Dies Irae

Tertia Decima Charta: Amici et Inamici

Aemilia put yet another piece of pork in her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. Normally, eating directly with the bare hand was considered more than rude, but it went unnoticed into her present company. She reached out for more, but another bigger, callused hand got to the desired fool first, and she irritatelly slapped it away, grinning at Daizus' outraged expression.

"Seen it first!", she mumbled through chewing.

Daizus' eyes rolled to the back of his head - a gesture she always considered feminine, and therefore amusing to see on her man's face - and he shook his head in wonder at how much Aemilia, a small girl, could eat. But, then again, if he were right, she should be eating for two by now.

Half of chicken later, Aemilia finally declared herself full. Patting her stomach, she discretely undid the sash of her pants, hence making herself more comfortable and leaned towards right to support herself on Daizus.

Her eyes now carefully studied all the persons at the table, taking in their apparent strengths and weaknesses. She ought to know them, considering they were all going to be living in a small community. This banquet had been Daizus' idea, his "diplomatic" manner of introducing her to his fellow Dacians. Aemilia had been against it, for she had no desire of being displayed like some kind of trophy - oh, she knew Daizus considered her nothing of the sort, but she was sure his fellows thought otherwise. However, Aemilia had relented, simply because she was aware that - one way or another - she would have to face them, and the sooner she could get it over with, the better. Fortunately for Aemilia, most of the Dacians seemed to be able to understand Latin, and almost half spoke it fluently. Daizus had explained it was indispensable, considering the new realities.

The most interesting figure was that of a tall, beautiful, redheaded woman - Zedu -, she recalled her name to be. Next to her stood Mando, her husband, possibly the tallest5 and heaviest built man she had ever seen. Truly, he resembled a titan, with his flowing mane of black hair covering half of his face. Though his appearance was most imposing, there was a strange air of almost, sadness? looming upon him. Everybody, in a more or less discrete way, seemed to be rather frightened by his stature, and his wife was completely oblivious to him, smiling slyly to the most handsome men at the table including her Daizus.

Aemilia's temper hit off. Why the bitch, how dare she? Zedu's eyes lingered invitingly over Daizu's figure once more, her intent most obvious, even for the least experienced ones. Lust. Her pools of green were fill of forbidden promises, and she was purposely ignoring the raven-haired girl which had the same claim over the man as she was placing. Aemilia made a sound of outrage, and for a moment the rival's eyes met. One of the Roman's eyebrows raised defiantly As she muttered "He's mine!", making Zedu's face flush in anger. Satisfied by the result, she then raised up to whisper in Daizu's ear "If you look at another woman, I'll take your eyes out!", all the while displaying a tender smile, solely for Zedu's benefit.

The man had been thinking about the best wood to build a crib from, so he was quite taken by surprise by Aemilia's possessive outburst. Still, after having realised what she had just said - and more importantly, what she had let out without realising - he grinned pleased, placing a reassuring hand on the back of her back.

Cuddling closer to her man, the girl purposely ignored the daggers in Zedu's eyes, and started studying the Dacians again. This time, another girl captivated her attention. She was very pretty, brown-haired girl who stood up paradoxically because she was trying to make herself as little as possible. The torches' lights painted strange shadows on the faces of the people sited at the table, yet Aemilia could spot a black and blue bruise on her cheek, similar to what she had received as a child, while she was "training" with her father.

"Daizus? Who is she?", she asked, nudging him with the elbow to make sure he was paying her the due attention.

"Who?"

"That girl over there, in the dark robe. The one who looks as if she's about to bolt!"

"Ah,…she's Sama"

"Sama", Aemila repeated thoughtfully, "That's a pretty name! And, why is she so sad? And Mando too?"

"Mando?", Daizus incredulously repeated. "He's not sad, he's just grumpy. You'll get used to his dark moods. As for Sama, she has troubles with her…"

Daizu's explanations were cut short by the sound of a slab reverberating through the room. Aemilia gasped and jumped to her feet, but Daizus was quick to pull her down.

Sama had raised her forearms in a vain attempt to protect herself, As the man next to her prepared to strike again, yet she made no sound.

"Daizus!", Aemilia whispered threateningly, "Do something!"

"Ariort!", Daizus' voice boomed through the now silent room, "We are here to celebrate Aemilia's arrival in our clan, not to witness your conjugal disputes."

The named Ariort growled something between the teeth, the, taking Sama brutally by one of her braids, pulled her upwards and out of the room.

Aemilia's eyes had turned to slits as she watched the scene. Why hadn't somebody done something for the poor girl? Sure, husbands were allowed to hit their wives now and then, but that did not mean they should beat them daily. Or so hard. Had the girl no father or another male relative to make sure she was not being abused?

Glancing again, she saw that people around her, both men and women, had started eating and discussing as if nothing had happened. One notable exception, though - Zedu. She looked as ready to kill Ariort as Aemilia was. For a brief moment, both of the women had forgotten about their rivalry, as something ancient, the solidarity instinct of the females awoke inside their consciences.

