There was much talk about marshalling camps for the push north, and which officers would stay on board and who would go ashore here.
“Pretty slave girls are always welcome in Londinium, girl. You know it’s among the most prosperous cities in the empire. Even runaways do well there. Do you fancy that?” said one of the crew to Juliana in a thick accent, as a haze of smoke filled the horizon the following morning. When she turned to him, he winked at her. She looked away quickly.
“And why not?” His voice was almost a whisper. “With friends you can do what you want in Londinium, not what your master tells you.”
A cold sharp breeze made her pull her woolen cloak tight. Despite his unwelcome presence by her shoulder, an unusual and unexpected sense of possibility, of freedom, teased at her. Running away had never seemed an option before. Did slaves really do such things here in Britannia?
But she didn’t reply, she’d been warned often enough about encouraging men, especially when your master might see you, and within moments the crewman was called away with a shout. As she watched him go, she felt an urge to call to him. But there were too many people about. Too many people watching her. And the fear of what happened to runaways who were caught, who were often flayed alive or crucified, kept her lips sealed.
Whenever she got a chance that morning she stared out across the water, measuring their progress, anticipation growing inside her. On both sides there was land now. They had entered the mouth of a great river. Marshlands spread away into the distance on the far side. Flocks of seagulls and mallards wheeled and as they passed some seagulls came to fly around the galley calling out, as if replying to the oar drum and the shouted curses that drove the oarsmen on.
Great mud banks stood desolate out of the water in places, like the crowns of submerged giants. Birds she’d never seen before with long beaks and a pattern of black and white on their backs were standing on the mud banks in groups poking their beaks into the mud.
Beyond the marshes dark forests loomed. Lonely looking fishermen could be seen on the nearest river bank, oyster and eel gatherers, someone told her, and there were occasional watch towers beside impoverished looking villages on areas of slightly higher ground.
As the banks on each side closed in, plumes of smoke could be seen rising up from walled villas set back from the shore, before drifting lazily into the gray clouds that closed over the landscape like the lid of some giant cauldron. Juliana stared in wonder, spending more time than she should have at the side planking, as the city came closer. A sense of anticipation filled the air. None of the officers seemed to care, as they usually would, that she wasn’t doing something, sewing a garment or fetching something for her master.
There was something different about this land. Rome had been all marble and temples, with statues lining its approach. The approach to this city was dirtier, excrement floated by, and as the bank of the river closed in billows of smoke could be seen streaming from long timber and brick walled enclosures.
Then something bumped against the galley and many men looked over the side. She did too. A bloated body, double its normal size, without a head and with ruptures on its back, went past just below her. The smell filled her nostrils and her mouth, making her gag. She turned away and walked to the other side of the galley.
Everything looked wrong. They were passing a long building with a strange galley pulled up on the bank beside it. Even the bricks of the building were wrong, thicker and bigger and more oddly shaped than bricks in the east. Her skin prickled. Was this really where she came from?
They were being watched too, from the shoreline, but there was no joyous waving. Did people here see only invaders when Roman galleys came?
They were relying solely on oar power now to move forward. The thump of doubled oar drums and the watery swish of oars rising out of the river filled the air.
She looked ahead. The emperor's galley, which had been a little in front of them all the way up the river, was near now. It was the largest ship she'd ever seen. It had two banks of flashing oars on each side, was lined along the water with shields, and had at its prow a massive ram carved in the shape of a sea serpent. A purple and gold banner fluttered from a crossbeam high up on its single mast. Who would not know that the Emperor Chlorus had come to Britannia?
It took most of that morning for the galleys to navigate the mud banks. The tide rose and as the rush of the river abated, they turned a wide bend in the river. Ahead, a stone bridge, with wide arches, crossed the narrowing channel. It was the first crossing point she’d seen. Along each bank sat wooden quays. The ones on the northern shore looked sturdier, newer. The ones on the south looked little used. Legionaries lined a quay on the north side, awaiting the arrival of the emperor. Their curved red shields gleamed, their central bronze studs standing proud in a row, like statues.
