Hadrian's wall (5 page)

Titus reappeared, leading a litter carried by four trotting slaves. Having made her point, Valeria allowed herself to be hoisted. Now that she had military escort, she felt the protection of the guest and the license of the tourist, and so she left the curtains open to see the place she'd come to.

The wall of Londinium loomed twenty feet high. A century ago the cities of the empire didn't need walls, so placid was Roman peace, but civil war and barbarian raid had eroded security, and so the provincial capital had been girdled. Their party passed through the Governor's Gate and marched into the city proper, the smells of urbanity immediately assaulting them. There was bread and sewage, perfume and wet laundry, the ammonia of the tanning shed and the sawdust of the carpenter. They passed a small forum, crowded with stalls, and then turned left on a narrow avenue toward the governor's palace.

The city was noisier and more crowded for its enclosure, human traffic jamming the streets. Here passed the litter of another fine lady, regal and powdered. The women gravely nodded. There went a proud magistrate, brisk and self-important, his clerk in tow. A juggler was earning coins with a flurry of tossed balls, a group of raucous sailors passed by in their hunt for a good tavern, and two matrons waved and gossiped at each other from adjoining apartments. A bed frame was being hoisted by a rope to a second-story window, strangers catcalling about its intended use. In turn, heads swung in curiosity to examine Valeria as she rode by. The attention flattered her. How many senators' daughters did Londinium see? She'd become someone special.

Britannia was not entirely foreign, of course. If the world was Rome's, Rome was the world. Here in Londinium were Roman streets, temples, porticoes, domes, and tenements, made exotic only by the polyglot accents of the usual ethnic rainbow: swarthy Syrians, blond Germans, dusky Numidians, arrogant Egyptians, quick Greeks, and earnest Jews. And class: slave and freedman, soldier and aristocrat, harlot and matron. The common Latin was heavily accented and corrupted, and other languages intruded. The lyrical Celtic tongue caught her ear, and she wondered if she'd have the time to learn it. Adding to the babble was the squawk of caged fowl waiting to be sold for dinner, the bleat of tethered goats, and the cries of bound lambs. There were shouting children, singing farm wives chanting the merits of their produce, wailing peddlers, shills touting the warmth of a tavern or pleasures of a brothel, and even an unkempt prophet of unknown religion, promising doom. The cries of gamblers, splash of water, and grunt of athletes sounded from a neighborhood bath. The urban noise was punctuated by the clang of blacksmiths, the rhythmic tap of cobblers, the thud of hammers, and the songs of weavers. Here was the glassblower, there the potter, and adjacent the butcher, just as she might expect, Latin signs promising bargains. There was the smell of charcoal fire and lamp oil, hot toast and frying eel, tanned leather and wet wool. Statues of dead emperors and generals were stained dark from rain, little gods of protection squatted protectively in entry alcoves, and phalluses jutted beside doorways for good luck. Only the tired paint and periodic empty, grassy lots gave evidence of what had been gossiped in Rome: that Londinium was tired, and shrinking in on itself. Commerce was retreating to Gaul.

"The city is grander than I expected," she said charitably, reaching from her litter to put her hand on Clodius's shoulder for balance. She enjoyed his jolt at her touch. "More important."

"Britannia once prospered from the wars on the continent," he conceded. "Trouble drove money to this place. Now…"

"If they could buy some sunshine, I think we'd be very comfortable here."

He squinted. "It will take more than sun. But Marcus will make his reputation, get a new posting, and move on." "As will you."

"I'll certainly not let the mud of Britannia stick to my career. And then we'll be back in Rome, shopping for homes on the Palatine!"

"With memories of our adventures among the Celts!"

They came to the square that fronted the governor's palace. Pillars of imported marble supported the roof of a wide portico that sheltered soldiers, solicitors, and messengers from Britannia's rains. The palace's iron-studded oak gates, half open and guarded by legionaries, gave a peek of formal gardens and inner doorways. Lamps glowed in defiance of the day's gloom. Her litter stopped.

Galba was met by a servant, conferred, and came back. "Your arrival was unannounced to the household," he repeated. "Give me a moment to put some fire into them."

The rough officer seemed solicitous enough, Valeria decided, now that the shock of their meeting was over. He obviously belonged on patrol, not here, and was doing his best to chaperon a Roman lady. She should be polite. "You'll dine with us, tribune?"

