Her eyes watered. “Secunda was so fond of it,” she whispered.
The comment made him wonder, not for the first time, if Julia had lost her mind. Secunda had been six years old when she died, and he didn’t think she had ever paid the slightest attention to the monkey. Still, if it pleased Julia to think so . . . Seeing Licinius’s warning glance from across the table, he sighed and abandoned the subject.
“What were you doing today?” she asked, making an obvious effort to speak cheerfully as the servants brought in the boiled eggs, a platter of smoked oysters and salt fish, and a selection of salad greens dressed with olive oil.
Gaius swallowed a piece of onion too quickly and coughed, mentally editing his day. He reached across the table for a fragrant roll of fresh bread. “I was trying to track those wild pigs and ended up on the other side of the hills,” he began. “The old hut in the woods down there has a new tenant, some kind of a hermit.”
“A Christian?” asked Licinius dubiously. He had never had any good to say of the oriental cults that were invading Rome.
“Apparently so,” said Gaius neutrally, letting the girl take his plate away while others brought in the dish of ducklings sauced with plums soaked in sweet wine. He dabbled his fingers in the bowl of scented water and wiped them. “At any rate he believes that his god rose from the dead.”
Licinius snorted, but Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “Does he really?” The helpless look in her eyes wrung Gaius’s heart even while it exasperated him. Whatever gives her comfort. He put down the duck wing, turning on his dining couch to face her.
“Do you think he would let me come and speak to him? Will you allow me to go?” she asked pleadingly.
“My dear Julia, I want you to do whatever will give you comfort.” He meant it in all sincerity. “Whatever makes you happy will please me.”
“You are so good to me.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She gulped apologetically, and fled from the room.
“I don’t understand her,” admitted Licinius. “I raised her to live a virtuous life and honor her ancestors. I loved the child too, but all of us will die one day, be it late or soon. I chose well for my girl,” he added. “You have been kinder to her than I could be, even though she did not give you a son.”
Gaius sighed and reached for the wine. He felt like a monstrous deceiver, but held his peace. He had become responsible for this woman’s happiness, and to hurt her feelings was the first of many things he did not want to do. But he could not help thinking that Eilan would never have been foolish enough to be seduced by some Christian monk’s ramblings.
When the sweets had been cleared away, Gaius went to the room where Julia was supervising as the little girls were put to bed. Gaius was glad to see the monkey had escaped; feeling very mean-spirited, he hoped it would run off and, if they were lucky, get caught by a marauding dog.
The slave trimmed the wick and he and Julia stood for a moment, watching the soft light flickering on smooth cheeks and dark lashes. Julia spoke a phrase of blessing, and touched the amulet against fire that hung on the wall. Of late she had become very superstitious. Of course a fire would be disastrous, but the house was newly built and not at all drafty. On the whole he had rather more faith in the fire-fighting abilities of their household slaves than in most goddesses or charms.
As they came out into the hallway, she said, “I think I will go to bed now.”
Gaius patted her shoulder and kissed the cheek she presented. He might have expected that. The idea was that by the time he came to bed she would be – or pretend to be – so deeply asleep that he would not disturb her. He might as well not have a wife at all. And how could she expect him to give her another child if she would not sleep with him?