Amica

[Velut Luna]

Amica 57



I’ve copied my letter to Eulalia onto papyrus. My secret message is written in the text, I didn’t use magic ink, but a geometric arrangement of words.


Now that Rectina is back, preparations are ongoing for a banquet this evening to celebrate her safe return, there will be many guests.

A gentle wind sways sinuously the veils between the columns of the triclinium on top of the tower, from the outside it looks like a covered terrace, the view embraces the entire Gulf, the islands appear to be nearby, ships with their sails seem like white feathers that glide across the sea, which in the approaching sunset has the colour of old gold.


The sun, now low on the horizon, throws a long reflection, a furrow of light, flooding the room with a warm glow that softens the shadows of evening, and, like the sunlight, the pleasure of balnea (bath-house) eases away fatigue from bodies, making their skin more luminous.

The warmth of the last rays is added to that of many braziers placed at various points around the room to counter the fresh salty breezes that blow from the sea by night.


Two oriental dancers are swaying their hips and bellies in gyrations, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, a sensual dance accompanied by the sound of rattles they’re holding in their hands. A group of singers chant voluptuous melodies, the double flute leads the ears of the diners in this hypnotic dance-music.

The diners are lounging on triclinari (couches), discussing among themselves in calm and mellow tones, until the near-silence is broken by the loud laughter and guffaws of a young Pompeian politician, recently elected to the office of Aedile (like a baillie or sheriff, responsible for law and order in the city) – it’s not just his ability that’s brought him so high, it was an unscrupulous political operation masterminded by another diner who strongly supported his election by every means available, and now he’s got him in his hands to manoeuvre to his advantage like a puppet. The puppeteer is a man of strong build, he speaks slowly in a low voice. He’s a very powerful figure, a self-mad man, a nouveau riche, able to mix politics, honest business and shady dealings quite shamelessly. He’s talking to another character, a really rich Herculanean, who’s listening carefully, with concentration, staring at the ground, turning on his finger a big gold ring.
A little further away there is a small man, fat and funny-looking, arguing with three other guests. He’s another very rich man, he’s got a big villa in Sorrento. He keeps gesticulating, his face looks like that of a clown. His interlocutors are two freedmen who’ve become rich with businesses of all kinds, one of them has at his side a beautiful girl, a mime-actress – in practical terms, a whore who jumps from one bed to another depending on what benefits she can grab, regardless of the physical appearance of those she serves, she’d go to bed with a slobbering old git just to snaffle the gold from his purse.

Among the guests there is also the Duovirus (one of the joint ‘mayors’) of Pompeii, Marcus Holconius Priscus, the one Dromos pointed out when we saw him buying that statuette for luck from the street vendor.

Their conversations seem preoccupied with the earthquakes, continuing aftershocks following after the violent first one, that are hitting property-owners with ongoing expenses, and even the city officials are concerned, the costs are increasing dramatically, the work’s done, but after a little while it has to be re-done, it’s as if they were condemned like Sisyphus, pushing the boulder up the hill, then it rolls down again, in a never-ending circuit.

Next to me, sitting near Rectina, has come a good-looking, delicate-featured young man, Aulus Fulius, of Herculaneum. He’s the son of a family of freedmen who’ve become rich. We all listen to the verses of a renowned poet who artfully modulates his own voice and sculpts each word – it’s Caesius, an intelligent and sensitive man. He’s brought as a gift for his patroness a pair of Egyptian roses, a very precious gift. Rectina is sitting by an aristocrat from Rome, the most important person in this group of guests.

When Caesius has finished reciting his verses to applause, Rectina introduces me to the guests,

'Even Amica composes verses! Come on, let us hear some of your poetry!'

I’m a little embarrassed, taken aback, almost ashamed, but I pluck up a bit of courage and begin to recite a short new poem:


Haven’t you seen the butterflies
with such slight grace
touching the flowers in the spring?
With lightness like theirs
hovers over all things
the limpid glance of the virgin sister.
Haven’t you seen
when the stars, ashamed,
withdraw from the advancing light?
So timidly do words
pause on the threshold
of her lips, to silence so inured.
It has no form, the garment that she wears,
the light that filters
scatters its contours. Her lovely face -
you do not know where to begin. Her smile
has the power of an immense embrace.

And then another:

The moon opens in the gardens,
the moon demands torment
and calls for blood -
I saw a girl
bleeding to death
under the moon’s light.
Oh, what deathly fear
just when you're nearing the end
to smell the moon!
But, maybe, by moonlight
I’ll stop your fleeting moment
just enough
to plant in you
a single kiss of love.

 

[Eulalia]

The poems that Luna's included in these last two episodes are based ones by the very fine Milanese poet,
Alda Merini, 1931-2009.
Her poetry is quite varied, some sharp-edged and witty,
some self-exploring (she spent a long period in a mental hospital)
but her characteristic style draws on myth and nature
in a mystical way reminiscent of Rilke.

But there's an even stronger influence -
Luna's poem in Amica 56 is based on one in a sequence in which
Alda addresses, argues with, praises, tries to come to terms with,
her 'Maestra', Sappho,
and the 'Sapphic' character of the two in Amica 57 is very clear.

