Sequel: Born a Slave ›
Status: don't expect many updates until May
Ichor and Ambrosia
II.iv
Once most everyone had finished the first course, the second was served; the slaves brought more fresh bread, a soup with vegetables and bits of fish, and salad for everyone. By the time the second course was done, the gala had thinned; attendants had either boarded a ship to sail for home or they had filed out into the walled gardens across the bridge in the back.
By the time the third course was served, Acacius had separated from Myrrhine and he found himself in a group of merchants who’d gathered around a statue of Hermes in the corner, either standing or sitting on stuffed pillows. The spiced wine had gotten to them all throughout the evening.
“Aye, ten thousand obols!” a small man howled in laughter. “All for a pitcher of wine!”
Another merchant asked, “What did you tell the woman?”
The drunken small man stood from his pillow, stumbling on his drunken feet, and began to act out the situation; “She was a’standin’ in front of my stall, you see? That day I was sellin’ all kinds’a goodies, honeycakes and mead and ale. And she walks up to eye the honeycakes, a great thing of a woman, probably eats her own weight in ‘em every night. I start’a showin’ her the meads, the ales, the wines, let her taste some. And she loves this new vintage, not even aged! “Sour and full of taste,” she says! So, I spin a tale of an ancient family who made wine, and how I have five casks! I give the woman a price and she takes it!”
He lazily plopped down in a heap of laughter, and all the men around laughed with him. Despite all the noise, Acacius felt it was peaceful here; the trees were vibrant and blooming in shades of pink, purple, and red; the blue sky was painted a bright orange where the setting sun rested quietly behind the clouds. Various plants lined the stone cobbles, sectioning the garden off into quiet hideaways like the one in which they sat now, separated from the rest of the world. The garden was a perfect square, with different statues of Hermes in each corner and in the center. Acacius had never seen a paradise, a haven, like it before.
They were served hotcakes, smoked lamb, grilled fruits, and more sweetbread. Most peopled denied their portions, but Acacius happily took his share of honeycakes and bread. Only a few moments later, while Acacius sat, silently eating his sweetbread and watching the drunken old merchants share their stories and their lives, a chilling scream erupted into the air. It was a sharp note with an even sharper edge, an edge that cut through the sky and through their ears, and scared the singing birds from their trees.
It was a few long moments, but they passed like milliseconds; everyone left at the manse rushed into the garden to find the source of the scream. Acacius led the drunken merchants to a collapsed statue, where a woman and a young man lie crushed under the weight of the polished and painted stone. Blood pooled between the cobbles and in the soil, creating rushing rivulets that dampened the ground over which they passed.
“My son!” A woman wept. “An accident,” more voices came. The drunken Acacius found Myrrhine and clung to her, searching for some steady ground his feet could not seem to find under the maroon at their feet.
By the time the third course was served, Acacius had separated from Myrrhine and he found himself in a group of merchants who’d gathered around a statue of Hermes in the corner, either standing or sitting on stuffed pillows. The spiced wine had gotten to them all throughout the evening.
“Aye, ten thousand obols!” a small man howled in laughter. “All for a pitcher of wine!”
Another merchant asked, “What did you tell the woman?”
The drunken small man stood from his pillow, stumbling on his drunken feet, and began to act out the situation; “She was a’standin’ in front of my stall, you see? That day I was sellin’ all kinds’a goodies, honeycakes and mead and ale. And she walks up to eye the honeycakes, a great thing of a woman, probably eats her own weight in ‘em every night. I start’a showin’ her the meads, the ales, the wines, let her taste some. And she loves this new vintage, not even aged! “Sour and full of taste,” she says! So, I spin a tale of an ancient family who made wine, and how I have five casks! I give the woman a price and she takes it!”
He lazily plopped down in a heap of laughter, and all the men around laughed with him. Despite all the noise, Acacius felt it was peaceful here; the trees were vibrant and blooming in shades of pink, purple, and red; the blue sky was painted a bright orange where the setting sun rested quietly behind the clouds. Various plants lined the stone cobbles, sectioning the garden off into quiet hideaways like the one in which they sat now, separated from the rest of the world. The garden was a perfect square, with different statues of Hermes in each corner and in the center. Acacius had never seen a paradise, a haven, like it before.
They were served hotcakes, smoked lamb, grilled fruits, and more sweetbread. Most peopled denied their portions, but Acacius happily took his share of honeycakes and bread. Only a few moments later, while Acacius sat, silently eating his sweetbread and watching the drunken old merchants share their stories and their lives, a chilling scream erupted into the air. It was a sharp note with an even sharper edge, an edge that cut through the sky and through their ears, and scared the singing birds from their trees.
It was a few long moments, but they passed like milliseconds; everyone left at the manse rushed into the garden to find the source of the scream. Acacius led the drunken merchants to a collapsed statue, where a woman and a young man lie crushed under the weight of the polished and painted stone. Blood pooled between the cobbles and in the soil, creating rushing rivulets that dampened the ground over which they passed.
“My son!” A woman wept. “An accident,” more voices came. The drunken Acacius found Myrrhine and clung to her, searching for some steady ground his feet could not seem to find under the maroon at their feet.
♠ ♠ ♠
ITS OVER. thank god. it took me forever to post this because i wrote it and it needs a lot of work but i cant edit it because thats not how nanowrimo works.