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Jean had arrived late to the noblewoman's estate. Her supervisor at the academy had been procrastinating before he let her go, probably distraught that Jean, his most gifted student, might not return.
"Keep your eyes down," the woman said. They were the only two in her courtyard. Jean stared intensely at the gravel making up the courtyard floor. It helped in concentration.
"You should be more than hearing my voice. You should comprehend what I'm saying."
Jean tried not to express surprise, but this Roman woman had changed from the language of the Irenshoa, and moved to the language of Jean's own mother - Cabol. Jean had been raised in New York City, and so English was her native tongue. Jean could understand Cabol, but when Jean spoke she had a substantial accent. This woman spoke Cabol better.
"We all play a role," the woman continued. "I have the power to change your role, Jean."
Jean stiffened. Since the incident in the marketplace twenty-nine days ago, when Jean offended this woman, Jean thought her Irenshoa superiors at the academy might offer her up as a slave as a form of restitution. Jean had asked others about this Roman woman. Her lineage could not be confirmed, yet nearly everyone in Rome thought she was a direct descendant of Marc Antony. The legend was he had fathered an illegitimate son, and she was part of the bloodline. Even the Irenshoa would not have unnecessarily moved against her, because the people of Rome would have become upset.
"I know what happened to your tribe, er... Nation." This verbal slip demonstrated she was not perfect. Still, this Roman woman learned the Cabol language of Jean's ancestors in less than a month, which was impressive. Only a few years had passed since the city of Milwaukee's destruction, but so many events had happened: the Irenshoa killed all the men of Cabol Nation,151Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw1TX7OD30v
spread the Cabol women thinly throughout the continent, and sent Jean to New Plymouth on the Atlantic coast.
The woman snapped Jean out of her melancholy daze. "I assume anxiety has crept in to the role you have been playing." Jean nodded her head slowly, and felt brave enough to move her gaze upward.
"The citizens of Rome don't know how to think. For instance, to the delight of some commoners, the Irenshoa have released the majority of the city's prisoners. Yet, they have taken other prisoners and handed them over to the nobility as slaves. Did you know Romans spend hours every day trying to comprehend how the system works? Who will be freed? Who will be released, yet forced into servitude? Endless speculation with nothing accomplished."
"You'll be my slave," the woman said casually.
"And it's time to pull some weeds," she said, pointing at the green spots among the gravel of her courtyard floor. "Weeds" was a little-known derogatory term for the Irenshoa, and so Jean smiled, feeling like she had arrived home for the first time in years.
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