The Wedding Shroud - A Tale of Ancient Rome (43 page)

‘I could not bear to watch her self-destruction. I repeated my mistake. I forbade her to drink her brew. She told me she hated me. I told her I felt the same. She cursed me.’

His voice was flat and hard and empty. ‘But stopping the potion only made it worse. As the Zeri seeped from her pores, she’d stumble, unable to clearly see walls and furniture. Doubled up with pain, she screamed that the god of the forest was watching her, an evil omen before labour. The crying and moaning and writhing were ceaseless. As was the pleading. I was weak. I could not bear it. I let her have the Zeri. Thirsty for its peace, she nearly choked as she hastened to swallow it.’

Mastarna sat down beside Caecilia, avoiding her gaze. ‘Vel was born two moons early. One hour only, and then his mere quiver of a heartbeat ceased. I knew then that we were damned.’

His voice was a monotone, the spaces between his words quiet gaps which sorrow filled. ‘My son was so small I could hold him in my palm; the promise of a dynasty with which Nortia had taken from me.’ He cradled his head between his hands. ‘Vel had no eyes and his mouth was cleaved in two. It was a blessing that Seianta died before she saw him.’

Caecilia took his hand. It was cold, colder than a winter’s night should have painted it.

Mastarna still could not face her. ‘I adorned her body with a necklace of sea shells and pearls together with a bouquet of blue wildflowers which grow beside the road to her home city.

‘Artile was remorseless. “Bow before me, brother. Succeed where your wife failed. Take the sacraments of the Calu Cult. Save Seianta and your children. Save yourself.” But my pride and hatred would not let me. Not wanting Aita’s blood-filled salvation I turned instead to Fufluns and prayed my family would be reborn.’

Raising his head to look at her, he squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt. ‘But doubt lingers, doesn’t it—like smoke that stays in the weave of cloth long after you’ve left the fireside. What if Artile was right?  I began taunting Fate so that I might die and share their torment. But Nortia mocked me by keeping me alive.’

Suddenly the silence that fell between them was interrupted by drunken revellers spilling out from the heat and smoke of the banquet hall into the fresh cold air. Their laughter and carousing was somehow shocking after listening to his tragic story. Some stumbled into the arcade but Arruns soon chased them back into the garden.

Caecilia took off the tebenna and wrapped it around both of them. ‘After today I only believe in the afterlife of my people. Your family are with the Shades, Mastarna. They are at peace.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that I no longer wish to tease Fate. I saw how Artile looked at you today, how you sought his counsel in the sepulchre. I do not accuse my brother lightly, Bellatrix. He is like a lover, possessive as he is greedy. Greedy for the pain he can inflict on me by absconding with your soul. When you knelt before him in the tomb I felt as if I was dying.’

Caecilia laced her fingers through his. ‘Artile doesn’t possess my soul. You do.’

Mastarna smiled before growing serious again. He cupped her chin with his fingers. ‘Now do you understand why I didn’t tell you about Vel? I didn’t want you to be afraid. But I believe that our child will not be born from despair, Caecilia. That was Seianta’s and my curse alone.’

Finally believing that she could be as strong as the Tarquinian girl, Caecilia kissed him gently. ‘I know we will have a son.’

Mastarna smiled again. ‘I thought I would be safe if I married an Aemilian. I did not think I could fall in love with a Roman.’

In the wintry night, their words were punctuated by a frosty hush. Touching his mouth with her fingers Caecilia traced the chill thread of his breath. ‘See, you are far from dying.’

He kissed the inside of her wrist. ‘And do you no longer love your Drusus?’

Caecilia blinked in surprise, suddenly aware that he’d been jealous of a memory while she had envied a ghost.

