Fifth Session: All Roads Sixth Post: Kissing Cousins
I think Meloch may have found some of these notes for my Great Roman Novel. Ah well, he can’t read, so it won’t mean anything to him anyways. And besides, he should appreciate what I’m doing; after all, he’s the brave sidekick of the story! I may even allow him to make witty comments occasionally, as sidekicks do. But to continue with our great adventures:
Eventually, we came to Massilia and the somewhat dilapidated atrium-style villa of Cornelia’s poorer country cousins. The father, Gnaeus, is her first cousin, an older landed farmer whose wife died some years ago; he has three children, Septimus, who’s 28, Decimus, who’s about 23, and Cornelia Nepa, called Nepa, who is 15. They were somewhat surprised to see such a large group, but took us all in, even Verix, with whom Gnaeus apparently had some familial business dealings.
After a brief wash in a cracked and dusty bath (but still better than the facilities back in the Gaulish village), we assembled for dinner, which was, well, awkward. Gnaeus had chosen to seat us on the three couches according to his perception of our relative ranks, which, of course, made sense. Well, it meant that Melech and I were waiting and serving food, but I’ve gotten used to that, and it gives me a good opportunity to pick up dropped scraps. Gnaeus and Metellus were in corner positions on the central and leftmost couches, in the positions of honor, next to each other. Marcus and Verix sat next to Gnaeus, and Septimus and Decius sat next to Metellus. The women, according to the old-fashioned custom, sat on chairs; Cornelia faced Gnaeus and Septimus, and Nepa was to her right, facing Decius and Metellus, while Wena faced Marcus and Verix. Meanwhile, this left Llyr and Heilyn alone on the last couch, desperately trying to hold some sort of polite conversation.
Gnaeus began the evening by mentioning how grieved he was to hear of the passing of Cornelius Crispus, and how Cornelia should know that his family was always willing to take care of her. Cornelia flinched a little, but thanked him for his generosity. Marcus, trying to find out more information about the mysteriously forgotten Emperor’s brother, Aemilianus Gallus, who had quelled a Gallic revolt, asked Gnaeus about his military service.
“I was a Decurion in the Seventeenth for three years, sir. Of course, my farms are too extensive to allow me to be a full-time soldier, but when the call came to defend Rome, I answered. That was a brilliant campaign, if I do say so myself – three months and all the rebels were quelled and the Germanii mercenaries swept back across the river. Just glorious,” Gnaeus replied.
“Indeed, that must have done you great honor,” Metellus commented. “Who was your commanding general?”
“Oh, don’t you know? It was...um...actually, I can’t think of his name right now. Must be the wine,” Gnaeus awkwardly responded. As he says this, we observed his forehead suddenly frowning, as if he had the name, and then suddenly lost it.
“So, where, did you do your military service, Septimus?” Marcus asked, his questions about Gallus answered for the time being.
“Oh, ah...I didn’t serve. Bad lungs,” the thin Septimus answers, blushing and looking down.
“Oh,” is all Marcus can think of to say in response, as his own golden phalerae for bravery clink on his dress uniform.
Meanwhile, on the Celtic couch, Heilyn finally makes an attempt to end the deadly silence: “So, how is the little horse doing?”
“Oh, the child of Epona? I named her Talat. She’s well,” Llyr enthusiastically says.
“She seems to be growing somewhat faster than normal baby horses?”
“Yes, about two or three times the rate, I think. And she’s far more intelligent, too. And, I’m not sure, but I think, once or twice she spoke to me in my mind, like her mother.”
“Really,” Heilyn says excitedly. “What did she say?”
“’Apples???’ ‘Want Apples?’” Llyr murmurs sheepishly.
“Oh. Well, she is young. I’m sure Talat’s wants and vocabulary will get more sophisticated as she gets older,” Heilyn offers as consolation, a little disappointed himself at the words of their local avatar. The two Celts smile at each other, their previous arguments temporarily stilled in their joint concern for the child of Epona.
Meanwhile, Gnaeus had somewhat blatantly steered the discussion on the other couches back to the topic of Cornelia’s inheritance. “My dear cousin, you realize that you have a sizable amount of farms and good vineyards in Gaul and Italy to administer now. Of course, I’m sure you’re not very experienced in running such things. What you need is a good man to help you. You ought to marry a healthy, trustworthy young man, with experience in farming, of good birth like your own, don’t you think?” Gnaeus pontificates, pointedly glancing at Septimus.
“I have always thought,” Marcus interrupts, “that Cornelia ought to marry a brave war hero, like her father.” He, in his own turn, briefly looks at Metellus. Metellus tries desperately to study the peeling floor mosaic of grapes.
A silence falls over this end of the dining room, during which they can hear Llyr’s discussion about whether or not they should shoe Talat.
Finally, Cornelia quietly intervenes, “Cousin Gnaeus, thank you for your advice. I always appreciate hearing the voice of experience. But right now, I just want to visit my mother, and take some time to think things over about the next stage of my life.”
Shortly afterwards, the dinner falls apart, and we drift off to our various bedrooms. Marcus has a short conference with Metellus beforehand, in which he expresses his concerns about the courtship of Cornelia by her cousins, who he deems to be a completely inappropriate match based on their clearly lower economic status and lack of military experience. Metellus largely dismisses these fears, but agrees that they should sleep in the rooms on either side of Cornelia, and be aware. Meloch and I, having heard all of this, decide that we are sleeping on the threshold of Cornelia’s bedroom and staying up as long as possible. After all, it is two days until the next ship leaves for Rome.