The perfume of the roses in Semni’s bridal wreath was heady. Veii was not devoid of spring blossoms even though deprived of food. Cytheris and Perca had filled dozens of vases with grape hyacinths and lilies to add an air of gaiety to the day.
The bride and groom sat on bronze stools opposite each other in the palace courtyard. The sumptuous surroundings were fit for the nuptials of the nobility, not the union of a maidservant and lictor. Nevertheless, there was a familial atmosphere. Dressed in their best clothes, the staff had been allowed to attend. Semni could not help a fleeting moment of sadness that Cook was not there. She missed the woman with flour-dusted hands who was always ready to gossip.
The witnesses were not the group of servants before whom Arruns had claimed Nerie. Instead ten royal lictors acted as the official observers. Semni always felt intimidated by these burly men with their weathered faces. Now they were relaxed and grinning, pleased to participate in the marriage of the Phoenician who led them.
Although used to royalty, Semni was daunted at the presence of the aristocratic guests. Lady Caecilia and Lord Tarchon stood resplendent in purple. The queen had insisted the regent preside over the ceremony. Semni was overwhelmed. She never imagined there would come a time when a ruler would officiate at her marriage.
Cytheris and the other handmaids chattered as they waited for the ceremony to begin. The Greek woman held Nerie on her lap. Cross-legged on the floor next to Perca, the three princes also watched the preparation for the rites. Semni noticed the lethargy of the children. She hoped the wedding would distract them from their hunger for a little while.
She touched a brooch fastened to her bodice. Cytheris had given it to her that afternoon when she’d helped her to dress her hair. A tiny Medusa’s head was engraved on it. The frizzy-haired maid had smiled when she’d placed it in Semni’s palm and folded the girl’s fingers around it. “A gorgon from the Gorgon,” she’d said, then patted Semni’s knee. “I give it to you with no malice. She will protect you from the evil eye.”
Semni had kissed Cytheris on both cheeks. “You love Nerie as would a grandmother. The baby I carry will be yours to cherish as well.”
Rearranging the mantle slipping from one shoulder, Semni was grateful Lady Caecilia had given her a chiton of fine linen bordered with blue spirals from her own collection. The gown was cinched at the waist with a girdle studded with tiny glass beads. The girl lacked the elegance of the queen, but she gained the attention of the men around her. Some of the lictors’ glances lingered. But her dimpled smile was reserved for her groom alone.
Her first wedding gown had been of rough weave, homespun on her mother’s loom. How she’d hated her father for marrying her to an old man. She’d dared not complain. She’d been expected to bear many sons to further both bloodlines. And so it was perplexing when her mother gave her a posy of lupins and laurel on her wedding eve. “Here’s the secret to ridding a babe seeded within you. Use flowers like these until you’re fifteen. I don’t want to see another of my daughters die in labor due to narrow hips and too small a womb. I was lucky to survive bearing your brother when I was twelve.”
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!”