She shook her head, then, taking a deep breath, lay back upon the bench, untying the sash around her waist and drawing up the sides of her gown—wanting to prove to him that she could be Veientane after all. Mastarna raised his eyebrows as she tugged at his robes, too. As he slid his cool hands, brown upon pale flesh, under the warmth of her clothes, caressing the curves of inner thigh, belly and breasts, she shivered as the cool air brushed her skin. His body was smooth and hard against hers as he eased within her, rocking slowly, her moans low and deep, then urgent, louder as their rhythm grew faster.

The cursing of a servant bustling along the passageway startled her, making her remember the risk, realising that the guests were watching. Panicking, she tried to stifle Mastarna’s groans, placing her hand across his mouth, but he merely kissed her fingers.

Arruns was watching, too, his face impassive as his eyes traversed their union, taking in every detail. The scrutiny of the loathsome man heightened her anxiety and she fought to free herself from Mastarna’s arms.

‘Forget them,’ he said softly, but loosened his embrace so she could break free. She glanced towards Arruns again but he had turned his back to them, gesturing the servants and onlookers away. As ever, standing guard.

‘See only me,’ Mastarna urged.

Caecilia was not sure if she could. She could not bear to gaze once again upon a ghost, but in the dimness his eyes beheld only her.

Behind the vines.

Beneath the reed.

Glossary

Cast of Characters

Caecilia peeled back her deceit as one peels the layers of an onion, not cleanly as with a knife but messily as when fingers are used and tears are ensured.

An acolyte was sweeping the workroom when she arrived at the family sanctuary. It was cold, draughty, the brazier fire making little difference. On the threshold of spring, the novelty of fresh snow had passed; Caecilia was impatient to scrape the ice from the doorstep and the mud from her boots.

In the days following the funeral she had avoided Artile, knowing he would be tallying each day she’d not attended the sanctuary, recording her infractions.

To her surprise, she found him untidy, the black paint on his fingernails chipped and his hair uncombed, evidence of the toll his mother’s death had taken on him. She expected harsh words when she told him she’d renounced the Calu Cult; instead, the haruspex responded with the coldness that Mastarna so fostered and which made the two brothers more alike than they would ever admit.

‘Are you so easily convinced by your husband that I am wrong? A man who must cling to Fufluns’ religion to salve his conscience when it suits him?’

‘It is my choice to return to the ways of my own father. I am content to join the Shades.’

Caecilia drew her palla about her and shifted closer to the brazier, still confused as to the priest’s part in Seianta’s story. ‘Why did you give her so much Zeri?’

Instead of replying, the haruspex called for the incense to be lit, the scent and light stirring a response within her, the comfort of routine.

He rubbed one eye, smearing the kohl around it. ‘What has he said, sister? That I caused her death?’ His tone was weary. ‘Do you believe that Seianta had no choice but to guzzle the elixir as a child slurps milk? My brother was the one who caused Seianta hurt. She was a believer and he denied her worship. It was misery that made her take too much Zeri, but it was Mastarna who killed her.’

He was spinning a spider web between them, expecting her to be ensnared.

‘After Velia’s birth, Seianta’s womb was slack from delivering both dead and living babies,’ he continued. ‘They were counselled that she would die if she gave birth to another infant.’

The priest moved closer. She could smell the familiar bay leaves on his breath.

‘Mastarna was desperate for an heir, knowing Seianta’s longing would overcome prudence. He betrayed her in continuing to lie with her. In the gamble to have a son, he risked his wife’s life.’

Caecilia turned to the fire, the acrid smoke making her cough. In that moment she hated the priest for picking at her feelings for her husband.

‘He is still desperate for a child, sister. So don’t believe him when he talks of love. It is the children you will bear that he desires.’

He took Caecilia’s hand; his own was cool, soft, soothing against the heat of her skin. ‘Children who could be disfigured and cursed until you bear a healthy son.’

The girl took a deep breath, determined not to heed him. ‘Mastarna and I share the same prophecy. We are destined to have living heirs.’

He sighed. ‘Time will only tell. Do you want to take that risk?’