"I'm a soldier, lady."

"Who must get at least as hungry as a young woman in this drizzle."

"My meal is with my men. I'll come later to secure your safety."

"That won't be necessary," Clodius said.

Galba ignored him. "You'll want a good sleep."

"What I long for are the baths!"

"So let's make sure the fires are lit to heat them." He bowed and trotted up the palace steps with his vinestaff tucked under his arm, shoulders broad as a doorway, medals jingling, harsh voice snapping orders. People scattered from his course like leaves.

"Quite in charge, for a provincial," Clodius said.

"I'm glad Marcus sent him, I think. Does he make you feel safer?"

Clodius looked at the other Roman soldiers, standing as patiently in the rain as hounds. "He reminds me that life in the provinces is never safe."

"We've just started poorly, that's all. Let's get you out of the wet." She climbed from the litter and let him escort her up the steps.

The portico was chilly and crowded, occupied not just by cloak-wrapped officials but by street vendors who had turned the outside of the palace into a small marketplace. Some merchants had food, others jewelry or woolens, and still more boasted enameled pottery. "Londinium," the pieces read. Valeria began to inspect them, Clodius trailing her reluctantly.

"What a quaint token of our visit! I'm tempted to buy one."

"And they're tempted to sell, no doubt."

"Yes, fine lady!" a vendor encouraged. "In honor of your journey!"

"We've baggage enough," Clodius said. "Pots enough. Buy one in the other direction, when you go home."

She picked up a bowl. "No. I want something to remember Londinium by."

"That's called a memory, and it weighs nothing."

"Nonsense. This is the kind of container where memories are kept." She gave the potter a coin. "For my trousseau."

The merchant beamed. "Festus is honored by your patronage."

Valeria gave the bowl to Clodius and picked up some cups. Here was some of the fun she'd been anticipating.

"And now comes a lady of generosity, I see!" crowed a voice from the shadows of the marble pillars. "A maiden of curiosity!"

The two Romans turned. Seated in the dimness against a pillar was an old crone with white hair and wrinkled skin, wrapped in a cloak and seated on a blanket. The bones of fortune were scattered before her.

"Yes," the old woman continued, "I see a woman on the brink of life!"

The pottery vendor was irked. "You may hear the clink of money, Mebde, but you can barely see past that crooked nose of yours-and you know it, you old witch!"

She swiveled her head in his direction. "I can see that you're adding weight faster than wit, Festus," she called back. "And trading the poor girl bad clay for good silver!

"What I also see," she continued, turning back to Valeria, "is a young Roman beauty on the way to her wedding and wishing, I suspect, to have her fortune told." One eye was as opaque as marble. Mebde lifted a stone disk, no bigger in circumference than an apple, and put her clouded sight to a hole in its center. "Would you like to know your future, pretty bride? Only one siliqua."

"A silver coin for a blind peek at fortune?" Clodius responded. "That's a steep tariff, old woman."

"Perhaps for you, tribune. Your future may be so short as to warrant only bronze. But the lady is willing to pay silver, I think." She extended a bony hand. "Come. Seek the wisdom of the oak."

"What's that curious stone you hold?" Valeria asked.

"A Keek Stane. A Seeing Stone. You get them in the north, where you're going. Through it I can divine the future."

"She's asking too much," Clodius insisted.

"No. Listen to how much she already knows about me."

"From city gossip! Word went ahead, as you said!"

"I want to hear what she predicts." Valeria took out a siliqua and put it in the crone's palm. "Will I be happy?"

Mebde brought the stone closer to her eye. "Oh, yes. And unhappy as well, I see."

Clodius groaned. "That could be the fortune of anyone in the empire."

Valeria ignored him. "Tell me more, priestess."

"I see the fire of torches to light the way for a young bride. I see a sacred grove, laid waste. I see a great battle-"

"By the gods, useless generalities. She's not even any good."

"Will I find love?"

"Ah." The crone twisted the Keek Stane. "Great love, my lady. All-consuming love, a love like a flame." But instead of smiling she looked puzzled, then frowned.

"With my Marcus?"