There's an Alda Merina website in Italian:
http://www.aldamerini.it/
Far too little in English, but quite a good note at:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/alda-merini​

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 58

As I finish reading, the triclinium's hushed, I see several guests glancing at one another with astonished looks, a few whispered remarks, a pause, then loud applause, not just polite clapping, a real wave of appreciation like the sea breaking on the shore.

Rectina's smiling, she looks at me approvingly, only Caesius is scowling, shuffling awkwardly, fiddling with the parchment scroll in his hands. He senses his patroness's eyes are on him, asking wordlessly,

'How about that, Caesius?'

He shuffles his feet again as he turns to face her, clears his throat...

'Er.. um... ver-, er, yes, your slavegirl does you great credit, ma'am... er, it's most gracious of you to give encouragement to, er, even the most, erm, stumbling beginner...'

'Oh Caesius, we all know that you're a great poet, two little short compositions of a slavegirl aren't going to overshadow you, but these express a purely feminine sensibility, very different from yours ...'

'Oh yes, Ma'am, of course, they're, er, so feminine as to leave me speechless, a man wouldn't know how to write them... the first is so clearly Sapphic, it shines all through with virginal delicacy, a clear parallel between the female virginity and the virgin moon, even her timid words are expressed as a slightly ethereal brightness, in which form is hard to discern, yet but open to hope, in a universal embrace. But the second contains a sense of great mystery, it evokes arcane worlds, a cryptic, sybilline language hides prophetic elements, even the deity demands blood sacrifice ...'

I will not reply, I will not explain, everyone must be able to grasp the message that's contained in the poem contained, or, rather, draw out the messages that everyone knows.


The party continues, new courses attract the attention of the guests, so the tension and momentary embarrassment of Caesius evaporate - indeed, he comes up to me and asks me where I learnt Latin, I answer that Eulalia, a Greek slave, who was my teacher.

He’s surprised that I, coming from the land of Thule, has been to learn so well in a short time. He would like to help me to write and to keep up a written correspondence with me, if that idea pleased me.

I cannot deny that such a state of affairs, so new, would encourage me a great deal, but we’d have to get permission from Rectina, I'm only a slave girl - he'll talk to my mistress.

The music and oriental dancers distract the guests, then the time comes for us to retire to our rooms. Tomorrow everyone will return home. Caesius lives in a mansio (guest-house for Imperial officials and distinguished visitors) in Pompeii, I’ll take advantage of this to convey my message to Eulalia.

 

[Pia]

Amica 58

As I finish reading, the triclinium's hushed, I see several guests glancing at one another with astonished looks, a few whispered remarks, a pause, then loud applause, not just polite clapping, a real wave of appreciation like the sea breaking on the shore.

Rectina's smiling, she looks at me approvingly, only Caesius is scowling, shuffling awkwardly, fiddling with the parchment scroll in his hands. He senses his patroness's eyes are on him, asking wordlessly,

'How about that, Caesius?'

He shuffles his feet again as he turns to face her, clears his throat...

'Er.. um... ver-, er, yes, your slavegirl does you great credit, ma'am... er, it's most gracious of you to give encouragement to, er, even the most, erm, stumbling beginner...'

'Oh Caesius, we all know that you're a great poet, two little short compositions of a slavegirl aren't going to overshadow you, but these express a purely feminine sensibility, very different from yours ...'

'Oh yes, Ma'am, of course, they're, er, so feminine as to leave me speechless, a man wouldn't know how to write them... the first is so clearly Sapphic, it shines all through with virginal delicacy, a clear parallel between the female virginity and the virgin moon, even her timid words are expressed as a slightly ethereal brightness, in which form is hard to discern, yet but open to hope, in a universal embrace. But the second contains a sense of great mystery, it evokes arcane worlds, a cryptic, sybilline language hides prophetic elements, even the deity demands blood sacrifice ...'

I will not reply, I will not explain, everyone must be able to grasp the message that's contained in the poem contained, or, rather, draw out the messages that everyone knows.


The party continues, new courses attract the attention of the guests, so the tension and momentary embarrassment of Caesius evaporate - indeed, he comes up to me and asks me where I learnt Latin, I answer that Eulalia, a Greek slave, who was my teacher.

He’s surprised that I, coming from the land of Thule, has been to learn so well in a short time. He would like to help me to write and to keep up a written correspondence with me, if that idea pleased me.

I cannot deny that such a state of affairs, so new, would encourage me a great deal, but we’d have to get permission from Rectina, I'm only a slave girl - he'll talk to my mistress.

The music and oriental dancers distract the guests, then the time comes for us to retire to our rooms. Tomorrow everyone will return home. Caesius lives in a mansio (guest-house for Imperial officials and distinguished visitors) in Pompeii, I’ll take advantage of this to convey my message to Eulalia.

I think this is the first time I've ever got a message about an update and therefore the first time I have ever been up to speed with this amazing story! Well, that is my good luck I am thinking, yes? It's wonderful!!!!

