There was a crisp breeze coming in from the north. It was contrasted completely by the warm sunlight beating down on the marbled interior of the garden. The garden was one of the few peaceful places in the villa. Originally built as a place of solitude, the villa was surprisingly active. People were constantly coming and going, filling the rooms with noise. Senators, politicians, their wives and other aristocrats were constantly flocking to the villa which overlooked the center of the world.
The great and power city of Rome.
For the past ten years, Antonia Marie had been thrust into the center of Roman life. A Greek by birth, Marie had been dragged to Rome by her father at the age of seven. From day one she had hated it. Having grown up in the vast openness of Greece, the clustered mess that was Rome drove Marie to distraction. It also made her father’s decree that much harder to fulfill.
The day of her birth, her father Antonius Magnus had proclaimed that no one would touch his daughter’s skin. She would be kept pure and untainted at all costs. That meant no one would touch her. Ever.
According to rumours she had overheard, her skin was poisonous. Her mother and the midwives had all died following her birth followed shortly by her wet nurse. They were frightening rumours that Marie had never dared put to the test. She would not risk another person’s life for something as trivial as whisperings between servants.
Rather, Marie covered herself from head to toe. Her gowns were long and flowing, touching the ground as she walked. To protect others from an idle touch of her hands, the sleeves of her gowns extended well past her hands and were often fashioned from a transparent gossamer that allowed her to exhibit the golden armbands and rings that her father plied her with. On her head she wore a veil that would perfectly match the colour of her gown. They were translucent enough too allow her to see, yet still kept her features hidden. Marie hated the things and would always remove them when she was alone.
“They are for your protection,” her father often told her. “You must be kept pure and it is either this or lock you in a room where you can come into no contact with others. This way you are still able to be in the same room as other people without fear of them touching your skin.”
Her father’s words did little to assure her when she was stared at openly by others when she ventured out into the city. She had become an enigma of sorts to the people who flocked around her father day and night since none of them had ever seen her face.
“I do not see how you expect me to find this husband you are keeping me pure for if no one is able to see my face. I wouldn’t be surprised if they believe I am deformed,” Marie told her father as she sat in on the edge of the pond. She had drawn one of her sleeves up so that she could dangle her fingers in the cool water. Marie had learned as a child that the fish didn’t seem to mind her skin s they buffeted against her fingers which she dangled in the water.
Magnus was pacing back and forth, his long robes swirling around his ankles. “Your appearance matters not, my dear. Men will not bother with your appearance so long as they are able to align themselves with us.”
“I refuse to be married off to one of your politician friends on a whim,” Marie declared forcefully. “I am not some pawn for you to deal out as you see fit. I am your daughter.”
“And as such it is up to me who you marry. Now quit mucking about and have Jainus prepare you this evening. Many important people will be here tonight and you must appear perfect.”
As she left the garden, Marie was barely able to restrain herself from reminding her father that since no one could see her face, it didn’t matter what she looked like. There were others around, though, and Marie would not embarrass her father like that. She would continue with her role as the perfect daughter until she found a way to break free once and for all. For several years, Marie had been saving away money. She had been saving it so that she would be able to fend for herself when she eventually left home.
On her own with no fore-warning for her father.
Nothing was going to stop Marie from leaving. She would be on her own far away from Rome where no one knew of her or her father’s decree. Not knowing the truth about her skin, she would keep wearing the sleeves but the veils would be a thing of the past.
“Jainus!” Marie called as she stormed towards her room. Her father hated it when she yelled, so Marie made sure to do it then. Marie always made it a point of yelling when she was angry with her father. “My father wishes for his work of art tonight!”
Marie burst into her room with a swirl of silken cloth. The material of her dress was thick in order to protect her from the cold winter winds. This night, however, as was her father’s custom when he wished to impress people, Marie’s dress would be as transparent as considered appropriate. Magnus liked to parade hi daughter around as though she were a work of art. An untouchable creature that was to be admired for its beauty and envied by those who did not possess it. That was all part of Magnus’s plan to add to the mystique that surrounded his daughter.
“You know your father does not approve of you yelling like that,” Jainus scolded as she entered the room.
The was something Marie despised about Jainus. The woman had the personality of a rock sitting in the middle of a field. She did what she was told without a complaint and rarely ever had an opinion of her own.
Marie scowled at the other woman as she tore off her veil, tossing it absently on her bed. “Do what you need to do. My father wants me to look perfect even though no one will see me.”
