Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (8 page)

I
t was a quiet party--only a few guests--not Agrippina's style at all. Why? I wondered, but not for long. Pilate was there. He was all that mattered.

Julia, Druscilla, and I shared a couch, nibbling absently at grapes passed to us on golden plates. My cousins laughed a lot, showing their teeth and profiles. I pretended to listen, savoring my own thoughts. Drusus winked at me from across the room. Ever the protector, he had managed earlier in the evening to block Caligula's attempt to spill wine on my new silver gown.

Yes, Caligula still clouded my life. Recently he had begun staring at me. He called often at our house, leaving flowers and trinkets; but when I ignored them, he turned ugly once again, seeking ways to hurt or embarrass me.

Looking about the room, so opulent in tones of burnished gold and bronze, deep blue and vibrant purple--Agrippina's colors--I noted how carefully the bachelor guests had been selected. There were army officers, of course, but also a promising young auger and the son of the puppet prince of Antioch. Julia favored the latter. I knew she had stolen out at least once to meet him. I should have liked to do the same with Pilate but something warned against it.

My glance shifted to his. He was watching me. I shivered with pleasure. When Pilate smiled that slow smile I felt as though melted honey oozed down my back. He nodded to the centurion with whom he had been talking and crossed the large room in a few strides. Settling on a tufted stool beside my couch, he murmured into my ear. "Some say that sooner or later every woman gets the face she deserves."

Puzzled, I followed his glance to an alcove where Mother held court, the center of a small circle of friends.

"She is still very beautiful," he said.

"Beautiful on the inside too," I added, "but you have to know her to discover that."

He nodded to a passing slave, took two wineglasses and handed one to me. "You have her beauty and something more...a touch of mystery. No one knows what you are really thinking. You have that and..." He leaned forward, whispering again, "...perhaps some mischief. I think sometimes you like to raise Hades just for the fun of it."

"Perhaps," I conceded. Studying him over the goblet's rim, I reflected on how well the spell was working.

Behind him, I saw Germanicus approaching. He carried a lyre under his arm. How annoying! I didn't want anyone to interrupt us.

"I dismissed the jugglers," Germanicus explained. "The heavy one dropped his torch twice. Besides, the noise they make--all the shouting. I would like you to sing, Claudia--the way you used to in Gaul. It has been a long time since I've heard your lovely voice, too long."

I nodded toward Druscilla and Julia. "You mean the three of us?" My thoughts shifted longingly to Marcella. Trained by the same tutor, we four had sung often at family parties, even occasionally at military gatherings.

"Your voice was the sweetest. Never mind the others." Perhaps sensing my reluctance, he added the imperative. "Sing for me."

I studied the kindly, surprisingly unassuming man I had known all my life, aware that his natural charm overlay a quiet authority. Why now did he look so tired? Lately, it seemed, Germanicus was always rubbing his forehead; his walk, too, seemed slower.
Was something wrong?

The hum of conversation ceased as all eyes focused on me. I felt slightly ill. In recent years I had rarely sung outside my home and never alone. I didn't want to now, but Germanicus was handing me the lyre. "Sing!"

How could I refuse?

Strumming a few chords tentatively, I breathed a prayer to Isis and began. First a mild military parody that had always amused Germanicus. Then, my confidence growing, a street ballad burlesquing the fable of Leda and her swan lover. Pilate moved closer, smiling. Pulling my eyes from his, I saw expressions of polite boredom change to surprise. I enjoyed the moment until another face came into focus. Druscilla watched with angry intensity.

Druscilla loves Pilate.
That knowledge would once have plunged me into despair. What man wouldn't aspire to marry the great-granddaughter of the Divine Augustus? But now, with the spell working so well, I merely pitied her the hopeless longing I myself had felt only days before.

