Sabinus, representing Eleyne’s family, waited with me at the simple, wooden altar framed by plain, little statues of Jupiter and Juno. Admittedly, I was a little nervous—the reality that Eleyne and I were finally getting married struck me. I prayed the ceremony would go as planned and the omens from the forthcoming sacrifice would be favorable for a long and prosperous marriage.
Next to us stood the long-robed and shrewd-eyed entrail reader, the haruspice. A few feet away, near the marbled impluvium, the household well, two acolytes held a white sacrificial sheep by a frayed, brown rope.
“Salve! Greetings!” erupted from the atrium. The group parted for Aurelia Severa.
She paraded like a matronly queen in her white and purple stola of finest linen. In her shadow trailed a nervous but smiling Eleyne, adorned in a finely woven, yellow gown held about the waist by a band of wool. Braided into six locks, her long, black hair was tied with blue ribbons and weighted down with shining pearls. Roman custom required her hair to be parted with a spear. Barely visible beneath the hem of the gown, I glimpsed white shoes of fine leather. A billowing, scarlet veil, one of Aurelia’s treasured possessions and gift to Eleyne, covered her head. Held in place by a simple garland of blue and yellow flowers, the shroud fell gracefully down her back and sides. As tradition dictated, she had personally picked the blossoms for good luck.
I wore a plain, white toga, edged in thin, purple trim—symbol of the Equestrian Order. The day belonged to Eleyne.
As the women halted by the well, Eleyne took Aurelia’s fleshy arm and slightly bowed her head. With help from his assistants, the entrail reader dramatically sacrificed the unsuspecting ewe. Although Eleyne had been accustomed to butchering animals in Britannia, she still paled at the slaughter and the sight of the quivering entrails as the blood dripped into the water. She tightened the grip on her mistress’s arm but regained her composure.
The old priest examined the corpse as dark blood poured into the spraying fountain. No one seemed to notice, but for an instant, he blanched. He eyed Aurelia who gave him a sharp nod. He chanted something unintelligible passing for Etruscan, and solemnly proclaimed, “Bene! The omens are good for the marriage!” The old charlatan dared not claim otherwise, because if he did, the wedding could not proceed.
As the carcass was being removed, Aurelia led Eleyne to my side, and we joined hands. I cleared all thoughts of evil omens from my mind—no doubt the figment of a bridegroom’s nervous imagination. Eleyne’s hands felt cold and clammy in mine. Her sea-blue eyes shimmered through the flaming veil and looked deeply into mine. As she smiled, her small mouth slightly parted.
Sabinus, dressed in a flowing, white senatorial toga with its wide, purple stripe, lifted a tablet enclosing the marriage contract from the altar and faced us. With a somber expression, he glanced from Eleyne’s face to mine. He opened the cedar-wood framed parchment and holding it in both hands read with all the gravity his voice could command. For a moment, I thought we were in a court of law. When he finished, Sabinus nodded to me—time for simple vows.
I paused, gazing into Eleyne’s eyes, and thought of how much I loved her. “Will you be my mater familias?”
“Yes,” she answered, squeezing my hands.
“And will you be my pater familias?” Eleyne invited with a slight quiver in her voice.
With my “Yes,” we became husband and wife.
A boisterous round of applause and cheering by the guests swept the atrium. A weeping Aurelia hugged the bride, while Sabinus and I clasped the inside of one another’s elbows in traditional Roman manner.
Seconds later, hand in hand, Eleyne and I glided to the altar where we placed a cake of coarse bread for Jupiter and Juno and offered brief prayers to bless our marriage and new home.
Followed by shouts of, “Felicitas!” and “Good Luck!” we were mobbed by the colorfully dressed crowd.
After being inundated with kisses and shaking hands, I found Eleyne. Gently taking her by the forearm, I turned to the group and raised my other hand. A hush fell over everyone in attendance. “Most noble and gracious guests,” I said, “will you please do us the honor of joining my wife and me for the wedding feast!”
A hearty cheer echoed through the courtyard, and eagerly they followed us into the dining area.