On the south bank people in dirty tunics lined up along the quayside. Only a few of them wore proper togas. Desultory cheering rang out, then died.
The emperor's galley was having difficulty in the narrow channel, but eventually, and with the help of pilot skiffs and ropes cast ashore, it pulled up to the quayside.
A smaller galley, with the emperor’s personal guard on board docked next. The galley Juliana was watching it all from was then hauled tight to the quay. Juliana, who was standing with the other female slave in a quiet corner of the deck, whispered her excitement to her companion. “We’re here.”
The emperor’s guards went quickly ashore and formed a phalanx in front of his galley.
“The emperor must wait until his own men are ashore,” said the girl, with a note of satisfaction in her voice. All around, people were getting ready to disembark.
“My master says some high official was murdered in Eboracum. The emperor’s security will have to be tight.” Juliana looked blankly at her. “You must know Eboracum,” said the girl smugly. “It's the biggest city up north.” She waved her to the horizon, then tutted.
Juliana replied in Greek. They’d been speaking Latin, everyone here seemed only to speak Latin, and she knew the girl would have no idea what she was saying.
“I’d very much enjoy seeing your ass whipped, before you’re sent to work on the fattest and oldest men at the baths here.” She laughed at her own joke.
The girl sniffed, ignoring her.
“My master says the raids out of Caledonia are causing panic all over Britannia, and even further. No emperor will be lost on his watch, he says. I hope not. He's promised to free me.” She smiled triumphantly.
Juliana looked away. It wasn't hard to guess what favors she'd granted for that upcoming privilege.
They watched as a troop of dignitaries lined up to welcome the emperor. Trumpets sounded, and the eagle insignias of the legions under the emperor's command were marched ashore. A knot of high officials in pristine togas followed. Finally, and to the thin wailing of wind dampened trumpets, the emperor appeared, wearing a heavy purple cloak trimmed with fur. A thin gold laurel wreath sat firmly on his head.
The welcoming ceremony was watched in silence by a large crowd, held back behind a row of legionaries at each end of the quay. When they saw their governor prostrate himself in front of the emperor however, they let out a huge cheer.
“The emperor is come. The barbarians are routed,” were two of the cries that could be heard over and over.
Julian felt the first spit of rain on her forehead. She touched it, closed her eyes. Could her father be feeling the same rain? Was he here in Londinium?
She wanted the ceremony to be over now, so they could disembark. She was not supposed to revel in her master’s position, but secretly she hoped everyone ashore would notice she was part of the imperial household. When she’d first understood that she would live in the company of, and help serve, the son of an emperor it had seemed odd, totally bizarre, but increasingly she enjoyed the status her position gave her. Other slaves, the lowest kitchen ones admittedly, bowed to her occasionally now, and she’d gone from te
lling them to stop - they wouldn’t have anyway - to liking the attention.
She'd wanted, but hadn't dared, to tell the other slave girl how close she really was to Constantine, the emperor’s son, but she knew the danger in that. She had to be wary of jealous spite, she’d been told by one unfortunate who’d ended in the fields many years before. But she found it hard to restrain herself from telling someone how she’d read his dreams, and that she'd nursed him back to health after his accident on that last bend of the chariot race, and how she still went to him every day, to see if he needed anything.
She’d made honeyed wine for him, and he'd even told her how he liked it now more than any other drink. She closed her eyes and remembered again how he’d said it. Then she recalled how Sybellina had grabbed his arm and dragged his attention away. Her hands clenched tight to the rail. How could he like someone as ugly as Sybellina, with her pointy ears and heartless eyes?
