Valeria’s Cross (9 page)

Then, after a few days, Diocletian came to her again and stood with her mother beside her bed to tell her news so horrible that she prayed for death. “I have picked a more suitable husband for you,” he announced, “a man who is revered throughout the empire. As soon as he rids himself of his present wife, you will marry him. You are old enough to wed, and this match will be of great benefit to us all.”

Valeria could not believe the words she was hearing. She tried to read her mother’s reaction, but Prisca stood stoically, refusing to look her daughter in the eye. It was obvious she too had been crying … whether for the loss of the son-in-law she had hoped would be hers, or because another would take his place. Valeria had no way of knowing, but her heart squeezed with fear and anger simultaneously.

“You cannot force me to marry anyone,” she cried. “Do you not understand, Father? The man I love is dead—murdered!” She clenched her teeth and glared. “I refuse to marry—ever!”

“You will marry General Galerius, and he will become my adopted son.”

An image of the lecherous man flashed through her mind, and she recoiled with horror. “I would rather die!”

His face reddening with anger, Diocletian raised his hand. Surely he would not—

Even with Prisca struggling to stop the blow, her father’s hand landed upon Valeria’s face, slapping her with such intensity that she screamed in pain. Her horror was surpassed only by the utter disbelief she saw in her mother’s eyes. Even for days afterward, her mother burst into tears every time she saw her daughter, who wore the imprint of her father’s hand upon her face.

But worse than the physical reminder of the emperor’s proclamation was Valeria’s knowledge that the man she had been promised to marry was Galerius. How could her own father, even in a mentally unstable condition, consign her to such a fate? Death—even hell itself—would be preferable to living with such an ogre. It had to be her father’s illness that had spurred such a decision. Surely he would come to his senses and rescind his order!

When Valeria heard the light rap on her door, she ignored it. It was either Eugenia, trying again to convince her to eat something, or Prisca, coming once more to attempt to comfort her and talk her out of her depressed state. Why answer the knock when Valeria knew neither attempt would be successful?

Then the heavy door opened, its slight creak announcing the entrance of a visitor. Valeria refused to open her eyes to identify her uninvited guest. The light steps were familiar, however, and Valeria quickly recognized her mother’s presence
even before Prisca opened the drapes and then sat down on the edge of the bed and took Valeria’s hand in her own.

Her mother’s touch was gentle but firm as were the words she spoke. “This behavior must stop,” she said, and Valeria knew Prisca was serious. Not that it mattered; Valeria had no intention of stopping anything. She would lie there in bed, neither eating nor drinking nor speaking to anyone until she starved herself to death or died of thirst, whichever came first. That was not actively committing suicide, was it? It was simply dying of a broken heart.

“Valeria, you must look at me.”

Valeria was torn between respect for her mother and the grief that had become such a part of her. Even opening her eyes was more effort than she wished to exert, but when Prisca repeated her command, Valeria finally conceded.

She lifted her lids only enough to be obedient and peeked at her mother. She was astonished at the dark circles under Prisca’s eyes. It had not even occurred to Valeria that her mother was also a victim of Diocletian’s madness.

“Are you … all right?” Valeria managed to croak, her voice as unfamiliar to her as the light of day she had tried so hard to avoid.

Prisca’s eyes filled with tears. “How can I be all right when my husband has lost his mind and my only child has withdrawn from the living to mourn the dead?” Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Oh, my dear Valeria, you must not allow yourself to continue in this devastating depression. I cannot bear it!”

“I am … sorry, Mother.” Valeria swallowed, her tongue thick and her throat parched, each word an effort. “I did not mean to … hurt you.”

Prisca stroked Valeria’s face. “Do you not understand, dear one, that you are my heart? When you hurt, so do I. If your father were in his right mind, he would be hurting too.”

When Valeria stiffened at the mention of her father, Prisca withdrew her hand and held up a finger. “Stop. I know you need someone to blame for what has happened, and I do not deny the horror of it. But do not turn on your father. He loves you more than you can know, and it is his anguish over this situation that has driven him mad.”

“He caused it,” Valeria said, still straining to speak. “He and his cohorts ordered Mauritius murdered. How can I not despise him? I never want to see him again!” Valeria felt warm tears trickling down her cheeks onto her neck and hair. “How can I ever forgive Father for what he has done? My life is over, and my father is to blame. As for marrying that horrible Galerius, the subject is not open for discussion, so do not even think about broaching it. I love you, Mother, and I am sorry my grief has caused you so much pain. But not even for you will I consider such an unthinkable suggestion.”