The wedding feast lasted until late in the evening. Afterwards, a wedding party escorted Eleyne and me to our flat. A squadron of flute players and torch bearers led the way. Members of our group sang lewd and ribald songs, echoing through the streets. Our ten new slaves, including Porus, my new Greek steward, and Chulainn, mustered to greet me and their new domina, the mistress Eleyne. She stopped at the front door and wound the pillar facades with bits of wool, touching them with a daub of oil and fat, given her by Aurelia, to symbolize our future prosperity.
Then as the wedding party and the tenants of the apartment looked on, I lifted her into my arms and carried her across the threshold for good luck. It wasn’t until much later that night the noisy escort, who had been shouting course jokes, singing, and dancing, left us in peace.
*
Late the next morning, Porus informed me two sweating acolytes who had attended the wedding were running circles around the apartment in stripped-down tunics. He inquired as to the reason and learned it was to ensure good luck in our marriage. They had been instructed to continue their marathon for twenty-four hours.
“That’s not the true reason,” I said to Porus. “The entrails reader saw something ominous in the sheep’s liver.”
My forty-one-year-old steward raised his black, droopy eyebrows, the sagging muscles of his blotchy face growing tense.
“If she asks, you are to say nothing about this to the mistress. Do you understand?”
I paid the acolytes to run somewhere else, lest Eleyne learn the true reason from the tenants in the rest of the apartment building.
*
Unwilling to alarm Eleyne, I waited a week before seeing Aurelia Severa, who had hired the priests.
“You are quite right, Marcellus,” she said, as we sat in the library. For the space of a few heartbeats, the matronly wife of Sabinus studied me from behind her desk. “After the reading, the priest told me he had discovered flukes in the liver.”
“That’s a terrible omen.”
She leaned a little closer across the desk. “By the household gods, Lares and Panates, indeed. However, since I paid him well, he followed through with the ceremony. Of course, he said he didn’t like to lie!”
I nearly choked at her last words, knowing he was easily bought.
Aurelia motioned toward the door with her head. Guessing what she meant, I got up and stepped to the entrance and looked out toward the atrium. No one was about. I returned to my chair, sat, and shook my head.
“At first,” she continued, “he was reluctant to tell me about his find, but I threatened to have him arrested for sorcery if he did not.”
“What did he see?”
She pursed her fleshy lips. “He saw in the flukes . . . your death.”
My chest tightened, and tiny bumps rippled along the length of my arms and up my back. I took a couple of breaths. “By what means?”
“A dagger in the hands of your enemies. And in his vision, he said he saw fire and effigies of great men tumbling and stars falling. His vision faltered from there.”
“It’s Gallus’s curse from the grave,” I said.
“Maybe, but I have never put much credence in curses.” Aurelia picked up a rolled parchment on the desk and turned it about a couple times in her plump hands before laying it down. “At the same time, I could not risk angering the gods. Eleyne and you are too dear to me. So, I was determined to neutralize the omen with a special sacrifice. I paid the priest to run around the Temple of Jupiter Greatest and Best, and his acolytes to do the same around your home. I threatened to cut out his tongue if he told you or Eleyne the truth.”
“I guessed the reason right away.”
“I supposed you w
ould, but I could not take the chance of anything happening to the couple I hold most dear to me after my husband and sons.”
“And I’m grateful.”
I don’t know how much the priests or acolytes suffered in running, for none of them were in good physical shape, but I knew I would have to take whatever precautions necessary to ensure the prophecy did not come to pass.
Chapter 10: Early October, 47 AD
The following two weeks, after speaking with Aurelia, I watched Rome’s days become enshrouded in sweeping rains and chilly nights. Because of my growing concern for my mother’s failing health, I slept poorly. Outside, the rainfall pummeled the apartment walls and dripped through the wooden screens overlooking the central well. Hanging from each of the six floors, the shrouds were a necessary measure to keep the more irresponsible tenants from dumping filth and trash into the courtyard adjacent to our flat.
It seemed as if I could hear every fat drop falling against the shutters attached to the high window framed just below the ceiling. A baby’s cry echoed from one of the rooms above, and the curses of an arguing man and woman drifted from another flat. A couple of drunks on the third floor loudly sang a lewd song to the goddess, Diana. Wagons clattered down the street on their nightly trips to the markets and warehouses, delivering goods for tomorrow’s shopping.
