Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (2 page)

Within the week, rumors that German forces were moving closer rallied the men. It was decided that we women should be sent some forty miles away to the small village of Cologne. Our two families were quartered in what had once been an inn--much too small for so many of us. I hated our cramped, dusty quarters. I hated not knowing what was happening at the front. I missed the sea. Any possible view of the Rhine was obscured by thick pines that surrounded us on all sides, cutting off the sun's weak winter rays. Snow, at first pure magic, inevitably meant slush and clinging frost. I was miserable.

Day by day, I watched Agrippina grow larger. Everyone agreed she was carrying a boy. The prospect cheered her, helping to fight off the bone-chilling cold that no fire could hold at bay. Information about the military operation, now hundreds of miles to the northeast, was sporadic and unreliable. Finally it stopped entirely. Where was the army? What was happening?

Late one night, a shriek like an animal in mortal agony awakened me. When I rose, the stone floor felt like ice. I pulled on my new wolf-skin robe, grateful for its warmth, and followed the awful sounds down the hall to Agrippina's room. As I stood uncertainly, shivering from fear as well as cold, the door flew open and Mother emerged.

"Oh! What a start you gave me!" she gasped, nearly dropping the basin she carried. "Go back to bed, dear one. It's just the baby coming. To listen to her, one would think nobody had ever had a baby before. This
is
her sixth."

Unable to imagine Agrippina ever suffering silently, I said nothing. The midwife, plump like a partridge, moved so fast past us down the hall that her two attendants were hard put to keep up. They trailed breathless, one carrying a basin, the other a tray of ointments. "It won't be long now," Mother assured me. "Go back to sleep."

The door closed. I turned obediently, but couldn't bring myself to leave the dark mystery inside. Agrippina's cries ceased after what seemed an eternity. Had the baby been born? The scent of hot oil and quince mixed with strong, minty pennyroyal assailed me as I quietly opened the door. Mother and the others, faces white and drawn, leaned over the couch where Agrippina lay.

"I don't understand," Mother whispered. "She's full-bodied as Venus herself. Such women are born to bear children."

The midwife shook her head. "She might look like Venus, but best pray to Diana. It's in
her
hands."

My breath caught. Was Agrippina's condition so desperate that only a goddess could save her? The midwife looked up, startled. "Go, child, this is no place for you."

"What's the matter?"

"A breech birth." Her voice softened.

Suddenly Agrippina awakened, arching upward, a mass of tangled, tawny hair, eyes wild in a glistening face. "This boy--this boy--is killing--me!" she panted.

"No!" I heard my own voice as from a distance. "You are
not
going to die." Without realizing it, I'd crossed the room and now stood at Agrippina's side. A picture was forming before my eyes, blurry as though glimpsed through water. I paused as the image sharpened. "I see you with a baby...it's a girl."

Mother leaned over Agrippina. "Did you hear that? Take courage from her words." She and the midwife lifted Agrippina, slumped between them. The vision had disappeared. Suddenly, Agrippina's body contorted. She lifted her head, hair matted, eyes like a terrified animal. "Diana!" she shrieked. "My goddess, help me!"

The smell of blood, fetid yet sweet, filled the room, as the midwife held up something dark and shriveled. Slapping the baby's buttocks, she was rewarded by an outraged cry. "Look,
Domina,
look. The child spoke truth. You have a fine daughter."

But Agrippina lay as though dead. Mother was sobbing now, quietly. I touched her hand. "Don't worry, Auntie will be all right. I know it."

"I'
LL NEVER HAVE A CHILD
," I
INFORMED
M
OTHER THE NEXT MORNING
.

Smiling, she smoothed back an unruly lock of my hair. "I hope that's not the sight speaking. I shouldn't want you to miss the happiest moment in a woman's life."

"Happy! You mean horrible. Why would anyone do it?"

She laughed. "You'd not be here if I hadn't."

When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. "Childbirth's a test, the measure of a woman's bravery and endurance, as war is a man's. No woman knows when she lies down to bear a child whether she'll survive."

I looked up at Mother's brown velvet eyes; Agrippina's screams still echoed in my head.

