Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (19 page)
Read Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire Online
Authors: Antoinette May
Pilate surprised me. After his initial anger, he acquiesced to my plans with surprising grace. The bargain he had struck had, it seemed, satisfied him. At dinner, he was an attentive host to all but reserved his special charm for Agrippina. Pilate seated her at his right and selected tidbits especially for her. He solicited her opinion of the wine and directed the slave to play her favorite songs. I watched Agrippina blossom, sometimes showing flashes of the old carefree confidence. Isis bless him, I thought. He can be kind when he chooses. I had forgotten.
Too soon the party ended. Agrippina and the girls departed in our litter, slaves bearing torches to light the way. Pilate chatted with Marcella, expressing pleasure at meeting the sister-in-law he had heard so much about. She more than lived up to expectations, he assured her. Finally, excusing himself, he retired to his rooms. Marcella, allowed to remain with us for this one night, would share my apartment. I had looked forward to the reunion for so long. Now I felt suddenly shy. Could this remote stranger really be the laughing, impetuous companion that I had longed for all these years?
"Were you with Mother and
Tata
at the end?" I asked.
"Yes." She took my hand. "Has no one told you about that--about the banquet?"
"No!" I gasped. "What banquet?"
"It was a grand affair." Marcella spoke slowly, deliberately. "We who dared brave Tiberius's wrath to go--possibly one hundred who loved them well--were served the finest that money could buy. And the entertainers! They were magnificent--everything you could possibly imagine. Mother and
Tata
were wonderful, walking among us, smiling, chatting as though it were a wedding feast." Marcella stopped, struggling to hold back her tears. "Then, at the height of the evening, the slaves brought a finer wine than any served before, a rare and costly vintage brought from Gaul.
Tata
and Mother shared a toast, urged their friends to drink more wine and enjoy the revels, then said good-bye."
"You saw all this. Oh, Marcella, how terrible." I slipped my arms around her, fearing what must come next.
"They--they walked away smiling, hand in hand. In the bath,
Tata
opened his veins and Mother's while musicians played." Marcella was sobbing now and so was I. "Take comfort," she gulped, wiping her tears on the couch covering. "The banquet was so costly, there was nothing left for Tiberius to confiscate."
We cried together, held each other close for a time, unable to speak. Grief united us, but was that all? So many years had passed since our girlhood. We were women now following different paths. Very different. Lying together on a large couch as we had as children, I recalled long-ago nights when we had talked of high matters--the grand ladies we would become, the dashing husbands who would adore us. How certain we had been then of our destinies, how sure of our wisdom. Where was that casual camaraderie now, the easy words, the dreams, the secrets that once came lightly to our lips?
Marcella spoke at last. "Pilate is handsome. You must be happy."
"Very happy," I agreed. Could I tell a Vestal that my husband's lovemaking gratified my flesh, but left my spirit empty? After an uncomfortable silence, I ventured, "Do you find your duties challenging?"
"Indeed, yes. My apprenticeship is over; now I perform the sacred rituals, bake the
mola salsa
." Marcella had never been much for ritual; as for baking bread...
There was a longish silence and then she ventured, "You and Pilate did a brave thing--the party tonight. Your husband was wonderful to Auntie."
"Pilate can be the most charming man in the world when he wants something. I wonder what it is now."
"Perhaps it is you."
"But he already has me."
"As he would like to have you?"
I stared at Marcella. What could a Vestal know of married life? We fell silent again. Soon Marcella's breathing was even, but I remained awake. She was no happier than I, despite her seeming enthusiasm. Why did that frighten me?
I
BREATHED A SILENT PRAYER TO
I
SIS AS
I
SAT DOWN TO BREAKFAST THE
next morning. Give me back my sister. Plates of figs, dates, and assorted breads and cheeses covered a large table inlaid with ivory. "This is so good," Marcella said, spreading a wedge of cheese on a second piece of bread.
"It's an Egyptian cheese, Pilate's favorite," I told her. "I found it in a little shop on Velabrun Street, just down the hill."
"In Rome such a short time and you have already discovered Velabrun Street! Did one of your dreams lead you there?"
Hearing the old teasing note, I relaxed. "I have taken to dismissing Rachel with the litter and going off alone to explore."
"What does your husband say about that?"
"Pilate is far too busy to notice. We came to Rome because a well-placed contact here suggested that it might be advantageous for him. Perhaps you know the man--Lucius Sejanus?"
Marcella looked up from her figs in surprise. "Well placed indeed! Everyone knows the commander of the Praetorian Guard--he is the only one Tiberius trusts other than that hateful Livia."
