Imagine a moment just after some major historical event. Use ordinary people, not the Napoleons or Nancy Reagans. This will demand some research. Don't be afraid. It may be that these people have no idea what has just happened. 800 words
Clearly this is an interesting prompt for history nerds, and I'll probably use it again sometime to tackle a more contemporary topic. For now, I chose to write about the day after the death of Christ, because, though I don't particularly consider myself a Christian, it's undeniable that that day in history set a movement into motion that has changed the world several days over. At the same time though, I suspect most people at the time literally could not care less that yet another random dude with wild ideas had been executed by the Romans.
Please note that the exact date mentioned here is just a random suggested date I found on Wikipedia or something - I know that obviously the Roman (or Jewish) calendar would not have looked like this at the time, and I know that Christ may not even have died in 33 AD.
Saturday, April 4th, 33 AD
“A drink of wine, centurion?”
Devorah smiled broadly as the soldier in full Roman uniform entered the tavern, even if she was well aware he was no centurion. Having grown up under Roman occupation, she was better acquainted with the different insignia and their significance than most of the raw recruits who drank the cheapest brew she served.
This one was, she guessed, in his early twenties – old enough to have seen a little combat, perhaps, but young enough to have enjoyed it. A Marcus, she thought. They were all called Marcus or Lucius, these foreigners. It made things easy.
Marcus looked at her a little surprised, then grinned.
“Sure, sweetheart. Fill my cup to the top.”
He was sweaty and red in the face – without the tanned, leathery skin some of them developed after a long stay. Fresh off the boat, probably.
Devorah smiled again. New Romans, lonely for familiar food, familiar faces and a familiar girl in their beds, were good custom.
The soldier hoisted himself onto a high stool and looked her up and down as she handed him a cup of watery, cheap wine.
“You’re the first Jewess in this whole damn place who’s been friendly to me. What’s wrong with you girls?”
As she gently pushed a small plate of salty olives – complimentary, and very much included in the bill – his way, Devorah leaned her crossed arms on the bar.
“Well, centurion, today’s Shabbat, so you won’t be seeing many girls out anyway. It’s forbidden for Jews to work on the seventh day. As for any other time, I couldn’t tell you, but some find the uniform off-putting…”
She grinned, popping an olive into her own mouth and enjoying its greasy taste on her tongue.
“Then what sorta Jewess are you?”
It was not a bad question at that, Devorah thought to herself. She shrugged.
“Not the only one of my kind.”
He looked to the side, as though verifying her answer, and Devorah began to wonder if he was drunk already. The wine, though diluted considerably, could affect one already touched by heat heavily, she knew.
His eyes, curiously light, rested briefly on Miriam, sitting in the corner with two old regulars.
“I guess you’re not.”
Devorah nodded. She knew, of course, what the Sanhedrin – what most of her compatriots – thought of girls like them, but she was nonetheless at heart a pragmatist.
When Victoriana had offered her a job, she had been grateful. Though the tavern keeper herself was Roman – the runaway daughter of a senator or the illicit offspring of a Transtiberina whore, depending on the time of day – she believed that the soldiers enjoyed a glimpse of the exotic on their days off, and Devorah was inclined to believe she was right.
She smiled and wound a hennaed curl around her index finger as she filled the soldier’s cup again. She’d pegged him as the talkative type as he’d walked in and was about to revise that judgment when suddenly, he burped, looking downcast.
“Crucified a couple guys yesterday. Depressing business.”
She made a sympathetic noise, chewing an olive.
“Awful death, sweetheart.”
Devorah was not squeamish – you couldn’t when working in a place like this – but she hadn’t ever gone to watch an execution. She was sure, as all barmaids were, that a couple of her customers had ended up nailed to the wood at some time or another, but corpses smelled, and Golgotha was a depressing place.
“My, I bet, centurion. Messy.”
That made him laugh – a loud, boisterous guffaw.
“Yeah. Messy.”
He took a deep, long swig of wine, his eyes dark.
“Three guys. Two Jews, one Ethiopian. One of ‘em was that nutter – Lucius told me he’d pissed off locals for years. What’s his name again? Boy from up North. Delusions of grandeur.”
Devorah chewed another olive and spat out the pit.
“Oh, that guy. Stole a good customer off me once - he went pious on me. Well…”
“The others were more interesting. Held out longer, too. One was a thug who robbed a couple brothels near the harbor. They were gonna stone this whore who was his accomplice, but she paid off her debt in other ways, I hear. Our centurion’s been whistling all day.”
The girl giggled and swatted his arm.
“Hush. I know the one you mean – she’s a talent!”
The man grinned, a dirty joke in his eyes.
“The other was an Ethopian, a gang leader. Big guy, black as the night – plundered a couple warehouses and also a merchant’s wife. Though I’ve heard it said she wasn’t unwilling!”
Devorah nodded.
“We’ll all know what happened when Boeotius’ wife pops out a yellow baby, I’m guessing. Can’t really blame her. If I was married to a guy without teeth and for all we know without balls, I’d know what I’d do!”
“Oh yeah?” asked the unnamed soldier who may have been called Marcus,
“What would you do, huh?”
She threw her hair back and laughed, then gestured with a snap of her head.
“Come out back, honey, and I’ll show you.”
He followed.
