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Perhaps it was fate that saw Callidora walking through the marketplace of Jerusalem alone that afternoon, off on a small error for her husband who waited for her in their temporary accommodations. Just a simple errand, a word with one of his contacts’ wives, and that was all it was supposed to be. Fate maybe, or just bad luck. Because, of course, that was not all that happened.
She was whistling softly once she completed her task, leaving the woman, Rachel, behind with a cheerful wave. Wandering through the market at a more leisurely pace than the one she had used when she first set out, Dora pulled her white mitpahath a little tighter against a sudden gust of sandy wind. A quiet cough made her eyes water, wiping some of the grit from her eyelashes. There were things about Judea she enjoyed, but the weather was not among them.
Once her vision was clear of sand, she let it roam the market for a moment, resting on a decrepit looking man sitting at the mouth of a nearby alley. His gaze rose up to meet hers, lifting a dirty cup in his hands. “Alms, mistress, grant an old man some mercy,” came his croaking voice, Callidora hesitating for a moment when he spoke. Demetrius often berated her for a giving nature, lightheartedly teasing she would squander their fortune on the poor and needy. She didn’t think it was a bad thing to show kindness to the less fortunate, and well, he wasn’t here, was he?
Decision made, she closed the distance between her and the older man, dropping a few coins into his cup. Silently smiling and nodding to him, she went to turn away—a poor decision, as she would soon find out. A burst of pain across the back of her head was all she felt before the world went black, the petite woman soon crumpling to the ground.
***
When she awoke, Callidora had no idea how long it had been, and for several long moments, she wasn’t even sure where she was. She could feel stone beneath her, could taste copper and dirt on her tongue, but nothing was stronger than the throbbing in her head and the lights flashing in her eyes. Groaning, she tried to sit up and soon found it to be a bad choice, filled with nausea as the world spun around her.
“Okay, just going to lay here for a moment,” she muttered under her breath, her voice slow and thick. Licking her lips to wet them, she tasted copper again—raising her fingers to her mouth to find blood dabbed against the tips. What in Tartarus had happened? And why was she in so much pain?
“Gods, help me,” she mumbled as her eyes drifted closed once more, covering them against the glare of the sun. She could just lay here for a minute, and then she would figure out where to go from there… if her legs would cooperate, anyway. One thing was for sure, once she did find her footing, Demetrius would never let her hear the end of this.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Perhaps it was fate that saw Callidora walking through the marketplace of Jerusalem alone that afternoon, off on a small error for her husband who waited for her in their temporary accommodations. Just a simple errand, a word with one of his contacts’ wives, and that was all it was supposed to be. Fate maybe, or just bad luck. Because, of course, that was not all that happened.
She was whistling softly once she completed her task, leaving the woman, Rachel, behind with a cheerful wave. Wandering through the market at a more leisurely pace than the one she had used when she first set out, Dora pulled her white mitpahath a little tighter against a sudden gust of sandy wind. A quiet cough made her eyes water, wiping some of the grit from her eyelashes. There were things about Judea she enjoyed, but the weather was not among them.
Once her vision was clear of sand, she let it roam the market for a moment, resting on a decrepit looking man sitting at the mouth of a nearby alley. His gaze rose up to meet hers, lifting a dirty cup in his hands. “Alms, mistress, grant an old man some mercy,” came his croaking voice, Callidora hesitating for a moment when he spoke. Demetrius often berated her for a giving nature, lightheartedly teasing she would squander their fortune on the poor and needy. She didn’t think it was a bad thing to show kindness to the less fortunate, and well, he wasn’t here, was he?
Decision made, she closed the distance between her and the older man, dropping a few coins into his cup. Silently smiling and nodding to him, she went to turn away—a poor decision, as she would soon find out. A burst of pain across the back of her head was all she felt before the world went black, the petite woman soon crumpling to the ground.
***
When she awoke, Callidora had no idea how long it had been, and for several long moments, she wasn’t even sure where she was. She could feel stone beneath her, could taste copper and dirt on her tongue, but nothing was stronger than the throbbing in her head and the lights flashing in her eyes. Groaning, she tried to sit up and soon found it to be a bad choice, filled with nausea as the world spun around her.
“Okay, just going to lay here for a moment,” she muttered under her breath, her voice slow and thick. Licking her lips to wet them, she tasted copper again—raising her fingers to her mouth to find blood dabbed against the tips. What in Tartarus had happened? And why was she in so much pain?
“Gods, help me,” she mumbled as her eyes drifted closed once more, covering them against the glare of the sun. She could just lay here for a minute, and then she would figure out where to go from there… if her legs would cooperate, anyway. One thing was for sure, once she did find her footing, Demetrius would never let her hear the end of this.
Perhaps it was fate that saw Callidora walking through the marketplace of Jerusalem alone that afternoon, off on a small error for her husband who waited for her in their temporary accommodations. Just a simple errand, a word with one of his contacts’ wives, and that was all it was supposed to be. Fate maybe, or just bad luck. Because, of course, that was not all that happened.
She was whistling softly once she completed her task, leaving the woman, Rachel, behind with a cheerful wave. Wandering through the market at a more leisurely pace than the one she had used when she first set out, Dora pulled her white mitpahath a little tighter against a sudden gust of sandy wind. A quiet cough made her eyes water, wiping some of the grit from her eyelashes. There were things about Judea she enjoyed, but the weather was not among them.
Once her vision was clear of sand, she let it roam the market for a moment, resting on a decrepit looking man sitting at the mouth of a nearby alley. His gaze rose up to meet hers, lifting a dirty cup in his hands. “Alms, mistress, grant an old man some mercy,” came his croaking voice, Callidora hesitating for a moment when he spoke. Demetrius often berated her for a giving nature, lightheartedly teasing she would squander their fortune on the poor and needy. She didn’t think it was a bad thing to show kindness to the less fortunate, and well, he wasn’t here, was he?
Decision made, she closed the distance between her and the older man, dropping a few coins into his cup. Silently smiling and nodding to him, she went to turn away—a poor decision, as she would soon find out. A burst of pain across the back of her head was all she felt before the world went black, the petite woman soon crumpling to the ground.
***
When she awoke, Callidora had no idea how long it had been, and for several long moments, she wasn’t even sure where she was. She could feel stone beneath her, could taste copper and dirt on her tongue, but nothing was stronger than the throbbing in her head and the lights flashing in her eyes. Groaning, she tried to sit up and soon found it to be a bad choice, filled with nausea as the world spun around her.
“Okay, just going to lay here for a moment,” she muttered under her breath, her voice slow and thick. Licking her lips to wet them, she tasted copper again—raising her fingers to her mouth to find blood dabbed against the tips. What in Tartarus had happened? And why was she in so much pain?
“Gods, help me,” she mumbled as her eyes drifted closed once more, covering them against the glare of the sun. She could just lay here for a minute, and then she would figure out where to go from there… if her legs would cooperate, anyway. One thing was for sure, once she did find her footing, Demetrius would never let her hear the end of this.
Milk, grain, eggs, and more yarn for Liviana’s blanket. Milk, grain, eggs… Over and over again, Selima went over the list of things she needed to get. It was a typical day in Jerusalem. The temperature was average, the prices of the goods not higher or lower than what Selima expected, and even the products weren’t anything special, nor were they horrid. Everything was as it should be. Nothing was out of place; nothing seemed to be off.
Even Selima was utterly ordinary on this day. She was making good time, entirely on schedule with all of her purchases. Not a hair was out of place, nor anything that could even resemble dirt on her clothing. Perfect, perfect, perfect, as all things should be.
“Thank you, dear,” Selima said kindly to the merchant as she added the ball of yarn to her little basket. At last, Selima finished with her shopping. Entirely on time, as was expected, she would typically visit this market on a routine day, such as today.
As Selima rounded the corner, something different happened. A foreigner, Greek perhaps, was stopped at another foreigner. The man appeared homeless. How did he make his way to Jerusalem? Did his ship sink, and he washed up on the shore? Was he a runaway slave? Perhaps he was a Greek soldier that decided to leave Taengea? Selima might have ignored the two if it were not for the fact that when the woman turned away the man hit her upside the head, snatching her coin purse and leaving the woman face down on the dirt below.
Selima was gobsmacked. Violence never made sense to her, but never had she witnessed something so blatantly… awful. Selima would tell her husband and son of this man. What other atrocities did he commit? In Jerusalem, no less! This was something she expected to happen in Egypt, certainly not here in Judea. It seemed their barbarianism was spreading.
But now was not the time to think about that. The woman was stirring, and Selima quickly went to her. She dropped her basket at her side and bent down. The woman seemed to be on her back now, after having tried to sit up. “Are you alright?” Selima asked, speaking in slow Hebrew, not even sure if the woman would understand Selima. “You’re… bleeding.” Despite herself, Selima’s eyes swept where she was. No, no blood around her, which was good. But this woman obviously needed help.
Selima was no healer, though she at least knew that laying on the stone ground would not be suitable for her. She should at least be somewhere safe, should she want to be able to right herself. But how would she be able to pay for a healer if that no good sinning thief stole her coin? “Let me help you up,” Selima offered the woman tentatively. “I can’t imagine the floor is very comfortable.”
It was a good thing that Simeon did not accompany Selima to the market (not that he often did). A man who had an obvious distaste of foreigners and their barbarism, he likely would be furious with Selima for paying the woman any mind. But Selima, in this way (and many ways), was different from her husband. This woman did nothing wrong. She was a victim in Jerusalem of all places, a place where she should be safe. She felt bad for the stranger as if it were Selima’s fault that such a crime took place. While it was, presumably, a foreigner that attacked the woman, it was her husband and her family that leads the city. They failed in keeping the city safe; a responsibility Selima took very seriously.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Milk, grain, eggs, and more yarn for Liviana’s blanket. Milk, grain, eggs… Over and over again, Selima went over the list of things she needed to get. It was a typical day in Jerusalem. The temperature was average, the prices of the goods not higher or lower than what Selima expected, and even the products weren’t anything special, nor were they horrid. Everything was as it should be. Nothing was out of place; nothing seemed to be off.
