“I’ll countersign the rest of the accounts later,” I told Eukairios, and went out with Longus to welcome Pervica to Cilurnum.
The Festival, which we celebrated over three days, was a huge success. We lit the bonfires of the Sada, and the Romans chose the king of the Saturnalia, and we sacrificed to Marha and to Saturn side by side. I’d managed to locate some hemp seeds for my troops, and they were able to toast them in the traditional steam bath before the feast, from which they departed half-drunk on the smoke and howling with pleasure. Mare’s milk, to make koumiss, the usual drink, had proved harder to find, and we had to make do with wine and beer. Still, there were plenty of those, and plenty of roast meat, and milk, and honeyed almonds; the Romans exchanged the little pottery dolls they give on the occasion, and we gave a few of them as well and wished each other a joyful festival. Roman troops always prepare entertainments for the Saturnalia, setting aside money for it from their pay packets over the whole year, and buying wild animals from hunting syndicates for spectacles, as well as laying up food and drink. There were bearbaitings, then, and wild beast fights with boars, dogs, and bulls. My men had never seen these before, and enjoyed them even more than the Asturians did, watching with whoops of excitement and going off full of praise for the courage of the dogs. We, for our part, had arranged horse races and tilting matches, which the Romans also enjoyed. Then there were songs in Sarmatian, in Latin, in British; there was music on the harp and the kithara, the flute and the drums; there was dancing and acrobatics.
Pervica enjoyed herself, though she didn’t like the spectacles-she was sorry for the animals. Longus’ sister Flavina proved to be a pleasant woman, tall, dark, and mournful-looking like her brother, and with the same irrepressible sense of humor; she was married to another of the Asturian decurions, who, in the usual peculiar fashion of men on active service, was expected to sleep in barracks in the fort, rather than with his wife in the village. Pervica got on well with her and with the widowed mother, who also shared the house. (Longus told me afterward that he’d had some concern about that side of things, as his mother had never forgiven me for tipping her son off his horse.) But Pervica got on well with everyone. I introduced her to my officers, and she greeted them as respectfully as they greeted her, and they approved of her. She laughed at Longus’ stories, particularly when they were about me, and she listened attentively to Comittus and understood his good sense. I noticed her at one point having a long conversation with Facilis, and he was smiling at her. She slipped into the same effortless partnership with Eukairios that I had myself. Everything was perfect; everything was almost too perfect. The days were of white sun and midwinter calm: perhaps we could all feel the storms ahead, and decided to grab at our happiness while it was there before us.
I felt pressed by that urgency from the first evening I saw her in Flavina’s house, smiling at me from beside the fire, as warm and shining as the light itself. Why, I asked myself, should I delay loving her? I had confidence in her, her grace and dignity, her strength to deal with anything that might come, her kindness-and every time I saw her, my confidence grew. Apart from anything else, so I told myself, delays would only damage her reputation. Everyone knew she was my guest, and had come because of me. Her name was joined to mine: why not her body as well? I knew what I wanted and I was fairly certain that she would not refuse. Why shouldn’t I be reckless, and ask?
On the evening of the third and final day of the Sada celebrations, I had my chance. Everyone was in the Sarmatian camp-my men, the Asturians, nearly all the villagers, the inhabitants of both the brothels. There was music, and a few strong fellows still had the energy to dance. All the officers, with their various womenfolk, were by the main fire in front of my wagon, under the awnings. The stars were white in the winter sky and the sparks leapt upward from the fire like a stream of molten gold. We were roasting chestnuts and drinking a little hot spiced wine.
“This is lovely,” said Pervica, dreamily. She was reclining against a bale of straw, and the firelight gilded her face and made deep shadows against the softness of her throat. “If you’re used to this, Ariantes, I’m not surprised you don’t like living in a house.”
“I still think a wagon must be pretty damn drafty to sleep in,” said Longus.
“It is very comfortable,” I said. “In our own country there are often deep snows in winter, even before the solstice. But we are always warm.”
Pervica twisted about to look at the wagon behind her. “Doesn’t the wind come up through the floor?” she asked.
“It has felt on the bottom,” I said, “and rugs. I will show you.” I got to my feet and held out my hand to her. She hesitated only a moment before taking it.
It was dark in the wagon, and I left the door open as much for the firelight as to keep things respectable. She couldn’t see the rugs, and tripped over the edge of the bunk. I caught her and steadied her, and she laughed. I did not. The desire I had felt for her ever since I saw her coming into the stables flared up when I touched her, like a dry pine branch on a fire, and I felt as though my heart had stopped.
“I’ve been wanting to see what they look like inside,” she said, standing there with my arms around her, “and now I’m inside, I still don’t know.”
“You are free to come inside this one whenever you choose,” I told her. I was saying more than I’d meant to, but I couldn’t regret it. “If you want it, it is yours. I offer it to you now.”
She laughed again. “You must have had too much to drink. I’ve told you, you shouldn’t give me any more gifts. Certainly not your own wagon. Where would you live?”
“Here. With you.”
I could feel the laughter go out of her, the muscles tensing under my hands. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said uncertainly.
I let go of her. I should have realized I would have to be more formal. She did not know our customs on such matters, and I was unfamiliar with hers. “I am sorry,” I said. “I meant it honorably.”
“What?” she said. “I still don’t understand.”
“I was suggesting marriage, Lady Pervica. That is the usual custom of my people when a man and a woman share a wagon.” Repeating the offer in Roman terms only made me more sure of myself. I wanted her, not just now, but to come home to over years; I wanted her in my wagon, loving and beloved, filling the chasm Tirgatao had left. She had called me back to life, and I wanted her to remain, life in the place of death.
“Oh! Oh…” She stood very still, staring at me through the darkness. I could hear the others talking outside, and farther away, a man singing a ballad at another fire, an old slow tale of the deaths of heroes. “You don’t need to do this from gratitude,” Pervica said at last, slowly and with great firmness. “I would much rather stay single than have a man marry me from some misplaced notion of gratitude.”
I put both arms around her, pulled her against me, and kissed her. It was so desperately and impossibly sweet that I was shaken by it; I felt naked and helpless, as though it were the first time, the first clumsy passionate kiss of a young boy and girl. Pervica stroked my face, then held me hard. “You’re not doing it from gratitude?” she asked again, still, still, unconvinced.
“No,” I said, thickly.
She pressed her face against my shoulder. “Oh, my white heart, my dearest darling, yes. Yes. Yes.”
I kissed her again, touching her body, which was smooth, and strong, and answered mine.
“You shouldn’t have asked me, really,” she said, breathlessly, when I let her go again. “It’s just the way we met that’s done this. If we’d met one another on the road or at the market, you wouldn’t have noticed me, and I wouldn’t have spoken to you.”