Hadrian's wall

by William Dietrich

  It was supper-table talk picked up from the dining room of her father, and Clodius thought it slightly disreputable that a woman spoke so openly of politics. Still, he enjoyed her attention. "Rome wasn't stopped, it chose to stop, so built his wall to fence away what we didn't want and keep what we did." He took on a lecturing air. "Don't doubt it, Valeria, this is a promising place for a military officer like myself. Trouble gives soldiers a chance for glory. Marcus too! But I don't have to admire the cause of such trouble. By their very nature, Britons are rebel and rascal. The commoners, I mean. The upper class, I'm told, is acceptable."

  "You seem quite the expert for a man who hasn't stepped ashore yourself," she teased. "Perhaps you should stay on the boat. I could tell my fiance that Britannia wasn't up to your standards."

  In truth, Valeria was apprehensive herself, her teasing a mask for her own anxieties. She was homesick, though like any good Roman woman she wasn't about to admit such weakness. She barely knew Her intended husband, who'd seemed kind during their tentative meeting and quick betrothal in Rome but also big and quiet and, well… old. Certainly she'd never been intimate with a man. Never managed a household. Knew nothing about children. Was she ready to be a wife? Mother? Matron? What if she failed?

  "Obey your husband," her father had instructed her. "Remember that duty is the steel that sustains Rome."

  "Am I not to love him as well? And he to love me?"

  "Love stems from respect," he'd intoned, "and respect follows duty."

  It was the kind of admonition she'd heard a thousand times. Girls dreamed of romance. Parents plotted career and strategy.

  Valeria looked up at the wet sky. Early April, the landscape an eruption of green, and still this cold cloud! Was it ever truly warm here? Come winter she'd see her first snow, she was sure of it. She was as anxious to get ashore as Savia was, and tired of waiting on Clodius. Why couldn't the youth decide? She saw another lighter and decided it was larger, cleaner, and better painted than the others. "Let's hire that one!"

  Her request goaded Clodius to action, and with cries of disappointment, the little flotilla began to break up. The chosen lighter bumped alongside, a fare was negotiated, and there was confused bustle as sailors lowered her belongings into the bottom. Her trousseau was a mere cartload, given the expense of freight from Rome. Valeria's bodyguard Cassius lifted her down as if she were made of glass, plump Savia swayed down upon a rope, and Clodius took his place in the stern with the captain as if he knew something about piloting a boat. Then they made for Londinium's quay, the lighter leaning in the spring wind and an arrow of geese thrumming overhead, aimed toward the north.

  Savia took heart. "Look! A welcoming sign from the Christ!"

  "If so, they're bringing news of our arrival to my future husband."

  Clodius smirked. "Don't they fly over everyone's head, and thus herald a dozen gods?"

  "No. They appeared for our arrival."

  They cut in and around other craft with practiced ease, a collision threatening at every tack and yet always narrowly avoided to cries of reflexive insult and hearty greeting. The shore was so crowded with craft that there seemed no opening to get ashore, and then a boat cast off and there was a glimpse of mossy stones and iron rings. The lighter pulled up into the wind and drifted neatly to lie alongside. A plank was laid and baggage slung. Valeria skipped ahead, Savia tottered across the plank in hasty reinforcement, and Cassius leaped the gap. Then the Romans were greeted with the kind of clamor that had besieged them on the Swan as merchants, beggars, and food vendors smelled money and class and surged forward.

  "Sample the lamb of Londinium, lady? Sustenance after your long journey!"

  She shrank from the crowding. "No, thank you…"

  "Jewelry for the lass?" It was crude copper.

  "I have enough."

  "A flagon for you, tribune… This way to the best lodgings… Some help with your baggage… No, I'm best for that!"

  Cassius went first to plow like a bull while Clodius haggled with the lighter's master, who suddenly claimed a different understanding of his payment. Valeria and Savia followed the gladiator's lead but were wedged in a press of bodies. The Romans paused, uncertain where to go, while Britons struggled for a better view of the pretty young woman of high station. Women exclaimed, men pushed, and a thick odor of sweat, fish oil, and cheap wine washed over them. Suddenly Valeria felt dizzy.