At last, the emperor was conveyed away on what looked like a golden chariot, surrounded by two rows of jangling mail clad guards, who ran to keep up with the horses. Constantine was escorted down the gangplank, and as he and Lucius reached the quayside he turned, caught her eye, and called out for her to join him. She was supposed to wait before following them, but she’d been afraid she might lose her master, so this was perfect. She walked as gracefully as she could down to where they stood. Her heart was thumping. He was waiting for her.
“Our baggage will be brought later, Juliana. Did you leave yours with ours?” She nodded.
“We don't want you to get lost,” he said. He turned away and grabbed Lucius’ arm. Chariots were rumbling forward around them, and in the distance the crowds cheered on.
Before Juliana could reply, Constantine was hailed by a young man striding along the quay as if looking for someone. When Constantine acknowledged the greeting the man bowed and introduced himself as Valerius, the son of the governor of Londinium.
Valerius was tall, at least as tall as Constantine, and he wore a dark-blue half-toga of unmistakable quality. His blond hair was worn a little longer than the usual cropped Roman style, but what Juliana noticed most was his expression of bemused wonder, and the way he held his head at a slight angle.
Constantine was treated with theatrical reverence by Valerius, who kissed the hem of his cloak, then his hand.
“You will all be lodging at our humble home during your stay,” said Valerius. He bowed again.
“I’ve stocked up with all the best foods and the strongest beers and wines between here and Rome herself.” He pushed a mop of hair away from his brow with a flourish. “I thought I'd be entertaining Alemanni officers.” His eyebrows rose, and he looked around conspiratorially.
“But when news reached me that the emperor's son had rejoined his father, I insisted we host you. Have you any idea what stuffy old Alemanni officers are like? Well, I’ve entertained enough of them.” He looked through Juliana as if she wasn’t there, then touched Constantine’s arm in a friendly manner.
“Come, you must greet our plebs, and after you've settled in we'll tour the best pleasure houses in Londinium. They're the wickedest from here to Rome, and I should know.” He coughed, looked round again. “Or I could introduce you to the priestesses of Isis.” Juliana gawped. Did he ever stop talking?
“My father prefers me to follow Mithras of course, but I find the priestesses of Isis much more entertaining. Even ladies find them accommodating.” He winked at Juliana, laughed and called for a chariot.
The streets beyond the docks were lined with people from almost every tribe in the empire. Constantine and Valerius, Lucius and Juliana, and Sybellina, all went in separate chariots. Sybellina rode with an older man, an official from Valerius' household. The crowds cheered loudly when they saw the purple cloak on Constantine's back.
Juliana had never been cheered through the streets of a city, had never even dreamt of such a thing, and the sight of young men blowing her kisses, people smiling and waving, made her forget all her cares. She waved back with increasing confidence and laughed as boys ran up and tried to kiss her hand where it lay on the rim of the chariot. It was her first experience of the public pleasure of being associated with the imperial family, and she loved it.
“Women gladiators entertain the crowds in the Colosseum here, Juliana,” said Lucius. They'd just passed two blond girls cheering wildly. They had, very obviously, been trying to attract his attention with gestures and winks. “They’re one of the attractions of this city, I hear. The descendants of Queen Boudicca showing off their fighting spirit. I'm sure there'll be games in honor of the emperor, so we can see if these women can fight.” He growled at her like a wild cat.
She leaned away from him, then laughed. The idea of women fighting in the arena intrigued her, especially if they fought men. She wanted to see it.
The streets were lined with colonnades of shops of every type, from armorer to weaver. Almost all looked prosperous, freshly painted, with new wooden signs gleaming outside. A few of the stalls had tables in front, obstructing pedestrians so much people had to walk in the street, adding to the crowds gawping close to them as they passed. Some cheered at the sight of the purple. Other people just stared. But the shouts from the street hawkers and some shop owners didn’t stop, either enticing people to try the wares or greeting customers, and all in a Latin dialect mixed with strange new words, some rhymed together.
When they arrived at Valerius' villa Juliana was ordered to help his household slaves prepare for their guests, and to supervise the unpacking of the baggage when it arrived.