"Having children is our duty to the family and to the Empire," she reminded me. "Now, why don't you visit Agrippina? Perhaps she'll allow you to hold her newest princess."

The edge was back in Mother's voice. I guessed that Agrippina was her haughty self again.

Weeks passed without news of the army. Then a messenger finally arrived. A slender boy in his teens, he told us how Germanicus had subdued the savage Germans. I listened, bursting with pride and excitement. Forging on, Germanicus's troops had reached the Teutoburg Forest where six years earlier one tenth of the Roman army had been slaughtered. "When we went to bury our dead, we saw skeletons everywhere." The boy shuddered. "Their heads were pegged to tree trunks. We didn't know if the bones belonged to friend or stranger, but what did it matter? They were all our brothers."

I opened the door a few days later to another breathless courier. Bloodshot eyes fearful, he described a situation grown desperate. Arminius, the general responsible for the carnage, lurked in a treacherous swamp near the battle site. Germanicus was determined to find him.

Soon the rumors began. Wounded men stumbled to our gate. The army had been cut off, surrounded. Fleeing deserters shouted that German forces were on their way to invade Gaul. Soon it would be Rome itself. All around us, panic-stricken villagers insisted that the Rhine Bridge be destroyed. Agrippina, dragging herself from bed, put a stop to that. "In the absence of my husband,
I
am the commander," she announced. "The bridge will stand."

The wounded, returning on foot, using sticks for crutches, would soon have need of it. Agrippina improvised a field hospital, using her own money and soliciting everyone, from noble to peasant, to help. I eagerly fetched bandages and water, washed wounds and held water to the lips of feverish men. Then the visions started. Though I had no medical knowledge or even aptitude, it seemed that I could tell by looking at the wounded who would survive and who would not.

Late on my second day at the hospital, I sat beside a soldier not much older than myself. His wound seemed slight, a relief after so many gory ones. I smiled as I offered him water. His lips moved in an answering smile as he reached for the cup. Then slowly his round face changed before my eyes into a skull. Horrified, I staggered to my feet.

"What's the matter?" he asked, taking the water, looking at me curiously, normal again. Muttering an excuse, I hurried outside. Forcing myself to believe I'd imagined it, I continued with my rounds. The next day I learned that the boy had died in the night.

It happened again. Then again. Despite the increasing proficiency of Agrippina's hastily assembled staff, the men whose skulls I saw invariably died. When this happened to a merry young soldier of whom I'd grown fond, I fled the hospital sobbing.

Climbing onto a large crag overlooking the river's dark waters, I struggled to compose myself. It was here that Agrippina found me. I looked away, not knowing what to say. Auntie, with her regal self-assurance, would never understand the dread I felt each day, the sense of helplessness at being suddenly possessed by this unwelcome knowledge. I nodded politely and rose.

"Don't go," she said, touching my hand lightly. "I see that you are troubled. It has to do with the sight, doesn't it? You have the gift."

"Yes," I whispered. "This is no 'gift,' it's a curse."

"Poor child." Agrippina shook her head sadly. "From what I hear, the sight chooses
you
. It can never be removed."

"What good is knowing something terrible if I can't change it?"

"Such knowledge could bring you power," she suggested.

"No! I don't want to know bad things," I said, fighting tears that stung my eyes.

"Then pray," she suggested. "Ask that you not be shown more than you can bear. Ask for courage to face your destiny."

"Thank you for understanding. Mother and Marcella don't like to talk about the sight. It makes them nervous."

"
I
am rarely nervous," Agrippina's imperious tone was back. "I think it best we return to the hospital. They need us there."

I sighed, thinking of all those sweet young men, their frightened souls preparing for flight. "There are so many coming now. I'm afraid for the rest, for my father and--Germanicus."

"Your sight tells you nothing?"

I shook my head. "It never does when I ask."

"Then I will." She smiled confidently. "A courier arrived only a short while ago. I was about to post the news when I saw you steal away. The tide of battle has turned. Germanicus lured the Germans from the swamp. He will soon return with his army, victorious. I will welcome them at the bridge."

"My father--my father is safe?"

She smiled broadly, assuring me.