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 59


Eulalia’s reply isn’t immediate, and, when the letter comes it’s just three words, 'I'm leaving for Rome.' Not a nod to my letter. Why? Didn’t she receive it? Didn’t she understand the secret message? Or didn’t she guess how it was written? Do she not love me anymore? Have I done something wrong? I’m very disappointed and humiliated, I took so much effort making up the short poem for her.

Can she not answer? What's going on in Pompeii? And why is she going to Rome? How is she going there? With whom? Where will she stay? Will she return? Certainly she can’t be going alone, someone will be accompanying her, or she’s accompanying someone, perhaps Lucius? And why would Lucius be going to Rome? And has Fannius returned? Why hasn’t he come here to me?

I torment myself with so many unanswered questions, I'm almost tempted to escape, to run to Pompeii. But if Eulalia’s already gone away? Then, apart from not finding Eulalia, Rectina would send the slave-hunters after me, I’d be severely punished, whipped, sold, and the gods know what other risks I’d run! I cry, I’m sad and angry, but I can’t do anything to change things.

Even Rectina seem anxious. What’s happening? I haven’t slept all night, my imagination’s chasing nightmare scenarios, over-excited by this situation of anxiety, it’s dreaming up the most gloomy possibilities. I’m now no longer sure of my ability to prophesy the future, have I lost my powers?

The soft light of Aurora painting the sky pink clears away the ghostsof the night, the crowing of a cock announces the start of a new day, the furious barking of a dog on the other hand announces some other strange prodigy - then there’s a roar, as of nearby thunder, alarm throughout the whole house, we all race out into the garden.

It wasn’t an earthquake, not a storm, the sky is clear. We all look mystified, someone says it is the wrath of Jupiter for how humans are behaving, maybe he want to punish us, some strange things happen in these times, we must make sacrifices to appease the wrath of the Gods.

Euken has prepared a litter for Rectina, we must all climb up to a spring that flows from a rock to form a pond, at the edge of which a small temple has been built, a shrine dedicated to some Samnian deity, worshipped here long before the arrival of the Romans. Perhaps it will be able to bring back our lost serenity. The women of these parts often go to the spring, its waters are credited with extraordinary powers, from fertility to the power to cause someone to fall in love and to bind themselves to whoever is in love with them.

Rectina has brought with her a silver statuette that she wishes to offer to Juno Lucina - but why does she desire to offer this votive statuette? Does she wants a lover who’s neglecting her to fall in love with her? Does she want to have a child with such a lover, but can’t get pregnant?

The road ahead is uphill. Just before a turning, the squad of slaves who are carrying the litter slows down, some of them who've run ahead of us to clear the way are coming back, there’s an obstacle. They report that a stretch of the escarpment has slipped onto the path, a few blocks of lava rock have fallen down the steep side, and the soil is blocking the way.

It must have happened this morning when we heard the roar, and now there’s a thud, a rattling noise is growing above us, something is moving in the small patches of woodland that line the road. A tall maritime pine is tilting more and more, then it hits the ground like a hammer. The crash is very violent, twigs and branches are hurled everywhere. We look amazed, Rectina grasps the statuette to her bosom and crouches almost instinctively, wanting to protect it.

Now there’s only silence, even nature seems dumbstruck.

It’s best to proceed, best to get away before anything else happens. We look as we pass at the rock laid bare by the collapse, the roots of the pine are protruding from the loose soil like stretched-out, broken arms. The feeling is of being in front of a deep wound, one seems to sense the suffering of the earth.

But another surprise awaits us. As we come to the sacred spring we stop speechless, the scenario is disturbing - usually it’s a place of peace cheered by birdsong, but now it’s silent, except for a strange, gurgling, bubbling lake from which a weird and disgusting smell is rising from waters that are murky, the grey colour of mud.

Rectina descends from the litter, covers her head with her 'palla' (shawl), and covers her face with one end of it to ward off the stink that’s emanating from the waters. A clammy mist is wafting around, the stench is becoming gradually more and more intense and disgusting. There are dead birds at the water’s edge, I pick one up, the little body’s limp, its eyes open, expressionless. This place, considered by all to be a source of hope and new life, is now generating nothing but death.

We proceed along the bank, the slaves escort us, ready to give us protection. The temple is not much bigger than a market kiosk. It’s intact, but the shiny silver statues of the deities are blackened, covered with a crust, enwrapped in a shade of death that dirties fingers that touch it. Rectina lays her votive statuette on the small altar, reciting sacred formulas. The bubbling of the lake increases, concern spreads among the bearers, some are whispering, others calling on the gods. Someone says that the lake has become like a place not far away, near Misenum, that’s called 'Campi Flegrei' (‘plains of burning’), where mud boils constantly. Some are afraid and insist we must get away, this place is no longer safe.

Rectina and I have tears in our eyes, not only for this spectacle of misery and terror that’s creeping into our hearts, but also from the irritation caused by the vapours.

