17: Sacred Vow
Talking about marriage, the other thing I'll need (besides someone to marry) is to figure out how I want to do it.
I've attended a few marriages, and everywhere does them differently. Back in Lo-Wil, it was a pretty small affair — but Lo-Wil is a pretty small town. According to the founder Wil, only town elders could perform a marriage, but since he died anyone who's known around town can do it. The ceremony's short and simple, just a couple of oaths about property and conduct around town, then off into the consummation shack they go.
One of the things Lo-Wil marriages don't have is religion. It's just not that sort of town — there's no priest, no temple. But it turns out, a lot of other places bring religion into it quite a bit.
In Wosh-Tun, they talk about God's vengeance a lot, so you might expect their marriages to be stern and solemn. Especially when the priest shoves the couple's heads in a bowl of water. But then they parade from the temple back to the house with the whole family in tow, and the family carry buckets so they can flick water at the bride and groom on the way. (I discovered this the first time I saw one, and got too close. Took me all day to dry out my tunic.) I figure the water is a symbol of wealth — not theirs per se, but the city. Wosh-Tun is a pretty prosperous place.
Outside the cities, the traditions change every time you walk more than a few miles, but you can see how influences spread — one town gives gifts to the couple, the next one over gives them the town's fattest goat, and the one after that sacrifices it for luck.
There's a fair amount of goat-sacrificing around marriages, come to think of it.
Of course, not everyone has neighbours. The caravans have customs and laws that have nothing to do with what happens in the cities, which is how they like it. And because Sultans take multiple wives, there's always a chance of seeing one when you meet up with a caravan.
There's no god involved, but plenty of ceremony. The whole caravan comes to a stop. Nobody trades, nobody does any work, nobody does anything except attend. Everyone rises at sun-up and starts decorating their trucks and machines; banners, hemp flags, even spare clothes, all flying in the desert wind. They line the machines up in an avenue, and eventually the couple come out of their own machine to walk down it. Each machine they pass switches on, and the air's thick with smoke and noise when they reach the end.
Then everyone gathers round and they do a ceremony with goats that seems to symbolise bartering, before giving one another bags of coin and shaking hands — after spitting in them, of course. Normally the Sultan himself conducts the ceremony, and talks about solidarity and loyalty to the caravan. If it's the Sultan who's getting married, his second gives the same speech.
I thought the talk was for brides and grooms marrying in from outside, but it turns out that doesn't happen. Not that they inbreed, but you can't marry anyone who hasn't been with the caravan for at least a year. I figure some of that is just so they can get to know the customs for themselves, but I think it's also to stop drunk caravanners rolling into a city and marrying the first wench they fall across.
Pretty smart, really.
At the extreme opposite is a place out West where they don't let anyone marry within the town. You want a wife, you've got to find her in the next town over, or the one after that, and so on. I was told it's just what they do, and always have done; wisdom passed down from their ancestors that serves them well.
Unless you want to work out somebody's family tree, that is — I tried with the couple getting married, and it was hopeless. The entire family took in every town within twenty miles, and half of the town I was in — but never closer than second cousins, or in-laws. That made me wonder if it was actually to prevent inbreeding. Everyone in the town looked pretty healthy, and it had some of the oldest elders I've ever met.
Me, I think I'll stick to oaths about property and conduct. I'm a small-town girl at heart.
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