Following the bride were her mother and father and the rest of the bridal party, who sang the ancient wedding song. It was called “Tallasius” and recalled the taking of the Sabine women by Romulus and his men. According to legend, the most beautiful of the Sabines was captured by the henchmen of a certain Tallasius. As she was carried off, the Sabine begged to know where the men were taking her. The women in the wedding party sang the questions, and the men sang the responses.
Where do you take me?
To Tallasius the dutiful!
Why do you take me?
Because he thinks you’ re beautiful!
What will my fate be?
To marry him, to be his mate!
What god will save me?
All the gods have blessed this date!
The wedding party arrived at the home of Lucius Pinarius. In the street, under the open sky, a sheep was skinned and sacrificed on an altar. Its pelt was thrown over two chairs, upon which the bride and groom sat. Claudius, as augur, asked the gods to bless the union and took the auspices; the flight of two sparrows from right to left across the darkling sky he declared to be a very favourable omen.
Carrying her distaff and spindle, Acilia rose from her chair and stood before the door to the house, which was decorated with garlands of flowers. Her mother embraced her. Everyone knew what was to come next, and there was a thrill of nervous excitement in the crowd. When Lucius, still seated, seemed to hesitate, his father shouted, “Go on, son, do it!”
“Yes, Lucius, d-d-do it!” shouted Claudius.
Smiling and laughing and clapping their hands, others took up the chant: “Do it! Do it! Do it!”
Blushing and laughing, Lucius sprang from his chair and pulled Acilia from her mother’s arms. She shrieked as Lucius swept her off her feet, kicked open the door, and carried her like a captive Sabine over the threshold. The wedding party cheered and applauded and crowded around the open door to witness the final act of the ceremony.
Inside the house, Lucius set Acilia down on a sheepskin rug. She put aside her distaff and spindle. He handed her the keys to the house. “Who is this newcomer in my house?” he said, his heart pounding.
“When and where you are Lucius, then and there I shall be Lucia,” she replied. The ceremony gave Acilia something no unmarried woman possessed, a first name; it was a feminine form of her husband’s first name, and would be used only in private between the two of them.
Amid the feasting that followed, Lucius sought out Claudius. They strolled to a quiet spot away from the others, under the portico that surrounded the garden. The moon was full. The air was fragrant with night-blooming jasmine.
“You have a 1-1-lovely house, Lucius.”
“Thank you, Claudius. And thank you for taking the auspices today.”
“It was my pleasure to serve as augur, Lucius. But with this house and your lovely bride, you hardly needed m-me to confirm that Fortune is smiling on you.”
“Fortune, or Fate?”
Claudius laughed. “I see you’ve followed my advice and taken up the study of astrology. As Bolus writes in Sympathies and Antipathies, every student of astrology must sooner or later confront the paradox of Fate versus Fortune. If Fate is an inexorable path laid before us by the stars, from which no divergence is possible, then what good is a prayer to Fortune or any other deity? Yet men call upon Fortune all the time and in every circumstance. It is our nature to propitiate the g-g-gods and ask their blessing, so there must be some utility in doing so, despite the inescapable nature of Fate. It is my opinion that our personal destiny is like a broad pathway. We cannot go backwards or leave the path or change the destination, but within the pathway we can execute small twists and turns. In those circumstances we are able to exercise choice, and the favour of the gods can make a difference.”
Lucius stared into the middle distance and nodded.
Claudius sighed. “I see by your face, Lucius, that not one word I’ve said makes sense to you.”
Lucius laughed. “To be candid, Claudius, my study of astrology has not gone especially well. It’s not like augury. I didn’t particularly like spending all that time with the magister, but I did enjoy the instruction he gave us, because the science of augury makes perfect sense to me. Augury was perfected by our ancestors, it served them well, and it’s our duty to continue the practice, so as to maintain the gods’ favour for ourselves and our descendants. But astrology…” Lucius shook his head. “Naming the planets, categorizing their effects on human behaviour, and the rest – it all seems rather arbitrary to me, as if some long-dead Babylonian simply made it up. And as you say, if Fate exists, what point is there in knowing what the future will bring? Unlike you, Claudius, I’m not sure that augury and astrology can be reconciled. I think a man must believe in one or the other.”
“In that respect, at least, you are in agreement with Uncle Tiberius.”
“It was thoughtful of you, Claudius, to obtain the emperor’s birth information for me, as well as those two horoscopes. The older one, cast by Scribonius at Tiberius’s birth, I was able to decipher fairly well. But the more recent horoscope, by Thrasyllus – well, it made no sense to me at all. I simply couldn’t follow his calculations. And his description of Tiberius’s character – a humble man, reluctant but compelled by Fate to assume great responsibility – may be accurate, but I couldn’t see how it followed from the casting.”
“It could be that Thrasyllus, sifting among the d-d-data, delivered a reading in accordance with the image Uncle Tiberius wishes to project.”
“You mean he told the emperor what the emperor wanted to hear.”
“The fact that an astrologer may be devious does not negate the science itself, Lucius. Uncle Tiberius is probably as great a puzzle to Thrasyllus as he is to the rest of us. We have an emperor who refuses to wear the laurel crown, or to take any of Great-Uncle’s titles – no Augustus, no Father of His Country, no Imperator after his name. But neither d-d-does he seem likely to restore the Republic – he says the whole lot of senators are ‘fit to be slaves.’ Is Uncle Tiberius truly a humble man, thrust into prominence by circumstance, not to mention the ambitions of my grandmother? Or is he merely striking a pose, as Great-Uncle did when he styled himself the humble public servant who wanted nothing more than to serve the state?”
“Studying the stars may give an answer to Thrasyllus, but not to me,” said Lucius. “I simply have no aptitude for astrology.”
“Ah, well, I had thought to set you on the p-p-path, but it was not to be. Smile, Lucius! I just made a joke about Fate.”
“And you had no choice but to make it.”
Claudius nodded and looked across the garden, where Acilia was speaking to her mother. “If free will exists, then you certainly made a fine choice for a bride. Acilia is very b-b-beautiful.”
“She is. And I love her. It’s a curious thing: my father chose to court the Acilii because they had money, but now that’s irrelevant, thanks to the fortune I inherited from your uncle. I am free to marry for love.”
“Lucky man! Nowadays, most people marry for the tax advantages. Great-Uncle was determined that everyone should pair up, settle down, and breed, so he punished the unmarried and childless with taxes. He made life easier for the married man, and easier still for the man with children. You can get started on that tonight!”
Lucius joined him in gazing at Acilia. In her white robe and yellow veil, lit by moonlight and lamplight, she seemed to glow softly.
“At this time next year, I could have a son,” he said, awed by the enormity of it. “Do you remember, Claudius, when Augustus showed us those baby shoes?”
“Baby shoes?”
“When we spoke to him in that upstairs study, he showed us a pair of your nephew’s shoes.”