Although he had put his foot down in Abersford, two issues remained. Since Maera was unaware of the honeymoon plans, he procrastinated about informing her. As for where to go, the only viable option was his retreat cottage down the coast. However, his going to the cottage for a few days was a different proposition than taking Maera there for two sixdays. Naturally, Elian was aghast at the idea, Cadwulf thought him crazy, Carnigan shrugged as if to say, “What do you expect from Yozef?” and Sistian was dubious at best. In a distinct minority was Diera, who volunteered herself, Cadwulf, and the Faughns to reassure Yozef they would take care of everything and the cottage would be ready. It was a testament to Yozef’s faith in Diera, or his distracted state of mind, that he took her word and promptly put the entire issue in the “over and done” category.
In a sixday, Yozef caught up with his workers and left in capable hands plans to receive the newly married couple. Yozef and Carnigan returned to Caernford.
Chapter 20: Wedding
The last sixday before the marriage Yozef spent as a gofer. Go to a Caernford shop to deliver an order. Go back to Caernford to pick up the order. Go with Maera to visit aunts and uncles. Go with Culich to a meeting with several boyermen. Go back to Caernford to pick up what had been forgotten on the last trip. Go, go, go. As little as he physically did, every evening he fell into bed exhausted and marveled at Maera and Breda, who both seemed indefatigable.
What frustrated Yozef was spending so little time alone with Maera. Not that she avoided him, only that she was constantly busy. Seldom in the sixday were they alone long enough for a serious talk. They found seconds for a furtive kiss or deeper, lingering ones when briefly alone. On too few occasions, there were minutes with embraces and, for Yozef, opportunities for tentative wandering hands. Maera caught her breath and stiffened the first time a hand moved from her back to below her waist. By the third occasion, she tightened her embrace, and he imagined a sigh. That was as far as she allowed his hands. Wandering to her breasts brought entreaties for patience until they wed.
Four days before the wedding, he also experienced a facet of Maera he’d heard of but never witnessed—anger. He sat on the manor’s front veranda, waiting for his next assignment, when an angry woman’s voice was audible coming from inside the manor, despite its thick walls. The voice got louder, overlaid with a placating second one, when Yozef recognized Maera and Breda.
Suddenly, the manor’s double front doors flung open, and Maera flew out and stood at the top of the steps, her arms stiff at her sides, one hand holding a piece of paper. “Damn Brym Moreland to eternal flames! That piece of shit defiles the very ground he walks on! Forgive me, God, but please let him choke to death on the next bite he takes!”
She turned and stomped to the other end of the veranda, spewing a stream of invectives. Yozef had heard versions of most. It was impressive, especially when he no longer understood Caedelli words and assumed she’d switched to other languages. At the corner, she stopped walking and yelling, staring upward. Yozef shifted in his seat, tempted to go to her, but not certain he wanted to get in the path of whatever had riled his prospective bride. Finally, she turned back, walking normally, arms crossed in front, the paper crumpled in one hand. She was halfway back to the manor door when she saw him watching. She froze and clamped one hand over her mouth and pressed the one with the paper against her throat.
Maera walked toward him as he rose, then halted just out of arm’s reach. “Oh, Yozef. You shouldn’t have seen me in this state, though I suppose it’s only fair you realize I have a temper. It’s just—”
She choked on the next words, and Yozef went to her and pulled her into an embrace.
“What is it, Maera?”
“It’s Ana. My best friend. Her father’s refused permission for her to come to our wedding! She was packed and ready to leave when that sh—” She choked again, trying to regain control.
She slowly relaxed in his arms. “I’m sorry, Maera, I know how much Ana means to you. Isn’t there anything we can do? What about your father making a hetman-to-hetman request to Hetman Moreland? Ana’s father is a cousin or something, and maybe he’d relent if their hetman got involved.”
