"It does not matter," Galen said quietly, ignoring Maxian's sarcasm, "what you intend. The future is uncertain and many things may happen. Can you see what will come now, with your power?"
"No," Maxian said, biting back harsher words. "I cannot. I will take the days as they come."
"Very wise!" Galen said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "I had no idea what trouble I was getting into when I married Helena! Lovely, dear trouble. But I would not change my mind, if given the chance again. Do you love her?"
Maxian started to answer, then paused, staring at his brother. A perplexed expression flitted across his face, then settled into a rueful grimace. "I... don't know. It seems... proper... we should be together. Her son needs a father. I... I don't want to be alone. Must I love her, to marry her? I am following my heart, if you must know. Why are you so concerned?"
Gritting his teeth, Galen suppressed a sigh of despair. Why can't Father be alive to deal with this sort of thing? I must have angered the gods somehow... "Your brother wishes you only happiness. Your Emperor suffers an ulcer thinking of what might happen if you and she part in anger."
"Oh." Maxian made a face like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon. "Cold-blooded, aren't you?"
"The Emperor must be," Galen answered ruefully. "Your happy marriage seals the alliance between East and West in your conjoined bodies. A divorce... splits us when we cannot afford any division." The Emperor grimaced, grinding his teeth. "There is another matter..."
The prince's face fell, hearing the tension in his brother's voice. However, before Galen could speak, a great clamor rose from the house and a troop of Legion officers clattered out onto the portico lining the seaward side of the villa. Galen could see their faces shining with sweat, boldly illuminated by flaring, sputtering brands held high. Voices loud in rough, drunken harmony, they shouted:
Inspired by this joyful day
Sing wedding songs
With your glad voices
And shake the ground with your dancing,
And in your hand brandish a pine torch!
The dancers on the lawn and the people among the tables laughed and rose—if they had been sitting—to respond. Maxian also stood, though Galen tried to hold him back with a hand on the hem of his toga. Those on the lawn, equally drunken, gathered, arm in arm, and made the proper, traditional reply:
For—as Venus
Once approached Paris
Now Martina approaches
Maxian; a good maiden
Will marry with good omens
The soldiers, breath restored by the pause, turned to the house, now joined by a crowd of men and women and children who had been inside. They parted, the officers' hands on each man's shoulder, making a corridor before the main doors of the villa.
Come forward, new bride!
Don't be afraid. Hear our glad words.
See! Our torches
Burn like golden hair.
Come forward new bride!
Gaius Julius appeared in the doorway and bowed to the assembled crowd. He raised his head, looking out across the lawn. Galen finally rose, feeling duty settle on him with a heavy weight. The Empress Martina's father was long dead, her male relatives lost in the destruction of Constantinople. There was no one else of proper rank to present the bride. He raised his hand, catching Gaius Julius' eye. Maxian also waved, but before he could stride away across the lawn, Galen caught his hand.
"Wait, there is one more thing we must discuss. It's about Heracleonas."
"What about him?" Maxian turned back, a quizzical expression on his face.
Galen took a deep breath, suddenly changing his mind. Abrupt, honest words were set aside. His brother looked so young, as a man should be—nearly innocent—on his wedding day. There is no need to trouble him with the dire thoughts tonight, Galen decided. I will strike a temperate course. "His birthday approaches, as does Theodosius', and I thought to make a proclamation on the happy day, declaring to the people of Rome and to the world, Theo my heir and Caesar-presumptive to the Western throne. At the same time, Heracleonas will be proclaimed the heir to the East, under my protection, and yours, as his new father."
"Very well," Maxian said, shrugging his shoulders. "It matters little, with so many years to pass before they may take the red boots and white rod."
"True," Galen said, hiding a breath of relief at the prince's easy acceptance. "But the people will be pleased, I think, and such statements will set the minds of many lords at ease." The people should be pleased! Games, donatives, corn tokens cast to the crowd... and the restive dukes and governors will be set on notice the Emperor has not forgotten the matter of succession!