Mebde's hand began to tremble, as if she were struggling to hold the stone steady. Finally she cried, dropped it as if it were hot, and stared up in horror, using her hand to clench at her blind eye.

"What is it? Is it about my future husband?"

"My eye!" She held out her other hand. "Here! Take the coin back!"

"But what is it?"

"My eye!"

"What did you see?"

Mebde shook her head as if clearing it, the money clattering on the stones between them. She looked at Valeria in sorrow. "Beware the one you trust," the old woman croaked. "And trust the one you beware."

"It has been my experience that people are most positive about the things that are most unknowable. Ask them the best recipe for bread or the easiest way to plane a board, and they will hesitate, thinking carefully. Ask them about their standing with their peers or the direction of their lives and careers, and they will confess uncertainty. Yet ask them about the doings of the gods, or the likelihood of an afterlife, or the secret heart of a lover, or the monsters that inhabit lands they've never visited, and they will express complete conviction in even the most outlandish of beliefs. So it is with prophecies of the future. Improbable claims about the things that have not yet happened inspire the most devout certainty. Empires have turned on the mutterings of a priestess or the throw of bones.

I ask Savia if Valeria took the old witch seriously.

"My lady confessed she didn't sleep well."

"Because of the prophecy?"

"Because of everything. Excitement about our arrival and the wedding, of course. Distress from the trouble on the quay and the warnings of the fortuneteller, even though we all told her it was nonsense. The palace itself was an eerie place, half closed off because tax collections were short and the rest feeling empty because the governor was away. Lamps were few and shadows long. There were the strange sounds of any new house as we lay in unfamiliar beds. I was restless myself, listening to the cold rain on the tiles of the roof. I rose in the grayness before dawn and went to help Valeria bathe and dress her hair. What I found gave me yet another start."

"In Valeria's chamber?"

"Outside it. That scarred old soldier had displaced her bodyguard Cassius and was sleeping across the entry to her room, wrapped in his cloak on hard marble."

"Galba? I thought you said he went with his men."

"For supper, but then he came back. Unknown to us, he stayed to supplant Valeria's bodyguard. Galba said that Valeria's safety had been entrusted to him by his commander, Marcus Flavius, and that he had no faith in gladiators."

"Cassius tolerated this insult?"

"He was used to it. Soldiers have no respect for arena fighters-out of envy for their skill, I think. The slave retreated to an alcove, and Galba spent the night on the floor. An odd posting for a senior tribune, I thought."

"Yet Valeria didn't know he was there?"

"Not until I told her."

"She was displeased?"

"Flattered. In many ways she was still a child."

"Where was Clodius?"

"In a nearby apartment. Galba greeted him that morning by asking if his bed had been soft enough. There was male rivalry between those two, instant and instinctive. Clodius replied he could sleep on ground as hard as the senior tribune's, Galba said they might test that boast, and Clodius retorted he'd match him rock for rock, while reminding him it was their duty to keep Valeria comfortable. Galba said he needed no reminders from a soldier who barely needed to shave, and Clodius parried that Roman youth indeed defers to age." She shakes her head. "It was not a wise way to begin."

"And what was your opinion of this Galba?"

"That he'd assumed a familiarity with us he'd yet to earn."

I nod, knowing that slaves are jealous of familiarities. I ponder the tribune's action. Was he trying to win an alliance with the new bride? Supplant young Clodius? Mock the Romans? Protect from real danger? "Not the easiest of nights."

"I distracted Valeria with talk of other things. We dressed her hair, brought out paints to make up her face, and tried our first Briton porridge, which the kitchen slaves said was defense against the damp. Then we discussed the hopes and fears any woman has. Until we landed in Britannia the wedding was like a distant promise. Now it was near. Who could know what Marcus would truly be like? The girl was a virgin. And more women die in childbirth than men by the sword. Marriage is the female campaign."

"So you reassured her?"

"I instructed her."

"You've never been married yourself."

"No, but I've known more men than a wife ever will, willingly and unwillingly, from stubble to crotch and from love to lie. They're frightening at first glance and amusing ever afterward. As a proper lady she would lie with her husband only in the dark, without lamps, and never out of doors. But I've seen men in all places and all positions, as handsome as stags and ridiculous as dogs."

It is a crude kind of flirting I suppose, and powerless on a man of my sophistication. Still, I shift restlessly. "She was open to such instruction?" I'm fascinated by this glimpse of female confidences.

