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“Avitoria,” a voice called through the halls of the villa. “Avitoria!”
Avitoria was sitting with her feet dipped in the small bath that was within the middle of the villa, her brother lounging at the deeper end of the pool. Several hours ago she had watched him disappear into the hills, being led by their father for a long, tiring run.
He had returned with ragged breathing before their father forced him to recite fifty lines of the Iliad. Avitoria meanwhile had spent the last hour practicing her pottery making skill; she didn’t envy her brother today. Now though her mother was calling her from the kitchen and she found herself wishing that she could linger with her feet in the water for a little longer.
“Avitoria!”
“Yes, I’m coming,” she called back, pulling her feet from the pool.
Ignoring her brother who was laughing at her, Avitoria walked out of the baths and down the corridor of their villa. Between the columns she could see the trees in the distance, their home built in the quiet, empty west of the island. Her ancestors had once farmed this land, but after the Romans had arrived everything had changed.
A great-great-grandfather had pledged his support to the local Roman garrison, learnt Latin and took control of running the area and in return they gave him wealth and built him a large Roman villa.
From then on their family became Roman citizens. They spoke in Latin, they wore their togas and learnt of the great, Greek epics and the history of their new rulers’ empire. Avitoria was vaguely aware that her father took care of the things he called ‘administrative issues’ for the various farms and towns nearby. She was extremely proud of her important father.
Crossing the courtyard with the wide mosaic sitting in the middle of it, Avitoria stared down at the different coloured tiles. It told a story of a Roman goddess and a sea monster, or something like that. She had never quite listened to her father’s story about it, even if she did find the mosaic very pretty with its deep blue and fiery red colours.
“Oh there you are,” Avitoria’s mother said, pulling down a vase of wine from the shelf. “Can you please grab the honey for me?”
Avitoria moved excitedly across the kitchen and took the container of honey, handing it to her mother who began to blend it in with the wine. When the wine was mixed with honey it meant that the drink wasn’t so strong and Avitoria could have some for dinner.
With that reward in front of her, she began to help prepare the fish for dinner without complaint. She could use the bath
whenever she wished, but it was a special occasion to drink wine.
Here is Richard reading the story to you.
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