That makes no sense, he thought, but did not say it aloud; making sense did not seem to have comforted her very much. And indeed she looked happier than he had seen her since Secunda’s death. The image of his daughter drowned was still behind his eyes night and day. Logical or not, he almost envied her.
“Well, do as you will,” he said resignedly. “I will not try to stop you.”
She looked at him with something almost like disappointment, then brightened. “If you had any sense of what was right, you would become a Nazarene as well.”
“My dear Julia, you have told me many times I have no sense of what is right,” he said sharply. She stared at the floor and he knew there was something else. “What is it?”
“I do not want to say this before the children,” she stammered. Gaius laughed, took her arm and led her into another room.
“Well, what is it that you cannot say before our children, Julia?”
Again she cast her eyes on the ground. “Father Petros says that…as the end of the world is so near…” she stammered, “it is better if all married women—and men—take an oath of chastity.”
At this, Gaius threw back his head and did laugh. “You do realize that, as the law now stands, refusing to sleep with your husband is grounds for divorce?”
Julia, although obviously troubled, was ready for the question. “In the Kingdom of Heaven,” she quoted, “there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage.”
“That settles it,” said Gaius, laughing again. “I do not care for your Heaven, at least not that portion of it over which Father Petros rules.”
He added, knowing it would hurt her, “Take all the oaths you like, my dear. Considering that for the past year or so you have been about as much use in bed as a stick of wood, I can’t imagine how you think it would make any difference to me.”
Her eyes were wide with surprise. “Then you will make no difficulty?”
“None, Julia; but it is only fair to tell you that if you are no longer bound by our wedding vows, I will not hold myself bound by them either.”
He realized that he was spoiling the scene she had resolved to play; he should, he supposed, have raged or pleaded.
“I would never consider asking you to take such a vow,” she said, and then, spitefully, added, “I doubt if you would be able to keep it if you did. Do you think I do not know why you bought that pretty slave girl last year? God knows she is little enough use in the kitchen! With so many sins already upon your soul—”
But Gaius had had enough. He would not discuss the state of his soul—whatever she might mean by that—with her.
“For my own soul I will be myself responsible,” he told her and went into his office, where he found a bed already made up for him. So she had counted on his willingness to sleep alone, whatever else he might say.
Gaius thought briefly of celebrating his freedom by summoning the slave girl, but he discovered he had no wish to do so. He wanted something more than the compliance of a woman who had no choice in the matter. His mind went to Eilan. Now at least Julia could make no objection if he wished to adopt Gawen. How would he break the news to her?
Finally he was free to seek Eilan out once more. But the face of the Fury he had seen at the Midsummer festival came between him and his memories, and it was the face of the girl he had met at the hermit’s the year before that went with him into sleep at last.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In the middle of February the storms gave way to a period of fair, clear weather, brisk but sunny. In sheltered spots early fruit trees began to put forth buds and the branches grew red with returning sap. The hills were melodious with the bleating of new lambs, and the marshes resounded with the calls of returning swans.