EDITTED FOR SECOND TIME

Chapter I

The Visiting Lord

The wind tugged at her green robe and golden hair, and the waves crashed at her feet, leaving salt and sand residue on the bottom of her robe. Breathing in deeply the sharp, salty scent of the ocean she was reminded that her mother often said her eyes were the same color as the sea. Habitually, she dug her toes into the sand dampened by the tides, feeling the cool which it inevitable possessed transfer to her own warm skin. She took in another deep breath, feeling the wind inhaled almost swirl clean the inside of her chest, sweeping it free of anything which would bar her from feeling the full glory of the sea. She always felt at home near the ocean, where the winds that blew tendrils of hair out her modest bun, seemed to call her name: “Calysta.” Eyes fluttering shut and caught in the trance of the rhythmic waves, she began walking towards the embrace of the water.

“Calysta!” a sound broke through her reverie, “Come here, look at what I’ve caught!” A tiny voice called to her across the expanse of the gravely beach.

“Coming, Pyp!” she shouted back to the dark face, framed by dark, curly hair, shaking her head free of distracting thoughts. She ran towards the sound. “Well, what have you caught?” Calysta asked, brushing curls aside from her face.

Pyp proudly showed the small, finely woven net to her. A small mussel was twisted in the thread of the net.

“Very well done, Pyp!” Calysta congratulated her younger brother, with an affectionate ruffling of his curls.

“And, look Calysta, look! I found something beautiful!” He held out a small gold circular locket, set in lapis lazuli.

“W-where did you get that?” she gasped out, and her hands reached for it mechanically.

“In the net!” he exclaimed. “The gods have blessed us!”

“Indeed they have,” she replied. “May I hold it?” Her hands were still outstretched, soft palms turned upward.

“Of course,” After a moment he added, “it’s yours.”

“Oh, Pyp! Thank you!” She gently took the locket from his palm, and clenched it in a tight fist. It felt...right.

Pyp patiently went through with the hugs and kisses Calysta bestowed on him. Why did girls always get so sentimental about everything?

“Calysta, Mother and Father will worry if we stay out much longer, the sun is halfway down.” He was always the voice of reason by the ocean: Calysta was never herself there.

“Right,” Calysta acquiesced.

The two of them walked hand-in-hand; the fifteen year old and the one celebrating his seventh birthday in a week and a half. It would be a grand celebration, and her brother would begin his proper training to take his father’s place as the Governor of Larochel, a province located on the western fringe of Gaul, for the honor of the great emperor Augustus Caesar. They only had this one week, and after that they would have to go there separate ways; he with his studies and her with her own life.

All of their mother’s, of which there were only four, exclaimed at the fact that Calysta was fifteen and not even betrothed. Many of her girlhood friends had been married in the last few seasons. Yet, it astounded those women that her father had wealth, power, and she had beauty, and she wasn’t even affianced. Calysta had tried several times to explain that she just wasn’t ready, and her father respected that decision, but they clacked and paid no attention to her protestations, and instead complained about the sheer standards of the youth these days.

“Guess what Calysta! Guess!” Pyp said eagerly, once again, waking her from her musing.

“Um, you saw Apollo this morning?” she guessed good-naturedly.

“Calysta!” Pyp said scandalized, “What would the priests say?”

“I’m not going to tell them, and neither are you,” she answered with a conspiratorial manner

Pyp giggled at his sister‘s brazenness. Everyone thought that Calysta was so good. He knew better than everyone. She was scandalous. She would use the gods’ names in vain, and she would run on the beach with her robes pulled up past her knees. She was horrible, but Pyp loved her.

“The traders are coming tomorrow!” he told her excitedly.

Calysta looked at him, interested in this surprising piece of news. “The merchants? They are? You don’t say. Do you recall when they brought that huge cat from one of the barbaric places? A…lien it was called, or no, a lion.” She shuddered delightedly at the memory of the horrific beast. “They said those places were even more uncivilized than Galla!”

“Yes, and mother wouldn’t let me keep it!”