On the way back we meet a shepherd, he looks shocked, staggering as he walks along the road, staring into space, gesturing. Some slaves move forward to prevent him from approaching. When they stop him he falls to his knees, stunned, looks up at them and murmurs in a faint voice repeatedly, 'one hundred sheep ... all dead. Yesterday I brought them here to graze… at dusk they were all still alive… this morning I found only a field of dead carcases…'

The shepherd resumes his journey gesturing in despair, in one night he’s lost everything, he alone has survived. We remain speechless, exchanging looks of apprehension. A little further on there’s another omen of death, an invasion of ants and snakes swarming out of the woods.

Rectina says that Seneca described these phenomena in a letter, saying they occurred a little before the big earthquake. She was still a teenager and didn’t live here, so she didn’t witness these events. None of the slaves have seen such things either, they're all from far-away places - only one, a Sicilian, says that in his country there’s a place where columns of mud rise up out of the ground and flow around. Neither men nor animals live there, they all fear the gods of the underworld who live in that valley.

I’m amazed and frightened by what’s happened today, but fortunately for us we return unharmed to the villa.

 

[messaline]

Hééééé ! Sulfur'fumes are very dangerous ! Get away, Amica .... but you cant know that , alas ...

 

[Pia]

Scary! Brilliantly told, as always!

 

[cxslave]

Ah I've missed so much!! Still just as amazing Luna!! Things are getting very exciting for Amica indeed!!

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 60


I mustn’t be so offended with Eulalia, maybe it all happened so fast that she didn’t even have time to write more than the three words announcing her departure for Rome. But time passes and I haven’t received anything for the past three months.

It’s almost the end of winter, the days are getting longer, Rectina’s garden is a riot of flowers. I console myself with the letters of Caesius who writes to me every five or six days, he’s teaching me even more elegant ways of writing in Latin, and many new words. His poems are very sweet, I’m almost at risk of falling in love with him, but my thoughts are always for Fannius - who knows where he is now? If he’s gone again to the land of the Germans he’ll have suffered the cold of winter, and I couldn’t warm him with my love, but maybe he’ll have found another girl who’s kept the bed warm! I'm jealous, Fannius is mine!

But what a silly girl I am, I’m just a slave! I don’t own my body, I can only stay alive just because someone is gracious to me, and I'm lucky to be here with Rectina.

Some days I get strange feelings in me, a growing sense of anxiety without any reason – it must be the spring! I go down to stroll along the beach in front of the large garden of the villa during the moments when Rectina’s resting. I come here often looking for fragments of coral, colored stones and seashells, that I put in small glass jars and place them neatly on a wooden shelf close to my desk. I like to feel the sand between my bare toes, the smell of salty air, the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, the warmth of the sun, the colours of the sea, the cries of the seabirds, the warm scents of the vegetation that grows on the edge of the beach, the wild flowers that sprout among the pebbles.

'Amica! Amica! Come up!'

Rectina’s calling me, she never does that, normally some slave comes looking for me, what’s happened? I run up the stairs that lead to the terrace in front of the villa, almost running into the great hall in front of the peristyle. There are some people, my heart’s in my throat. I stop suddenly, I can see two people from behind who are standing talking with Rectina. It’s a man and a woman. I feel a sense of foreboding. Rectina beckons to me, they turn - Lucius and Eulalia!

I freeze, I can’t take another step. Eulalia is so beautiful, she’s changed a lot. I look at her with astonished eyes, my mouth half open as if to say something I can’t get out of my mouth. I kneel to greet Lucius, he signals to me to get up, Eulalia smiles at me, then, spreading her arms, invites me to hug her. My eyes are filled with tears, I can barely see the beautiful clothes she’s wearing, the jewels that adorn her black hair, with a gold chain among her tresses that are arranged in a complicated hairstyle. I'm almost shocked by this vision, what has happened? Who is Eulalia now? She cuddles me at her breast, kissing me, I’m trembling with emotion but I cannot say a word.

'Eulalia is now a free woman. She will tell you what happened in Rome.'

Lucius says, and he and Rectina leave us alone, going over to the exhedra by the garden.

I’m crying, crying for joy - but how can you be a free woman, you’re not yet thirty, that’s the age slaves must reach before they can become freedmen… but you’re dressed and bejewelled so you look like a queen, not a freed slavewoman. I look in your eyes in search of an answer to a question that I dare not utter.

You smile at me, your smile’s as beautiful as ever, perhaps now even brighter. I can smell your scent, a mixture of aromatic oils as precious as the clothes you’re wearing, but I remain silent, as if no longer able to speak, like I was the first day I entered the house of Lucius and had no words.

You take me by the hand and lead me to a stone bench facing the garden, you nod to me to sit.

'A lot has happened during this time I’ve been away. Lucius received a letter from the Emperor Vespasian, summoning him to Rome to serve as his financial adviser. He wanted me to accompany him as his secretary in this very delicate business. Fulvia Lucilla agreed, and we left immediately.
I’m coming now to the point when I’ll answer the many questions that your eyes are asking me!

