The whitethorn torch sent a flickering light through the doorway, banishing shadows and evil magic. Gaius, whose head had been somewhat cleared by the chill air, wished it could banish memory. Someone handed Julia a bowl of oil with which to anoint the doorposts and the strands of white wool with which to adorn them.
The elderly dowagers kissed Julia, murmuring wishes for her happiness, and after a moment’s thought kissed Gaius too; this touched off a regular storm of embraces, kisses and congratulations. Macellius, a bit drunk—the first time Gaius had ever seen his father affected even a little by wine—embraced them both; Licinius kissed Julia and Gaius, and said it had been a splendid wedding.
Then Gaius lifted her, marveling once more at how light she was in his arms, carried her over the threshold, and kicked the door shut behind him.
He could smell fresh paint on the walls, competing with the incense and the scent of Julia’s flowers. She stood still before him, and with more tenderness than he had thought he could muster he lifted the flamma away.
Her wreath was wilting; the six locks of hair that her maid had so carefully curled unraveling around the neck of her gown. She looked far too young to be married. Before he could speak she led the way to the altar in the center of their own atrium, and stood waiting expectantly.
He pulled the end of his toga up to cover his head and saluted the little terra-cotta statues that represented the family gods.
“By fire and water I welcome you as my wife and priestess of my home—” he said hoarsely. He poured water across her hands and held the towel for her to dry them, then handed her the taper from which to light the fire.
“May the gods bless us at bed and at board, and grant that I bear you many sons,” she answered him.
The bridal bed had been made up against the wall. He led her towards it and fumbled to undo the peculiar knot with which her woolen girdle was tied, wondering how many eager grooms had lost patience and simply cut the thing loose. At least now he could unwind himself from the swaddling folds of his toga.
Julia lay in the big bed with the covers drawn up to her chin, watching him. In the morning the bloody sheets would be ceremoniously presented to the dowagers as evidence of consummation; but Gaius would not even have to be present. And in any case he did not doubt that Julia—always practical—had provided herself with a little bag of chicken blood in case he should be too drunk to perform. Almost every bride had sense enough for that, he had been told.
But he was not that drunk, and if he did his duty with more efficiency than passion, at least he was gentle, and Julia was too innocent to expect more.
TWENTY-ONE
Eilan did not return to Vernemeton until March, for despite Caillean’s promise to bring her son back to her, it took some time to recover from the shock of losing him. Once she had wept herself out she came to understand that even when he was restored to her it would not be the same.
After a few days her breasts ceased to ache and she knew that another woman would feed her little one now. Another woman would hold him close during the long night hours and pat the bubbles away and comfort him, would have the sweet labor of bathing the firm little body. Someone else would lean over his cradle and sing the lullabies her mother had taught her. But not Eilan. She could not—she must not—or all she had suffered to achieve was lost.
It was announced that the High Priestess was ill to cover the transition, and late one night Eilan was brought back to the Forest House and Dieda was spirited away, bound for further bardic training in Eriu as promised. By the time she returned, it was their hope that everyone would have forgotten there had ever been two maidens in Vernemeton who looked almost the same. With Cynric still a prisoner, it was clearly impossible for Dieda to go to him even if she had desired it. In the end, Dieda seemed reconciled to the prospect of learning from the bards of a land that had never been touched by Rome.
Only now, as she resumed her duties as Priestess of the Oracles, did Eilan realize how isolated she would henceforward be. Part of this was the result of the seclusion forced on Dieda as part of the deception, but it was also a result of her change in status. As was her right, Eilan honored Caillean, Eilidh, Miellyn and young Senara by choosing them as her primary attendants, but she saw little of the other priestesses except at the ceremonies.