"No wonder Pilate is happy." I paused a moment, then leaned forward, confiding, "I envy you."
Marcella threw back her head and laughed, a merry, bubbling sound. In her white gown without the head covering, she resembled a toddler playing dress-up. The hair once shorn to the scalp was a mass of close-cropped curls. "You"--she struggled to contain her mirth--"with all you have--you envy me?"
"First I belonged to
Tata,
now to Pilate. Should I outlive him, my son--if have one--or some other man if I don't, will be appointed to look after me."
"Only for your protection."
"
You
need not ask a man for anything." I felt my voice rising at the bewilderment I saw in her face. "If we divorced, Pilate could take our children. No one would expect any less."
"You don't plan to divorce Pilate?" Marcella's eyes were wide.
"Not anymore," I sighed. Why could she not understand? We sat silently for a time. "Men control everything," I reminded her. "Pilate could kill me and no one would challenge him."
Marcella leaned forward, her cheeks pink with excitement. "Only if you had a lover--do you?"
"Of course not! I am only saying that you, as a Vestal, have a life independent of any man."
"I pay a high price for that."
"Think how respected you are, how admired," I reminded her. "You preside at ceremonies. People of importance come to you to deposit their wills. You advise them. What you do matters. What do I exist for other than to please Pilate?"
"I should like nothing more than to please a man."
"Suppose you could not please the man you loved, not for long anyway. Suppose he wanted variety because it meant never having to be close to any one person. Suppose all that really mattered to him was power and influence. Would you still want nothing more than to please him?"
Marcella sighed. "It appears life has played a joke on us. I should gladly exchange the autonomy you admire for marriage--even if it is a lottery."
"Would you really, or do you simply believe that it would be different for you?"
Marcella shrugged. "Doesn't every woman imagine that she could make it different?"
The conversation ended abruptly when Pilate looked in on us before his morning appointments. It was time for Marcella to return to the Temple of the Vestals.
I
SAW
M
ARCELLA OFTEN AFTER THAT
. S
HE CAME TO OUR HOME FOR QUIET
family dinners and I frequently visited her at the temple. Occasionally we were allowed to go out together on short errands. We rode in the Vestal litter--luxuriously cushioned in snowy white silk. The exterior was white too, trimmed in gold and covered with flowers. Lictors with
fasces
, bundles of rods, preceded us wherever we went. There was always a great commotion. Once fighting broke out in the streets as people struggled to get a closer view of Marcella. Somehow a man stumbled and fell beneath the litter. Very bad luck for him! Everyone knows the penalty for such an infringement is death. But on another occasion we rounded a corner just in time to encounter a criminal being led to his death. In this case, a chance meeting with a holy Vestal meant reprieve. Of course, Marcella had to swear that the meeting was accidental--which of course it was--but the criminal, a murderer, I later heard, was set free.
It wasn't long before Marcella and I were chatting intimately as we once had. She was horrified when I described my experience in the snake pit, but refused to believe that Pilate had any part in it. It was clear that she liked and admired him. "You have a husband that any woman might desire," she pointed out, "and he loves you."
"If Pilate loves anything it is power."
"Ah! An attraction of opposites." She smiled knowingly. "I remember when we were girls. You were always so ethereal, off in another world someplace, just a bit...irrational."
"Pilate would surely agree, but what does he know?"
Marcella laughed. "So, you are not as impressed with him as he would like. I imagine he is a bit confused by you."
"I have no idea." I shook my head, unable to say more. "How do
you
know so much?"
"We Vestals see a lot. People come to us for more than wills. It makes them feel good to tell us their stories. They confess all kinds of things because they think we are so holy--above it all. You would be surprised what we hear." Marcella sighed, then quickly changed the subject.
D
ECEMBER APPROACHED AND WITH IT
S
ATURNALIA, A CELEBRATION OF
the sun's rebirth. With the shortest day came the symbolic killing of winter. In early times a man reigned as Saturn until the season's end, when he was sacrificed for the good of the world. That was long ago. Now the death of Father Saturn was merely a reminder that the year was ending and it would soon be time to plant. An air of joy, optimism, and goodwill prevailed, manifesting itself in presents and parties, many parties. This was my first Saturnalia in Rome and I was quickly absorbed in the holiday rush.
A ceremony at the Temple of Saturn launched the season on December 17. Priests blessed the sowing of seeds for the year ahead. Slaves were given the day off so they could attend the free banquet. Shops and businesses closed so workers could take part in the festivities. Pilate and I, along with nearly everyone we knew, went about wearing freedmen's caps and greeting one another with the cry "Ho, Saturnalia!" Distinctions between slaves and masters were reversed. With the help of a caterer, I arranged a lavish banquet in which the slaves were honored guests, Pilate and I the servers. When at last we sat down, exhausted but pleased with ourselves, it was only after our temporary masters and mistresses had eaten their fill.
