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It turns out that, for all the fuss that was made about it, this dance is actually very boring.
This is only just barely a surprise; any event that requires chaperones is an event that Lindsay generally doesn't look forward to. But it is true. Lindsay has had maybe a bit too much to drink, by now — he's accustomed to Bacchanal rites; the feeling is hardly unfamiliar — and successfully slipped away from his chaperone, and yet it is still boring.
Aboard the good ship Venus,
You really should have seen us,
With a figurehead of a girl in bed,
And a mast of a phallic genusThe captain's wife was Charlotte,
Born and bred a harlot,
Her thighs at night were lily white,
By morning they were scarlet.The first mate's name was Morgan,
By gosh, he was a gorgon,
From half past eight he played till late,
Upon the captain's organ
He loves them, he loves them he loves them. (He could love Ashley, maybe, depending. But right now he loves Stephen and Gabriel and Paris and Isadore and Leo, his Leo, more than words could possibly say.)
And with one thing and another they get to Ashley's house, its door decorated with garlands and flowers.
One of Ashley's friends hands Lindsay the wool and the mistletoe.
He's been taught the prayers to Forculus and Limentius and Cardea; he recites them in the same voice he uses for poetry, wraps wool around the doorposts with hands that want to shake but don't, anoints the hinges with wolf fat and mistletoe three times over.
He turns to Ashley, smiling.
He wraps his arms around Ashley's neck and smiles, radiant, and lets himself be carried.
The vicar is already there in Ashley's parlor. There are not so many guests that, as threatened, some might have to stand in the garden.
"Ubi tu Gaia, ego Gaius," Ashley says. Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius.
"Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia." Glowing. Happy. Visibly, audibly in love.
Ashley's face is softer, more affectionate, when he offers Lindsay the fire and water.
He makes eye contact with Leo for a brief precious moment before he turns to Ashley, gives him the spindle and distaff.
Ashley gives Lindsay the keys to the house and it's all over except for the sacrifices.
Lindsay's real sacrifices will come tonight. (He isn't sure how he'll slip away on his wedding night, but he'll manage somehow.)
For now he follows the forms, says the words in a voice like the one he uses for poetry and only a little bit like the one he uses for prayer.
There are a lot of sacrifices, and they're nice ones-- cows and oxen, not pigs and birds.
Ashley is either very pious or he's making a point.
Or both, there's always both. Lindsay keeps his eyes where they belong no matter how much he wants to look to Leo, see what he thinks.
After the sacrifices, there's a feast.
Those present include the vicar, Ashley's friends, Ashley's family, Leo, the other members of the Poetry Society, and some representatives of the virtuous and deserving poor.
Notably absent are Lindsay's family and his family's friends.
…huh.
He talks to Leo and Stephen and Gabriel about — poetry, on the surface.
Of course he does.
He keeps his face from softening too obviously when he looks at Leo, but the warmth is there if Leo looks for it.
Eventually the party ends and Lindsay has to go up to bed with Ashley.
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