A frisson ran through my body as she spoke of victory, but there was something more..."You're certain Uncle Germanicus is safe?"

"Quite certain," she replied, rising to her feet. "You will see him soon."

Agrippina was right.
Tata
returned and Germanicus was hailed a conquering hero, yet the memory of the young wolf remained, his face frozen in surprise and anguish.

O
ne day Marcella was playing with dolls. The next day it was men. Our old slave, Priscilla, laughed about it--when Mother wasn't there to hear her. Priscilla was wrong. Marcella hadn't changed--neither had the men. As long as I could remember, battle-scarred veterans had stared at Marcella, while small boys turned cartwheels in her path.

With time, I could identify the hint of pleasurable fulfillment that clung to her like perfume. At twelve, I knew only that Marcella was special. Mother knew it too. Though warm and loving to us both, Mother's large brown eyes lingered often on my sister. Grateful for the extra freedom granted me by default, I wondered idly what my mother planned.

One spring afternoon Agrippina gave Marcella her first grown-up gown--a scarlet
tunica
of the softest Egyptian linen, clasped at the shoulders, and a filmy violet
stola
. "Few can wear such colors together," Agrippina said. Clearly they hadn't worked for her own daughters, Druscilla or Julia, or my sister wouldn't have been the lucky recipient.

Delighted by her good fortune, Marcella hurried outside. From the balcony off Mother's room I watched her dance along the orderly rows of barracks. Out of every building she passed came at least one young officer, smiling, waving, hurrying to her side.

"Marcella has so many friends," I commented to Mother.

Mother's eyes strayed absently from the loom before her. As her gaze followed mine, her glossy brows came together. "Friends! Find Priscilla. Order her to bring Marcella in
this minute
!"

T
HAT EVENING, PLAYING UNNOTICED BEHIND A COUCH,
I
WATCHED
Mother pour
Tata
's wine. He scattered a few drops on the hearth for the gods, then lifted the glass to his lips. "My favorite," he smiled, "and you didn't cut it with water."

Mother smiled back at him. "Marcella grows more lovely every day, don't you think?" she asked, her voice light and casual.

"Half the camp's besotted with her."

Mother's smile faded. "Such attention goes to a girl's head. In a rude garrison like this, anything can happen."

Father's cup thumped the table, splashing wine on the carefully mended cloth. "No soldier with a brain in his head would risk--"

"Come now, darling. What moved you at that age--surely not your brain."

"Selene! This is not a barracks."

"No, it is not, or I might use any number of words with which you are more familiar."

"Not from my wife...not in a while. Do you remember that furlough--"

"In Capri?" Mother's voice softened. "Of course. We conceived Claudia there."

Holding my breath, I moved closer.

"You were lovely. You are still lovely--when you don't frown."

"Who would not frown? Gaul's better than those wretched German forests, but still provincial, so far from Rome. I never thought we would be here this long. And then there's Agrippina. You have no idea--"

"Come now, she means well. The girls often show me pretty things she has given them. Only today Marcella showed me a very pretty tunica."

"Cast-offs! You're a man, a soldier, how could
you
understand? Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit one another. Perhaps we should just live next door and visit now and then."

Tata
chuckled. "That would never work. Your house would be in Rome."

"And yours an army tent." Mother laughed too. "I suppose we'll just have to muddle through." She moved to his couch and made a place for herself close him. "But you see," she touched his cheek, "I want something more for the girls. Marcella's manner
is
provocative. You can hardly blame the young men for responding...and now that she's a woman--"

"A woman!"
Tata
looked startled.

"A woman," Mother repeated firmly. "It is time we took steps to secure her future. You men see only the surface. That girl charms people--women as well as men. She leaves them pleased with themselves. Such a wife would be an asset to anyone...why not Caligula?"

"I don't like that lad. Never mind those damn boots, there's something not quite right about him. He's not at all like his older brothers, and nothing like his father."

"All the better," Mother argued. "Let his brothers risk everything on war, dragging their wives from camp to camp. Marcella could have a marvelous life at court."

"Tiberius's court?"

"Why not? It's the center of the world. Why shouldn't she enjoy all it has to offer?"

