'Kiss the lips of our Venus, Marcus! Kiss so we can enjoy it!'
The fortress commander ignored them.
'He's waiting to kiss more than that inside!'
The couple walked past Galba's solemn patrol to their front door, where Savia waited with a bowl of oil. Valeria dipped her fingers as tradition demanded and anointed the entry, carefully drawing oil along its frame to ensure good fortune. The bride dribbled some drops on the threshold and then, after hesitating, brushed oil on the tip of the carved stone phallus that jutted to one side of the entrance. The crowd roared approval.
Marcus opened the door, revealing a shimmering aurora of candles and lamps, and moved to ceremonially block Valeria's entrance as tradition required. 'Tell me your forename, stranger,' he commanded, his voice carrying to the spectators beyond. It was the ritual request.
Women had no forename, and so in accord with the Roman wedding custom she used his. 'Wherever you are Lucius, there shall I be Lucia,' she replied clearly. And now at last he swept her up again and, arms strong, eyes proud, carried her over the threshold and into her new life.
Marcus set his bride down. Their new home had a Briton plank floor, but its interior walls were reassuringly plastered and painted in the intricate and colorful Roman geometric manner. Her new husband made no move to take her cloak, and so Valeria finally unhooked it and gave it to him, letting him drape it over a stool. Savia and the servants had disappeared, she saw. Marcus looked relieved at the privacy, the public ordeal over, but still he was uncertain what to do. 'Would you like a tour of my quarters?' He was not accustomed to the pronoun our.
'Tomorrow, perhaps.' She was trembling slightly. How handsome her husband looked! But also old and remote and formal, like a statue. He was a quiet man, she realized, and would never have the dramatic instincts of a Caesar or the eloquence of a Cicero. Yet didn't that make him deeper, more honest, and less vain?
'Of course,' he said, as if to apologize. 'Would you like some wine?'
'I'm already heady, and in danger of floating away.'
'I need a cup.' He led her up a short flight of steps to the dining room and poured himself one. Flowers had been scattered on the central table, and behind there was a mural of some epic Britannic battle, legionaries surmounting splintered chariots and Britons cowering at their feet. Shields, spears, and animal horns decorated the walls, jutting like the doorway's phallus. 'It's a masculine kind of place,' he said apologetically. 'My most recent predecessors weren't married. It will change with your things.' He pointed at some rusting weaponry. 'Those are trophies the Petriana won in combat. My goal is to add my own.'
'How long has this house been here?' It was something to say.
'Two hundred years, maybe longer. The ghosts of commander after commander must walk here, in a long scarlet line.'
'Ghosts?'
He smiled. 'A figure of speech. What I really mean is the tradition of the army. I've inherited that, and now you have, too. The cavalry is the best paid and most highly trained, and needs the quickest and bravest men. None from the softer trades, like weaving or fishing. We look for carpenters, stonecutters, wheelwrights, blacksmiths-'
'I'm tired, Marcus.'
He looked concerned. 'Would you like to sit?'
'We should go to bed.' It was a gentle suggestion.
'Of course.'
The wedding chamber was small, as in all Roman houses, to conserve the heat of its occupants. There was a single high window of colored glass, a chest, a small table, and a single chair. Spring apple blossoms had been scattered on their bed, and incense gave the room a sultry smell, but its military plainness couldn't be hidden.
'The slaves have done with it what they could,' he said.
The two stood awkwardly. Could they teach each other, as Lucinda had promised? Valeria's expectations of marriage had never really extended beyond the ceremony. Now they had a whole lifetime together! She felt intoxicated and dizzy. Marcus was looking at her in a new, strange way, and she was thrilled and frightened to realize that he finally seemed to desire her. And still he seemed frozen.
The oil lamp sent their shadows dancing.
'You're a very pretty girl, Valeria.'
She lifted her chin. 'Will you kiss me, Marcus? I've come so far.'
He nodded and gently reached out. They kissed more deeply this time, his beard exhilaratingly rough-so different from the furtive kisses of the boys she'd known in Rome-and his scent of wine and some deeper man-musk earthy and powerful. She shuddered slightly as his powerful arms went around her, drawing her closer, and kissed him ever more hotly, enveloped in the folds of his toga and dimly feeling his body beyond. Married! Everything was different now.
They broke, gasping.
'Ah, Valeria.' He studied her face. 'I remember when I saw you in your father's atrium in Rome, so young, so exquisite. You conquered me in an instant! Then so wild and ragged in the forest. And now here you are, so soft again, on this hard frontier.'
'Now we're here together.'
'Yes.' He stroked her cheek. 'You've given me a chance at glory.'
'We'll share that glory, and together we'll make our name.'
'You must warn me if I hurt you. You must tell me what you enjoy.'
She nodded dumbly. She didn't know what she enjoyed.
He untied the ceremonial knot that held the waist of her gown, revealing the bridal linen shift that the barbarian had rudely fingered, its weave fine enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, the slight curve of her belly, the delta of her secret hair. Then he moved to the oil lamp, dousing it, and it was completely dark. Valeria felt brief panic. She wanted to cry for him to wait, that she wasn't ready, but it was too late for that, wasn't it? Could he hear the hammering of her heart?
'Take off your bridal tunic.'
She nodded to indicate that she'd heard and then realized he couldn't see her. 'Yes.' She took out the last pins, and it fell to the floor. Her body prickled at the cool air.
She could hear the rustle of his own garments being discarded and the creak of the rope webbing of the bed. 'Come, lie beside me.'
She shuffled forward until her shins felt the edge of the woolen blankets and stooped, feeling the feather mattress until she touched his leg. Her hand jerked away.
'It's just me.'
Venus, give me strength, she prayed. He already thinks me an idiot. She crawled forward to lie on the rich mattress and felt his heat as he came near, his strong hand reaching to touch her arm and stroke her side. It helped calm her. 'Please, kiss me again.'
He did so, tenderly at first and then harder, more anxiously, and slowly moved atop her. He was heavy, and she could feel this real phallus against her thigh, hard and hot. She half wanted to touch it and half wanted to push him away. So she did neither, waiting to see what would happen. His hands moved over her breasts, and he kissed one of them too, and then his powerful leg levered apart her thighs.
'I'm frightened,' she whispered.
'It will be over quickly.'
He was breathing hard, pushing insistently. How could she ever accommodate such invasion? She wished they could kiss more first. She clung to his broad back, her fingernails unconsciously biting. Suddenly, there was sharp pain.
'Oh!' She realized she'd cried out.
Now he was impossibly deep, but instead of feeling worse it began to feel better, wet and full. She relaxed a bit. Marcus was moving again, breathing hard, and they rocked as he slid back and forth. She lay obediently, listening to the creak of the bed, trying to inventory what she was feeling. It was not so much good or bad as confusing…
Suddenly he stiffened. Had she done something wrong? He grunted, a half-cry. Then he collapsed on top of her, exhaling.
He lay like a dead man, sweaty.
