[Illustration: They sat together that night and watched the moon sail
grandly over the flood]
The children who had come to the Square Hill learned to know one another
very well in those first years of the colony. There were about a dozen of
the older ones who were nearly the same age, and they shared more
responsibility than children do in a more settled community. When the
river rose suddenly, and all the animals had to be hustled at a minute’s
notice to the highest part of the hills out of the way of the waters,
Marcs the son of Colonus, and Mamurius the son of the metal worker Muraena
were old enough to be treated almost as if they were men. They sat
together that night and watched the moon sail grandly over the flood, and
talked of all the things that boys do talk of when they begin to look
forward into the future.
It was a wild and lonely scene. The rising of the flood had covered the
plain for miles, although in many places the waters were not deep. The
seven hills stood up like seven islands in an ocean, and although neither
of the boys had ever seen an ocean, they knew that it must be something
like this. The hill where they had driven their scrambling goats was high
and steep and rocky and had been partly fortified. It was a natural
stronghold, standing up above the group as the head of a crouching animal
rises above the body. All the hills were crowned with circles of twinkling
fires, and on the highest point of each was a beacon fire which was used
for signals. Each had signaled to the others that all was right, and now
there was nothing to do but wait for the morning.
The smaller boys who had helped were very much excited at first, and
danced around the fires gleefully, and ate their supper with a great
appetite; but they went to sleep quite soon afterward. The two older lads
were the only ones awake when the moon rose, and it seemed as if they were
the only people awake in the whole world. In the safe and orderly and
protected life of their childhood they had never seen anything like this,
or been given so much responsibility. For some hours no one had known how
much farther the waters would rise, and all the boats had been kept ready,
and the men had made rafts, to save what they could if the river should
sweep over the last refuge. But evidently it was not going to do anything
like that. It had stopped rising already. Faustulus the old shepherd, who
had lived among these hills ever since he was a boy, said that once in a
few years they had a flood like this, but that it never in all his
recollection had gone more than a few inches higher.
These two boys had always been good friends, for they were just unlike
enough for each to do some things the other admired. Marcs was like his
father, square-set and strong and rather silent. Mamurius was a little
taller and slenderer, and very clever with his hands. He could invent new
ways to do things when it was necessary and when the old ways were
impossible. He had never built a boat before he and Marcs made theirs the
summer before, but he had shaped a steering oar that was better than the
one he copied. On this night they found themselves somehow closer together
than they had ever been before, and they promised each other always to be
friends, to work and fight for each other as for themselves as long as
they lived.
The girls also had their responsibilities, which made them rather more
capable and sure of themselves than they might have been if they were not
the children of colonists. After the flood went down it left things wet
and unwholesome for some weeks, and a fever broke out, of which some of
the people died. Mamurius’ mother, and Marcia’s two little brothers, and
two girls in the family of Cossus died of it, and at one time hardly a
family had more than one or two well persons. Marcia was watching over her
mother, who was very ill, when Mamurius came to the door with a basket of
herbs and gave her a handful. He said that he had asked Faustulus whether
he did not know of some medicine for the fever. Faustulus told him that
there were certain herbs in his hut which his wife used to prepare in a
drink, and this drink helped the fever. Mamurius had brewed the drink and
given it to his father, and taken some himself, and it had done them both
good. The old shepherd stood in considerable awe of the colonists, who
knew so many things that he did not, and he would never have thought of
suggesting anything to them himself.
One night Muraena the metal worker came to the house of Colonus, and sat
down with the head of the house under a fig tree by the door and talked
with him. The two had been friends for many years, and now, he said, the
time had come to make the friendship even closer by an alliance between
the two houses. He had long observed the goodness and dutiful kindness of
Colonus’s daughter Marcia, and it was his wish that now she was come to an
age to be married, she might be his own daughter. He had reason to believe
that his son would be glad to marry her. What did Colonus think about it?
Colonus had no objection whatever. That night he went in and called Marcia
to him, and told her kindly that Mamurius the metal worker’s son had been
proposed for her husband, and that it would be most pleasing to both
families if the marriage could be arranged. It was a surprise to Marcia,
but not at all an unpleasant one, and she went to sleep that night a very
happy girl.
This was the first wedding in the colony, and as the preparations went
forward, everybody, old and young, took a great deal of interest in it.
Marcia never knew she had so many friends. Everybody seemed to wish her
well and approve of the marriage. The wooden chest Marcs had made for her,
and Bruno had carved and painted, began to fill with webs of linen and
wool, the gifts of her mother and the other matrons, and some that had
been spun and woven by Marcia herself. She could see from the door the
house that was to be her home, as its fresh, new walls arose day by day.
And at last the day arrived for the _confarreatio_; as it was called, the
wedding ceremony, the eating of bread. Like the other ceremonies in the
religion of the people, this was very old, so old that the beginning of it
was not known. The reason of some of the things that were done had been
forgotten. Marcia could just remember going to one wedding when she was a
little girl before they left the Mountain of Fire. All the colonists who
went out were already married and had children, and until now none of the
children were old enough to begin a new home.
There was always a certain meaning in the eating of salt together; it is
so in all the ancient races. Salt was not like food that any two men might
eat together, like animals, where they found it. It was part of the
household stores; it was eaten by families living in houses. In some
places it was not easy to come by, and it was the one thing necessary to a
really good meal, whatever else there was to eat. When a man was invited
to share a meal with salt in it, it meant that he was invited to the table
and was more or less an equal. People who were simply fed from the stores
of the farmer prepared their own food in their own way, often without
salt. It was said that the wood spirits, the gods of the wilderness, of
whom nobody knew much except that they were mischievous and tricky, could
always be known by the fact that salt to them was like poison; they could
not eat it at all.
