simply walked with the bride to the granite altar that Octavia’s slaves had carried in. An ewe had been slaughtered earlier, so that the augurs could again declare this a favorable day.
“Look at all the people,” Claudia said anxiously.
Patricians from all across Rome had come for the evening’s celebration, and Octavia said, “This is an important marriage. If something were to happen to my brother, who do you think would take his place? Marcellus is still too young.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand, and Agrippa approached the altar with Octavian and Juba at his side. His eight-year-old daughter, Vipsania, stood on his right, looking curiously at the woman who was to become her stepmother.
“She’s lucky,” Julia whispered, noting the direction of my gaze. “Claudia will be good to her.”
The laughter in the atrium grew muted, and senators in their best togas stepped closer to the altar to hear what was being said.
“That’s it?” Alexander asked incredulously. “All of that preparation for this?”
Julia raised her arms and clapped. “It’s done!”
Flute players led the way to the triclinium, where the couches were draped in saffron-dyed fleece to match the bride’s attire. A tall spelt-cake had been decorated with flowers, and as I bent to inhale the fragrance, Livia said merrily, “Soon it will be you.” When I straightened, she called to the old man next to me, “Catullus, have you met Princess Selene?” The deep black of his eyes was masked by a rheumy film, and his hands shook with some ailment of age.
The old senator lowered his cup of wine to smile. “A pleasure.”
“Such a pretty girl, isn’t she? Her mother had four children, and probably could have had more.”
Catullus raised his brows.
“So tell me,” Livia said, “is it true that you are looking for a wife?”
I felt the color drain from my face, and I was too terrified to turn or leave the conversation.
“Yes.” The old man nodded slowly.
“Well, perhaps you would like to spend some time with Selene.”
My heart was beating rapidly in my chest.
Catullus frowned. “Doing what?” he asked cautiously.
“Oh, for now, just discussing a few things,” Livia answered.
“And exactly what would he have to discuss with a child?”
I had never been so thankful to see Juba.
“My gratitude for your concern,” Catullus said swiftly to Livia, “but I believe I am wanted over there.”
Livia watched Catullus leave, then fixed her gaze on me. “You will
“And how do you know she wants to return?” Juba asked.
Livia laughed sharply. “Because I know this one. She would have tried to run away if she didn’t think my husband might return her to Alexandria.”
Octavia appeared as silently as Juba had. “Livia,” she said sweetly, “I hope you’re not taking out your anger on Selene. It’s not her fault my brother has disappeared with Terentilla.”
Livia raised her chin. “He’ll never leave me. Terentilla’s nothing more than a theater-whore.”
“He left Scribonia,” Octavia reminded her.
“Because
“What?” Octavia asked. “A patrician name? Do you think he needs that now?”
“I remember a letter once,” Livia said pensively. “I believe it was from Marc Antony, calling your grandfather a freedman and a rope-maker from the town of Thurii. Do you really think that without my family the senators will sit quietly—just sit—while the descendant of a rope-maker makes laws for them?”
I recalled my father calling Octavian “Thurinus” once, and now I understood.
But Octavia only smiled. “Yes. And when that time comes,” she suggested, “let’s hope your friends outnumber your enemies.”
There was a loud cheer in the triclinium as the bride and groom took their first sips of wine from the same cup. I noticed that Juba had disappeared. Octavia held out her arm to me. “Shall we?” She led me to a table where Marcellus and Alexander were teasing Julia about how lavish her own wedding was going to be. But when Julia turned and smiled at me, I didn’t have it in my heart to be merry.
The celebration carried on almost until morning, when Octavian returned and announced that it was time for the groom to lead his bride to her new home. Senators began singing crude songs to the blushing bride, and flutists and torchbearers led the way while the guests followed. When we reached the portico of Agrippa’s villa, my brother stumbled over the first step and fell.
“What?” He giggled. Marcellus and Julia giggled, too.
“The three of you are drunk!” I accused.
“It’s the Falernian wine,” Julia protested. She looked at Alexander, still sitting on the first step of the portico, and they all collapsed into laughter.
“Julia, Marcellus, Alexander,” Octavia snapped. “Get yourselves home.” Next to her, Gallia shook her head disapprovingly.
“But the bride hasn’t even—”
“I don’t care.” She cut off Marcellus’s protest, then looked down at me. “You may stay.” It wasn’t an offer. It was a command.
Alexander threw a pleading look over his shoulder at me, while Marcellus helped him up and the three of them stumbled away.
“You are the only one with any sense,” Octavia muttered.
On the steps outside Agrippa’s villa, Claudia was crowning the doorposts with wool, then anointing them with wolf’s fat to bless her new home. When Agrippa carried her over the threshold, he was followed by dozens of drunken senators eager to watch him lay Claudia on her bridal couch and take off her girdle. I would have gone as well, but Livia’s voice cut through the merriment.
“What’s the matter, Senator?” A thin man in a toga had just emptied his stomach into an urn. He rose shakily to his feet, and Livia told him, “You should get yourself home.”
“And miss the untying of the girdle?” He gave a leering laugh and made to go inside, but Livia stopped him with her hand.
“I will send a slave with you. Gallia,” she instructed, “take Senator Gaius back to his villa.”
I saw that the senator was about to protest, until he caught sight of Gallia. Then his smile grew wider.
Gallia hesitated. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have an escort of men, Domine?”
“Not tonight,” he said eagerly. “And the bottom of the hill isn’t far,” he promised.
Gallia searched for Octavia, but she had followed Claudia into Agrippa’s home. Without her, Gallia could never disobey Livia. “Of course, Domine.”
Livia followed the pair of them with her eyes, and when the cheerful throng of senators and well-wishers reemerged, she took Octavian’s arm. “A successful night,” she said happily to him. “Shall we retire?”
A cock crowed in the distance, and Octavian stifled a yawn. “It’s time.”
Guests were summoning their litters, and tired slaves, who had taken too much wine, staggered beneath the weight of their masters. I heard exclamations of horror as one litter bearer or another fell down.
Octavia turned to Juba. “Is it too late to ask you about a statue?”
“I doubt I will be getting much sleep,” he replied. The disappearing celebrants were making enough noise to reach the ears of Persephone as they called to one another in the gloom and shouted for the slaves to be more careful.
“It’s a gift I purchased for my daughter,” Octavia said. “But I’d like to know that it’s authentic before she takes it.”
We walked together to Octavia’s villa, and I wondered if I should mention what had happened with Livia. But before I could say anything, Octavia turned. “Where is Gallia?”
