how I hate this custom,” Valeria complained to Eugenia, who tried to coax the lovesick young woman to enjoy herself. Though eager with anticipation at the thought of being alone with her future husband, Valeria could not relax during the wedding festivities. She became anxious and found herself wishing the party would end, but it continued on past midnight.
Mauritius motioned for her as the bridal couple finally sailed away in their felucca in the moonlight. Valeria watched him walk toward the beach, so she mingled with the crowd before taking a discreet path to the seashore. Each step, no matter how carefully placed, seemed to echo like a gong, outdone only by what she was certain was the loud pounding of her heart. When a pair of young lovers wandered down toward the seashore, Valeria hid in the bushes to keep from being seen.
But at last she was there, creeping onto the beach, her eyes darting back and forth in the darkness. She slid out of her sandals and wiggled her toes in the sand, which was still hot from the day’s sun. It was a balmy night, and Valeria felt exhilarated as she walked along the edge of the row of sequoia trees where they had once kissed. But he was not there. Though she was glad the trees blocked the moonlight, lessening their chances of being seen, it also made it more difficult to locate Mauritius.
As it turned out, she did not have to find him. Before she realized he was standing in front of her, she felt his hand cover her mouth. He pulled her behind a sequoia tree. The sharp intake of her breath confirmed Mauritius’ wisdom in preventing her from screaming in surprise. As her adrenaline ebbed and she came to terms with the fact that she was at last in the embrace of the man she loved, she relaxed, enjoying the feel of his muscular arms and broad chest, even as her cheek pressed against the Theban cross he always wore around his neck. Oh, if only her mother would send a messenger to her father soon so they could at least make their betrothal public knowledge before Mauritius was called away to the battle in Gaul!
“We must be quiet,” Mauritius whispered. “If they find me here alone with you, I’ll be drawn and quartered before sunrise.”
Valeria nodded. Without Nanu and Baraka as chaperones, Prisca would have insisted Eugenia accompany them, but Valeria longed to be alone with Mauritius in hope of receiving his passionate kisses. Mauritius removed his hand from her mouth, but he made no move to release her from his embrace—which suited Valeria just fine. She was exactly where she wanted to be, whether her mother approved . . . or not.
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by then, and up close she could see her intended’s face as he gazed down at her, his dark eyes reflecting the longing she felt in her heart. When his lips spread in a dazzling smile, she knew she would have collapsed if he had not been holding her up.
“You are as beautiful at night as in the daylight,” Mauritius whispered. “The memory of you in my arms will carry me through the battle of Gaul—and any others I must endure to finally have you as my wife.”
Valeria’s heart leapt in alarm. “Memory?” she asked, reminding herself to keep her voice low, even as her pulse began to race once again. “Why would you say that? Surely it is not time for you to leave for Gaul already! It has been only a few weeks since—”
Mauritius placed his finger over her lips. “Shh,” he cautioned. “Do not be upset, sweet Valeria. God willing, I will return to you—soon.”
What was he trying to tell her? Then, with her gaze locked into his, she knew. He was leaving, going to Gaul. The time had come, and they had not even spoken with her father or announced their betrothal.
Her heart felt as if it had sunk into the sand at her feet. Hot tears pricked the back of her eyelids. How could she let him go when they had just found one another?
She opened her mouth to demand the answer, but Mauritius shook his head. “I know, my love. I have asked myself the same question. But there is nothing we can do about it. My calling is to serve God first, and then my country. If I am needed on the battlefield, I must go. Besides, my emperor orders me there. It is not an option, beloved.”
Valeria knew he was right, and she loved him all the more for his loyalty and strength of character. But she felt no such constraints on her own emotions. She wanted to cry out, to scream in protest, to demand that her father rescind the order and allow Mauritius to stay behind—but as quickly as the emotion overwhelmed her, the responsibility of their respective positions negated it. Mauritius was right. He had to go . . . and she had to let him, without complaint or protest. But she could not do it without tears.
“When are you leaving?” she sobbed.
“We sail at dawn.”
Droplets spilled over her eyelids and onto her cheeks. She whispered, “Oh, Mauritius, how can I send you away like this? If only I were your wife—”
Mauritius withdrew his finger from her lips and slid it to the side of her face, tracing her cheekbone as tears glistened in his own eyes. “Do you really think it would be any easier if we were married?” He shook his head. “Leaving for battle is difficult—for the one going and the one left behind. But sometimes it must be done. And this, my lovely Valeria, is one of those times.”
He lowered his head and kissed her then, lightly and gently, but her lips felt as if they were on fire. How was it possible to love someone so much and still survive when separated?
When he pulled away, his face only inches from hers, she asked, “How long will you be gone?”
His jaws clenched before he answered. “Until God brings me back to you. That is all I can tell you, my love, for only He knows what tomorrow will bring.”
Swallowing a sob, she cried softly, “Oh, Mauritius, how will I bear it?”
“The same way I will. We will pray each day—each moment, if need be—for the strength and courage to do what we must, and for God to grant that we be together again . . . in His time.”
Once again, his lips touched hers, and Valeria thought she would die with the exquisite pain of loving him. And then he released her.
“I must go,” he whispered. “The longer I stay, the more difficult it is to say goodbye. And the more we risk being caught. We have to do this the right way, Valeria. We must gain your father’s permission to marry, and perhaps my service in Gaul will enable us to do that.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I can be a hero in your father’s eyes, he will surely grant me your hand in marriage.”
“But you must give me your word that you will be careful and not take any unnecessary risks. I would surely die if I lost you,” she cried.
Mauritius lifted his cross and kissed it. “I have God’s protection.”
“And my prayers.”
As he pulled away, Valeria clung to him, her sobs escalating as she spoke. “Do not go,” she pleaded. “Please, Mauritius! Not yet . . .”
But Mauritius pulled away and did not look back. When Valeria could see him no longer, she threw her hand over her mouth to prevent her cry from escaping. Once she had collected herself enough to speak, she whispered into the night, “God be with you, Mauritius, my love!”
After many days at sea, the Theban Legion landed near Rome. They marched through northern Italy, across the St. Bernard pass, and encamped
