John could not smell smoke tonight. Rather he was aware of the sweet scents from garlands of flowers decorating the atrium, mixed with the odor of rich sauces wafting down from the kitchen.
Anatolius arrived, wringing his hands.
No, John realized as they exchanged greetings, not wringing his hands, but rather absently rubbing badly swollen knuckles. He gave him a questioning look.
“I’ve had a disagreement with Crinagoras,” Anatolius spat out angrily. “I don’t expect to see him again. He came around this evening and started to recite an ode to Lucretia. He claimed it was what I needed to comfort me, not to mention it would keep her memory alive at court. Needless to say, I knocked him down immediately and kicked him out of my house. Then I gathered up all my poems and fed them to the kitchen brazier. My servants must have thought I’d lost my senses. Lucretia…Lucretia I will mourn in private. There are no words…the world is very empty now.”
“I understand. I had to tell Europa her mother was gone, yet tonight how can I not be happy? My daughter is to be married in less than an hour.”
“Of course. We must try not to let our sorrows mar the joys of others, it’s just that…well…”
“Yes, indeed.”
They strolled out into the garden.
There they found Thomas fidgeting beside the pool. He barely acknowledged their arrival.
“Have you solved the knotty problem of the form of the ceremony, John?” Anatolius asked. “I gather the Patriarch was otherwise engaged tonight.”
John smiled. “Don’t worry about that. Peter was bold enough to observe to me earlier this evening that while this would not be a traditional wedding in any sense of the word, what mattered was it was being entered into with sincere intent and that being so, surely heaven would bless it.”
Thomas nodded solemnly. “A wise man, that servant of yours.” He took a few nervous steps away and back again and then glanced at the sky. “Mithra, it’s worse than waiting to go into battle.”
“Hours drag like chains while we wait and fly away like eagles when we wish them to stay,” Anatolius agreed. “However, few go into combat dressed in such fine garments. Silk, I see.”
“Borrowed,” Thomas muttered, looking uncomfortable. “In honor of the occasion.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll soon be back in that barbaric clothing you prefer, and I see you kept your own boots,” Anatolius observed.
Thomas turned to John. “About Nereus’ bull, John, the one you told me about. I’ve obtained a loan from Isis and purchased it as a wedding gift for Europa. She doesn’t know yet.”
“What strange notions barbarians harbor about suitable gifts,” Anatolius commented with a grin. “Though I suspect you could scarcely have chosen a better one.”
Thomas looked gratified.
“It appears Anatolius’ metaphorical chains have begun to change into birds,” John observed, glancing over his shoulder.
Europa, crowned with a chaplet of spring flowers and dressed in a simple, white tunic, had just emerged from the house and was now making her way down the neatly graveled path toward them, accompanied by Hypatia and Peter.
The small group took up their places beside the pool.
Thomas and Europa stepped forward to stand in front of John.
John looked down at his daughter’s sunburnt face. How much she resembled her mother, he thought.
A mosaic of memories passed rapidly through his mind’s eye. The torchlit garden fell away as he recalled the bright and open skies of Crete and Egypt, Cornelia’s saucy smile and sharp-tongued response the day he, then still a young mercenary, had first dared to ask for her companionship, the clay cup broken one amorous night, the cup whose twin he had ordered made and from which he had habitually drunk the raw Egyptian wine he favored until he had deliberately destroyed it, the years of slavery and then regaining his freedom, the even longer period he had spent living in the palace, rising to his present high office…
All those years had disappeared as swiftly as water passing along an aqueduct, babbling swiftly past never to return, flowing ceaselessly along the channel of time, bearing with it all who lived.
And those who had died.
Cornelia, if you can, be here tonight, he silently prayed.
Holding Thomas and Europa’s clasped hands between his, he addressed the couple. His voice was low, but clearly audible in the strangely quiet night air.
“Europa and Thomas, you have stated your intentions to me in private. You will now declare them openly before those assembled here. Europa, do you freely confirm it is your desire to be wife to this man, Thomas?”
“It is,” Europa responded in a determined tone that drew smiles from those present.
“Thomas, do you freely confirm it is your desire to be husband to this woman, Europa?”
“That is what I wish,” Thomas replied.
“Very well. Thomas, do you swear by Lord Mithra and all you hold sacred that you will treat Europa honorably and be true to her always?” John continued.
“I swear by Lord Mithra and by the Sacred Bull it will be so!” Thomas stated firmly, smiling at Europa.
Europa made the same affirmation, making her oath by the Mother Goddess and all that she held holy.
“Then I formally ask Lord Mithra and the Mother Goddess for their blessings upon this marriage,” John concluded, “for by freely confirming your intent and giving oaths below heaven and before witnesses you have taken each other as man and wife. Thus I declare you to be so joined.”
Thomas turned to Europa and kissed her.
As the women hugged each other and Peter, Anatolius offered awkward congratulations to Thomas. “And you had better treat her well, Thomas,” he added, “because if I should hear anything different…”
“Oh, she’ll keep me in line, don’t you worry about that,” Thomas remarked as Peter bustled forward to announce the wedding feast was waiting.
“And what culinary delights have you concocted for us, Peter?” Anatolius asked the elderly servant.
“The master felt it would be inappropriate to offer anything too lavish given the circumstances, but since he agreed a small repast would be suitable to mark this joyous occasion, Hypatia and I have baked honey cakes and there is also roast fowl with a special sauce I invented this very day, and fruit, not to mention plenty of the master’s best wine, and I don’t mean the Egyptian vintage either,” Peter replied in a rush of words.
“Excellent!” Thomas grinned. “Shall we go and sample this excellent wine, Anatolius?”
The party made its way back indoors and went noisily upstairs.
Last to cross the atrium, Peter and John had just arrived at the foot of the stairway when there came a loud rap at the house door.
Peter opened it warily and stepped quickly back, away from a shape swathed in a dark cloak.
“It’s the demon I saw in the alleyway just before I fell ill!” he cried in panic. “Don’t allow it in the house, master, it’ll bring the pestilence!”
The shape let out a croaking laugh. “Not so! I merely saved you from a thief and your own hallucinations, Peter.”
It was Ahaseurus, the holy fool, still dressed in rags yet now festooned with gold necklaces and sporting gem-encrusted rings on every finger.
“What sort of greeting is this, Lord Chamberlain?” the nocturnal visitor went on severely. “No matter. I am here because you saved my life and I always pay my debt. However, while there are rich pickings to be had in every alley in the city right now and I’ve certainly gathered my share, to settle this particular debt I had to travel a very long way, so I’m arriving somewhat later than I’d anticipated.”
Before John could reply, a brief gust of wind swirled into the atrium. Torches guttered, sending dark shapes spinning around its walls.