The Mark of Rome

III / the hearth of hestia

"Come here, little wolf. Hold onto your tears. Save them for something more precious," my mother murmured softly, brushing my hair back from my face.

Her skin was muted and grey, and even I knew then what was to come. I had just passed my fourth year and Cornelius clasped my hand as we sat by our mother's bed. My heart trembled with fear of what I did not know.

Little wolf. The endearment was one I knew well. I was called after my mother's mother. I was called Esther, after my grandmother who was every bit the she-wolf of the Roman aristocracy.

I felt the strength of my name hold me up. Even on the eve of my mother's passing.

I gently escaped Cornelius's grasp while my father and Drusus looked on. The twins lay sleeping in their bed a few steps away.

With tear-stained cheeks and pudgy, adolescent fingers, I reached out to hold my mother's hand. Her touch was unnaturally cool and when once every grasp of her hand felt reassuring and warm, her palm now felt as if it were covered in the morning dew. It was alarming to me, but I didn't let it show. Her lips turned up into the softest smile and it made the uneasiness waver for a moment.

In every way, my mother was like the sun. She was radiant beauty and effervescent warmth. With honeyed waves and melting hazel eyes, she was the blooming rosebud of her family. My father was not who she was intended to marry, not in the slightest.

She had married my father out of love, even if he was well below her class. It was a story I was fond of, their meeting. I knew all of her stories by heart—every suitor, every fond childhood memory, every remembrance of the family she created.

All I ever wanted was to be like her. To be gentle, to be kind, to be graceful.

I never was any of those things. I was always my father's daughter or my grandmother's granddaughter first. I had a temper from birth and I was not a warm, elegant lady. I was every bit the night she had named me after. I was shrewd and with the fight of a wild dog.

Mother knew that, and yet, she loved me all the same.

"Leave us please, boys," she murmured softly. There was no question or no fight left in the room. My brothers and my father simply obeyed.

When the room was empty save for Mother and I—and the two slumbering babies in the corner—she embraced me with what strength she had left. I felt her lips kiss the crown of my head and I inhaled deeply the scent of lavender.

Without my knowing, the tears began coursing down my face once more. I broke away with the burgeoning sense that she was trying to make her goodbye. It was with fear and betrayal that I looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Why do you have to go? I don't want you to leave me, Mother. Why are you going away? Tell me what I can do. I could make you feel better. I know I could."

Her eyes glistened with tears, but not a single one fell. She was gentle, but she was the strongest woman I knew. Her eyes held mine tenderly. "I know you could, my love. I already feel much better seeing how strong you are...You are so strong, you know that, right? I love your brothers dearly, but you are my pride and joy, my Esther. You are everything I could not be, and I sorely wish I could be there to see you grow bigger..."

Her voice faltered a moment and I could feel her resolve slipping ever so slightly. "You have to protect them, okay? I know your older brothers will take care of you, but you have to look out for them, too. And your sisters, I know they won't want for anything because they have all of you to look after them...but kiss them goodnight for me every once in a while. Alright, my little wolf? Will you promise me that much?"