Valeria’s Cross (12 page)

T
he residents of the palace were in a jovial mood when Valeria and Prisca arrived home in Nicomedia. Servants smiled and joked as they prepared for the great celebration. Diocletian, who had completely recovered from his illness, would formally announce the upcoming marriage of his daughter and his esteemed general at the party.

Everyone of importance in the empire had received an invitation, and anticipation was high. Senators and foreign dignitaries would also be in attendance. Though a marriage of political convenience, the emperor was pleased with the match—so much so that he also planned to announce the appointment of Galerius as his Caesar.

By Saturday, the day of the festivities, Valeria had tried on dozens of gowns before settling on a turquoise silk with a brocade robe, trimmed in ermine and the exquisite gold galloon stitched by the women from the Mary Magdalene priory. Despite the haunting sadness that plagued her because her betrothed was Galerius and not Mauritius, Valeria was pleased when she noticed that the turquoise silk perfectly matched her eyes.

That evening, as Valeria dressed for her appearance at the elaborate feast, Eugenia came into her room and presented her with a pair of gold-trimmed sandals. Valeria slid her feet into them and then stood in front of the mirror, fussing with her upswept hair.

Eugenia smiled. “You look breathtaking.”

“And so do you, my friend. You are a vision in pink.”

Shyly, Eugenia thanked her mistress.

Removing her hairpins and holding them between her teeth, Valeria mumbled, “Tonight I prefer to wear my hair down.” She placed the hairpins on the dresser and tossed her head, causing her gold- and copper-colored hair to tumble down her shoulders.

“Lovely,” Eugenia conceded. “Although your mother prefers you wear your hair
chignon
.”

“But tonight is my night,” Valeria replied, smiling at her friend. “I’m welcoming my husband-to-be home from yet another successful campaign.”

Eugenia raised her eyebrows. “Do I detect a trace of excitement in your voice?”

Valeria shrugged. “Excitement, no, but I have accepted my fate and have pledged to make the best of it. Now, instead of plotting my escape, my days are spent on my knees, begging my heavenly Father to bless me with undying love and devotion for my husband.”

“And to think I imagined all that time spent in prayer was a plea for God to ‘take this cup’ from you.”

Valeria laughed. “You know me so well, my dear friend. I will admit that most of my prayer time has been spent begging God to spare me, but since no angel has dropped down from heaven to rescue me and no stray arrow has pierced Galerius’ heart in battle, I believe I am destined to marry him.”

“Give General Galerius a chance,” Eugenia advised. “He may surprise you.”

“I cannot say I am hopeful,” Valeria sighed, “but I have pledged obedience to my Father in heaven. Felix convinced me that it could be exciting to see what God will do in the marriage on my behalf.”

Eugenia nodded and expressed her pleasure with a smile. “Now, come, my darling girl. It is time to go to your mother’s quarters and then proceed to the great hall. Your fiancé awaits you.” Eugenia kissed Valeria on the cheek before they exited the room. As the friends walked down the long stone hallway to Prisca’s suite, followed by an entourage of servants, Valeria squeezed Eugenia’s hand. She had always believed that Eugenia could somehow protect her, but once Valeria was married, she knew she must face her husband on her own.

Once at their destination, a servant let them inside the empress’s luxurious and ornate boudoir, where dozens of handmaidens fussed with Prisca’s gown and hair. Upon seeing her daughter, Prisca smiled warmly.

“Come, let me have a look at you.” She extended a jeweled hand to Valeria, and Eugenia pushed the hesitant girl forward.

“Turn around, darling,” her mother ordered.

Valeria obeyed, spinning slowly so her mother could see her from all angles.

“Perfection,” Prisca exclaimed, “except for your hair. My hairdresser will put it up on your head.”

“But, Mother, I prefer to wear my hair down tonight.”

Prisca’s smile faded, replaced by a slight frown. “It should be your lover who has the pleasure of taking down your hair.”

“But you promised that he will not become my lover until we have spoken our vows,” Valeria reminded her.

“It is symbolic,” Prisca insisted, pursing her lips in obvious disapproval. Valeria knew her mother did not like being challenged in front of her servants and friends, but she was not yet ready to give in to her request.

