Call to Juno (Tales of Ancient Rome #3)(82)
Semni placed her hand on her stomach, glad Arruns’s baby lay cocooned within. Nevertheless, the shadow of her mother’s fate was sobering. The matron had died in child bed with her eighth. Yet if Lord Mastarna did not send help, Semni might not need a birthing chair. There were six long months remaining for her son to grow within her. Nerie had been born in autumn. Would this child also have the chance to first open his eyes to the season of turning leaves and the harvest moon?
Arruns was dressed in his uniform. He was also wearing a wreath on his brow. The blooms were incongruous above the bared fangs and forked tongue of a serpent. The bodyguard scowled as he fiddled with the garland. Semni smiled at him, but he was too nervous to acknowledge her. A faint sheen of sweat covered his shaven skull. Used to being unobtrusive, he did not like being the center of attention.
Lord Tarchon called all to gather and began the rites. Arruns offered Semni a gilded wooden pomegranate. She, too, offered him the fruit, the symbol of fertility, life, and marriage. Saying a prayer, the prince lifted a sheer wedding mantle and placed it over the couple’s heads. Semni felt the fabric settle upon her hair.
Enveloped together under the filmy material, there was no sign of the ruthless killer when Arruns smiled. The pair clasped each other’s hands, exchanging their vows. The veil was lifted, the intimacy broken by the applause around them. Barekbaal and Semni were now joined as one.
Husband and wife rose. Semni leaned across to kiss her husband, but aware of an audience, he avoided her mouth and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Lord Tarchon clamped the bodyguard’s shoulder with his hand. “Is that the best you can do? By the gods, kiss her properly!”
Issued the challenge, Arruns handed the prince the pomegranate and grabbed his bride by the hips. Pressing Semni hard against him, he planted his lips on hers for long moments, until, releasing her, she gasped and then caught her breath.
Lord Tarchon called, “That’s better. Now she might have something to look forward to in the nuptial bed!
The room erupted into good-natured laughter, the awkwardness of rank forgotten. Others in the room became bolder, their suggestions growing more ribald. Semni laughed, hugging her husband.
One of the court musicians played his flute, the melody trilling above the hubbub of conversation. The castanet player added percussion, the lyre player strummed in harmony. After hearing only paeans, the jauntiness of the tune reminded Semni of a time when such entertainment was commonplace. Tonight there might be scant provisions for a feast, but at least cares could be forgotten with music.
“May your life together be blessed.” Lady Caecilia stepped across to the couple and kissed Semni on the cheek. She hesitated to extend the same affection to Arruns, her reserve maintained, but her gaze was fond.
After raising a toast to the union of their loyal servants, the prince and queen led the royal children from the courtyard. Arruns sat beside Semni dandling Nerie on his knee in time to the rhythm of the music. He’d removed his wreath and looped it around the boy’s neck. As Nerie plucked the petals, his father pressed his lips to his son’s fair head. The lonely man had been made whole.
The celebration lacked wine to fuel merriment, but soon most of the guests were singing raucously. Some of the lictors even coaxed the maids to dance. One grabbed Semni, giving her bottom a pinch. Glaring, Arruns slipped Nerie from his lap and placed his hand against the man’s chest in warning. The guard backed off, grinning. “You can’t help me for trying.”
Cytheris saw the exchange. She scooped Nerie onto her hip and cleared her throat. “I think it’s time for the bedding. Let bride and groom join as one. We can celebrate well enough without them!”
Taking his wife’s hand, the Phoenician said in his gruff voice, “I have a job to do.”
Laughter followed as he led her away. Semni’s heart was beating fast. Tonight she would lie with him as his wife. Even though she was familiar with his roughness, and the heat and power of his flesh, she wanted their new life together to start with slow caresses and tender embrace.
To her surprise, he did not lead her to the barracks but pulled her toward the stairway to the loggia.
“Why are you taking me here?”
“Because I want to begin afresh.”
Intrigued, she ascended to the gallery and stood beside him next to the caryatid column.
He placed his hand on her stomach. “I’m sorry I didn’t greet the news of our child with joy. I want this baby whether born into peace or war.”
“So you have hope, Arruns?”
“Better to have faith than to surrender to despair.” He looked down at her belly and then met her gaze. “Can you feel him stir within you yet?”
She smiled at his eagerness to touch his child. “No, I have not quickened.”
“Then you must tell me as soon as he moves.”
She slipped her arm around his waist. “The minute he does.”
Both stood quietly, gazing at the forum. Twilight was nearly over, night encroaching in hues of deep blue. The houses and buildings around the forum were dark shapes with pinpricks of candlelight in open windows. She gave him a squeeze. “Do you wish your family could have been here today?”
“I try to rid myself of such ideas. Although it’s harder to ignore them now I have you and Nerie, and the baby.” He gazed at the evening star twinkling beside a thick sliver of moon. “Astarte is gazing down on us. It comforts me she’s also observing my kin across the Great Sea.”