Pilate and I went to many parties together, sharing the same dining couch, something we hadn't done in years. One of the most gala events was a banquet at the temple of Mercury. I wore a gown of silvery blue silk brought by caravan from the far east. Around my throat was Pilate's Saturnalia gift, a star sapphire pendant. It was a magnificent stone. He said it matched my eyes.
Upon entering the vast portals of the temple, I glimpsed Marcella with two other Vestals. My sister's mischievous wink was our only exchange in the crowded confusion of the large gathering. The encounter didn't surprise me. The temples of Vesta and Mercury were side by side, a symbolic union. Vesta's round hearth was inside the home while the priapic pillar of Mercury stood at every threshold. Her fire provided sanctity while his presence at the door welcomed fertility. Vesta's sacred flame warmed the home. Mercury was a guide to the larger world outside where wit, sophistication, and luck were needed.
I saw little piety in Mercury's priests; their party was the most licentious I had yet attended. Jugglers and acrobats performed naked in a crowded hall lavishly festooned with wreaths and garlands. Besides the flutes and lyres, a water organ pumped madly in time to drums while girls and boys in gauzy veils danced. Some of the guests also danced--on tables. Others reclined on them. I saw threesomes, foursomes, more possibilities than I could ever have imagined.
The wine, the proximity of our bodies lying together on the couch, the erotic movements of a few couples who had had the grace to cover themselves with
stolas
, and the sight of some who had not, inflamed me. The performance of my wifely duties had been perfunctory. Now, for the first time, I desired Pilate. "Why do we not we go home?" I whispered in his ear.
His eyes lit with pleasure. "Why do we not find a place right here?"
My pulse quickened as I looked about at the well-oiled bodies gleaming in the lamplight. The thought of making love in a temple appealed to me, the ubiquitous statues of the phallic Mercury an unnecessary aphrodisiac. Was Saturnalia not a time to be outrageous?
Slipping away unnoticed, we found a remote room--perfect! Unfortunately, someone else had had the same idea. The couple, oblivious to all but each other, never saw us, but I saw them.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
The woman was Marcella.
T
he night was filled with horror as I lay sleepless, haunted by half-remembered dreams. Marcella alone in the fearful dark. Marcella screaming for help that would not come. Marcella
entombed
. I recognized now that signs had been shown me before but I had not recognized them. If Fortuna had decreed Marcella's destiny, her doom was sealed...No! It could not be. I would not let it be. There must be a way.
I was the first visitor admitted to the temple of the Vestals the morning after the Mercury banquet. Trembling with nervousness and fatigue, I urged Marcella to brave the Saturnalia throngs already crowding the street.
Once we were inside my litter, heavy curtains drawn, I confronted her with what I had seen. Like any woman in love, Marcella was only too happy to talk about it. She had met her lover, Quintus Atticus, a young knight from a prominent family, when he visited the temple in connection with his father's will.
"We loved each other on sight," Marcella told me, "but nothing would have come of it if we had not chanced to meet again at the banquet. Do you not believe our union was blessed by Mercury?"
"Perhaps, but surely not by Vesta." I was furious; I wanted to shake her. "Do you not realize the risk? You know the penalty."
Marcella merely chattered on. "I took flowers to the Temple of Venus to thank her for this wonderful thing that has happened. I thought I would die without ever knowing what it was to love a man."
I gasped. "Are you insane? What will people think when they see a Vestal sacrificing to Venus?"
"I told everybody that it was for you, that I was praying that you would conceive a child. As a matter of fact, I did that as well." Marcella smiled, delighted by her own ingenuity.
"You were unbelievably lucky last night not to have been seen. The Saturnalia madness has overwhelmed you. Promise me--promise on Mother's honor--that you will never, never ever even think of doing such a thing again."
Marcella's eyes flew open. "I can't do that! I have already done it again. Early this morning we met beyond Mars Field. It was deserted. Everyone is recovering from last night's festivities."
I did not need the sight to know then that Marcella was truly doomed, that it was only a matter of time before she and Quintus were caught and punished, but I continued to plead with her.
Pilate was livid when I told him. "That damn fool girl! Doesn't she realize what she's doing to herself, what she's doing to all of us?" Not waiting for a litter, he hurried off to speak to Quintus, to demand that he put an end to the affair immediately.
