But Gaius did not really care what the Father’s own feeling was. By this time his gaze had fixed on the far more pleasing spectacle of the girl, Senara, who was leaning forward, absorbed in the hermit’s words. He had hopelessly lost the thread of the Father’s discourse, but he had already decided that these Christian ceremonies were too dull for his taste; no sacrifices, no roaring exhortations, not even the drama the rites of Isis or Mithras could sometimes provide. In fact these Christian ceremonies, all told, were duller than anything he had ever heard except some of the Druidic philosophies.
Even with the girl’s bright face to look at it seemed a long time before Father Petros’s discourse finally rambled to its end. Gaius was looking forward to leaving, and it was with consternation that he heard that he and the other unbaptized members of the congregation were now expected to wait outside while the initiates participated in some kind of love-feast. His complaints were so loud that Julia finally agreed to leave, although she promised the nurses and serving women they might remain.
He picked up the sleeping Quartilla, and they set out for Macellius’s home. But they had hardly started when Tertia began to complain that she wanted to be carried too. Gaius told her brusquely to behave like a big girl and walk; her mother’s health had improved but she was not yet strong enough to carry the child, and Cella was still too small. As Tertia began to whimper, someone moved behind them and he heard a sweet voice saying, “I will carry your little girl.”
Gaius would have refused, but the British girl had already picked up the drowsy child, who almost instantly fell asleep in her arms.
“Indeed, she is no weight at all,” said the girl, “and I am used to harder work than this!”
“You are a true sister in Christ,” exclaimed Julia. Gaius could find nothing to add to this, and so they walked along. The women exchanged a few low-voiced commonplaces, and Gaius found himself obscurely relieved that they clearly did not really know each other that well. The moon, just a few nights after full, gave them just enough light to illuminate their path. They could see the street underfoot clearly, and many of the trees were bright with clouds of misty white blossom.
As they pushed open the gate Macellius’s steward came out to meet them with a lamp. When Tertia began to stir, the British girl set her down and they stood staring at one another in the sudden brilliance.
“You must stay and join us for something to eat, since you too missed the agape,” Julia declared.
“Oh, no, I cannot,” the girl said shyly. “It is most kind of you, lady, but I had not leave to come; I must get home at once, or I will be missed, and then, even if I am not punished, I might not be able to come again.”
“I will not keep you, then; that would be a poor return for your kindness,” Julia said quickly. “Gaius will go with you. This part of the city is quiet, but before you get out of the gates, there might be some people it would not be safe for an honest and proper young girl to meet.”
“That will not be necessary, Domina —” she began but Gaius interrupted, “I’ll go gladly; I wanted to walk a while before I go to bed, and I can return you safely to your home.”
At least he could ask her what a girl from the Forest House was doing among Christians. The answer, he decided, might be revealing. When she pulled her cloak — a dark plain one such as a servant girl in a respectable home would wear – about her closely he wondered if it was because under it she wore the dress of a priestess. Gaius took a torch; even with a moon, he knew better than to brave the streets without one, and he felt that a good light might reassure the girl. She kissed all of the little girls, including the drowsy toddler in Julia’s arms, and went down the steps at his side. They passed through the silent streets without attracting any notice, but even when the last houses were behind them his companion made no attempt to put back her hood, even though the night was warm.