Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
The steam in the great bathhouse swirls and rises to create a rainbow above the warm water, every colour represented in the arc. Small groups of wealthy women are splashing and gossiping in the deep aquamarine pool. Slowly and carefully, three sisters emerge from the water, dark hair snaking down their spines. They sit on the warm stone and lean back against the mosaic, faces glistening with beads of sweat. Cornelia speaks.
“I never know what he’s thinking or how he’s feeling. He’s like a closed book, no emotions leak out at all.”
“I know what you mean. Mine comes back from whatever he’s been doing and just flops down demanding food.” Portia sighs. “My sons are the same, they just grunt and eat.”
“It’d be nice to have a few clues, so I could avoid him when he’s in a temper.” Fabia touches a bruise fading to yellow on her cheek.
“We should visit Minerva. She’ll guide us.” Cornelia stands up, beads of water dripping from her naked body. She rubs her hands over her stomach. “Come, let’s go now, no time to waste.” Her turquoise tunic flutters to the floor and she ties it under her full breasts. She pushes ivory hair clips tightly into her long hair. Her eyes, one green, one grey, flash with determination.
“Yes, I suppose we’d better go home now. We’ve been here too long.” Fabia looks around, shifting from one foot to the other, agitated.
“You worry too much. Let’s just go to the temple to pray. We won’t be long and then you can get back to your brute of a husband.” Portia ties her tunic around her body and slides her feet into her leather sandals. Fabia does the same, her eyes flicking from side to side as she pushes her arms through the sleeve holes.
“Right then, let’s see what Minerva can do for us.” Cornelia strides towards the exit.
Cornelia leads them out of the bathhouse. They blink in the brightness of the warm summer’s day and look across the bustling courtyard towards the temple. Drawn through the crowds towards the pillars, they reach the bottom of the stairs and look upwards. Slowly Cornelia takes the steps. Her sisters follow.
Inside, the darkness swallows them up. As their eyes adjust to the dimness, a magnificent statue of the goddess of wisdom, justice, law, and victory looms above. Cornelia approaches the plinth and touches the enormous feet. Portia and Fabia stare in awe at the face of their goddess. Cornelia speaks.
“Great Minerva. We need your divine wisdom and guidance. Our husbands are quarrelsome and difficult. Give us the power to understand their needs.”
Portia’s confidence increases. “We want to please them but don’t know how. Help us become better wives.”
Now it’s Fabia’s turn. “Help me to recognise his anger.”
They step back and look up at Minerva’s blank, gilded face: eyes wide and faith solid. For many moments the silence in the temple surrounds the women and the coldness of the marble walls makes them shiver. Portia and Fabia shuffle closer and hold each other. The room engulfs them and the enormous statue cements their own feet to the floor. They are prisoners of the goddess.
A slight breeze lifts the loose strands of hair falling from their clips and rustles Cornelia’s silk tunic. It becomes stronger and whips around their ankles. Cornelia looks towards her sisters, her eyes widening as the wind throws every grain of dirt at them, stinging their bare arms and legs. She tries to open her mouth but it is glued shut. Just as suddenly as the whirlwind starts, it stops. Portia and Fabia let go of each other and look at Cornelia.
“What was that?” Portia says, eyes wide.
“I’m not sure,” answers Cornelia, pulling her tunic straight and rubbing her goose pimples.
“I think we’ve angered her,” Fabia’s voice is low and quavering. “We should leave now.”
“Yes, let’s go home. Everyone will be wondering where we are.”
* * * *
There was a thunderstorm in the night which cleared the air and left the dusty city clean and fresh. Cornelia is sitting with her mother-in-law around the breakfast table. Their respective husbands have left the villa, calling on colleagues, planning and plotting their next political move. Two servants stand in the shadows, one with a pitcher of watery wine, the other with a tray of dates imported from the other side of the empire. Another enters followed by two women.
“Fabia and Portia are here.”
The two women step forward, their eyes full of excitement. Cornelia looks at her mother-in-law who continues to eat and barely acknowledges the callers.
“Mother, I need some wool to spin more cloth. May I have permission to go to the market?”
“Why can’t you just have it delivered here, Cornelia? You’ll bring disgrace on the family, always out on your own without an escort. It would never do in my day.”
“Times are changing. Many women of my age do their own bartering in the market. There’s no disgrace to it.”
The older woman stuffs an olive into her mouth. She chews and then swallows. She sighs irritably then shakes her head. “Go on then.” She waves her hand.
Cornelia pushes herself up from the table. The three women scurry across the tiled floor. Correcting themselves, they slow to a suitably dignified walk out of the breakfast room. Portia and Fabia skip along the corridor. Fabia grabs Cornelia’s arm.
“Can you see them, too?”
“See what?”
“All the different colours –” says Fabia.
“– coming from their heads,” finishes Portia.
“Did you see the servants? There were colours all around them.”
“What do you think it means?”
“What are you talking about? I can’t see any colours.” Cornelia stops dead. “I thought you were excited about going to the market.”
“You mean you can’t see anything? I can see a sort of indigo ribbon coming from you, and a yellow one from Portia.”
“Around the old cow there was a sort of blackish grey tattered ribbon,” adds Portia. “Can you see anything around us?” They stand still.
She leans forward and peers at them with her eyes narrowed. “No, nothing.” Her face falls and her lips pout. “Why not me? Am I not worthy of a gift? Why has Minerva forgotten me?”
“Don’t worry, Cornelia. Maybe she has something else in store for you.” Fabia smiles.
“Yes, maybe you’ll find your gift later, sister,” adds Portia, pulling Cornelia along the corridor. “Come on, let’s go out.”
“Maybe, you’re right.” Her chin drops as she walks slowly to the door.
* * * *
In the marketplace, the volume of hawking and shouting increases. Above it all is the deep bellowing of large animals. Business is thriving and many wool traders have set up their stalls around the edges of the square. Fabia and Portia point out the coloured streams they can see all around.
“Look over there, that man has purple.”
“Oh yes, and that one next to him has green.”
“Stop that you two!” Cornelia snaps, “You sound like madwomen.”
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
“Have you seen anything different yet?” Portia asks carefully.
Suddenly, Cornelia puts out her arm and pushes them back against a wall. The ground vibrates and shudders. People scatter and scream. A thundering sound precedes a white bull, head lowered and sharp horns pointing straight ahead. Fear and panic fill the air. Red and black streams shoot upwards, visible only to Portia and Fabia.
Right in front of the women, the bull comes to an abrupt halt, hooves kicking up dust around his huge body. He snorts and exhales heavily, sweat glistening on his huge body. He faces Cornelia. She looks him directly in the eyes. His big brown eyes fix on hers. He blinks, long lashes brushing his cheeks. Gradually, his fast, uneven breaths slow to a steady pace. Cornelia stands firm and proud, watching as the colours swirling around his head change from red to purple to bright blue. The animal trusts her.
Shoppers gather to witness the spectacle of woman versus bull. A steady muttering trickles across the crowd. The animal’s owner appears, sweating, out of puff, grime splattered up his muscular legs and sandals caked in mud. A rope is dangling redundantly from his hand. A hush descends.
“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry. He got away from me.” His swarthy complexion and accented tones suggest he’s from another part of the vast empire.
“So I see,” Cornelia says, her voice calm and collected, “he’s under control now though.”
“Thank you, ma’am. He could’ve killed someone. You’ve saved more than one life today.”
With nothing more to see, the crowd disperses. Some turn back to stare at Cornelia before going slowly back to their business. Fabia and Portia look at each other, then at Cornelia, then at the bull-handler. Fabia whispers to her sister.
“I think she’s found her gift.”
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