Valeria felt exhausted, having delivered in moments more words than she had spoken in days, but at least her mother knew where she stood. And she had no intention of acquiescing.

Slowly Prisca released her daughter’s hand and rose from the bed. “I understand your feelings, my dear,” she said, her voice still soft but more composed now. “But you are wrong about one thing. Your father’s announcement that you are to marry General Galerius is not a suggestion. It is a command, one that neither you nor I can disobey.”

With that, Prisca turned and walked from the room, leaving Valeria in tears to consider the words that had sealed her fate.

E
ugenia poked her head through the doorway of Valeria’s bedroom. “Good morning,” she chirped and pushed back the heavy damask draperies that surrounded the ornate bed.

Valeria again wondered if Eugenia had a sixth sense about her. Only seconds before, Valeria had awakened from a dream of Mauritius that even now continued to hold her captive with its sweet memories. She sat up, her disheveled hair about her shoulders, realizing that the man in her dream was gone. Eugenia’s singsong greeting cheered her still-aching heart.

“I stopped by earlier but you were asleep,” Eugenia noted. “Thanks be to God that you are resting again, child. I have gone to church every day to pray for you.”

Valeria welcomed a distraction from her sadness. “Thank you for your prayers.” She swung her feet off the bed and sunk her toes into the thick Persian rug atop the sparkling pink marble floor, outlined with pure gold.

Eugenia turned and clapped her hands, and a cadre of servants appeared. It had been days since Valeria had allowed them to open the gold damask curtains. Today she nodded in approval because she wanted to see the ornamental gardens
outside her window. Some of the women carried armfuls of bouquets from the garden to arrange in the vases. Valeria’s senses were piqued as the sweet fragrances of roses, narcissus, lilies, and iris wafted throughout the rooms.

The servers from the kitchen were a welcome sight as they appeared with her breakfast. Valeria’s appetite had returned with a vengeance, and this morning she was so famished that she plucked a bunch of grapes that cascaded off a servant’s mosaic tray piled high with sumptuous apples, pomegranates, and quinces. At the table, Valeria ate bread, cheese, and eggs. She nodded her thanks to the young woman, who refilled her jeweled goblet with grape juice.

“You are overdue for a bath,” Eugenia announced. She knelt beside the bed and slid jeweled pink silk slippers onto Valeria’s feet. She usually stood by while the other servants attended to these tasks, but since the recent events in her young mistress’s life, Eugenia had personally attended to some of Valeria’s more immediate needs. Valeria had noticed those small demonstrations of love but had been too sad to acknowledge them.

“I have not seen you smile in weeks.” Eugenia commented.

“I’m smiling because last night I dreamed of Mauritius.”

“You must stop torturing yourself and accept that Mauritius has died.”

Unflinching, Valeria ignored Eugenia’s warning. “I was hoping my present circumstances were just dreams and Mauritius was still alive, but then I was awakened by the starlings singing outside my window, reminding me I was back in Nicomedia and that my tragic fate was real.”

“Try not to be so dramatic, please.”

Valeria sighed. “Would it shock you if I told you that when I went to bed last night, I prayed I would die in my sleep?”

“The way you have been acting lately, nothing would surprise me.”

Valeria sighed. “And why not? Lately it seems that God has turned a deaf ear to my prayers. He no longer cares about me.”

“You must not talk like that, dear one, but trust in the Lord with all your heart.” Eugenia made the sign of the cross over her own heart and sat down on the bed beside Valeria. “He will make your paths straight. Everything will turn out well, you will see.”

“I do not believe you. What I learned in Egypt about the Lord … it is all rubbish.” Hot tears squeezed their way out of Valeria’s eyes, as she asked, “How could a loving God take Mauritius away from me?”

Eugenia snatched a linen handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her mistress’s tears, and then pushed an unruly strand of gold-streaked auburn hair from Valeria’s face, gently tucking it behind her ear. “There, there, my darling girl, do not cry. Have you forgotten that we set sail tomorrow to complete your wedding trousseau?”

If Eugenia’s reminder was meant to cheer Valeria, it failed miserably, instead only increasing her anxiety.