One day, as I was following the Emperor and Lucius, they were talking to each other and I was writing what they said on a wax tablet, I stopped in front of a bronze statue, I was almost captivated by its beauty, but not only that, it reminded me of something…
The Emperor noticed this, he stopped and said it was a Greek statue that was brought with a cargo of other precious statues that now adorn the imperial palace, sent by Diogenes Euphorion - my father! The price of the shipment was deposited in the vaults of the imperial treasury, but no-one ever came to collect the money that has remained all these years at the disposal of the treasury, which has made huge profits from it by financing various public works throughout the Empire. Inquiries were made in Greece to find the owner or his heirs.
I dare to tell him that Diogenes Euphorion was my father, that he was killed by creditors, and all of us were enslaved, and I brought to Pompeii and then sold to Lucius. The Emperor was amazed and impressed, he ordered further inquiries to be made to confirm beyond doubt the truth about our fate.

He signed the decree for my release, and accredited to me all the accumulated assets. He also made the proposal to me that, if I left part of the sum on deposit in the imperial treasury, he would appoint me to the Roman nobility. Now I have to go to Athens to obtain justice for the wrongs I’ve suffered, to get the murderers of my father arrested, imprisoned, and excuted.'

I am trembling with fear, I can almost feel the fatal weapons which dispense justice – and what I’d do, if one day I could avenge the death of my father, my mother and my brothers!

 

[Wragg]

Who is Eulalia now? She cuddles me at her breast, kissing me, I’m trembling with emotion but I cannot say a word.

I can imagine that's how it would feel!

Jesting aside, Luna, this really is one superb piece of work!

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 61


I dare not ask what will happen to me.

'Now we come to your position: although your Master Lucius and I would like to free you, we’re prevented by the laws. We’ve discussed the question for a long time - you're still too young, and even if you were free, you’d still be subject as a daughter to the authority of one ‘in loco parentis’. So I’ve got from your Master a 'promissio iurata manumissio vindicta' (a binding promise to free you), or, if Fannius were to choose to keep you with him as his wife, 'matrimonii causa adprobata liberta in iure fuerit' (you would be legally a free woman by reason of lawful matrimony). For now, since you’re in the service of Rectina, it’s appropriate for you to stay here, it’s still too dangerous for you in Pompeii, especially as the Lord Lucius will be staying for a long time in Rome, the Lady Fulvia Lucilla will follow him there, and they will dispose of much of the servile staff, keeping only those that are useful for the maintenance of the townhouse and the villas.

Don’t ask me to take you to Athens with me, you know that I’d do so gladly, but I still have too many outstanding problems over there, I've still to get justice - not to mention the danger of the trip. Anyway, you’ll be treated here as a free girl, won’t have to wear the humiliating slave collar, you’ll be paid for your work, and Rectina will take care of you as a mother, she’s happy about it, since she’s a widow and childless. Fear not, I will return. '

I cry, I cry bitterly, I'm shaken by continuous trembling. I don’t know whether I'm happy or terrified by this new situation, everything’s happened so suddenly. It’s a new twist of fate in my life, as great as when I was captured and sold as a slave.

My heart is pounding, in my brain are twisting thoughts, tangled ideas more confused than ever. I cannot even imagine my future, maybe my only lifeline is the hope that Fannius will be back soon and will want to take me as his bride.

I rest a long time with my head on your shoulder, you caress my hair, kissing me on my face, comforting me, but emotion conquers any attempt to calm me - then I flee away to hide in my room, throwing myself on my bed, as if in the grip of hysteria I cry and I moan like a wounded beast.

I don’t know how much time has passed in this state of delirium, but now Rectina’s caressing my hair, Eulalia and Lucius are away, it’s dark. With a soothing voice she comforts me, comforts this daughter given to her by the gods to fill her loneliness, to fill for me the void created in my life by the loss of my mother, two solitudes that meet, seeking now to proceed together along the path of life.


Preparations for the departure of Eulalia proceed. The sky is leaden, low clouds are like dirty tissue, others are advancing like lumps of clay full of rusty red sand that sprinkles onto the ground with the rain. In the time of the sirocco the Gulf turns into a wretched plain, the sea is like the skin of a toad, brown mottled with green and white, cold and opaque. More greenish-edged clouds appear on the horizon, and the warm gusts of wind add streaks of yellow, oily stripes. Even the smell that rises from the water of the sea is as bitter as the smell of the skin of a toad. The clouds that crowd around the top of Vesuvius seem a dense yellow fog of sulphur that the low ceiling of the cloudy sky presses down, so the summit seems like the crown of a pine, split by black shadows and rotten ravines. The vines are scattered on fields of cold lava, pines and cypresses have their roots in deserts of ash, and the houses themselves take on the dark tones of death in this landscape surrounded by this penumbra of greenish gloom streaked with yellow and purple hues.

