Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (11 page)

Almost immediately other macabre objects turned up under floor tiles or in niches gouged out of the walls behind hangings. I myself found the corpse of a black cat with rudimentary wings growing from its back. Beside it was a twisted cord holding a lead tablet inscribed with Germanicus's name. I screamed, overwhelmed by so much horror. Then slowly the realization came to me. No matter how hideous these grisly objects were, they were nonetheless
real
.

Rushing to Germanicus's couch, I took his hand in mine. "The search is over," I assured him. "You were right all along. We have covered every inch of the house. None of those awful things remain. They have all been removed and burned. The smell will leave now."

"I believe so too." He nodded. "At least now I know the smell is real and not merely some wretched figment of my imagination. It is Piso. I don't know how he did it, but he is responsible."

Agrippina agreed. "It is about time you admitted it! I always suspected him and now his slaves are coming three times a day to inquire about your health. Ha! Of course he is to blame, he and Plancina and that witch friend of hers, Martina."

Germanicus smiled up at us. "It will take more than a witch to get the better of you two."

I left him propped up on his couch surrounded by scrolls, reports, and petitions that he had been too weak to address before.

"G
ERMANICUS IS BETTER, HE IS REALLY BETTER
," I
TOLD
P
ILATE THAT
night as we settled down on our dining couch. "Agrippina and I both noticed an improvement in his color, and just before I left he said he was tired of broth and wanted meat."

"I am heartily glad to hear that." Pilate shifted to face me. "Glad for my sake as well as for his. It would seem that Isis has heard your prayers and recognized your sacrifice--not to mention mine. Surely tonight..." He caressed my cheek lightly.

I shook my head, smiling ruefully. "Dear one, Germanicus is still very ill, dangerously so. It would be premature to assume that he is out of danger."

Pilate rose abruptly. "You realize that it has been ten nights."

"Of course I realize it. I have been counting too." I got up and stood before him, my eyes pleading.

Pilate placed his hands lightly, but firmly upon my shoulders. "My dear Claudia, you must know that what we do or don't do has nothing to do with Germanicus's recovery."

"How can we be certain of that? If he dies and I have not done all the goddess asks of me, I could not live with myself. Besides, Germanicus is your patron, does he not deserve your loyalty?"

Pilate stiffened, his arms dropped to his sides. "Are you accusing me of disloyalty? I would do anything the man desires, but your obsession with Isis is something else entirely. It is unseemly, un-Roman. Who worships Isis but a bunch of demented foreigners?"

"Foreigners, yes, but hardly demented," I corrected him, struggling to keep my voice down.

He was not appeased. "My mother--and every other Roman woman I have ever known--was content to worship Juno. Homage to
that
goddess would never involve anything contrary to a husband's wishes."

"No, I do not suppose it would," I agreed, "but I owe Isis a greater debt than you could ever imagine. Please be patient with me just a little longer."

"Not much longer, Claudia." He turned from me and picked up the cloak he'd flung casually over a chair.

"What about the wild boar--it is your favorite?" I placed my hand softly on his arm. "You have hardly touched a thing."

"Offer it up to Isis. I'll dine tonight with livelier companions."

G
ERMANICUS DID NOT GET BETTER
. T
HOUGH WE ALL PRETENDED
otherwise, the smell was back. The slaves discovered cocks' feathers, then human bones. I noticed when I arrived one morning that, despite the warm summer weather, the house was unaccountably cold. Germanicus, weary of the darkened room, the row of basins and medicines beside him, forced himself to rise from bed and walk unassisted to the atrium. Following behind him, I gasped in horror. There above us was his name scrawled high on the wall, each letter upside down. I called the household together. No one had any idea how the words, Germanicus Claudius Nero, got there. With much scrubbing, the slaves removed them only to have the inscription reappear the following morning. This time the last letter, the
o
in Nero, was missing.

Agrippina had insisted that Germanicus send a message to Piso ordering him out of the province. The governor reluctantly left. Now he was reportedly anchored off the nearby island of Chios. "He's waiting for news of my death," Germanicus told me when I arrived one morning. "He means to return then, like a vulture."