Maera pulled back to look up at Yozef, sad-faced with moist eyes. “Father’d be mortified to ask anything of Gynfor Moreland, although he’d do it if I asked. But it’s too late. If Father made the request, it’d have to be a formal letter and not a semaphore message. Father would have to write, get it to Gynfor Moreland, who might not agree, and even if he did, the Moreland hetman would have to order Brym to let Ana come. By now, there’s no time for all this and her to get here in time.”
Maera sat in a veranda chair, hands clasped in her lap, and shook her head. “It never occurred me to that Ana wouldn’t be here. We’ve always talked about being at each other’s weddings, and now ...”
Yozef knelt by the chair and put a hand on Maera’s hands. “I wish there was something I could do.”
Maera’s anger had subsided, replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I don’t usually lose control.”
“Nonsense. Everyone gets mad occasionally. We wouldn’t be human otherwise. And in this case, I certainly understand.” Yozef paused as an idea occurred. “What about this? If Ana can’t come to the wedding, what if we plan to visit her in Moreland? It may not be for a few months, but then there’s time to arrange the trip and figure out how to get around Ana’s father, even if we have to get the hetmen involved.”
Maera perked up, her eyes flashing, and she grabbed his forearm with both hands. “Oh, Yozef. Yes, let’s do that. Or better yet, work to arrange her coming here for an extended visit. As much as he’d hate to ask it, I’m sure Father would help.”
It was the longest exchange Yozef and Maera had had in several days or from then until the wedding. The last three days Yozef didn’t see Maera at all, according to Caedellium ancient custom, until the moment of the ceremony.
Maera was ravishing in a shimmering gown of multiple shades of green, the traditional bride color to signify fertility, with her long brown hair gathered within a fine netting embellished with pearls. A garland of white flowers encircled her head. She looked pale and flushed at the same time or perhaps at alternate moments.
Yozef wore a plain jacket and pants of dark olive green, the jacket buttoned to his neck. He obsessively trimmed his beard until Carnigan took away the scissors, made a final snip of his hair, and then refused to give back the scissors. “For God’s sake, Yozef, you look fine! I swear, you’re more nervous than a bride.”
The service began at noon, with the sun straight up in the blue Anyar sky, a deeper robin’s egg blue than on Earth. The formal vows took place in a grove of trees on the hetman’s manor grounds. Sistian and Diera had traveled from St. Sidryn’s, and he presided at the traditional ceremony.
Culich presented the bride and Carnigan the groom, both of them asserting to the good character of whom they represented. When the moment came for Sistian to ask if anyone objected to the marriage, the only sounds were leaves rustling in the trees and a distant dog bark, as if anyone dared object after the clan hetman and a scowling mountain had vouched for the couple.
The ceremony itself lasted only fifteen minutes, more than compensated for by the following festivities, which included the reception for hundreds of guests from throughout the province. Then, a procession of family and guests moved to tables set up under more trees, followed by endless food and drink, musicians, and speeches.
God, do Caedelli love to give speeches.
Yozef remembered reading how, before mass media, American political rallies could last hours per speaker. Here, individual presentations were shorter, but all of them combined seemed to go on forever: Culich Keelan welcomed guests, Breda Keelan welcomed guests and enjoined them to drink responsibly, and the mayor of Caernford, the abbot of St. Tomo’s abbey, and men and women of whose identity Yozef had no idea gave speeches. Abbot Sistian gave
a sanitized version of how Yozef came to Caedellium. Anid Keelan extolled her older sister’s virtues and shared a humorous anecdote about her. Maera summarized her life and meeting Yozef. Then finally . . . thank God, he thought . . . it was his turn.
He had a sheet of paper with notes on both sides. Culich, Breda, Sistian, and, most important, Cadwulf and Maera, all had emphasized to him what the guests expected him to say—something about his life and where he had originated. The “History of Yozef” notes were copied from the script he kept for any occasion to maintain a consistent story.
Yozef and Maera sat on a raised platform, flanked by her parents and an obviously uncomfortable Carnigan, who relaxed only after his fifth or sixth stein of beer. Yozef ate sparingly of each course, while Maera ate next to nothing. Yozef downed one stein of beer rapidly, and, when offered a second, Maera declined for him, to the merriment of nearby guests.
