Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (7 page)
Read Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire Online
Authors: Antoinette May
Myriad lamps cast flickering shadows on a large burnished golden bowl resting on the altar. I watched the priestess ladle the contents into a chalice. She extended it to me. My hand shook as I raised the vessel to my lips. The liquid's tangy sweetness was unexpectedly pleasant. I drank again and again, at last draining the chalice. A comforting warmth stole over me. It no longer mattered that I was naked. After a time I ceased even to be aware of it. The chanting of those around me grew louder, the sounds of drums and sistrums more insistent.
The priestess motioned for me to follow her. We exited the grand chamber from the back, walking down a long torch-lit hallway that seemed to stretch forever. My head felt light, the will that moved my feet no longer mine. The priestess stepped to one side, revealing a flight of stairs that descended into a black abyss. She signaled that I was to go on alone. Her glance seemed somehow appraising. Was I being tested?
The marble steps were worn. How many had walked there before? I wondered. Step by step, I made my way down. The stairs were wet. I was descending into water. The steps were slippery. I walked gingerly, downward, deeper and deeper. The water was up to my knees, then my hips. I looked back over my shoulder. I couldn't see the priestess.
The next step was steeper and threw me off balance. I slipped into the abyss. Once I thought I felt the pool's bottom, but was buoyed up by water. I struggled not to breathe, not to swallow, but the water began to pour in, burning my throat, filling my lungs. Black water covered my head now, blotting out everything. Three summers before, a broken ankle had kept me from learning to swim with the other children. Now I cursed Fortuna.
Frantically flailing, sometimes floating up to the surface, only to slip back again, I scrambled wildly for the stairs but couldn't find them. Terror gripped me as I struggled to hold my breath. Once more I reached the surface but only to gulp more water. My lungs felt as though they would explode as I fought the desire to open my mouth. I could no longer hold my breath. I was going to die. Why, Isis? Why have you done this? Did you cause the winds to blow, the rain to fall for ten days and nights merely to drown me? Recalling the sense of purpose that I had come to feel during my meditations, I would not, could not, believe it. Surely the goddess of the sea could lead me out of a pool! Help me, Mother Isis, help me! You who can do anything, guide me now.
Trying desperately to remain calm, I slid one foot forward across the pool's bottom, then the other. Struggling to ignore the suffocating pain in my chest, I lifted one arm above my head as though to grasp Isis's hand. It cleared the water.
Surely there was a wall somewhere that would lead me to the stairs. The floor was slippery, my progress slow, the pain in my chest crushing, unbearable. I gasped and inhaled more water. Just then my toes touched a hard surface. The wall? No, a step! Coughing and gagging, I struggled upward. Twice I slipped and lost my footing. At last the unforgettable moment when I lifted my face out of the water. Each breath pure ecstasy.
Sputtering, belly aching, body bent like an old woman's, I reached the top step and fell sprawling across the marble floor. The sound of my own labored breathing echoed in my ears until I became conscious of a faint, rhythmic pounding. Eyes streaming, I looked about. Where was the priestess? I'd expected welcoming arms, congratulations. She wasn't even there--no one was. In the distance I saw a broad veranda supported by seven marble columns. Beyond that the sea. Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself up.
Seven shallow steps led to sand fine as face powder against my bare feet. The clear night was filled with stars, the full moon a dazzling disk of light. As I reveled in the miracle of fresh air filling my aching lungs, the moon waxed brighter still. Slowly a radiant form rose from the sea. First the face appeared framed by luxuriant locks the color of flames; then the shapely body emerged from cresting waves. She wore a crown in which was woven every flower that I had ever loved and over her long white gown was a blue mantle covered with glittering stars.
This time Isis was no dream.
I
sis stood before me, great waves crashing about her. Rising from the sea even taller than Pharos, she was awesome in her grandeur, glorious in her radiance. Overwhelmed by emotion, I dropped trembling to the sand and yet, curiously, felt no fear.
A soft hand touched my shoulder, then another. The high priestess and her acolytes had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Now they clustered around me. "You saw her?" one young priestess asked excitedly.
"Yes, yes!" I gasped, looking up. I turned back to the sea, but Isis was gone. I sighed in disappointment.
The high priestess smiled gently. "If she remained, you would no longer be of this world."
"Oh, but how can I go on without her, now that I have
seen
..."
"You will go on, I assure you. You have many years of life before you."
Tenderly, but with a kind of wonder, the acolytes helped me to my feet. Taking my hands, they led me down a labyrinth of halls to an inner sanctum deep within the temple. The floors, the walls, the vaulted ceilings were of gold laced with lapis lazuli. Everywhere I looked, jeweled lamps reflected their brilliance.
