The city had a gracious glow in the summer dusk, and a cool wind off the river dispelled the mugginess of the day. The scars of Boudicca’s burning were mostly hidden now, and the Governor’s building plans suggested the noble proportions of the city that would one day be. Of course it would never rival Rome, but in comparison to Deva it was a metropolis.
Gaius handed his letter to an imposing freedman at the portico and was bidden to enter and take a seat in the central courtyard. Here it was still warm, and fragrant with shrubs and flowers set round in pots. From the fountain came a tinkle of falling water and, somewhere in the rooms beyond the courtyard the music of a young girl’s laughter. After a time an old gardener came out and began to cut flowers, probably for the table, but he knew, or feigned to know, none of the languages in which Gaius addressed him. For a time Gaius wandered about, glad to stretch his legs after the long day in the saddle. Presently he took a seat on a stone bench, all the fatigue of the journey overtook him, and he fell asleep.
Somehow the sound of a girl’s laughter wove itself into his dream . . .Gaius started awake, staring about him, but there was no one to be seen except a heavy-set, middle-aged man on crutches, draped in a formal toga. Gaius sprang to his feet, flushing with embarrassment.
“Gaius Macellius Severus?”
“Yes, sir -”
“I should have known it.” The old man smiled, “My name is Licinius, and your father and I have been friends most of our lives. It is a real pleasure to welcome his son. Is your father well?”
“He was when I last saw him a few days ago, sir.”
“Good. Good. Well, young man, I had of course hoped he could get away to pay me a visit, but you are most heartily welcome in his stead. Given our arrangement, you can imagine that I’ve been eager to meet you.”
Gaius had been telling himself all the way from Deva that he would not be hurried into any such ill-considered wedding, but he could not burst out into protest before the eyes of his father’s old friend. He had agreed to this because of the danger to Eilan and knew he ought to be grateful Licinius was so kindly.
“Yes, sir,” he said, temporizing. “Father did say something of this . . .”
“Well, I should hope so,” Licinius said gruffly. “As I say, we’ve had it in our minds since you were born. By Mithras, boy, if Macellius had said nothing of this, I’d have wondered what he was using for a head these days.” Despite its gruffness, this was the first wholly friendly voice Gaius had heard for a good many days, and, almost against his will, he was warmed by it. It was good to be welcomed. The Procurator took it for granted that he should be treated as a valued friend and a prospective son-in-law, and it had been a long time since Gaius had been made to feel a part of a family. He realized with a pang that the last time he had been made to feel so had been in the house of Bendeigid. Eilan, Cynric, what would become of them? Would he ever know? He had worried about this all the way to Londinium – he had to stop now.
“Well then, son,” said Licinius, “You must be longing to meet your bride.”
Speak up, Gaius said to himself. But he could not bring himself to put out the light that glowed in the old man’s eyes, and mumbled something noncommittal instead. They will punish Eilan if I try to see her again, he reminded himself sternly. The best thing he could do for her would be to go through this ceremony as expected of him. Or is that just an excuse to avoid a confrontation? he wondered.
But Licinius had already beckoned to a well-dressed upper servant. “Send for the Lady Julia,” he ordered.
Gaius knew that now was the time to say that he would have nothing to do with this farce of an arranged marriage – but without waiting for him to reply, the Procurator had hauled himself to his feet.