"Then he will wait forever," I assured him, sitting down beside the bed. A slave removed a wet towel from Germanicus's forehead, gently wiped the dried saliva from around his white lips. I pressed my face against the bouquet of red roses I had brought from my garden and took a deep breath. I had been slightly ill upon waking; now the smell, which no amount of scrubbing or incense could eradicate, was all the more pervasive. Hoping that a drink of water would help, I rose to my feet. For a moment I stood staring unsteadily at the floor. Dizziness swept over me in waves, bringing with it the sensation of standing in the midst of a swirling sphere where floors and walls no longer existed.

"Is something the matter, Claudia?" Germanicus asked. "You look pale."

I tried to orient myself. "Nothing is wrong."

Very carefully, for my arms no longer felt a part of me, I set the bouquet down beside him. Germanicus extended one thin, bony hand from under the tasseled coverlet and grasped my wrist. Only a few days before, I had found the skeleton of a hand buried under a couch cushion in his sitting room. Now, with dazed detachment, I noticed the similarity.

"Claudia." He stared at me, his hazel eyes narrow, searching. "You're not--sick too?" The words came out with a slow, forced reluctance.

I attempted a reassuring smile, but at that moment the nausea started to rise. Then before I could reach the door, I began to vomit.

S
nakes undulated above my head. I closed my heavy eyes, then opened them. Slowly the swirling motion ceased. The serpents remained. An elegant stylized pattern, gold and green, rippled across a marble ceiling. I lay on a couch, red satin cushions beneath me. Where was I?

Somewhere people talked in hushed, frightened voices. As the words became clearer, I realized they were speaking of me. Germanicus, weak and tormented: "It's my fault. I will never forgive myself..." Agrippina: "Dearest, you are not to blame. Claudia wanted to come." Mother sobbing: "Yes...she...she did. My poor child wanted to help. Now she's caught the--the curse."

Caught the curse!
The room spun, my head ached from where I'd struck it when I fell. What was happening to me? Terrified, I sat up.

Mother, at my side in an instant, murmured, "Claudia, darling, are you all right?"

I grasped her hand. "I want to see Pilate."

"If I may be allowed--" Petronius, Germanicus's personal physician, entered the room with Rachel. I breathed a sigh of relief as the tall, gray-haired man approached the couch where I lay. "Your slave tells me you fainted. Has this happened before?"

"No, never." I was embarrassed by the quaver in my voice. With the doctor's help and Rachel's, I walked to an adjoining room, where they settled me on another couch. Petronius pulled up a small chair and sat down beside me. "Do you feel the nausea only in this house?"

I paused, considering. "Sometimes in other places...Last night's wine was harsh. No matter how much water I added, it tasted bad." I forced myself to ask, "Could it have been poisoned?"

The doctor's heavy-lidded eyes regarded me intently. "Did your husband drink it?"

I laughed nervously. "As a matter of fact he did, quite a little. He had a headache this morning, but was fine otherwise." The laughter faded as I searched Petronius's face. "Do you believe as they do that I have been cursed?"

The doctor sighed wearily. "I will be honest. In this house anything is possible." Taking my hand, he rearranged his tired face into a smile. "How long has it been since your last bleeding?"

W
HEN
I
RETURNED TO
G
ERMANICUS'S ROOM
I
WALKED UNASSISTED,
feeling the silly grin on my face. "It is not a curse, but a blessing! I am going to have a baby!"

Mother and Agrippina looked at each other. Mother shook her head. "What is the matter with us! The nausea, the fainting..."

Turning from the midst of a three-way embrace with Mother and Agrippina, I saw Pilate framed in the archway watching. Disengaging myself, I rushed into his arms.

"What's going on here?" he asked. "Good news apparently. I hope it means you are better, sir." Pilate looked questioningly at his patron.

Germanicus smiled broadly. "May I offer my congratulations?"

Pilate, one arm tight about me, set his plumed helmet on the table. His blue eyes were thoughtful as they regarded the proconsul. "Congratulations? Have I been promoted?"

"Something better, I trust. But I must say that dear girl of yours gave us a scare, fainting the way she did."

"Fainting! Claudia fainted?" Pilate looked down at me. "Are you all right?"

"More than all right," I assured him. "But can you imagine--I actually thought myself cursed."

Pilate's eyes narrowed as he took in the banks of flowers, the incense wafting from every available niche. His nostrils pinched slightly as he inhaled. "Why did you think that?" he asked quietly.