Even Selima was utterly ordinary on this day. She was making good time, entirely on schedule with all of her purchases. Not a hair was out of place, nor anything that could even resemble dirt on her clothing. Perfect, perfect, perfect, as all things should be.
“Thank you, dear,” Selima said kindly to the merchant as she added the ball of yarn to her little basket. At last, Selima finished with her shopping. Entirely on time, as was expected, she would typically visit this market on a routine day, such as today.
As Selima rounded the corner, something different happened. A foreigner, Greek perhaps, was stopped at another foreigner. The man appeared homeless. How did he make his way to Jerusalem? Did his ship sink, and he washed up on the shore? Was he a runaway slave? Perhaps he was a Greek soldier that decided to leave Taengea? Selima might have ignored the two if it were not for the fact that when the woman turned away the man hit her upside the head, snatching her coin purse and leaving the woman face down on the dirt below.
Selima was gobsmacked. Violence never made sense to her, but never had she witnessed something so blatantly… awful. Selima would tell her husband and son of this man. What other atrocities did he commit? In Jerusalem, no less! This was something she expected to happen in Egypt, certainly not here in Judea. It seemed their barbarianism was spreading.
But now was not the time to think about that. The woman was stirring, and Selima quickly went to her. She dropped her basket at her side and bent down. The woman seemed to be on her back now, after having tried to sit up. “Are you alright?” Selima asked, speaking in slow Hebrew, not even sure if the woman would understand Selima. “You’re… bleeding.” Despite herself, Selima’s eyes swept where she was. No, no blood around her, which was good. But this woman obviously needed help.
Selima was no healer, though she at least knew that laying on the stone ground would not be suitable for her. She should at least be somewhere safe, should she want to be able to right herself. But how would she be able to pay for a healer if that no good sinning thief stole her coin? “Let me help you up,” Selima offered the woman tentatively. “I can’t imagine the floor is very comfortable.”
It was a good thing that Simeon did not accompany Selima to the market (not that he often did). A man who had an obvious distaste of foreigners and their barbarism, he likely would be furious with Selima for paying the woman any mind. But Selima, in this way (and many ways), was different from her husband. This woman did nothing wrong. She was a victim in Jerusalem of all places, a place where she should be safe. She felt bad for the stranger as if it were Selima’s fault that such a crime took place. While it was, presumably, a foreigner that attacked the woman, it was her husband and her family that leads the city. They failed in keeping the city safe; a responsibility Selima took very seriously.
Milk, grain, eggs, and more yarn for Liviana’s blanket. Milk, grain, eggs… Over and over again, Selima went over the list of things she needed to get. It was a typical day in Jerusalem. The temperature was average, the prices of the goods not higher or lower than what Selima expected, and even the products weren’t anything special, nor were they horrid. Everything was as it should be. Nothing was out of place; nothing seemed to be off.
Even Selima was utterly ordinary on this day. She was making good time, entirely on schedule with all of her purchases. Not a hair was out of place, nor anything that could even resemble dirt on her clothing. Perfect, perfect, perfect, as all things should be.
“Thank you, dear,” Selima said kindly to the merchant as she added the ball of yarn to her little basket. At last, Selima finished with her shopping. Entirely on time, as was expected, she would typically visit this market on a routine day, such as today.
As Selima rounded the corner, something different happened. A foreigner, Greek perhaps, was stopped at another foreigner. The man appeared homeless. How did he make his way to Jerusalem? Did his ship sink, and he washed up on the shore? Was he a runaway slave? Perhaps he was a Greek soldier that decided to leave Taengea? Selima might have ignored the two if it were not for the fact that when the woman turned away the man hit her upside the head, snatching her coin purse and leaving the woman face down on the dirt below.
Selima was gobsmacked. Violence never made sense to her, but never had she witnessed something so blatantly… awful. Selima would tell her husband and son of this man. What other atrocities did he commit? In Jerusalem, no less! This was something she expected to happen in Egypt, certainly not here in Judea. It seemed their barbarianism was spreading.
But now was not the time to think about that. The woman was stirring, and Selima quickly went to her. She dropped her basket at her side and bent down. The woman seemed to be on her back now, after having tried to sit up. “Are you alright?” Selima asked, speaking in slow Hebrew, not even sure if the woman would understand Selima. “You’re… bleeding.” Despite herself, Selima’s eyes swept where she was. No, no blood around her, which was good. But this woman obviously needed help.
Selima was no healer, though she at least knew that laying on the stone ground would not be suitable for her. She should at least be somewhere safe, should she want to be able to right herself. But how would she be able to pay for a healer if that no good sinning thief stole her coin? “Let me help you up,” Selima offered the woman tentatively. “I can’t imagine the floor is very comfortable.”
It was a good thing that Simeon did not accompany Selima to the market (not that he often did). A man who had an obvious distaste of foreigners and their barbarism, he likely would be furious with Selima for paying the woman any mind. But Selima, in this way (and many ways), was different from her husband. This woman did nothing wrong. She was a victim in Jerusalem of all places, a place where she should be safe. She felt bad for the stranger as if it were Selima’s fault that such a crime took place. While it was, presumably, a foreigner that attacked the woman, it was her husband and her family that leads the city. They failed in keeping the city safe; a responsibility Selima took very seriously.
Callidora wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating or not when she heard a kindly voice speaking to her in Hebrew, the Grecian woman uncovering her eyes ad slowly cracking one open. If it was a hallucination, it was a convincing one, an older, dark-haired woman wavering in Dora’s watery gaze. What was she saying? While the merchant spoke Hebrew with a passable fluency, it sometimes took her a moment or two to understand, particularly when she wasn’t quite in possession of all her faculties.
Green eyes studied the stranger’s face as she ran her words through her head again and again. She was asking if she was all right, that was it. Slowly, Dora nodded, but the motion made her wince, perhaps belying the nod she gave. “Am fine,” she said in broken Hebrew. “Think so. Head hurts…” She winced again as she gingerly touched the sore spot on the back of her head—the pain dizzying enough to almost send her spiraling right back out of consciousness.
Closing her eyes to re-steady herself, she took a deep breath before she opened them again. The woman was offering a hand to help her up, and Dora wasn’t quite sure if she was up for the task, holding her finger up to ask for a moment. “Not sure can stand yet,” she explained slowly, once more licking at her dry lips. “Have water?” she asked hopefully, glancing up toward the stranger. “Mouth feels full of dirt.”
What exactly had happened? The last thing Callidora remembered was offering a man some coin from her purse before everything went black. Had he… attacked her? Why, that nasty little wretch…
For a moment, she looked angry, casting her gaze around them as if the false beggar would still be around to pay for his crime. Perhaps she ought to listen to Demetrius and stop trying to help so often. Granted, it had never landed her in this situation before, but gods. Was this what she got for being kind?
“You see who do this?” she asked curiously of the woman standing over her, shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked up at her. “You see what happen?”
Perhaps she could help fill in the blanks or at least help her get up and out of here. They were starting to draw attention, and she didn’t like it. Not everyone in Judea had been as kind to her as this woman was being, and she would rather not draw unnecessary ire upon herself. What if she was somehow blamed for her own attack? Judea was not always very kind to women, nor to foreigners. Truthfully, she would not put it past them to somehow pin her with the fault.
“Am Callidora,” she introduced herself belatedly, gesturing to her chest by way of introduction. “Thank for help. Is kind for you.”
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Callidora wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating or not when she heard a kindly voice speaking to her in Hebrew, the Grecian woman uncovering her eyes ad slowly cracking one open. If it was a hallucination, it was a convincing one, an older, dark-haired woman wavering in Dora’s watery gaze. What was she saying? While the merchant spoke Hebrew with a passable fluency, it sometimes took her a moment or two to understand, particularly when she wasn’t quite in possession of all her faculties.
Green eyes studied the stranger’s face as she ran her words through her head again and again. She was asking if she was all right, that was it. Slowly, Dora nodded, but the motion made her wince, perhaps belying the nod she gave. “Am fine,” she said in broken Hebrew. “Think so. Head hurts…” She winced again as she gingerly touched the sore spot on the back of her head—the pain dizzying enough to almost send her spiraling right back out of consciousness.
Closing her eyes to re-steady herself, she took a deep breath before she opened them again. The woman was offering a hand to help her up, and Dora wasn’t quite sure if she was up for the task, holding her finger up to ask for a moment. “Not sure can stand yet,” she explained slowly, once more licking at her dry lips. “Have water?” she asked hopefully, glancing up toward the stranger. “Mouth feels full of dirt.”
What exactly had happened? The last thing Callidora remembered was offering a man some coin from her purse before everything went black. Had he… attacked her? Why, that nasty little wretch…
For a moment, she looked angry, casting her gaze around them as if the false beggar would still be around to pay for his crime. Perhaps she ought to listen to Demetrius and stop trying to help so often. Granted, it had never landed her in this situation before, but gods. Was this what she got for being kind?
“You see who do this?” she asked curiously of the woman standing over her, shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked up at her. “You see what happen?”
Perhaps she could help fill in the blanks or at least help her get up and out of here. They were starting to draw attention, and she didn’t like it. Not everyone in Judea had been as kind to her as this woman was being, and she would rather not draw unnecessary ire upon herself. What if she was somehow blamed for her own attack? Judea was not always very kind to women, nor to foreigners. Truthfully, she would not put it past them to somehow pin her with the fault.
“Am Callidora,” she introduced herself belatedly, gesturing to her chest by way of introduction. “Thank for help. Is kind for you.”
Callidora wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating or not when she heard a kindly voice speaking to her in Hebrew, the Grecian woman uncovering her eyes ad slowly cracking one open. If it was a hallucination, it was a convincing one, an older, dark-haired woman wavering in Dora’s watery gaze. What was she saying? While the merchant spoke Hebrew with a passable fluency, it sometimes took her a moment or two to understand, particularly when she wasn’t quite in possession of all her faculties.