“I promise I will wear my hair in an intricate weave on my wedding day,” she bargained. “But for tonight, may I please wear it down?”

Ignoring her daughter’s pleas, Prisca clapped her hands, and within minutes, a cadre of hairdressers had swept Valeria’s mane atop her head. As the last hairpin was inserted, Valeria bit her lip and fought back the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“Your father will be here in a moment to present you with tokens of his affection,” Prisca said, “so please do not appear weepy and morose when he arrives.”

Moments later, when Diocletian entered Prisca’s chambers, all the women except the empress and Valeria were ordered out of the room. Dutifully, Valeria bowed before her father and then rose to greet him with a kiss on each cheek.

“Hello, Father,” she said, smiling. “You look wonderful— well rested and tanned. I trust you are feeling better.”

“I have recovered fully, and I have never felt better in my life. And you? Did you enjoy your trip to France?”

“It was wonderful. You know how I adore traveling by sea.”

Diocletian smiled. “Your mother and I are elated about your marriage to Galerius. He is a mighty warrior and a fine leader. I trust he will lead your family as well. He has become a trusted advisor to me, and I love him like a son—which very soon he will be. I hope that you and Galerius will bless us with many grandchildren, and that your firstborn will become an heir.”

“Now, darling,” Prisca teased, “it is a bit soon to talk about grandchildren.”

Valeria returned her father’s smile. She knew the great regret of Prisca’s life was her inability to present her beloved husband with an heir to the throne. Perhaps if Prisca had given Diocletian a son, her daughter would not be forced to marry a man she did not love. Eugenia had confided in Valeria that much of her mother’s time in prayer was spent asking God for a son for Valeria. “If it pleases you, Father, I pray my firstborn will be a son.”

Diocletian nodded and then clapped his hands together, as servants stepped forward, carrying an assortment of decorative boxes. “Your mother and I have gifts for you. We prefer to present them to you now so as not to upstage your husband-to-be when he presents you with your engagement presents tonight.”

“You are not obliged to give me any more gifts, Father,” Valeria protested. “And I have heard gossip that you have made Galerius one of the wealthiest men in the province— perhaps the entire Roman Empire. As his wife, I shall benefit from this wealth too.”

“Ah, but you are our most precious jewel,” Diocletian said. “And speaking of jewels …” Turning, he motioned to the servants to present the gifts.

“Each piece is more beautiful than the one before,” Valeria gasped, as the parade of gift-bearing servants passed by. “They glitter like a sparkling sky at night!”

“Take your pick,” Prisca said. “Which one will you choose to wear to your engagement party?”

Valeria’s head felt as if it were spinning. How could she choose? Yet she knew she must. “The diamond necklace would look best with my dress,” she said at last.

Diocletian removed the necklace from the box and fastened it around his daughter’s throat, while Prisca slid the matching bracelets onto the girl’s slender arm. Another servant stepped forward to fasten more diamonds to Valeria’s ears. Her father had the honor of placing a diamond crown upon her head. When the jewels were in place, the emperor and empress stood back and admired their daughter.

“There is no one prettier in the entire Roman Empire,” Diocletian exclaimed.

“Except for Mother,” Valeria added quickly, smiling and taking Prisca’s hand.

Her father laughed. “I have not forgotten your mother,” he exclaimed. “Never! She is the love of my life.” Grinning at his wife, he opened another box and took out a necklace of emeralds and diamonds that rivaled the ones he had given Valeria. The jewelry perfectly matched Prisca’s dark green gown, which was trimmed in mink and gold. Diocletian fastened the necklace behind Prisca’s neck, while a servant appeared out of nowhere to hang the matching emerald earrings on her ears. The earrings were as big as gold coins and dangled seductively on each side of her lovely face.

Diocletian, obviously pleased with himself, kissed his wife and then his daughter. “Ah, I am the luckiest man in the empire! I am Jupiter! I rule the world. Come, let us join our guests.”

Moments later, the royal family made a grand entrance into the great hall of the palace, as a loud blast of trumpets heralded their arrival and the crowd cheered. Even the musicians and dancers ceased their performances.

