Life in Paintings

Chapter 7 - Rape of the Sabine Women

Chapter 7

Rape of the Sabine Women

                                           

Arms are encircling me when I wake up, and it’s not in a comforting way. I’m being taken away. My skin is still tender from being ripped off of me earlier so it’s not a nice feeling.

And I know I don’t want to be taken away. It’s not just that I’m tired of being thrown around because of this fucking curse, it’s more than that, it’s a feeling deep within me telling me I don’t want these arms to take me wherever they want to take me.

I take in the scene around me. Other women are being dragged away against their will. Considering how everyone is clothed, this is either Greek time or Roman time. For some reason I’ve never really been able to differentiate the two. I guess it’s mostly because I never cared. Maybe I should start caring, that way I would know who is trying to take me away just now.

The arms encircling me belong to a man who is wearing a metal torso armour, with some kind of skirt instead of pants. He isn’t wearing a weird looking hat with some kind of red mop on top like some of the other men are wearing. He’s also sporting sandals.

I don’t understand how sandals can be an appropriate battle footwear. I also don’t understand why I’m being taken away.

I thrash in the man’s arms, trying to claw my way out but his hold is strong and unwavering.

“Stop trying to struggle,” he tells me in my ear.

“Oh yeah, sure I’m going to fucking do that you prick,” and as I say that, I kick back my head, trying to hit his face against my skull. I succeed. It hurts a lot more than I had anticipated. When you see actors doing that in movies, it’s not as painful, but honestly, I see stars for a second and I’m actually worried that I’ll pass out. But luckily, I’m not the only one affected. The man’s grip on me loosens.

I stomp on his toes—that’ll teach him to wear sandals, and that gives me enough leverage to push him away and run.

I didn’t think I’d have it in me to fight like this, but I think it’s desperation that’s working in my favour. Also, with all of the adrenaline that’s been pumping in my veins for the last… hell, I don’t know how long, I’m bound to have a little fight left in me.

I might be exhausted but I’m not dead yet. Death will come—I know that, but it won’t be right now.

As I run away from my assailant, I see men fighting the people trying to take away the women. I’m glad to know this isn’t a men vs women thing.

“GO BACK TO YOUR LAND, ROMANS! LET OUR DAUGHTERS BE,” an old man shouts, swigging a sword at an armour wearing, hat with a red mop sporting fighter.

Romans…

            I stop running.

I think I know where I am. For a second, I’m actually baffled by this thought. I think I remember this from my stupid art class. This is the Rape of the Sarines, or Sabrinas or Sabines, something like that, anyway, I remember that rape didn’t mean rape in this instance, but meant kidnapping. I’m being kidnapped by Romans.

            It was a bad idea to stop running because of this realisation, because my Roman catches up with me. He’s fast—faster than I would have anticipated a man wearing armour would be. And I might have some fight in me left, but I can feel blood running at the back of my head from the blow I gave him earlier, and I’m still exhausted.

He grabs me again, looking damn proud of himself.

“LET GO OF ME!” I yell, and I find enough strength to kick him—I can’t punch him because he’s wrapped his arms around my arms.

“There’s fight in you—I like that,” he says. He seems to be enjoying himself. He won’t be for too long, because he might be holding my arms against myself but my hands are free, and I can feel the hilt of a sword with the tip of my fingers. I wrap my hand around it and pull at it. It’s heavy, but in my frenzy I ignore it.

The Roman definitely hadn’t expected that. As I pull the sword he lets go of me, and when I turn to face him, he’s gapping at me. He’s also bleeding from the leg—I cut him with the sword.

I take advantage of his surprise and swing the sword.

I don’t know why I do it, and why I aim there, but one second the man is surprised and the next, I slit his throat.

I can barely comprehend how I managed to do that. I think it’s mostly because he didn’t anticipate I’d do something like that.

I didn’t even know I had it in me.

He falls to his knees and then face plants on the ground.

I killed him.

I drop the sword on the ground and begin to shake.

I’ve never killed anyone.

I know this is just a painting, I know this isn’t really real, but it still feels like it. I’ve been killed many times now, but I’ve never killed anyone.

I can’t move.

Another Roman, one with a metal idol on top of his helmet, saw what happened and is charging towards me. I don’t even fight him. He might as well kill me now.

He doesn’t kill me though, he just throws me on the ground, looking furious. My head takes another serious blow. I see stars again. I can hear beside us, where the Roman lays dead, another man saying, “Terentius, brother…” his voice breaking.

            I can only hear it though, because one minute I’m looking at the clear blue sky and the next, everything is black.