Green eyes studied the stranger’s face as she ran her words through her head again and again. She was asking if she was all right, that was it. Slowly, Dora nodded, but the motion made her wince, perhaps belying the nod she gave. “Am fine,” she said in broken Hebrew. “Think so. Head hurts…” She winced again as she gingerly touched the sore spot on the back of her head—the pain dizzying enough to almost send her spiraling right back out of consciousness.
Closing her eyes to re-steady herself, she took a deep breath before she opened them again. The woman was offering a hand to help her up, and Dora wasn’t quite sure if she was up for the task, holding her finger up to ask for a moment. “Not sure can stand yet,” she explained slowly, once more licking at her dry lips. “Have water?” she asked hopefully, glancing up toward the stranger. “Mouth feels full of dirt.”
What exactly had happened? The last thing Callidora remembered was offering a man some coin from her purse before everything went black. Had he… attacked her? Why, that nasty little wretch…
For a moment, she looked angry, casting her gaze around them as if the false beggar would still be around to pay for his crime. Perhaps she ought to listen to Demetrius and stop trying to help so often. Granted, it had never landed her in this situation before, but gods. Was this what she got for being kind?
“You see who do this?” she asked curiously of the woman standing over her, shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked up at her. “You see what happen?”
Perhaps she could help fill in the blanks or at least help her get up and out of here. They were starting to draw attention, and she didn’t like it. Not everyone in Judea had been as kind to her as this woman was being, and she would rather not draw unnecessary ire upon herself. What if she was somehow blamed for her own attack? Judea was not always very kind to women, nor to foreigners. Truthfully, she would not put it past them to somehow pin her with the fault.
“Am Callidora,” she introduced herself belatedly, gesturing to her chest by way of introduction. “Thank for help. Is kind for you.”
Selima could almost hear her husband now, shooing her away from the foreigner. Foreigners were to blame for many of the bad things that happened after all. They were godless; they were sinners; they were terrible. But none of this was what Selima thought or saw. She saw a woman that didn’t look too far from the age of her own son (though it was so hard to tell with people not from Judea). She had been hurt, bloodied, and robbed. She was alone without a man to assist her.
Selima knew that if that had happened to her, she would be terrified. And while her religion did point her in the direction of judging others that weren’t on her same path, she should also be selfless and caring. This woman would not find the right track without a helping hand.
She spoke with a heavy tongue. Selima wondered how much of it was her accent and how much of it was the injury. Should Selima lead her to a healer? Would the healer help a foreigner? Selima never once had to think of that. Did she even have the coin for one? Was she traveling with a man? Did the two of them get separated?
So many questions, but first, her priority should be making sure the woman was safe. “Water? Oh, yes, of course.” Selima had meant to fill her waterskin at the town well anyhow. She hurried to the center of town, pulling the bucket of water up and filling the waterskin. Selima was a woman who typically took her time. She had a pace, a perfect pace, one that she very rarely strayed. But at this moment, she was swift and quick. Each second she was away from the stranger was another that she could be hurt again. What if a donkey came down that road, and she found herself in its way. What if children in their carelessness ran into the woman. What if she found herself violently ill?
There was that word again. Violence. Look to what it led, an injured woman alone and confused, and another who was going well out of her way to see to it that she was safe. Selima had been making good time. She would arrive home, clean herself, prepare dinner, and even continue on Livana’s blanket with the speed she did her shopping. Everything was planned and proper. But because of the violence of one man, others suffered.
And it made no sense. The woman had given him coin. She was showing him kindness, and he responded to it like a barbarian. Why were people like that? She was generous, good , and everything that Selima did not expect from foreigners, and he had done everything that Selima did expects from foreigners. Honestly, it made no sense. All it did was serve to anger and sadden the Judean woman. She liked to think the best in people, but so often, they came up as disappointments.
Selima rushed back over to the stranger, gently handing the waterskin to her. “Let’s sit you up,” once more, Selima spoke slowly, enunciating her words so that she might better understand her. Her husband would probably scoff at her and might even think thoughts akin to ‘Why be in Judea if you cannot even understand the language?’ but Selima thought it best not to think of him right now.
She tried her best to help sit the woman up, should he allow her, while avoiding the blood the best that Selima could. “I’ll speak to my son about this. He is the captain of our protectors. He would do something to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I am so sorry. Are you traveling with a man? Do you need assistance finding him? Or… a healer?”
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Selima could almost hear her husband now, shooing her away from the foreigner. Foreigners were to blame for many of the bad things that happened after all. They were godless; they were sinners; they were terrible. But none of this was what Selima thought or saw. She saw a woman that didn’t look too far from the age of her own son (though it was so hard to tell with people not from Judea). She had been hurt, bloodied, and robbed. She was alone without a man to assist her.
Selima knew that if that had happened to her, she would be terrified. And while her religion did point her in the direction of judging others that weren’t on her same path, she should also be selfless and caring. This woman would not find the right track without a helping hand.
She spoke with a heavy tongue. Selima wondered how much of it was her accent and how much of it was the injury. Should Selima lead her to a healer? Would the healer help a foreigner? Selima never once had to think of that. Did she even have the coin for one? Was she traveling with a man? Did the two of them get separated?
So many questions, but first, her priority should be making sure the woman was safe. “Water? Oh, yes, of course.” Selima had meant to fill her waterskin at the town well anyhow. She hurried to the center of town, pulling the bucket of water up and filling the waterskin. Selima was a woman who typically took her time. She had a pace, a perfect pace, one that she very rarely strayed. But at this moment, she was swift and quick. Each second she was away from the stranger was another that she could be hurt again. What if a donkey came down that road, and she found herself in its way. What if children in their carelessness ran into the woman. What if she found herself violently ill?
There was that word again. Violence. Look to what it led, an injured woman alone and confused, and another who was going well out of her way to see to it that she was safe. Selima had been making good time. She would arrive home, clean herself, prepare dinner, and even continue on Livana’s blanket with the speed she did her shopping. Everything was planned and proper. But because of the violence of one man, others suffered.
And it made no sense. The woman had given him coin. She was showing him kindness, and he responded to it like a barbarian. Why were people like that? She was generous, good , and everything that Selima did not expect from foreigners, and he had done everything that Selima did expects from foreigners. Honestly, it made no sense. All it did was serve to anger and sadden the Judean woman. She liked to think the best in people, but so often, they came up as disappointments.
Selima rushed back over to the stranger, gently handing the waterskin to her. “Let’s sit you up,” once more, Selima spoke slowly, enunciating her words so that she might better understand her. Her husband would probably scoff at her and might even think thoughts akin to ‘Why be in Judea if you cannot even understand the language?’ but Selima thought it best not to think of him right now.
She tried her best to help sit the woman up, should he allow her, while avoiding the blood the best that Selima could. “I’ll speak to my son about this. He is the captain of our protectors. He would do something to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I am so sorry. Are you traveling with a man? Do you need assistance finding him? Or… a healer?”
Selima could almost hear her husband now, shooing her away from the foreigner. Foreigners were to blame for many of the bad things that happened after all. They were godless; they were sinners; they were terrible. But none of this was what Selima thought or saw. She saw a woman that didn’t look too far from the age of her own son (though it was so hard to tell with people not from Judea). She had been hurt, bloodied, and robbed. She was alone without a man to assist her.
Selima knew that if that had happened to her, she would be terrified. And while her religion did point her in the direction of judging others that weren’t on her same path, she should also be selfless and caring. This woman would not find the right track without a helping hand.
She spoke with a heavy tongue. Selima wondered how much of it was her accent and how much of it was the injury. Should Selima lead her to a healer? Would the healer help a foreigner? Selima never once had to think of that. Did she even have the coin for one? Was she traveling with a man? Did the two of them get separated?
So many questions, but first, her priority should be making sure the woman was safe. “Water? Oh, yes, of course.” Selima had meant to fill her waterskin at the town well anyhow. She hurried to the center of town, pulling the bucket of water up and filling the waterskin. Selima was a woman who typically took her time. She had a pace, a perfect pace, one that she very rarely strayed. But at this moment, she was swift and quick. Each second she was away from the stranger was another that she could be hurt again. What if a donkey came down that road, and she found herself in its way. What if children in their carelessness ran into the woman. What if she found herself violently ill?
There was that word again. Violence. Look to what it led, an injured woman alone and confused, and another who was going well out of her way to see to it that she was safe. Selima had been making good time. She would arrive home, clean herself, prepare dinner, and even continue on Livana’s blanket with the speed she did her shopping. Everything was planned and proper. But because of the violence of one man, others suffered.
And it made no sense. The woman had given him coin. She was showing him kindness, and he responded to it like a barbarian. Why were people like that? She was generous, good , and everything that Selima did not expect from foreigners, and he had done everything that Selima did expects from foreigners. Honestly, it made no sense. All it did was serve to anger and sadden the Judean woman. She liked to think the best in people, but so often, they came up as disappointments.
Selima rushed back over to the stranger, gently handing the waterskin to her. “Let’s sit you up,” once more, Selima spoke slowly, enunciating her words so that she might better understand her. Her husband would probably scoff at her and might even think thoughts akin to ‘Why be in Judea if you cannot even understand the language?’ but Selima thought it best not to think of him right now.
She tried her best to help sit the woman up, should he allow her, while avoiding the blood the best that Selima could. “I’ll speak to my son about this. He is the captain of our protectors. He would do something to ensure this doesn’t happen again. I am so sorry. Are you traveling with a man? Do you need assistance finding him? Or… a healer?”
Callidora’s face was full of gratitude as the woman returned with water, taking the skin with a deep nod and an accented, “Thank you.” Tipping a few swallows into her mouth, she sighed deeply in satisfaction and returned it to the stranger. The water helped immensely, both clearing her mouth of grit and sharpening her focus. Even if that was all this kindly matron did to help her, it was more than enough.
Gods, she couldn’t believe this had happened to her. While Judea wasn’t always very hospitable to foreigners, its denizens also lived by a strict moral code. To be mugged, and in Jerusalem no less, shocked her to her core. Who would have thought? Perhaps the ‘beggar’ hadn’t been Judean at all—an outsider like her. Or perhaps they weren’t all as virtuous as they seemed.
