Read Online The Lion and the Lark by Doreen Owens Malek - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
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continued, opening the bag and sprinkling the salt on the bread. All watched him, breathless.
He looked up at the young couple, then held the sword aloft and sliced through the loaf with one stroke. “These two are married in the sight of the Tuates , the first of our tribe, and they share this bread as they will share their lives,” he said.
He gave a piece of the loaf to Bronwen, and then a piece to Claudius. Bronwen took a bite of hers. Claudius followed her example, chewing the manchet slowly. Then Borrus stepped forward, took his daughter’s hand, and gave it to Claudius.
At this point in a wedding the Celts usually erupted into loud cheers and began the wedding feast right on the spot, bringing in whole roasted boar and pigs and wild deer, getting drunk on corma and, if the trade routes were open and the families could afford it, imported Italian wine. Instead this time they glanced at one another uneasily and then began to file out of the hut slowly, as the onlookers outside searched their faces to see if the marriage had really taken place.
It had.
Bronwen emerged and was immediately surrounded by Iceni women and escorted to the home of her new husband. Claudius, to whom this custom had already been explained, hung back with the other officers, watching the Celts depart.
“You’re a lucky man,” Scipio said to Claudius, clapping him on the back, delighted that the two factions had made it through the ceremony without killing each other. “Your bride is gorgeous.”
Claudius looked at him. “Don’t you know her?” he asked the general incredulously.
Scipio shrugged. “She’s Borrus’ daughter, that’s all I know or need to know.”
“She’s been to your house, to escort a cook in your kitchens. She said your wife arranged it.”
Scipio sighed. “My wife has many arrangements unknown to me,” he replied in a weary tone. “Are you saying that you have met this girl before today?”
“Just once. I had no idea that she was Iceni royalty. I thought she was some relative of the cook’s.”
“She may well be. These people are all related to each other, their family ties are as complicated as Caesar’s.”
Ardus looked up at the night sky, heavy with snow and dark except for the torchlight surrounding them. “Too many strange things happen here,” he said, in a somber tone. “I sometimes feel their gods are watching us, gods much older and more powerful than ours, and that they will triumph in the end.”
“Stop it, Ardus,” Scipio said sharply. “That kind of talk does no good, it smacks of superstition and it saps morale.”
“They’re assembling to escort you to your wife,” Ardus said suddenly, looking through the door of the hut at the Iceni, who were lining up by twos, torches in hand. “We have to walk you to your door.”
The Romans stepped outside and were at once hemmed in by the Celts, which made Claudius uneasy. His hand went to his sword hilt, but it was soon clear that the Iceni were intent only on providing him with the traditional escort to his marriage bed. As the torchlit procession moved forward, with the people dressed as gods capering at the front of it, conquerors and conquered mingled peaceably for one of the few times in their troubled history.
The gates of the fort stood open to admit them, with the Romans lined up inside and armed to the teeth, watching soberly. The Druid led the way to the house Catalinus had abandoned when the British winter proved too much for his knees, beset by arthritis after wounds sustained in Spain and Gaul. For the past week it had been cleaned and furnished by Scipio’s servants, and inside it now the Iceni princess waited.
Waited for Claudius.
The procession came to a halt, and the Iceni parted ranks to let
He looked up at the young couple, then held the sword aloft and sliced through the loaf with one stroke. “These two are married in the sight of the Tuates , the first of our tribe, and they share this bread as they will share their lives,” he said.
He gave a piece of the loaf to Bronwen, and then a piece to Claudius. Bronwen took a bite of hers. Claudius followed her example, chewing the manchet slowly. Then Borrus stepped forward, took his daughter’s hand, and gave it to Claudius.
At this point in a wedding the Celts usually erupted into loud cheers and began the wedding feast right on the spot, bringing in whole roasted boar and pigs and wild deer, getting drunk on corma and, if the trade routes were open and the families could afford it, imported Italian wine. Instead this time they glanced at one another uneasily and then began to file out of the hut slowly, as the onlookers outside searched their faces to see if the marriage had really taken place.
It had.
Bronwen emerged and was immediately surrounded by Iceni women and escorted to the home of her new husband. Claudius, to whom this custom had already been explained, hung back with the other officers, watching the Celts depart.
“You’re a lucky man,” Scipio said to Claudius, clapping him on the back, delighted that the two factions had made it through the ceremony without killing each other. “Your bride is gorgeous.”
Claudius looked at him. “Don’t you know her?” he asked the general incredulously.
Scipio shrugged. “She’s Borrus’ daughter, that’s all I know or need to know.”
“She’s been to your house, to escort a cook in your kitchens. She said your wife arranged it.”
Scipio sighed. “My wife has many arrangements unknown to me,” he replied in a weary tone. “Are you saying that you have met this girl before today?”
“Just once. I had no idea that she was Iceni royalty. I thought she was some relative of the cook’s.”
“She may well be. These people are all related to each other, their family ties are as complicated as Caesar’s.”
Ardus looked up at the night sky, heavy with snow and dark except for the torchlight surrounding them. “Too many strange things happen here,” he said, in a somber tone. “I sometimes feel their gods are watching us, gods much older and more powerful than ours, and that they will triumph in the end.”
“Stop it, Ardus,” Scipio said sharply. “That kind of talk does no good, it smacks of superstition and it saps morale.”
“They’re assembling to escort you to your wife,” Ardus said suddenly, looking through the door of the hut at the Iceni, who were lining up by twos, torches in hand. “We have to walk you to your door.”
The Romans stepped outside and were at once hemmed in by the Celts, which made Claudius uneasy. His hand went to his sword hilt, but it was soon clear that the Iceni were intent only on providing him with the traditional escort to his marriage bed. As the torchlit procession moved forward, with the people dressed as gods capering at the front of it, conquerors and conquered mingled peaceably for one of the few times in their troubled history.
The gates of the fort stood open to admit them, with the Romans lined up inside and armed to the teeth, watching soberly. The Druid led the way to the house Catalinus had abandoned when the British winter proved too much for his knees, beset by arthritis after wounds sustained in Spain and Gaul. For the past week it had been cleaned and furnished by Scipio’s servants, and inside it now the Iceni princess waited.
Waited for Claudius.
The procession came to a halt, and the Iceni parted ranks to let
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