“Surrender now, Yozef. Your days of making decisions are over.”
“That’s Maera. Being sure Yozef can do his duty.”
“Not too much and falling asleep, Yozef. Maera has something for you to do later tonight.”
At last, two hours past sundown, the mistress of ceremonies, an elderly sister of Culich, announced the time for the newly wedded couple to withdraw to consummate their marriage. By now, Yozef thought he was accustomed to the ribald nature of many Caedelli but was still taken aback. The aunt was reasonably decorous, but as the couple walked out, side by side, relatives voiced advice. Maera’s fourteen-year-old sister, Anid, hugged her, and Yozef heard her say, “Everyone says, Oh, Maera won’t let out a peep the first time, so I’ve gotten good odds and have bet you will. Be a good sister and don’t let me down.” To which Maera blushed and shook her head at the young sister, who gave Maera another hug and kiss on the cheek. Then a female cousin called out, “Remember, lie on your back and spread your legs.” To which Maera responded, “Oh, thank you, Ioneid, I appreciate advice from someone who’s had so much practice.” Maera’s riposte garnered loud laughs from all within hearing range, including Ioneid.
Not that Yozef went unscathed. One of the male cousins called out to him as they passed, “You remember, too, Yozef. In, out, repeat if necessary.” Another unnamed voice, “Let us know if you have trouble catching her!” To which another followed up, “If you do catch her and need directions, I’ve sure Maera will give you detailed instructions.”
They finally made it to a two-story cottage decorated with flowers and colorful banners, the structure located behind the main house. He held Maera’s hand as they crossed over the threshold, and Maera whispered, “Wave, Yozef.” He followed her lead, they turned together, waved at the hundred or more who had followed them from the main festive area, then went into the room lit by candles, and Yozef shut the door. They could still hear the people outside offering suggestions, talking to one another, and keeping up a continuous patter. Maera climbed the narrow stairs, and he followed to a second-floor bedroom with a balcony. A score of freshly lit candles gave a yellowish cast to the room. The clamor outside picked up with banging pots and several drums.
“How long are they going to keep this up?”
Maera smiled wanly. “Some will go back to the festivities. Most of the younger ones will stay to wait for proof.”
“Proof? What kind of proof?”
Even in the candlelight, he could tell her face reddened. She continued looking around the room . . . not looking at Yozef.
“Proof that we have consummated the marriage,” she said in a small voice—one Yozef hadn’t heard before from Maera.
“I have a feeling I’ll regret asking, but what exactly’s the proof they’re waiting for?”
Maera didn’t respond for a few moments, which made Yozef more nervous. Then, “First would be to hear me scream. The first time is known to be painful for the woman. As her husband penetrates her, a scream is expected to show she’s a virgin.”
Yozef swallowed. “And this is customarily expected from the bride?”
Maera nodded, finally looking at Yozef. He had wondered. As strong-willed as Maera was and from a different lifestyle and responsibilities than most Caedellium women, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had had affairs in the past, certainly discreetly. Evidently not . . . she was a virgin.
“It doesn’t necessarily have to hurt that much. We can take our time, and I’ll be careful as I can be.” He wanted to reach out to hold her, though now he was also nervous.
“We can’t take too much time. Those outside will wait for their proof, and I’ve seen them get pretty aggressive if it doesn’t come fairly soon.”
“What if the bride doesn’t scream? And are all Caedellium brides virgins?”
Maera laughed ruefully. “Hardly, but the custom is what it is. Even if there is no pain, the bride will pretend there is and yell out to satisfy those waiting to hear. They’ll then cheer and wait again for the last proof.”
“Now I know I don’t want to ask . . . what’s the last proof?”
Maera motioned with her right hand to the bed festooned in colorful ribbons on the four posts at the bed corners and the simple white cloth covering the bed. “Blood of the bride will show she was virgin. If she wasn’t, they’ll draw enough blood to put on the cloth, which is hung from a window or a balcony as soon as consummation is complete.”