There, in that magnificent room, I was anointed seven times with sacred Nile water poured from a golden ewer encrusted with emeralds. Temple priestesses patted me dry with soft linen towels and rubbed my body with fragrant oils. I was dressed in a flowing white robe and garlanded with red roses, their scent sweeter than anything I had ever smelled.
It was then that the high priestess pressed a miniature gold sistrum into my hand. "It is sacred," she explained. "Isis, the eternal woman and goddess of life, has many symbols but only one weapon. The sistrum is an instrument she plays upon when she wants to create change or to see the true meaning of circumstances others merely accept. You, Claudia, have earned one of your own. Take it back with you into the world."
"Back?" I looked at her uncertainly.
The high priestess smiled again. She put her arms around me, led me through the twisting passageways from which I had come until I stood forlornly in the temple's immense atrium. How could I leave this place? How could I leave the acolytes who now seemed as close to me as Marcella?
The high priestess embraced me once more, then stood back. "Before your enlightenment you were the daughter of your parents. You are still the daughter of your parents. Nothing has changed."
"Everything has changed!" I exclaimed.
"Everything and nothing." She nodded her head toward Thoth, who must have ascended the stairs silently, for he stood now at my side. "Your litter is waiting to take you home," the high priestess said. She wrapped a soft blue mantle about me, then turned and reentered the temple.
T
HERE WAS AN AWFUL FINALITY ABOUT IT; SOMEHOW
I
KNEW THAT
I would never see her again.
What could I do then but allow Thoth to help me into the litter? Everything and nothing. What was the meaning of it all? I wondered as the slaves carried me homeward through the streets. Surely I would never be the same and yet I was exactly the same. A part of me knew every secret of the universe. For an instant Isis and I had been one, and yet here I was as I had always been, Claudia Procula, going home to her ordinary life as though nothing had ever happened.
I was also a fourteen-year-old girl with a big decision to make.
My fingers closed about the tiny gold sistrum that the high priestess had given me. For an instant I felt again the rush of joyous zeal that had followed the initiation, the moment when Isis had risen before my eyes. I sighed. Despite the miracle that had happened to me, I felt even younger than fourteen as I approached the villa. There was still my father to confront.
It was nearly dawn when I stepped from the litter. The villa was dark but for a single light coming from the library. I tiptoed into the atrium and stood for what seemed a very long time arguing with myself. It would be so easy to just slip up to my room, remove the gown and garland--hide them somewhere. With all the excitement of leaving for the ship, no one would find them. No one need ever know what had occurred.
Tata need never know.
And yet if I wasn't honest, if I didn't tell him of this wonderful thing that had happened to me, what meaning did the experience have?
"Who's out there?"
Tata
called out. "Claudia, is that you?"
My hand tightened once again around the sistrum. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door to confront him.
A large map slipped unheeded from his fingers as he surveyed my garments. He rose from his chair, staggering slightly, and shouted, "By Jove, what have you done!"
I thought of all the prisoners he must have questioned and felt sorry for them. My voice shook as I answered: "Isis called me."
"Have you lost your senses?"
I took a deep breath. "I had to go to her."
"What nonsense is this!"
"Isis is queen mother of us all," I began. The tip of his nose was turning white, a bad sign. It only happened when he was very angry. "She protects us here on earth, and when we die, we don't go to some awful place like Hades. Isis promises peace and joy for everyone and only asks that we keep faith with her and be the best that we can be."
"Aren't the gods of Rome good enough for you?" Father demanded, his voice a roar.
"No, sir, they're not." I took a deep breath and plunged on. "The old gods are like naughty children, but are the new ones any better? Can we really be expected to worship Tiberius...in our hearts?"
He looked as flabbergasted as if the cat had spoken.
Sensing an advantage, I ventured: "Perhaps you feel the same. Perhaps, sir, that is why you so often visit the Temple of Mithras."
"What do you know of Mithras?" he asked, leaning closer, his eyes studying me. I knew I'd caught him by surprise.
I thought of Mithras, such a manly god, all about courage and brotherhood. It was easy to see why that would appeal to
Tata
's sense of dedication. "Mithras is a warrior's religion, his worship is forbidden to me," I reminded him. "Isis is for everyone." I reached for his hand as the words tumbled out. "Oh,
Tata,
after my initiation the moon was so bright and close that I felt possessed. My veins coursed not with blood but with Isis's light. For the tiniest instant I knew all that had ever been or ever would be. I was a tiny part of her immense power."