"I talked to her of the usefulness of fingers and of oil. Olive to help smooth things, vinegar to postpone children. Valeria listened avidly. I also stressed the importance of public appearance, regardless of what happens in private."

Of course. Romans will forgive any private transgression if a matron behaves with decorum and grace and obedience. Dignity for a Roman comes from the opinion of other people. The noblest goal is honor. "You stressed propriety."

"Never a public kiss. Never a public embrace."

"And she agreed?"

"Did she ever agree with anything? She said she wanted a partner, not a master. I reminded what the philosopher said: 'Other men rule their wives. We Romans rule other men. And our wives rule us.' But always there must be rectitude. A man too obviously in love with his wife is a weakling."

This is true, of course. The legions deserted Anthony in part for his uncontrolled passion for Cleopatra. It is permissible to love, but impermissible to show it.

"All this settled her down?"

"I like to think so." She's enjoying my questions. It has been my experience that all women thrive on attention, be they slave or highborn. They are as unconfident as they are vain.

"And you prepared to leave Londinium?"

"Valeria was anxious. It's bad luck to marry in May, and the girl was too impatient to wait for propitious June, so she hoped for a union in April. As did Marcus, meaning Galba had been instructed to hurry us there."

"What was your impression of the senior tribune?"

Savia smiles, the smile of the Roman urbanite. "Proud, but with the bluster that comes from being born a provincial. As a servant I saw through him more than the patricians did. He enjoyed our unease. It made him feel more equal."

"You didn't trust him."

"He was obviously a competent soldier, and candid. He said he'd been sent as escort because Marcus wanted time at the garrison out of Galba's shadow, and that he himself wanted a chance to ingratiate himself with his new commander's bride."

"You believed him?"

"Perhaps he was trying to make the situation work, in his own way."

"Did Clodius accept Galba's leadership?"

"Clodius felt superior to the Thracian in everything but military rank, and the Thracian felt superior to the Roman in everything but birth."

"Not an easy way to begin."

"Galba couldn't show any resentment toward Valeria. So he showed it toward Clodius, instead."

"And you rode north."

"No. We walked out of the city, Valeria in a litter."

Of course. Horses are prohibited in Londinium, as they are in Rome. Too much manure and too many accidents. "Your escort?"

"Eight cavalry. Clodius explained they were a contubernium, a squad that shares a single tent. They'd slept in garrison at the city's northwest corner and were waiting at a circus. Cliburnius the merchant had been elected to higher office from which to steal more effectively, and was rewarding his followers with games."

I do not comment on this cynicism. The knavery of Briton officials is well known. Corruption is rampant, intrigue second nature. Briton perfidy is as proverbial in the empire as Egyptian slyness or Greek arrogance. And any man elected had better provide for the mob. Still, Londinium is not as bad as its reputation. The streets are straighter than Rome's, the congestion less terrible. There is such copious water that the fountains run free, discouraging the gangs that fight to control the taps of the capital. The gutters run so copiously that the stink from shit and garbage is surprisingly small. The baths are packed-the only way to keep warm in this country, I think.

"They all wanted to watch Crispus in the arena," Savia goes on, "and the chariots of the Blue and the Green on the track outside. The wedding schedule made this impossible, so Galba told his men to meet us at the grounds, giving his soldiers a brief chance to mingle with the charioteers and see the exotic animals. Which led, of course, to the trouble with the elephant."

"The elephant?"

"We could hear its trumpeting a quarter mile away. Cliburnius insisted the slaves provoke its sound to remind the city of the day's competitions. The elephant was chained to a stake, and Galba's men were tormenting it for amusement, prodding it with the butts of their lances. Valeria, who has a weakness for animals, bounded out of her litter and demanded they stop. Immediately, the beast came at her."

I raise my brow.

"Somehow it got loose, and Valeria was trapped against the amphitheater wall. Then Galba was there with a torch he'd ignited in a cooking fire, darting in front of the girl to drive the elephant back."

"I have seen an elephant kill a man," I remark, remembering a rampage in Carthage. The victim had been grotesquely flattened. "Your mistress was rash."

"She has an impulsive heart."

"And Galba brave."

"So it seemed."

