Aida thumped the brass pints on the wooden countertop.
"There must be plenty of space on the barque, eh?" Bucero pleaded.
Frowning at the man she grew up with, she folded her arms about her chest. "Do you think the vintners make amphorae and ampullae for every new batch?" She threw a thumb at the ceramic vessels lining against a wall. "We need to return those, and they take space!"
Bucero rubbed his furrowed brow. He snatched a nearly empty pint she had thumped on the counter and downed the dregs.
"And what's the deal with the boy?" She flicked her eyes behind Bucero, cocking her head.
He winced; stale ale dribbled from his chin. "It's kind of my fault we're in this mess."
"Why's that?"
"He was in a tussle with a woman about your age. I thought I was being helpful to her. Turns out, she mugged us both." He reached for another pint and repeated the process.
Aida sighed, shaking her head. "How much you have left?"
"Four silver pieces of eight denarii."
"Oh, Lucius," she cupped a hand over her eyes, trying not to sound patronizing. "I'd lend you some if I had enough to spare. But I'll be leaving for Pethens soon. You know the Scipios' tryouts to recruit new performers? I'm finally going this year!" She raised her brows; her eyes widened. A pulse of hope tickled her voice, like the swaying candlelight, pining for the next shift of air to take it for a spin and away from the rough-hewn tables crowded by raucous men. Knowing she should be sorry for her friend, she couldn't help but feel agog. She lowered her head in haste to hide the smile on her lips.
"Fine," she relented, biting her cheeks as she raised her chin. "I'll talk to Georgios. But you'll have to give him all your silver. Besides what he gets from the tavern keeper, he'll ask to be compensated. Pray that eight denarii will do."
Bucero replied with a stiff nod.
"And it won't be a comfortable ride."
He nodded again. The air seemed to hold still for a breath, in which all the noise ceased, as did movements. "I've heard the Scipios mete out harsh treatments to those who have made the oath," he said at length, his head low, eyes staying trained on hers. "Are you sure about this?"
She turned away from his gaze. All the hope she had only a moment ago pulverized into the dust of doubt. She fidgeted. "I wouldn't worry about that for now," chewing on her lips, she muttered, her jaw moving sideways, her hands fiddling with the hem of her apron. "I don't even know if I'd get in! Imagine spending all my savings and not even passing the tryout. What am I supposed to do then? I can sing, right?" Uncertain for whom the questions she intended, she grinned gingerly.
"You'll get it. I'm just worried about you and what could happen to you next." Bucero smiled as he grabbed her hand.
"The next probably won't even happen. And if I fail, will you take me?" She jested, pulling away her hand. "How was your exam?"
His smile frosted in his eyes. "Well, suppose I can try again next year?"
"Lucius Ignatius Bucero! Do you plan to flunk for the rest of your life?" Upon sensing the eyes turning at them, she clamped a hand to her mouth and lowered her voice. "What about your mother and sister? While you're here trying and failing, they're at home doing the work that ought to have been your responsibility! How many more years do you plan on living off them?" She felt stupid for having even thought about counting on him.
Bucero took a meaningful look at her, then bobbed his head. "I was only messing with you, but message heard. I'm not that stupid alright? I get it there're only so many chances one has, and I've used all mine. After I go home this time, I won't be coming back again. So, please, help me get on the barque."
She regarded him.
He dodged, tucking his chin to the shoulder.
Fires crackled, toasting the air.
"You hungry?" she asked.
He nodded, his eyes on the floor.
"I'll see what I can find." She whirled and dipped behind a blotchy portiere that separated the kitchen from the dining hall.
Propping on the heels of her palms against the windowsill, Aida glanced up at the pale full moon, hanging like a large disk suspended from a canopy of stars. She closed her eyes, tuning in on the cacophony of chirping cicadas outside. Behind the curtain of her lids unspooled the past when she was a little girl. After her mother passed, she went from door to door, doing chores for scraps. When she had nowhere else to turn, she could always find herself a seat at Bucero's table. His mother and sister treated her well, and Bucero took care of her like a big brother she never had. She opened her eyes.