His gray eyes widened. He looked shocked as though seeing me for the first time. "And then what happened?"
"Most of it just seeped away. If I try to tell you more...I'll lose everything." I shook my head helplessly, fighting the sudden tears. "What happened isn't something you can talk about, you only feel it. All I can say is that I saw the goddess as clearly as I am seeing you. I understand now why the poor, the lame, and the ill are welcomed by Isis. Don't you see,
Tata,
we are all part of each other like leaves in some giant tree."
He sat mutely for what seemed a very long time, his face impassive. Finally
Tata
shook his head, almost sadly. "Why did it have to be the goddess of that whore, Cleopatra?"
"You hate Cleopatra, but what would you have done if you were an Egyptian with all her power?" Seeing his face redden, I lowered my voice. "Cleopatra thought she was mistress of the world. Wasn't it only natural that she would appear on a golden throne at Antonius's triumph?"
"Natural?"
Tata
raised a bushy eyebrow. "Natural to whom? She rode, he walked at her feet." His voice rising again, he asked, "Is that the kind of woman you want to be?"
"No,
Tata,
" I bowed my head contritely, then looked up at him. "But Antonius loved Cleopatra. It was his choice."
"Enough of this," he said, rising to his feet. "Take off that--that costume and get to bed. Do you hear me? In a few hours we will be on the sea headed away from this accursed country. Perhaps one day you and I will talk again of Isis, but never of Cleopatra." He put his arms about me. "There, there, dear," he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Get a good night's sleep and you'll forget all about this nonsense."
"Yes,
Tata,
" I agreed, but even then I knew it could never be so.
9
Casting the Spell
I
worried about the upcoming party, dreaded it--my first as an adult. So much expected of me, so much for which I was unready. Oh, I knew well enough what to say and how to say it, had been drilled in how to walk and sit and stand. That was the trouble. Now the training was expected to pay off. Soon, very soon, I must find a husband. The auction block waited for me as surely as for any slave.
As for the party...I'd never possess Marcella's careless confidence, but a noble dress might help. Not for me the pale pastels selected for my friends by their mothers or the bright maroons and oranges flaunted by my cousins, Julia and Druscilla. I wanted to look like me. Now, turning this way and that before the mirror, I wasn't sure who me was. My gown was the subtle white of an eggshell shot with threads of gold, but the way it clung...
"That material came all the way from India," Mother reminded me. "Marcus paid a fortune for it."
Dear
Tata,
how good he was...my fingers played absently with the small gold sistrum I wore about my throat, recalling my initiation and our talk that followed it. Egypt seemed far away now. Had it been only two years? Though neither of us had referred to the exchange, it had brought us closer.
Tata
had, I suspected, dismissed the whole thing as a youthful indiscretion. Perhaps he was right. I meditated daily before a small shrine to Isis, but had yet to visit Antioch's Iseneum.
Once we reached the powerful city-state, Mother had kept me busy. There was a new metropolis to learn. Then a home to furnish and maintain, for Tiberius had decreed early on that we were to remain indefinitely in Antioch. Mother saw to it that I learned every detail of running a house. It was time consuming when combined with lessons: dancing, singing, lyre. The end result stood reflected in the mirror, a young woman admirably trained for marriage yet so unready.
Rome must be served, but that duty was nothing compared to the obligation I felt to my parents. If only it were Marcella preparing for the party. My sister would have adored every minute. She had looked forward to marriage, would have made a dazzling match, too, even without a dowry.
Marcella had loved to flirt, had done it instinctively, impulsively with any male of any age. I wasn't good at it, didn't care to be. Such a waste of time, encouraging people into my life who didn't belong there. So I didn't flirt, I talked. Would-be suitors seemed satisfied with that--anyway they came back often to see me. I liked them all well enough, yet the thought of spending a life with any--worse yet, sharing a couch...
"Who is coming tonight?" I asked Mother, barely suppressing a sigh.
She smiled, obviously pleased by the question. "I imagine that means what young men will be present at the party." Not waiting, she began to list them. "Horacius will be there, of course, and Flavius. Hardly a day goes by that they don't drop by to see you. Tell me, which do you favor?"
I thought of Horacius, an
aedile,
so young he had pimples; and
Tata'
s aid, Flavius, a bit older but still callow. My pleasure at the new gown ebbed. "They are both quite nice, Mother," I said, trying to sound polite. "I could not possibly choose between them...Is there no one else?"
"I've asked Drusus and Nero to bring their friends. Perhaps one of them will suit you." She smoothed the folds of my gown.
"Somebody had better, Claudia, and soon."
