An augur moved forward from the men who accompanied him and recited the words, making the betrothal official.
The ring weighed heavy on her finger, but Lydia made no attempt to pull away.
Aro bent his head and his lips brushed hers for the traditional betrothal kiss, the acceptance that he would now have rights over her body. The touch was feather-like, but it did strange things to her insides, made her wonder what would it be like to be kissed for real by this man. She risked a glance upwards and saw that his gaze fastened strictly ahead on the augur, not her.
Then with a few more words from the augur, the ceremony was over. Her father turned his back and disappeared into the dining room again. Shouts and laughter drifted out on the evening breeze.
Lydia regarded her left hand and the iron and gold that now encircled her fourth finger. Her arra, the symbol of the money Aro had paid for her. This was no midnight fancy brought by Furies. The weight of the ring made it a reality. She had started off down a path and had no idea where the end might be.
‘And what day has the augur set for the ceremony?’ she asked around the lump in her throat.
‘Tomorrow afternoon. The auspices are good.’ He lifted an eyebrow in surprise as if she should know the answer. ‘I have little time and need to attend to the loading of cargo in the morning.’
‘So soon?’ Lydia’s knees threatened to give way. She had thought she’d have some time to prepare herself for the marriage, perhaps even buy the time her father needed to find the gold. She should have known her father’s escape from the house had hidden meanings. Why hadn’t he warned her? She looked up into Aro’s face. ‘Tomorrow is tomorrow.’
‘Your father agreed.’ There was no softening of his features. The planes of his face were hard, and his eyes reflected the golden light of the oil lamp. ‘The estate in northern Italy is to be your dowry.’
‘It was my mother’s.’
He laid a hand on her upper arm and heat radiated from it, filling her icy-cold body with warmth. It bothered Lydia that she should desire his touch. His thumb stroked along the line of her jaw, sending tingles throughout her body. His amber eyes held a thoughtful expression.
‘You need not worry. My fortune is vast enough that I won’t pilfer your dowry. You will be able to bequeath it to our children.’
Lydia stared at Aro, uncomprehending for a heartbeat.
‘I had never considered children.’ Lydia strove for a calm voice. Children? She had never even thought about the possibility. The very idea made her throat tighten. He meant this to be a marriage in the fullest sense.
‘Those are my terms.’ The warmth in his eyes disappeared. He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Unless, of course, you have the gold to pay for my Falerian wine.’
‘I…I…’
‘Why did you offer to marry me, Lydia?’ His voice was low, lazy and flowed over her like warm honey. ‘Your father did not wish it.’
‘There was no other solution. I sold the wine and used the gold.’ Lydia spoke to his sandals. How could she explain her impulse? How could this sea captain, who was little better than a pirate, understand her need to protect her family’s honour? ‘I had to do something.’
‘You intended it to be a ploy, didn’t you?’ His fingers gripped her chin, forced her face upwards so the full glare of his golden eyes could search her face. ‘Something to buy your father time to raise the gold. Many men have tried to cheat me and have failed.’
‘I don’t shy away from my responsibilities. I have given my word. It is simply that I had expected more time. It takes days to get the bridal clothes ready.’ The excuse sounded weak and feeble to her ears.
‘You were married before, your father informs me,’ he said. Gone was the gentle persuasion, and in its place an uncompromising tone. ‘Your bridal clothes are packed in a trunk, or so your father says. There is no reason that your father knows of why we cannot be married immediately.’
‘My father has told you many things.’ Lydia plucked at the skirt of her gown. They must have discussed the date during the negotiations. She wished she had chosen a less obvious reason. A betrothal could be broken without too much difficulty, but a marriage—that was something else again.
Her mind refused to work. She had run out of excuses. This man appeared to have out-manoeuvred her every step of the way. She’d have to agree and throw herself on the mercy of the gods—not that they had shown any mercy so far.
‘I will make you a good wife, Fabius Aro. I will abide by our bargain.’
