The betrothal of Julia and Marius was formal, much more so than was customary for Romans of their lowly class. Three short weeks later, Julia was married.
Their courtship had been short, but decisive. He was a gentleman, though rather coarse and uncouth, and she had no doubt that he cared deeply for her. That was enough. He was perfect for her purpose.
Her twentieth birthday had come and gone. She and Antoninus argued frequently, in between periods of pleasant but precarious harmony between them, over her future. He had often lost his temper, fighting it down until he trembled with rage, terrifying and humiliating her all at once.
"Life is short, girl! No man will want a wife if she will have little time in which to bear his children. If you dally any longer, before you know it, it will be too late for you."
His words, though hardly striking any maternal chord within her, had almost made her despise him. Had he not married Diana when she was middle aged? She had never borne him a child and almost certainly never would, even were they soon to be reunited. In spite of this, however, Julia had made it her duty to rectify the wrong she had done her mother and stepfather in ever demanding that they part company to suit her wishes. If she had to, she would make a marriage of her own, so that her mother might have her husband back by her side.
From the beginning, Antoninus had plainly hated her choice, for some reason she could hardly tell. The two men, she noticed with trepidation, had barely spoken civilly to one another as the agreements for the betrothal had gone ahead. She had merely sat in feminine silence, whenever she was called to bear witness to any of their decisions. Committing herself to such a disagreeable estate as marriage was confusing enough without having to discern what possible grudge they bore one another.
The last few nights of her maidenhood had been agonising. She could not, she realised, wed with Marius without discovering at least some of the truth. One evening, she waited for Antoninus to approve the day's housekeeping she had accomplished, meaning to discuss some things with him when he did. Then, sick to her stomach with dread, she faced him.
"Sir? I would speak with you about my marriage. There are some things I must know."
He sat hunched at a table in his quarters, breathing deeply, as if speaking to her would prove an effort. Finally, he turned to her, forcing a smile, his eyes slightly glassy. "Not long to go now, my dear, is there? What must you know?"
Biting down on her lip, she gathered her skirts, perching on the edge of his bed as though fearing it would break if she sat too heavily. In truth, she was so tense that her body hurt. "I have noticed, that although you approve of me agreeing to marry…"
"Julia! Oh, Julia," he interrupted, facing her properly. "I cannot tell you how happy I am that you will soon be settled. It is the right thing. It is what myself and your mother have prayed for ever since you came of age. Do not worry that you have ever caused us any pain, for when you are married, I cannot tell you how much better we will feel."
She tried to smile, but could not. "I understand that. But I have noticed…that you do not care for Marius. Do you honestly wish for my husband to be someone you dislike so? It puzzles me."
"I do not dislike Marius." Pausing for a long moment, Antoninus sighed, and when he spoke again, his voice was weaker. "Although, I cannot but be honest with you. He is a businessman, as I am, and in the past…we have had some unhappy dealings. But he is a good man, an intelligent and self-sufficient man, who loves you. He will care for you better than some others would have."
Julia's cheeks flamed, and she lowered her eyes. "Thank you for your confidence, sir." She rose and moved to exit the room swiftly.
"My dear?" her stepfather said suddenly, a noticeably placating manner in his tone causing her to halt, and listen.
"Yes?"
"I will miss you very much, you do know that, don't you? You are my child now, and I love you. You have been everything a daughter should, and I know you will bring just as much order and concord to Marius's home as you have brought to this one. Only promise me that you will be happy, dearest Julia."
She crept towards him, tears spilling down her face, smiling with immeasurable gratitude and love. Before her was the sweetest, noblest, most forgiving man she had ever known or ever would know. When he took her hand and kissed it, his own eyes shining, she leaned forward to touch his forehead gently with her own lips. "I love you too," she whispered.
Taking both her hands in his, he squeezed them, making no attempt to hide his regret at seeing her leave. "Now go and get some rest. You have your wedding to prepare for."
* * *
Marius's heart pounded so fast and so hard as he transported his wife to their marital home, his impressive villa in a thriving, fairly wealthy area of Rome, that he felt sure she must be able to hear it. The weeks leading up to their wedding, the ritual having taken place that morning, had seemed like an impossible, wonderful dream to him.
Julia, however, her slender arm hooked trustingly through his as he pushed the wagon onward, seemed tangible enough. She still wore the simple though hideously expensive linen garments she had donned specially for her marriage, a gift from her stepfather. In her new husband's eyes, she did not need such finery to be the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Now she was his…today was the first day of their life together.
Every time he thought of the irony of the situation, he longed to laugh out loud. Diana's daughter, a woman half his age, his wife. The Gods had played a fiendish trick in deigning this fate for him. Though he was not complaining – not at all. Every moment, he thought he might explode with love for her, and amazed gratitude that she had so readily accepted his proposal when they had been walking together as a couple a matter of mere weeks.
Just as the perfect Roman sky turned cerulean with approaching dusk, they reached the villa. Julia struggled to contain yawns of exhaustion, occasionally venturing to rest her palla-covered head upon his shoulder.
