I Shall Rewrite the Stars

***

“Forgive me,” Juba whispers as we near the archway. Shoving at my back, he forces me down onto my stomach. With his free hand, he grasps a fistful of my hair, and pretends to press my face into the dirt.

“What is the meaning of this?” Octavia screeches, stomping closer. “Explain yourselves immediately!”

“Mercy, M’lady,” Juba says. “Selene was careless and tripped. I beg of you to-”

“Do you not see the stain upon my daughter’s skirt? Her dress is ruined!”

Peeking from beneath my lashes, I catch sight of a slight dark patch at the bottom of Antonia Minor’s hem. All this fuss over a single splotch? They truly are just as horrible in this life.

“I will personally beseech His Majesty to send new thread-of-silk,” Juba offers. “Selene will labor night and day to weave a new skirt for Principessa Antonia Minor-”

“As if I should be made to wear whatever travesty that idiot might produce!” said girl cries. “To think of me, the favorite niece of His Majesty, wearing rags woven by a Kemetish slave!”

“Unthinkable,” Octavia agrees, then her voice shifts. “But a gown of blood red might suit Minor nicely.”

“M’lady?” Juba asks.

“Go to my estate and have a servant fetch a bolt of white silk. In the meantime, this girl will find a block and await her whipping. I will not be satisfied until enough blood has been spilt, as to dye the fabric a proper shade of crimson.”

Juba freezes seconds before me. I am unsure what he must be thinking, but I suddenly recall Mother telling me not to fret over a stained skirt.

‘It takes quite a lot of blood to leave a permanent mark,’ she had said. ‘Washing the cloth will make it fade, so there is no need to worry.’

Even if I survive so great a blood-letting, Octavia will call upon me to dye the cloth again and again, each time it begins to dull. This punishment is one that will never end—and all because of a single milk stain!

“Did you not hear me?” Octavia snips. “I said to go fetch my silk!”

“M-…M’lady, please,” Juba breathes. “Mercy-”

“Ah, what a sight for so fine a morning.” Glancing over, I see the hem of a purple cloak clinging to the sides of black boots: the signature fashion of Agrippa. “Well, that of Juba’s face in the dirt, I mean.”

“What do you want?” Octavia growls.

“I just came round to check on you. His Majesty was worried that the heat wouldn’t agree with you today! It seems he was right.”

“Was he now? And why exactly would you say that?”

Agrippa laughs, walking over to crouch beside me. Patting my head, his hand replaces Juba’s. “My dearest Selene, just what trouble have you caused? I’d heard that your faults were minor! Here I was, hoping to bring you word of how impressed I am.”

“Forgive me for disappointing you, Sir,” I say into the dirt.

Agrippa strokes my hair as one would a pet cat. “Her crime, M’lady?”

“She assaulted me!” Antonia Minor huffs. “Just look at my skirt—that girl threw herself at me. And dumped milk everywhere in the process!”

“Juba, tell me what actually happened.”

Juba explains the story step by step, finishing with, “Already Selene’s arm bruises from her fall. I truly believe this incident was entirely an accident. As such, I am begging you, Lieutenant General, to ask clemency from Her Ladyship.”

“All this because of some spilt milk.” Agrippa stands, his voice deepening as he continues. “You are a principessa of Roma—you share the blood of His Majesty. And you are no longer a child. It reflects poorly on the entire empire for you to whine over something so pathetic. Pray that His Majesty will have mercy on you, after he has heard about this.”

“You threaten my daughter for the defense of a mere slave?” Octavia gapes.

Agrippa tsks. “I remind her of her place, and nothing more. It’s a kindness really! You do know how His Majesty’s temper has been less than amiable, don’t you? I tremble to think of how he will react to all of this.”

Octavia is silent a moment. “What do you want in return for your silence?”

I can imagine Agrippa’s grin. “Next time you devise a means to kill Selene, think of something a little less messy. And do keep in mind that she belongs to His Majesty. She is not yours to execute, Octavia.”

“The girl will go unpunished then?”

