"Did you?" Gaius asked abruptly. "When you married my mother, were you afraid?"
Macellius stilled, and for a moment his eyes clouded with remembered pain. "I felt joy when she came to me and every day of our lives together until she was gone . . ." he whispered.
As I did when Eilan lay in my arms . . .Gaius thought bitterly. But I have consented to this mummery, and have no choice but to go through with it now.
The sight of the haruspex who had been called in to take the auspices for the marriage did nothing to improve his mood. In the noon sunlight the man's bald red head and long skinny legs made him look like one of his own chickens and Gaius was cynically certain that whatever spots he found on the entrails of the unfortunate fowl would indicate it was an auspicious day. With most of the dignitaries of Londinium standing about it would be exceedingly inconvenient to cancel the festivities. In any case, the augurs had already been consulted weeks ago to select the proper day.
The atrium, its pillars twined with greenery, was crowded with what seemed to be an appalling number of people; he recognized a couple of wrinkled prune-faced elderly dowagers whom he had met in Licinius's house several times over the last few months. He noticed that they really smiled, if not actually at him, at least somewhere in his direction. Maybe they were happy for Julia; if
they only knew how mixed a bargain she was getting they would frown!
In due course the sacrificer declared it a very good day for a wedding and offered congratulations. No day on which Julia had decided to be married would dare to be unfavorable.
There was a little murmur as the sacrifice was cleared away and the bride entered on her father's arm. Gaius could see little but the hem of her white tunica beneath the crimson flamma, the famous veil. One of Licinius's secretaries unrolled the marriage contract and began to read in a nasal drone. Most of it had been completed at the ceremony of betrothal: the amount of the coemptio which Gaius was offering, and the sum which Julia would bring to the marriage, the fact that she was to remain "in the hand" of her father as a legal part of his family, and would retain her own property. It had been explained to him that these days that arrangement was more usual, and no one would think the less of him. There was a provision that he could not divorce Julia except for "grievous misconduct", which must be attested by at least two noble matrons. Gaius would have laughed if anything now could have made him laugh; anyone less likely to misbehave than the dignified Julia, he simply could not imagine, and she had made it too clear that she wanted this marriage to jeopardize it. Even her sober demeanor today could not hide the triumph in her eyes.
"Gaius Macellius Severus Siluricus, do you agree to the terms of this contract, and are you willing to take this woman as your wife according to the law?" his father asked then. Gaius realized that they were all looking at him, but still it seemed an endless time before he could say the words.
"I am willing-"
"Julia Licinia?" Her father turned to the girl and repeated the question. Her agreement came a good deal more swiftly. The secretary presented the document to each of them for signing and then carried it away to be registered in the archives.
Gaius felt as if his freedom were going with it, but the Roman gravity that went with the toga did not require him to smile. A sweet-faced lady, identified as the daughter of Agricola, came forward, took Julia's hand and led her to Gaius. He felt a pang of guilt as her small fingers tightened on his.
There were prayers then, a great many it seemed, invoking Juno and Jupiter, Vesta and every other deity who might be assumed to be concerned with the preservation of hearth and home. He and Julia were given a bowl of grain and a flagon of oil to offer to the fire on the altar. As it crackled in the flames the scent of cooked food came suddenly from the dining hall off the atrium, mingling in a rather sickening fashion with the incense that had been burned. The feast was almost ready. Julia put back her veil. He took the cake of rough spelt wheat - he hoped they would have something better to eat at the feast to follow - broke it and thrust a morsel between Julia's lips. She repeated the gesture, saying the appointed words that made them legally one. The ritual had acquired its own momentum, and from now on he had only to go through the motions.
He sat through the wedding feast in the dining chamber, as lavish as Licinius's purse and Julia's pride could make it, in a kind of daze. He was aware that the tables were laden with an amazing variety of things. People spoke to him; he accepted congratulations from an elderly friend of Licinius and agreed that yes, he was indeed lucky to be getting a splendid girl. The old senator lingered, insisting on telling him anecdotes of Julia as a toddler; he had known her all her life. Somewhere near by two of the magistrates were discussing in low tones the Emperor's upcoming German campaign.
Slaves, murmuring congratulations, served them, not the meat of the sacrifices, but tender roast chickens, roast pork and delicate cakes of fine wheat bread. And there was a liberal amount of wine; which Gaius, drinking everything he was given, soon decided was better than he had thought. An almost endless stream of guests kept coming and offering him congratulations; he had seldom seen Macellius look so happy.
As the feasting continued, Gaius drew on all his reserves of courtesy and self-control, while at the back of his mind wondering what Eilan would think of all this nonsense, whether she would ever know or appreciate what he was doing for her and for their son.
Julia giggled at the rude jokes of the mountebanks who entertained them, but he was not sure whether she really understood them. This part of the ceremony was traditionally to encourage the begetting of children; the clowns seemed very eager to make sure nobody could possibly miss the point. The sight of food was beginning to revolt him, but he continued to make a pretense of eating, and agreed for the ninetieth time that Julia was a lovely girl and he a very lucky man.