  "This way, lady!" A knobby hand closed on her arm, and she started. It was a plebe, coarse and gap-toothed. Her excitement was turning to alarm.

  "Over here!" Another hand clasped her cloak, dragging her the other way.

  "Let me go!" She pulled away. Her hood had been knocked back, and her hair was getting wet in the drizzle. Savia shrieked as someone bumped her. A child darted in, and there was a tug and rip. A brooch holding Valeria's cloak was suddenly gone, and it fell open, giving men a clearer glimpse of her form.

  "Clodius!"

  Her military escort was mired in a tangle of bodies behind. The Britons were laughing at them! A hideous looking man, red-faced and pockmarked, loomed. "Are you looking for a bed, fine lady?" He reached toward her, disgustingly.

  "Leave us-"

  "Give room!" Clodius shouted. "Which way to the Governor's Gate?"

  "A coin first!" someone shouted. "A coin to show you the way!"

  "Yes, coins, Romans! Coins for the poor of Britannia!"

  Cassius smacked grasping hands away. In reply, a cabbage flew through the air and struck the bodyguard. The gladiator put a hand on his sword. An apple sailed past his head.

  "Coins! Charity for poor islanders!"

  "What a rubbish heap of a province," Clodius gasped.

  "Pity for a people oppressed!" More bits of food flew at them.

  "This is a scandal!"

  And then, in deliverance, came a sharp cry of pain.

  VI

  Their siege ended as quickly as it had begun. The yelp had come from the rear of the crowd, the product of a whistling in the air that ended with a sharp crack. "Ow!" Then another smack and another, in remorseless rhythm, like harvesting wheat. The Britons were being parted by a military baton wielded with the cadence of a whip.

  "Out of the way, dock dung! Get back from your betters!"

  Their rescuer, Valeria saw, was a tall and heavily muscled Roman officer in chain armor and peaked helmet, his thick arms braided with tendons and nicked with scars. He had the shoulders and solidity of a bull. And the meanness of its temperament, too, it seemed.

  "Offal!"

  One beggar didn't scramble fast enough and was caught across the mouth, flung backward. Others retreated in fear as more Roman soldiers materialized, carving a path through the crowd with the shafts of cavalry spears, their lance heads black and broad. "Part, Britunculi! Get away from the Romans!"

  "Brassidias!" The warning sifted through the assembly. "It's Galba!"

  The sword at his side swung to the time of his baton strokes like a warning pendulum, and his stride had the powerful deliberation of a man fording a river. His physical strength was reinforced by a brutally handsome face: dark eyes, hooded lids, set mouth, and a broken and reset nose. The enclosure of Britons gave way, and when he turned to face them, none offered challenge.

  So instead he swung to the Romans, offering no more approval of them. He had a full beard flecked with gray, an old wound leaving a crevice in its growth, and a complexion brown and leathery. A Thracian, Valeria guessed, backbone of the Roman cavalry. She saw in fascination that a piece of one ear was gone, and as if to balance this loss, a single gold earring hung from the other. Valeria found his masculinity and ruggedness disturbingly sexual. Embossed disks of courage were layered on his chest like a silver roof, his belt held a golden chain that threaded a curious number of rings, and he held his vinestaff tightly in both hands, as if contemplating snapping it. His eyes flickered disdainfully from one of the newcomers to another before coming to rest on Valeria, her cloak open, her hair half unpinned and
cascading down, her garment wet. She straightened against a look that seemed to disrobe her.

  His voice was gravel. "So what gaggle of Romans is this that disembarks in a sewer of Londinium and, faster than a cock can crow, provokes a riot?"

  Valeria glanced around. With no gate nearby, where had this officer come from? She looked at the top of the city wall. Now there was a sentry peering down at them. Had he been there before? She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted.

  "I am Gnaeus Clodius Albinus, newly assigned junior tribune of the Petriana cavalry," the young Roman announced. "And this is the lady Valeria, daughter of the senator Titus Valens and the betrothed of my commander, the praefectus Lucius Marcus Flavius." Clodius was stiff with pride and indignation. "Our thanks for your help, soldier, but I must complain it's tardy. We'd expected proper reception. Instead we've had to find our own way ashore. Word of this indignity will reach the governor!"

