Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (12 page)

A
s the weeks passed Mother and Agrippina changed before my eyes. Who were these strange women who bore almost no resemblance to their former selves? Agrippina, a pale shadow, sat silent, lost in thought. Mother darted here and there with pillows, compresses, and tinctures, trying always to anticipate the widow's slightest need or whim. Clearly the enormity of Agrippina's loss had eradicated past slights, real and imagined.

Mother took a seldom-used alcove in Agrippina's apartments and turned it into a
textrinum
, or weaving room. A loom was brought in--I doubt that Agrippina had ever spent much time at one. Now she seemed to welcome the idea. Weaving would occupy her hands, if not her mind. With Pilate and
Tata
at war with Piso, we all needed a project to keep us busy. It was decided that we would work together on a classic scene from the Aeneid. Slaves busily set to work carding the wool for us. All that fuzz made everyone sneeze, but soon they had the room swept out and ready for us. The sun shone cheerily through large windows as we sat down to spin the wool.

As Mother began a preliminary sketch, I suggested, "Why not Aeneas's reunion with his father in the Underworld?"

Druscilla thought it a splendid idea. She and Julia came every day for almost a week.

We spun much of the wool into silvery threads that would provide the weaving's misty background and fastened this warp to the loom, weighting it at the bottom. As we spun the weft, knotting it into skeins, Druscilla and Salia's enthusiasm waned. Even for girls in mourning, the fall season held many attractions.

Mother showed Agrippina how to knot the first top cord of the weaving, deftly doubling the weft yarn to form a loop, then drawing a pair of warp threads through that loop. Agrippina was surprisingly good at it. She worked quietly for a time, silent, face impassive, while Mother and I set to work on other sections of the project.

"I know it is unlikely." Agrippina spoke at last, addressing no one in particular. "You will think I am grasping at straws."

"My dear, what is it?" Mother asked gently, resting her shuttle.

Agrippina's wide eyes fastened on her with unaccustomed intensity. "Is it possible--could it be that we truly
are
reunited with our loved ones somewhere beyond this world?"

Mother paused, her own eyes grown thoughtful. "Through all the years, through all Marcus's many battles, I have prayed that it is so."

"I
know
it is so," I broke in. "Isis has promised."

"Not Isis again," Mother chided me.

"Isis promises eternal life?" Agrippina watched me curiously.

"She does, and I believe her."

"You are very sure of yourself for one so young--perhaps because you
are
so young."

Mother smiled wryly. "That is what I thought years ago when Claudia began asking questions. 'What do you believe?' 'Why do you worship Juno?'" She shook her head. "Such thoughts never occurred to me when I was a girl, but then"--she glanced at me affectionately--"Claudia has always been different. I paid scant attention to what I thought were her idle fancies. The next thing I knew she had gone off in the dead of night to some strange temple--"

"No!" Agrippina, busy knotting the weft, looked up in amazement.

"That was only the beginning, my dear. The impetuous girl risked her life to join an Egyptian cult."

"An Egyptian cult! Ugh! I had no idea! You never told me."

Mother was knotting from left to right, pushing her work upward so it advanced to cover the warp, tightening the threads at each turn to maintain an even weave. "It is not the kind of thing one talks about even to family. Marcus was furious. Of all the foreign gods, it would have to be Isis." She looked up from her work. "You know--that whole Cleopatra tragedy."

Agrippina nodded. "Germanicus resented her terribly. He adored his grandmother and spoke often of the pain Antonius caused her--not to mention the disgrace." She picked up the threads again, fingering them absently. Her eyes shifted back to me. "What does your husband think of your devotion to Isis?"

"He used to say that nothing under the sun surprised him, that life was full of inexplicable matters that defied logic." I paused uncertainly. "What I said amused him then. I doubt that he took it very seriously. I don't think he took
me
very seriously."

"Every young couple goes through adjustments," Agrippina reassured me.

"Did you?" I asked, doubting it.

