“Don’t fall behind, Vix!” Simon’s mother caught my arm and pulled me ahead. She’d gotten fond of me the past week, which made me blink. Mothers were normally more inclined to warn me off their daughters and their clean floors, not stuff me with roast goose and urge me to sleep late in the mornings. “Goodness, it seems just yesterday I was dancing at Tu B’Av. Simon’s father, he chose me that same day. Let’s hope Simon does the same. He needs a wife. It seems quite foolish to me, this rule about how you soldiers can’t marry. Who needs a wife to come home to more than a soldier?”

I gave a half-smile, still watching the cart full of girls.

“Let’s hope this is Mirah’s last time dancing at Tu B’Av,” Simon’s mother said, and I jumped a little guiltily. “Her third time! She could have had a husband at sixteen, but my son is lenient with her, and she keeps turning up her nose—”

I’d untangled a few of these family ties after a week. Mirah was Simon’s niece, nineteen years old, and she had a low soft voice and cooked a roast goose that melted in your mouth. “At least they’ll have a fair day for their dancing,” I said, looking up at the cloudless blue sky.

“And maybe you’ll find a wife here!” Simon’s mother teased me over her shoulder as she moved off. “Better a good Jewish girl who can cook than some little Roman hussy who sacrifices goats!”

I looked at the cart full of girls. Two of them caught my eye and immediately collapsed into giggles behind their hands. No doubt about it; I had been marked for the chase. Funny, that feeling usually made me itch to bolt for the hills. Not now.

Not much, anyway.

The cart pulled up with more squealing from the girls, and the men came forward to hand them down. The older women began unpacking hampers of food and more jugs of wine, fussing about whether there would be enough as mothers seemed to do the world over. A cluster of little girls too young to dance among the vines descended on the patient mules and began braiding ribbons into their manes.

“Vix, give me a hand down?” Mirah tilted her head at me from the wagon. I came forward and put my hands to her waist, lifting her down from the tailboard. She wore a fine white shift, and I could feel her skin warm and smooth through it.

“Why are all you girls in white?” I asked, and took my time releasing her.

“So no one can tell the rich from the poor.” Mirah put a hand on my shoulder to balance as she leaned down and stripped off her sandals. “It’s a day for love, not haggling over dowries.”

“That’s sensible.”