Tightly gripping the woolen blankets, I tossed and turned in vain as if they would help me fall asleep. Occasionally, I opened my eyes and saw the dim, shadowy light coming from the oil lamp clamped to the tall, bronze stand in the bedroom corner. Eleyne and I preferred a little light in an otherwise pitch-black room.
Mother’s image kept appearing in my mind. Ever since that first meeting here in Rome when I introduced her to Eleyne, her failing health alarmed me. But she refused to admit to any problems. In Hispania, Mother confided only in Uncle Budar. Before the wedding, I had taken Budar aside. Since he was planning on returning home with her, I asked him to keep a close watch on Mother.
In spite of my restlessness, Eleyne slept peacefully curled by my side. Sprawled by my wife’s feet purred Nefer, a tamed Egyptian wildcat. A wedding present from Aurelia to her, the brownish-yellow feline with dark, tabby markings took an immediate liking to Eleyne, tolerated me, and despised everyone else. If a hapless slave came too close to her, Nefer, who was little bigger than a domestic cat but stronger, growled almost like a dog, intimidating the slaves with ugly, yellow fangs.
At first, I loathed the animal. When I expressed my disgust to Eleyne, she made excuses for the cat’s horrible disposition and the shredded drapes. The creature seemed to lift her spirits, which had drooped somewhat since the wedding. Adjusting to our marriage and living in the apartment, Eleyne missed Sabinus’s home and Aurelia’s company. She had visited Aurelia several times since the wedding.
Slink-eyed Nefer insisted in sleeping on the bed. Every night I kicked her off, but the persistent cat returned within a short time, placing the full weight of her body against my feet. Each time I swore I was going to get rid of Nefer, Eleyne came to the cat’s rescue and scolded me in the process. This arrogant feline from the Lower Nile Delta would purr against her, as I sat scratched and welted. Nefer’s smug expression seemed to reveal that she sensed I was not confident enough to know whether Eleyne would choose her or me. In disgust, I gave up. Ironically, thereafter, Nefer slept only on Eleyne’s side.
Nefer rustled on the bed—something stirred her sleep. She sprang to her feet. The animal’s long, amber and gray stripped tail slashed back and forth, her back fur standing on end. The cat emitted a ghoulish yowl, sailing through the apartment. She darted from the room.
Twisting, I saw the outline of two shadowed intruders framed in the lamp’s dim light. Both rushed forward, daggers glinting in their hands. Suddenly, they split just before reaching the bed, one going around each side. I yanked the blanket from Eleyne and myself and threw it over the head of one intruder, momentarily blinding him. I whirled to the right, barely evading the blow of the other, and grabbed my dagger from the wooden stool beside the bed. As I snatched it, he raised his weapon and lunged toward me. I shoved my feet upward, kicking him in the groin. He howled, dropped his blade, and doubled over onto the cold, tiled floor.
Awakened, Eleyne screamed. The other assassin tore the cover from his head and lunged straight for my face. I jumped to my feet, whirling beneath his thrust, and plunged my weapon deep into the middle of his rib cage. A piercing wail shot through the house as warm blood spurted from his side onto my chest. Tumbling over me, he fell heavily to the floor with a thud—dead.
I leaped over his prostrate body and grabbed the throat of the other intruder. Jerking him to his feet as he choked, I slammed him against the mural wall. His knife clattered to the tile. Raising my dagger, I was about to cut his throat when I recognized the assassin. My slave, Chulainn. He deserved to die. But before he did, I was determined to learn who planned my murder.
At the same moment, bounding naked from the bed, Eleyne also recognized the young slave and screamed something in Celtic. At that moment he went limp, and she yelled at me, “No, Marcellus, don’t kill him!” Eleyne pleaded. “It’s all right, I told him who you are—about Britannia! Don’t kill him—please!” She picked up the blanket and wrapped herself.
I forced Chulainn down, twisting his left arm in a hammerlock, keeping my weapon to the side of his throat. My chest heaved, and my heart pounded furiously. Perspiration flowed down my face and along the tightened muscles of my neck.
