Alaric caught me before I fell against the brazier, and he and Tonius almost carried me between them back to my couch, where I sat like a man in a swoon for many minutes before they could get any response out of me. I have no recollection of any of that. I can remember only the realization that I had killed Phoebe with my lust. Had I not gone to see her on my way through Verulamium that day, she would still be alive. After that, I have only blankness in my memory until I became aware of Alaric sitting across from me. leaning forward and staring intently into my eyes, his face drawn with lines of worry.
Later, much later, I accepted the fact that my guilt was futile and unjustifiable, but that made the pain no easier to bear. I also accepted the fact that Claudius Caesarius Seneca and I were fated to the death. One of us would kill the other, and I was determined that I would survive the outcome.
That same night, I told Luceiia what had happened, and she mourned with me for the unfortunate young woman who had died simply because I had befriended her. In the endless time of a sleepless night, I decided to conceal my grief from the wedding guests and swore to mourn Phoebe later, when there would be time for mourning. I swore to avenge her death, and I fantasized about what I would do to Seneca when next I faced him.
XXIV
The wedding celebrations went on for two more weeks. Civic dignitaries and provincial administrators mingled with military officers and soldiers of all ranks and descriptions, including young Picus. There were bishops and Druids and priests, merchants, landowners, farmers, stonemasons, smiths, clothmakers, shoemakers, weavers, soothsayers and musicians. There were Romans of Roman descent, Romans of British descent, Greeks, North Africans, Britons of all descriptions, Gauls from across the sea and Celts from the mountain country at our back. It was a holiday celebration to rival the Saturnalia of bygone days, and it was enjoyed to the full by everyone. On the day of the wedding itself, the sun shone bright and warm, and I was even more expansive than a bridegroom has the right to be. I had spent the previous night in the arms of my love, and the last seeds of doubt over Phoebe had been purged with the spouting of my own seed and the love and understanding of the woman I was to marry the following day. Spring had finally arrived; everything was green and bedecked with flowers. There was no wind, and the air was rich with the perfumes of springtime and alive with bird-song. My bride looked brilliantly beautiful in her wedding gown of African cloth, and I knew in all modesty that I looked magnificent in the suit of supple leather clothes Luceiia had made for me with her own hands. As we exchanged our vows, binding each to the other, even the birds seemed to stop singing so that all might hear the sound of our voices — Luceiia's clear and sweet, and my own surprisingly timid. Our contract was sealed with a kiss, and the celebrations were under way in earnest.
Each glorious spring day was filled with games, athletic competitions of all kinds, hunting contests and the like. There was food in abundance and everyone had his fill of it whenever hunger irked him. The evenings were filled with song, dance and dalliance, and I fancy I was not the only man who consummated a relationship in the course of that time. I know that Caius enjoyed himself thoroughly during those two weeks, although his motivations were hardly connubial, for he saw in this gathering of all his most trusted friends a unique opportunity to sound them out on their views of the Empire's affairs, and to promote his own beliefs.
During those two weeks, I was to witness and be midwife to a miraculous birthing; I would remain forever after a nursemaid to the entity that was born then. There may be some who are inclined to scoff at those words and dismiss them as fanciful, but I am prepared to stand by the truth of them. My wedding feast was the occasion of the spiritual birth of what we came to call our Colony, and I recall clearly the circumstances that triggered the chain of events that was to reshape the destiny of all of us.
Caius had been talking for years about his ideas on the Empire and his fears about its future, not only to me but to each and every one of his friends and acquaintances.
Some agreed with his opinions; others disputed them; still others suffered them good-naturedly, humouring him and casting long-suffering glances heavenward whenever he launched into one of his diatribes. All would admit, however, under pressure, that he was partially correct; all was not right with the Roman world. Nevertheless, few could really bring themselves to believe that things were quite as black as Caius liked to paint them, and I counted myself among the doubters.
Terra and Firma Atribatus changed all of that in the course of one evening.
The brothers were identical twins whose real names were Terrix Polonius and Arpius Fermax Atribatus. They had grown fabulously wealthy as joint owners of the richest fleet of seagoing trading ships in Britain, and it was inevitable that their nautical activities should result in their becoming known to their friends as Terra and Firma. I did not know them personally, but they had been close friends of the Britannicus family since boyhood. Their names were high on the list of invited guests, so when they had failed to arrive by the end of the first week of the festivities, their absence had been generally noticed. They did arrive, however, after dark on the evening of the tenth day, and their welcome was the more tumultuous since, by then, they were no longer expected.
I met them very briefly and welcomed them with Caius, and then I returned to the open-air fire, leaving Caius to see to settling them in their quarters.
I had enjoyed these evening gatherings more than anything else except my new wife, for it was then that Caius and his friends were at their best, assembled by a blazing fire with a cup of wine or Celtic mead or a jug of locally brewed ale. Then it was that conversation and debate emerged and was enjoyed for itself. The talk from evening to evening might be of politics or philosophy, of religion or of poetry, or of agriculture and the weather patterns of past years, but always it was enjoyable. On this particular evening, before the arrival of the newcomers, we had been talking about the great Republic and the Roman way of life — the old days and old ways. Caius had been in his element, and even Plautus had thrown himself into the spirit of the debate, forgetting his normal reticence in the casual company of Tonius, his Commander. Without the catalytic presence of Caius, however, the conversation had become desultory. I was thinking lazily of seeking my new wife and hauling her to bed when Quintus Varo commented that it was taking Caius a damnably long time to bring the newcomers back to the fire. I stood up and stretched, yawning loudly, which earned me a round of laughter and lascivious comments. Gaius Gallus, another close friend of Britannicus, leaned elegantly forward and threw a small stick onto the flames.
"Tired again, Publius? So soon? Did no one ever tell you that beds are for sleeping in, too?"
I grinned, feeling peculiarly shy, and denied myself.
"Who's tired, Gaius? I'm bored, that's all. I'm going to go and find Caius and our new guests. We need some fresh wit to leaven the conversation around here. " I walked away from a chorus of jibes and pleasantries and went to look for Caius.