Aemilia sighed and for the first time a thought crossed her mind, that she was lucky to have been mated to Daizus.

Hours later, after having left the banquet, the couple was walking, hand in hand, towards home.

"The stars are so beautiful tonight!", Aemilia exclaimed looking toward the night sky, "but it's a little chilly". She shivered into the cool air, her skin turning into goose bumps.

"Cold?", Daizus mumbled, reaching out to hold her, heating her with his body. "Better kitten?" He then asked and she could only coo her approval.

"It went rather well, don't you think?", he went on.

Sleepy because of the newly acquired heat, Aemilia just nodded slowly.

"Tomorrow I shall ask some women to help you with the clothes, I assure you I will provide you with proper clothes in no time."

"Didn't, make fun..", Aemilia cut in drowsily.

"Of your clothes? Of course, they didn't make fun! I told you they won't."

"Hair...", she muttered between two yawnings.

Daizus halted and, placing a hand undre her rear, picked her up as one would a child. Aemilia wound her legs around his middle for better support, and hid her face in the crook of his neck. By the time the man had resumed walking, she was sleeping like a log.

They had said nothing about her hair and clothes, he had made sure of it by promising a harsh punishment to whomever dared to bring up the subject. He did not want his woman to feel aloof among his pears, nor did he want her sad about it. The Dacian seemed a harsh people, but he knew that, if you really got to know them, you would be surprised by their kindness. Unfortunately, the war seemed to have bring up the worst in them, but Daizus was sure that, even if some of them hated Aemilia simply because she was Roman, nobody would dare harm her in any way. He would make sure of that.

Zedu carelessly threw her shawl on the bed as Mando shut the door and fixed the torch into its sheath on the wall. She then pulled out the pins that held her braids together and, sitting on the bed, slowly started to untangle it.

"Give me the comb!", she ordered, watching through gray eyes, narrowed to slits, her husband limping through the room to bring her the proffered comb.

Careful not to touch him, she took it and started brushing her long, wine-red hair. Mando awkwardly sat on the bed, mindful of the distance required between them, and, unconsciously, his hand moved up to trace the long scar on his left cheek.

Some minutes later, having watched his wife through the corner of one eye, satisfied, for once, that she wasn't paying him any attention - a habitual occurrence - , Mando carefully reached out with on hand to touch her hair. His thick fingers slowly captured a wisp of hair and he rubbed the strand between his index and big finger, fighting the nearly overwhelming desire to smell it. Her ribbons smelled of roses and jasmine - would her hair, her skin smell like…

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?", Zedu's revolted voice raised angrily. "How dare you touch me?" She stood up and quickly walked away from him. "Don't you know how ugly you are? How very disgusting? How many times must I tell you not to put your filthy paws on me?"

Mando had bowed his head, listening to the reproaches silently. She was right, of course. It was just that…sometimes, when she was so near, he couldn't stop himself from touching her.

"I am sorry", he apologised in a subdue voice while standing up, his impressive stature a strange contrast with the tone of his voice.

"Hm! You are sorry! You always say that, but you never learn!", Zedu scrunched her delicate nose. "Now leave me!"

Obediently, Mando left the room, his limping made more obvious now that he was upset.

As her husband exited her chamber, the girl's eyes filled with tears which she stubbornly refused to release. She cursed for the umpteenth time the day her father had decided to tie her to Mando. She was merely fifteen at the time, while he had already turned twenty-one. Of course, she mused, things were different back then.

Changing into her night robe, she slipped into the bed, thankful that she wasn't obliged to share it with Mando. The big oaf had a bed of his own in the other room. Closing her eyes, she was decided to fell asleep immediately and to forget all about her unhappy marriage and about Daizus' obvious love for that Roman girl.

Huddled into a corner, Sama didn't even dare to breathe. Her face was swollen, and her mouth still retained the salty taste of her own blood. Tonight she had been lucky - merely some hits and Kicks; not the rod, not the cellar - she shivered at the thought.

Ariort was soundly sleeping on the bed, the deep sleep of the drunk, but the girl could not summon the courage to move. How long had she stayed there, still and frightened, she could not tell. Only when the sky blued at dawn, did she dare move, walking with extreme care through the room.

She had to start to prepare breakfast - Ariort would probably awake well past noon, but she couldn't afford taking the risk of not preparing the morning meal - what if, for some bizarre reason, he woke up early and something was amiss? She shivered at the mere thought. With small gestures, she lit the fire and put the bowl above it, all the while glancing at the bed. The fire cracked somewhat louder, and she froze, every nerve in her body stained with pure fear. The man's loud snoring, however, assured her that she was safe for the moment. Closing her eyes in relief, she thanked the gods, then went back to preparing the meal. The day was young and there were so many things to be done.

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Amici et Inamici = Friends and Ennemies