It all turned up as she was eating a hurried early evening meal in a large stone floored kitchen. She had to stuff her mouth and rush after the slave who came with the news, to ask him if he would help her carry everything. She'd never be able to do it on her own, and again she thought about Tiny and wondered would he ever be avenged.
Constantine’s baggage had grown since they’d met with his father too. He had three large wooden chests now. Two were filled with ceremonial togas he’d been given by the master of the imperial household. His other belongings, what he’d brought from the east, didn't even fill the third chest.
“How could the son of an emperor live without at least twenty togas?” Juliana said to a friendly slave girl who was helping her unpack. The girl's Latin was good, despite her being from a tribe in the far west of Britannia. Everyone in the household she’d met spoke Latin fluently, to her surprise. The girl grinned as she folded a toga.
“Is it true he's not married?” she said, wide-eyed. “And he wins chariot races?”
Juliana nodded. Suddenly she felt an old urge. The urge to tell her whole story. She hadn’t felt it in a long time. Disinterest and derision had quietened her. Tales of ill luck were as numerous as the leaves that fall after the harvest is brought in. But now she was associated with Constantine everything was changing, including how other slaves looked up to her.
The girl giggled. “You do know he'll be chased by every vixen in this town. Some of them are right tarts, flashing everything at the masters.” She put her hands over her eyes as if she was embarrassed. Then she giggled again. “Some of them have been preparing since the first day they heard about him!” She lowered her voice. “Even us slave girls have been washing our hair in flower scented water.” The girl shook her head until her hair spun around like a flail.
Juliana could smell flowers. She had to say something.
“You should know that he never chases women. So, don't get your hopes up. And tell the others the same.” The girl looked crestfallen.
“He prefers boys?”
Juliana shook her head. “No, it’s not that.” She closed the lid of the chest with a bang. She wasn’t going to say any more.
Lucius' room was beside Constantine's. His baggage consisted of the two saddlebags he'd brought from Bithynia. Unpacking those was easy. Disappointingly, Sybellina's bags arrived separately and she wasn't asked to help with them.
Juliana a
dored Valerius' villa from the moment she was shown her own room. She was amazed when she saw it. It had a heated mosaic floor, gaily painted walls, woodland scenes in blues and golds, and was by far the finest room she'd ever slept in, unlike the burrow-like cells she was normally allocated. She'd no idea why she hadn't been given such a cell in the basement with the other house slaves, but she was afraid to say anything in case the mistake was uncovered and rectified.
The house was reassuringly laid out in the traditional style of a city villa, around an elegant courtyard with a marble fountain and a statue of a blue nymph. At the front of the villa there were two progressively more impressive reception halls. The bedrooms were at the back of the main courtyard. A baths complex had been constructed on a corridor at the rear of the villa, and boilers there kept the water and the underfloor heating at just the right temperature. Without such heating her room would have been cold. She’d noticed how cool it was here for the time of year. The summer would be starting already in the east.
A kitchen courtyard led into the street at the very back. A separate covered corridor for the slaves of the household ran down the back and on one side of the house. It connected the kitchen area with the reception halls at the front.
Constantine, Valerius and Lucius went to enjoy the baths complex after their arrival. As she finished tidying their rooms she heard the faint sound of Lucius laughing. The sound reminded her of a distant time, before she’d become a slave. She closed her eyes as memories flooded back. At once she opened them and rubbed her face. They would know if tears stained her cheeks. They wouldn’t like it. Slaves were not supposed to display their problems in front of their masters. She looked down, saw a spot on the floor, bent and scrubbed hard at the dirt engrained into the mosaic. She had hope now. She had come a long way. If anyone had told her a few years before that she would end up like this, in the entourage of an emperor’s son, with a room as if she was a master’s daughter, she would have shouted at them and called them a stupid liar. She stood. There was work to do.
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