While Jainus donned a pair thin gloves, Marie sat herself down on the stool in front of her vanity. There Jainus would twist and braid her hair into a stiff design of deep auburn that would quickly be hidden by another veil. Her face would also be covered with cosmetics, highlighting that her father believed men would find the most desirable.
To complete the mystery, when visitors were in the villa, Marie was not allowed to speak. She had to remain absolutely silent at all times when in their presence. She couldn’t argue with the philosophers or even converse with the daughters of the families that came to see her father. It was infuriating so whenever there was company gathered in her home, Marie would either closet herself in her apartments or disappear into the city below.
Of course, because of her veil, it was hard for Marie to go unnoticed in the crowds. Still, she could make her voice heard in the city, conversing with people that her father would often forbid her to speak to when she returned home.
“Jubilation, would you ready my father’s favourite art work gown,” Marie bid as Jainus began twisting her bangs into long spirals which were pinned towards the back of her head.
The young Asiatic girl appeared out of Marie’s vast wardrobe carrying a crimson of Egyptian silk so transparent that it left little to the imagination. While Marie could not deny the beauty of the garment which was decorated with gold straps which were wrapped around her torso and crossed between her breasts then over her shoulders. The straps were the only material that covered her shoulders for the dress ended at the level of her armpits and was carried over into the long, billowing sleeves. The gossamer veil, made of a slightly thicker silk than the dress, covered the exposed skin of her neck, shoulders and face. In fact, the only available glimpse of naked skin that any of their guests would be able to view were her feet which, though they were covered in elegant golden sandals, would peek out from under the hem of her gown when she walked. When she wished to annoy her father, Marie would casually lift the skirt of her dress up so that her feet and ankles were visible at all times.
Once Jainus was satisfied with her hair and gown, Jubilation unfastened the strings that tied the dress she had been wearing that day closed. Marie slipped out of the dress herself and tossed it onto her bed. Before crossing over to Jubilation who had her “art work” dress ready, Marie donned several golden armbands and rings. It would be next to impossible to place them properly once she was wearing her dress and the voluptuous sleeves got in the way.
Marie had nearly as many “art work” dresses as she did normal, everyday ones. Marie hated to wear them, but knew she must so long as she lived with her father who treated her as though she were a work of art. Still, there was no telling what man her father would marry her off to. He could very well treat her the same as her father; a work of art to be shown off like a new fresco.
By the time Marie has her veil in place, she could hear sounds of people in the garden. Mumbling a quick poem under her breath, Marie prepares herself for a night of silence before venturing out of her room. Jubilation give her an encouraging nod and then Marie stepped out into the vast marble corridor that would eventually lead her to the garden.
“Why I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“What crude markings!”
“Does it speak? I’ve heard that these barbarians have a horrid language.”
“It probably involves lots of yelling.”
“How on earth did you come across it?”
When Marie stepped out into the garden, a hush fell over the crowd. It was the same awed hush that commonly followed on of her entrances. This time, though, had she been allowed to speak, Marie would have been shocked into silence at the sight that greeted her.
“Come, Marie, you must see Flavius’s barbarian,” her father encouraged, appearing suddenly at her side.
Marie followed her father dumbly, crossing the marble interior towards Senator Flavius and the creature that stood hunched by his side. No, Marie silently corrected herself, not a creature, but the most glorious specimen of the male form Marie had ever beheld. He must have been one of the Celts that Caesar had brought back with him from Britain or Gaul, for his skin was covered with intricate tattoos the likes of which Marie had never seen. His body was built like a gladiator’s, strong and firm. It was only the Roman’s even present sense of modesty had allowed for the leather kilt the man wore, otherwise Marie was sure Flavius would have brought him naked.
What caught Marie the most off guard, though, were the man’s startling hazel eye and stiff posture which gave him a dignity that the heavy chains around his wrists, ankles and neck could do nothing to lessen.
As her father began talking to Flavius, Marie cautiously gazed into the barbarian’s eyes. Since he would need eyes like a god to see through the cloth that covered her face, Marie didn’t feel the least bit ashamed to stare directly at his face. The instant their eyes met, Marie felt as though Zeus himself had sent a thunderbolt hurtling into her body.
“I am told his name is Logan,” Marie heard Flavius tell her father. “Dreadful name, don’t you think?”