Last year, when the great army of Thurii was crushed in Lucania and the other women of the city were wailing for their fallen husbands, Andrea had bolted her doors and wept tears of joy. She was finally free from her personal hell.

But just a few days later, the Lucanians had stormed Amendolara. The entire populace was taken captive, and she was no exception. A Lucanian warrior, taken by her beauty, had dragged her before Bagulos as a prize for the heir to the tribal chief.

Seeing this tall, powerfully built man with his wild, tangled hair and features so different from those of a Greek, Andrea had trembled in terror, lamenting the cruelty of her fate. But the barbarian giant before her made no move to violate her. Instead, he spoke to her in Greek, comforting her and telling her not to be afraid.

While most of the people of Amendolara were imprisoned in the temple, Andrea and her son were allowed to remain in their own home. Every day, Bagulos himself would bring them generous portions of food. He was attentive and kind, yet he never touched her. Slowly, Andrea let down her guard, and in time, she fell in love with this Lucanian man. Compared to her first husband, Bagulos might have looked fierce, but he was steady, caring, and considerate—a hundred times the man her husband had been. For the first time in her young life, the widowed noblewoman experienced what it meant to be in love. One day, she invited Bagulos into her room of her own accord. From then on, whenever he was in the city, they were inseparable. If my marriage was hell, she often thought with a secret joy, then this is the Elysian Fields within that hell.

Therefore, when Bagulos had come to her, his face grim with worry, and told her that the Lucanians were defeated and his tribe was retreating to the mountains, he had asked if she would come with him. She had hesitated for only a moment before agreeing.

Two nights ago, when the mercenaries had stormed the city, Andrea had taken her child and followed Bagulos and his kinsmen in their retreat to the Temple of Zeus on the summit. As she watched the brutal fighting unfold before the temple, she felt, to her own surprise, little concern for her countrymen. Her eyes were fixed on Bagulos, and she watched in horror as a rushing mercenary struck him down.

Davos never thought he would encounter such a melodramatic plot in this new world. As a political leader, he was not particularly moved by Andrea’s tale of tragic love. Instead, it immediately brought to mind the unresolved question of the Lucanian prisoners. He had deliberately avoided the topic during the Senate meeting, fearing that the grieving old citizens and their families would, in their rage, burn the captives to ashes. He was biding his time, waiting for their hatred to fade, for the widows to find new families and forget old grievances.

“If you do not choose to marry one of the new citizens,” Davos reminded her, “then according to the law we have just enacted, the property and assets you hold will be placed under the stewardship of the state until you remarry, or until your son comes of age, at which point they will be returned to him. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Andrea replied, her voice pleading and mournful. “I am willing to donate my late husband’s entire estate to the city-state, if… if you can only guarantee that Bagulos will live, and that you will treat him well.”

“The Lucanian captives are being held, but they are not being killed or mistreated,” Davos stated plainly. “This is, of course, assuming the man you speak of was not grievously wounded.”

“He wasn’t! He wasn’t!” Andrea insisted frantically. “I saw it! He was only knocked unconscious! He was already awake when your men captured him!”

“Very well. I will have the records checked to see if a captive named Bagulos is among them. If he is, I will arrange for you to see him,” Davos said, his expression impassive.

“Truly?!” she gasped. “Oh, my lord, that is wonderful! Thank you! Thank you so much! You are as merciful as the goddess Hera herself!” Overcome with joy, Andrea fell to her knees before him.

But Davos’s gaze had already shifted, sweeping over the soldiers in the square who had not found a match. His mind was racing. The Lucanian captives were not just warriors; they included the elderly, women, and children. It was clear the tribe had intended to settle here permanently. With these non-combatants as hostages, he knew he had a much firmer grip on the warriors. Furthermore, if he were to marry his remaining single soldiers to the unmarried Lucanian women, it would create bonds of kinship between the citizens of Amendolara and the captive tribe. This would be a major step toward the “Assimilation of the Defeated” plan that he had been secretly formulating. The matter required immediate action.

***

Georgis followed the woman, whose name was Danea, or perhaps Dania—he had been too nervous to hear it clearly—and found himself standing before the Registrar, Raphias.

Having seen Georgis at the Senate meeting the night before, Raphias took care to slowly and clearly explain Danea’s family situation to him, then asked if he was willing to be joined with her. Georgis, blushing and awkward, did not know what to say.

