I, Lyssa

Untitled Part 1

Dear Diary

            Well, I always wanted to go to Rome, but this is ridiculous.

            As my mother once said before she left to become a circus acrobat (at age 45, mind you)

“You could go to the store to buy some wine and end up in Rome.” She meant it literally; she used to drink said wine on the way back from buying it, get so drunk she collapsed, her hair would get caught on a carriage, and she would wake up, hung over, on the emperor’s doorstep. Zeus, my mom was an interesting lady. She probably still is, if she is still alive.

Well, I didn’t get drunk, and my hair wasn’t caught in a carriage, but I am in Rome just the same. I guess it started when Old man Androcles came running like a madman down the road. Ironically, I was out buying wine at the time, as a favor for my friend Alexios, whose father was bedridden and alchoholic. Anyway, Androcles was waving his arms around, looking a bit like an octopus, or maybe a Hydra. He was screaming his head off.

“Lyssa, Lyssa, you have to run! The Romans are here! The Romans are-“

At that point, a Roman soldier came up behind him and hit him over the head with a shield.

Ok, yes, I screamed, and yes, I tried to run for the hills. My mom would have wanted me to fight this guy. Maybe I could have taken him, if I had a magical sword enchanted by Athena herself, and Mr. Roman guy wasn’t in full bronze armor. Seriously, he was really shiny.  So, I guess running was a good idea. I mean, I was just wearing my usual wool dress, and the Roman was wearing heavy armor. I could have outrun him, if I hadn’t tripped over my dress. I had made that dress myself. I had sheared all those sheep, spun all that string, wove it into cloth, I had sewn it into a dress, and all that work for it to betray me in my direst hour. So, I fell over, and skinned my knees. Then I heard some words, in really dreadful Greek.

“Excuse me, miss, but you need come with I.”

“What?”

“You- um-“ There was a sound like shuffling paper “You need to- go- with I- Quod non est- me. You need to go with me.”

I looked up from the ground and saw the roman soldier squinting at a large scroll. He frowned.

“You is be a- a- quid est verba etiam ancilla? A- a- a- ah! Ancilla! You is be a sla-vay?”

What in Tartarus was sla-vay? Some type of insult? I decided to insult his grammar.

“You are a Sla-vay. Is be is ridiculous. Where did you get that translation?” I said, narrowing my eyes. I might as well use my superior intelligence in this situation.

“What?”

Now I had the upper hand. I didn’t speak a word of Latin, but I could probably outsmart this guy.

“You really have no idea what you are doing. It is absolutely ridiculous. I think that you should just go back to Rome and sit down and think about what you are doing.” I said, speaking quickly as to confuse my adversary.

“Whuuu?” My opponent eloquently stated.

“I said, go back to Rome.”

The man stared at his scroll, veins bulging from his forehead. He gritted his teeth, appearing to be in pain just from the act of reading.

“Revertere ad Romanum-“ He stared at me blankly. He then turned around, and started walking back in the direction he came in.

I couldn’t believe it actually worked.

My glory lasted for about 15 seconds before another soldier, a higher ranking one judging by the large plume on top of his helmet, appeared over the hill, and started screaming at the man I had just banished. After concussing the man with a shield, he walked up to me.

“I apologize for my comrade’s poor judgment.” He said, in far better Greek then his predecessor. “I am, however, afraid that you will have to come with me.” He grabbed my arm, and started to pull me along with him.

“Wait, what?”

“I will try to make sure you end up with a kind family. You are obviously very intelligent; I think you will go far.”

“Far? Far? What do you mean?”

“Miss, you are going to Rome, and you are going to be a slave!”

So that was what sla-vay meant.