"Darling?" he murmured, drawing the horses to a stop. Putting down the reins in his lap, he wrapped both arms gently around her. "Are you tired?"
"I feel as though I have not slept in days." With barely-concealed irritation, she pushed his arms away, helping herself down from the wagon. "I am longing for bed now."
He watched her intently as she dusted down her skirts, sucking in his breath at the sight of the fine fabric enveloping her body. This woman, his wife. Though her lady's modesty would never allow for him to tell her so, he longed for their bed much more than she did. She was still pure, without doubt. Even in these debauched times, such epitomes of feminine nobility and virtue almost always kept themselves for their lawful husbands.
"Wait," he admonished softly, moving to follow her. "I will show you our home. I know you will like it."
By now, Julia had seen the house for herself, and was drinking in the sight. The building was an outpost of his once-wealthy family's miniature empire, which had stretched across the city. The area was developing and thriving with business, as well as being one of the most beautiful Rome had to offer.
Turning to him with a smile of gleeful gratitude, she took his proffered arm, and allowed him to lead her towards the gates. Further out into the sizeable plot of land surrounding the house, perfect silence greeted their homecoming, save the whinnying of a horse and, private to Marius, a fervent prayer of thanks.
* * *
Julia retired early, as she had planned, while a golden sunset bathed the villa of which she was now mistress. Sat up in her marital bed, however, scrawling on a piece of parchment in her lap, she was unable to settle. A humiliating sense of nervousness gripped her, a hundred curiously unanswered questions whirring inside her head.
Was the wife expected not to sleep until her husband joined her? Whatever the case, she did not wish to sleep. Not anymore. Other, more pertinent uncertainties presented themselves – those she was much less willing to try to answer.
She swallowed, wondering why she suddenly felt so nauseous, and lay down, settling her head into a lusciously deep-filled pillow. Her eyes closing, and sleep gradually overcame her like a heavy blanket. How long she remained that way, she could not tell. Eventually, Marius caused her to wake with a start by placing a heavy hand below her throat.
Momentarily disoriented, she lifted her head and saw that he had joined her in their bed. Smiling, she started to move away from him as unobtrusively as possible.
He caught her arm, his eyes never leaving hers. She raised her eyebrows, challenging him, it seemed, to take charge. Her heart thumped almost painfully against the confines of her chest as her husband took the papers and charcoal from her hands, dropping them carelessly to the floor. Disgusted with herself, she realised how attractive she found him; how unwilling she was to prevent what was about to happen. Even when he pinioned her against the bed, she squealed her delight, closing her eyes tightly and imagining herself elsewhere.
The pain was over as quickly as it had come. Julia was a woman; a priceless artefact of a bygone age, as Quintus had assured her. The linen sheets clinging to her skin with perspiration were garments of silk and cloth of gold. This was not a royal palace. What she felt for Marius was not love. But she could always dream that they were.
* * *
Antoninus swore to himself, struggling to force open the door of the provincial villa he had not set foot inside for far too long. Striking it mercilessly with his booted foot, he shouted his wife's name. The light footsteps issuing then from inside the house met his ears like the sweetest music.
The door creaked open, revealing her brown eyes widened with momentary suspicion. He did not give her chance to greet him, pushing his way into the house and sweeping her small, curvaceous body into his embrace. Her arms locked around his neck in a vice grip as her warm tears spilled down his neck. She was strong and healthy; even as he held her, neither saying a word, he absorbed her vigour into himself, and wondered at the change in her since they had last been together.
"You are well at last, my darling," he whispered into her thick hair, carrying her through to their bedchamber."
"Not entirely," she told him, burying her face in his neck. "It was merely delight in awaiting your homecoming that makes me so. And some herbs I began growing. I needed to find many things to occupy my time in your absence."
They passed the remainder of the day in happy solitude. The few servants in the villa knew what was expected of them: to leave their master and mistress in peace as they went about their duties, for as long as they required to make up for the time they had lost. Late in the evening, Diana lay curled beside her dozing husband, watching the last slivers of orange sunset through a window.
She thought of Julia, shivering with an inexplicable sense of failure and dread. Antoninus had sent word to her that Julia had married a decent man of good reputation, and though the news had made her happy, still the thought of her living such a distance away and with a man unknown to her was disturbing.
Turning onto her side, she gently shook Antoninus to wake him. He opened his eyes, squinted to see her, and his frown broke into a smile of adoration.
"How does my daughter?" she asked him, without preamble. "How did she choose her husband? Does she truly love him, or did she feel she had to wed so that you could return home."
He awoke fully, his gaze widening, under her barrage of questions.
"You need not worry for her. He is settled, prosperous and well-respected, and he has been a good friend to her. She is very fond of him, but most importantly, my dear, he worships her. It is a good match."
Diana smiled, settling herself back into his arms, with which he enfolded her tightly. Much as she respected her husband's opinion, however, she would not be able to rest fully until she had more proof of Julia's contentment.