"Perhaps...if she has the stomach for intrigue." Father's face cleared. "Why are we even talking about it? Agrippina will want someone rich for her brat."

"I'm well aware of that," Mother admitted, "but she
is
fond of Marcella. The boy is so spoiled. When the time comes, he'll marry whomever he chooses--dowry or no. After all, it's not as if he will ever be emperor."

My hands clenched as Caligula's image appeared in my mind's eye.
Oh, but he will.
I saw him commanding the emperor's dais, Marcella nowhere in sight. Where was she? And Drusus, Nero? If Caligula was emperor...where were they? I shook my head, not wanting to see more.

Father shrugged his shoulders. "Time enough to talk of this after the spring campaign. Germanicus has vowed to cross the Rhine again." His face brightened at the prospect.

B
UT
T
ATA
WAS NOT TO HAVE HIS BATTLE
. T
IBERIUS FORBADE IT
. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the emperor called Germanicus back to Rome. "You have sacrificed enough for your country," he wrote. "It's time the people honored you. A triumph is scheduled to commemorate your victories."

Rome was charmed by Tiberius's generosity. In Gaul we knew better. The emperor was jealous of his relative's military success and the immense popularity that it had brought him. The only way to curb the hero worship was to bring the hero home, toss a triumph at him as a bone to a dog, then assign some new, more obscure posting.

Germanicus sent letter after letter, each a plea for time: "Give us one more year to complete Germania's subjugation."

Tiberius was adamant. "Your triumph will be held on the Ides of August."

Germanicus,
Tata,
the officers, and most of the men were despondent. The women made no effort to conceal their delight. Rome was all that anyone could think or talk about. I'd left the city as an infant and was full of questions that no one had time to answer.

Soon we were on the road, a cavalcade of chariots, wagons, carts, and horses. By day there appeared no end to the line of marching legionnaires. At night the light from many campfires created a field of stars. Once, just before dawn,
Tata
and I climbed a hill to survey the landscape together. Looking down at the flickering lights illuminating the darkness, I felt transported to Mount Olympus. Surely this was earth as only the gods saw it.

Cultivated lands and small towns, laid out in the Roman manner with a public bath, a forum, gymnasium, and theater, gave way to angry, ruptured earth as our ascent through harsh, mountainous country began. Even in late July, long fingers of snow streaked the towering peaks. Often enveloped in the thick mist of clouds, we could only inch our way along the rim of savage gorges. Once a cart skidded on an ice patch and careened off the narrow road, dragging its braying, terrified mules into the abyss. The cries of the plummeting passengers, German prisoners, echoed for hours in my ears.

That night we made camp beside a temple to Jove. "How can you bear it here?" I asked the priest who stood at the entrance. "This is the end of the world."

"But near our god," he replied solemnly. "Listen, you can hear his thunderbolts." A jagged flash rent the sky as the earth trembled. I hastily slipped a coin into his coffer and hurried inside. Kneeling before the altar, I heard the clink of many coins and never doubted that everyone in our party gave something. I prayed that Jove was watching, keeping track of our pious prayers and homage.

As we began our careful descent from the Alps I noticed changes, subtle at first but soon pronounced. The ice and snow were finally gone. Shades of red and amber carpeted the valley below. The sun was bolder, shadows sharper. Marcella and I exchanged glances, sensing laughter and gaiety in the golden light. Mother flung her arms about us. "Yes, darlings. This is Italy. We are almost home!"

R
OME WAS A CHALLENGE, A PROVOCATION, DARING EVERYTHING
, promising more. Narrow streets reeked with a smell all their own, a heady mix of perfume and garlic, spices, sweat, and incense. They teemed with ballad singers and beggars, scribes and storytellers. I saw vendors everywhere, heard them cry their wares in singsong. Porters, bearing staggering loads on their backs, swore profusely at whoever impeded their progress. Almost all traffic was on foot, for chariots were rarely allowed inside the city gates. Those who could afford it were carried in curtained litters with slaves running ahead to clear the way.