G
ERMANICUS'S WAN FACE VISITED MY MORNING MEDITATIONS WITH
increasing frequency. What is troubling him? I asked. Almost immediately another face--sallow, pockmarked--appeared before my mind's eye.
Governor Piso
. I scarcely needed the sight for that. The man had been a thorn in Uncle's side from the beginning. Tiberius had appointed him governor while we were still in Egypt. By the time our party arrived in Antioch, Piso and his wife were already settled into the palace. Germanicus let it pass. So like him to be generous, but now we saw daily reminders of how the governor mistook kindness for weakness. Piso's army was contrary to everything Germanicus stood for. Bullies promoted, good officers with honest records demoted and replaced by scoundrels...There was more, I felt it.
Something terrible was going to happen. Perhaps it had already begun.

I wanted to talk to
Tata
about it, but between his political duties and my new social ones, I rarely saw him. Finally the sudden cancellation of a banquet at Germanicus's villa gave our family an evening at home. My parents' animated conversation stopped abruptly as I entered the
triclinium
. Mother's dark eyes sparkled.
Tata
looked concerned. Each watched me with an anticipation I was at a loss to understand.

Determined not to be diverted, I sat down on the couch opposite them and asked point-blank: "Is Germanicus ill?"

"Why ever would you say that?" Mother exclaimed. "He has always been healthy as a horse. The banquet was postponed because of a fire in their kitchen."

"You are sure? He seems thinner."

"He is concerned about Piso."
Tata
's eyes were thoughtful. "City guilds and farmers are appealing to him. They say the governor's men force them to pay for protection."

Piso again. The lean, hungry-looking governor and his wife, Plancina, a proud, vain woman with a boundless taste for luxury. I recalled her in Rome, never far from Livia. The conversation shifted as Hebe and Festus entered, poured wine, passed plates of stuffed grape leaves and dates.

"Why hasn't Germanicus complained to Tiberius?" I wanted to know when we were alone again.

Tata
shrugged. "He has. The emperor claims to be surprised that Germanicus would be swayed by malicious rumors. By no means is Piso to be removed from office."

I hesitated. Hebe and Festus were back with a platter of wild boar, a gift from Drusus, who had speared it himself. It took a while to carve and serve. Then, at last, they bowed and left--for a while anyway. Now a chance to say what I'd been thinking. "The business with Piso is threatening to us all, but I feel there is something more--something evil--hanging over Germanicus."

We sat quietly for a moment or two. Despite the warm spring evening, a chill raised little bumps on my bare arms. Then Mother shook her head impatiently, "Why are we so gloomy when your father has wonderful, exciting news for you?"

I moved over to the edge of their couch. "What is it,
Tata
?" My heart raced. Suddenly I knew the answer.

He was silent for what seemed a very long time, all the while watching me thoughtfully. "Pilate came to me this morning," he said at last. "He has asked to marry you."

My hand moved to the sistrum at my throat.
Pilate was mine
. "Oh,
Tata,
it has happened," I gasped, flinging my arms around him.

Tata
disengaged my arms, but held both my hands in his. "He knows your dowry is small, but says he would marry you if you had none at all."
Tata
's eyes were puzzled as he studied me. "It must be your Claudian lineage. A patrician connection could be useful to an ambitious young knight..."

"Of course it could," Mother agreed. "Besides, our little girl has blossomed into a true beauty. Really, my dear"--she turned to me, smiling--"you grow lovelier every day, almost, it seems, before our very eyes. I'm not surprised at all by Pilate's proposal--not anymore. I saw him at the games yesterday. Even when the lion was at the throat of the gladiator he looked only at you. The man is positively enchanted."

I glanced down, embarrassed. Of course Pilate was enchanted, that was the whole idea. For the first time, I felt a tiny twinge of guilt, then quickly dismissed it, assuring myself that I would be the perfect wife for Pilate. I would find every way to please him. He would be the happiest man in the world. Once again I sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving to Isis, who had delivered to me the man of my dreams.

T
HE NEXT TIME
I
ATTENDED THE CHARIOT RACES IT WAS WITH
P
ILATE.
We sat with Germanicus and Agrippina in the Sponsor's Box, for it was Germanicus who had subsidized the event. Beside them were my parents and Pilate's adoptive father.

