January/February 2014

Surely he knew no girls or women were allowed to be educated in that way? “Octavia, do not hold your threads so clumsily; you are not an animal,” Cassia said. Her young mistress frowned and then suddenly threw the ball of dyed yarn on the floor. “Cassia, you may be my slave but I cannot weave even to a quarter of your abilities,” Octavia said with derision. “Weaving is useless; why must women get all the dull jobs?” Cassia clucked her tongue reprovingly and handed Octavia the yarn. “Try harder,” she suggested. Octavia’s temper flared. “How dare you tell me to try harder! I work like a horse and weaving is so dull! How dare you!” Angrily she threw the ball of yarn at Cassia and stormed out of the weaving room. Outside the breeze ruffled the olive trees and clouds raced across the blue sky. The marble courtyard was surrounded by pillars and a center fountain. A statue of the Roman goddess Venus releasing doves was the centerpiece of the fountain and water streamed from the birds’ beaks. Venus was smiling wistfully and she seemed so real, even as the centerpiece of a fountain. The courtyard was spacious and the ground was marble, with images of the Roman gods. Ivy curled around the intricately carved pillars, and plants were arranged in a pattern around the fountain. Three sides of the courtyard were edged with pillars and led to the house. The fourth side opened up into the road and forest. Birds sang and Octavia had never felt so lonely. Her mother and father were too insistent upon her marriage and the servants didn’t care the least bit about their stubborn mistress. Octavia had always been headstrong and that itself was a lady’s crime. “Aaa-choo!” the loud sneeze rang across the quiet courtyard. Eyes wide, Octavia whirled around and crept towards the moving bush… “Aaaaakkkkk!” Octavia screamed as a young boy her age sprung out of the bush. Octavia fell backwards, landed hard on the bricks, and promptly tore her new linen tunic. “Shh, I’m sorry to scare you. I’m Julius and you are Octavia,” the boy declared. He had an easy, commanding manner that pleased Octavia instantly. “Where are you from?” she asked, as she shook Julius’s hand. He was treating her like an ordinary boy and she was thoroughly enjoying it. No more curtseying and bowing and proper manners to clog up a good conversation. “Oh, just next door. But I detest practicing arithmetic so I… escaped the slave,” Julius admitted. He reddened a little and grinned embarrassedly. “I love doing that!” Octavia agreed. “But you know what I really love is poetry. It’s so rhythmic and flows beautifully.” “You are fortunate you can read. I have never been taught,” Octavia sighed. She had always longed to read; it seemed like such an intelligent yet exciting pastime. “I could teach you,” Julius suggested, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. Octavia gasped. Surely he knew no girls or women were allowed to be educated in that way? “I could meet you every day after lessons at this olive tree,” the young boy continued, his voice steady. Octavia glanced across the sunny courtyard and then crept further into the shadows. Nobody was around, but the idea of defying Roman custom was frightening as well as exciting. “So what do you say?” Julius pressured. He grinned at Octavia. “Why do you trust me?” the girl finally asked. Her companion’s face reddened as he averted his gaze. “I’ve been… watching you and you don’t seem like the type to just go along with whatever is expected of you,” Julius muttered. He bit his lip embarrassingly and looked up at Octavia. “You’ve been watching me? How can I trust you not to turn me in?” Octavia demanded. “My word is the only thing you have and that should be enough,” Julius said firmly. Lowering her voice, Octavia finally whispered, “All right.” *          *          * Over the next few weeks, Octavia learned the Roman alphabet and began to read simple words. Julius scratched the symbols in the dirt and slowly Octavia began to read. “I’m going to bring you scrolls when you get good enough. Right now they’re too complicated for you,” Julius said eagerly. Octavia was too cheerful to be offended and agreed that scrolls would be too challenging. So in just a simple courtyard under a tree a boy taught a girl his age how to read. These secret lessons became little pockets of joy to Octavia, whose life had steadily gotten worse. Her parents were becoming insistent upon her marriage, and her weaving lessons were becoming more and more difficult. One day Julius managed to sneak a simple poetry scroll from his home so Octavia could truly begin to read proper material. It had been a lonely day for Octavia, and her mother had gotten truly angry at her stubbornness. “This is your destiny, marriage and women’s work, and yet you still fight against me!” her mother had yelled. But as the breeze ruffled Octavia’s dark hair and she haltingly stumbled through the scroll, her worries of life faded away. “I think you can truly read now!” Julius exclaimed after Octavia managed to read the poem twice. “I’m not so sure… I keep mixing up my letters!” Octavia said in frustration. As she knelt in the dirt, scanning the scroll, she pounded her knee and moaned. Suddenly Julius snatched the scroll and dashed off into the small forest between their houses. Surprised, Octavia started to stand. Then she heard footsteps. “Octavia, my daughter, what are you doing in the dirt? Get up,” her mother commanded. Octavia felt dizzy with fear. Would her secret passion and friend be discovered? “My dear, you look so pale… are you well?” Mother exclaimed. Lifting her long white dress, she leaned forward and touched Octavia’s face. “I’m fine, just getting fresh air, but I dare say I felt a spider on my back,” Octavia lied. Her