Eugenia tried again. “In Istanbul there will be great trunks of jewels for you to choose from for your wedding crown, and cloths spun of golden thread in Milan for you to buy for your dressmakers to fashion your gowns.” Eugenia chatted endlessly. It was obvious she was trying to pique her young mistress’s interest, as Valeria had once adored beautiful things. “And I have a surprise for you too! Your mother has mentioned that we may travel to France so we can personally purchase the galloon from the godly hands that embroider it.”

Valeria shrugged, as curiosity overtook her tears. “And what, pray tell, is galloon?”

“Threads made from strands of gold stitched into lace for trims and borders. It surrounds the hem or the sleeves of some of your finest gowns.”

“Ah, I know what you mean. It is ornate, yet delicate. But what makes French galloon so special that Mother wants to travel to France?”

“This galloon is hand-stitched by a group of young women in an old castle, who have dedicated their lives to God,” Eugenia explained. “They live together in a community in the valley of Loire in France that was founded by Mary Magdalene, and they call themselves her disciples, spending their time in prayer and in God’s Word.”

“Are they the female equivalent to the monks?”

Eugenia nodded. “These women make the galloon for the church vestments, altar cloths, and also for fine clothing. They use the money they make to support themselves and the poor.”

“How does Mother know about them?”

“The Empress is their best customer. Her dressmaker in Milan buys galloon and lace from the women for your mother’s gowns. The dressmaker has made a special request to them to tat the lace for the wedding gown of the Christian daughter of the emperor. Last week they sent word to your mother that they are praying for your marriage, so she wants to visit them and select the trims herself—and to thank them, of course.”

She lowered her voice. “And wait until you hear what the ladies are sewing, especially for you. They are secretly stitching crosses into the design of the galloon.” Eugenia laughed. “Your pagan husband-to-be will not even know the crosses are there … right in your wedding garments.”

Valeria’s sarcasm was evident in her reply. “That
is
a blessing because if Galerius sees the crosses at the wedding he will
explode and rip my clothes right off me, and then I will stand naked in front of God and everyone.”

“That is not funny, Valeria.”

Valeria refused to stop her foolishness. “Oh, what a sight that will be! Everyone in the empire will gossip about me: ‘The naked girl was stripped of her clothes with only her auburn hair to cover herself.’ We must not cut my hair before the wedding, dear Eugenia, because it is all I will have to hide behind on my wedding day after my bridegroom tears my clothes from me.”

“Stop that ridiculous chatter. It is beneath you.”

“Even if he does not rip off my clothes at the ceremony, you and I both know he will tear them to shreds in the bedchamber.” Valeria was serious now.

Eugenia shook her head. “Ah, Valeria, the general is a mere man, not a monster.”

“I am not at all sure about that, but if I had to place a wager, I would put my gold on ‘monster.’ Besides, I have heard that all men are brutes in the bedroom.”

Eugenia sighed. “Where do you get these outlandish notions?”

“I have heard the whispers and giggles of the servant girls.”

“It is not true—at least, not of all men.”

“But everyone knows that Galerius is a monster—even you.”

Although Eugenia did not respond, Valeria could see the apprehension in her friend’s eyes. Valeria was well acquainted with fear, as she battled with it daily. That she would have to endure a loveless marriage to the horrible pagan terrified her.

“If the uprisings in the empire continue, General Galerius should be away at battle most of the time,” Eugenia said. “Now, stand up, please.” She tied the cord around Valeria’s
robe at her waist, and then touched her young mistress’s face. “You will be fine. Your mother and I and other women in the court have all faced our wedding nights with some trepidation, but after a few days have passed, you may enjoy your marriage bed.”

With tears once again brimming in her eyes, Valeria held up her hand. “Please, stop, Eugenia. I know you mean well, but nothing you say can help me get through this wedding or my honeymoon.”

Eugenia’s face softened. “You may not trust what I say, but you must listen to me. Consider that your father is the most dreaded and fierce warrior in the empire. Yet every time he leaves for battle, your mother weeps at his departure. For weeks afterwards she is morose, and when she hears he is on his way home, her heart overflows with joy.”

Valeria knew it was true. She thought of how her mother moped around the palace when her father was away. But once a messenger arrived with news of his return, Prisca came alive. Her singing and laughter again filled the halls of the palace. “I know this is true of my mother, but what does that have to do with me?”