Yozef was silent. He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. “I see . . . ,” was all he could manage. Finally, “And this is the custom for all Caedellium marriages?”
“With some variation in different clans and position in society, yes. It’s not always followed with the lower classes.” Her tone changed from expositing on something embarrassing to a firmer one implying duty. “I’m the daughter of the Keelan hetman. The custom is more important here, since I’m part of the primary family of Keelan. Father and Mother have no sons, so a son of their daughters will be the next hetman. Since I’m the oldest, and, let’s be honest, because of my reputation in the Keelan Clan, most people expect me to produce strong sons worthy of being a hetman. All the Keelan daughters are expected to be untouched at marriage to ensure claims to succession and prevent conspiracies when Father dies.”
“Is that likely? My impression is your family’s well regarded by the people.”
“They are, and conflicts are unlikely, but who can say once the time comes? To be sure, my sisters and I were taught our duty from the earliest age.
“I should tell you we’re fortunate only this part of the custom has remained. In older times, the consummation of a hetman’s daughter’s marriage would have multiple witnesses to attest to the bride’s virginity.”
Yozef tried and failed to envision himself performing on the wedding bed with an audience. He stayed silent for a minute, while he shifted through pieces of Caedellium culture.
“Maera . . . wife . . . ,” he said softly. “You know the customs of my people are different. However, I’m here, and I know we must follow your customs. I have to say that all of this makes me uneasy. Since you’re a virgin, I want to be careful, especially this first night, both not to hurt you and because I care for you. This is a little too ‘formal.’”
Maera smiled resignedly. “I’m afraid tonight it is formal, as you say. I know you’re a gentle man. I would never have proposed the marriage otherwise. You’re also a thoughtful man, more so than anyone I’ve ever met, except possibly a few medicants or theophists or perhaps my great-grandfather, who died when I was ten. I think our marriage will be good, and I expect to see that gentleness from you in the future. That’s not today, though. Today we must do our duty.”
He sighed. “So what do we do?”
Maera walked to the bed, stepped out of her embroidered slipper-like shoes, and set the flower garland on her head on the table next to the bed. She removed pins from her hair and pulled away the pearl-and-thread netting to let her hair fall down her back. With her back to him, she slipped off the shoulders of her wedding dress and let the cloth fall to her
feet.
As much as Yozef wanted this night to be good for Maera, he hadn’t been with a woman for many months. When it came time to start the procession to the wedding cottage, stirrings in his groin had begun, and he had had to force his attention into innocuous paths to avoid a premature erection. Now, seeing her naked form standing beside the bed, that restraint was nigh impossible. She was slender, with a definite feminine form, long dark brown hair flowing two-thirds down her bare back, her narrow waist flaring out to firm hips, lower legs with downy hairs, and bare feet.
She turned to face him, her expression calm, nervous, determined, and warm to him, all at the same time. “Come, husband. This is only our first night. Let us do what’s necessary. I believe our real marriage will come after today. Today is for duty to my clan and family.”
She smiled as her eyes moved down from his face. “I see that we won’t have to worry about your being able to perform your duty.”
His efforts to restrain his physiology had lapsed, and an erection pushed against his trousers.
Maera lay on the bed, her head on a single pillow, and motioned for him to come to her.
Emotions rolled over Yozef: anticipation of this moment with his new wife, reluctance at the cold calculations of the event, aversion to the thought of simply and quickly mounting her, and . . . lust. The battle over emotions raged briefly, and he later cringed as the last emotion triumphed. It took seconds to shed his clothes, his manhood standing before him.
Maera took him all in, especially the proof of his readiness to consummate the marriage. She swallowed at the sight and, with a firm set to her lips, held out her arms, drew her knees up, and opened her legs. “Come, husband. I’m your wife, and it’s time we prove it to the world.” She looked away from him, pointing to a bowl on a stand next to the bed. “Mother says it may be easier if you use the scented olive oil.”
The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) Page 24
