As the final preparations were made, Regina approached him, amused. “You don’t look terribly comfortable.”
“I can’t deny that,” he said, and he mopped his neck. “It is the low ceilings. The dense air. The smell.” He eyed her uneasily. “I don’t wish to give offense — perhaps you have become used to it. It is a smell of people — or of animals, perhaps — almost like the amphitheater, during the hunting shows.”
“And this makes you uncomfortable. You, a veteran of a hundred battlefields!”
“Then there’s the sameness. Everywhere I look I see the same corridors, the chambers, the decorations — even the same faces, it seems. Though beautiful faces — those haunting eyes, like slate — I feel buried in this pit of yours — turned around, dizzy. It isn’t for me!”
“It isn’t meant for you,” she said sharply.
The little ceremony began at last, Agrippina blushed prettily, and her gravid mother held her hand. Agrippina dedicated her childish clothes to the matres by feeding them into a brazier, and was given her first adult stola, simple white with a fine purple line woven in.
But when it came to the point where Agrippina was to burn a scrap of linen stained with a little of her first bleeding, Regina stepped forward.
“No,” she said loudly, into a shocked silence. She had had time to think through her first instinctive refusal of this event, and she thought she understood what must be done. She took the scrap of linen from Brica, and held it up. “This is to be destroyed, but not celebrated.” She fed it into the brazier, and as the little flames licked she heard the shocked gasps of those who watched. She took Agrippina’s hand and placed it over Brica’s swollen belly. “ This is what is important. This, your unborn sister.
“Agrippina, your bleeding is no shame. But you are to hide it from others, and you will not remark on it. Your life belongs, not to your daughters, but to your sisters — the one here in Brica’s belly, and those born thereafter. When Brica’s blood dries — well, perhaps then your turn will come to serve. But until then, if you choose to bear a child, then you will bear it beyond these walls.”
Agrippina looked terrified. “You would exile me for becoming pregnant?”
“It is your choice,” said Regina. Though her tone was gentle, she knew the menace in her words was unmistakable. She turned and faced the watching group. “Do not question this. It must always be so — not because I say it, but because it is best for the Order. Sisters matter more than daughters. ”
For a moment Brica faced her, and Regina thought she saw a spark of defiance in her daughter’s eyes. But Brica was heavily pregnant, worn out by fifteen years of pregnancies — and besides, she had been defeated by Regina long ago. Her shoulders slumped, she led a weeping Agrippina away.
Regina felt a twinge of guilt. Why did it have to be like this? Why did she have to inflict so much pain on her children? … “Because it is for the best,” she muttered. “Even if they cannot see it.”
The group broke up, avoiding Regina. Only Ambrosius was left watching her, his eyes wide.
Later, in her office, they drank watered wine. Ambrosius was cautious, watchful.
She smiled, tired. “You think I am a mad old woman.”
“I understand nothing of what I have seen here,” he said honestly. “Would you really turn her out if she got pregnant?”
“Agrippina has spent almost all her life in the Crypt. What lies outside, the disorder, the chaos — even the weather — rightly terrifies her. But it would be for the best.”
“She is your granddaughter,” he said hotly. “How can you say such an exile would be the best for her?”
“Not for her,” Regina said. “The best for those who follow. The best for the Order … It is hard for me to understand, too,” she said bluntly. “I follow my instincts — make my decisions — and then try to understand why I do what I do, where is the rightness.
“But consider this.” She poured a glass of wine. “We are safe in here, and we are bound by family ties. In fact we are so crammed in that it is only family ties that keep us from murdering each other. But with time family ties weaken. How can I keep that from happening?
“Imagine this wine is the blood of my daughter — blood that is mine, mixed with that of a buffoon called Amator — he does not matter. Brica gives birth.” She poured some of the wine into a second glass, and mixed it with water. “Here is Agrippina — half the blood of Brica, half of her father — and so only a quarter mine. But if Agrippina were to have a child—” She poured the mixture into another glass, diluting it further. “Agrippina’s blood is mixed with the father’s, and so is only an eighth mine.” She sat back and sighed. “My granddaughter’s blood is closer to mine than is my great-granddaughter’s. And so I want more granddaughters. Do you see?”
“Yes, but I don’t—”
“We can’t leave this Crypt,” she snapped. “We have no arms, no warriors to protect us. And though we are expanding our space, our numbers expand faster. We can’t support too many babies at once — we don’t have the room. Now—” She pushed forward the glasses. “Suppose I have to choose between a baby of Agrippina’s, or another baby of Brica’s. Brica’s baby would be closer to my blood, which would bind us more tightly together — and, if Agrippina were to support her mother, might actually have a better chance of living to adulthood. Which should I choose?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I see your logic — sisters matter more than daughters — it is better for Agrippina to support more sisters than to have her own children. But it is an insane logic, Regina.”
“Insane?”
“It is better for you, perhaps, if you accept this hot logic of the blood, even better for your Order — but not for Agrippina. ”
She shrugged. “If Agrippina doesn’t accept it, she can leave.”
He said gently, “You are like no woman I ever encountered. Like no mother, certainly. And yet you endure; I can’t deny that.” He strode and began pacing around the room, fingering the hilt of the dagger at his belt. “But I must get out of here,” he said. “The airlessness — the closeness — forgive me, madam.”
She smiled, and rose to show him out.
Chapter 31
The changes in her body seemed to come terribly quickly. She passed water almost hourly. Her breasts swelled and became sensitive. She tried to maintain her normal life — her classes, her after-hours work in the scrinium — but if she had stuck out from the crowd before, now it was by a mile.
She sat with Pina in a refectory. “Before they ignored me. Now they stare the whole time.”
Pina grinned. “They’re just responding to you. A very basic human reaction. You glow, Lucia. You can’t help it.”
“Do you think they envy me?” She looked at her friend. “Do you?”
Pina’s expression became complex. “I don’t know. I will never have what you have. I can’t imagine how it feels.”
“A part of you wants it, though,” Lucia said bluntly. “A part of you wants to be a mother, as all women were mothers, in primitive times.”
“But what we have here is better. Sisters matter more than daughters. ”
“Of course,” Lucia said mechanically. “But I’ll tell you what, if anybody does envy me, they can watch me throwing up in the mornings.”
Pina laughed. “Well, you can’t go on working in the scrinium.”