“Thank you,” she said again as the woman braced her to help her sit up, Dora scooting her rear end up through the dust to rest her back against the nearby wall. “Very lucky you here.”
And that she was. Though others were starting to look their way, to curiously approach, none had offered help. Only this woman had, in spite of the potential harm to herself. It wasn’t an action Callidora would soon forget, and it was one she would do her best to repay in kind. The Grecian merchant was not the sort to remain indebted to someone for long. If she could not return the gesture, she and Demetrius would find another way to compensate this woman and her family for her generosity.
Dora carefully watched the woman’s lips and listened hard as she explained who her son was and apologized for her misfortune. She waved the apology off—after all, none of this was her companion’s fault. Who knew what might have happened to the Greek woman if the other hadn’t been around?
“Am traveling with husband,” she explained with a nod when the Judean stopped speaking. “Is merchant. We stay with merchant friend.” They’d been with Josef and his wife Sarah for the past several weeks after their stay in Ammun, using his shop space to barter their goods for their duration in Jerusalem. “Is not far… was on way back.” Sighing, Callidora shook her head and immediately winced in regret. That definitely still smarted.
“A healer… yes, healer good.” Reaching up through the strawberry blonde curls that covered her head, she probed tenderly at the bump the ‘beggar’ had given her. “Maybe,” she hesitated as her hand dropped. If it was just a bump, did she really need a physician’s help? Surely she’d be fine with a few days’ rest. Then again, Demetrius would probably tear her a new one if she didn’t go; he was always on her about her obstinance. As if he’s one to talk. Ought she to go find him first? Or the healer? Had she already spoke with Rachel like she had set out to do? Yes, that’s why she was here. Okay, maybe she should see the healer. That thud on the head had certainly rattled her.
“You know where healer is?” she asked her companion hopefully. “Can take me there?” She’d much rather go to them than have them brought to her. The nearby onlookers were starting to get a little too curious for her taste.
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Callidora’s face was full of gratitude as the woman returned with water, taking the skin with a deep nod and an accented, “Thank you.” Tipping a few swallows into her mouth, she sighed deeply in satisfaction and returned it to the stranger. The water helped immensely, both clearing her mouth of grit and sharpening her focus. Even if that was all this kindly matron did to help her, it was more than enough.
Gods, she couldn’t believe this had happened to her. While Judea wasn’t always very hospitable to foreigners, its denizens also lived by a strict moral code. To be mugged, and in Jerusalem no less, shocked her to her core. Who would have thought? Perhaps the ‘beggar’ hadn’t been Judean at all—an outsider like her. Or perhaps they weren’t all as virtuous as they seemed.
“Thank you,” she said again as the woman braced her to help her sit up, Dora scooting her rear end up through the dust to rest her back against the nearby wall. “Very lucky you here.”
And that she was. Though others were starting to look their way, to curiously approach, none had offered help. Only this woman had, in spite of the potential harm to herself. It wasn’t an action Callidora would soon forget, and it was one she would do her best to repay in kind. The Grecian merchant was not the sort to remain indebted to someone for long. If she could not return the gesture, she and Demetrius would find another way to compensate this woman and her family for her generosity.
Dora carefully watched the woman’s lips and listened hard as she explained who her son was and apologized for her misfortune. She waved the apology off—after all, none of this was her companion’s fault. Who knew what might have happened to the Greek woman if the other hadn’t been around?
“Am traveling with husband,” she explained with a nod when the Judean stopped speaking. “Is merchant. We stay with merchant friend.” They’d been with Josef and his wife Sarah for the past several weeks after their stay in Ammun, using his shop space to barter their goods for their duration in Jerusalem. “Is not far… was on way back.” Sighing, Callidora shook her head and immediately winced in regret. That definitely still smarted.
“A healer… yes, healer good.” Reaching up through the strawberry blonde curls that covered her head, she probed tenderly at the bump the ‘beggar’ had given her. “Maybe,” she hesitated as her hand dropped. If it was just a bump, did she really need a physician’s help? Surely she’d be fine with a few days’ rest. Then again, Demetrius would probably tear her a new one if she didn’t go; he was always on her about her obstinance. As if he’s one to talk. Ought she to go find him first? Or the healer? Had she already spoke with Rachel like she had set out to do? Yes, that’s why she was here. Okay, maybe she should see the healer. That thud on the head had certainly rattled her.
“You know where healer is?” she asked her companion hopefully. “Can take me there?” She’d much rather go to them than have them brought to her. The nearby onlookers were starting to get a little too curious for her taste.
Callidora’s face was full of gratitude as the woman returned with water, taking the skin with a deep nod and an accented, “Thank you.” Tipping a few swallows into her mouth, she sighed deeply in satisfaction and returned it to the stranger. The water helped immensely, both clearing her mouth of grit and sharpening her focus. Even if that was all this kindly matron did to help her, it was more than enough.
Gods, she couldn’t believe this had happened to her. While Judea wasn’t always very hospitable to foreigners, its denizens also lived by a strict moral code. To be mugged, and in Jerusalem no less, shocked her to her core. Who would have thought? Perhaps the ‘beggar’ hadn’t been Judean at all—an outsider like her. Or perhaps they weren’t all as virtuous as they seemed.
“Thank you,” she said again as the woman braced her to help her sit up, Dora scooting her rear end up through the dust to rest her back against the nearby wall. “Very lucky you here.”
And that she was. Though others were starting to look their way, to curiously approach, none had offered help. Only this woman had, in spite of the potential harm to herself. It wasn’t an action Callidora would soon forget, and it was one she would do her best to repay in kind. The Grecian merchant was not the sort to remain indebted to someone for long. If she could not return the gesture, she and Demetrius would find another way to compensate this woman and her family for her generosity.
Dora carefully watched the woman’s lips and listened hard as she explained who her son was and apologized for her misfortune. She waved the apology off—after all, none of this was her companion’s fault. Who knew what might have happened to the Greek woman if the other hadn’t been around?
“Am traveling with husband,” she explained with a nod when the Judean stopped speaking. “Is merchant. We stay with merchant friend.” They’d been with Josef and his wife Sarah for the past several weeks after their stay in Ammun, using his shop space to barter their goods for their duration in Jerusalem. “Is not far… was on way back.” Sighing, Callidora shook her head and immediately winced in regret. That definitely still smarted.
“A healer… yes, healer good.” Reaching up through the strawberry blonde curls that covered her head, she probed tenderly at the bump the ‘beggar’ had given her. “Maybe,” she hesitated as her hand dropped. If it was just a bump, did she really need a physician’s help? Surely she’d be fine with a few days’ rest. Then again, Demetrius would probably tear her a new one if she didn’t go; he was always on her about her obstinance. As if he’s one to talk. Ought she to go find him first? Or the healer? Had she already spoke with Rachel like she had set out to do? Yes, that’s why she was here. Okay, maybe she should see the healer. That thud on the head had certainly rattled her.
“You know where healer is?” she asked her companion hopefully. “Can take me there?” She’d much rather go to them than have them brought to her. The nearby onlookers were starting to get a little too curious for her taste.
Abir wasn’t often called to investigate particular incidents that occurred on the streets. He often went on patrols with his men, but they didn’t generally call him down to witness something. However, his mother seemed to somehow be a part of a crime against a woman and Abir didn’t need to hear more details before rushing off to the market. Surely his mother was fine, she knew better than to get herself into a dangerous situation. Yet, as Abir well knew, danger could befall anyone at any time. The protector who reported to him didn’t seem to have much knowledge of what exactly had happened, only that an assault of a woman had occurred and that his mother was at the scene.
When he finally arrived at the market, he saw his mother and a woman on the ground, a city protector standing beside them, watching a few onlookers and the rest of the market. He felt the surge of panic in his chest subside slightly, noting that his mother appeared to be fine. Still, he wouldn’t feel completely at rest until he knew for certain that she was unharmed. Noticing Abir, the protector stood a bit straighter and said, “I thought it was best to wait for you here, sir.”
Abir nodded, having some notes for how this situation could have been improved, but saving them for later. He wasn’t one to discipline others through embarrassment and the occasion only required sending a bit more clarity. It didn’t appear that his mother was hurt, but checked her over anyway.
“Mother, are you all right? What happened here?”
His gaze turned towards the woman on the ground, clearly injured. He wasn’t sure what kind of conversation she and his mother had already had, but Abir wanted her to see a healer. He would feel utterly responsible if something happened to her in his city and he hadn’t insisted she see a healer.
“Can you stand?” he asked gently. “I would like to take you to a healer. There is one not far from here.” It was one of the best healers around and her visit would be covered at the city protector’s expense. Nobody deserved to be assaulted in their city, native or foreigner. He offered out his hand, hoping to help her to her feet and lend support should she need it to walk to the healer. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you here.”
He would have his men investigate, try to find whoever had perpetrated this crime. This could not happen again. “Easy now,” he said, helping the woman to her feet. “Mother, perhaps you would care to join us? She may feel more comfortable.” And perhaps Abir could find out more about the situation.
“See if you can find any witnesses,” he told the city protector who had been standing guard. “Keep an eye out for trouble. We don’t want this happening again.”
Then, very carefully, very slowly, the three of them made their way over to the healer to make sure their guest was well looked over.
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Abir wasn’t often called to investigate particular incidents that occurred on the streets. He often went on patrols with his men, but they didn’t generally call him down to witness something. However, his mother seemed to somehow be a part of a crime against a woman and Abir didn’t need to hear more details before rushing off to the market. Surely his mother was fine, she knew better than to get herself into a dangerous situation. Yet, as Abir well knew, danger could befall anyone at any time. The protector who reported to him didn’t seem to have much knowledge of what exactly had happened, only that an assault of a woman had occurred and that his mother was at the scene.
When he finally arrived at the market, he saw his mother and a woman on the ground, a city protector standing beside them, watching a few onlookers and the rest of the market. He felt the surge of panic in his chest subside slightly, noting that his mother appeared to be fine. Still, he wouldn’t feel completely at rest until he knew for certain that she was unharmed. Noticing Abir, the protector stood a bit straighter and said, “I thought it was best to wait for you here, sir.”
