The Sun of God by Zoë Tavares Bennett

Author:Zoë Tavares Bennett [Bennett, Zoë Tavares]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

JULY 40 BC

Scribonia held the small child in her lap as he struggled to turn and reach for his mother. “Quite fond of his mother now, is he?”

Octavia looked up from where she sat, breastfeeding her daughter with motherly skill despite her very pregnant belly. “Oh, yes.”

When Marcellus died, Octavia had been devastated and had not allowed anyone inside the house except her brother. Since then, she had completely preoccupied herself with her children, and only recently allowed Scribonia and a few other close friends and family to visit in her time of mourning. Though they had not become fast friends, they got along better than she and Attica, and had found common ground in motherhood.

“He will grow out of it,” Scribonia said with a sigh, feeling an unexpected nostalgia as she remembered her own son, now almost ready to don the toga virilis. “Though you will always be like the sun to him.”

“Until I am not,” Octavia muttered, picking up her daughter and laying her over her shoulder, patting her back firmly. “But girls always love their fathers more.”

“Not always.” Scribonia could not help a smile. Cornelia had always loved her mother intensely, and when it had been time for her to marry, she had cried for several days before Scribonia could convince her that she would come and visit often. Only when her daughter had left did Scribonia allow herself to cry too. “But girls leave. Boys stay for longer.”

“I suppose.”

Marcellus began to cry, and Scribonia stood up, placing him on her hip. He had wispy blonde curls the color of white sunlight, and a round, angelic face like his mother.

She walked him over to Octavia. “See? Your mother is right here, darling. No need to cry. It makes her upset.”

Marcellus sniffled, looking to Scribonia, and then to his mother, as if he had understood her words.

Octavia smiled half-heartedly. “You are a good mother. My brother is very lucky.”

“It was not luck, though, was it?”

“No,” Octavia said with a sigh. “It was not. He always seems to get his way, even if all the odds are against him.”

“Not always,” Scribonia said with a faint smirk.

Octavia raised a brow.

“I know your brother better than you might think.” Scribonia lightly tucked a curling blonde strand behind Marcellus’ tiny ear. She missed the days when her children were this small, so pliable, so needy, always, always needing her. The feeling swept through her so strongly she thought she could cry right then.

“As do I,” Octavia said in a strange voice. “But he has always managed to surprise me.”

Scribonia heard the warning in her words, but she was not daunted, not in the slightest. She had heard how his last marriage had ended. But Scribonia had given birth twice, and nothing Caesar could say or do would pain her half as much.

“Well, your brother will be the last man I marry. I can promise you that.”

“Then I suppose you never loved the men you married,” Octavia said, her eyes shining. She looked off into the distance as if the ghost of her husband were standing in the very room with them.

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