Pilate's Wife

by Antoinette May

  Across the amphitheater an improvised banner was lowered. My whole body tingled with excitement as I read the hastily scrawled words: HOLTAN OF DACIA. I screamed myself hoarse with excitement. We all did. Often Tiberius was on his feet beside me, cheering with the others: “HOLTAN! HOLTAN! HOLTAN!” Incredibly, this young unknown fought man after man until only he and one other, Ariston, remained. Warily, they circled one another. Ariston lunged forward, tripping Holtan with his net, throwing him to the ground. Trident raised, Ariston moved in for the kill. I closed my eyes. Beside me, Marcella shrieked; cries echoed everywhere. Cautiously opening my eyes, I saw Holtan roll sideways, eluding Ariston’s blade by an inch. He was on his feet, swinging, slashing. A slicing, sideways plunge, and it was over. Holtan stood above the prostrate form of his opponent, awaiting Tiberius’s verdict.

  The emperor turned to me. “Well, young lady, he’s your champion. What is your pleasure? What will you have him do?”

  The excitement of the crowd was palpable. Many indicated their own verdicts: thumbs down. “Go ahead, give the people what they want—another corpse,” Livia urged.

  “You may be doing him a favor. He looks more dead than alive,” Father agreed.

  Just then the fallen gladiator’s eyes opened. Though his blood-splattered face was impassive, I felt his plea. The man wanted to live. My heart beat wildly as I felt the eyes of the entire stadium. Smiling shyly, I raised my arm—thumb up. Mitte. Tiberius nodded, then raised his thumb beside mine.

  CHAPTER 3

  Aftermath of a Triumph

  I was a heroine at the imperial banquet that followed the circus—at least within our family circle. Agrippina and Germanicus saw to it that I met many of their friends. Clearly, Rome’s most prominent families liked and respected them, anticipating the couple’s eventual ascent to the throne. Though their reflected glory was heady, I turned away when the conversation shifted to people and places I didn’t know, jokes I didn’t understand.

  For a time I wandered through the palace, drinking in the magnificence around me. Hundreds of lamps flickered on walls and tables, illuminating the elegant women, some in Roman dress, others in exotic Eastern gowns, their hair piled and pinned into pyramids and towers or wreathed in flowers. The men, too, were grand—many in wide-bordered togas, others wearing brightly colored tunics with gold half-moons gleaming on their knee-high sandals.

  Tiberius had invited Holtan on a whim. Hoping to meet him, I searched out the gladiator only to find him surrounded by new admirers. He shared his couch with a woman whose legs, entwined with his, were nearly as long. Her hair fell like a golden skein across his chest. Did I imagine for an instant…his eyes on me?

  Nearby, Drusus and Nero watched a pair of Nubian dancers. The boys’ hands rested nonchalantly on the gold hilts of their ceremonial swords, but their eyes widened as each filmy veil slipped to the floor. Again I passed unnoticed. Marcella, face flushed with excitement, enjoyed a silly game of slap and tickle with Caligula. Druscilla and Julia, hiding and chasing among the couches, waved for me to join them.

  No one paid the slightest attention to us, but we caught glimpses of things we couldn’t have imagined. Why did grown-ups make such fools of themselves? I wondered more than once. I was shocked sometimes, but also amused. I’d never seen an adult naked before—a real adult, not merely a dancing slave. Often we held our sides from giggling. All too soon an attendant arrived to collect us.

  She was short and plump, not sleek like the usual court slaves, nor as confident. “Where are Marcella and Caligula?” she asked. Her small eyes narrowed anxiously as they roved the crowded room.

  “What difference does it make?” I replied, annoyed by her intrusion.

  The slave looked uncertain. “Your mother ordered me to find all of you and see you to your beds. She will be angry.”

  Why was Mother doing this? It was still so early. Standing tall, I tried to sound like an adult: “Don’t trouble yourself. Marcella and Caligula are old enough to find their beds without a nurse.”

  “Why don’t you go look for them and come back for us?” Druscilla suggested hopefully.

  Clearly the slave was taking no chances.

