Kushiel's Scion (98 page)
For a ceremony thrown together in haste, it was a touching affair.
Nothing was quite as it ought to be, of course; there simply wasn't time. It didn't matter, though. The bride was Skaldi, the groom was Dalriadan. Neither had family to stand for them, and neither cared aught for proper Caerdicci customs. It was the exchange of vows, spoken and witnessed, that mattered.
It took place in the atrium. By all rights, there should have been a procession from the bride's household to the groom. Since that wasn't feasible, the groom's "household" was established in the far end of the atrium. A young priest from the temple of Jupiter was in attendance—not the flamen dialis himself, but a priest nonetheless—and an altar had been set up there.
Flames danced in the gilded offering bowl that sat atop the altar, fueled by bundles of juniper twigs tied with red wool and laid carefully across a charcoal base. Beyond the atrium, a banquet table awaited in the dining room, laden with food and brimming jugs of wine. The Lady Beatrice had elected to ignore Gallus Tadius' proscriptions for the occasion.
"Do we know where Gallus is?" I whispered to Eamonn, who looked resplendent in a toga of fine-combed white wool with a crimson border, his gold tore around his neck. I was standing at his side, along with Deccus Fulvius and a bewildered-looking Publius Tadius. Something inside him had cracked the day his son struck him across the face, and what will remained, the siege had broken. I was surprised he was there.
Eamonn shook his head. "Up to his plans, I imagine."
"Does he know about this?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Excuse me." Publius leaned forward and peered at Eamonn. "Who are you again?"
I bowed to him. "My lord Publius, this is Prince Eamonn mac Grainne of the Dalriada, who has fought bravely for Lucca. He is grateful beyond words that you have extended the hospitality of the Tadeii to him on his wedding day."
"Oh, indeed!" Eamonn agreed.
Publius blinked at me. "Who are you?"
"Imriel," I said.
Deccus Fulvius clapped a hand on Publius' shoulder. "Let's have a quick cup of wine, old friend," he murmured, steering him toward the banquet table. "I'll explain it all again."
At the other end of the atrium, the doors opened to admit Brigitta, escorted by Claudia and the Lady Beatrice. Deccus and Publius hurried back, wiping their mouths. Brigitta was clad in white, too; a long white gown, with a gold cingulum tied around the waist in an elaborate knot. It made me think, briefly, of the sacred girdles the Magi had worn in Daršanga; the ones the bone-priests had used to strangle their loved ones.
I pushed the thought away, determined not to taint Eamonn's wedding day with my own dark memories.
Brigitta looked lovely. Her golden hair was arranged in an elaborate coif, adorned by a wreath of myrtle. Her cheeks glowed pink, and her blue eyes shone. Eamonn straightened at the sight of her, his tunic straining across his broad shoulders.
There was awkwardness with the ceremony itself; and how not? But in the end, none of it mattered. All together, we managed to get them before the altar. And there, each in turn, Brigitta and Eamonn spilled incense into the offering bowl and held their hands above the flame and declared their willing consent to this union. There was some business with a bronze scale and a distaff that went wholly amiss; I had to repress a laugh at the dubious gaze Brigitta cast toward the latter.
The young priest was perspiring. "Iuppiter, Iuno atque, dii me omnes testes vos testor mihi, " he said in formal tones, wiping his brow with his sleeve. "I call the gods to witness. In their presence, in good faith, make now your vows."
Eamonn took Brigitta's hand. "Upon my life and by my honor," he said solemnly, "I pledge myself to you, for as long as I live."
Her blush deepened and her Caerdicci dwindled. "So do I."
Once it was evident that nothing more was forthcoming, the priest beckoned for a winejug and a chalice. He filled the chalice, and indicated that they should both pour an offering to the gods, and then drink from the nuptial cup. When it was done, he heaved a sigh.
"By the gods immortal," he pronounced, "you are joined together in matrimony."
