warm milk mixed with wine.

  Nervously twirling a loose strand of hair, Calista took a seat. Their faces seemed grim but not alarmingly so. Calista breathed a small sigh of relief. But Avaritus’ smile seemed to carry an acerbic tinge, souring the back of her throat.

  “Calista,” Olympia began, with the directness she was renown for throughout the province. “We have decided to postpone your wedding.”

  Shock undulated through Calista, her mouth tumbling open, eyes gaping. She had expected a beating and was now emerging with the best present possible. “For how long?”

  “Your wedding has been rescheduled for summer of next year,” Lucretius said.

  “Avaritus has been generous enough to agree to waiting,” Olympia added.

  Calista said nothing.

  “And you really ought to thank him for his sensitivity,” Olympia said, a hint of admonishment in her voice.

  Shooting her mother a look, Calista recited sullenly, “Gratias tibi ago, Avaritus.” She waited expectantly for her parents to say more, but when nothing further came, she said, “Thank you, Mother, and thank you Father. If that is all you have to say, may I leave now?”

  “Yes, you may,” Lucretius allowed. “But would you mind doing a favor? A man, Captain Claudius, I believe, should be waiting in the courtyard to meet us. Tell him he may come.”

  “Yes, Father,” Calista replied obediently, pliable now that such luck had been tossed her way.

  Calista hurried out of the room as a smile broke upon her face like a wave on the beach. Humming lightheartedly, she entered the courtyard and ran into her Claudius, who was interestedly examining a particularly ill-formed statue and loosely grasping a sheaf of what looked like accounts in his hand.

  She leapt back. “You! You never told me you were the captain of a ship.”

  “You never asked,” he protested, clearly amused.

  Something clicked into place in her mind. “So that is why you were able to offer me the chain without charge—you are your own captain. But you are quite young to hold the position. You must explain how you accomplished that.”

  Claudius cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  Remembering her task, Calista said, “Proconsul Lucretius and Domina Olympia request your presence, at the moment.”

  “Yes, well, I better go see them.” He nodded to her. “Will we meet, two hours hence by the rock you had indicated before?”

  “Hopefully.” Excitement at the prospect welled within her.

  “A pleasure as always, domina.”

  Calista watched him depart, a curious expression rippling across her face.

  Concealed within a shadowy alcove, one of Avaritus’ slaves had listened to the conversation, intrigued.

  Well-hidden inside a bush, Pyp had enjoyed the discourse as well. Curled up beneath the spreading branches, he was attempting to smother his laughter in his tunic.

  Once he was out of sight, Calista seated herself onto a stone bench and began humming a random tune.

  After a few minutes of her off-tune humming Pyp extricated himself from the bush, which cracked slightly at the shift in his weight. He appeared behind Calista. “Whatcha doing Caly?” he piped.

  Calista whirled around with a shriek, her hand at her throat. “Pyp! What were you doing?”

  A mischievous look crept across his face. “What were you and the good Captain doing?”

  “We were talking Pyp, just talking!” replied Calista defensively.

  “If you say so...” Pyp taunted in a singsong voice.

  She let an easy smile cross her face. She grabbed Pyp’s collar. “Come on, you ragamuffin. Let’s get back to your chambers...”

  Calista’s voice faded away from the shadow in the alcove. Only the solitary shadow-slave remained. Soundlessly, he scuttled close behind.

  “Oh Claudius, you are sooo handsome!” Pyp said in a high-pitched imitation of his sister’s voice. He giggled at his wit.

  “Quiet Pyp! I will tell Mother on you!” Calista admonished, reddening.

  “You two looked like Paris and Helen!” Pyp chortled, disregarding the obviously empty threat.

  “I am betrothed Pyp, betrothed. I am no longer free to make these decisions, and besides, he is a plebeian. Even if I were free it wouldn’t be proper,” she told him a little sadly. “And,” she added, “you know how Paris and Helen ended: destroyed their whole city between them. Certainly not the lovely couple I would wish to be compared with or emulate, if it were all right with you!”

  Bored with the topic, Pyp shifted subjects without a glimmer of a segue. “Do you want to go to the town? Maro says that old Portius’ mare had foaled. Maro tells me he’s going to be the best racer in the province. Father might even buy him.”

  “All right,” Calista agreed. They veered left to exit the villa and visit the city, acquiring a guard at the manor walls.

  Avaritus’ slave breathed a sigh of relief. Slaves hurried about him and he spread jovial smiles all around. He thought his mouth would collapse from the cheery expression. Once he arrived at the Lord’s doors, he peered around to ascertain that nobody was there, then he gave their private knock.

  “Panos?” Avaritus voice asked as the door opened.

  The slave shuffled in and the door closed behind. He heard the snick of the lock. “Yes, Master.” He bowed once and stood in front of Avaritus’ chair to deliver his report.

  “Have you any news of my lovely wife-to-be?” Avaritus inquired after a sip of wine, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Aye, my lord. She seems to be meeting with a certain Captain Claudius. They have an arranged meeting later this afternoon.”

  Avaritus’ eyes glittered angrily. “Ah, well, this does seem a good time to hasten our plans. And, I believe Domina Calista’s parents would like to know of this obscene behavior.”

  The dour-faced spy looked discomfited. “They were merely flirting, my lord.”

  “Yes, Panos. I know. You know. She knows. He knows. But her parents do not.” Avaritus tapped his chalice thoughtfully and one of his slaves quickly came forth to refill it. “If they restrict her movements, the less chance there will be of her being caught up in the fighting.”

  “Is it all quite necessary, my lord? It is only a girl after all. Only a governorship.”

  Avaritus’ eyes glimmered with a deadly calm chill and Panos quailed beneath his gaze. “It is not in you place to question me. The girl would not matter if not for the governorship. The girl ties me to it. We have already reviewed this and tediously so, Panos. Send for the mercenaries.”

  “Yes, my lord. I will see to the messenger myself.”

  Smiling icily, Avaritus mused, “It should not take them to long to arrive, do you think? Perhaps a week, maybe even less. How far are they from here?”

  “Three legions are on the ships, nine leagues from here. The other two are camped four leagues away,” replied the slave promptly.

  “Even less than a week! Excellent!” He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Have your blades ready, Panos. They will come into use very, very soon.”

  “Yes.” If anything, Panos appeared
even more uncomfortable.

  Avaritus looked positively lighthearted. “Superb. Now, we must make a quick visit the Proconsul. Regrettable business, too,” he tutted. “Come, Panos.”

  And Panos heeled like a well-trained dog.