  Her gait a brisk waddle, she led us down a wide corridor inlaid with agate and lazuli. Julia and Druscilla were taken to nearby rooms where their own attendants waited to serve them. I bade them good night and followed the house slave further down the corridor. It was no longer as well lighted. Our sandals echoed against the marble floors, and the woman’s lamp cast eerie shadows on frescoed walls. It seemed to take forever to reach the small, ill-appointed room that had been assigned to Marcella and myself. At least there were two sleeping couches. I dismissed the slave and settled into one. Recalling the excited sparkle in Marcella’s eyes, I wondered uneasily: Where was she?

  Sleep, when it finally came, brought a bizarre, troubling dream. Down, down, down I slipped into an unfathomable world of dark, sobbing figures. Who were they? For whom did they cry so piteously? It was for me, it had to be for me, but what had I done? Why had these phantom shapes turned their backs on me? The air was heavy, weighing me down. I gasped, barely able to breath. The mourners slowly faded. I was alone. All was blackness but for a small candle. It cast eerie shadows on the rough wall, ugly shadows. The candle flickered, such a tiny flame. Now it too was gone. The darkness was heart-stopping. I was trapped, enveloped. I struggled frantically to free myself, screamed and scratched at the damp, clammy walls. No one answered, no one came. I knew then that it was not me who thrashed and flailed in that fearful crypt. It was Marcella—Marcella imprisoned in darkness, Marcella abandoned and alone.

  My own frightened cry awakened me. Sunlight streamed through a small window. I looked over at Marcella’s couch. It was empty, not a cover mussed. A sense of dread swept over me. Just as I was getting out of bed, the door burst open. My sister rushed into the room, hair undone, face red from crying. My careless words of the night before echoed in my ears, as, throat choked with tears, she tried to explain what had happened.

  “It was awful,” Marcella gulped between sobs. “Caligula’s grandmother came in! She—she caught us. There she was standing over the couch, the empress, with those two huge guards that follow her everywhere. Now the whole palace will know. Mother says I’ll be ruined. The empress called me a slut. She hates me—I think she hates our whole family. She says it was my fault—but it really was not. Caligula has been after me for months—”

  “Caligula!” I stared at her, astonished. “Why did you go with that slimy boy? But what’s the fuss about? We used to take naps with our cousins all the time. Surely sleeping with Caligula won’t harm you.”

  “We weren’t sleeping.”

  It took a moment before I understood; perhaps I didn’t want to understand. “You actually did that? You let Caligula—oh, Marcella, how disgusting!”

  “It is not disgusting.” Marcella giggled through her tears. “It’s even…”

  I shuddered. “No one’s ever going to do that to me. I’d like to see anyone try!”

  Marcella sighed. Her face wore that superior look I hated. “Oh, what do you know! You are a child.”

  “We’re only two years apart,” I reminded her.

  She sighed. “Those are the two that matter.” Marcella poured water from a pitcher near the couch and bathed her eyes. “Oh, little sister, what will they do to me?”

  It didn’t take long to find out. Within minutes Livia entered with her guards. There was barely enough space left in the tiny room for Mother, who followed, her face white and drawn. Agrippina stood behind them, for once in the background. She looked guilty. I didn’t need the sight to tell me that Marcella’s punishment would be awful.

  In fact, Livia’s plan was unthinkable. “I will send her to the Virgins,” she announced gleefully.

  “The Virgins!” Marcella’s lips parted in a gasp. Her eyes went wide, her skin deathly pale. I moved closer, fearing my sister might faint, but Marcella stood firm, her eyes u
nwavering as she faced the empress.

  A cruel smile lit Livia’s face. “They have ways of dealing with unruly little bitches.” Mother’s arms encircled Marcella, holding her wordlessly. “Come, Agrippina.” The empress crooked her finger. An emerald sparkled in a shaft of sunlight. She turned abruptly and swept from the room followed by her two guards, huge men, black as ebony. Agrippina trailed behind, her eyes down, not looking at any of us. What was the matter with her? Agrippina was our aunt, our friend. Why wasn’t she standing up to Livia? Mother and Marcella clung together, sobbing quietly, scarcely aware of me as I hurried into my clothes and slipped out the door.

  I’D ALWAYS BELIEVED THAT MY FATHER COULD DO ANYTHING. NOW, AS I approached the garden bench where he sat, I began to have doubts. His shoulders were hunched, his face buried in his hands.