When a bride left her own home to go to that of her husband, it was a very
solemn proceeding, because she said farewell to her own family, the
spirits of her ancestors, and the gods of her father’s hearth, and became
one of her husband’s family, a daughter of his father. All that was done
was based more or less on this idea. A girl who ran away from home without
her father’s knowledge could not expect to be blessed by her ancestors,
the unseen dwellers by the fireside. A woman who came into another home
without the permission of the spirits who dwelt there could not hope to be
happy; bad luck would certainly follow. The wedding ceremonies were meant
to make it perfectly clear that all was done in the right and proper and
fortunate way.
The day was chosen by Tullius the priest, and was a bright and beautiful
day, not long after the feast of Maia. The ceremonies began at dawn.
Before sunrise Tullius was scanning the sky to make sure that the day
would be fair and that no evil omen was in sight. Felic’la, who hovered
around her sister with adoring eyes, thought she had never seen Marcia
look so beautiful. She was in white, with a flame-colored veil over her
head, and her hair had been, according to the old custom, parted with a
spear point into six locks, arranged with ribbons tied in a certain way to
keep it in place. Her tall and graceful figure was even more stately than
usual in the white robe she wore, and her great dark eyes were like stars.
When the guests were all at the house, Marcus Colonus offered a sacrifice
at the family altar and pronounced certain ancient words, explaining that
he now gave his daughter to the young Mamurius and set her free from every
obligation that kept her at home. When the sacrifice was over, the guests
wished the young couple happiness, and the marriage feast began. There was
no one in the whole village who did not have reason to remember the
rejoicings on the day when the daughter of Colonus was married, for it was
the richest feast that had ever been given in the colony. The house was
decorated with wreaths and the best of the wine was served, and all the
dainties the Roman women knew how to make were to be found upon the table.
Marcia sat among her maidens like a young goddess among priestesses; they
were all eager to show her how dear she was to them and how glad they were
that she was happy. There was not a child in the village who did not think
of her as a kind elder sister. Now she herself was to be served and made
happy, and for that day she was the most important person in the eyes of
all those who had been her playmates.
At last the rejoicings at the home of Colonus were over, and it was time
for the wedding procession. Attended by the young girls near her own age,
the bride was taken from her mother’s arms by the bridegroom, and the
whole party moved in procession toward the new home. In advance went torch
bearers, and the children scattered flowers for her feet to tread upon as
she passed. Every one was singing or shouting “Talassio! Talassio!” The
flute players were making music, and the bridegroom scattered handfuls of
nuts for which the boys scrambled. When they reached the door of the new
house Marcia poured a little oil upon the doorposts, and wound them with
wool which her own hands had spun. Then Mamurius lifted her in his strong
arms and carried her through the door.
[Illustration: Mamurius lifted her in his strong arms and carried her
through the door]
Exactly why this was part of the marriage ceremony is not known. Some
think it was because a bride must not be allowed to stumble on the
threshold, for that would be unlucky. But it was more likely to mean that
she was brought by her husband into the house to join in the worship of
the spirits of the home, and so did not come in without an invitation. As
she stood in the _atrium_, the middle room where the altar and the family
table were, she received the fire and water of the family worship and
reverently lighted the first fire ever kindled on that hearth. She and
Mamurius repeated together the prayers that thousands of young couples had
repeated since first their people had homes. Then they ate together a flat
cake made with the corn blessed by the priest, and Marcia poured a little
of the marriage wine upon the fire as a sacrifice of “libation” to the
gods of her new home. This was the _confarreatio_. They felt as if the
silent, burning fire that lighted the dusky little room were trying to
tell them that their simple meal was shared by the gods themselves, and
that the blessing of all Mamurius’ forefathers was on the bride that he
had brought home to be the joy of his house.
On the next day there was another feast, to celebrate the beginning of the
new home, and the wedding was over.
“I am glad,” said Marcia’s mother to her husband when they went home that
night, leaving their daughter and young Mamurius standing together at
their own door, “that everything went so well, without a single unlucky or
unhappy thing to spoil the good fortune. Marcia well deserves to be
happy,—but I shall miss her every day I live.”
She sighed, and Felic’la looked rather sober. She knew very well that they
would all miss Marcia, but she determined in her careless little heart to
be a better girl and do so much for her mother and brothers that when her
turn came, they would all be sorry to see her go.
“I am glad,” said Colonus, “for more than one reason. I have been rather
anxious for fear that in this new place our young people would not
remember the old ways as they might if they had grown up in our old home.
It was important to have the first wedding one that they would all
remember with pleasure, and wish to follow as an example. I am very glad
Marcia has so good a husband. Mamurius is a youth who will go far and be a
leader among the young men. I suppose that now they will all be thinking
of marriage.”
There were, in fact, several other marriages in the colony within a year
or two, but nobody who was at that first wedding ever forgot it. Marcia
was often called upon to tell how the garlands were made, and just how
much honey they put in the cakes for the feast, and how the other little
matters were arranged that all seemed to be managed exactly right. In
fact, that wedding set a fashion and a standard, and as Marcia’s father
was shrewd enough to see, it is a good thing in a new community to have
the standards rather high. There was nothing in what Marcia and Mamurius
did that other people could not follow if they chose, but the simple
comfort and grace of their way of living did mean that they cared enough
for their home to take it seriously. Girls who might not have thought much
about cleanliness, thrift, cheerfulness and beauty began to see, when they
visited Marcia, how pleasant it was to have a home like hers. She did not
tell them so; she was herself, and that was enough.