"I was ill--frightened--but Petronius has just examined me and it seems that I--we--are going to have a baby."

Pilate smiled happily, but then, so quickly, his expression hardened. A chill swept over me. What was the matter? "You
are
happy, aren't you?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Very happy," he assured me, stroking my back lightly, "but also concerned." He turned to Germanicus, "You know my loyalties are always to you, but I cannot allow my wife to remain in this house. She must not return until you are fully recovered. I trust that will be soon."

"Pilate, no!" I exclaimed in shocked surprise. "I am fine now and Petronius says my symptoms are quite common."

"Hush! You heard your husband," Germanicus admonished. "I understand perfectly." He turned to Pilate. "Take Claudia home immediately. I insist on it, but promise to keep me informed of her progress. It will ease my--I shall be eager to hear how she is doing."

"Gladly, sir." Pilate reached for his helmet, half dragging me toward the door. At the threshold I turned and looked back. Agrippina sat at Germanicus's side, holding his hand, but her eyes followed us, a wistful smile about her full lips.

T
HE NEXT MORNING THE CAPTAIN OF A LARGE MERCHANT SHIP ARRIVED
with a scroll from Marcella. Clearly, such an important man would not have brought the message himself if he wasn't seeking personal news of Germanicus's progress. He wanted to gossip. It was difficult to go through the motions of civility, sitting with him over wine and date cakes, while my fingers itched to unroll the scroll. Happily, Pilate joined us and I was able to slip away.

"From Marcella of the House of Vesta," the note began in the formal way, as though I wouldn't recognize her scrawl anywhere. Smoothing back the parchment, I noted fewer of the familiar dashes and exclamations marks. The reason for her restraint was soon apparent. News of Germanicus's illness had spread to Rome, where public life had ground to a standstill as people awaited further bulletins.

Recently a rumor had mysteriously surfaced. "Is it true that Germanicus had recovered?" Marcella asked. She described how hundreds of celebrants had rushed to the palace carrying torches, awakening Tiberius with the joyful chant: "All is well again in Rome. All is well again at home. Here's an end to pain, Germanicus is well again."

Marcella's hastily written letter ended there. It worried me. How had Tiberius reacted to such an extravagant public display of affection for Germanicus? The contrast between the two men was cruelly obvious. Tiberius was an indifferent orator, Germanicus a brilliant one. The emperor's military achievements were negligible, Germanicus's world-famous. More devastating, Tiberius had been disliked and distrusted from the beginning, while everyone adored Germanicus. Agrippina, the granddaughter of Augustus, and Germanicus, his grandnephew, were blood heirs to the throne. Tiberius, Augustus's stepson, had assumed the imperial reins when Germanicus was still a boy. Most of the world believed that Rome was merely being held in trust for the rightful heir.

For the first time I thought beyond the personal loss of my beloved uncle.
Tata
's future and, to a lesser degree, Pilate's had been aligned to the proconsul. What would happen to them if Germanicus was to die?

I
SENT
R
ACHEL TO
U
NCLE'S HOME EVERY MORNING
. S
HE TOOK FLOWERS
from our garden and meals that I had prepared myself. Julia and Druscilla returned from summering with cousins in Ephesus. They were tender, solicitous nurses, but nothing that anyone did helped. Despite the slaves' vigorous scrubbing, Germanicus awakened each morning to find that his name had been rewritten on the wall, always with one additional letter lopped off.

With every passing day, Germanicus grew weaker. When the morning came when only one letter remained, family and friends were summoned. As Pilate prepared to leave, I begged to go to him. He forbade it. "Jupiter's balls! What are you thinking? Your own mother found a dead baby in that accursed house."

"I am in no danger, none of it has to do with me," I reasoned. "I should have realized I was pregnant, but my mind was on Uncle Germanicus. I didn't think."

"No, you didn't think."

I looked up, startled.

Pilate's voice softened. "You are not thinking now. How would you feel if our child were marked in some way by this evil?"

I looked at him stricken, my hand involuntarily straying to the sistrum at my throat. I nodded in agreement, turning away.

T
HAT EVENING AS
I
WATCHED THE LAST RAYS OF SUN ON THE RIVER, A
grim-faced Pilate sat down beside me in the garden. "He's dead, isn't he?" I whispered.