Agrippina sat for a time, her eyes thoughtful. "Not many," she admitted at last. "Our families were so closely aligned. I was Augustus's granddaughter, Germanicus the grandson of his sister. I think we loved each other even as children. Besides, we were raised with the future of Rome in mind. It was taken for granted that Germanicus and I would marry"--her voice trailed off to almost a whisper--"and eventually rule."

Such grand hopes dashed forever. I thought for a moment she would cry. Mother hastily changed the subject. "Your father and I have had our share of problems. He might have married any number of army daughters better suited to military life than I, but then..." She held up a new ball of yarn, tying it to the old and then twisting the knot to the inside. "I had my share of well-placed suitors. Father favored one young senator--surely you remember him, Agrippina--but I would not hear of it. It was Marcus or no one. He needs me," she reflected, "if only to smooth his rough edges." She picked up a skein of scarlet yarn earmarked for Aeneas's cloak and studied it absently. "You and Pilate are also quite different. Perhaps it is your 'strangeness' that most appeals to him. You are lovely--Agrippina will agree, it is more than a mother's pride--but we all know that Pilate had his choice of beauties. He wanted something more, and got it. I am certain that he finds you both fascinating and frustrating. It will work out." She hesitated a moment watching me. "You do miss him, don't you?"

"Oh yes! Yes, of course!" I looked up from my knotting, surprised by the question. "I miss him terribly. This war against Piso goes on forever."

"Scarcely a month," Mother reminded me gently. "You have no idea what a real separation is. I pray you never will."

"It is amazing that Piso has held on this long at Celicia," Agrippina said. "He can thank his mercenaries for that--the best that money can buy."

"I had a message from Marcus yesterday," Mother said. "He does not expect the blockade to last much longer."

"I light candles to Isis every night and stare into the flame," I told them. "Sometimes she seems very close. I know then that Pilate and
Tata
are safe."

"I never gave much thought to gods and goddesses," Agrippina said. "Whether they were 'real' did not matter. It was enough that they were beautiful. Now I wonder...life is so empty without Germanicus. I am frightened for our children."

"Isis knows what it means to lose a husband," I assured her. "When Osiris was murdered, she traveled the world searching for pieces of his body. When she recovered them, she brought him back to life and bore his child."

Agrippina smiled at me. "That is a very sweet story."

Mother shook her head. "But little consolation under the circumstances."

There was an uncomfortable silence. I felt that I had been dismissed as a child. Agrippina was quiet for what seemed a very long time, her eyes resting on the shuttle in her hands.

"Perhaps it is," she said at last.

"What are you thinking, Auntie?" I asked.

Agrippina put down the shuttle and looked up at me, the old fire shining through the fog of her grief. "I cannot return my husband to life, but I can avenge his death in Rome. I can make certain that his name lives on. We cannot conceive another child, but I can protect the legacy of the ones we have." She stood up, tossing back her tawny mane in a gesture that I had not seen in months.

A sense of relief swept over me. We had our Agrippina back again--ready to play the heroine once more.

M
OTHER AND
I
DISCUSSED THE DAILY WAR COMMUNIQUES EACH NIGHT
at dinner. We were so proud of
Tata,
who figured prominently in most of them. Sentius, the newly appointed governor, a senator with little military experience, relied heavily on my father. As the siege continued, Piso stood on the ramparts of a seaside fortress offering extravagant rewards to individual soldiers whose skill he coveted. When the color sergeant of the sixth brigade defected,
Tata
ordered barricades thrown up, ladders braced and mounted by crack troops. A rain of spears, stones, and firebrands from his battle engines provided cover while blaring trumpets drowned out Piso's blandishments. His defiance crumbled. Soon Piso pleaded to remain in the fortress in exchange for surrendering his arms. He would wait there, he promised, until Tiberius himself decided who would govern Syria. When Sentius denied the terms, Father stormed the fort, captured Piso, and sent him back to Rome under armed guard. Now, we were certain, Tiberius would see to it that the vile murderer got the punishment he deserved.

