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.