His eyes travelled up and down her gown, lingering on the swell of her breasts. The heat in Lydia’s cheek grew. His lips drew upwards. ‘Yes, Lydia. You will.’
Chapter Four
L ydia’s hand touched the unfamiliar weight of her bridal headdress. It was hard to think that the Vestal Virgins wore the six padded hairpieces every day of their lives. The weight made her headache worse as she left the temple of Venus and started back towards her father’s house. She had lingered as long as she dared at the temple, asking the goddess for her blessing on her future and the impending wedding, but secretly hoping for a miracle, a solution to their problem.
The goddess remained silent.
Last night her dreams had been filled with men who had turned into snarling ravenous wolves and back again. And gold spilling from wine amphorae, but, whenever she tried to touch it, it vanished. Her hair plastered to her forehead, sheets damp with sweat, she had woken to the chorus of cockerels crowing.
Dawn on her wedding morning. The whole house bustled with activity and she had not been able to draw a breath. Everyone had a question or a problem she had to solve. Then her father appeared, accusing her of being late for the procession to the temple.
The metal collar felt sticky around her neck and the veil of flaming orange kept blowing into her mouth. The scent of sweet verbena and myrtle from the bridal wreath did nothing to calm her nerves. She paid no attention to the curious gazes of the onlookers, but kept her eyes demurely downwards as befitted a bride of the Veratii. She would not give any cause to gossip about her in the Forum or to speak against the family.
She could do this. She tried to tell herself it was no different than when she married Titus, but she knew she lied. Then, she had faced the marriage with, if not happiness, at least contentment. She had known Titus since childhood. Even then, after the marriage, for those few days they were together before he left on that ill-fated voyage with her father, he changed, became proud and autocratic, instead of the submissive boy she had bossed about when they were growing up.
Her fingers twisted the iron-and-gold ring that encircled the fourth finger of her left hand.
Fabius Aro was something else entirely, if Sulpicia’s lurid tales were to be believed. How he battled Neptune’s fury and won. How even the sea obeyed him for fear of his temper. If Titus had become arrogant and disregarded her counsel, she hated to think what Aro would be, what he already was.
But Titus’s touch had never made her feel alive in the same way as Aro’s had last might. The memory of his mouth touching her lips last night and the gentle pressure of his arms sent a pulse of warmth through her.
She stumbled on a cobblestone and her father’s firm grip on her elbow tightened, guiding her towards the smoother part of the street.
‘Child, I hope you will remember me and your former home,’ her father said in a quavering voice as they approached the villa. ‘Visit me when your husband permits. Keep our family business our own. Promise that.’
‘I promise.’
‘Thank you, my daughter.’ He pressed her hand to his withered cheek, held it there. A glimmer of tears shone in his eyes. ‘You will always be a true daughter of my house.’
The back of Lydia’s neck prickled.
What exactly was her father hinting at? What hadn’t he told her? How like her father to make a seemingly casual remark and expect her to continue on as if nothing had happened.
She had to know the whole truth.<
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‘Father, I am marrying sine manu,’ she said, with an uneasy laugh. ‘You will retain legal control over me. I will be able to visit whenever I wish and I will wish to do so often, have no fear of that. Aro will have no say over me.’
‘Hush, child. Do not make much of a little thing. I have no doubt your new husband will be a reasonable man. He does want the connection to the Veratii after all.’
Veratius Cornelius patted her arm, but his eyes sidled away from her. Lydia bit her lip. Her father had not answered the question. Her father and her brother shared the trait of wishing to avoid any unpleasantness. She had lost track of the times she had sorted out creditors simply because one or the other had been unavailable. Was this another one of those times?
‘Father, what do you mean—my husband is a reasonable man?’ Her voice trembled on the last word.
‘This is no time for such talk, child. See, your bridegroom and his entourage arrives. Show me, you of Veratii blood, how we rise above such things.’