Huffing a sigh, she looked for leftovers. Bread, lard, some mash of fava beans, she gathered them to a trencher and returned to the dining hall. Beckoning with her eyes for Bucero to follow, she went up to the table where the boy sat.
"Eat," she said, putting down the trencher. "It's free."
The boy narrowed his eyes, examining the stale bread and the iffy scrape of lard the color of a slug. "Much obliged," he groaned, "but I don't eat slops."
"Sure, m'lord." Aida made him a mocking obeisance. "If you can pay for meat and mead, meat and mead I'll serve you right up. Can you?"
"Son of a bitch, you told her?" Thumping his fists on the table, the boy glared at Bucero.
Grabbing a piece of the stale bread, Bucero scraped it with mashed fava beans. "First off, leave my mother out of it. What has the poor woman ever done to you? And two," he paused, chewing the bread. "If you don't want to starve, I suggest you eat now. It'll be a full day before we reach the south if we are lucky. Guaranteed there'll be no food."
Looking daggers, the boy snatched a large chunk of bread and tore it with his teeth. Veins bulged in his neck. "May I have some water, please?" he asked in a slur; his angry eyes fastened still on Bucero.
Aida chuckled and took a chipped jar from the next table. Water gurgled, splashing into an empty cup as she poured. Bucero grabbed her arm.
"Can we go outside a bit?" he asked.
She quirked her brows. "Why?"
"There's something I've been meaning to show you. Take it as a thank-you gift if you will. It won't take long, promise!" He implored with his eyes.
She put down the jug, hissing with a sigh. "A quarter hour?"
"Less." He grinned like a child, then flicked his eyes at his companion. "You wait here, eh?"
"Where else can I go?" the boy grunted, rolling his eyes.
Bucero ignored his sarcasm and jolted to his feet, towing Aida by the hand as he ran out.
"Wait!" she yelled, following him into the night.
They ran downhill, taking a few turns under the rustling willow trees, and arrived at a small lake strewn with lily pads.
"Careful," said Bucero, turning back as he offered her his hand.
She slapped it away. "That's it? A lousy pond?"
"Just wait."
"I've been here a million times I hope you know!"
"But you have never taken the time to see what you're looking at." Bucero bounded up ahead. Along a sinuous pebble beach, a large rock lay jutting out into the lake. He threw a thumb at the rock. "Climb up."
"No way! Do you know how long it takes to wash this dress? I—"
He held her waist and hauled her up. She screamed and laughed and clambered on top. He followed, pushing himself up with a leap.
"Lucius Ignatius Bucero! You're a fucking child!"
"I wish," Bucero guffawed as he lay down, crooking his arms under his head. "Remember when we were still children? The sea? And all the shells and scallops we got during low tides?"
The chattering of crickets and cicadas rose and fell while water swished gently against the bottom of the rock. Aida held her knees to her chest and nodded.
Unlike the pebble beach, the one at home was a swath of white sandbank, stretching to the edge of the Huron Sea. She remembered chasing in the veil of dusk after Bucero with a rattan basket dangling on her wrist. They'd boil whatever shells he found, and they were the best thing she had tasted.
"So," Bucero muttered as he stared blankly at the night sky. "I guess there is no stopping you from going to Pethens, eh?"
What a stupid question, she thought. Why should he ever think of stopping her from going after her dream? Then, she remembered his dream, and how she, too, had tried to stop him. Not everyone could afford the risk of dreams, and no one would willingly accede to the fallout of a dream into a sobering reality. We remind only those we care about of the crushing weight of their pursuit at our own risk of becoming their enemies. She primmed her lips.
Seeing no response from her, Bucero changed the subject. "When do you think we'll see each other again?" he asked.
Aida shook her head. "Who knows?"
"Well, in case the singing thing didn't work out," He nudged her with his elbow. "Just so you know, possibility between us is never off the table."
The lake shimmered, and the stars wheeled. She wanted to laugh off his overtures but choked on her own voice as she tried to staunch the ineffable tears swelling in her eyes. In spite of her irrelevance, she was almost certain that for a splinter of a moment on the back of a slimy rock, she was important to someone under a bloom of stars.