When the sirocco is blowing even people seem evil and malignant, human skin oozes, faces are wet with sweat, covered with a matt-grey shadow of embracing filth that dribbles around their eyes and lips. Their very voices sound fat and bloated, words have a different meaning, mysterious, like the taboo sayings of a strange, forbidden language. People walk in silence oppressed by a secret anguish, children spend long hours sitting on the ground without speaking, even the smoky flowers are burning in their clay pots. A voice, now here, now there, is that of a weary bird. On cracked walls, lizards stop motionless, blending with greenish mould. The smell of frozen-looking smoke from a fire wanders away into the thick and slimy air, it’s the stench of ancient Troy, of smouldering fires and funeral pyres, while low across the shore of the greasy sea, fat foetid wind blows hoarse from below the horizon.


Minerva is her name, the great quadrireme of Classis Misenensis, one of the ships of the fleet of Admiral Pliny, she’s swinging slowly at the entrance of the port of Oplontis, awaiting the embarcation of the new governor who’s to take up office in Athens, the vessel that will take away my Eulalia. Around her a swarm of small boats is carrying loads to be hoisted on board.

From off the sea a Greek wind blows (the north-east wind) and a fresh smell of salt cuts through the foetid air left by the sirocco. We can hear a rustle of leaves, a flutter of wings, the wind raises the crests of the waves and enters among the cloths of the sails .

People are watching in silence, opening and closing their mouths like fish, their eyes sparkling, they laugh in silence, just a flash of teeth and silent gestures. I'm kneeling at your feet, oh my teacher, clinging to your knees like a daughter who does not want to break away from her mother, and the sadness in my heart falls yet more blackly, my dark foreboding for the future. My tears wet my face, you comfort me, hold me to you as a mournful wail rises from my soul, it’s as if someone’s tearing my heart, ripping my soul to shreds.

The shout of the helmsman calls the few passengers to come aboard, one last hug, one last kiss, intense, on the mouth, one last look of terror, then in the light shell of a dinghy you leave me to climb the gangway leading to the deck of the majestic Minerva. For you a new life begins, for me it ends.

The anchor chain rattles, the beats of the drum that gives the rhythm for the oarsmen are like fists in my belly, the ship departs, breaking the calm waves of the sea that almost cling to the shore, looking at me with its big green eyes like a beast rising from the depths of the waves. Far off othersails ply the waters of the bay dotted by the white flecks of seagulls and the spectral blue, almost transparent, of the island of Capri that marks the limit for a final glance last into the abyss of the blue sky. Andromeda chained to her rock cries out.

The sea stares at me with my own pleading eyes and I shudder, assailed by a deep sadness, such anguish, such pain of desertion, while I cling to the beach trembling with horror, crawling on my knees, moaning like one dying in an endless agony .

Between the headland of Sorrento and the isle of Capri the red sail disappears. I shall not see the return of this sail, ever.

 

[thehangingtree]

Between the headland of Sorrento and the isle of Capri the red sail disappears. I shall not see the return of this sail, ever.

 

[Eulalia]

I told Luna, I don't cry easily, but I had to stop work a few times on this piece till my eyes dried -
it's a magnificent piece of writing!​

 

[thehangingtree]

I told Luna, I don't cry easily, but I had to stop work a few times on this piece till my eyes dried -
it's a magnificent piece of writing!​

Maybe they changed sails... Tree did that with his underwear... once...

Tree

... -Ulrika

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 62


Dreadful nightmares haunt my sleepless nights, the mighty Minerva has become a fragile shell of rotting wood at the mercy of the raging sea in a terrifying storm, her sails are in rags, the sailors are panicking, giant waves sweep over the deck, Eulalia is tied naked to the mast, a vortex of wind and foaming sea drag the remaining men into the sea, no-one holds the steering oar, the keel smashes onto the rocks at the foot of the Cliff of the Sirens, where, between sharp, spear-like pinnacles, are scattered the white bones and shattered skulls of sailors, the sea-scoured remains of the skeletons of wrecked ships.

Now she’s between Scylla and Charybdis, where the fragile wooden vessel tries to escape the whirlpool of voracious Charybdis that swallows all ships, but she doesn't notices that Scylla, the monster with sea serpents for legs and hounds’ heads for feet , has seized the sailors, snatching them from the deck. Now the huge vortex of Charybdis sucks in the ship, then spits forth its poor remains.

Now she’s in the stormy sea where the black waves part and a fiery mountain spewing rivers of boiling lava rises up, throwing up columns of fire and black fumes, like the entrance to Hades.

So now she’s stranded in a land populated by hideous cyclops that devour the victims of wrecks. She’sin sight of the coast of Greece, but from the wine-skin of Aeolus the most horrendous storm keeps howling.

For her fortune, or misfortune, I always wake up at the climax when disaster is imminent, and for my beloved Eulalia the adventure continues in next night’s nightmare…


Today Rectina’s received a roll of letters sent by Pliny.

'Come, come, there's a letter for you!'

It’ll be the usual letter from Caesius, who now writes to me every day, and he’s written another one too... oh no, it’s written in Greek, it’s Eulalia! I kiss the papyrus as if it were her own hand.