She looked where her father pointed. Her breath caught in her throat. She had expected Fabius Aro to wear a tunic again, but he was dressed in a toga of such fine linen that it could be netting as it moulded to his muscular body, accentuating rather than concealing. The brilliant white highlighted his golden skin, his black hair and his unfathomable eyes, which seemed to be flecked golden. A wolf was a good description for him. Powerful and untamed.
He strode towards them, flanked by his witnesses, four of whom were white-haired senators, resplendent in the togas with broad purple stripes around the hems. Lydia stared, open-mouthed for a heartbeat, and then snapped her lips together.
She watched her father puff with pride as he glimpsed the men. He dropped her arm and hurried to greet them.
‘Forgive the lateness, Fabius Aro.’ Her father made a sketch of a bow. ‘You know how these women will dawdle at Venus’s temple. My daughter wanted to make one more sacrifice.’
‘The wait was worth it.’ His eyes held more gold flecks than ever. ‘The bride brings joy to us all.’
The heat rose on Lydia’s cheeks as she echoed her father’s words of welcome. Her hand tingled in remembrance of the brief brush of his lips. A mutual attraction was a pleasant addition to a marriage, or so her old nurse used say with great solemnity.
The very thought acted like icy water. This was not a marriage of two hearts, the sort of marriage her parents had enjoyed. This was a political marriage, one which she had entered to save her father’s dignity. One she’d stay in as long as her father deemed it necessary and not a drip on the water-clock longer. She would remain as she always had been—a dutiful daughter.
‘Shall we get the ceremony started?’ she asked, keeping her voice cool, and her gaze away from Aro. Emotion would have no place in this marriage. It was a simple business transaction. A wife instead of wine. ‘There is little point in delaying the ceremony if everyone has arrived. Where is the auspex?’
‘He travelled with my party.’ Aro indicated a tall thin man dressed in priestly robes. ‘His predictions are generally considered accurate.’
A murmuring of agreement rose from the assembled senators as the priest came forward. Lydia saw her father readjust his toga and stand straighter. His face took the expression he saved for consuls or people’s tribunes, men he considered his equals.
‘The atrium is the best place for the ceremony, away from the public view. We are beginning to gather a crowd.’ Her father licked his lips. ‘It has been a long time since I have welcomed such a distinguished priest into the house.’
‘Lydia,’ Sulpicia whispered as Lydia was escorted into the atrium, and the large gate to the compound banged shut, ‘how did Fabius Aro achieve it? That man is the assistant to the Pontifax Maximus. It is almost as if you are to be married with the conferreatio, almost as if it were a completely patrician marriage.’
‘Money can buy many things, Sulpicia,’ Lydia replied with an ease she did not feel. She watched Sulpicia flush slightly, and then hurry over to the auspex.
Lydia drew a deep breath and tried to contain the war elephants that had taken up residence in her stomach. The choice of this priest and the witnesses gave the impression that this had been planned for a long time.
A pig was led in and the ritual began. Lydia watched with bated breath. Half-hoping, half-fearing the auspex would not find the entrails favourable, and all the while aware of the man standing next to her, his toga brushing her gown. His eyes were straight ahead, his face uncompromising.
As soon as the pig’s entrails were revealed, the auspex proclaimed the omens favourable and the gods well pleased. The marriage could proceed with their blessings. The crowd gave a rousing cheer.
‘You must be pleased, the gods have blessed this marriage,’ she murmured to Aro.
‘Pleased?’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘It was no more than I expected. Some things are too important to be left to chance.’
Lydia’s mouth framed an O and then the witnesses crowded around, preventing her from questioning Aro further.
Just as quickly the contracts were exchanged and the ten seals placed on them, signifying it had been duly witnessed. Lydia peered over her father’s shoulder and saw the Quintus Fabius Aro. Three names. She glanced again at Aro, standing there, hand over his heart, looking for all the world like a senator or a people’s tribune rather than the simple sea captain she knew him to be.