Pilate's efforts were useless. In less than a month they were discovered. Several boys vying for equestrian status had gone early to Mars Field to practice jumping. One horse had taken a tumble, throwing his young rider into the same ditch occupied by Marcella and Quintus. Possibly the boys might have said nothing, but contestants were always accompanied by their mothers, women more competitive for their sons than the boys were themselves. Those harpies were not about to remain silent.
Now only Tiberius, acting as Pontifex Maximus, could save Marcella's life. I begged Pilate to intercede. Almost gently, he reminded me of the enmity the emperor had shown my parents, the obvious danger to myself.
"I do not care!" I protested. "I must see him. Surely you can arrange it."
"I can't. I
won't
." I couldn't see Pilate's expression; he had pulled me tight against his chest, but the emotion in his voice surprised me. I realized that whatever could be done would have to be done by me.
That evening an unexpected opportunity presented itself when Lucius Sejanus, Tiberius's confidant and Pilate's patron, joined us for dinner. Both handsome and urbane, Sejanus was considered a ladies' man. He liked to flirt and he liked me. It was easy to arrange a few quiet moments with him. "Pilate tells me that an audience with the emperor is impossible, but somehow I feel that you..."
The next day an exquisitely carved ivory box was delivered to me, inside a message from Sejanus. Tiberius had agreed to an audience that very night. I knew better than to speak of it to Pilate. He could forcibly restrain me if he chose. Fortunately, some fellow officers called unexpectedly that evening. He was sitting with them in his
tablinum
when I stole out the back entrance. I refused to take Rachel with me, not wanting to involve her in whatever lay ahead. She reluctantly summoned a litter and I set off alone.
The palace, as always, swarmed with guards, but someone--Sejanus, or possibly Tiberius himself--had alerted them to my arrival. Their leader nodded a brusque greeting, then led the way inside. The palace was quiet, few sounds anywhere, only the slap of our sandals echoing on marble floors. Dizzy with fear, I entered the emperor's private chambers. The impact of the priceless art assembled there was stunning; so was the explicitly erotic subject matter. On one frescoed wall I saw Jupiter in the guise of a bull raping Europa. On another, as a swan, he ravished Leda.
As I studied the third, Jupiter annihilating lovely Semele with his thunderbolts, Tiberius silently entered the room. As his eyes swept over me, my heart thumped so loudly I was certain he heard it. Somewhere below us was the dungeon where Drusus had slowly starved to death, at last gnawing his own hands in desperation. Lately there had been rumors of the emperor's depravity, stories of women violated, wives of officers who had fallen from grace. Praying silently to Isis, I forced myself to meet his gaze.
The changes in Tiberius's appearance were shocking. Ten years alone could not account for the haggard face, the dull, bloodshot eyes. The large, bull-chested body was thick and bloated.
"So the little seer has grown into a beauty," he said at last. "I would not have known you but for your eyes. Do they still foresee the future? You did well for me at our last meeting."
"The circus was not our last meeting. There was another," I reminded him. "The ceremony marking my sister's induction into the Vestal order. It is because of her that I have come."
"Ah, yes, the lapsed virgin. You hope to plead her cause."
"Don't you feel that under these special circumstances--"
Tiberius raised a bushy brow. "Special circumstances?"
"She was not meant to be a Vestal."
"It would appear not," he said, lowering himself onto a couch.
"I mean"--I sat down opposite him--"entering the order was a mistake in the first place. She was overage."
"And, I hear, underqualified."
"Marcella was forced against her will to become a Vestal."
"Since when does a woman's will matter? A father decides what is best for his daughter."
"My father did not decide. Your mother did."
Surprise blotched Tiberius's face as he stared at me. Then quickly, so quickly I wondered if I had imagined it, his masklike expression returned. My words hung in silence.
It seemed an eternity before the emperor spoke. "You must love your sister dearly."
"Why else would I have come?"
"Then I am sorry for you."
"You have a choice," I reminded him. "Some other punishment--exile, perhaps, anything but death."
"She knew her fate. The penalty was ordained hundreds of years ago, at the birth of Rome itself."
"As emperor, you can change it."
"As emperor, perhaps; as Pontifex Maximus, never. Even if I wanted to save your sister, which I don't particularly, I could not. To ignore her violation, to show any sign of leniency, would undermine the foundation of the empire."
"Surely there is something--"
"There is nothing." He rose from the couch where he had been reclining and walked slowly toward me. Placing his hand beneath my chin, Tiberius tilted my head upward. Again I forced myself to meet his eyes. Another agonizing eternity. Finally he spoke, "Livia was wrong about you, wrong from the beginning. You are in no sense a mouse." Tiberius reflected briefly. "Very well...I will grant you a boon. Your sister will die, as decreed, but you may see her tonight and ride at her side tomorrow."