'My sweet Kuu, when you read this letter, I shall already have spent many happy days since my arrival in Athens. The trip was wonderful, the favourable ‘Greek’ wind at first, and then one from the west, which carried the Minerva at a good rate, shortening the sailing time. The company of new Roman governor was very pleasant, he is a well-educated person, I shall have great help from him in the search for the killers of my father. I shall not leave any stone unturned, I have his complete support. Now I'll have to find a suitable place to live, for at least as long as I stay here. For the time being I shall be his guest. Other considerations aside, this certainly does not displease me, he is a handsome gentleman too!

Be calm my sweet girl, I brought your tears with me in my heart, as soon as I can, I shall come back. I shall entrust this letter to the commander of the Minerva, he will deliver it to Pliny so that it will immediately be delivered to your new mother Rectina. Do not answer me now, you'll have my address in my next letter, which I shall send when another ship arrives from Rome. Always do your Greek exercises, I know you have no problems with Latin. Caesius is a good writer, a well-known poet, you will learn a lot from him. I kiss you, I hug you, you're always in my thoughts .... '

I squeeze the papyrus to my breasts, I read it, I read it again and again, I kiss it as if I’m kissing her lips. No threatening cliff, no sea-monster, neither Scylla nor Charybdis, no headwind, Poseidon was kind, Æolus released favourable winds, Athene, Eulalia’s goddess, is at her side. No more nightmares, I can have peace of mind after so much pain and terror!

 

[Barbaria1]

Amica 62


Dreadful nightmares haunt my sleepless nights, the mighty Minerva has become a fragile shell of rotting wood at the mercy of the raging sea in a terrifying storm, her sails are in rags, the sailors are panicking, giant waves sweep over the deck, Eulalia is tied naked to the mast, a vortex of wind and foaming sea drag the remaining men into the sea, no-one holds the steering oar, the keel smashes onto the rocks at the foot of the Cliff of the Sirens, where, between sharp, spear-like pinnacles, are scattered the white bones and shattered skulls of sailors, the sea-scoured remains of the skeletons of wrecked ships.

Now she’s between Scylla and Charybdis, where the fragile wooden vessel tries to escape the whirlpool of voracious Charybdis that swallows all ships, but she doesn't notices that Scylla, the monster with sea serpents for legs and hounds’ heads for feet , has seized the sailors, snatching them from the deck. Now the huge vortex of Charybdis sucks in the ship, then spits forth its poor remains.

Now she’s in the stormy sea where the black waves part and a fiery mountain spewing rivers of boiling lava rises up, throwing up columns of fire and black fumes, like the entrance to Hades.

So now she’s stranded in a land populated by hideous cyclops that devour the victims of wrecks. She’sin sight of the coast of Greece, but from the wine-skin of Aeolus the most horrendous storm keeps howling.

For her fortune, or misfortune, I always wake up at the climax when disaster is imminent, and for my beloved Eulalia the adventure continues in next night’s nightmare…


Today Rectina’s received a roll of letters sent by Pliny.

'Come, come, there's a letter for you!'

It’ll be the usual letter from Caesius, who now writes to me every day, and he’s written another one too... oh no, it’s written in Greek, it’s Eulalia! I kiss the papyrus as if it were her own hand.

'My sweet Kuu, when you read this letter, I shall already have spent many happy days since my arrival in Athens. The trip was wonderful, the favourable ‘Greek’ wind at first, and then one from the west, which carried the Minerva at a good rate, shortening the sailing time. The company of new Roman governor was very pleasant, he is a well-educated person, I shall have great help from him in the search for the killers of my father. I shall not leave any stone unturned, I have his complete support. Now I'll have to find a suitable place to live, for at least as long as I stay here. For the time being I shall be his guest. Other considerations aside, this certainly does not displease me, he is a handsome gentleman too!

Be calm my sweet girl, I brought your tears with me in my heart, as soon as I can, I shall come back. I shall entrust this letter to the commander of the Minerva, he will deliver it to Pliny so that it will immediately be delivered to your new mother Rectina. Do not answer me now, you'll have my address in my next letter, which I shall send when another ship arrives from Rome. Always do your Greek exercises, I know you have no problems with Latin. Caesius is a good writer, a well-known poet, you will learn a lot from him. I kiss you, I hug you, you're always in my thoughts .... '

I squeeze the papyrus to my breasts, I read it, I read it again and again, I kiss it as if I’m kissing her lips. No threatening cliff, no sea-monster, neither Scylla nor Charybdis, no headwind, Poseidon was kind, Æolus released favourable winds, Athene, Eulalia’s goddess, is at her side. No more nightmares, I can have peace of mind after so much pain and terror!

Love the sea vortex dream sequence....so realistic ... even made me feel a little queezy ...

 

[RacingRodent]

Vivid nightmare imagery well cast in the myths of the age. You sweep us all up into the maelstrom of Amica's emotions

 

[Madiosi]

Amica 62


Dreadful nightmares haunt my sleepless nights, the mighty Minerva has become a fragile shell of rotting wood at the mercy of the raging sea in a terrifying storm, her sails are in rags, the sailors are panicking, giant waves sweep over the deck, Eulalia is tied naked to the mast, a vortex of wind and foaming sea drag the remaining men into the sea, no-one holds the steering oar, the keel smashes onto the rocks at the foot of the Cliff of the Sirens, where, between sharp, spear-like pinnacles, are scattered the white bones and shattered skulls of sailors, the sea-scoured remains of the skeletons of wrecked ships.