Calysta snorted. “The servants would’ve fled from fear and the floor would’ve been covered with their...excretions...”

“Excretions?”

“Oh, you know of what I speak! Don’t make me say it Pyp!” Calysta giggled.

Understanding, Pyp broke out into sweet chortles. His elder sister was a very bad girl.

“Are they coming by land or sea?”

“By sea, and they are coming from Punic!” Pyp twisted in the air at the last statement, excited to impart information to his older sister whom he considered to border omniscient.

“Punic! There is nothing in Punic. We destroyed the Punici centuries ago!” Calysta responded with a laugh, and just a slight bit of confusion.

Pyp stuck his tongue out of a corner of his mouth in thought. “Oh, sorry, not Punic then...I think my tutor was talking about them yesterday,” Pyp explained, shame-facedly.

“You should pay more attention to your lessons!” she admonished playfully. “Hmm, though, I wonder what I shall purchase? I do believe I have saved up enough for a gold chain, I think. I can put your lovely locket on it.” She ruffled his hair again, and he looked up happily at her. Calysta’s other hand curled protectively around the golden pendant.

As they spoke, their feet had carried them to the villa’scourtyard, where many servants were bustling around at whatever tasks assigned to them. Two native maids, Calysta and her family abhorred the word “slave,” carried baskets of laundry, and a handful young urchins played a game with old dice, wagering stones.

“Marcus Dieus Dieus!” Pyp scowled at his name, who wanted a name like Marcus Antonius Dieus? How long-winded could it get? “Calysta Diea Dieus! Where have the two of you been? The whole household is in upheaval. One of the Emperor’s lords has come, and on important business too. The two of you must get ready!” Their nurse, a native of Galla, Nuina, bustled them in.

“Nuina! I can walk by myself!” Calysta said indignantly as the old nurse tried to hold on to her hand the way she held onto Pyp’s.

“That you can,” Nuina conceded ruefully, unclasping Calysta‘s hand. Calysta, before she darted away to her own room, pecked a kiss on the gnarled hand that had tended her throughout her childhood.

Calysta entered her room, located in a snug corner on the top floor. It was one of the finest rooms in the villa, tiled with marble, and luxurious things from all around the Empire were littered all over.

And most magnificent of all, out of a gilded window of glass, she had a beautiful view of the ocean. It was the first thing she saw in the morning, and the last thing Calysta viewed at night. Near the window stood a loom with a half completed tapestry hanging from it. Although Calysta was loathe to admit liking any household task, she secretly did enjoy weaving though she would prefer not to spin the thread.

Calysta took out a mahogany box, carved with intricate designs in the Persian style which depicted flowers growing around each other, their vines twisting until each separate step was indeterminable. When she opened it, the dying rays of the sun were caught by a scattering of jewels, and she stood entranced at their color, and then laughed at herself for her lack of concentration. She placed the gold locket inside, and lovingly closed the box‘s lid.

One hour later Calysta had been bathed in the family‘s bathhouse, perfumed, oiled, and dressed to perfection. One of her maids brought out the polished mirror of bronze, and she gazed at her reflection with approval. Her gold hair had been piled up on her head, and braided with flowers, and her sky blue robe draped over her body becomingly. She rubbed her hands over the pale spots left from the blemishes of her twelfth year, thanking Venus once again that they had gone, leaving only a vague mark of their presence that her mother promised would disappear with time.

“Is the visiting lord handsome?” Calysta asked hopefully, turning away from her reflection lest she turn into a second Narcissus.

“Nay, Domina,” one of her handmaidens laughed, “he is old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Then I suppose I must be on my best behavior, so he may carry my attributes back to Mother Rome.” she sighed, her mother often quoted that in her speeches to her.

The maids tittered, and Calysta’s face grew darker with anger. Several times before a man had proposed to her, or rather her father, for her hand, and she had thrown a fit and refused to be married. However much Calysta’s parents said they respected her decision not to marry yet, they were eager to see their eldest wedded. Calysta knew she caused her parents worry with her unwillingness to marry; her mother had been married at twelve and Calysta was three, nearly four years beyond that age. “If only I didn’t have to bother with these conventions of Roman society!” she muttered to herself. Aloud, she said, “You are dismissed.” They backed out, dropping curtsies.