Had she made a mistake? Was there more to this man? Exactly what was his parentage?
All the senators Aro had brought were former sympathisers with Marius, the man who had fought and lost to Sulla, men her father rarely dealt with. Early on in the civil war, he had backed Sulla, and the family fortunes had grown, but her father owed Sulla a life-debt from when they had served as young tribunes. He had never asked for Sulla’s favours.
A sneaking dread filled Lydia. There was more to Quintus Fabius Aro than she had first assumed. This marriage had happened fast, much too fast. She pressed the fingertips of her hands together.
‘Father—’
‘Child, will you not learn to be quiet? You nearly interrupted the auspex.’
Before she had time to question or consider further, the augur started the next and final part of the ceremony, the joining of hands. Lydia tried to ignore the growing pit in her stomach. Her father knew something, something that he wanted to hide from her until the last possible heartbeat.
Lydia shook her head, trying to keep a tight rein on her fear.
This part of the ceremony was all a formality, a vestige of long-ago times. Aro would graciously decline her father’s offer of her hand. She would remain under her father’s control.
It was the way things were. Her earlier fears were products of an over-active imagination. She would conduct herself with the dignity required of a woman from one of the premier families in Rome.
‘I, Lucius Veratius Cornelius, do give my daughter’s, Lydia Veratia’s, hand to you, Quintus Fabius Aro, from this day forth.’
‘I accept the honour you do me.’
Her father placed Lydia’s hand in Aro’s and he took it.
Lydia stared at the warm hand covering hers and back at her father. She noted the small things: the veil blowing against her mouth, the pinch of her sandal strap. Everything and nothing as Fabius Aro completed the ritual. At first she thought she had misheard her father’s words. She had to have. Things like this never happened in today’s Rome. But then she glanced to her left and saw Sulpicia’s shocked expression and knew she hadn’t.
He had done it.
Her father had done the unthinkable.
He had married her to Aro, to the Sea Wolf, cum manu, with hand. And the Sea Wolf had accepted it.
How could he have done such a thing? How could her father let this happen, without telling her, without giving her any opportunity to protest?
She wanted to cry out, to protest, but no sound came from her throat. Already, the auspex was wrapping the cloth around their hands,
instead of placing it over her head. The deed was done. She was no longer one of the Veratii.
All her property, everything ceased to be under her father’s benevolent gaze and belonged to her husband.
There was a collective intake of breath from the onlookers. Her father stood, eyes to the front, no expression on his face. Already he had taken the ritual step backwards, relinquishing control. Her father had known about the type of marriage and had avoided her questioning. He had deceived her as surely as Ulysses deceived the Cyclops.
‘Father,’ she whispered, halting his movement.
‘I had no choice, daughter, but you must trust me and my judgement. I will do what I can.’ Her father’s hand squeezed her elbow before he took a step backwards. ‘Make me proud.’
Aro gave no indication that he had seen anything amiss. His smooth voice recited after the auspex. ‘I pledge to look after your daughter with my life. Ubi tu Lydia Fabia, ego Quintus Fabius Aro.’
‘And now, Lydia,’ the auspex said, his dark gaze piercing her. ‘It is your turn. Repeat after me. Ubi tu…’
Lydia struggled to say the words around the lump in her throat. But she had to, she had no choice. To refuse now would be to shame her father in front of these senators and she was certain Aro would not hesitate to claim the gold they owed him, and the true state of their indebtedness would become known. Aro would be within his rights to insist everything be sold to pay the debt. None of her father’s friends would lift a finger; instead, they would behave in the same manner as carrion crows. They would try to acquire as much as they could as cheaply as possible, while mouthing sympathetic pieties. She had seen the situation played out too many times in recent years.
No, she had no choice at all.
In order to save her father and his reputation, she had to give up being part of her father’s family and become part of her husband’s family. She would not have the right to divorce him, or to leave him. By giving her ‘with hand’, her father had taken away that right.
Sold and Seduced Page 5
