Illia of Sarsus

Sarsus
346 BC

The sun shone brightly over the hills surrounding Sarsus, lending a false sense of security to the people who were going about their business. Young women hurried about the market, purchasing goods to take back home. People drove their carriages through the streets, the horses grunting at the heavy loads that they pulled. Indeed, the city was a happy one – for the most part – even if life was perhaps a little too slow for some of the citizens. Nonetheless, there was little to complain about. The children were safe to play in the streets, the women safe to tend to their shopping and visit friends when the children were seeing to their lessons and their husbands were away. There was no need to fear anything other than the sicknesses that might pass through, or perhaps a problem pregnancy. All in all, life was good.

Illia, one of Sarsus’ such happy residents, was well familiar with the city. She had spent her life living just outside it with her family, a twenty minute walk from her front door to the open, well stocked market. The middle child of seven in a rather well-to-do family, and the oldest daughter, it was her responsibility to go to market and purchase their needed supplies for the week. For a time, her parents had employed a servant for such a task. But when Illia turned fifteen her mother persuaded her father to give the young woman the job – provided she take her little sister with her. Not for protection – they had no need of it – but because her sister could be counted on to report any inappropriate behaviour to their mother.

But Illia wasn’t the sort who would cause a lot of trouble. She was happy for the freedom that such a task allowed and she met with her friends who also were sent to market at the beginning of every new week. She wasn’t the kind of girl older women talked about in hushed, disapproving tones and she was sure to have an advantageous marriage when her father finished his arrangements. She was lovely, to be sure, and well mannered. Docile, eager to please and easily pleased herself. She had been trained well. Her mother did not feed her rich foods to keep her from adding any extra weight to her small frame, though they could afford them often, and dressed her in only the finest, best fitting fabrics. She was beautiful to look at and her passing often drew attention. Long, brown-black hair curled loosely past her shoulders though she took great pains to keep it braided and neat. Her bust was full, but not daunting, and her waist tiny. She had been born to attractive parents and her family was often the talk of their social circle. Her little sister was a beauty soon to bloom as well, and her brothers were all sought after.

She carried a basket to carry her purchases, her hips swaying as she walked gracefully down the street. She was followed by a couple of younger girls, their playful chatter prompting a smile to Illia’s face. “Hush girls,” she said, never turning back to look at them. “You are too loud. You will disturb the others on the streets.” Their voices lowered but did not grow silent, though Illia appreciated their obedience. Today it was not just her little sister tagging along, but some of her friends as well. To make a little extra money to add to the family’s coffer, Illia often took charge of some of the other women’s daughters. She taught them simple things, like sewing and embroidery, or let them tag along when she went to the market. They were, for the most part, well behaved girls and her little sister enjoyed the company.

She caught the admiring stares of men as she passed, choosing to say nothing and smile sweetly instead as their eyes drifted appreciatively over her body. Being beautiful was most definitely no crime – and no doubt it would have its advantages when she decided she wanted to use it to get her way. She had yet to have the need; however, she had been told by her mother just how important it was for a woman to use what she had and not be afraid of doing so. There was so little a woman had a say in, that she needed to exercise her influence whenever possible. And she needed to know how to do it in such a way that her husband might never know she had any sort of power over him. She could thank the gods that she hadn’t been born disfigured or hideous.

“Come along girls, I believe we are done here.” Illia wove her way through the crowd, the girls clinging to each other to stay together. “Hurry up, don’t fall behind.” She’d not like to lose one in the busy market streets; they easily blended into the crowd and she was running behind schedule. They should have been back by now but she had gotten distracted by the bolts of cloth for sale. She liked pretty things, it was a weakness of hers, and she wished at times that she could be married soon so she could go about setting up a household of her own. She looked forward to that day and wondered what it might be like to be the mistress of a home full of servants and children.

It did not take long, despite the weaving in and out that they had to do, before Illia found herself in front of the ancient family home. It had been passed down from oldest son to oldest son for years – longer than she cared to hear the history for – and her father had inherited it when his father passed. Her oldest brother Festus would inherit the home and he took good care to make sure that the estate was managed properly. It annoyed their mother to no end, but she could not say anything about it. He was only her son, but he was an adult man and she could say little to him concerning how he chose to conduct himself. Illia pitied his wife; the poor woman was a miserable soul who had lost their first child – a boy – and wilted a little more every day under the hatred of her husband. Illia could only hope such misfortune would not befall her.

“Mama? Papa?”

“Illia?” A tall gorgeous woman – though obviously far older than Illia herself – made her way down the stairs, a bright smile upon her face. “Did the girls behave?”

“They did, Mama.”

“Fayne is here to pick up her daughter. The other women should be along shortly.” She began to fan her face with her hand, her long brown hair clinging to her cheeks. “Goodness its warm.” Her mother had great difficultly dealing with the heat; she hadn’t grown up in Sarsus and while the climate she had been subject to as a child wasn’t too much different, it certainly was a little less fierce.

“It is.” Illia passed the basket full of supplies to a servant who had come to fetch it and gave her mother a smile. “Did you hear what the men in town are saying?” She had caught rumours here and there of most unpleasant, worrisome news and she could only hope that it was untrue. If it was not… she couldn’t begin to understand the sort of danger it would put them in. Of course, Illia had grown up rather uncaring of the events in the world around her, why should she start now? Her father and brothers would keep her safe, not for affection but necessity. She would prove a powerful alliance tool when the time came to marry her off. And that would be soon.