Calysta’s mother, the famed beauty, Olympia Tertia, entered her daughter’s room. She gazed fondly upon the golden head, which stared out at the sea. Olympia smiled at her daughter’s classic pose: legs crossed, head tilted to one side and resting upon her clasped hands. However, when her eyes fell on the cases of the great orator, Cicero, lying beside Calysta, her eyebrows narrowed in frustration. Where did Calysta get that? she thought. She sighed in frustration: if men found out that Calysta enjoyed reading the law of the Roman Republic and fancied herself to some extent a lawyer, as evident by her argumentative stance on so many things, the marriage proposals would disappear. Beneath the cases of Cicero lay the works of the father of history, Herodotus, and Olympia recognized the well-worn copy as her husband’s own.

“Mother!” Calysta exclaimed, when she saw Olympia and Olympia erased whatever disturbance was evident on her face. Her mother was Calysta’s opposite in looks, and it continually amazed Calysta that she was Olympia’s daughter. Her mother's hair was a dark brown, almost black, which glittered red in the sunlight, and her eyes were as dark as the night. The only similarity, Calysta decided for the umpteenth time, are our noses, for they perch delicately on both of us.

Olympia slid beside Calysta on the girl’s bed, stroking Calysta’s hair. “Dear Calysta, I beg of you, please, be on your best behavior tonight for the Lord Gracchi.”

“So he can carry my attributes back to Mother Rome?” Calysta asked, acting in her mind as if this was a grand case in the old Republic.

Her mother let out a drawn “Yes...”

“But Gracchi...isn’t that a plural? Shouldn’t it be Gracchus?” Calysta questioned her mother in curiosity after digesting for a few seconds what appeared wrong with the name.

Olympia shrugged, “Who knows what are the crazy fads of the lords of Rome? I certainly know I don’t and I am fairly certain neither do you. So keep a proper tongue in your head or I shall tell Nuina to take a rod to your back, believe me child, I will.” The second part, more than anything, cemented Olympia Tertia’s statement as an empty threat. As well as being known for her beauty she was renowned for kindness.

They went down to the dining hall together. It was a vast, rectangular, room, inlaid with mosaics of Ceres and her helpers harvesting the fields, each touch causing the wheat stalks to turn gold, the leaves to change to scarlet. On the opposite wall was a bawdy and gaudy mosaic of Bacchus and some nymphs at a feast where the wine flowed more freely then the water. The second mosaic was a product of the tastes of the Consul of Larochel several generations ago. Fortunately, he was no ancestor of the current lord and had refurbished many of the older mosaics tastefully.

Olympia sat down next to her husband, Antonius Tertullius Dieus on a plush green couch. Calysta took her seat next to Pyp, who reclined on the couch as casual as any emperor.

“Move over. You’re taking the whole couch.”

Pyp scooted over obligingly, giving Calysta the part of the seat with the arm. “There are two other couches open: take those.” he suggested. After several moments, Pyp exclaimed, “You know, I have really big news!”

“What Pyp?” she whispered.

He suddenly shook his head and Calysta turned around to see the gray-haired lord. “Good afternoon, Lady Calysta Dieus.” he said.

“Good afternoon, Father Gracchi, may Pluto not carry you away too quickly.” Calysta replied, blue eyes sparkling with humor.

Pyp smothered a laugh behind his hand, and his sister flashed a mischievous look at him.

“Dear Lady, you are most beautiful,” the lord complimented, ignoring her poke at his age.

“Why, thank you.”

Gracchi went around an sat a larger couch which was near Antonius and Olympia. The first course of the cena had begun, and their servants scurried about handing a plate of fish to each of them. Once again, Calysta was at the ocean, no, she was in it, swimming with the fish. She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. Calysta dipped a bite of fish into mulsum, which was wine sweetened with honey, and took a bite.

“Calystaaaaa.” Pyp said again.