Agrippina was taking no chances. Despite winter's menacing approach, she, too, would go to Rome, would lay the true facts, with Germanicus's ashes, at the feet of Tiberius and the Senate. I had expected the announcement while dreading it. It was taken for granted that Father would command her military escort; and, of course, Mother would go with him. Pilate volunteered to accompany them but Father forbade it. "Sentius needs you here to help maintain order," he explained. I breathed a grateful sigh that I hoped went unnoticed. The mourning ship was already carrying not only my parents and Agrippina but my closest friends, Julia and Druscilla.

"I
NEVER THOUGHT THE DAY WOULD COME WHEN
I
WOULD NOT BE
overjoyed at the prospect of Rome," Mother admitted to me as we stood on the wharf.

I struggled with a smile. "You will be happy enough once you are there. Besides, there will be Marcella. You will be able to visit her often."

Mother nodded. "It
will
be wonderful to see her again after all these years, but dear one--if only I could be in two places. I want so much to be with you when the baby is born--only another six months. I remember how frightened you were as a child..."

My back straightened. "I am a woman now. Bearing children is my duty. Besides, I want this baby very much. I pray to Isis for a boy. That will please Pilate. All men want sons, don't they?"

"Probably, but most are quickly reconciled to daughters. Witness your father."

I thought of
Tata
. His love had always been there, I had never doubted it. "Pilate is different, he expects a son. I know it. I must not fail him."

"Fail him! My dear, Pilate adores you. If this child is not a boy, there will be others. Surely there's no trouble between you two? This past month since his return from Celicia, he has appeared most happy."

"No, no trouble." I hesitated. "It is only that I hope the baby will bring us even closer. Children do that, don't they?"

"Of course they do, but there is more to marriage than children, no matter how truly they are loved. You know that."

I nodded, at a loss for words. Since my marriage, I had come to see Selene as a woman as well as my mother, a very fortunate woman. She and Father were like two interlocking pieces of a puzzle.

When the final moment of their departure came, we all strove to be stoic. Not even Father, who had lingered out of earshot while I said good-bye to Mother, was very good at it. He held me a long time before admonishing Pilate, his voice grown gruff: "Take care of this girl."

I stood on the wharf, waving long after the black sails receded from view.

Pilate wandered off to speak animatedly with Sentius. That is as it should be, they have important matters to discuss, I reminded myself, trying to ignore a faint cramping in my belly.

T
HE WINTER WAS FIERCE
. F
EW SHIPS PLIED THE STORMY WATERS
. W
EEKS
passed without any messages; some when they came were merely duplicates of others. No one could know which ships would make it through the troubled winter waters, so correspondents took no chances. Pilate dispatched a slave to wait daily at the port. Finally, to my great relief, the man returned breathlessly with a letter from Mother. The voyage was over, they were alive. She had written from Brundisium, their port of disembarkation:

Our arrival was moving--none of the usual brisk rowing, slaves chanting, overseers marching back and forth cracking their whips. Our ship was guided silently with slow, measured strokes. Agrippina, dressed all in black, a veil covering her hair, was first to disembark--alone, eyes lowered, carrying the urn with Germanicus's ashes in her arms. Close friends and officers who had served under him were among the waiting throngs crowding the wharf, the walls, and the housetops. Men, women, and children waiting at the dock cried out, their voice blending into a single eerie moan.

A few days later I was confined to bed. "Minor complications," Petronius said. "Nothing to worry about," I heard him assure Pilate. Turning this way and that, struggling to escape the pain, I thought of Mother so far away.

Like Petronius, Rachel was reassuring, her manner always cheerful, yet sometimes I saw concern in her eyes. Once I heard her angrily chiding Psyche for gossiping with another slave about a neighbor who had died in childbirth. They thought I hadn't heard.

Mother's next letter, so vivid, was a fresh reminder of how much I missed her. Tracing her handwriting on the papyrus, I could almost see the royal progression to Calabria, Apulia, and finally Compania, where thousands waited to pay their respects.