chickens stretching ahead of him. There would be no more glorious gladiatorial battles at the Colosseum to watch, or chariot racing along the Appian Way. No summers on Capri, with its warm blue waters and endless sunshine, or visits to some of the most incredible brothels in the world, with their magnificent women who catered to all tastes.
Perhaps if he could get that little bitch Cailin to fall in love with him … No. That would take a miracle. He did not believe in miracles. Miracles were for religious fanatics like the Christians. Cailin Drusus had made her dislike plain from the moment they laid eyes on one another. She was barely civil when they were in the presence of their elders, and ignored him when they found themselves alone. He certainly did not want a wife as outspoken and unbridled as this girl was. Women with Celtic blood seemed to be that way. His cousin’s wife and mother-in-law were also outspoken and independent.
Quintus Drusus made an effort to swallow his disappointment. He was alone in a strange land, hundreds of leagues from Rome. He needed the goodwill and the influence of Gaius Drusus and his family. He had nothing, not even the means to return home. If he could not have Cailin, and the fat dowry her father would undoubtedly settle on her one day, there would be another girl with another fat dowry. He now needed Cailin’s friendship, and the friendship of her mother, Kyna, if he was to find a rich wife.
Quintus’s young cousins, Flavius and Titus, would be celebrating their sixteenth birthdays on the twentieth of March. The Liberalia fell on March 17. The manhood ceremony was always celebrated on the festival nearest a boy’s birthday—although which birthday was up to the discretion of the parents.
On that special day, a boy put aside the red-edged toga of his childhood, receiving in its place the white toga of manhood. Here in Britain it would be a mostly symbolic affair, for the men did not normally wear togas. The climate was too harsh, as Quintus had discovered. He had quickly adopted the warm, light wool tunic and cross-gartered braccos of the Romano-Britons.
Still, the old customs of the Roman family were kept, if for no other reason than they made wonderful excuses to get together with one’s neighbors. It was at these gatherings that matches were made, as well as arrangements to crossbreed livestock. They gave friends a chance to meet once again, for unnecessary travel on a regular basis was simply no longer possible. Each party setting out for the villa of Gaius Drusus Corinium made burnt offerings and prayers to their gods that they would arrive safely, and return home in safety.
On the morning of the Liberalia, Quintus Drusus said to Kyna in Cailin’s presence, “You will have to introduce me to all the eligible women and maidens today, my lady. Now that my cousin Gaius has so generously made me a man of property, I will be seeking a wife to share my good fortune with me. I rely on your wisdom in this matter, even as I would rely on my own sweet mother, Livia.”
“I am certain,” Kyna told him, “that such a handsome young man as yourself will have no trouble finding a wife.” She turned to her daughter. “What think you, Cailin? Who would best please our cousin? There are so many pretty girls among our acquaintances ready to wed.”
Cailin looked at her cousin. “You will want a wife with a good dowry, will you not, Quintus? Or will you simply settle for virtue,” she said wickedly. “No, I do not think you will settle for just virtue.”
He forced a laugh. “You are too clever by far, little cousin. With such a sharp tongue, I wonder if you will ever find a husband for yourself. A man likes a little honey with his speech.”
“There will be honey aplenty for the right man,” Cailin said pertly, smiling with false sweetness at him.
Earlier that morning Titus and Flavius had removed the golden bullae that they had worn around their necks since their twin births. The bullae, amulets for protection against evil, were then laid upon the altar of the family gods. A sacrifice was made, and the bullae were hung up, never to be worn again unless their owners found themselves in danger of the envy of their fellow men, or of the gods.
The twins next dressed themselves in white tunics, which, according to custom,