Abir nodded, having some notes for how this situation could have been improved, but saving them for later. He wasn’t one to discipline others through embarrassment and the occasion only required sending a bit more clarity. It didn’t appear that his mother was hurt, but checked her over anyway.
“Mother, are you all right? What happened here?”
His gaze turned towards the woman on the ground, clearly injured. He wasn’t sure what kind of conversation she and his mother had already had, but Abir wanted her to see a healer. He would feel utterly responsible if something happened to her in his city and he hadn’t insisted she see a healer.
“Can you stand?” he asked gently. “I would like to take you to a healer. There is one not far from here.” It was one of the best healers around and her visit would be covered at the city protector’s expense. Nobody deserved to be assaulted in their city, native or foreigner. He offered out his hand, hoping to help her to her feet and lend support should she need it to walk to the healer. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you here.”
He would have his men investigate, try to find whoever had perpetrated this crime. This could not happen again. “Easy now,” he said, helping the woman to her feet. “Mother, perhaps you would care to join us? She may feel more comfortable.” And perhaps Abir could find out more about the situation.
“See if you can find any witnesses,” he told the city protector who had been standing guard. “Keep an eye out for trouble. We don’t want this happening again.”
Then, very carefully, very slowly, the three of them made their way over to the healer to make sure their guest was well looked over.
Abir wasn’t often called to investigate particular incidents that occurred on the streets. He often went on patrols with his men, but they didn’t generally call him down to witness something. However, his mother seemed to somehow be a part of a crime against a woman and Abir didn’t need to hear more details before rushing off to the market. Surely his mother was fine, she knew better than to get herself into a dangerous situation. Yet, as Abir well knew, danger could befall anyone at any time. The protector who reported to him didn’t seem to have much knowledge of what exactly had happened, only that an assault of a woman had occurred and that his mother was at the scene.
When he finally arrived at the market, he saw his mother and a woman on the ground, a city protector standing beside them, watching a few onlookers and the rest of the market. He felt the surge of panic in his chest subside slightly, noting that his mother appeared to be fine. Still, he wouldn’t feel completely at rest until he knew for certain that she was unharmed. Noticing Abir, the protector stood a bit straighter and said, “I thought it was best to wait for you here, sir.”
Abir nodded, having some notes for how this situation could have been improved, but saving them for later. He wasn’t one to discipline others through embarrassment and the occasion only required sending a bit more clarity. It didn’t appear that his mother was hurt, but checked her over anyway.
“Mother, are you all right? What happened here?”
His gaze turned towards the woman on the ground, clearly injured. He wasn’t sure what kind of conversation she and his mother had already had, but Abir wanted her to see a healer. He would feel utterly responsible if something happened to her in his city and he hadn’t insisted she see a healer.
“Can you stand?” he asked gently. “I would like to take you to a healer. There is one not far from here.” It was one of the best healers around and her visit would be covered at the city protector’s expense. Nobody deserved to be assaulted in their city, native or foreigner. He offered out his hand, hoping to help her to her feet and lend support should she need it to walk to the healer. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you here.”
He would have his men investigate, try to find whoever had perpetrated this crime. This could not happen again. “Easy now,” he said, helping the woman to her feet. “Mother, perhaps you would care to join us? She may feel more comfortable.” And perhaps Abir could find out more about the situation.
“See if you can find any witnesses,” he told the city protector who had been standing guard. “Keep an eye out for trouble. We don’t want this happening again.”
Then, very carefully, very slowly, the three of them made their way over to the healer to make sure their guest was well looked over.
Selima was about to help the woman to her feet so that she could take her to the healer when she heard a familiar voice call out to her. Mother, are you alright? What happened here? “Oh, Abir!” Selima said in greeting. How good he was here to help. The boy always had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. He would be of great assistance.
Before she could launch into an explanation, her son’s attention was on the woman. Already he was helping her to her feet, his eyes filled with concern. While Selima did not necessarily approve of his occupation (the dangers that it brought was not something a mother would ever want for their child), this was one of those moments that she could feel pride. For being a protector meant that he had the ability to help those that needed it, whether they be Judean or foreign. In this way, Selima was relieved that Abir took more after her and less from their father, though she knew to never voice that much.
“This is my son, the one I spoke about.” She tried to explain to the woman, hoping she might understand. “Yes, Abir,” she answered him next. “Of course I will follow.”
The walk was not far at all. Though Selima was quick to tell her son, “I witnessed the assault. Some foreign man,” for no Judean would do this, “dressed as a homeless vagabond. He was begging for coin and this woman was kind enough to give it to him when he assaulted her and stole her purse.”
Upon entering the healer’s home, the room felt heavy from the different herbs and balms that filled the air. The elderly man looked at the three of them. First, his eyes landed on Abir, then on Selima. He gave a nod of respect, before looking at the woman between the two. While his face did not show it directly, Selima could see the scorn in his eyes. He was a man who held values much like her husband’s, to which she did not necessarily blame as most aspired to be Simeon. However, she had hoped not to encounter more trouble, especially for the poor woman. She asked for none of this.
“There was an assault,” Selima tried to explain kindly, giving her polite smile that she would give anyone.
“Of her own fault, I’m sure.” The healer turned his nose before naming his price.
Selima frowned. She knew this was double what his normal price was- and far more heartless than she expected of a man who’s meant to heal. But she bit her tongue, even if all she wanted to do was snap at the man. How dare he be so rude- and to a woman no less! But Selima reached into her own coin purse and dropped the money into the palm of the healer without an argument.
“Don’t worry about paying me back, dear.” Selima said, laying a soft hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Just worry about feeling better.”
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Selima was about to help the woman to her feet so that she could take her to the healer when she heard a familiar voice call out to her. Mother, are you alright? What happened here? “Oh, Abir!” Selima said in greeting. How good he was here to help. The boy always had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. He would be of great assistance.
Before she could launch into an explanation, her son’s attention was on the woman. Already he was helping her to her feet, his eyes filled with concern. While Selima did not necessarily approve of his occupation (the dangers that it brought was not something a mother would ever want for their child), this was one of those moments that she could feel pride. For being a protector meant that he had the ability to help those that needed it, whether they be Judean or foreign. In this way, Selima was relieved that Abir took more after her and less from their father, though she knew to never voice that much.
“This is my son, the one I spoke about.” She tried to explain to the woman, hoping she might understand. “Yes, Abir,” she answered him next. “Of course I will follow.”
The walk was not far at all. Though Selima was quick to tell her son, “I witnessed the assault. Some foreign man,” for no Judean would do this, “dressed as a homeless vagabond. He was begging for coin and this woman was kind enough to give it to him when he assaulted her and stole her purse.”
Upon entering the healer’s home, the room felt heavy from the different herbs and balms that filled the air. The elderly man looked at the three of them. First, his eyes landed on Abir, then on Selima. He gave a nod of respect, before looking at the woman between the two. While his face did not show it directly, Selima could see the scorn in his eyes. He was a man who held values much like her husband’s, to which she did not necessarily blame as most aspired to be Simeon. However, she had hoped not to encounter more trouble, especially for the poor woman. She asked for none of this.
“There was an assault,” Selima tried to explain kindly, giving her polite smile that she would give anyone.
“Of her own fault, I’m sure.” The healer turned his nose before naming his price.
Selima frowned. She knew this was double what his normal price was- and far more heartless than she expected of a man who’s meant to heal. But she bit her tongue, even if all she wanted to do was snap at the man. How dare he be so rude- and to a woman no less! But Selima reached into her own coin purse and dropped the money into the palm of the healer without an argument.
“Don’t worry about paying me back, dear.” Selima said, laying a soft hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Just worry about feeling better.”
Selima was about to help the woman to her feet so that she could take her to the healer when she heard a familiar voice call out to her. Mother, are you alright? What happened here? “Oh, Abir!” Selima said in greeting. How good he was here to help. The boy always had a knack for being at the right place at the right time. He would be of great assistance.
Before she could launch into an explanation, her son’s attention was on the woman. Already he was helping her to her feet, his eyes filled with concern. While Selima did not necessarily approve of his occupation (the dangers that it brought was not something a mother would ever want for their child), this was one of those moments that she could feel pride. For being a protector meant that he had the ability to help those that needed it, whether they be Judean or foreign. In this way, Selima was relieved that Abir took more after her and less from their father, though she knew to never voice that much.
“This is my son, the one I spoke about.” She tried to explain to the woman, hoping she might understand. “Yes, Abir,” she answered him next. “Of course I will follow.”
The walk was not far at all. Though Selima was quick to tell her son, “I witnessed the assault. Some foreign man,” for no Judean would do this, “dressed as a homeless vagabond. He was begging for coin and this woman was kind enough to give it to him when he assaulted her and stole her purse.”
Upon entering the healer’s home, the room felt heavy from the different herbs and balms that filled the air. The elderly man looked at the three of them. First, his eyes landed on Abir, then on Selima. He gave a nod of respect, before looking at the woman between the two. While his face did not show it directly, Selima could see the scorn in his eyes. He was a man who held values much like her husband’s, to which she did not necessarily blame as most aspired to be Simeon. However, she had hoped not to encounter more trouble, especially for the poor woman. She asked for none of this.
“There was an assault,” Selima tried to explain kindly, giving her polite smile that she would give anyone.
“Of her own fault, I’m sure.” The healer turned his nose before naming his price.
Selima frowned. She knew this was double what his normal price was- and far more heartless than she expected of a man who’s meant to heal. But she bit her tongue, even if all she wanted to do was snap at the man. How dare he be so rude- and to a woman no less! But Selima reached into her own coin purse and dropped the money into the palm of the healer without an argument.
“Don’t worry about paying me back, dear.” Selima said, laying a soft hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Just worry about feeling better.”
Callidora looked up as a man approached, initially suspicious of the stranger’s intent. When Selima spoke again, however, she was put at ease—this man was her son, and he would not harm her. She smiled at the woman’s explanation, inclining her head in greeting to the man she introduced as Abir. “Is good meet you,” she said haltingly, gingerly taking his hand as he lifted her to her feet. “Thank for help. Is not good day.”
