Daphne I

This is a return to the original Hellenistic world that I've been writing about.  I need to come up with a name for it, or something otherwise by which to identify it.  At any rate, this originally was a separate character from Lysistratas, the first character which I wrote from the perspective of, but I've decided to combine her together into a single character, with the name of Daphne.  The name of her husband is also going to change, but I can't remember what it's supposed to be.  More to follow.



They had both known that this day would come, that he would be called off to war, to campaign against the enemies of their homeland.  He was a part of the greatest military the world had ever seen, and he was a nobleman, thus a junior officer, and certainly he was unlikely to be killed in battle.  So great also were they in the sciences and knowledge of disease and the human body, and certainly he was unlikely to die whilst on the march.  None of it made it any easier, for while the fear of death lingered in the backs of both of their minds, it wasn’t really what made them so distraught.  They’d have no way to talk to one another.  It was simply their separation.  It was the being apart.  It was the not knowing. 

Daphne could not bear to watch him be dressed in his armour, as the sight of it represented that which she dreaded, him ultimately leaving her.  Instead, she waited in the courtyard, leaning over the railing, taking in the beautiful garden that lay before her, filled with flowers.  They may as well have not been there, as she looked right through them, thinking of her husband riding off, away from her.  She chewed lightly on her bottom lip and swallowed hard as she choked back some tears.  What good am I doing out here, she asked herself, if it makes me feel no better?

She drew in a long, wavering breath and let it all out; her breath, her anxiety, her sadness, all leaving her body in a single moment.  She would be strong.  She had to be.  Lifting herself off of the railing she strode towards the front of the house.  She could hear his voice but could not yet approach; she had been crying and could not bear to have him see her in such a distraught state.  If this was to be the last day that he would see her before he went on campaign, she needed to make sure that she looked her best, to give him a good memory of her.

Daphne proceeded past the impluvium, the small pool near the front of the house, decorated with a mosaic, which caught rainwater and housed a few small decorative fish to eat insect eggs, which darted away as she walked by.  She turned to walk into her personal chambers where her personal handmaiden sat, quickly standing at her entrance.  She was a slightly older woman, lines starting to appear on her face, but still had some of the beauty of youth.  Her skin was olive, and her dark hair began to have strands of grey streak through it, giving her more dignity and grace, though most of it was covered by a light blue headscarf.  She bowed her head slightly and inquired, “Domina.  What is it?”

Daphne drew in a deep breath, building herself up with it.  “My husband is leaving.  I intend to see him off.”