“She’ll be with you in a moment. I’ll leave you young people alone to get acquainted.” Before Gaius could find the words to stop him, he was limping away.
Julia Licinia had been keeping house for her father since her mother’s death three years earlier. An only child, from girlhood she had assumed she would be married off to whatever man her father chose. He had told her that he had arranged a marriage with the son of Macellius; at least this meant she would not be given to some unknown patrician twice her age, as had happened to more than one of her friends. Trying to look unconcerned she plucked a ripening fig from one of the trees growing in the pots in the colonnaded atrium as her father came towards her.
He grinned broadly. “He is here now, my dear, Gaius Macellius the younger, your promised husband. Go and see what you think; it’s you, after all, who is to marry him. But I think if you do not like the look of the young man, you’d be hard to please.”
Julia stared at her father. She said, “I was not expecting this so soon.”
And yet it occurred to her that there was no point in delay. She was eager to have something all her own; and certainly when she had borne this young tribune legionary a son, he would value her above all things. She was already used to running a household, but she wanted children who would love her. She was determined not to fail at giving her husband a son as her own mother had done.
“Nor was I,” her father said good-naturedly. “I wanted to keep my little girl a bit longer. Now I’ll probably have to marry some old widow to keep house for me. But the young man’s evidently got himself entangled with some native woman, and Macellius feels that marriage will settle him. And so —”
A native girl? Julia’s brows rose. She was aware that most fathers would not have spoken to a daughter so frankly, but she had always been as much a companion for Licinius as a child. “And so?”
“And so the young man’s turned up on our doorstep, and it’s time for you young folks to get acquainted with one another. I suppose you’re eager to see him?”
“I must admit I’m curious.” What sort of husband had she drawn? One escapade could be condoned, but if he was the type
who habitually went after women, she was not sure she wanted him.
“Then run along, daughter,” her father said. “I must say, if he doesn’t like you he too will be hard to please.”
In sudden panic Julia remembered she was wearing an old tunica, and that she had combed her hair very sketchily.
“Like this?” she asked. Flustered, she tried to adjust the folds of her dress to hide a berry stain.
“I’m sure it’s you he wants to see, not your taste in gowns,” admonished her father fondly. “You look perfectly lovely. He knows that you’re my daughter, and that’s really what matters. Run along and see what you think of him. Don’t be silly, child.”
Julia knew there was no appeal. Licinius was a kind father, even indulgent, but when he had once made up his mind, she could not tease or coax him out of it.
Once more Gaius heard the soft sound of girlish laughter, and for some reason he thought of Odysseus surprised on the beach by Nausicaa and her maidens; he could only stare as the girl herself slipped out from behind one of the flowering trees and came towards him.
A girl? A child, Gaius thought at first; for although he himself was not tall, the girl who entered barely reached his shoulder; she had a small well-shaped head with thick dark curls, loosely knotted at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were dark too, and met his fearlessly. She had evidently been eating berries, for her fine white wool tunic, and her lips, were stained pink with berry juice. His father had said she was fifteen, but she hardly looked more than twelve.
“You are Julia Licinia?”