‘Mistress?’ Elira was outside the door. ‘Are you awake?’
And so it begins, thought Aurelia wearily. ‘Yes. Come in.’
The door opened and Elira slipped inside, smiling. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Aurelia wondered whether to lie, but before she could speak, the Illyrian had seen her mood.
‘Melito is a good man. A kind man. He will give you many children.’
There was no point trying to explain. ‘I know,’ replied Aurelia, forcing a smile of her own.
They both started as the unmistakable sound of a pig squealing carried from outside the house. It was customary to slaughter a pig early on a wedding day so that the entrails might be read by a soothsayer.
‘Let us hope that the omens are favourable,’ said Elira.
Aurelia found herself murmuring in agreement. For all her misgivings, she did not want to add bad luck to the impending proceedings. She eyed her old dress, lying over a stool, and a few of her childhood toys, brought with her from Capua just so she could ritually set them aside the day before. From this moment, she would never wear a girl’s dress again. She would don a bridal tunic; later she would become a woman — in the truest sense. Her cheeks flushed at the thought.
‘Your mother will be here soon to help with getting you dressed. She says to start by dressing your hair.’ Almost shyly, Elira raised the iron spear head in her right hand.
‘Very well.’ Aurelia threw back the covers and swung her legs on to the floor. ‘There is more light in the courtyard,’ she said, picking up another stool.
The moment that they were seen, the two began to attract attention. By the time that Elira began using the spear head to separate Aurelia’s hair into the traditional six plaits, a handful of slaves had gathered to watch. Their approving smiles and murmurs of appreciation did nothing to improve Aurelia’s mood, but she did not frown or throw disapproving looks. This would be a long day, but she was determined to maintain her family’s honour throughout. After the way she had contributed to her parents’ problems, it was the least she could do. Marrying Lucius was the only way that the threat of Phanes could be kept at bay.
Aurelia was standing just outside the open doors of the tablinum. She was alone apart from Elira. This was it, she thought, her guts churning. There was no going back now. Apart from Lucius, who would be last to arrive, everyone else was waiting for her in the atrium.
‘It’s time,’ whispered Elira.
Aurelia’s head turned. Through her flammeum, or veil, Elira was orange. Her whole world was orange. It was most disconcerting, even more than her simple, white wedding dress, saffron-coloured cloak and sandals. Her fingers rose to touch the knot of Hercules that tied the girdle just beneath her breasts — it could only be undone by her husband — and she fought the urge to weep. It felt like a waking nightmare.
‘Mistress.’ Elira’s voice was urgent.
Freeing her traitorous limbs by sheer strength of will, she began to move forward. The scent of marjoram from the wreath at her brow was strong in Aurelia’s nostrils. It was one of her favourite smells, and she inhaled deeply, trying to take strength from it. Into the tablinum, across the black and white chequered mosaic, past the pool that collected rainwater from the hole in the roof. By the wooden partition that separated the room in which she stood from the atrium, she paused. Her heart was beating like that of a bird in her breast, faster than she could count. Nothing she did made any difference. Get on with it, she thought. Prolonging the agony will make it worse.
Inside the atrium, her mother and Martialis waited with the priest and eight other witnesses. As she entered, Aurelia heard their murmurs of approval. Her appearance at least was satisfactory. Trying to move gracefully, she walked to stand before the priest, the most senior from the temple of Jupiter in Capua. A stern-looking man with a narrow face and little hair, he gave her a tight nod. Atia and Martialis stood to his right; the others, to his left. Aurelia’s eyes moved to her mother’s face, which bore a pleased expression. She looked away, holding in the anger that bubbled up in response. Martialis gave her a kindly smile. Apart from Lucius’ father, she didn’t know the eight further witnesses. She supposed that they were friends and relations. Gods, but she wished that her father and Quintus could have been among them, if not to stop the proceedings, then at least to give her moral support.
They didn’t have to wait long for Lucius to appear from the other entrance to the atrium. He was dressed in a new white toga and garlanded with flowers. He looked very handsome, Aurelia had to admit. Even so, she couldn’t help imagining Hanno in his place. Accompanying Lucius were more relations and a band of his friends. She trembled as he reached her side. It was a relief when the priest began to speak at once. He thanked the gods for the favourable auspices seen in the entrails of the sacrificial pig, welcomed everyone present to the marriage ceremony, offered gratitude to Lucius’ father and the shades of the family’s dead ancestors. A few words about marriage, children and a few more about Lucius. None about her, other than to mention she was of good stock. Aurelia fought her bitterness. By becoming Lucius’ wife and the woman who would bear his heirs, thus continuing his bloodline, she was also helping her family.
‘Repeat after me the sacred words,’ intoned the priest.
So soon? Aurelia wanted to scream.
‘As long as you are Aurelia, I am Lucius,’ said the priest.
Lucius echoed the words in a strong, clear voice.
The priest’s gaze moved to her. ‘As long as you are Lucius, I am Aurelia.’
Her eyes flickered to the side. Lucius was watching her. So was everyone in the room. Her breath caught in her throat; the muscles in her legs trembled. Somehow, she regained control. ‘As long as you are Lucius, I am Aurelia.’
‘To symbolise this union, witnessed by the gods, the couple’s hands must be joined by a married woman, who will represent the goddess Juno,’ declared the priest. This was Atia’s moment. She glided forward to stand before Aurelia and Lucius, who turned to face each other. Taking both of their right hands, Atia brought them together. Aurelia steeled herself as Lucius’ fingers gripped hers; she glared at her mother through her flammeum. I’m doing this for you and Father, she shouted silently. If she saw, Atia gave no sign. Wordlessly, she withdrew.
The remainder of the ceremony passed by as if in a dream. Aurelia walked forward to the temporary altar that had been set up by the household lararium; sat with Lucius on a pair of stools that had been covered with one sheepskin; watched as the priest made an old-fashioned offering of spelt cake at the altar. She paced around the dais, holding hands with Lucius, and repeated the blessing spoken by the priest; heard the applause as they were declared married; listened, numb, as, one by one, the guests offered their congratulations. She barely touched a morsel at the feast afterwards; she had no appetite. Only when Lucius encouraged her did she try some of the suckling pig, and the baked fish that had been especially shipped in from the coast.
‘It’s delicious, eh?’
They were almost the first words Lucius had said to her. To be fair, there had been no chance to talk, but that had suited her. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘Have some more.’ He skewered a large piece of pork with his knife and deposited it on her plate.
‘Thank you.’ Aurelia felt boorish that she didn’t have more to say to him, but nothing sprang to mind. And the lump of greasy meat made her stomach turn. She was grateful when Lucius’ father, on a nearby couch, called his name and drew him into conversation. Toying with her food, she tried not to think of the night to come. No matter how hard she tried, however, her thoughts kept returning to what would happen, inevitably, after they had made the short journey to Lucius’ family’s house and retired to the bridal bed. Her mother’s lecture, delivered the previous day, returned to haunt her. Aurelia hadn’t been at all prepared for the graphic nature of it, particularly coming from her mother. During her childhood, she’d seen enough farm animals mating to know how the physical aspects of intercourse worked, but the concept of having to lie there while Lucius did the same to her was revolting and horrifying. ‘Won’t it hurt?’ she’d asked. Atia’s face had softened; she had patted Aurelia’s hand. ‘At first, a little, maybe. Lucius is not like many men, though. He will be gentle with you, I am sure of it.’