She offered a wry smile to lend a little humor to an otherwise dark situation, sighing softly at her luck. Of course she would reach out a helping hand only to get robbed. If anyone else had luck like hers, she felt truly sorry for them. Sometimes she wondered what she must have done for the gods to frown on her so. Was it because she pursued such an unfeminine profession? Was it her inability to bear her husband children? Whatever it was, she wished she could find a way to atone. She would love for her streak of misfortune to end.
The Grecian woman was a little dizzy when she stood, her vision swimming for a moment before it righted itself. She was glad of the company as they walked her toward the infirmary, glad she had others to support her in case she fell. Hopefully, she was fine, and a little food and water would set her back to rights.
Stepping inside the healer’s domain, Callidora blinked a few times to readjust to the dimmer light, spotting an older man amidst the haze of burning herbs and bottles of remedies. The healer nodded to the two Judeans first before his gaze settled on her, and it wasn’t hard to ascertain his distaste—particularly when he then offered his price. Callidora frowned; the amount he quoted was ludicrous for a simple bump on the head and frankly insulting. Abir and Selima had been so kind, but unfortunately, this was the sort of hospitality she had come to expect in her time in Judea. Too many looked on outsiders with scorn.
“You rob this woman,” she asserted with a stern gaze toward the healer, holding her hand over the coin Selima had just set down on the table before he could take it. It was very kind of her to offer the payment, but Dora would not stand for this, not as a merchant’s wife. She knew the world of economics well, and this was ridiculous. If he wanted to charge such an exorbitant price, well, she would just tend to her injuries herself. He wasn’t going to stand here and steal from Selima for Callidora’s simple crime of being Greek.
“Is not my fault for attack. But is your fault for this.” As kind as she often was, it could never be said Callidora was without her temper. Yes, Judean women were expected to be soft-spoken and demure, and perhaps she ought to try to blend into the culture better, but Dora was what she was. And she would not apologize for it. “You give good price, or I leave. You no have to dirty hands with foreign blood.”
The healer didn’t seem too broken up about that, though it was clear his ire was quickly rising. This woman dared to speak to him in such a way? Where was her husband? She ought to be beaten for her insolence. “I don’t care where you go,” he growled. “You can pay what I asked, or you can get out. I don’t need your coin, savage witch.”
Dora’s eyes narrowed further in anger, nearly ready to leap across the table at him before remembering the presence of her companions. It wouldn’t do for her to prove the outsider stereotype and have their opinion of her sink as low as the healer’s. Instead of answering the man, she turned back to Selima instead. “You no have to pay. Can have husband look at head. This man try take all your money.”
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Callidora looked up as a man approached, initially suspicious of the stranger’s intent. When Selima spoke again, however, she was put at ease—this man was her son, and he would not harm her. She smiled at the woman’s explanation, inclining her head in greeting to the man she introduced as Abir. “Is good meet you,” she said haltingly, gingerly taking his hand as he lifted her to her feet. “Thank for help. Is not good day.”
She offered a wry smile to lend a little humor to an otherwise dark situation, sighing softly at her luck. Of course she would reach out a helping hand only to get robbed. If anyone else had luck like hers, she felt truly sorry for them. Sometimes she wondered what she must have done for the gods to frown on her so. Was it because she pursued such an unfeminine profession? Was it her inability to bear her husband children? Whatever it was, she wished she could find a way to atone. She would love for her streak of misfortune to end.
The Grecian woman was a little dizzy when she stood, her vision swimming for a moment before it righted itself. She was glad of the company as they walked her toward the infirmary, glad she had others to support her in case she fell. Hopefully, she was fine, and a little food and water would set her back to rights.
Stepping inside the healer’s domain, Callidora blinked a few times to readjust to the dimmer light, spotting an older man amidst the haze of burning herbs and bottles of remedies. The healer nodded to the two Judeans first before his gaze settled on her, and it wasn’t hard to ascertain his distaste—particularly when he then offered his price. Callidora frowned; the amount he quoted was ludicrous for a simple bump on the head and frankly insulting. Abir and Selima had been so kind, but unfortunately, this was the sort of hospitality she had come to expect in her time in Judea. Too many looked on outsiders with scorn.
“You rob this woman,” she asserted with a stern gaze toward the healer, holding her hand over the coin Selima had just set down on the table before he could take it. It was very kind of her to offer the payment, but Dora would not stand for this, not as a merchant’s wife. She knew the world of economics well, and this was ridiculous. If he wanted to charge such an exorbitant price, well, she would just tend to her injuries herself. He wasn’t going to stand here and steal from Selima for Callidora’s simple crime of being Greek.
“Is not my fault for attack. But is your fault for this.” As kind as she often was, it could never be said Callidora was without her temper. Yes, Judean women were expected to be soft-spoken and demure, and perhaps she ought to try to blend into the culture better, but Dora was what she was. And she would not apologize for it. “You give good price, or I leave. You no have to dirty hands with foreign blood.”
The healer didn’t seem too broken up about that, though it was clear his ire was quickly rising. This woman dared to speak to him in such a way? Where was her husband? She ought to be beaten for her insolence. “I don’t care where you go,” he growled. “You can pay what I asked, or you can get out. I don’t need your coin, savage witch.”
Dora’s eyes narrowed further in anger, nearly ready to leap across the table at him before remembering the presence of her companions. It wouldn’t do for her to prove the outsider stereotype and have their opinion of her sink as low as the healer’s. Instead of answering the man, she turned back to Selima instead. “You no have to pay. Can have husband look at head. This man try take all your money.”
Callidora looked up as a man approached, initially suspicious of the stranger’s intent. When Selima spoke again, however, she was put at ease—this man was her son, and he would not harm her. She smiled at the woman’s explanation, inclining her head in greeting to the man she introduced as Abir. “Is good meet you,” she said haltingly, gingerly taking his hand as he lifted her to her feet. “Thank for help. Is not good day.”
She offered a wry smile to lend a little humor to an otherwise dark situation, sighing softly at her luck. Of course she would reach out a helping hand only to get robbed. If anyone else had luck like hers, she felt truly sorry for them. Sometimes she wondered what she must have done for the gods to frown on her so. Was it because she pursued such an unfeminine profession? Was it her inability to bear her husband children? Whatever it was, she wished she could find a way to atone. She would love for her streak of misfortune to end.
The Grecian woman was a little dizzy when she stood, her vision swimming for a moment before it righted itself. She was glad of the company as they walked her toward the infirmary, glad she had others to support her in case she fell. Hopefully, she was fine, and a little food and water would set her back to rights.
Stepping inside the healer’s domain, Callidora blinked a few times to readjust to the dimmer light, spotting an older man amidst the haze of burning herbs and bottles of remedies. The healer nodded to the two Judeans first before his gaze settled on her, and it wasn’t hard to ascertain his distaste—particularly when he then offered his price. Callidora frowned; the amount he quoted was ludicrous for a simple bump on the head and frankly insulting. Abir and Selima had been so kind, but unfortunately, this was the sort of hospitality she had come to expect in her time in Judea. Too many looked on outsiders with scorn.
“You rob this woman,” she asserted with a stern gaze toward the healer, holding her hand over the coin Selima had just set down on the table before he could take it. It was very kind of her to offer the payment, but Dora would not stand for this, not as a merchant’s wife. She knew the world of economics well, and this was ridiculous. If he wanted to charge such an exorbitant price, well, she would just tend to her injuries herself. He wasn’t going to stand here and steal from Selima for Callidora’s simple crime of being Greek.
“Is not my fault for attack. But is your fault for this.” As kind as she often was, it could never be said Callidora was without her temper. Yes, Judean women were expected to be soft-spoken and demure, and perhaps she ought to try to blend into the culture better, but Dora was what she was. And she would not apologize for it. “You give good price, or I leave. You no have to dirty hands with foreign blood.”
The healer didn’t seem too broken up about that, though it was clear his ire was quickly rising. This woman dared to speak to him in such a way? Where was her husband? She ought to be beaten for her insolence. “I don’t care where you go,” he growled. “You can pay what I asked, or you can get out. I don’t need your coin, savage witch.”
Dora’s eyes narrowed further in anger, nearly ready to leap across the table at him before remembering the presence of her companions. It wouldn’t do for her to prove the outsider stereotype and have their opinion of her sink as low as the healer’s. Instead of answering the man, she turned back to Selima instead. “You no have to pay. Can have husband look at head. This man try take all your money.”
As much as Abir was profoundly relieved that his mother was uninjured, he was perplexed at what had led her to be in this situation as well as why this situation had occurred. He was no longer a child, naïve to the ways of the world. He understood that crime was a part of life, no matter how they might try to prevent it. Not all, even Judeans, could claim that they followed Yahweh’s path for them. There were plenty of other reasons to behave in different manners. While many on the Council of Elders saw these people as villains who needed to be removed from their society, Abir saw a society that was imperfect and could be corrected. For why were most people thieves? Out of necessity. Because they were born into a world that was not so kind and accepting of them, no matter what seemed to be the narrative.
Of course, these thoughts weren’t exactly popular among his peers, so Abir hadn’t shared them. He was still working out ways in which he could turn the tides of society, but in the meantime was doing his part to make things better, showing kindness and leniency when he could. His mother would understand, Abir thought, glancing at her. Maybe he ought to share some of this with her someday. He was always desperate to hear what others thought, though too afraid to share his ideas. Katriel would simply laugh at him, telling him that their society was perfect just the way it was. It had created a perfect situation in which she could lure him to marry her with a lie…
Abir startled, shaking his head slightly at his own thought. This was not the time or place. He was here to focus on this woman that his mother had somehow found. He made himself tune into what she was saying, hearing of the assault. Hopefully his City Protectors would be able to find the man, though if he was smart, he would have changed disguises by now.
“We will find the person responsible for this,” he told the women, though didn’t mention that it might take some time. All he could do was focus on the health of this poor woman for now. Though upon entry at the healer’s, Abir wondered if he and his mother were the only people who cared. Before Abir could do much, the situation with the healer quickly escalated as his mother paid an absurd price and the other woman protested, turning her anger on the healer.