“Go on, say yes,” Danea whispered at his side.

And so, he nodded. It all felt like a dream.

Georgis had not wanted to attend the matchmaking event at all. His men had practically dragged him there. He had spent the entire time standing in a corner, with no desire to plunge into the throng of women like the other men. He was just beginning to doze off from boredom when a woman had appeared before him, boldly stated her name, described her family, and then told him, just as directly, that she had chosen him and wanted him to be her husband.

Georgis had been completely stunned. He had stared at the woman’s handsome face, at a total loss. But at her gentle urging, he had, as if bewitched, nodded his assent. The next thing he knew, she was leading him out of the square.

Danea, walking ahead of him, had a joyful spring in her step. As a woman of thirty who had been married twice, she had a certain disdain for the young girls who were so easily swayed by a man’s pretty words. She believed that true happiness for a woman was found with a steady and honest man. When she had spotted Georgis standing awkwardly in the corner, looking completely out of place, she knew she had found him.

Danea’s home was a relatively large courtyard house situated halfway up the mountain. She opened the door, but Georgis hesitated on the threshold, unsure if he should enter. She smiled, took his hand, and said with the utmost sincerity, “Come in. From this day forward, this is your home. And you are the master here.”

Home? The word struck a chord deep in Georgis’s lonely, insecure heart.

He followed her through the gate, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in his new surroundings. A high wall, built of carefully shaped stone blocks and plastered with lime, enclosed the property. Inside the gate was an open-air courtyard, surrounded by a peristyle of columns. In the center of the courtyard was a rectangular pool, an impluvium[1], which, as Danea later explained, collected rainwater that was channeled into an underground cistern for household use. The pool was surrounded by a variety of plants, and as it was spring, they were bursting with colorful flowers. At the center of the pool stood a white marble statue of a nude maiden, her body rendered in exquisite, lifelike detail. The sight made Georgis’s face burn and his heart pound.

Danea led him around the pool and into the main hall. She gently pushed him down onto a cushioned couch, insisting he rest. “Are you hungry?” she asked kindly. “I will go and prepare a meal.”

“I’ll help,” Georgis said, trying to stand, but Danea pressed him back down.

“No, that is a woman’s work. You should have a bath and rest for a while.” She turned and called up to the second floor, “Ibia! Ibia!”

A clear voice responded, and a moment later a dark-skinned slave girl hurried down the stairs.

“This is your new master,” Danea said, her tone carrying a gentle authority.

The girl approached Georgis with a humble bow, her eyes filled with a shy curiosity. “Master,” she greeted him respectfully.

“Go and heat a tub of water,” Danea commanded. “Then bathe the master and dress him in fresh clothes.”

***

Lying in the large wooden tub filled with hot water, Georgis once again felt his face flush and his heart race. Ibia, the slave girl, was wearing only a thin linen garment. As she scrubbed his back, her shapely body, clearly visible through the now-drenched fabric, pressed against him. The sight left the young man’s mouth dry. Is this the life of a citizen? he wondered, a feeling of joyful surprise overwhelming his nervous discomfort.

Dinner was simple: bread and olives. “I’m sorry it is so plain,” Danea said apologetically. “It is all we have. Cornelius was only able to allot me this much, and he said it will be like this for some time.”

Georgis, remembering the previous night’s meeting, offered reassurance. “Do not worry. Lord Davos has already sent envoys to Tarentum to ask for aid. And thankfully, the Lucanians forced you to plant grain, so we will have a harvest by early autumn. Once the Senate has settled all the new citizens like me in the next few days, you will get your own lands back.”

“Is that true?!”

“It was decided at the Senate meeting last night by the Lord Archon and the others,” Georgis said, unable to resist showing off just a little.

“That is wonderful!” Danea exclaimed. She was happy about the land, of course, but she was even happier at her own good fortune. She had not expected that this unassuming young man would be important enough to attend the city’s Senate meetings. She truly had found a treasure. “But you are mistaken about one thing,” she added with a smile. “They are not my lands we will be getting back. They are your lands.”

That night, Danea used every art she knew to initiate the virginal Georgis into the rites of passion, leaving him feeling as if he had ascended to the heavens. And on that clear, moonlit night, in many of the newly formed households throughout the city of Amendolara, similar scenes of passion and romance were unfolding.