"Seemed?"

"It was Clodius who was suspicious afterward. Why had the elephant escaped at that very moment? Why were torches so ready at hand? We dismissed his complaints as jealousy but now, looking back…"

"Valeria was not hurt?"

"Frightened and then rescued, twice in two days. She found the experience exhilarating. Her eyes were wide, her skin flushed, a lock of hair astray-"

"Fetching."

"Too much so. Galba told everyone we had no time for circuses, saying Marcus wouldn't appreciate his men gaming while he was waiting for his bride. The soldier Titus said he could understand his commander's impatience! The men laughed, but I blushed. It was barracks talk, improper in front of a lady."

"And Valeria?"

"There was an earthy honesty to these soldiers quite different from the gambits and wit of Rome. She thought it exotic and grown-up."

"So you finally exited the city."

"Not yet. Clodius picked a fight about religion."

"Religion!"

"Clodius wanted to show he was one of the soldiers. We'd passed a temple of Mithras, closed at the emperor's new order, and a couple men muttered at this sacrilege against the soldier's god. So Clodius demanded of me why Christian preachers don't bathe."

"Of you?"

"He knew I speak freely about my faith. He knew I'd bathed myself. And he pretended not to know that public baths are a center for sexual vices and political intrigue. He said it was well known that Christian priests stink, which I explained is because they care nothing for this world out of preparation for the next. Then Galba reminded Clodius that Christianity was once more the state religion, with Julian's death and Valentinian's succession, which allowed Clodius to reply that Constantine converted originally only to seize the gold of pagan temples and-"

"Jupiter's ghost! All this, and you weren't even out of the city?" Religion today is a topic as dangerous as it is heated. The emperor Julian tried to bring back the old gods, while Valentinian recognized that political power has shifted to the new. Here in Britannia the Christians remain a fanatic minority, but conversion can help a career. The only thing all sides share is intolerance.

"Clodius wouldn't stop because of his jealousy. He called the Christ a slave's god, a weakling who counseled peace and was slain for it. He said Christians were tyrants, ending religious freedom. The litter bearers stumbled at these insults, almost spilling Valeria onto the pavement, and I don't think their clumsiness was a mistake. They were Christians and offended, some of them."

"This Clodius seems a fool."

"He was young and proud, which may be the same thing."

"Valeria was a pagan? "

"She was uncertain. Her parents worship the old gods, myself the new. She prayed to Minerva and Flora and Jesus without preference, even though I warned her that Christ tolerates no other gods."

"What did Galba say?"

"He ordered us all to shut up. He said religious opinion always makes trouble. As to the truth of a belief, he'd yet to see a god give a direct opinion on the matter. What good is a sign, he demanded, if a dozen believers interpret it a dozen different ways? It was Cicero who asked if all the dead of the battle of Cannae had the same horoscope. So Clodius asked the senior tribune what god he worshiped."

"And his reply?"

"The god Spatha. The Roman cavalry sword."

I laugh, despite myself. This man Galba is beginning to sound like the only one with common sense! Savia is offended I find the senior tribune's remark amusing, and I'm not surprised. One reason Christians are disliked so much is that they have no humor about their own righteousness. They invite mockery.

"What happened next?"

"We came to the city gates. There were horses for the men and a mule cart for Valeria's trousseau. Galba had suggested a carruca, with a couch to recline on, but she'd insisted on a swifter raeda, even though it meant she'd have to spend the journey sitting up. We watched the men vault into their saddles with full armor, one arm on the saddle and one on their lance to help boost themselves up. It's quite athletic. And so Valeria announced she'd prefer a horse herself, rather than be condemned to the bounce of a cart. Galba asked if she was as fearless of horses as of elephants, and she boasted that she'd ridden in a womanly way, legs to one side. Galba said it required trousers to grip a cavalry mount properly, and Valeria replied that men are born with many things but trousers aren't one of them and that anyone, man or woman, could learn to put them on. Galba laughed, but I was appalled, and Clodius took her by the arm and escorted her firmly to the cart. He, at least, had a sense of decency! The gladiator Cassius took the reins with me beside him, and Valeria was seated under a canopy behind, amid her trousseau. We had a fortnight more of travel, in mansiones and as guests of villas, the first belonging to Quintus Maxus-"