Julia was beginning to look sleepy; she had accepted a second and then a third glass of the wine, and since it was considerably stronger than what Licinius served at his everyday table, her normal vivacity was muted. Gaius envied her condition; he was still, unfortunately, quite conscious.
It was growing dark. From outside he heard shouting, and grinned foolishly when the Master of Ceremonies announced that the moment for the bridal procession had arrived. It was all quite ridiculous really, for since Macellius had no house in the town, the new couple was only moving to the far wing of Licinius's mansion, but Julia was apparently determined not to miss a single tradition on her big day.
It was just as well that he was not really expected to carry off his bride, thought Gaius as he gripped Julia by the wrist with simulated roughness and pulled her after him. In his current state of unsteadiness he could have been held off by an old woman and a lame dog.
The Master of Ceremonies handed him a bag full of gilded walnuts and small copper coins; he indicated that Gaius should scatter them to the beggars outside who frequented weddings just for this. Julia had a similar bag which matched her crimson veil. The litter bearers ceremoniously carried them out of Licinius's house, down the avenue to the forum, past the new Governor's palace and the tabularium, preceded by flute players and singers and surrounded by torches, and finally circled back to the entrance of the new apartment that had been made ready for them. Gaius suppressed a desire to giggle. He scattered coins and heard the blessings of the crowd. Only a little further now . . .
The whitethorn torch sent a flickering light through the doorway, banishing shadows and evil magic. Gaius, whose head had been somewhat cleared by the chill air, wished it could banish memory. Someone handed Julia a bowl of oil with which to anoint the doorposts and the strands of white wool with which to adorn them.
The elderly dowagers kissed Julia, murmuring wishes for her happiness, and after a moment's thought kissed Gaius too; this touched off a regular storm of embraces, kisses and congratulations. Macellius, a bit drunk - the first time Gaius had ever seen his father affected even a little by wine - embraced them both; Licinius kissed Julia and Gaius
, and said it had been a splendid wedding.
Then Gaius lifted her, marveling once more at how light she was m his arms, carried her over the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him.
He could smell fresh paint on the walls, competing with the incense and the scent of Julia's flowers. She stood still before him, and with more tenderness than he had thought he could muster he lifted the flamma away.
Her wreath was wilting; the six locks of hair that her maid had so carefully curled unraveling around the neck of her gown. She looked far too young to be married. Before he could speak she led the way to the altar in the center of their own atrium, and stood waiting expectantly.
He pulled the end of his toga up to cover his head and saluted the little terracotta statues that represented the family gods.
"By fire and water I welcome you as my wife and priestess of my home —" he said hoarsely. He poured water across her hands and held the towel for her to dry them; then handed her the taper from which to light the fire.
"May the gods bless us at bed and at board; and grant that I bear you many sons," she answered him.
The bridal bed had been made up against the wall. He led her towards it and fumbled to undo the peculiar knot with which her woolen girdle was tied, wondering how many eager grooms had lost patience and simply cut the thing loose. At least now he could unwind himself from the swaddling folds of his toga.
Julia lay in the big bed with the covers drawn up to her chin, watching him. In the morning the bloody sheets would be ceremoniously presented to the dowagers as evidence of consummation; but Gaius would not even have to be present. And in any case he did not doubt that Julia - always practical - had provided herself with a little bag of chicken blood in case he should be too drunk to perform. Almost every bride had sense enough for that, he had been told.
But he was not that drunk, and if he did his duty with more efficiency than passion, at least he was gentle, and Julia was too innocent to expect more.
Twenty-One
Eilan did not return to Vernemeton until March, for despite Caillean's promise to bring her son back to her, it took some time to recover from the shock of losing him. Once she had wept herself out she came to understand that even when he was restored to her it would not be the same.
After a few days her breasts ceased to ache and she knew that another woman would feed her little one now. Another woman would hold him close during the long night hours and pat the bubbles away and comfort him, would have the sweet labor of bathing the firm little body. Someone else would lean over his cradle and sing the lullabies her mother had taught her. But not Eilan. She could not - she must not - or all she had suffered to achieve was lost.
It was announced that the High Priestess was ill to cover the transition, and late one night Eilan was brought back to the Forest House and Dieda was spirited away, bound for further bardic training in Eriu as promised. By the time she returned, it was their hope that everyone would have forgotten there had ever been two maidens in Vernemeton who looked almost the same. With Cynric still a prisoner, it was clearly impossible for Dieda to go to him even if she had desired it. In the end, Dieda seemed reconciled to the prospect of learning from the bards of a land that had never been touched by Rome.
Only now, as she resumed her duties as Priestess of the Oracles, did Eilan realize how isolated she would henceforward be. Part of this was the result of the seclusion forced on Dieda as part of the deception, but it was also a result of her change in status. As was her right, Eilan honored Caillean, Eilidh, Miellyn and young Senara by choosing them as her primary attendants, but she saw little of the other priestesses except at the ceremonies.