“Consider if the bedchamber is such a terrible place, would your mother not rejoice when your father was away and tremble with fear when she heard of his return?”

Valeria cocked her head at Eugenia. “My father may be a fierce warrior and a stern emperor, but he has a loving and kind heart toward Mother—as I once thought he did toward me.”

“And he still does, my dear, whether you choose to believe it or not.” Eugenia raised an eyebrow. “Might the same be true of Galerius?”

“Sometimes you have such a short memory, Eugenia. Do you recall the lascivious stares he sent my way when he and his family were our guests at the palace in Egypt?”
It was obvious Eugenia was holding her tongue, so Valeria continued, “Do not deny you saw him. I overheard you complain to Mother about his inappropriate behavior. You told her the evil man was stalking me like a hungry lion.”

Eugenia blushed as she twisted her handkerchief in her hands.

“Now do you understand why I feel as I do?” Valeria pressed.

“Your mother and I will pray. We will help you,” Eugenia promised as she wrapped her arm around Valeria’s shoulders.

“But how can either of you help me? What will I do when you are far away, and I am alone with that awful man?” Valeria’s tears began afresh. “When Galerius comes to me on my wedding night, there will be no one to help me behind the locked doors of our honeymoon chamber.”

Eugenia tightened her embrace of the princess. “God will be with you behind those doors. You remember the words from the Scriptures that you learned in Egypt … ‘I can do all things in Jesus Christ who strengthens me.’ ”

“If there really is a God, perhaps He will be with me too….”

Eugenia was adamant, releasing Valeria and then placing her hand over her own heart as she spoke. “Not perhaps, but truly.”

“One thing is for certain. I will be alone with my memories of my beloved Mauritius.”

Eugenia opened her mouth as if to scold Valeria, and then stopped, obviously deciding to change the subject. “It is time for your bath,” she said gently.

Three servants drew the rose-scented water for her bath, while still others carried the freshly pressed lavender stola and a bright pink pala of wool that Valeria would wear that day.

As they stood at the marble tub, Valeria asked, “And what about the poor wife of Galerius, tossed away like garbage? Galerius even stole her daughter from her.” She sighed. “I envy you, Eugenia … married to a man you love so deeply.”

Eugenia paused. “Not always.”

Valeria blinked in surprise. “But you were mad with love for Octavius when you first met him.”

“Yes, I was,” she answered, “and I am still as much in love with my husband today. But it is a different kind of love.”

Valeria was curious. “What do you mean?”

“It is impossible to explain, but our love is deeper now. I have a much stronger respect for my husband too.”

“But no passion?”

“Oh, yes. The passion may not burn continuously as it did in the beginning … and thank heavens it does not because there would be nothing left of either of us if it did.” Eugenia laughed. “Octavius and I have our moments of passion that are far more intense than when our love was new. I am confident you will discover those moments of passion one day.”

“Undoubtedly I would have experienced passion with Mauritius, but with Galerius … never.” Valeria shook her head and closed the subject, as the servants in the bath disrobed her and shielded her body from view with a towel. She pushed aside the pink and white lotuses that floated upon the water with her toe and stepped into the fragrant marble tub of sweet-smelling oils and potions of frankincense, orange, and cinnamon. With the help of two servant girls, she lowered herself into the soft, luxurious warmth of the scented water, submerging her shoulders until the water lapped about her throat. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the aroma of the essences and felt herself relax, despite the tension that gripped her neck and shoulders and simmered in her gut. She knew Eugenia was right—at least so far as Valeria’s need to once and
for all bury her hopes and dreams for a love-filled marriage to Mauritius. But never would she accept her servant’s reassurances that Valeria might one day come to feel love or passion for the vile man she was being forced to marry.

How could Father even consider consigning me to such a fate?
she fumed, letting her arms drift weightless at her sides.
First he listens to Galerius, and then he issues an order that he knows will make a martyr of my beloved. Father then informs me I must marry the despicable creature that helped initiate Mauritius’ death. Mentally ill or not, how could my father allow such a thing to happen? Does my happiness mean nothing to him?

She sighed, as reality invaded her self-righteous musings. She had lived as royalty long enough to know that though her father might indeed care about her and wish her great happiness, political expediency trumped familial love and good wishes. It was politically expedient that she marry Galerius, despite the fact that she could not bear the sight of him, and therefore she had no choice.

Unless—