Slightly ill with apprehension, I hesitated outside the atrium where guests gathered. Glints of gold sparkled in my gown...all the way from India. Chin up, I entered the room smiling and was rewarded by a muted gasp of appreciation. From then on, it was easy to move from group to group, couch to couch. I felt tiny tingles of envy and admiration radiate around me and loved it.
Drusus and Nero were home at last--and Caligula away hunting. The party was already wonderful. Why had I worried?
As I hugged Drusus, my glance wandered over his shoulder to an alcove where my parents talked with a man I'd not seen before. He was possibly twenty-seven, a good ten years older than I. Slim, yet broad-shouldered, he carried himself with an easy grace. Sleek and handsome like a young leopard. He was looking at me now, smiling, so confident.
"Who's that?" I asked Drusus.
"Don't even think about it."
I drew back, looking up at my cousin in surprise.
"He is said to be a fortune hunter and much too fond of women."
"Really?" I turned away from Drusus and approached the newcomer slowly, pulling in my breath, arching my back. Julia and Druscilla walked that way all the time, I'd only begun to practice.
"Pontius Pilate, a centurion just returned from Parthia," my father introduced him.
The centurion nodded, smiling at me. "I came with a message. Your father was kind enough to invite me to stay for your party."
His words floated by. Lost in his eyes, I thought of a blue pool, deep and dangerous. Pilate stepped closer. "Some women are not meant to be Vestals."
What was he talking about? Oh! Not me at all. He was looking at a bust of Marcella that rested on a nearby pedestal.
But now Pilate's eyes shifted, an appraising glance that wandered the length of me. "It would not suit you either."
"It would not?" My voice quavered. I took a deep breath, paused a moment and raised my head. It was my turn to study him.
Pilate had even features, a finely defined jaw, a well-chiseled nose; he had full lips bracketed by barely perceptible lines. Was there a touch of weakness? Surely not. A shade of cynicism, perhaps. Was that not to be expected in a soldier?
"No, it would not," he repeated, a slow smile lighting his face.
Pilate turned to
Tata
. "You are a fortunate man to have two such beautiful daughters, but then," he nodded toward Selene, "to have daughters like that, you must look to their mother. Fortuna has been good to you."
"Fortuna, yes," my father agreed, signaling Rachel to refill Pilate's glass, "but I believe we should lighten the goddess's task whenever possible and make our own luck. Don't you agree?"
"I do indeed, sir."
"I thought you would," Father commented dryly.
Mother smiled brightly. "It was a great honor for our eldest daughter to be made a Vestal--the empress herself intervened for Marcella--but we still miss her dearly. It has been nearly five years since her induction."
My heart ached for Mother. "We saved a number of sketches that street artists made of Marcella," I explained to Pilate. "Mother took them to Marius here in Antioch. The bust he made is a composite of those impressions. We think it a fine likeness."
"You made an excellent choice," Pilate assured me. "Marius is the best. Last year my father had a full form of himself sculpted as Apollo."
Having met the elder Pilate, I tried to imagine his heavy jowls, broad nose, and protruding eyes above the god's slender form. I couldn't. "I am sure it's quite--quite arresting," I said.
"Oh, it is," he agreed. That smile again. I wondered what it would be like to be alone with him. New guests had arrived; Mother drew me away to greet them.
The comic actors she had engaged were a great success, but my eyes strayed often from the improvised stage to the couch where Pilate reclined. Once I caught him watching me. I smiled slowly, then turned my attention back to the actors.
The comedians' repertoire seemed endless. Then at last, the final applause. As it faded, Germanicus and Agrippina rose to make their farewells. The other guests took their cue from the royal couple. Standing beside my parents, bidding each good night, I was surprised by the weariness in Germanicus's face. When Pilate's turn came his manners were impeccable--deference to
Tata,
gallantry to Mother. He said nothing of consequence to me, yet paused, I thought, possibly a moment longer than necessary, lingering in the archway, his knight's toga falling in beautifully ordered folds from left shoulder to ankles.
I could scarcely sleep for thoughts of him and was ready with questions the following morning. "Forget Pilate," Father advised. "Only a bride with a handsome dowry will do for him."
"But,
Tata
--" I began.
He silenced me with a headshake. "Pilate's star is rising. I have seen his kind before. Those eyes miss nothing."
"Eyes like ice, clear, so very blue, and that charming smile! No wonder you are drawn to him," Mother sympathized. "Pilate is considered the most eligible of all the young knights. Everyone talks of him."
"The mothers as well as the daughters."