“Yes, oh dear brother?”

“I have a secret.” he whispered with the air of great importance.

She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Oh really? Do tell me.”

“I heard father, and he said that Lord Gracchi meant to marry you.” Pyp spilled eagerly, and then covered his mouth, aghast.

“And you also heard the traders were coming from Punic.” Calysta commented, not believing her younger brother.

Pyp made a face; if his sister didn’t believe him; she deserved an old fogey like Lord Gracchi.

Afterwards, despite Calysta declaring Pyp’s beliefs fallacies, she sent frequent glances towards the old lord. He had wide shoulders, thin, graying hair cut short in the Caesar style, like her father’s, and a salt and pepper beard, which was more salt than pepper. He wouldn’t ask her to marry him, he just couldn’t. He was much too old, and even if he did, her parents wouldn’t, they couldn’t make her marry him. With that final argument she convinced herself; she wasn’t getting married to him. Pyp just had to go and get his ears checked by one of the healers. However, Lord Gracchi’s repetitive stares unsettled her.

The elders at the table were discussing something with avid interest. Olympia’s face was drawn, and she kept sending looks of askance towards the two men. Lord Gracchi was speaking softly and earnestly to her parents. When the conversation shifted away from him for a moment he glanced avariciously around the dining hall. When his eyes lighted on Calysta, for a moment his face wore a sly smirk that might have passed for a smile.

Once again, the servants came, taking away their knives and empty plates, replacing them with the larger plates of the second course, the prima mensa, and the wine bearers came to refill the men’s goblets and water for the women. Tonight the main course was chicken cooked with cabbage, parsnips and garlic, with a side of soft bread fresh from the ovens.

The adults seemed as engrossed in their conversation as they had during the gustatio. Now, not only Gracchi, but Antonius and Olympia would glance at her quickly in the middle of the conversation. Calysta tried to ignore them, and enjoy the well prepared meal, but she found herself wishing that the secunda mensa would come soon so the dinner might be over. Perhaps their had been some truth in Pyp’s hearsay, but surely her parents would have asked her to join in the conversation if they were truly discussing her marriage.

Calysta thought she heard someone among the adults had called her name, and her heart leapt out of it’s pocket. Oh, Juno...please say it’s not true. She studied them closely, trying to read gestures and lips, but to no avail. She turned her attention to the meal, but found that her stomach had gone to ash, and she was not hungry at all. She found herself sneaking glances at Gracchi. He smiled at some comments her father had made and then frowned thoughtfully.

When the servants came with the pastries of the secunda mensa Calysta found her appetite aroused by the sight of the dessert, and when the servants offered her the pastries she put two on her plate and devoured them. The water, which lay untouched by her side, was quickly sipped. However, water simply could not do her worry justice and she wished that it was not a crime for a woman to have wine.

Finally, with the dinner done Olympia, Antonius and Gracchi rose up. “There’s a delightful view of the ocean from the balcony.” said Olympia softly, “We should be able to catch the last rays of Apollo of we hurry. Come Calysta, not you Pyp. The four of them left the room, and Calysta gave Pyp a bewildered look. “Marcus, go up to your chambers.”

They had forgotten to give the traditional portion of the meal to the fire in honor of the lar: a sign of bad luck for sure.

Calysta followed the three adults to the balcony, and there was indeed a breathtaking view. The sea seemed to shimmer blood-red, and then turn to a cool blue. The sea is whimsical this evening; anything could happen.

“Calysta,” Antonius began, walking around Calysta, the short tunic swinging around his legs, “you have grown up into a lovely young lady, and we have had many offers for you to place an iron ring on your third finger. I, and your mother, have decided that it is time for you to wed, before you become too old and the marriage offers dry up.” He smiled at Calysta. “We want what is best for our daughter. On that note, we have had a marriage offer for you, from Lord Gracchi.”

“And you refused, correct?” Calysta said nervously, wishing with all her heart that Pyp‘s prediction would prove false..

“No, dear, we accepted.” her mother said, her face impassive.

