Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (4 page)

I looked down, feeling that I had only made matters worse. It was hopeless.

"So where is your famous sight now?" Caligula goaded. With a flourish, he threw back the covers. "Has it ever shown you anything like this?"

"Oh!" I gasped, my cheeks flaming as I stared at his naked body.

Caligula gloated, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Come now, Claudia, you always have something to say. Aren't you impressed?"

A wave of violent nausea swept over me. I gritted my teeth. "Is that all?" I somehow managed to ask. "I'd heard they were bigger."

T
HE
T
EMPLE OF
V
ESTA IS A MASSIVE GOLD-DOMED BUILDING, ROUND,
signifying the hearth, its circular cella enclosed by handsome Corinthian columns. On the day of Marcella's initiation, two priestesses, white gowned and veiled, met us at the entrance. Marcella, standing straight and noble, walked with them to their adjoining palace. We were very proud of her courage. No one would have guessed that the girl had lain awake the whole night long, sobbing until there were no tears left.

An hour later we joined her in the grand chamber. Marcella was clad like the others in flowing white. Father took my trembling sister's hand and led her to a dais where Tiberius waited before the sacred flame. Marcella had never looked more beautiful, her blue eyes almost the shade of violets as she met his solemn gaze.

Father moved back as the Chief Vestal motioned for Marcella to kneel. Acting as Pontifex Maximus, Tiberius stepped forward. Placing his hands lightly on her shining black hair, he spoke the ritual words: "
Te amata, capio!
My beloved, I take possession of you." Slowly, lock by lock, Marcella's curls were shorn. Since her hair was long and very thick, Tiberius seemed to take forever.

Sitting between my parents, hands in theirs, I tried to control my sobs. Occasionally I stole glances at Mother, tears coursing down her pale cheeks. My father's face was set in grim lines, but from time to time I saw his eyes glisten. Agrippina had the grace to look away, but Livia and Caligula made no effort to conceal their pleasure. Both appeared to delight in every minute. Sometimes they nudged each other. Once they even laughed. My sister seemed impervious to everything. As I watched the last curl fall and the wimple go over her head, the Marcella I'd known all my life faded before my eyes.

T
he day after Marcella's initiation Tiberius startled us all with a proclamation: Germanicus was to tour the empire.
Tata
would accompany him.

Within an hour Mother was packing for all of us. I could scarcely believe my eyes as I watched her move from one trunk to another, folding this, discarding that. "Surely we aren't going with them?"

Looking up from a stack of tunicas, she brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Can you imagine your father refusing Germanicus?"

I couldn't, any more than I could imagine Mother refusing to accompany Father, yet the long journey, the close shipboard confinement with its unavoidable proximity to Agrippina, felt intolerable. Her defection was harder to bear than Livia's and Caligula's evil. As long as I could remember, Auntie had been there: bossy, generous, irritating, and lovable. How could I ever forgive her betrayal?

Arrangements for the tour fell smoothly into place. Too smoothly. I overheard
Tata
comment to Mother: "Tiberius must have planned it months ago."

So little time remained to spend with Marcella. Bittersweet hours, my sister's sparkle fading before my eyes. All Marcella's impetuous charm must, as a Vestal, be submerged. Though Vesta's priestesses are honored above all others, they are set apart and expected to exist chastely as the goddess herself. Sitting with my sister in the great temple's marble anteroom, it dawned on me that, though Vesta and her sacred flame provide the focus for the home, for the family, for Rome itself, there's no statue of her anywhere.
Vesta is invisible
.

"There's so much to memorize," Marcella complained. "Vesta's divine lore can't be entrusted to writing; we learn it word by word. Rituals are hardest. One mistake and the whole ceremony must be repeated from the beginning. It will take ten years to learn it all."

How brave she was to joke. I forced myself to laugh. "What are you really doing?"

"I just told you," she said, a bit of the old flash in her eyes. "It is nothing to laugh about, I assure you."

My heart ached for her. I'd struggled to put the best possible face on Marcella's new life. Vestals were highly respected, their box at circuses or theaters second only to the imperial ones. They were allowed visitors and could come and go as they pleased, never answering to men. I liked that. I'd admired her white gown, too--beautifully fashioned from the finest silk. Now I realized that the ethereal look was romantic only because it emphasized her remoteness. The enormity of it hit me once again: Marcella--mischievous, high-spirited Marcella--lost to us, lost to the world, imprisoned for a lifetime.

"What follows?" I forced myself to ask.

"Ten years of practicing those rituals."

"And then?"

"I get to teach the rituals to novices." Marcella smiled tremulously at my incredulity. "Yes, it's truly so. Thirty years of ritual." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "That isn't the worst."

"What is?"

"The Vestals are very kind..." Marcella began to sob. "But it's all such a...woman's world."