We all cheered, and Eamonn swept Brigitta into his arms and carried her over the threshold of the atrium toward the banquet. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him in a rare moment of unreserved joy. My eyes stung with an odd mixture of affection, envy, and grief. And strangely, the person I missed most in that moment was Lucius. He would have understood.
After the ceremony, it was all revelry.
There was a hectic gaiety in feasting during a time of siege, in defying orders. I ate and drank deep of all that was placed before me, making a concerted effort to thrust aside any feelings of ill will, to take joy in the happiness of my friends. And in others, too. Claudia and Deccus shared a couch, the apparent picture of wedded contentment. The Lady Beatrice was happy, and I could not begrudge her that. Even Publius Tadius seemed pleased in a befuddled manner, if only because his winecup was steadily refilled, the poor man.
I kept my dire thoughts at bay and raised my cup in a toast. "To Eamonn and Brigitta!" I called, and then slipped into D'Angeline. "May Blessed Elua hold and keep you in his hand, and may his Companions grant you mercy and kindness."
Amid the general acclaim, a shadow darkened the doorway.
"What in the name of Hades is this ?" a voice grated.
I got unsteadily to my feet. "Lucius…"
"Lucius be damned!" he roared. His gaze scoured the dining room, the picked-over banquet table. "Did I not give orders? What is this? This excess, this folly! Do you not understand that we are under siege? This is treason!"
The Lady Beatrice emitted a faint sound and fanned herself anxiously. Her husband stared blankly at his empty lap. No one else moved, although Claudia watched me.
"Lucius." I approached him. The sockets of his eyes were bruised hollows, his eyes burning like embers. They were mistrustful, and yet there was something within them I knew. Without thinking, I took his face in my hands. It felt stiff and hard. The skin was taut over the bones of his face, the scowling lines on it were engraved cruel and deep. And yet, unlike my dream, it didn't crumble under my touch. "It's a wedding. Eamonn and Brigitta's wedding."
For the space of a few heartbeats, Lucius surfaced.
I saw it; I saw his satyr's mouth twist in a familiar, wry smile. "Prince Barbarus and his shield-maiden?" he whispered.
"Yes," I said. "Will you celebrate it with us?"
Lucius was there; and then he was gone. He yanked his head back and swatted my hands away. "Jupiter! Get off me, you damned D'Angeline, before I have your balls for juggler's toys." I stepped back, raising my hands in a placating gesture. "Right," he said, breathing hard. "We've a special mission planned for tonight. I'll need you to report early, both of you."
"Gallus Tadius." Deccus Fulvius swung himself off the couch. "I will be taking Prince Eamonn's place tonight that he might spend it with his bride."
"Oh, you are, are you?" Gallus gave him a hard look, but Deccus stood firm. At length, Gallus shrugged. "As long as you follow orders," he said, then jerked his chin at the banquet table. "Clean this up. And don't let me see anything like it again."
With that, he strode away.
"Well," I said. "That could have been worse."
The Lady Beatrice had tears in her eyes. "My poor boy! This is devouring him from the inside out. Is this worth it? Is Lucca worth his suffering?"
"Lucca," her husband murmured vaguely. "Oh, yes."
"I don't know, my lady," I said to her. "I wish I did."
Deccus Fulvius cleared his throat. "Come on, lad. We'd best be off."
"No, my lord." Eamonn rose. "I can't let you take my place. It's not right. Whatever Gallus Tadius is planning, it may be dangerous."
"Bah!" Deccus chuckled. "Do you take me for a milksop, lad? I was holding a sword before you were born. There's fight in the old republican yet. Isn't there, my love?" he added to Claudia. She smiled at him with genuine fondness. Deccus nodded at Eamonn and Brigitta. "Take your happiness where you find it, children, and don't ask too many questions. Life is too short and uncertain to do otherwise."
Eamonn protested; Deccus prevailed. And so it was that he and I reported for patrol duty together that evening.
The square was already crowded by the time we arrived. The usual riders were there, as well as a squadron of the city guard and a handful of the newer conscripts on foot. The latter wore dark clothing and no armor, though they had the scarlet band of the Red Scourge tied around their upper arms.