The elder Pilate was a portly man. Beneath the peacock blue of his silk tunic, I saw rolls of flesh that quivered as he moved. Still, I noted, he moved quickly and his eyes were sharp. Here was a man who missed nothing. Though he was cordial and complimentary, I knew his true opinions were guarded. From time to time, his eyes rested on Druscilla, who sat nearby. I felt certain he questioned his son's choice. Had they quarreled about me? I moved toward him, casting about for something to say, something that would both flatter and reassure him. "Pilate tells me that you have raised champions," I ventured. "You must be a fine judge of horses...I know so little. Which team would you suggest I bet on?"

He smiled, leaned closer, whispered in my ear. "Go with the blue team."

Just then Plancina, sitting below, turned and looked up--scrutinizing me. She seemed to be taking in every detail of my attire. Then with a sweeping, contemptuous glance, the governor's wife looked over at Druscilla. My hand strayed to the amethyst brooch Pilate had given me that afternoon. I knew it was exquisite and matched my pretty lilac gown perfectly; still, the older woman's disdain frightened me. What if the rich, established families didn't accept me? Pilate was ambitious...
What if I were to fail him?

I stared at Plancina, focusing all my attention upon the buxom matron, willing her to turn again. Slowly, her head began to move until she faced me once more. This time Plancina's round pie-face wore a puzzled expression. I watched her intently, all the while smiling sweetly as I raised one hand casually and parted two fingers in a horn shape.

Plancina gasped at the hex sign, her painted cheeks like full moons against a face grown pale. My smile deepened as I raised my other hand to arrange a small curl loosened from its fillet. Suddenly I was aware of Pilate sitting next to me. Isis! What if he had seen me? I turned slowly. He was engrossed in conversation with
Tata
. What a relief. Pilate would not have been amused. What had I been thinking of? Plancina was the governor's wife.

The trumpets sounded. Germanicus rose to address the throng. "It is my great pleasure to announce the betrothal of Claudia Procula, daughter of my closest friend and aide-de-camp General Marcus Procula, to Centurion Pontius Pilate, commander of the First Cohort. This race is dedicated to them. May it be a grand beginning."

A roar of applause greeted the announcement. I trembled with happy excitement. What difference did Pilate's father or Plancina make? We were a golden couple. What could ever change that? Turning to acknowledge the cheers, I saw Druscilla watching and looked away.

As the betting tablets were being passed, Pilate's father watched me expectantly. I wanted to flatter him. He had given me advice. Should I trust it? I could not rid my mind of the thought that the race was somehow symbolic of my future with Pilate. Where was the sight now when I wanted it? Forcing a smile, I took the tablet and stylus. "It's the blue team for me."

The trumpets sounded again. All eyes moved to the field. I clutched Pilate's hand as we watched the four teams approach. The chariots were splendidly draped in their brilliant colors--red, white, blue, and green. Curried and preened to perfection, the horses pranced for us. The crowd roared with anticipation as drivers whipped and hailed their two-horse teams to charge the starting line. Wheels spun and bounced, dust flew. The red team, a splendid pair of matched blacks, burst into the lead leaving the green and white teams neck and neck. A dull roar hung over the crowd as the blue team driven by Diocles, the favorite, drifted to the rear. My heart sank.

For the first three laps I watched tensely as the blur of movement remained unchanged. Reins whipped, ribbons flew as the white team nosed to the inside and made its move. The red driver, perhaps sensing the challenge, looked over his left shoulder. I gasped as his ebony stallions swerved wide to the outside. The stadium vibrated as all around us people chanted and cheered, urging their favorites forward. Perhaps, perhaps there was a chance for the blue team.

By the fifth lap, the red, white, and green teams were three abreast, with Diocles pulling his steeds up behind the red chariot in the middle. I was on my feet cheering him on. Turning into the sixth lap the red team wavered. Diocles's tunic was a blue blur as he reined his horses into the outside lane to avoid the slowing chariot. The green and white chariots charged into the turn, seeking their opportunity for leadership. Both demanding the center lane, they crashed into each other. The white chariot bounced into the air and capsized in the path of the blue pair. Diocles pulled his horses to the inside, the flailing legs of the downed pair kicking at his chariot as he inched by. The red team driver was not so skillful. His pair thundered into the fallen chariot, causing him to be thrown.