This was my last chance, I had to try. "Such a small lapse really, it's not as though she allowed the sacred flame to die. Must it be so cruel a death? Why not something quick? A sudden blow perhaps..." I hesitated, heart pounding. "You might permit her to take her own life."
"My dear, my dear"--he sighed wearily--"you know the penalty as well as I. Take comfort that it is a quiet death, a bloodless one. Quintus Atticus met his end by flogging."
Picking up a small scroll from his cluttered desk, Tiberius scratched a quick note that would be my pass, then handed it to me, his manner almost courtly. Was he mocking me? I could not tell, did not care.
My bearers took me directly to the Atrium Vestae, where an attendant led me to Marcella. Her room, though small, was comfortably furnished and brightly lit. There was a bouquet of violets on the small desk where she sat writing.
Marcella looked up in surprise at my entrance, knocking over the chair as she rushed to embrace me.
"I tried, I tried." My voice trembled. "Tiberius was implacable, nothing I said made any difference."
Marcella's eyes widened. "You went to Tiberius? Blessed Vesta! What were you thinking? You know what he's capable of. You know how he hates anyone even remotely connected with Germanicus and Agrippina. Only Fortuna herself saved you when Father and Mother died. If you had been living in Rome--"
"Pilate has said all that many times. It made no difference. Anything was worth a try and Tiberius did at least agree to let me see you. I expected to find you in prison."
"Why? Where would I go? There is no escape."
"I know that now."
"The other Vestals have been kind." Marcella gestured at the flowers. "They will miss me, I think. I was just writing you a letter. You would have received it tomorrow after--"
For the first time her voice wavered. "Quintus--I thought to write him too."
Sadly, I shook my head.
"Oh!" Marcella gasped, her face suddenly white. "Poor darling, he was so strong, so alive."
"You also, Marcella. You are more full of life's joy than anyone I know."
"But I was not living, not until I met Quintus. I made the best of things here, acted silly sometimes, played with the little girls, tried to make it all easier for them than it was for me. I showed some of the older ones a few things too, brightened their lives a bit." The impish smile I knew so well appeared for an instant. "But that wasn't living--not for me, not the way I was meant to live. We are not in this world to live safely. We are here to fall in love and break our hearts."
"And lose our lives?"
"If need be."
I looked at Marcella wonderingly. "You aren't sorry, are you?"
"I'm sorry we got caught. It would have happened sooner or later. I would have preferred later."
In just a few brief moments a Vestal, red-eyed from weeping, came to tell us that it was time for me to leave.
T
HE NEXT DAY
I
SAT BESIDE
M
ARCELLA, WHO LAY ON A BIER AS ONE
already dead. I held her hand as the funeral procession wove its way through Rome. A grim-faced Pilate rode beside our wagon on horseback as an escort. Agrippina, with her daughters, followed directly behind in a chariot. Fortunately Caligula and Livia were wintering in Capri, sparing us the further ordeal of their presence.
I expected jeers and cries of derision but the crowd was curiously silent, overwhelmed perhaps by the enormity of what was happening. Most stood solemn-faced as the procession slowly made its way to the Campus Scleratus, the Evil Fields, near the Colline Gate. Though glad our parents were spared this final horror, I knew they would have been as proud as I.
Spectators marveled at Marcella's courage as she lay quietly on the bier, face waxen, eyes clear and dry. The icy cold hand in mine remained steady. When at last we reached our destination there were no rites, no solemnities, not even a funeral dirge.
The oxen that had pulled our wagon stood stolidly as Marcella was lifted from the bier. She walked unaided, slowly but with great dignity, to a sunken tomb that had been freshly dug beside the gate. There was no opportunity for a final embrace, only a last look over her shoulder at me and beyond to streets wet now with early morning dew. The sun had just risen. It would be a clear day. Marcella's hand touched a large geranium bush growing against the stone wall. For an instant her fingers caressed the velvety softness of a leaf. Sick at heart, I watched Marcella turn and begin her descent into the tiny cavern. Inside, I had been told, was an oil lamp, a little food, and a small couch.
The entrance was quickly sealed, and the earth above moved to cover the vault, then tamped down. Soon there would be no trace whatsoever of the grave. The message was clear: a Vestal's life, the embodiment of the sacred flame, was snuffed out when she ceased to personify the goddess, then covered over with earth as one would extinguish smoldering coals on a hearth. It was as if she never existed.
I turned away, my arm drawn protectively across my belly. In the midst of all this horror I knew suddenly that I carried a child, a girl. I will remember you always, Marcella, I promised silently, and my baby will bear your name.