Maxian nodded in agreement, then turned away. Gaius Julius approached, bearing the glossy white raiment of the groom. Inside, Galen saw the women gathering in a great crowd. Martina would be there, her hair bound up in six locks, parted by a bent spear, anointed and oiled, prepared for the sponsalia. Swallowing rising disquiet at his own evasion and dissembling, the Emperor followed his brother into the house. Despite his best efforts and the glad day, he found a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. A poor omen, he thought bitterly, if I cannot speak openly with my own brother.
—|—
The main courtyard of the villa had been transformed—the smoke blackening scoured away, the shattered roof tiles replaced, dead shrubs and flowers rooted out and replaced with new, fresh plantings. Galen took his place at one side, standing on marble tiling. Pine torches sputtered and blazed around him in a great circle and the bride and groom stood before him, as yet apart.
Some fathers might make a long speech, but Galen was already tired and the night promised to be long. He raised his hands to the crowd filling the courtyard and the colonnade. Everyone fell quiet, even the servants perched on the roof, who gained a better view with their daring than many of the patricians below.
"Here stand before you Maxian Atreus, son of Galen the Elder, and Martina, daughter of Martinus. They are from good families and of noble blood. As princeps of the State, I speak for Martina as paterfamilias, her guide and defense against the trials of the world."
Galen, face composed in a stern and commanding mein, turned to Maxian. The prince was trying not to grin broadly. Despite his obvious good humor, Maxian managed to speak in a suitably respectful voice. "Do you promise Martina, your daughter, to be given to me as a wife?"
"May the gods smile upon us," Galen answered formally. "I promise her to you."
"May the gods smile upon us." Maxian said, making a slight bow.
The Emperor smiled warmly at Martina, who was sweating a little in a heavy woolen gown. The night had grown warm. Fine, pure white cloth was pleated and cinched at her waist with a silken band, tied in an ornate knot. A flame-colored veil shrouded her shoulders. As Galen had expected, the girl's hair was done up in six plaits and crowned with fragrant blooms.
"Martina, daughter, have you set aside your child's dress?"
Martina smiled back and the Emperor was gladdened to see a spark of happiness in her eyes. The petulant, depressed young woman who had fled the destruction of her city seemed to be a fragment of the past. The Eastern Empress had gained confidence in the passing months. Perhaps this is worth it, then, Galen thought, grasping for some beneficent omen.
"I have, Father," she answered. "I have put my toys aside."
"So," Galen said, raising his voice so all might hear, "go forth, as one, and stand fast together the length of your days." He lowered his hands.
Maxian, grinning like a loon, took Martina in his arms and kissed her soundly. The Empress squeaked, hand clutching the floral wreath, then pressed herself against him. Galen watched, filled with unexpected sadness. His own wedding day seemed very long ago. Then he turned away, leaving the circle of torches. Well-wishers converged on the bride and groom from all sides, laughing and shouting. Gaius Julius was among them, though his eyes followed the Emperor with interest.
"Ho! See the bride, see the groom!" A great shout rose from the men in the crowd and they hoisted Maxian on their shoulders, then Martina as well. Someone began to sing and the whole group congealed into a procession winding around the garden and out into the dining hall. Torches bobbed above the heads of the revelers. Laughing, the young Empress flung her crown of flowers out into a thicket of grasping hands.
—|—
Again, Galen stood in quiet darkness, face shrouded by the folds of his toga, watching men and women dancing in the great hall of the villa. He felt unaccountably cold, though the summer night was close and almost hot. Maxian and Martina had taken three turns on the freshly tiled floor, swirling past his vantage to the lively rattle of drums and the wail of pipes and horns. At the moment, the prince was dancing with a young girl—one of the senatorial daughters, whose head barely reached his waist, her hair bound up with ribbons and posies. Empress Martina sat at the edge of the floor, face flushed, laughing in delight. A heavy golden cup wavered in her hand. Galen tensed, then breathed out in relief as Gaius Julius—sitting beside the Empress—caught the goblet as it tipped.
"Husband?"