“Why shouldn’t I finish off the sneaking bastard?” I snarled. “Alexias warned me, and I was a fool not to listen.”
Doubt and confusion rippled across Chulainn’s face as he wrinkled his light eyebrows and ruddy forehead. He talked in a native, guttural tone.
Eleyne spoke to him and turned to me. “He doesn’t believe you knew him in Britannia. I told him it’s true, but he wants proof.”
“I’ll give him proof.” I brought my blade up to his throat and tickled his skin as he held his breath.
“No, Marcellus! Please, for my sake.”
I attempted to compose myself and collect my thoughts—this was no time to let my anger run wild. Then I remembered something no one in Rome but Crispus and I would know.
“Tell him,” I said as my breathing steadied and muscles relaxed, “we should have left him cowering in the oven instead of saving his worthless body.”
She did.
Chulainn shook his head as if he could not understand the implications of my remark. I shoved the boar’s head ring on my hand in his face. “Remember this?” I asked.
He studied the ring for the length of a few heart beats and nodded, apparently guessing my question. He said something to Eleyne, and she translated that the ring belonged to his uncle.
“Who returned it to you?” Eleyne asked in Celtic.
“Soldier,” he replied in shaky Latin, eyes clouding with moisture.
“Look at me,” I pushed his head in my direction with the side of my dagger. “Look closely.”
His terrified face studied mine, and seconds later tears filled his hazel eyes. He dropped his head as if in shame and sobbed.
“Darling,” Eleyne said, “he’s begging for your forgiveness. Now, he knows who you are—really.”
Chulainn wept as he spoke to her. “This isn’t his fault,” she explained.
“He tried murdering me, and it’s not his fault?” My rage again mounted. “Why are you making excuses for him?”
“You don’t understand. He was put up to it. He and—”
“What’s he saying?” I demanded.
“No! It can’t be!” she exclaimed. Quickly, Eleyne lit the olive oil lamp on the nearby table and examined the scarred face of the dead assassin. “It’s Bodvac,” she gasped, “my former betrothed!” Momentarily, she turned her head. I thought she was going to weep, but she quickly recovered.
“All the more reason I should get rid of this one!” I spat.
“But this
was Gallus’s idea!” she asserted jumping to her feet.
My muscles tightened again at the mention of his name. I exhaled in disgust. “Will I never be rid of him?” I wanted to kill Gallus and be done with him once and for all. But that was foolishness. I would not lower myself to his level of depravity.
“Chulainn says he bribed them,” Eleyne offered, “and when Bodvac heard I had married a Roman, he was determined to free me and kill you.”
“But how? Chulainn hasn’t left the house since we’ve married. It’s common knowledge that Gallus and I are enemies.”
“Remember the day you bought him?”
“Of course.”
“One of Gallus’s freedmen was in the market, too. He bought Bodvac from the same slave dealer.”
“So?”
“Don’t you see?” she gestured with a free hand, the other holding a blanket around her body. “Gallus learned Chulainn and Bodvac were friends. Through the freedman he made an agreement if he and Chulainn killed you, they would be released and return to Britannia.”
“Knowing Gallus, he would have murdered them instead. What else?”
“He said if he had known it was you who had avenged his family, he would have refused to have any part of the plan. He wanted to return to Britannia. He’s dying of homesickness—can you blame him? He won’t try anything again, he promises.”
“Rubbish!”
“It’s the custom of our people,” she said impatiently, “to remain loyal to those who have returned our honor and avenged the deaths of our loved ones. No, Marcellus, he is—was—one of my people. He recognizes me as the true queen and ruler of the Regni, not that it means anything now,” she added in a bitter tone. “But I promise he will never attempt anything like this again.”
I considered Eleyne’s sentiments and mine. If I allowed Chulainn to live, what would stop him from making another attempt on our lives? Wouldn’t he kill Eleyne? Didn’t he consider her a traitor for marrying a Roman?
“This is against my better judgment,” I answered after a moment, “because I don’t tolerate assassins under my roof, but for your sake, I will spare him.”
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