O
NCE ON SHIPBOARD, MY PARENTS AND
A
GRIPPINA SETTLED INTO
accustomed routines that shocked me. Father was polite and deferential as always, Mother appeared to resent her no more nor less than she ever had. Though overt disrespect was unthinkable, I politely ignored Agrippina's attempts to slip back into the old familiarity and avoided her as much as possible.

The rhythmic pounding of the ship's drums awed me at first. Soon I scarcely noticed. Only at night in my bunk was I aware of the steady cadence that kept the slaves rowing. Reflecting on the eight hundred men who manned the ship's oars in continuous shifts, I saw similarities between their lot and my own. No overseer lashed my shoulders, but was I any less a slave? Rome was master of all our fates.

Germanicus's command ship, a massive quinquereme, sailed at the center of an honor guard, six triremes, purple sails stretched across four masts of Lebanese cedar. Galley slaves praised Neptune for the stiff breeze that eased their labors.

I continued my studies, sharing the same pedagogue with Julia and Druscilla. We all missed Marcella. Bright, though not a scholar, she had livened many tedious hours with her quips. Nero and Drusus, too, were absent, junior officers serving their first tours of duty, Nero in Carthage, Drusus in Spain. My consolation was that Caligula no longer studied with us. At Germanicus's suggestion, the ship's resident expert--
Tata
--drilled Caligula in the use of shield and javelin. I hated the thought of my father working to improve the martial skills of Marcella's seducer. The disgusting irony was worsened by
Tata
's unquestioned acceptance of his commander's order. For order it was, no matter how casually voiced.

In the past it had been Marcella and me paired against our cousins at whatever game we played. Now, when Julia and Druscilla sought my company for our favorite dice match, I felt Marcella's loss all the more acutely. Better to escape into a scroll, allowing a story to just happen to me. Not even Rome could interfere with that.

As I reclined on the top deck, sea rhythms subtly tempering my resentments, the days blended seamlessly. Lost in the mirrored blues of sea and sky, I filled scrolls of my own with attempts at poetry, odes to the foamy miracle of Venus's birth. Daughter of Jupiter and a sea nymph, Venus had emerged full-grown from the tumult of their union. Below me, five banks of oarsman rowed in tiers using giant sweeps requiring all the might and muscle of their bodies. From time to time, I left my couch to look down at them. Staggered, some sitting, others standing, they bent over the shafts of their oars, gripping tightly and grunting in unison as they flung themselves forward, then back, responding with all their strength to the insistent beat. Sometimes my pulses throbbed.

Without warning, the weather changed. A series of battering storms pounded our ship, driving all passengers belowdecks. Although nearly everyone was ill, the turmoil exhilarated me. Despite Father's orders, I climbed the ladder to watch the great waves crash over the sides.

The skies cleared when we reached Nicopolis, but our ship limped into port with severe storm damage. Our steering system, on the verge of collapse, would require extensive repairs. Germanicus wanted to make use of the time to visit the gulf of Actium. His grandfather, Marcus Antonius, had fought the great sea battle there--a losing one against Augustus. Father dutifully organized an expedition and many of the officers set off to locate the remains of Antonius's camp. I was delighted when Caligula insisted on going too. Though under strict orders from Germanicus to treat me with respect, he taunted me mercilessly. I tried to ignore him and succeeded most of the time, but only the night before I'd discovered a dead rat under the wrappings of my bunk. When I flung it in Caligula's face, he grabbed my wrists tightly, pulling me toward him, glowering down. "Have a care, Madam Sybil. Next time it will be a live rat."

"You wouldn't dare," I said, pulling free. I'd hated sharing a cramped cabin with my parents. Now I was glad. Even Caligula wouldn't risk
Tata
's wrath.

The morning the party departed, I awakened to unaccustomed cramping pains. Pulling myself from the narrow bunk, I caught my breath at the crimson streaks. Just then Mother entered the cabin. She smiled, noticing immediately, and put her arms around me. "Ah, it has begun. How do you feel?" she asked, rubbing my back.

"It hurts, like something pressing hard."

Mother nodded. "It's that way for some of us. Once you have your first child, you will scarcely notice."

I grimaced, one big pain replacing a lesser one. At Mother's bidding, I climbed back onto the bunk. She left the cabin but quickly returned with a female slave who bore fresh linen and cloths. While the slave remade the bunk, Mother carefully explained what must be done each month. Such a nuisance! My carefree life was gone forever.

"Roman women must be strong," Mother reminded me. "We never submit to pain. We go about our duties." She hesitated, then added, "Since this is your first bleeding--" She turned abruptly and left the cabin with the slave. Moments later Mother returned alone, carrying a pitcher with two cups. Sipping from the one offered me, I tasted undiluted wine, slightly heated. The full-bodied flavor warmed my body. It was good. I lay back on the freshly made bunk, feeling loved and cosseted.