Caecilia met his gaze defiantly, showing him the doubts he’d seeded were gone. Her husband was laying claim over the territory where his brother previously reigned, asking her to accept fate instead of deferring it. Making her believe she could, at last, accept living in Veii forever. Encouraging her that it was time to worship at his hearth alone. It was time for fear to be banished. It was time to conceive their son. Mastarna had convinced her that, together, they could love every child that was born to them and face either sorrow or elation.

‘I am prepared to accept my fate,’ she said, aware that her hands were shaking slightly, the pull of the Zeri hard to shift.

Artile stared at the tremor in her hands. ‘Ah, sister, what about my gift? Do you think you would be stronger than Seianta if you cease your worship?’

The sticky thread of his web clung to her. Her supply of Zeri was nearly empty. Even with the tale of Seianta’s torment, the elixir called to her. ‘Why did you give it to me and not to other believers?’

Artile held out a tiny vial. ‘Because I only give it to those who are in need. I do not like to see anyone in pain, sister. Not Ati, not Seianta, not you.’

Caecilia’s hand hovered over the alabastron knowing it would fit snugly in her palm.

Hating him for his power, telling herself to be strong.

*

Standing on the Arx, Caecilia leaned against the fine squared masonry of its wall. Beside her, Tarchon craned over the side, but the girl could not bring herself to peer down the vertical plunge to the ravine. The wind blew fiercely up the sweep of the citadel, chilling her cheeks and reddening her nose. She licked her lips to fend off dryness as her silver earrings burned her earlobes with cold.

‘I am freezing,’ she said, regretting her suggestion of climbing up there, but she needed a place away from prying eyes and ears. She needed to ask Tarchon a favour.

‘I need some Zeri,’ she said, taking a deep breath of cold crisp air.

Tarchon stopped rubbing his hands together to keep warm. ‘Why would you need such a potion?’

‘Because I can no longer ask Artile for it.’ The wind whisked away half of her words, but she knew Tarchon’s hesitation was not because he’d failed to hear her.

‘What happened to the Roman who would not sip wine?’ His voice was soft with disappointment.

‘Don’t lecture me. Your teeth are always stained with Catha. You spend your nights in thrall to one elixir or another.’

‘Yes, but I don’t sup on Zeri behind Mastarna’s back. The drug that killed his first wife.’

‘Artile said it was a sacrament.’

The youth frowned, pushing away from the wall.  ‘Nevertheless, you should not have taken it.’

Caecilia stiffened, galled that a molles should tell a Roman her duty. It was not easy to admit her failing, but ceasing to kneel before Artile did not cure her craving. She wanted to stop but she could only do so slowly. A little less each time.

Tarchon’s tone was angry. ‘Do you know Seianta’s story?’

She nodded.

‘Then forget the Zeri. Artile should never have given it to you.’

Here was another confusion. Wasn’t he Artile’s lover? ‘You speak against him?’

‘No matter what you may think, the haruspex doesn’t own me. He is a man like any other, and feels jealousy and pain just as you do. The trouble is that in hating Mastarna so fiercely he forgets that he hurts others, too.’

‘So he preached to me only to injure my husband?’

‘Don’t misunderstand me. He is no fraud—and, no matter what Mastarna says, he is kind. And so, if he dispensed the Zeri then he did it because he saw your need. But understand that he requires complete devotion and does not brook disobedience. He is angry that you ceased worshipping the Calu Cult. Just as he was disappointed with Seianta. He thinks you have betrayed him.’

‘And yet he has not revealed my addiction to Mastarna.’

Tarchon sighed. ‘You’re so naïve. If Mastarna finds Artile is feeding Zeri to another of his wives he would kill him.’

His words were like the wormwood tonic Aurelia used to dole out, given for her benefit but having a nasty taste. She had seen Artile’s discretion as a sign of allegiance; instead, it was for self-preservation. His deception scalded her just as her aunt’s noxious medicine burned her throat.

‘What should I do?’

‘I do not want to see you damned. You must follow the Calu Cult but not drink the Zeri.’