Now she’s between Scylla and Charybdis, where the fragile wooden vessel tries to escape the whirlpool of voracious Charybdis that swallows all ships, but she doesn't notices that Scylla, the monster with sea serpents for legs and hounds’ heads for feet , has seized the sailors, snatching them from the deck. Now the huge vortex of Charybdis sucks in the ship, then spits forth its poor remains.

Now she’s in the stormy sea where the black waves part and a fiery mountain spewing rivers of boiling lava rises up, throwing up columns of fire and black fumes, like the entrance to Hades.

So now she’s stranded in a land populated by hideous cyclops that devour the victims of wrecks. She’sin sight of the coast of Greece, but from the wine-skin of Aeolus the most horrendous storm keeps howling.

For her fortune, or misfortune, I always wake up at the climax when disaster is imminent, and for my beloved Eulalia the adventure continues in next night’s nightmare…


Today Rectina’s received a roll of letters sent by Pliny.

'Come, come, there's a letter for you!'

It’ll be the usual letter from Caesius, who now writes to me every day, and he’s written another one too... oh no, it’s written in Greek, it’s Eulalia! I kiss the papyrus as if it were her own hand.

'My sweet Kuu, when you read this letter, I shall already have spent many happy days since my arrival in Athens. The trip was wonderful, the favourable ‘Greek’ wind at first, and then one from the west, which carried the Minerva at a good rate, shortening the sailing time. The company of new Roman governor was very pleasant, he is a well-educated person, I shall have great help from him in the search for the killers of my father. I shall not leave any stone unturned, I have his complete support. Now I'll have to find a suitable place to live, for at least as long as I stay here. For the time being I shall be his guest. Other considerations aside, this certainly does not displease me, he is a handsome gentleman too!

Be calm my sweet girl, I brought your tears with me in my heart, as soon as I can, I shall come back. I shall entrust this letter to the commander of the Minerva, he will deliver it to Pliny so that it will immediately be delivered to your new mother Rectina. Do not answer me now, you'll have my address in my next letter, which I shall send when another ship arrives from Rome. Always do your Greek exercises, I know you have no problems with Latin. Caesius is a good writer, a well-known poet, you will learn a lot from him. I kiss you, I hug you, you're always in my thoughts .... '

I squeeze the papyrus to my breasts, I read it, I read it again and again, I kiss it as if I’m kissing her lips. No threatening cliff, no sea-monster, neither Scylla nor Charybdis, no headwind, Poseidon was kind, Æolus released favourable winds, Athene, Eulalia’s goddess, is at her side. No more nightmares, I can have peace of mind after so much pain and terror!

 

[Eulalia]

Oh I so love that, thankyou very much Madiosi!
When I was working on that bit, I thought,
being tied naked to the mast sounds like a first-class booking to me ​

 

[Velut Luna]

Amica 63


After jentaculum (breakfast), Rectina has all the slavewomen assembled in the large atrium.

'Amica will, from now on, be for me as a daughter, so she will receive all the respect and obedience that is due to her. She will have a handmaiden whom she will choose from among you. '

So, suddenly, I find myself projected into a position that I never could have imagined just a few moments before. I kneel before my new mother, who puts her hand on my head in blessing. Now I have to choose a slavegirl , but whom should I choose? I cannot take one of her own favourites from Rectina, I cannot and do not want to choose a woman older than me, I would feel uncomfortable, and I would not want to humiliate her, nor yet do I want one of my own age lest I provoke envy in her towards me.


In the midst of the silent group of slaves, who are awaiting my decision with a little tension and embarrassment, there is a girl who, being shy, is almost hidden among the other. She’s barely ten years old, with brown curls, a tanned complexion typical of a Mediterranean girl, and dark eyes that are lively but veiled with sadness.

Didia is an orphan, her mother died in childbirth when she came into the world, she was never acknowledged by her father. I call her by name, she comes to me smiling, looking almost happy. She kneels in front of me and spontaneously, with a gesture that would be objectionable in an older slavegirl, hugs my knees, looking at me with eyes that are moist with tears, full of emotion, a sweet look that expresses gratitude. I caress her face, motioning to her to stand up.

Rectina approves my choice with her eyes and a smile, even the other slaves seem to appreciate it, I haven’t altered the difficult balance within the group, an orphan slavegirl is the least among the slaves, a nothing, perhaps less than nothing, but to me she is now very important, this is the sign of a great change.

But I must treat this poor girl as a sister, as I have been treated myself with so much respect. I shall teach her to read and write, and maybe one day, perhaps when I become the wife of Fannius, I can release her. For now, as a seal of her belonging to me, but not to humiliate her, I put on the middle finger of her right hand a small copper ring that’s engraved with my name in runic letters, KVV - she looks at it amazed, admiring it as if it were a precious gift.

​