“Nor was I,” her father said good-naturedly. “I wanted to keep my little girl a bit longer. Now I’ll probably have to marry some old widow to keep house for me. But the young man’s evidently got himself entangled with some native woman, and Macellius feels that marriage will settle him. And so—”
A native girl? Julia’s brows rose. She was aware that most fathers would not have spoken to a daughter so frankly, but she had always been as much a companion for Licinius as a child. “And so?”
“And so the young man’s turned up on our doorstep, and it’s time for you young folks to get acquainted with one another. I suppose you’re eager to see him?”
“I must admit I’m curious.” What sort of husband had she drawn? One escapade could be condoned, but if he was the type who habitually went after women, she was not sure she wanted him.
“Then run along, daughter,” her father said. “I must say, if he doesn’t like you he too will be hard to please.”
In sudden panic Julia remembered she was wearing an old tunic, and that she had combed her hair very sketchily.
“Like this?” she asked. Flustered, she tried to adjust the folds of her dress to hide a berry stain.
“I’m sure it’s you he wants to see, not your taste in gowns,” admonished her father fondly. “You look perfectly lovely. He knows that you’re my daughter, and that’s really what matters. Run along and see what you think of him. Don’t be silly, child.”
Julia knew there was no appeal. Licinius was a kind father, even indulgent, but when he had once made up his mind, she could not tease or coax him out of it.
Once more Gaius heard the soft sound of girlish laughter, and for some reason he thought of Odysseus surprised on the beach by Nausicaa and her maidens; he could only stare as the girl herself slipped out from behind one of the flowering trees and came towards him.
A girl? A child, Gaius thought at first; for although he himself was not tall, the girl who entered barely reached his shoulder; she had a small well-shaped head with thick dark curls, loosely knotted at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were dark too, and met his fearlessly. She had evidently been eating berries, for her fine white wool tunic, and her lips, were stained pink with berry juice. His father had said she was fifteen, but she hardly looked more than twelve.
“You are Julia Licinia?”
“I am.” She looked him up and down. “My father’s promised me to some half-Roman barbarian, and I came here to have a look at him. Who are you?”
“I’m afraid I’m that half-Roman barbarian,” he said a little stiffly.
The girl surveyed him coolly, and he felt as if he were waiting for some verdict of tremendous import; then she giggled.
“Well, you look Roman enough,” she said. “I was prepared for some great blond barbarian whose sons would never look Roman born. It is true that our Governor’s policy of teaching the sons of chieftains Roman arts and manners had been quite successful,” she added consideringly, “but those of us with Roman blood must not forget to whom the Empire belongs. I would bear no babes whose portraits would look out of place among those of my ancestors.”
Roman or Tuscani blood? Gaius wondered cynically, remembering that Licinius came from the same Etruscan country stock as his own father, and owed his rise in rank to merit, not ancestors. Those common origins were no doubt part of the bond. Gaius thought of Cynric, who was also half Roman, however unwillingly. At least he, Gaius Macellius, looked what he was supposed to be, and his father had spared no pains to have him accepted as such.
He said dryly, “I suppose I should be grateful that I pass your inspection.”
“Oh, come,” she said, “I am sure you want your sons to look like proper Romans no less than I do.”