I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  Laughter spills out of the great hall and I step closer to him. “You mustn’t be hurt by Father. He speaks his mind and didn’t know you were there.”

  “I’d rather he said it to my face, but I don’t blame him. My father takes action on his beliefs whether or not others approve. There’s no shame in that.” Pilate moves toward the door and I accompany him, stepping out into the shadows.

  “Father adores you! You’re like a son to him!”

  Caressing the back of my hand with his thumb, Pilate answers, “Maybe he’ll like me better when I leave the Legion.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glances at me. “Haven’t you heard? Sejanus wants me for the Praetorian Guard.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “It doesn’t much matter what I want, does it? You and I, we do whatever is best for our families.”

  Color rises in my cheeks and I start to pull away, but he catches my arm. “How much did you hear?” I whisper.

  “Enough.” Pilate touches the side of my face. “Becoming a man’s mistress is no small thing, Claudia. Is it what you want?”

  His slightest touch sends tremors across my skin. I shut my eyes as his fingers trace the curve of my neck. His lips brush my throat and I shiver with delight. He tilts my face toward his and I search his gaze. He hesitates, staring at my lips. One finger trails across them and drifts away. “Please thank your family for their hospitality,” he says.

  Descending into the courtyard, he mounts his horse and rides out the gate. I watch him go and enter the house.

  Chapter Two

  I have never liked the streets of Rome. They are full of noise and confusion, mingled voices speaking in different languages, heat, flies, and filth. Beggars line the way and hold out their hands plaintively. Children play underfoot, shooed away by annoyed tradesmen. I stay with the others as we pass a long line of silk and wine merchants, perfume vendors, basket weavers, rug makers, and piles of bread to reach the meat market.

  Skirting a mud puddle, I catch up to Libi. “Have you spoken with Quintus yet?”

  Her face flushes and she sends her father, walking ahead with my mother, a swift glance. “No, but Father won’t approve. He wants me to marry a nice Jewish boy from a good family and settle here in Rome.”

  Laughing, I say, “I know, he views us as heathens!”

  She darts out of the way of a chariot, and rejoins me in the center of the street. “You are heathens! But I like you anyway!”

  We enter the meat market where the flies are worse, slaves standing around with palm fronds to wave them off the hanging carcasses.

  “How much will we need this time?” I ask.

  Butchers’ knives whack into sides of beef and blood spurts into the mud. I see a row of pig heads and steer them away from it. Libi wrinkles her nose and shifts her basket to her other hip. “A lot, if it’s to feed all the workers. Your father is generous.”

  Mother steps forward to haggle with a butcher. Even though I am in the way of the throng of people passing in the square, I refuse to move closer. Someone rudely jostles past, cursing me for blocking the street. Avram pulls me forward. The butcher eyes me, wiping his arm across his face as his son accepts a small handful of coins. It leaves a smear of blood over his brow. A wagon rumbles past, its wheels groaning under a heavy load. Libi pushes me to avoid the hem of my tunic from catching in the wheels and my hands press against the table.

  Dread fills me. Mother catches sight of my expression as I examine my bloody fingers. “Claudia, what is it?” she asks impatiently.

  I turn and flee. Avram lurches for me, but he is old and tired; his hand misses my arm. Libi sprints after me, but stops as a chariot and horses drive past. Mother shouts after me to no avail. No one tries to intercept me as I push past. I find a trough and plunge my hands into the water, ignoring the cry of protest from the boy filling it from a nearby well. I scrub until my palms are red with cold.

  Trembling, I sit down and try to calm the wild beating of my heart. A mother passes with her children, her garments displaying her humble Jewish upbringing.

  I try to find my way back to the others, but in the labyrinth of narrow, winding streets, I lose all sense of direction. The aqueducts loom above me and snake off into the gloom. Crossing the street, I pause at the gate of a house with a courtyard. The walls are in need of repair and water no longer flows in the fountain, full of leaves and dead plants.

