“There’s no limit to what you could do if you have the right connections, and the Procurator’s daughter is a prize. The family is related to the Julians after all. Meanwhile, if you have a taste for romantic adventure, there are plenty of slaves and freedwomen; keep your thoughts off these British girls.” He glared at his son.
“Eilan is different – I love her.”
“Your Eilan is the daughter of a Druid!” Macellius replied. “He was charged once with inciting the Auxilia to revolt. They couldn’t prove it, so they banished him; he was lucky not to have been hanged or crucified. But for all that you don’t want to get yourself entangled in any way with his family. She’s not pregnant or anything?”
“Eilan is as innocent as any Vestal,” Gaius said stiffly.
“Humph; I wouldn’t bet on it; they don’t view these things as we should,” Macellius observed. Seeing Gaius’s gaze darken, he added, “Don’t look at me so – I’m not doubting you. But if the girl is virtuous, it is all the more ruinous for you to set your heart on her. Accept it, lad, she’s not for you.”
“That’s for her father to decide,” Gaius said hotly, “not you!”
Macellius grunted. “Mark me, her father will view such an alliance much as I do, as a major catastrophe for both of you. Forget her, and turn your thoughts to some good Roman girl. I’ve won enough status here to ally you to whomever you choose.”
“So long as she’s named Julia Licinia . . .” Gaius answered bitterly. “What if Licinius’s daughter doesn’t want a husband with British blood?”
Macellius shrugged. “I’ll write to Licinius tomorrow. If she’s a proper Roman girl, she’ll think of her marriage as part of her duty to her family and to the State. But married you shall be, before you disgrace us all.”
Gaius shook his head stubbornly. “We shall see. If Bendeigid is willing to give me his daughter, I will marry Eilan. My honor is pledged to her.”
“No; impossible,” Macellius said. “And what’s more, if I know anything about Bendeigid, he’ll react pretty much the same way.” Damn it, he thought, the problem is that he’s too much like me. Does he think I’ll let it drop? The boy might believe his father did not understand – young people always thought that they were the only ones who had ever loved — but the truth was that Macellius understood only too well. Moruadh had been fire in his blood, but she had never been happy, prisoned by square stone walls. The Roman women had laughed at her and her own people had cursed her. He would not let his son live with the pain of knowing that he, too, had brought only sorrow to the woman he adored.
Macellius’s campaign bonuses had been well invested, and he had enough wealth to be comfortable when he retired, but not enough for his son unless Gaius also had a career. He would do Moruadh no honor by allowing her son to throw his future away.
“Father,” Gaius continued, in a tone his father had never heard before, “I love Eilan; she is the only woman I will ever marry. And if her father will not give her to me, Rome is not the whole world, you know.”
Macellius glared. “You had no right to make such a commitment. Marriage is a matter for families; if I send to request her hand for you, it will be against my own better judgment.”
“But you will do it?” Gaius persisted, and against his will Macellius softened.
“There is no parting a fool and his folly; I can send to Bendeigid. But when he refuses you we will hear no more of this. I will write to Licinius then, and have you married before the new year.”
There was something to be said, he thought, for the old days when fathers had held the power of life and death even over grown sons. The law was still on the books — for all the good it did anyone; no father in hundreds of years had formally invoked it, and he knew himself too well to think he would be the first. But he would not have to. Eilan’s father could deliver that blow far more effectively than he.