Pilate took my hand, holding it in both of his. "Germanicus was brave to the end. Even seasoned officers wept." My husband's voice was hoarse. "He had a kind word for each of us and a message for you."

I waited silently.

"He sent his love and wished you much joy in this life. He said he hoped you would be as fine a wife as your mother is to Marcus, and Agrippina has been to him." Pilate frowned. "There was something else, words I didn't understand. He was very weak."

I struggled to keep back the tears. "Tell me."

"It was confused, something about a dream. He remembered your dream from long ago--something about a wolf. He regretted not taking it more seriously. 'The prophecy is clear now,' he said." Pilate shook his head. "Surely the delirium of a dying man."

"Surely," I agreed, eyes down. "Did he say anything else?"

"He charged us to avenge his death. 'Tell Tiberius that Piso and Plancina are responsible,' he said. 'Tell the people of Rome that I entrust my wife and children to them.' Then he reached out and took Agrippina's hand." Pilate's voice caught. After a time, he continued, "It was over."

"I should have been there," I gasped, no longer able to contain my sobs.

Silently, Pilate pulled me toward him, but I held myself stiffly.

T
HE ENTIRE CIVILIZED WORLD HAD VIEWED
G
ERMANICUS AS A JUST
and tolerant man, a harbinger of peace and prosperity. Recalling our two-year-long inspection tour of client kingdoms, I saw again the eager throngs, thousands of men, women, and children, cheering their hearts out. I remembered marigolds fluttering like golden snow from the rooftops, women who had broken past guards wanting only to touch the hem of Germanicus's toga. The proconsul's charisma had imbued everyone with confidence, for surely what was good for Rome was good for the world.

Now the world was plunged into mourning. People stoned temples and threw their household gods into the street; even barbarians stopped fighting one another and sued for peace as though afflicted by a grievous domestic tragedy.

Germanicus's embalmed body lay in state for nearly a month. It did not surprise me that ministers from as far away as Spain, Gaul, and North Africa came to pay tribute. The funeral itself was splendid. Thousands of mourners flowed through the gates of Antioch carrying bouquets of brilliant blossoms. Bright sun shimmered off the marble buildings of the massive forum. The armor and jewels of the mourners who passed by the bier one by one blazed in the glow. As our family joined Agrippina and her children beneath a purple canopy, an officer suddenly appeared and whispered in
Tata
's ear. I caught a look of concern on my father's face before he excused himself and hurried away. What now? I wondered.

Musicians played. They were, I hoped, helping to prepare Germanicus's spirit for its journey to the afterlife. One potentate after another knelt before the pyre, then rose to eulogize the fallen leader. Julia and Druscilla sobbed; Agrippina bit her lips; Drusus and Nero were dead white, their hands clenched into fists at their sides; Caligula sat quietly, engrossed in thoughts of his own.

Finally the orations came to an end. Flanked by an honor guard, Agrippina rose and slowly walked to the bier. Gently her hands passed over her husband's face for the last time. Her fingers parted his lips. I watched as she placed a small golden coin beneath his tongue. Germanicus would need it to pay the ferryman who would row him across the River Styx.

Agrippina stood back as Sentius, the newly appointed governor, ignited the bier. I reeled back in spite of myself as flames shot twenty feet into the air. Drums rolled and trumpets blared as Germanicus's children advanced to the burning pyre. Each threw lavish gifts of food and clothing into the fire. The departed spirit might have need of them in his new life. Who knew? When the fire died down, wine would be poured onto it. Eventually the ashes would be gathered and put into an urn. I could bear to watch no longer.

"Germanicus was like Alexander," Pilate said to me. "Both were great leaders with even greater promise, both died too young, victims of treachery in foreign lands."

I looked out over the assembled throng, many crying openly. "If only he had acted against Piso in the beginning. A friend of Mother's has written from Chios saying that Piso offered up thanksgiving sacrifices when he heard of Germanicus's death. And Plancina!--she threw off the mourning she was wearing for her sister and put on a red gown. Can you imagine?"

"It's worse than that."

Startled, I looked up and saw
Tata
. He had shouldered his way through the crowd and now stood beside us. "Piso has written Tiberius claiming that Germanicus was the real traitor." Tapping Pilate on the shoulder, he continued, "There's more bad news. Piso is mounting an offensive. He intends to invade Syria. Get ready for a fight."