  “Tata, isn’t there something—”

  Looking up, he took my hand and drew me down beside him. “Livia is the empress. Her word is law. To go against her is to go against Rome itself.”

  “But Tiberius is the emperor.”

  “And Livia’s son. Do you think he’d cross her for anything so trivial?” Father touched his finger gently to my lips, forestalling an outburst. “Trivial in his eyes.”

  I sat mutely for a time casting, about for ideas, discarding them one by one. The garden, ablaze with summer blooms, mocked me, forcing my gaze to the far end of the planting where an immense marble statue of the Divine Augustus stared down. The whole world was displayed across the emperor’s chest, a constellation of conquests—Parthia, Spain, Gaul, Dalmatia. Father, who loved to tell war stories, had made certain that I was well acquainted with each victory. A cupid at Augustus’s feet also reminded viewers of his descent from Venus. Mother had taken care to explain that myth. As family members, we claimed the same divine ancestor.

  “If Augustus were alive this wouldn’t happen,” I ventured. “He’d stop Livia.”

  Tata shook his head sadly. “Who knows? When the last Vestal died and everyone scrambled to save his daughters from the lottery, Augustus swore that if either of his granddaughters were eligible, he’d propose her name.”

  I heard a sharp, bitter laugh and turned. Mother had come down the path and now stood behind us. “He only said that because Agrippina and Julia were safely married. The emperor was forever holding up ideals of morality, though everyone knew he’d left his own wife and baby daughter to steal Livia—a mother with a young son—from her husband.”

  “Hush, Selene,” Father warned, glancing in my direction.

  I hadn’t missed a word, each a precious piece to the puzzle. The ancient scandal explained the dowager empress’s hostility toward Agrippina, Augustus’s granddaughter from that first marriage. Apparently it even extended to our remote branch of the family. Hadn’t she anything better to do than persecute poor relations?

  “The empress thinks she’s so clever, but her plan won’t work. Marcella’s too old,” I reminded them. “The order will refuse her.”

  Mother sat down beside me. “The Chief Vestal won’t quibble once she feels the weight of Livia’s purse.”

  I hesitated, searching for words. Marcella had been my window into the adult world. Talking to a parent was much harder. “The whole idea is wrong. Marcella is not a—a virgin.”

  Mother’s white face flushed. “You are so young, it’s difficult to speak of such things, but you’ve learned so much already…” She sighed. “It’s true, initiates are young children. One would scarcely question their virginity. All that’s required is that they not be deformed, deaf, or dumb. Both parents must be alive and neither one a slave. So you see, in all respects but one, Marcella is qualified.”

  “But,” I argued, “that one is the one. Livia is cheating the goddess.”

  Mother shrugged helplessly. “A fine point that doesn’t trouble the empress.”

  “What about Agrippina? How can she just stand by and watch this awful thing happen?”

  Mother shook her head. “I believe Agrippina is genuinely sorry about the wretched Vestal business, but Livia has played cleverly upon her ambitions. She promises a brilliant marriage for Caligula while threatening a terrible scandal if the affair is not settled to her satisfaction. None of us wants a scandal, but poor, dear, foolish Marcella. Her life is over—over.”

  I put my arms around Mother who had quietly begun to sob. “Must she remain a Vestal forever?”

  “It might as well be forever. The term of office is thirty years. At the end of that time a Vestal may return to the world, but few do. Most remain in service to the goddess until they die.”

  “Thirty years!” I exclaimed. “Marcella will be an old woman.”

  “Indeed.”

  I cast frantically about. There was no way, no one…and then it came to me…Caligula! If anyone could help, it was he. It hadn’t taken me a day in Rome to realize that Caligula was the only grandchild the empress gave a fig about. The mere thought of him made me ill. But what choice did I have? A decision had been made. He alone might change it.

  WHEN I FOUND MY WAY TO THE SUMPTUOUS APARTMENTS ASSIGNED TO Caligula, I waved away the attendant slave in the foyer, and, taking a deep breath, pushed open the door to the cubiculae. Caligula lay sprawled across a massive sleeping couch, his shoulders propped against a bank of pillows covered in leopard skins. A wave of revulsion swept over me as I looked at the crumpled sheets. They were black silk.