From time to time in the past the Forest House had sheltered women or children like Senara who had need of care. It was therefore unusual, but not unheard of, to take in the young woman called Lia and the infant the Arch-Druid had brought to her to wet-nurse and install them in the roundhouse next to the herb sheds where visitors usually stayed. Nor was it even so surprising that Caillean should take the baby to the High Priestess, saying that she might be cheered by holding a young child.
After that first joyful reunion, Eilan wept copiously; for it seemed to her that Gawen, being nursed by Lia, had somehow become almost more Lia's child than hers. Nevertheless it seemed a miracle to her that Ardanos, even under duress, had kept his word. She wondered sometimes how Caillean had persuaded him, but did not dare to ask.
Naturally her partiality for the child caused gossip. But Caillean took the precaution of confiding to old Latis — in strictest confidence - that the child belonged to Eilan's sister Mairi, born of a father unknown, and had been sent here because Mairi was thinking of marrying again. Within a week the story was all over Vernemeton, as they had expected. But although there were some who believed the baby was Dieda's, no one appeared to suspect he was Eilan's. And with most of the women the boy soon became a pet.
Eilan felt guilt for the damage to the reputations of her sister and the girl who had been like a sister to her. But after all they had assented, however reluctantly. Worse was the torment of not being able to acknowledge her child. But she must not - she would not - and, as week followed week, confession became less and less possible.
It seemed to Eilan that time went by very slowly under this uneasy reprieve; Ardanos had returned from Deva, and, almost gloating, reported that Macellius's son was married to the daughter of the Procurator in Londinium. She had known this must happen, but she could hardly keep from weeping, though she resolved not to in the sight of Ardanos.
She had to believe that both she and Gaius had made the right decision, but she could not help wondering about the woman whom she could not keep from thinking of as her rival. Was she beautiful? Did he speak words of love to her, from time to time? Eilan was the mother of his first son; did that not count for something? Or was she forgotten? And if she were, how would she ever know?
But time went on — as it always does, no matter what shifts are taken to ignore its passing - and the festival of Beltane came upon her, when she must serve again as the voice of the Oracle.
Eilan had thought that she had resolved her doubts when she became High Priestess. Perhaps they were returning now because of the child. In the dark hours of the night she wondered if this time she would be punished for her blasphemy, though by daylight she reasoned that if she had lived through the first time, the Goddess was unlikely to be insulted now. If the Power she had felt during her initiation was a delusion, then she had given up Gaius for nothing. But if Ardanos did not truly believe in the Goddess he served, then it was he not she, who was committing the blasphemy. If she meant to continue in this role, it was essential to learn whether it was the Arch-Druid's interpretation or the Goddess Herself that was the lie.
As Eilan was preparing and purifying herself, it occurred to her that drinking from the golden bowl would be more dramatic done in the sight of the people, and resolved to speak of this to Ardanos when she saw him again. He readily agreed to the change, as if surprised that she should have thought upon the matter at all.
This time, Eilan herself mixed the herbs she would be drinking, and made certain substitutions, retaining those that would increase vision and leaving out the ones that detached the senses from the will. As a result she was vividly aware of the vast hush that descended over the assembled gathering. She could feel their reverence and expectation. From a purely public point of view she could understand it. She knew that the people responded to her beauty as they had never responded to Lhiannon's faded charm. But there must have been a time when Lhiannon too had been young and very beautiful. Had it never been any more than this - a drama staged by the priests of whom her grandfather was foremost? Surely the first time she sat in the Oracle's chair the Power that spoke through her had been real.
Eilan drank, and felt the familiar dip and lift of the trance state take her. Remembering how the potion had affected her before, she slumped in her chair with lids half-closed so that Ardanos
would not see the intelligence in her eyes. And this time, when the Arch-Druid began his incantation she was aware that instructions were being interspersed into the spell. It was clear what was wanted -and why.
Now she understood why Ardanos wanted a Priestess of the Oracles who did not rely on inspiration. She had heard him speak before of all the benefits to Britain that would come from the civilizing influence of the Romans. In fact she remembered his saying something like this on that evening in her father's house before she knew who Gaius really was. Well, at least the Arch-Druid could not be accused of inconsistency.
In her last meeting with Gaius she had learned enough to agree that - for now — Ardanos might even have the right idea. Used wisely, the Oracle could be a powerful tool to bring peace to Britain. So long as Ardanos was Arch-Druid, and so long as his policies were indeed the path of wisdom, perhaps what they were doing was not even so great a sin. But if Eilan were to be something more than Ardanos's instrument; she would have to understand what was going on in the world outside her walls. Potentially, the High Priestess of Vernemeton could exercise an influence that went far beyond her role as Oracle. By learning what her grandfather was doing, she had also taken on the responsibility for deciding whether or not to cooperate, and how far.
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