Macellius looked at him and blinked, seeing once more a girl’s fine-boned face and dusky hair, remembering how she used to sing as she pulled the horn comb through her heavy curls, sparkling with red glints as they caught the light of the fire. Moruadh . . .Moruadh . . .why did you leave me alone?
“Perhaps it was one reason,” he replied at last. “But perhaps it justifies it. We had hopes then of joining our two peoples. But that was before Classicus . . .and Boudicca. Perhaps it can still happen, but it will take longer, and you will have to be more Roman than the Romans to survive.”
“What have you heard?” asked Gaius, frowning.
“The Emperor, Titus, has been ill. I don’t like it. He’s still a young man. He might die in bed, but after him, who knows? I don’t trust Domitian. A piece of advice, Son: try to live without ever coming to the attention of a prince. Are you ambitious?”
“All gods forbid,” said Gaius.
But Macellius had seen the flash of pride in his eyes. Well, ambition was no bad thing in a young man, if well directed. He gave a short laugh. “In any case, it’s time we took the next step to advance the family. Nothing that will upset the Emperor . . .but you are, what, nineteen now? It’s time you were married.”
“I’ll be twenty in a few weeks, Father,” said Gaius suspiciously. “Do you have someone in mind for me?”
“I suppose you know that Clotinus – yes, old Bedbugs – has a daughter . . .” Macellius began, and stopped when his son started laughing.
“All gods forbid. I practically had to kick her out of my bed when I guested there.”
“Clotinus is going to be one of the big men in the Province, even if he is British. If you’d set your heart on his daughter, I would be willing enough to go along, but not if she is so immodest. My father may have been only a plebeian, but he could name all his ancestors. The honor of the family requires that your sons be of your own fathering.”
He looked up as the slave appeared in the doorway with a tray of hard biscuits and some wine. He poured, handed a goblet to Gaius, and drank deeply before speaking again.
“Here’s an idea you may like better. You may not remember this, but when you were a child a tentative betrothal was arranged between you and the daughter of an old friend. He’s now the Procurator, Licinius.”
“Father,” Gaius said quickly, “have you spoken to him lately? — I hope you haven’t settled things too far -”
Macellius stared at him narrowly. “Why? Is there some other young girl you’re lusting after? It won’t do, you know. A marriage is a social and economic alliance. Be guided by me, Son; these romantic attractions don’t last.” He could see the dull flush that darkened his son’s fair skin.
Very carefully, Gaius took another sip of wine. “There is a girl, but it is not lust I feel for her. I have offered her marriage,” he said evenly.
“What? Who is she?” Macellius barked, turning to stare at his son.
“The daughter of Bendeigid.”
The wine cup clicked loudly as Macellius set it down.
“Impossible. He’s a proscribed man, and, if I mistake not, a Druid. Of good family, so I’ll say nothing against the girl if she’s his kin, but that only makes it worse. Those sorts of marriages —”
“You made one,” Gaius interrupted.
“And it nearly destroyed my career! Your girl may be as fine a woman as your mother, but one misalliance of that kind is enough for any family,” Macellius exclaimed. Moruadh, forgive me, his heart cried. I loved you, but I have to save our boy.
“Things were different then,” he continued more temperately. “Since Boudicca’s rebellion, a connection with any but the most loyal of British families would be a disaster. And you especially must be careful, because you are your mother’s son. Do you think I have endured thirty years in the Legions just to see you throw it all away?” He splashed more wine into his cup and drank it down.