  Caligula grinned at me. “Well, hello, Claudia! Do you like my room? Your sister did.”

  “What you did to her was horrible.”

  “Marcella didn’t think so.” Caligula folded his arms behind his head, that awful mocking smile broader still. “So why did you come?”

  “Because of you, the empress wants to punish Marcella. She’s forcing her to become a Vestal.”

  “Really! How amusing.” Caligula smirked delightedly as his fingers absently played with the fringed pillow behind his head. “My first deflowering and now the maid is to be turned into the ultimate virgin. That makes me a sort of god.”

  “This isn’t a joke! We’re talking about Marcella’s life. Surely you must have known someone would find out.”

  He laughed heartily. “I wanted Livia to find out. I sent a slave to tell her. Why not? It is never too early to build a reputation.”

  I stared at him incredulously. I wanted to fling myself at him, scratching, biting, kicking. I wanted to kill him for his ugly insolence, his thoughtless cruelty. My hands clenched tightly into fists. “But you like Marcella,” I reminded him when I could speak at last. “You’ve always chased after her. I thought when you knew the trouble she was in you would want to help.”

  “Oh, I like her well enough,” he said, watching me thoughtfully.

  My heart quickened. “Then it will be easy. All you have to do is marry her.”

  “Marry her!” Caligula laughed mirthlessly. “Not likely. She’s a lively girl all right, very lively, but a bit too full of herself for my taste. None of you Proculas know your place. You, Claudia, are the worst with your uppity ways. I don’t know why my parents are so fond of you. Who do you think you are, walking in here and presuming to tell me what to do?”

  I looked down, feeling that I had only made matters worse. It was hopeless.

  “So where is your famous sight now?” Caligula goaded. With a flourish, he threw back the covers. “Has it ever shown you anything like this?”

  “Oh!” I gasped, my cheeks flaming as I stared at his naked body.

  Caligula gloated, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Come now, Claudia, you always have something to say. Aren’t you impressed?”

  A wave of violent nausea swept over me. I gritted my teeth. “Is that all?” I somehow managed to ask. “I’d heard they were bigger.”

  THE TEMPLE OF VESTA IS A MASSIVE GOLD-DOMED BUILDING, ROUND, signifying the hearth, its circular cella enclosed by handsome Corinthian columns. On the day of Marcella’s initiation, two priestesses, white gowned and veiled, met us at the
entrance. Marcella, standing straight and noble, walked with them to their adjoining palace. We were very proud of her courage. No one would have guessed that the girl had lain awake the whole night long, sobbing until there were no tears left.

  An hour later we joined her in the grand chamber. Marcella was clad like the others in flowing white. Father took my trembling sister’s hand and led her to a dais where Tiberius waited before the sacred flame. Marcella had never looked more beautiful, her blue eyes almost the shade of violets as she met his solemn gaze.

  Father moved back as the Chief Vestal motioned for Marcella to kneel. Acting as Pontifex Maximus, Tiberius stepped forward. Placing his hands lightly on her shining black hair, he spoke the ritual words: “Te amata, capio! My beloved, I take possession of you.” Slowly, lock by lock, Marcella’s curls were shorn. Since her hair was long and very thick, Tiberius seemed to take forever.

  Sitting between my parents, hands in theirs, I tried to control my sobs. Occasionally I stole glances at Mother, tears coursing down her pale cheeks. My father’s face was set in grim lines, but from time to time I saw his eyes glisten. Agrippina had the grace to look away, but Livia and Caligula made no effort to conceal their pleasure. Both appeared to delight in every minute. Sometimes they nudged each other. Once they even laughed. My sister seemed impervious to everything. As I watched the last curl fall and the wimple go over her head, the Marcella I’d known all my life faded before my eyes.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Voice of Isis

  The day after Marcella’s initiation Tiberius startled us all with a proclamation: Germanicus was to tour the empire. Tata would accompany him.

  Within an hour Mother was packing for all of us. I could scarcely believe my eyes as I watched her move from one trunk to another, folding this, discarding that. “Surely we aren’t going with them?”