Even at twelve I saw these people, arrogant with power, as a different breed. How could they be otherwise? Stinking, dirty, brawling, brilliant Rome was--as Mother had said--the center of the world, and any man or woman less for living outside it. Now I understood her dissatisfaction with Gaul--with any place else--for I, too, was hopelessly besotted.

Tears of pride stung my eyes, for we entered this glorious capital as heroes, its haughty residents paying tribute to us. It was my uncle, my beloved father, and all the men who had served under them who were being honored. Beginning some twenty miles from the city, Romans lined the roads, often five deep, cheering and flinging flowers. I felt as though the entire population had come to greet us. A gigantic arch erected near the Temple of Saturn proclaimed the glory of Germanicus. The throngs went wild as our triumphal procession passed beneath it.

Germanicus and Father had planned our entry well. First came runners bearing laurel branches, a reminder of many victories. Floats followed, more than a hundred, heaped with spoils from German temples, some piled high with enemy shields and weapons. Others carried flamboyant tableaux of battles or depicted the spirit of Rome subduing German river gods. One bore a captured princess and her child, collars about their necks. Behind them an endless train of manacled prisoners plodded.

My family rode in a lavish chariot flanked by outriders. Father's parade armor glittered in the sun. Mother eyed him proudly. Her personal triumph was that neither Marcella nor I wore Agrippina's cast-offs. This was my first grown-up gown. The sleeveless tunica, a
chiton
of pale lavender, fell in silken folds from shoulder to ankles. A silver ribbon drew the bodice of a violet
stola
together just under my breasts; I held my breath as much as possible to make them appear larger. Still a child then, despite my new dignity, I shared the triumph with Hecate, holding the kitten up from time to time so that she too might enjoy the spectacle.

Germanicus rode last in the largest and most elaborate float. He was splendid in a golden cuirass embossed with the likeness of Hercules vanquishing a lion, his crimson cloak bright as blood in the morning light. Agrippina stood at his side, her long tawny hair rippling in the sun.

Beside them were the children, Drusus, Nero, Caligula, Druscilla, Julia, and the toddler, Agripilla.

"I'll wager there hasn't been such cheering since Augustus returned from defeating Antonius at Actium,"
Tata
exclaimed, his face flushed with pride in his commander.

My heart thumped with excitement as I turned to wave at Druscilla and the others. Just at that moment a man ran up alongside their chariot and climbed on. I watched curiously as he held a gold crown over Germanicus's head. The man's lips moved continuously, but with all the noise it was impossible to catch his words.

"Who is he?" I asked
Tata
. "What's he's saying?"

"A palace slave sent by Tiberius. It is a custom."

"But one rarely practiced," Mother observed. "He is advising Germanicus to look back."

"Look back! Why should he look back?" Marcella wanted to know. "
I
never look back."

"It is a reminder," Mother explained. "Sometimes the future creeps up from behind, catching us unaware. The slave warns Germanicus not to be too arrogant or too confident of the future. No mortal knows his fate. One day he may be triumphant, the next day disgraced or even dead."

I
WILL NEVER FORGET MY FIRST VISIT TO THE
C
IRCUS
M
AXIMUS
. T
HE
events set in motion that day changed my life, but at the time I thought only of how awfully
big
the arena was.

Following the triumph, my family was invited to share the imperial box with Germanicus's uncle and adopted father, Emperor Tiberius, and Agrippina's step-grandmother, Dowager Empress Livia. We'd approached the arena together through the imperial tunnel leading from the palace. Once we were inside, the immensity of it all made me dizzy. Everywhere I looked I saw faces, thousands of faces. People on all sides of me, tier after tier of them, stomping, yelling, jostling one another.

Trumpets heralded our arrival and, for an instant, the stadium stilled, voices dimmed. Then the crowd roared like some huge, untamed animal. Thunderous cheers welcomed Tiberius and Livia as they entered the box, but they were nothing compared to the greeting received by Germanicus and Agrippina. The cry
"Ave! Ave! Ave!"
rose from every tier in the amphitheater. Germanicus smiled, a boyish grin of surprise and pleasure, raising his arm in acknowledgment. The shouts grew louder, came faster. Agrippina, beside him, her eyes shining, lifted both arms like an actress accepting applause.