Chapter Text
Your mother called for you to do your chores, waking you from your slumber, you woke up sharply, tossing the thin sheepskin blanket off your body. You made sure not to wake your sister. She had to rest, for she was getting married soon. To some man named Apollo who owned a winery of some sort. You didn’t really pay attention. You hurriedly got ready in a blue tunic, fastened with a leather girdle and a heavy black cloak to ward off the morning cold of spring. You shuffled out the door with a clay pot in your hands, going into the village to fill it up in the well. You had to feed the goats and milk them, then feed the sheep and cattle. This usually was a job for the men at the house, but your mother and father had yet to produce a male heir and you were the only one not at war or pregnant, or getting married. So, you did it. You did the simple little chores that filled your day.
The boy whose father owned a bakery was at the well, filling up his own vase. His name was Nicodeme, he was a good boy. His parents got after him alot. He was scrawny for a baker’s son. Unlike his brothers, who were big and strong, Nicodeme was a small, coltish boy with a goofy smile and a nice face. He didn’t pay you any attention as you approached the well, silently the pair filled their respective pots.
“My father says that the Romans will be upon us.” Nicodeme suddenly says. Which leaves you a tad confused.
“Why do you say that? “ You ask, tipping your head to the side. He shrugs, glancing around like he shouldn’t talk about it.
“He told me he had found a Roman camp not too far from here, a day's journey.”
You look down at the young boy before laughing a little.
“Your head is full of clouds and fairy mist, Nicodeme.Your father must be having visions with his old age.” You flash him a smile, one in which he doesn’t return. Your little grin fades quickly and is replaced with a furrowed brow.
“Trust me. The Romans are going to destroy our city if we are not careful.” Nicodeme mumbles then, he leaves, hoisting his clay pot of water up as he wobbled away.
You stand there, utterly confused with the interaction. The Romans would not dare stick their noses into Grecian land. You ponder the idea of your homeland being taken by the brutes of story times and nightmares, you shake off the uneasy feeling and collect your water. You lift it up and walk back to your home. It seemed as though your sister had woken, she was helping your mother make breakfast, something as simple as tagenites. You smiled as you breathed in the barley flour and honey. You set down the basin of water and set off to do your other chores. You grabbed a bucket and set to work on milking the goats, once you were done, you fed them, then you went to the sheep, checking on the small herd of five that you kept out on a field to fatten them up and sell the next year. You could sell their wool until it came time to butcher and sell the meat, that was your father’s job. You could see the cattle from your post on the hill. The wind made the grass whisper songs and tales of glory, only to be replaced by the word ‘
Romans
’. The terrors that stalked in the dark of night and would set your home aflame, you had been told as a small child that they captured little kids who didn’t do their chores or ate their greens, but those were just stories. But it was still unnerving, what Nicodeme had said made your skin crawl. But the baker was a crazy old man, surely his sons must be too?
It didn’t matter, Greece had a good military. No. That was not true. You were afraid that they wouldn’t stand a chance in front of the Romans, of how scary those men would be.
You pushed the thoughts out of your mind and went back to counting the heads of cattle, confirming no wolf had gotten them, you went back to your home for food. Your mother was calmly stoking the fire as she cooked the Tagenites. It was quiet with your father out of the house, he had gone off to serve Greece, to become some great soldier or die trying. It scared you to be without your father. If he were to die in war, who would take care of your mother and protect the baby? You stopped your little overthinking spell and focused on your mother making the food. You proceeded to help her, measuring out the ingredients and making yourself a serving of the sweet breakfast. Your mother sat down next to you at the table, your sister had been sitting there. Writing a letter to her soon to be husband.
You dug into your meal, only to have one of your hands smacked and scolded for not acting like a proper lady.
“You are a woman, not one of those barbarians.” Your mother reprimanded. You quickly nodded and sat straighter in your chair, you ate carefully and delicately. The way you would eat if there was a guest over. Your sister ate alongside you, though her movements did not need to be practiced, she had learned to do it quite naturally.
“The baker’s youngest son told me the oddest thing while I brought our water- '' You started but were immediately cut off by a scream from outside, it was a terrified scream. One that you had recognized as the shepard’s.
“An army! An army is coming!” “ He screeched, racing down the street. You shoved yourself out of the seat and through the door.
“Romans! The Romans have come to kill us!” He shouted. Confused passersby looked at him and then at each other. It wasn’t until they heard the sound of hooves and the unsheathing of metal that they started to panic. The villagers of the city started to run, going into homes and coming out with prized possessions, children, or wives, ordering them to leave the city or run away with them. Some men drew swords and blades in an attempt to fight back. But these were just civilians, they didn’t know battle tactics or any of that, they had probably been taught by their fathers for hunting or maybe by the occasional recruitment. Your heart was racing as you looked back at your mother, fear heavy in her eyes. Her gaze turned to your sister, who was crying. “Get the emergency savings, Petra. Take your sister and run.” Your mother ordered. “I will be with you two soon.” She promised. Your sister shook her head but took your hand and led you into the back room, stifling through some things before taking a small coin sack and scampering out of the door, you in hand.
“Where do we go?” You shouted as the sounds of anguished shouting and the sick squelch of blood and flesh on blade and bronze ran through your ears. Petra looked down at her younger sibling.
“We go where the wind takes us” She said in a quiet voice, but through all the noise, you could still hear her.
A scream. More and more screams, was that your mother’s wail or someone else’s? A child is crying for their mother, a horse is neighing, hooves are thudding. Is that fire? Why is there so much smoke? Oh gods we’re going to die. We’re going to be impaled by one of those spears and-
You realize you had lost your sister. A hand that was gripped onto your wrist was gone and she wasn’t in sight. You started to panic even more, as if that was even possible. Your head whipped around only to see a tall, behemoth of a man charging towards you. You screamed for Petra, running away from the man, but he had caught you. His giant arms tight around your waist, you screamed and kicked and spat at him. Trying to do anything you could to get away from him. You couldn’t get out, you waited for a knife to stab you or this man to break your neck. But he wouldn't, he just wouldn’t and it made you terrified for what this man had in store.
Even with your vision blurred with tears and panic, you could make out the fire on the buildings and the shapes of dark horses and men bringing down helpless villagers. The man shouts something at you when you spit at him, the wad of saliva landing on his masked face. And then everything goes black and you fear you have died, but the quick feeling quickly dissipates and you’re out of touch with the world.