This was just another example that proved Abir’s train of thought about their broken society. This man was sworn to help others, but refused to help a foreigner without asking for more. Yet, he was claiming to be the pious one in this situation. Abir felt his anger rising, though he kept all notions of this from his face and body language. It never paid to show just how angry he was. However, it did pay to show displeasure.
Apparently this healer did not recognize Abir as the captain of the City Protectors—they did a great deal of business with him. It would be important to remind him of his duty to others. And that business may not be so good if he refused to cooperate.
“You will not speak to guests in our land this way,” Abir said, his voice steely, directed at the healer. “She has already been assaulted today and does not need to face more hostility. I am sorry at the picture we Judeans are painting for her and all guests of Judea. The City Protectors will remember your actions and you may not find our business so forthcoming in the future.”
The look on the healer’s face to Abir that he understood, though how much of it was show, he would not know. Abir sensed that their guest would no longer be comfortable being treated here, no matter what the price was and before the healer could even protest, Abir held up a hand, indicating his want for silence from the man.
“Let’s go,” he said more gently to the woman and his mother, once again helping her walk out the door. There were more healers nearby, though he had no idea if any would be welcome. Perhaps a woman healer? There was one not too far, but they would need to hire a cart.
“I am sorry that you had to experience such unkind behavior. Can we help you to another healer?” Abir asked. “There is a woman who is but a short ride away. Or we can take you home if you would prefer.”
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As much as Abir was profoundly relieved that his mother was uninjured, he was perplexed at what had led her to be in this situation as well as why this situation had occurred. He was no longer a child, naïve to the ways of the world. He understood that crime was a part of life, no matter how they might try to prevent it. Not all, even Judeans, could claim that they followed Yahweh’s path for them. There were plenty of other reasons to behave in different manners. While many on the Council of Elders saw these people as villains who needed to be removed from their society, Abir saw a society that was imperfect and could be corrected. For why were most people thieves? Out of necessity. Because they were born into a world that was not so kind and accepting of them, no matter what seemed to be the narrative.
Of course, these thoughts weren’t exactly popular among his peers, so Abir hadn’t shared them. He was still working out ways in which he could turn the tides of society, but in the meantime was doing his part to make things better, showing kindness and leniency when he could. His mother would understand, Abir thought, glancing at her. Maybe he ought to share some of this with her someday. He was always desperate to hear what others thought, though too afraid to share his ideas. Katriel would simply laugh at him, telling him that their society was perfect just the way it was. It had created a perfect situation in which she could lure him to marry her with a lie…
Abir startled, shaking his head slightly at his own thought. This was not the time or place. He was here to focus on this woman that his mother had somehow found. He made himself tune into what she was saying, hearing of the assault. Hopefully his City Protectors would be able to find the man, though if he was smart, he would have changed disguises by now.
“We will find the person responsible for this,” he told the women, though didn’t mention that it might take some time. All he could do was focus on the health of this poor woman for now. Though upon entry at the healer’s, Abir wondered if he and his mother were the only people who cared. Before Abir could do much, the situation with the healer quickly escalated as his mother paid an absurd price and the other woman protested, turning her anger on the healer.
This was just another example that proved Abir’s train of thought about their broken society. This man was sworn to help others, but refused to help a foreigner without asking for more. Yet, he was claiming to be the pious one in this situation. Abir felt his anger rising, though he kept all notions of this from his face and body language. It never paid to show just how angry he was. However, it did pay to show displeasure.
Apparently this healer did not recognize Abir as the captain of the City Protectors—they did a great deal of business with him. It would be important to remind him of his duty to others. And that business may not be so good if he refused to cooperate.
“You will not speak to guests in our land this way,” Abir said, his voice steely, directed at the healer. “She has already been assaulted today and does not need to face more hostility. I am sorry at the picture we Judeans are painting for her and all guests of Judea. The City Protectors will remember your actions and you may not find our business so forthcoming in the future.”
The look on the healer’s face to Abir that he understood, though how much of it was show, he would not know. Abir sensed that their guest would no longer be comfortable being treated here, no matter what the price was and before the healer could even protest, Abir held up a hand, indicating his want for silence from the man.
“Let’s go,” he said more gently to the woman and his mother, once again helping her walk out the door. There were more healers nearby, though he had no idea if any would be welcome. Perhaps a woman healer? There was one not too far, but they would need to hire a cart.
“I am sorry that you had to experience such unkind behavior. Can we help you to another healer?” Abir asked. “There is a woman who is but a short ride away. Or we can take you home if you would prefer.”
As much as Abir was profoundly relieved that his mother was uninjured, he was perplexed at what had led her to be in this situation as well as why this situation had occurred. He was no longer a child, naïve to the ways of the world. He understood that crime was a part of life, no matter how they might try to prevent it. Not all, even Judeans, could claim that they followed Yahweh’s path for them. There were plenty of other reasons to behave in different manners. While many on the Council of Elders saw these people as villains who needed to be removed from their society, Abir saw a society that was imperfect and could be corrected. For why were most people thieves? Out of necessity. Because they were born into a world that was not so kind and accepting of them, no matter what seemed to be the narrative.
Of course, these thoughts weren’t exactly popular among his peers, so Abir hadn’t shared them. He was still working out ways in which he could turn the tides of society, but in the meantime was doing his part to make things better, showing kindness and leniency when he could. His mother would understand, Abir thought, glancing at her. Maybe he ought to share some of this with her someday. He was always desperate to hear what others thought, though too afraid to share his ideas. Katriel would simply laugh at him, telling him that their society was perfect just the way it was. It had created a perfect situation in which she could lure him to marry her with a lie…
Abir startled, shaking his head slightly at his own thought. This was not the time or place. He was here to focus on this woman that his mother had somehow found. He made himself tune into what she was saying, hearing of the assault. Hopefully his City Protectors would be able to find the man, though if he was smart, he would have changed disguises by now.
“We will find the person responsible for this,” he told the women, though didn’t mention that it might take some time. All he could do was focus on the health of this poor woman for now. Though upon entry at the healer’s, Abir wondered if he and his mother were the only people who cared. Before Abir could do much, the situation with the healer quickly escalated as his mother paid an absurd price and the other woman protested, turning her anger on the healer.
This was just another example that proved Abir’s train of thought about their broken society. This man was sworn to help others, but refused to help a foreigner without asking for more. Yet, he was claiming to be the pious one in this situation. Abir felt his anger rising, though he kept all notions of this from his face and body language. It never paid to show just how angry he was. However, it did pay to show displeasure.
Apparently this healer did not recognize Abir as the captain of the City Protectors—they did a great deal of business with him. It would be important to remind him of his duty to others. And that business may not be so good if he refused to cooperate.
“You will not speak to guests in our land this way,” Abir said, his voice steely, directed at the healer. “She has already been assaulted today and does not need to face more hostility. I am sorry at the picture we Judeans are painting for her and all guests of Judea. The City Protectors will remember your actions and you may not find our business so forthcoming in the future.”
The look on the healer’s face to Abir that he understood, though how much of it was show, he would not know. Abir sensed that their guest would no longer be comfortable being treated here, no matter what the price was and before the healer could even protest, Abir held up a hand, indicating his want for silence from the man.
“Let’s go,” he said more gently to the woman and his mother, once again helping her walk out the door. There were more healers nearby, though he had no idea if any would be welcome. Perhaps a woman healer? There was one not too far, but they would need to hire a cart.
“I am sorry that you had to experience such unkind behavior. Can we help you to another healer?” Abir asked. “There is a woman who is but a short ride away. Or we can take you home if you would prefer.”
Selima hated using words like… well, hate. But this was what she hated most about Judean society. For people who said to care about the people, they only cared about their people. They were all created under Yahweh. The only difference was who they worshiped, and sometimes people fall off the wrong path. They shouldn’t be meant with punishment or scorn, but understanding and compassion.
And yet even her own husband was too blind to see the error of his ways.
The woman was kind to deny Selima from using her coin, and did her best to scold the healer for his thievery. Her son had a firmer, more eloquent way of speaking to the healer. In a way, it reminded Selima of Simeon. The strength that he had and the confidence behind each of his words. As much as Selima hated the position her son had, she could not lie. He did very well in it.
But now was not the moment for a mother’s pride. She had a woman who was rightfully upset at the healer and injured, and a son willing to get a cart to take her to a farther healer. The problem was there was no promise that the healer would take care of her. And at the very least she should get her head checked.
She mentioned her husband. Was he a sort of healer as well? Or at the very least qualified to judge the health of his wife. Despite her son’s eagerness to help, it was… better to take her to her husband. This should be his decision. And whatever he chose, Selima would understand and assist if needed. It was what was right.
So Selima laid a soft hand on her son’s arm before speaking to the woman, “Where is your husband? We will be happy to accompany you to him if that is what you wish to ensure you get there safely.” It wouldn’t do if the head injury was worse than Selima originally thought and she wandered around lost and in pain. But neither did Selima want to impose herself on her.
Then there was the mugger to think of. Was it dangerous for the woman to walk alone? Was it dangerous for Selima to walk alone? For anyone? She hated thinking that, preferring to believe the good in people. But Selima was no idiot. She knew even the glorious city of Jerusalem human beings were capable of terrible, sinful things. But to witness that was something else entirely. She wouldn’t want this stranger to get more injured than she already was. And she wouldn’t want her to carry ill thoughts and feelings of the people of Judea. Not everyone was so… terrible to foreigners.
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Selima hated using words like… well, hate. But this was what she hated most about Judean society. For people who said to care about the people, they only cared about their people. They were all created under Yahweh. The only difference was who they worshiped, and sometimes people fall off the wrong path. They shouldn’t be meant with punishment or scorn, but understanding and compassion.
And yet even her own husband was too blind to see the error of his ways.
The woman was kind to deny Selima from using her coin, and did her best to scold the healer for his thievery. Her son had a firmer, more eloquent way of speaking to the healer. In a way, it reminded Selima of Simeon. The strength that he had and the confidence behind each of his words. As much as Selima hated the position her son had, she could not lie. He did very well in it.