  "Indeed?" The tough-looking soldier inspected Clodius as well, with disdain. "You'll discover that the governor isn't here, tribune."

  "Well, then, a senior commander."

  "Who was expecting advance word that you apparently neglected to send. Who was waiting to provide the escort expected."

  "Oh? And where is this elusive officer?"

  A soldier snickered, his leader's eye silencing him. "Standing before you, junior tribune Clodius. I'm senior tribune Galba Brassidias, second in command of the cavalry to which you're reporting- and thus in command of you."

  Clodius colored. "Tribune! I didn't realize…"

  "Nor report, it seems."

  "But I sent a message that our lateness required us to take a merchant vessel-"

  "A message that obviously didn't reach us. Common sense would suggest waiting for a navy galley or, lacking that, waiting in your merchant tub for proper greeting. It's your impatience that has embarrassed Rome."

  Clodius flushed.

  "And when making an opposed landing"-Galba pointed to the slave Cassius-"don't rely on arena thugs."

  The ex-gladiator's mouth tightened.

  "Or women."

  Someone in the crowd of Britons laughed.

  "I don't think recriminations are necessary," Valeria said. Not liking the arrogance of this provincial, despite his timely rescue, her voice carried the sharp authority of her class. "We were unaware that docking at Londinium was considered an opposed landing, tribune."

  Her reprimand made him appraise her anew. "It wouldn't have been, if you'd waited for me."

  "And how long did you intend to make us wait?"

  He smiled thinly. "I would have hurried had I known your beauty, lady." He bowed slightly, having apparently decided on caution. "And please, call me Galba. A pity that our acquaintance should begin so awkwardly, but I think we've all been taken by surprise. Marcus Flavius sent me here to escort you to the Wall. The noise of this rabble drew me."

  "A remarkable coincidence."

  "Fortunate." He looked around. "So let's get you to the governor's palace. He's touring in the south but left word to give you a night there."

  Clodius spoke. "A lady requires proper transport-"

  "Which I'm about to provide. Titus!"

  "Yes, commander!"

  "A litter for the lady Valeria!"

  The man moved off at a trot.

  "My apologies for this mob. If your tribune there had sent word ashore, we could have avoided- Your cloak is torn!" He looked concerned.

  Valeria had clutched it around herself. "I was jostled by the crowd. A boy made off with a brooch."

  "A what?"

  "It was sudden. A small thing-"

  Galba swung to the Britons and pointed. "Her."

  A middle-aged woman screamed as two soldiers seized her and dragged her forward, anxious shouts rising. Galba drew his sword, the spatha rasping as it came out of its scabbard, and put its point under her chin. The blade gleamed dully in Londinium's gray light.

  "A brooch is missing!" he shouted. "I want it back, and back now! Tell the thief who stole it to hurry, or I cut her!" A spot of blood appeared at the woman's throat, and she writhed, begging for time.

  There was a commotion, a succession of cries. Someone small darted forward under the cover of the adults, and the gold clasp spat from the crowd's cluster of legs. Then the furtive thief ran madly away.

  Galba glared at the others for a long minute and then dropped his sword, shoving the woman away. "Next time I slice off hands until I find the one that holds it!" Then he scooped the clasp up and presented it to Valeria. It was in the shape of a sea horse. "Your missing brooch. A horse of the sea. Appropriate for your new garrison."

  She was shocked at his tactic. "You seize a woman at random, tribune?"

  He slid his sword into its scabbard. "To get back what's rightfully yours."

  "For which I thank you. But her terror-"

  "I make clear what isn't tolerated so women are never terrified."

  "Rome relies on the affection of her people-"

  "You're not in Rome any longer, lady. Manners are rougher in the provinces and worse yet on the frontier, as you'll learn. But these people won't bother you again." He raised his voice so the Britons could hear. "Count on it!"

  She hastily pinned her cloak once more, hoping the brute didn't notice that her fingers trembled slightly. The mob began to break up as quickly as it had formed. "Well," she said, straightening as she tried to regain composure. "Let's see the rest of this rough Londinium, then."

  "The litter hasn't arrived."