“What!” Calysta screamed. “He is old and he is ugly and he‘s ancient! I am only fifteen, why don‘t you understand that? I can’t marry him, I just can‘t! Don’t you care for my well-being at all? Besides, you just met him. How do you not know that he is some demon incarnate or a minion of something evil?”

“Quiet Calysta!” Antonius roared. More quietly he added, “He is rich, well placed, and powerful.”

“Wealth isn’t everything, Father.” Calysta shot Gracchi a venomous glance.

“You couldn’t do any better, dear. He is one of the most powerful men in Rome.” Olympia put in.

“He came all the way from there to see you, he had heard of your beauty from one of your

spurned...men.” added Antonius,

“I assure you I will treat you with the kindness and respect you deserve.” Gracchi, that skillful manipulator, said, slipping into an oily smile.

“Why should I believe you? I’ve never even heard of you before.” Calysta turned to face her mother, “You don’t understand Mother! You can’t!” Calysta wailed, tears pouring unchecked.

“Daughter! We have had enough. You will accept our decision as your own.” Antonius commanded, raking fingers through dark hair. “You will go to your room, and will sleep. Tomorrow you will understand our decision better, when you‘re well rested.”

Calysta stood up, head high. “Once I thought you loved me. Please, do not let me think that any longer.” she whirled out the door, and into the corridor.

“One day she will thank us. She is young and impetuous and every young girl dreams of a handsome young lord to come and take her away.” Olympia said leaning on Antonius. “She meant no harm.” Olympia added to Gracchi.

“Thank you for your hospitality, domina.” He nodded to Antonius, then Olympia. He hitched his toga and left the terrace.

“One day she will find out we do all we can for her; she is our daughter, no matter what.” Antonius agreed.

“I just hope Calysta forgives us, he is rather old.”

Antonius ran his fingers through wavy black hair, just touched with black. “But we could not have gotten a better offer for her. One of the most powerful lords in Rome! No matter what, our child will live comfortably on his lands.”

“I do trust that happens.” Olympia spun around, her lavender robe swirling around her, “There’s so much to do, though; the engagement party, then the wedding so soon after.”

Calysta had run to her room, blinded by the tears. I can’t believe my parents could sell me like, like, like some sort of prize cow. They did not care for Lord Gracchi’s age, they cared for his wealth. She threw herself on her bed and wept as she had never in her life. She wished that she could know what went through that old fool’s head.

Calysta had had a feeling about him since she had first saw him at the dinner, and it wasn’t a good feeling either. This man has cost her her freedom within the space of a dinner. She was somewhere near an eighth of his age, and he dared propose. Calysta sighed, that sort of thing happened all the time, but she never thought her parents would let it happen to her.

“Calysta, what happened?” Pyp’s voice rang out from one of the corners of her bedroom.

“Get out Pyp. Please leave.”

“But-” he began to object.

Calysta cut him off, “You’ll find out in the morning.”

“Well, night then, Calysta, may Diana guard your dreams.”

“And yours, dear Pyp.”

Pyp left his sister’s room. That Lord Gracchi had proposed to her; he had been right. Now, he wished he hadn’t said what he had, saying that Calysta deserved Gracchi. What if some god had heard his utterance and turned it upon them in a tragic curse. Poor Caly. “Mario!” Pyp called.

“Yes Lord Marcus?” he answered with a twinkle in his eye.

“No one’s around, so don’t call me Lord Marcus, or I’ll call you Junus. I need you to do me a favor, Junus.”

“Yeh, Pyp?” Mario asked. When Pyp wanted a favor done it was usually something interesting. He loved serving a master, who was six years old and easily influenced by his older servant. But of course Mario influenced him in good ways, like teaching Pyp different pranks and the like.

“Put the biggest crab you can find in that Lord Gracchi’s bed.”

Mario’s dark face broke into a grin, “Why ever would you want me to do that Pyp?” he said in a mock innocent tone.

“Revenge, Mario, revenge.” said Pyp as solemn as any old conniver.

“I hope Master Gracchi enjoys crab.” Mario said gleefully.

A/n: So review, per always.