  “Claudia?” The familiar voice causes me to turn and Pilate looms over me. “What are you doing here?” He looks past me into the courtyard. A hint of suspicion enters his face. Shivers run up my spine. “Do you know where you are?”

  Glancing at the house, I shake my head.

  “This is an augur’s house.”

  It explains the quietness of the street, why the children avoid the place. Several of them watch us from a distance. There are many augurs in Rome but I have heard Mother speak of the one under the aqueduct.

  “Well, now that you’re here, you may as well go in with me.” Pilate pushes through the gate. It creaks behind us as we make our way across the yard. His usual smile is absent. I rub my arms nervously as he knocks on the door. It sounds hollow inside, as if there is no furniture.

  “Maybe he’s not in,” I say hopefully.

  The door opens a few inches, dragging on the stone step. I back up as a hazy gray eye peers at us through the gap. He reminds me of my mother’s augur and I shudder.

  “I’m told your council is wise,” says Pilate.

  It opens a bit further, revealing an ancient face, a head of straggly white hair, and a beard reaching nearly to his knees. His rasping voice replies, “Some wouldn’t find it so, but you can enter.”

  He limps away into the house, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden staff. Pilate enters and with hesitance, I follow. Tallow burns along the walls. We pass into a main hall abused with time and neglect; branches and vines grow in through the windows, burrowing into the cracks between the tiles. My foot catches on one and Pilate stops me from falling.

  The augur descends a narrow flight of stairs into a gloomy room without much of a ceiling. It is full of worn furniture and long shelves extend along the far wall, filled with slots containing rolls of parchment. I trail my hand along them. “You have quite a collection.”

  “If you steal any, I’ll cut your fingers off and throw them in my bone pit.”

  Pilate and I exchange a glance and I pull my hand away.

  A fire burns in a pit at the far end near a rumpled bed. A stench fills the air as the augur returns to disemboweling a rat. “What do you want to know?” he asks.

  “Whatever the gods tell you,” answers Pilate.

  The old man looks at me and a gleam enters his eye. “Knowledge isn’t always desired by those with wisdom. It won’t be what you want to hear.”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Crossing to the fire, the augur rakes out the remains of an animal into the dirt. He takes runes from an urn, shakes them in his hands, and casts them into the smoking entrails. He prods them with his staff. The smell is foul. The augur silently studies them. “Your future is uncertain. Even the gods do not know its final path. Still, there are signs.”

  Shadows lurk around us, moving figures that remind me of my nightmares.

  Pilate asks, “What signs?”

  “The woman you marry will be a great asset in your journey to power. This power will come and go, if you’re careless with it.” The augur grows thoughtful, furrowing his brow as he prods the runes. “I see suffering… lust… betrayal... a choice... death... blood... madness.”

  I feel something watching me. I turn to look behind us, but nothing’s there.

  “Madness,” repeats Pilate.

  The augur nods. “The gods reveal nothing except that your name will be remembered.” His eyes travel to me and harden. “Do you wish to see?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  Lines crease his face into a cru
el grin. “No, for you have no need of runes. You see in your dreams.”

  Cold flows through me and my hand tightens on my tunic. He casts the entrails into the fire. “Go then,” he says.

  We emerge into the sunshine. I am grateful for the sounds of the city streets. The gate creaks shut behind us and I lean against the wall, glad to draw into my lungs fresh air and not the scent of death.

  “So your dreams aren’t dreams at all.” Pilate takes my arm and we cross the street, approaching the children playing on the far side. One glances at us and says, “You shouldn’t go there, the devil lurks within.”

  “Quiet!” reprimands a woman from a nearby house and the child hurries away with his friends.

  We walk through the labyrinth of streets. I drop a coin into a blind man’s tin as he sits under an arch. Shadows follow the curve of the houses as they give way to open courtyards. We pass the holding-house of the games. I crane my neck to see inside and Pilate asks, “Have you ever seen a gladiator fight?”