  She took a breath. "And I haven't stretched my legs for two days. We'll meet it."

  Clodius touched her arm. "Valeria, it's more appropriate to be carried-"

  "And tedious to stay here." She started down the quay.

  The party hastily formed around her, Galba and his cavalrymen to her front, Cassius and Savia to her rear. Clodius strode alongside, brooding and subdued.

  "Well, that was exciting," she finally said to the young tribune as they threaded past piles of cargo, the wet pavement sparkling from the scales of landed fish. "Quite an introduction."

  "Quite timely," he replied. "Your hero appears from… where? Was he waiting?"

  "For what?"

  "I don't know, but look there. Another prosperous party coming ashore, and I don't see them molested by a Briton mob."

  "Galba's warning has spread, I think."

  "Or his need for drama is over."

  VII

  Titus reappeared, leading a litter carried by four trotting slaves. Having made her point, Valeria allowed herself to be hoisted. Now that she had military escort, she felt the protection of the guest and the license of the tourist, and so she left the curtains open to see the place she'd come to.

  The wall of Londinium loomed twenty feet high. A century ago the cities of the empire didn't need walls, so placid was Roman peace, but civil war and barbarian raid had eroded security, and so the provincial capital had been girdled. Their party passed through the Governor's Gate and marched into the city proper, the smells of urbanity immediately assaulting them. There was bread and sewage, perfume and wet laundry, the ammonia of the tanning shed and the sawdust of the carpenter. They passed a small forum, crowded with stalls, and then turned left on a narrow avenue toward the governor's palace.

  The city was noisier and more crowded for its enclosure, human traffic jamming the streets. Here passed the litter of another fine lady, regal and powdered. The women gravely nodded. There went a proud magistrate, brisk and self-important, his clerk in tow. A juggler was earning coins with a flurry of tossed balls, a group of raucous sailors passed by in their hunt for a good tavern, and two matrons waved and gossiped at each other from adjoining apartments. A bed frame was being hoisted by a rope to a second-story window, strangers catcalling about its intended use. In turn, heads swung in curiosity to examine Valeria as she rode by. The attention flattered her. How many senators' daughters did Londinium see? She'd become someone special.

  Br
itannia was not entirely foreign, of course. If the world was Rome's, Rome was the world. Here in Londinium were Roman streets, temples, porticoes, domes, and tenements, made exotic only by the polyglot accents of the usual ethnic rainbow: swarthy Syrians, blond Germans, dusky Numidians, arrogant Egyptians, quick Greeks, and earnest Jews. And class: slave and freedman, soldier and aristocrat, harlot and matron. The common Latin was heavily accented and corrupted, and other languages intruded. The lyrical Celtic tongue caught her ear, and she wondered if she'd have the time to learn it. Adding to the babble was the squawk of caged fowl waiting to be sold for dinner, the bleat of tethered goats, and the cries of bound lambs. There were shouting children, singing farm wives chanting the merits of their produce, wailing peddlers, shills touting the warmth of a tavern or pleasures of a brothel, and even an unkempt prophet of unknown religion, promising doom. The cries of gamblers, splash of water, and grunt of athletes sounded from a neighborhood bath. The urban noise was punctuated by the clang of blacksmiths, the rhythmic tap of cobblers, the thud of hammers, and the songs of weavers. Here was the glassblower, there the potter, and adjacent the butcher, just as she might expect, Latin signs promising bargains. There was the smell of charcoal fire and lamp oil, hot toast and frying eel, tanned leather and wet wool. Statues of dead emperors and generals were stained dark from rain, little gods of protection squatted protectively in entry alcoves, and phalluses jutted beside doorways for good luck. Only the tired paint and periodic empty, grassy lots gave evidence of what had been gossiped in Rome: that Londinium was tired, and shrinking in on itself. Commerce was retreating to Gaul.

  "The city is grander than I expected," she said charitably, reaching from her litter to put her hand on Clodius's shoulder for balance. She enjoyed his jolt at her touch. "More important."

  "Britannia once prospered from the wars on the continent," he conceded. "Trouble drove money to this place. Now…"

  "If they could buy some sunshine, I think we'd be very comfortable here."