The Golden Apple
The juice dripped down their chins. Streams of pink and red liquid flowed from their mouths as they gorged on the ripened fruit. Aurelia stared, unable to touch the fruit which stained their faces. Livia was laughing as she leaned in close to Augustus. She looked radiant in her simple gown and golden armband. Usually, Aurelia would be joining in the gaiety, but she could not appear animated this evening. She thanked Jupiter that the emperor and his wife were too busy to notice. The table was full, conversation was lively, and Aurelia could sink into her own world.
Julia reached toward Aurelia, proffering one of the ripe and swollen pomegranates. It had been cut open, revealing the red seeds inside, which Julia ate greedily. “Aren’t you hungry, Cousin?” she asked. Aurelia shook her head. She glanced from the fruit to Julia’s quizzical expression as her cousin said, “It’s not going to hurt you.”
Aurelia saw the question in Julia’s eyes, but she knew she couldn’t answer. “Perhaps no,” she said, forcing a smile, willing the lower quality of her teasing voice. “But maybe Pluto will trap me as he did Proserpina. I couldn’t risk it, though my hunger bids me.”
“Ah, but Aurelia, he has his bride. You’re assuming your beauty matches Proserpina’s if you think he might be tempted enough to coax you into the Underworld.”
Aurelia forced a laugh. It was true, she was no beauty–not like Livia or Julia–but that hadn’t stopped Domitius from wanting her. Suddenly she was no longer in Livia’s dining hall. She found herself again on the street, walking from the market to her home on the Palatine. She found herself again being pulled into an alley.
“Aurelia–golden, sweet,” she had heard him whisper in her ear, his hands gripping her shoulders, holding her against a rough brick wall.
“Domitius. Please, let go. I must get back.”
“You are beautiful.”
“Stop, Domitius!” she had commanded. Instead, he’s pushed against her. He tugged at her toga, jerking it above her thighs. He’d sucked greedily at her neck, his hands groping her thighs, her butt, her breasts. She’d been unable to fight, to struggle against him. She had been choked by her sobs, unable to scream. With the noise from the market place, no one would have heard her anyway. In the dark alley, no one had seen.
When he’d finished, gasping against her rigid body, he’d pushed his hand against her mouth, streaking blood across her face. “Take care not to tell anyone about this.” He’d pressed his lips hard and cruel against hers. She’d closed her eyes, turning her face from him, and, as he’d walked away, slumped to the stone street.
“Proserpina…oh, Proserpina,” Julia softly taunted Aurelia, jerking her back into the present. Aurelia slowly tore her eyes from the painted red fruit on Livia’s mural to meet again Julia’s quizzical expression. She saw still on Julia’s chin the stain from the pomegranate. Without answering her cousin, she took the proffered fruit, feeling its weight in her hands, and raised it to her lips.