Gallus Tadius waited until we were all assembled, the riders in a neat double line, the foot-soldiers clustered in front of us. Behind him, the burned hulk of the bell-tower loomed in ominous warning.
"All right, lads!" he shouted. "Tonight we set fire to the fields!"
Almost to a man, they cheered. Deccus and I exchanged a glance. "Surely he jests," he murmured.
I shook my head. "I think not."
He didn't. In a few broad strokes, Gallus Tadius outlined his plan. Over the last two days, he had prevailed on Lucca's carpenters to build a crude trebuchet atop the gatehouse, hidden behind the parapet. Others had scoured the city's parks and gardens for rocks and boulders large enough to make suitable missiles. Once darkness fell, he meant to launch an attack on Valpetra's forces.
It was unlikely to do much damage, but in the darkness it would sow confusion. And while Valpetra's men were distracted, a detail of handpicked conscripts would exit the city by way of the dismantled sluice gate. Once they were out, guards atop the wall would lower bundles of weaponry—hunting bows, pitch-tipped arrows, torches, and oil-filled bladders.
"It's a dangerous detail," he said grimly, then raised his voice to a roar. "But there's gold and glory for any man who makes it back alive! What do you say, lads? Are you game?"
They roared back at him. "Gallus! Gallus! Gallus!"
He flashed a feral grin. "Then come forward and be anointed!"
Twenty men crowded forward, touching his stirrup, his saddlecloth, his booted foot. Eager faces strained upward. Dipping into a pouch at his belt, Gallus Tadius leaned down and smeared a dark substance on each face; a streak on both cheeks and one down the center of their brows. Ashes, I thought. Ashes from the burned bell-tower. Fire for fire.
"This is madness," Deccus said quietly. "Is it always like this?"
"No," I said. "This is new."
"Right!" Gallus straightened and pointed. "Off you go to await my signal!" He watched them pelt through the streets of Lucca, then turned to the rest of us. "Riders, heed. This mission's to be run from the walls. You'll patrol as usual, but your primary job is to carry orders; mine from atop the gatehouse, and Captain Arturo's from the sentry-point near the canal. The watchword is 'firestorm.' You hear it, you do whatever you're told and ride like hell. Understood?"
"Aye, sir!" we called.
He dispatched us in short order and headed off toward the gatehouse. Deccus was quiet as we set out on patrol together. It was a cold, cloudy evening. He wore a heavy wool cloak fastened with a gold brooch. I wondered if Claudia Fulvia had fastened it for him. It was the sort of Tiberian wifely gesture she did so well.
There were no orders at the first sentry-points we passed. At the canal, we found a throng of men clustered under the shadow of the wall, their soot-streaked faces eerie in the twilight. "Any word?" one called eagerly.
"Not yet," I said.
"Firestorm!" a voice hissed from above. "One campfire in range, a dozen of the enemy posted. No movement. Continue and report to Gallus Tadius."
I gave a wave of acknowledgment and we rode onward.
Presently, Deccus spoke. "They're dead men, you know."
My skin prickled. "You sense it?"
"What?" He glanced at me. "Oh, the lemures, aye. It's been turning my stomach long enough I'm nearly used to it. I meant those poor lads." He frowned. "Glory and gold! They don't stand a chance. They might get out safely, and they might even succeed. But there's no way they're getting back alive."
I didn't think so, either.
"And if Gallus Tadius is half as ruthless as I think he is," Deccus added in a low voice, "he knows it, too. He's sending those lads to their deaths."
We reached the gatehouse without event, although I could barely make it out. Full darkness had fallen. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and only a few stars were visible. I called out my report to the unseen faces atop the gatehouse. It felt as though I were talking to myself.
"Firestorm!" A voice floated down from above. "Report to Captain Arturo, now!"
Deccus grunted. "We can't damn well see!"
"Now!"
I leaned over in the darkness. "Follow me, my lord."
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