Mother pulled up a campstool and sat down. "I was sixteen," she confided. "So late--I thought I would
never
become a woman. Then finally it happened--on the Feast of Matronalia. Imagine! As the Fates would have it, I was wearing a white tunic. A female slave whispered in my ear. I still shudder at how many may have seen. Your grandmother called it a good omen. She said that becoming a woman on the day most sacred to Juno would bring me good fortune in marriage. It has."

We talked on, sharing jokes and fancies. Even as I laughed with Mother, I thought of Marcella. If only she were with us, but after a time a sense of drowsiness crept over me. Mother quietly removed the pitcher and cups from the sea chest and tiptoed from the cabin.

The next thing I knew, Agrippina stood at my side. "Good morning,
Domina,
" she said, winking like a serving girl. In one hand she held an exquisitely cut glass vase containing a single red rose, in the other a slender strand of blood red garnets.

I moved away.

Agrippina placed two ringed fingers gently over my tightened lips. "It's no use, Claudia. You can't run from me any longer, any more than you can run from the facts of life. You are a woman now; it is time you acted like one. You have much to learn about being an adult, just as I continue to learn."

Her words surprised me. Agrippina acted as though she knew everything. Silently, I watched her place the vase on a wall niche.

"I have brought these gifts as symbols of your passage into womanhood. It is my pleasure," she explained, fastening the necklace about my throat. "Good-bye, little girl, welcome, my sister."

I held myself stiffly, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Yes, I know." Agrippina sighed. "You blame me for what happened but I was not the cause. Marcella knew the risk. The woman always pays. That's a lesson you must learn, but hopefully,
not
from personal experience."

"You could have tried," I protested. "You thought only of Caligula."

"What mother doesn't want the best for her son? No one could have saved Marcella. My own mother has spent much of her life exiled on a tiny island, the price for a handful of indiscretions. Imagine, the only child of Augustus existing on bread and cheese, not even permitted cosmetics."

I nodded. "Mother told me. I doubt she has need of cosmetics with no visitors allowed. Mother said that Livia exaggerated the Lady Julia's...ah, indiscretions, that she poisoned the emperor's mind against his own daughter."

"That's quite true." Agrippina nodded. "It's another valuable lesson for you to keep in mind. One doesn't cross the empress. Livia hates me and doesn't appear overly fond of you. Avoid her at all costs."

I wavered. How could I withstand the force of Agrippina's charm or her logic? Nothing could change what had happened. The bitterness hurt only me. When Agrippina's arms enfolded me, I hugged back.

M
ONTHS PASSED INTO YEARS AS THE IMPERIAL TOUR CONTINUED.
There were state visits to Colophon, to Athens, to Rhodes, to Samos, and to Lesbos. Eavesdropping more and more frequently on conversations around me, I realized that it would be a long time before I saw Marcella again. Tiberius was not about to allow his charismatic step-nephew to return to Rome. Agrippina and Germanicus were a golden couple. Everywhere we went, the client subjects, as we called those puppet kingdoms, rallied adoringly around them. These exotic potentates offered a potential power base. Even I saw that.

"Why doesn't Germanicus rebel?" I asked my father one night as we stood at the ship's rail looking out at the twinkling lights of one more receding shoreline.

Tata
looked quickly over his shoulder. "Careful, little one. We never know who may be listening. Don't think for a moment that youth will protect you." He put his cloak about my shoulders, shielded me from the rising breeze feathering the sea with whitecaps. "Remember Germania? The mutineers wanted nothing more than to overthrow Tiberius. Germanicus wouldn't do it then to save his life. He won't do it now. Caesar--whoever he may be--
is
Rome. Germanicus's duty is clear and so is ours."

Well, not so clear to me, but I was young and found much to divert me. As part of the imperial entourage, I met each client king. Some treated me almost as a woman; I loved it. The world itself was a kind of playground in those days. I still remember the performers: the brightest, most talented each country had to offer--acrobats and magicians, animals and mimes. Every capital brought out its best for us.

Marcella and I wrote often, our letters entrusted to ships that plied the waters between Rome and its dominions. My sister's were little more than notes: "The Chief Vestal fell asleep during the dedication of a new palace hearth. No one dared wake her. She snores like an elephant." I, on the other hand, loved to write and filled scroll after scroll with the sights, sounds, and even smells of the countries we visited. Then an event occurred that I could find no words to describe, not even to Marcella. It happened in Egypt after a day of sightseeing.

My parents took me on a small skiff out to Pharos where the white cylinder of Alexandria's famous lighthouse shimmered in the early morning sun, its sparkle almost blinding. Even Father breathed heavily after climbing the four hundred steps to stand beside the watch fire. Although the flames, kept blazing from sunset to sunrise, were ebbing now, the rays from the great polished reflecting mirror dazzled my eyes. "Nothing that man has ever built or ever will build can equal this," Father told me.