Across RhyDin, slaves of the house of Paulinus Lucius Scapula were reading out a proclamation penned by himself in every public place, before pinning it to the notice board, wall or door in front of which they stood, for anyone to peruse at their leisure. And they did, coming close to first hear, and then read for themselves the offer made by the great general of Rome.
http://i782.photobucket.com/albums/yy107/ShannaraRhyDin/Proclamation.jpg
It really was impossible to see how this day could get any more humiliating, Luciana thought to herself as she stood in the marketplace during one of these readings, enduring the curious and appraising looks sent her way as she was presented to those gathered there as the daughter of whom the proclamation spoke. Tall, svelte, flaxen haired and with pale blue eyes, she stared back at her admirers impassively, trying to ignore the stinging of the skin on her back.
Her father, the great Paulinus, had caught her sneaking back from her unescorted venture into the city the night before, and this public humiliation, this offering her to the highest bidder, was only part of her punishment. The other part was far more personal, and not for public eyes. She had been whipped with birch twigs across her naked back as the sun rose that morning; whipped until the skin was just about to break, and she was sobbing in pain and resentful remorse. Then salt had been rubbed across the abraided skin, and she had almost screamed at the sting of it. Though the pain was lessening now, each time the thick silk of her thigh-length stola brushed that abused skin she was forced to bite back a low moan of pain.
It was her own penance, not to show the pain. Her mother would have been proud of her. Gunnora, Paulinus' first wife and Luciana's mother, had been a Norse woman, the daughter of a chieftain, and as proud as her position demanded. She had never ceased to educate her daughter in the ways of her Norse people, despite the insistance of her husband that the girl be Romanised. So Luciana had grown up as an odd mix of the two; fiercely proud and independent, and yet capable of the mild mannered meekness of her paternal grandmother if she deemed it necessary. Unfortunately for her abused body, she very rarely deemed it so, and as such, after eight years of trying, since her first courses came at the tender age of twelve, Paulinus still had not managed to find a man who would marry her. 'Civilised' men did not want a barbarian wife, and there was never any question of marrying her back to her mother's people.
So here she was, put on display for the people of this new place of which she had never heard until her father had brought her here barely four days ago. And he had every intention of giving her up to some unknown man, together with her not inconsiderable dowry, and leaving her here, to get on or to rot. Whichever she did, it would be out of his hands.
Luciana scowled inwardly. She sincerely hoped no man who wished her was anything like that vile specimen of a man she had witnessed the evening before, with his smug charm and blatant flirtation. She was decided. She would die before ever allowing herself to be leashed to such a man as Cesare Romano.
http://i782.photobucket.com/albums/yy107/ShannaraRhyDin/Proclamation.jpg
It really was impossible to see how this day could get any more humiliating, Luciana thought to herself as she stood in the marketplace during one of these readings, enduring the curious and appraising looks sent her way as she was presented to those gathered there as the daughter of whom the proclamation spoke. Tall, svelte, flaxen haired and with pale blue eyes, she stared back at her admirers impassively, trying to ignore the stinging of the skin on her back.
Her father, the great Paulinus, had caught her sneaking back from her unescorted venture into the city the night before, and this public humiliation, this offering her to the highest bidder, was only part of her punishment. The other part was far more personal, and not for public eyes. She had been whipped with birch twigs across her naked back as the sun rose that morning; whipped until the skin was just about to break, and she was sobbing in pain and resentful remorse. Then salt had been rubbed across the abraided skin, and she had almost screamed at the sting of it. Though the pain was lessening now, each time the thick silk of her thigh-length stola brushed that abused skin she was forced to bite back a low moan of pain.
It was her own penance, not to show the pain. Her mother would have been proud of her. Gunnora, Paulinus' first wife and Luciana's mother, had been a Norse woman, the daughter of a chieftain, and as proud as her position demanded. She had never ceased to educate her daughter in the ways of her Norse people, despite the insistance of her husband that the girl be Romanised. So Luciana had grown up as an odd mix of the two; fiercely proud and independent, and yet capable of the mild mannered meekness of her paternal grandmother if she deemed it necessary. Unfortunately for her abused body, she very rarely deemed it so, and as such, after eight years of trying, since her first courses came at the tender age of twelve, Paulinus still had not managed to find a man who would marry her. 'Civilised' men did not want a barbarian wife, and there was never any question of marrying her back to her mother's people.
So here she was, put on display for the people of this new place of which she had never heard until her father had brought her here barely four days ago. And he had every intention of giving her up to some unknown man, together with her not inconsiderable dowry, and leaving her here, to get on or to rot. Whichever she did, it would be out of his hands.
Luciana scowled inwardly. She sincerely hoped no man who wished her was anything like that vile specimen of a man she had witnessed the evening before, with his smug charm and blatant flirtation. She was decided. She would die before ever allowing herself to be leashed to such a man as Cesare Romano.