“Hey, Terry, I’ve got something for you. I knew I’d find you here.”
The master of the house, a Roman legion soldier in his twenties, currently in civilian house tunic, looked up from the desk of his accommodations in Alexandria, where he was reading a scroll, and smiled.
“Tarba,” he called, but his sister had already entered the office with a tray of food and drink.
She set them down on the corner of the desk, then sat down herself. “Of course I’m staying,” she said. “Do you think I’d miss the news from Killas. You’re back from Damascus, aren’t you?”
Terry looked over at her. At sixteen, she was ripe, and they needed to marry her off, but he didn’t want to lose her before he could bring in a woman of his own to replace her. Speaking of which ….
“Old Loghead from Syria has a daughter,” Killas said. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t take after her old man.” He drew a well curved shape in the air with two hands. Loghead was built like a brick. His daughter, apparently, was not.
“Eighteen, so a good age,” Killas continued. “Not too old. Not a baby.”
This was where Tarba would normally have objected to the barb aimed at her. She hated being the youngest. But she had started to realize life was getting serious. People were talking about arranging a betrothal, which had been fun to think about until she considered entering the household of a man she might never have met before. As this girl from Syria would be doing, if she really ended up marrying her brother.
“No letter of his own, though?” said Terry. He still had to bring Father on board with this. And he’d want details.
“Loghead is old school – you know that. Doesn’t write letters.”
“But the clerk….”
“Doesn’t trust him. I offered to do it for him, but ….” Killas shrugged.
“Of course. Not you either. Just Loghead being himself, or is there something I should know about this girl? You know Father, he likes written evidence.” It came with the territory. He was an intelligence officer with the Roman Legion in the foreign service.
“I don’t think so. She could write it herself – they’re back at the garrison in Capernaum. You know everyone learns to read and write there.”
Killas looked pointedly at Tarba. Not everyone approved of women reading and writing in Egypt. Or in Rome itself. But it was such a useful skill for a Roman soldier, looking to advance, and for his wife, looking to help him.
“I don’t want to!” she said, but instead of pouting, she turned serious, and didn’t add her usual joking.
“I could help,” Killas offered.
She looked up at the young man and their eyes met. He was her brother’s age, and practically a brother to her as well, and sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
“So, Loghead’s daughter, so a good family. Reads and writes. Pretty. Go on. Why’s he considering me? I wasn’t good enough for a letter of recommendation ….”
“You know that was just your Father. He makes enemies, in his line of work.”
“Doesn’t answer my question. Is he looking for Father to pull strings for him?”
“The girl’s still a slave. You know the legate in Syria is a right bastard — won’t let anyone free her before she turns 30.”
“And we can get around it here.” Terry nodded. “So get Father’s permission, and you can go buy her and pick her up?”
“Nope. Doesn’t trust anyone else with his treasure. He’ll take a ship from Tyre and meet you here. You buy her and do the paperwork at the office in front of him. And then, straight to the Serapeum for the betrothal.”
“This is getting complicated. You know I can’t count on Father being able to travel, so we’d have to go to the Serapeum in Karanis. And that’s 130 miles, a full day’s coach ride, or better if we break it up.”
“He doesn’t have to be there ….”
“I’m not going to cut him out, Killas.”
Inspired by this post:
Really enjoying these, Ms. Mary. Thanks for putting your time behind them. 🫡