But now was not the moment for a mother’s pride. She had a woman who was rightfully upset at the healer and injured, and a son willing to get a cart to take her to a farther healer. The problem was there was no promise that the healer would take care of her. And at the very least she should get her head checked.
She mentioned her husband. Was he a sort of healer as well? Or at the very least qualified to judge the health of his wife. Despite her son’s eagerness to help, it was… better to take her to her husband. This should be his decision. And whatever he chose, Selima would understand and assist if needed. It was what was right.
So Selima laid a soft hand on her son’s arm before speaking to the woman, “Where is your husband? We will be happy to accompany you to him if that is what you wish to ensure you get there safely.” It wouldn’t do if the head injury was worse than Selima originally thought and she wandered around lost and in pain. But neither did Selima want to impose herself on her.
Then there was the mugger to think of. Was it dangerous for the woman to walk alone? Was it dangerous for Selima to walk alone? For anyone? She hated thinking that, preferring to believe the good in people. But Selima was no idiot. She knew even the glorious city of Jerusalem human beings were capable of terrible, sinful things. But to witness that was something else entirely. She wouldn’t want this stranger to get more injured than she already was. And she wouldn’t want her to carry ill thoughts and feelings of the people of Judea. Not everyone was so… terrible to foreigners.
Selima hated using words like… well, hate. But this was what she hated most about Judean society. For people who said to care about the people, they only cared about their people. They were all created under Yahweh. The only difference was who they worshiped, and sometimes people fall off the wrong path. They shouldn’t be meant with punishment or scorn, but understanding and compassion.
And yet even her own husband was too blind to see the error of his ways.
The woman was kind to deny Selima from using her coin, and did her best to scold the healer for his thievery. Her son had a firmer, more eloquent way of speaking to the healer. In a way, it reminded Selima of Simeon. The strength that he had and the confidence behind each of his words. As much as Selima hated the position her son had, she could not lie. He did very well in it.
But now was not the moment for a mother’s pride. She had a woman who was rightfully upset at the healer and injured, and a son willing to get a cart to take her to a farther healer. The problem was there was no promise that the healer would take care of her. And at the very least she should get her head checked.
She mentioned her husband. Was he a sort of healer as well? Or at the very least qualified to judge the health of his wife. Despite her son’s eagerness to help, it was… better to take her to her husband. This should be his decision. And whatever he chose, Selima would understand and assist if needed. It was what was right.
So Selima laid a soft hand on her son’s arm before speaking to the woman, “Where is your husband? We will be happy to accompany you to him if that is what you wish to ensure you get there safely.” It wouldn’t do if the head injury was worse than Selima originally thought and she wandered around lost and in pain. But neither did Selima want to impose herself on her.
Then there was the mugger to think of. Was it dangerous for the woman to walk alone? Was it dangerous for Selima to walk alone? For anyone? She hated thinking that, preferring to believe the good in people. But Selima was no idiot. She knew even the glorious city of Jerusalem human beings were capable of terrible, sinful things. But to witness that was something else entirely. She wouldn’t want this stranger to get more injured than she already was. And she wouldn’t want her to carry ill thoughts and feelings of the people of Judea. Not everyone was so… terrible to foreigners.
Callidora looked between Selima and Abir as they spoke, offering a half-smile. She appreciated their help, she really did, and she was happy for the kindness they bestowed where so many others didn’t. Their brush with the healer had quickly served to remind her of why Judea was not one of her favorite stops on their travels, and all she really wanted in that moment was to be back in her quarters with Demetrius. Between the mugging, her injury, and now this, she was pretty done with the whole day.
She paused for a moment as she translated their offers in her head before nodding to Selima. Yes, she wanted to go back to her husband, not to a second healer, who may or may not behave in the exact same way this one had. It was just a bump on the head, anyway; she figured she was probably fine. She’d sustained far worse and lived to tell the tale.
“Would like to go back to husband,” Dora affirmed with another nod. “Thank for kind offer, but am tired. Think am fine. Just want lie down.” Desperately, she wished she could speak the language with a little more eloquence, but her companions didn’t seem to mind. They had been nothing but gentle with her since the beginning of all of this. “Staying nearby. Friend has home in back of shop, we stay there.”
Though she figured she could make it back on her own, she chose to accept their offer to accompany her back to Caleb’s shop instead. While she meant it when she thought she was fine, it was better not to take unnecessary risk—especially after what had just happened. Directing them through the market district of Jerusalem with slow, hesitant steps, they stopped at last in front of Caleb’s storefront.
Turning to face them again, a more genuine smile lit up her features. Carefully, she reached out to gently squeeze Selima’s arm, hesitating as she turned to Abir. Casual touch between genders seemed wrong in a place like Judea, so she nodded instead, her smile widening a little. “Thank again. Both of you. Will remember your kindness always.”
Gesturing behind her at the shop, she added, “Husband is merchant. Live close? Would like to bring something different day. Am sure Demetrius want to thank too.”
She and her husband had a peculiar relationship compared to so many couples she’d met. Most of the women she knew took a very subservient role to their husband, a distinct difference between their stations clear in every interaction they had. Dora and Demetrius were also that way in public, but behind closed doors? The woman had no doubts in her mind of how tightly wound she had her husband. He considered her opinions, allowed her to make her own decisions, did not enforce his role as husband in preventing her from doing what she wanted to do. But in spite of the unusual circumstances of their relationship, the love between them could not be denied—no doubt Demetrius would want to meet these people himself and shower them in whatever he could.
“And please. If ever need anything… now know where to find me.”
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Callidora looked between Selima and Abir as they spoke, offering a half-smile. She appreciated their help, she really did, and she was happy for the kindness they bestowed where so many others didn’t. Their brush with the healer had quickly served to remind her of why Judea was not one of her favorite stops on their travels, and all she really wanted in that moment was to be back in her quarters with Demetrius. Between the mugging, her injury, and now this, she was pretty done with the whole day.
She paused for a moment as she translated their offers in her head before nodding to Selima. Yes, she wanted to go back to her husband, not to a second healer, who may or may not behave in the exact same way this one had. It was just a bump on the head, anyway; she figured she was probably fine. She’d sustained far worse and lived to tell the tale.
“Would like to go back to husband,” Dora affirmed with another nod. “Thank for kind offer, but am tired. Think am fine. Just want lie down.” Desperately, she wished she could speak the language with a little more eloquence, but her companions didn’t seem to mind. They had been nothing but gentle with her since the beginning of all of this. “Staying nearby. Friend has home in back of shop, we stay there.”
Though she figured she could make it back on her own, she chose to accept their offer to accompany her back to Caleb’s shop instead. While she meant it when she thought she was fine, it was better not to take unnecessary risk—especially after what had just happened. Directing them through the market district of Jerusalem with slow, hesitant steps, they stopped at last in front of Caleb’s storefront.
Turning to face them again, a more genuine smile lit up her features. Carefully, she reached out to gently squeeze Selima’s arm, hesitating as she turned to Abir. Casual touch between genders seemed wrong in a place like Judea, so she nodded instead, her smile widening a little. “Thank again. Both of you. Will remember your kindness always.”
Gesturing behind her at the shop, she added, “Husband is merchant. Live close? Would like to bring something different day. Am sure Demetrius want to thank too.”
She and her husband had a peculiar relationship compared to so many couples she’d met. Most of the women she knew took a very subservient role to their husband, a distinct difference between their stations clear in every interaction they had. Dora and Demetrius were also that way in public, but behind closed doors? The woman had no doubts in her mind of how tightly wound she had her husband. He considered her opinions, allowed her to make her own decisions, did not enforce his role as husband in preventing her from doing what she wanted to do. But in spite of the unusual circumstances of their relationship, the love between them could not be denied—no doubt Demetrius would want to meet these people himself and shower them in whatever he could.
“And please. If ever need anything… now know where to find me.”
Callidora looked between Selima and Abir as they spoke, offering a half-smile. She appreciated their help, she really did, and she was happy for the kindness they bestowed where so many others didn’t. Their brush with the healer had quickly served to remind her of why Judea was not one of her favorite stops on their travels, and all she really wanted in that moment was to be back in her quarters with Demetrius. Between the mugging, her injury, and now this, she was pretty done with the whole day.
She paused for a moment as she translated their offers in her head before nodding to Selima. Yes, she wanted to go back to her husband, not to a second healer, who may or may not behave in the exact same way this one had. It was just a bump on the head, anyway; she figured she was probably fine. She’d sustained far worse and lived to tell the tale.
“Would like to go back to husband,” Dora affirmed with another nod. “Thank for kind offer, but am tired. Think am fine. Just want lie down.” Desperately, she wished she could speak the language with a little more eloquence, but her companions didn’t seem to mind. They had been nothing but gentle with her since the beginning of all of this. “Staying nearby. Friend has home in back of shop, we stay there.”
Though she figured she could make it back on her own, she chose to accept their offer to accompany her back to Caleb’s shop instead. While she meant it when she thought she was fine, it was better not to take unnecessary risk—especially after what had just happened. Directing them through the market district of Jerusalem with slow, hesitant steps, they stopped at last in front of Caleb’s storefront.
Turning to face them again, a more genuine smile lit up her features. Carefully, she reached out to gently squeeze Selima’s arm, hesitating as she turned to Abir. Casual touch between genders seemed wrong in a place like Judea, so she nodded instead, her smile widening a little. “Thank again. Both of you. Will remember your kindness always.”
Gesturing behind her at the shop, she added, “Husband is merchant. Live close? Would like to bring something different day. Am sure Demetrius want to thank too.”
She and her husband had a peculiar relationship compared to so many couples she’d met. Most of the women she knew took a very subservient role to their husband, a distinct difference between their stations clear in every interaction they had. Dora and Demetrius were also that way in public, but behind closed doors? The woman had no doubts in her mind of how tightly wound she had her husband. He considered her opinions, allowed her to make her own decisions, did not enforce his role as husband in preventing her from doing what she wanted to do. But in spite of the unusual circumstances of their relationship, the love between them could not be denied—no doubt Demetrius would want to meet these people himself and shower them in whatever he could.
“And please. If ever need anything… now know where to find me.”