“No, what are they saying? Your father won’t mention a word of anything to me but I know that something is wrong.”

Illia sat down on the bottom stair and took a look around the rather open house. “It has been said that the Romans are coming to invade us.”

“Invade? Why?” A nervous frown crossed her mother’s face. “Surely you couldn’t think that…”

“I am not sure, Mama, I do not know why they would wish to go to invade us. Haven’t we cooperated perfectly with them in the past? We trade well with them, at least so I’ve been told. But then, I know very little about such things. No one will tell me anything.” She frowned slightly and shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters much. Surely we could defend ourselves against them?” It was her turn to look concerned.

“Of course.” Her mother shrugged, though her tone was far from convincing. She turned then and left the room without another word. Illia sat in silence, wondering if they really could defend themselves against the Romans. She had heard many things, frightening things, about their armies. They were strong, well organized… they had suffered very few losses and the ones they had suffered certainly weren’t recent – but of course she went completely on what she heard from those around her. And she was normally surrounded by women, what did they know of such affairs?

Still, everyone knew the horror stories that came from any city taken over by the Roman forces. The old, the useless, the ugly, they killed. The young, the beautiful, the innocent, they took into slavery. Any they thought could be useful to them, any they thought might bring them some pleasure. They took young men to build their roads and their houses, young women to serve their men folk. The life of a slave was a dangerous one, though if one was “lucky” enough to be put to work in a household, instead of on the streets.

Such a thing had never happened in her lifetime – what might happen if it did?

OxoxOxoxO

Sitting outside, watching the setting sun, Illia’s needle moved deftly through the fabric. Her younger sister needed a new dress. Her mother had very little skill with the needle – she had belonged to a wealthy, affluent family before scandal forced her to marry Illia’s father and as such had never learned to sew. For that reason, the responsibility to clothe the family fell to Illia, who had learned from a kindly old woman with no daughters of her own. In turn, Illia was teaching her younger sister and some of the girls who were often left in her care. She enjoyed the task, enjoyed being creative and putting together lovely things. Her brothers often told her that they were dressed better than any other citizen of Sarsus and she took the compliment with a blush and a faint nod. She was pleased by the approval; it would help in securing her a good match.

“It cools down nicely when the sun sets.” The voice startled her and she looked up to see her second oldest brother standing there, smiling down at her. She nodded and motioned for him to sit next to her. Of all her brothers, Marcialis was her favourite. He tended to dote on her and the attention was appreciated. The family was a large one, and though Illia got a certain amount of attention just because she was the oldest daughter, the sons in the family certainly got the most care.

“It does, Marcialis.” She smiled fondly at him, setting her needlework down on her lap. She stretched her fingers, feeling the familiar cramping set in place as it so often did when she sat in one attitude for too long. She shifted, arching her back to stretch out the kinks and yawned faintly. After a moment of rest, she picked the cloth back up and returned to her work.

“How goes your stitching? It is a shame Mama is all thumbs when it comes to such things.” He gave her a teasing grin.

“Marcialis!” Illia shook her head in disapproval. “You mustn’t speak about her like that. She is your mother and she deserves respect.” She could never scold any of her other brothers like that, even the one who was just younger than Marcialis and just older than herself. And even with him, she knew the boundaries well. Still, he accepted her ideas more than the others and she appreciated him for it.

“Of course.” He gave her a sheepish little smile and rested his arms on his knees, looking over at the horizon, studying it thoughtfully. He was silent for a few moments, cocking his head to the side as though to get a better look. “What is that?”

She peered out in the direction he was staring, putting her sewing down in her lap. “What do you mean?”

“That grey cloud… can you not see it? It’s growing. It’s… coming closer?” His brow furrowed as he rose and crossed his arms – his gaze never leaving the sky. “A storm, perhaps?” He looked closer, the concern and uncertainty lingering, growing. It made Illia’s stomach tie up in knots – Marcialis never looked concerned. Never. She leaned forward, trying to see what had caught his attention so thoroughly.

“That isn’t a storm…” he said hesitantly, turning his attention to Illia. He offered his hand and she took it, rising with his help. She studied him for a moment, glancing from his face – which did not turn from the approaching grey cloud – to the horizon before them. She felt fear settle in her stomach and it was an unusual feeling. What could be happening?

“What is it then?” She asked, her voice betraying her nervousness. “Is it danger, Marcialis?”

“The Romans,” He said suddenly, pulling her frantically towards the house. “Come on, get inside. Attack! Romans! Father!”

Illia was pushed inside and she stumbled forward, barely missing the stairs as she glared at her brother. “Marcialis, don’t be foolish! That cannot possibly be the Romans! Why would they–”

He stopped cold, staring down at her. “Illia, do as I say! Get Mother and the girls and hurry into the cellar. Go!”

She could see the urgency in his eyes and she nodded, even if she wasn’t completely convinced that they were in any danger. At least, she told herself that they weren’t, that they couldn’t be. Still, there was something inside her that said differently. A hollow sort of fright that she couldn’t shake, no matter how unfounded it was. In a few moments, Illia’s sister, her oldest brother’s wife, and her mother were gathered in the cellar while her father and brother stood guard outside the home with swords drawn. If they were lucky, the raiders would go for the city and miss them entirely. If they weren’t… they didn’t stand a chance.

A/N: Hey and thanks for reading. It'll get more interesting after this. Please review if you like and want me to continue!