Tata
smiled at her. "Pilate's adopted father only recently attained equestrian rank. He is said to have made his money peddling chariots, a fortune; but mark my word, that young man will more than double it. Only the most lucrative alliance will satisfy him."
I cursed the Fates. At last, here was a man I could imagine sharing a couch with...imagine it very well. I turned away to conceal my blush.
In the ensuing weeks my path crossed Pilate's many times. Often I felt him watching me, yet his manner when we spoke was merely polite. He divided his time among many women, all of them wealthy.
One afternoon, seated two rows behind Pilate at a chariot race, I watched him with Sabina Maximus, arguably the richest of the city's young, unmarried women. The narrow seating spaces compelled them to sit quite close. I saw Pilate solicitously pick up the hem of Sabina's gown from where it dragged on the rough stone floor. It afforded him an excellent view of her ankles--thick ones, I noted with satisfaction. Oblivious to the thunderous crowd around me, I speculated. Perhaps a man with many women friends isn't too fond of any one. A wooden chariot had overturned, spilling the driver. The four horses continued to gallop. People all around me were shouting advice and imprecations. The unguided horses crashed their chariot into two others, smashing both. Beside me, my father, who backed an underdog, was on his feet cheering.
My fingers played absently with the small gold sistrum at my throat. "The sistrum is sacred," the priestess had said. "Isis, the eternal woman, has but one weapon." Whether my father liked it or not, Cleopatra
had
captured Antonius and Caesar, subduing them as completely as any army. Cleopatra's only weapon had been her femininity.
I pulled a mirror from the small leather pouch I carried. It was an exquisite piece, the ivory handle carved in the likeness of a sea nymph. Agrippina had given it to me the previous Saturnalia, predicting that I'd soon spend much of my time looking in mirrors.
Now I turned the polished surface this way and that. The reflection for which I longed eluded me. My eyes weren't blue like Agrippina's, but smoky gray, large and tilted slightly at the corners. My face wasn't oval like Mother's but heart-shaped. My nose, short for a Roman, was at least well formed. My lips, not as lush as Marcella's, were full enough. I wished I was allowed to color them as Julia and Druscilla did. I wished too that my hair was burnished gold like Agrippina's instead of black, but at least it was thick and curly, an impressive mane when released from the fillet that usually bound it.
My fingers rested again on the sistrum,
an instrument to play upon when one wants to challenge the status quo.
I sighed; it was hopeless. Everyone knew the laws of destiny were written in the stars...To attempt to override their cosmic imperatives was unheard of...yet Isis had helped Cleopatra...
If I must have a husband, why not the one I want?
Just then Pilate glanced over his shoulder and saw me sitting behind him. A long look passed between us, warming my body, filling me with excitement and strengthening my resolve.
A
NTIOCH IS A CITY OF LUXURY AND DECADENCE
. C
ONSTRUCTED OF
marble and lighted by thousands of torches, its streets and shopping arcades shine throughout the night with the luster of day. Each arcade is lined with elegant shops packed with treasures brought by caravan from the East: silk, amber, amethysts, ivory, ebony, sandalwood, carpets, spices, and herbs. Mother and I often frequented these pavilions accompanied by Rachel, who had rapidly developed a network of shopping informants that my father claimed was more accurate than his political ones. He was only half joking.
One day Mother chose to enjoy an afternoon at home with
Tata
. It was the opportunity for which I had been waiting. Rachel and I set forth to shop for a birthday gift for Agrippina, selected a strand of large amber beads, then quickly embarked on a different mission.
Antioch's Iseneum, though smaller than the one in Alexandria, reminded me of a delicate jewel. I hurried past the exquisite mosaics, promising myself to examine them in detail another time. Pausing to kneel before a statue of Isis, I whispered a few words of entreaty, then rose to face the elderly priestess who greeted me in the atrium.
"I must speak with your mystagogue," I explained.
The priestess shook her head, smiling apologetically. "This is his time for meditation. Come back later, perhaps this evening."
"I can't come later. It must be now. This is a very important matter."
"Everyone always thinks theirs is a 'very important matter.' I don't believe I have seen you here before."
"This is my first visit," I admitted, adding, "I was initiated in Alexandria."
"Ah, an initiate," the priestess regarded me with more interest. "I see you wear the sistrum."
"The high priestess of Alexandria gave it to me. Do you have a crypt here?"
"Indeed we do, and it is filled with sacred Nile water. Would you care to see it?"
"No, once was enough, but I would like to see the mystagogue. Would you ask him for me?" My eyes pleaded with the older woman.
She paused for a moment, then beckoned for me to follow. "The decision will be his."