“Of course not.” My blood runs cold. “Even if it was just the milk she carried, she still struck a principessa of Roma. As such, if anyone must punish my dearest Selene, I would rather it be me. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Answer the man, Minor,” Octavia says.

“I…” Antonia Minor breathes. “Of course not. Do as you wish, General.”

“Fetch that broom from the corner there, Juba,” Agrippa says, stooping to pull me up by my arms. “And the buckets beside it.”

“Both?” Juba asks.

“You think you will escape punishment? His Majesty and I ordered you to properly educate Selene. Her failures are yours.”

“I understand.”

Huffing a laugh under his breath, Agrippa walks me into the center of the courtyard. As he does, part of me thinks of Julia, wishing beyond all hope that she has gone well away from here. For the shock of what is to come might be too much for her! But…more than thoughts of her, I cannot help the mounting fear—the shaking of my hands and the weakness in my knees.

No memories of beatings, can prepare you for one about to happen in the present.

“Kneel,” Agrippa says gently, guiding me down with him. Taking the straps of my gown in hand, he slides them across my shoulders. I clench my eyes shut, too afraid to watch anymore.

Too afraid to breathe.

“The buckets,” Juba says, his voice caught.

“Lean on this,” Agrippa whispers, setting my forearms across the bucket when I cannot get them to move on my own. “You have been so strong till now. Do not disappoint me by breaking beneath a mere fifteen blows-”

“Her body is fragile!” Juba gasps. “More than three might-”

“Will you take her place?” Agrippa interrupts.

“If you will allow it.”

No, I wish to scream. Please, don’t hurt him because of me. Don’t hurt anyone else because of me! Don’t-

“Bare your back and kneel,” Agrippa commands, standing.

“J-…Juba,” I whisper, peeking toward him.

He shifts a bit, kneeling over the second bucket once his tunic hangs limp from his waist. Sparing me a resigned glance, Juba looks forward and closes his eyes.

“Try to breathe with each strike. It will absorb the shock, and should spare your bones from breaking.” I feel Agrippa step closer, see the shadow of his arm and a long pole rising over me. “Be brave, my dearest Selene.”

“What?” Juba gasps, jerking upright. Just as I hear the swish of the pole slicing down toward me, Juba screa—

Everything goes black.

I blink fast, not quite sure what is happening. But as my knees hit the ground, I wobble and throw myself onto my hands.

“Breathe,” Agrippa chuckles, pulling me back up to kneel. “This lesson will be hard-learned, but you will endure and overcome it. And be wiser in the end.”

“The buckets,” Juba says, his voice caught.

“Lean on this.” Pushing myself back up, I set my forearms across the bucket, and Agrippa pulls away with a pat of approval. “Good girl. Do not go disappointing me by breaking beneath a mere fifteen blows-”

What?

“Her body is fragile!” Juba gasps. “More than three might-”

“Will you take her place?” Agrippa interrupts.

“If you will allow it.”

What is this? I wonder. Did I just…imagine that nightmare? Am I re-living it? Why is this happening all over again? Why-

“Bare your back and kneel,” Agrippa commands.

“Juba?” I whisper, peeking toward him.

He shifts a bit, kneeling over the second bucket when his tunic hangs limp from his waist. Sparing me a hard glance, he holds my eyes.

“Try to breathe with the strikes. It will absorb the shock, and should spare your bones from breaking.” I feel Agrippa step closer, see the shadow of his arm and a long pole rising over me. “Be brave, my dearest-”

“Stop!”

Juba’s fist uncurls at the sound of footsteps barreling closer. When they are upon us, a large body flings itself over mine.

“How…how dare you?” Gasping in deep, ragged breaths, Antyllus turns, drawing me off the bucket and onto my side. When I glance back, his arms are thrown wide. “How dare you seek to spill blood on my grounds, without my consent? Or do you act under His Majesty’s orders?”

“I do not. But you know he will turn a blind eye if I ask him to,” Agrippa says, setting the broom across his shoulders.

“Well, as I am here now, I forbid it!”