Once the music resumed, Valeria’s eyes surveyed the great hall in search of her fiancé. She finally spotted him seated at the banquet table, with belly dancers swishing their hips all around him. Though the sight of him made her stomach
churn unpleasantly, she was encouraged to note that he did not appear quite as repulsive as he had in Egypt. As her father escorted her closer, she noted that her fiancé’s curls were closely cropped upon his head, and he was immaculately groomed and dressed in a toga trimmed in royal blue and gold.

Valeria smiled to herself. It amused her that the man had obviously cared enough to spend time planning and getting ready for the evening. Was it possible that he cared that she be attracted to him? Her heart softened at the thought.

But when she arrived at the table and stood face-to-face with him, he leered at her until she felt herself grow pale and weak, though she refused to faint and somehow remained on her feet.

“Come here, beautiful one,” Galerius said, standing and helping her get situated on the divan.

Valeria’s servants surrounded her, giving place to Galerius, who stood so near she could almost feel his hot breath washing over her. Eugenia sat behind Valeria in order to attend to her every need.

Galerius leaned over her and whispered in her ear. “So, now you are mine. All mine, to do with as I please.”

“We both know that we were forced into this marriage,” Valeria whispered back, a chill snaking up her spine. “Could we please make the best of it and call a truce?”

Still leaning over her, he reached down and wrapped his arms around her. No more was there any doubt that she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. “Does marriage to me not excite you?”

She refused to move away. “Are you demanding that I answer your question?”

He grabbed her chin and firmly turned her face up to his. “Yes.”

“Then, no,” she said, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “Marriage to you does not excite me. In fact, I consider it a tragedy.”

He raised his eyebrows, appearing amused. “A tragedy, you say?”

“The greatest tragedy of my life,” Valeria shot back, and then wished she had not spoken so frankly. “I am at your mercy,” she added, the haughtiness gone from her voice, “just as are your soldiers and your enemies. And so I beg your mercy where I am concerned, sire.”

He laughed again. “Ah, Valeria, I took you for a fighter. I expected a real hellcat with claws. I believed you would take me years to tame. But, alas, I am disappointed that you beg for mercy.”

“My father has ordered me to be your wife. Do you not know that I am an obedient daughter?”

“Do you take me for the sort of man who would tolerate a lifeless wife in my bed?”

“No,” she answered, daring once again to defy him, “but I hope you understand that I am a woman who
does
want a lifeless husband in hers.”

Galerius roared with laughter, attracting attention throughout the great hall, while Valeria blushed, regretting her words. When at last he stopped laughing, he ignored the words she had spoken and reached into his pocket and produced an engagement ring. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that it was quite lovely, an exquisite diamond set in gold. Her hand trembled as he slipped it on her finger, explaining, “This ring should be worn symbolically on the third finger of your left hand, for there is a nerve that runs from this finger directly to your heart.” He lifted his gaze from her hand to her eyes. “I pledge my troth to you,” he swore, crossing his chest with his right hand and then pounding his heart.

“And I pledge my life to you,” Valeria whispered, choking back a sob as she spoke the words.

Having observed Galerius’ actions, Diocletian immediately stood to his feet, with Prisca next to him. “Hear ye, hear ye, citizens throughout the Roman Empire, friends in Nicomedia, and countrymen and ladies.” With his arm around his wife, the emperor raised his jeweled gold cup high. “This day marks the betrothal of our daughter, Valeria, to my Caesar, Galerius. May the gods bless their marriage!”

“Here, here!” the crowd cheered. “Long live the Emperor!”

Galerius pulled Valeria to her feet and drew her to his side. He placed his arm around her waist so tightly that she wondered if he would cut off her breath. Together they smiled and waved to the thousands of dignitaries, citizens, friends, and family members in attendance.

Then the celebration erupted into an orgy of sorts. For the rest of the evening, Valeria’s future bridegroom ignored her until the party had ended, focusing his attention on the exquisite food and drink and the never-ending parade of dancing girls. As the gala event drew to a close, Galerius brushed Valeria’s cheek with a rather impersonal kiss, for which she was greatly relieved. Perhaps he would show little interest in her once they were wed, and she could lead a quiet life dedicated to prayer.

Back in her bedchamber, alone, Valeria admired her ring. Yet even as she did so, she realized she would give it and all the jewels she owned to bring Mauritius back.