“These slaves must be punished-”

“And as their master, I will be the one to punish them! But my wife is pregnant. Were blood to taint the land on which my son grows, it will be a curse to he and his mother. Or do you seek to forsake an unborn citizen of Roma—all for the sake of a spoilt child?”

“Watch your mouth!” Octavia snaps.

“In defense of my wife and unborn son, I am under no obligation to bow to your demands, Mother,” Antyllus seethes. “Take Minor and leave. I will send whatever is asked of me, as repentance for Selene’s mistake.”

“There is nothing you-”

“Go,” Agrippa says. “Take the girl; smooth out her education as a principessa. And mark this well: I will not spare her from His Majesty a second time, M’lady.”

Octavia stamps her foot, but grabs Antonia Minor by the arm and drags her off toward the gate.

When they are gone, Agrippa turns toward Antyllus. “I thought you were called in to speak with the other senators. Did the meeting end early?”

“I received word that my wife was feeling ill, and so excused myself,” Antyllus says. “Respectfully, I fear that your presence will upset her, General. She has such a weak constitution, you know. To see a hardened warrior at our doorstep might cause her to faint.”

Agrippa laughs. “Indeed it might! I should be on my way, then.” Turning with a grin, Agrippa lowers his arm…and brings the broom-handle down hard across Juba’s back.

My breath catches, and Antyllus scrambles to rip the weapon from Agrippa’s hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouts.

“This one still belongs solely to His Majesty. I may do with him as I see fit,” Agrippa replies. “Have a nice day, Antyllus.”

“Juba?” I whisper, crawling toward him when Agrippa’s steps fade.

Eyes clenched, he pushes himself up with trembling arms. “I’m fine,” he says, twisting his back away. Though not before I see a swollen red streak and bits of wood splintered in his flesh. Standing with a sharp inhale, Juba stoops to pull me into his arms.  

“Put me down,” I demand, tears spilling across my cheeks. “Juba you are hurt—you cursed liar! Put me down before you worsen your injuries! Please!”

“Juba,” Antyllus tries.

“Confinement will serve us well,” Juba says, his voice empty as he carries me into the shadowed interior of the manor. “We will skip our meals till tomorrow. If His Majesty should ask, tell him-”

“There is no need to punish yourselves!”

Juba spares Antyllus a glance. “Tell him of our fasting, and that we will resume our duties with the next dawn.”

Walking onward, Juba cradles me close, unflinching when I hide my sniffling against his bared chest. The trembling fingers of my right hand curl against his shoulder, and by the time we stop moving, I can hardly breathe for how hard I weep.

“Selene,” Juba whispers, sinking down in an especially darkened corner.

I know that Antyllus does not own any horses, but the smell of them lingers around us. Pungent; mingled with the stench of mud, dried hay, and tears.

“Selene, breathe.”

“I-…I’m so-…” A sob wracks my body, stealing my words and changing them into a howl of despair. I was so afraid for myself, but to see Juba be struck—to see it in this life, when I had hoped that such a thing would not happen again—when I had resolved in my heart to do anything it took, to prevent such a thing!

The worst…this is the worst.

I thought I had prepared myself. I had lived through the worst in my visions, after all. To live through it again should feel no different. And yet it does.

It feels terrifying and hideous and wrong.

And I want it to stop.

“I want it to stop,” I weep. “Please, make it stop.”

“Are you ready to run?” Juba whispers, setting me in his lap. Knees up, he forms a cage with his body, one hand finding mine whilst the other holds my head to the space just beneath his chin.

“We can’t-”

“Then we will devise a new plan—a new strategy.” Taking a breath, Juba speaks softer. “I can’t do it. I can’t watch someone attempt to hurt you like that, again.”

“Antyllus stopped him.”

“Not the first time.”

A jolt stings my heart. If he remembers the first events, then I did not imagine them. Something changed—a short blip of time restarted and changed our fate! But…how—and why? Who did that? Was it some power I subconsciously wielded?

“Later,” I whisper, curling into a ball; drowning in the thrum of Juba’s heartbeat against my ear. “Please, can we speak about it-”

“Later,” Juba agrees, and presses a kiss to my hair. “Focus on breathing, and know that you are safe...for now.”

***