  I shake my head. “Why find joy in watching men kill one another?”

  Pilate draws me out of the way of a passing chariot. “It reminds us of our mortality.”

  Darkness creeps in around us as the sun sets. Pilate opens a gate on the other side of the forum and we enter a courtyard surrounding an enormous house. In awe, I follow him inside, hesitating as a girl just past childhood emerges to greet us. Embracing him, she looks at me curiously.

  “Claudia, this is my sister, Hermina.”

  Eying me with interest, she asks, “Can she spend the night?”

  “Yes, if it pleases you.”

  She smiles and takes my hand. Motioning to a servant, Pilate says, “Go to Procula’s house and tell him Claudia is safe. I’ll bring her home in the morning.”

  The servant bows and hurries away. Pilate’s sister leads me into a large set of rooms full of rich tapestries and furniture. A servant washes my hands and feet, ridding me of the marketplace dust. Hermina pulls careful fingers through my hair to sort out the tangles. Her slave brings gowns for her to choose from and a pale blue tunic settles over my shoulders. It is prettier than anything I own and far less modest. “I don’t know if I should wear it,” I say shyly, feeling the need to cover myself.

  “You look beautiful. I think you should keep it.” Hermina tucks in a final strand of hair and nods. “We have company tonight, Sejanus and his wife.”

  My heart sinks at the thought of dining with the head of the Praetorian Guard. Smoothing my tunic, I follow her into the main hall. When Pilate sees me, he catches his sister by the arm as she passes. “Why did you choose that tunic?”

  “Why, don’t you like it?” Her eyes laugh at him as she pulls away.

  I feel uncomfortable as the others join us. Senator Fidelus is unchanged from when last we met in my father’s vineyards, but his tall, dark-eyed guest fills me with a sudden, swift discomfort.

  “Lucius,” Sejanus says as he crosses the marble terrace, his sallow wife on his arm. “So the hero of Gaul returns! I hear you improved Judea as well!”

  “I’m not sure Judea can be improved, but I did my best.” Pilate grips his arm in friendship and hands him a cup of wine.

  His father approaches me. “Claudia, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I flush under his scrutiny, wishing for more fabric in my tunic.

  “Pilate says he found you wandering the streets of Rome.” His eyes fill with amusement and I laugh.

  I accept a cup of wine. “Does your son often bring home strays?”

  “No. He rarely invites anyone to the house.” Fidelus smiles and glances at me. “I see Hermina has dressed you this evening. You wear it well.”

  Sejanus’ wife glares at me from across the room. Taking a sip of my wine, I answer, “Considering Apicata’s expression, maybe too well.”

  “Women hate beauty in others as much as men hate power.” Fidelus puts on a smile and approaches his other guests.

  I watch them until Hermina pulls me to a seat beside her. “Horrid old thing,” she whispers in my ear, indicating Apicata. “She’s haughty and mean. No one likes her, not even her husband. No wonder he takes lovers!”

  They settle on opposite sides of the table and Sejanus leans into his pillow. He fixes his intent gaze on Pilate. “Since you’ve spent a considerable amount of time in Judea, tell me… what do you think of the Jews?”

  “They lack leadership but make up for it in passion. There will be small uprisings until we crush them, but they’ll never be a true threat.”

  Sejanus turns a fig in his broad hands. “So you believe Rome can conquer the Jews?”

  “I do.”

  Dropping the fruit onto his plate, Sejanus says, “You’re a man of diplomacy. Like your father, you say what I want to hear, whether it’s the truth or not.”

  “Is there any other way to survive in Rome?”

  Wine pours into cups and the slaves keep their gaze lowered. Sejanus shrugs. “You can use power or diplomacy. Power generates fear and if you have it, no one will challenge you even if you say what they do not want to hear. Those in Rome know my opinion of the Jews. It has made me unpopular in the senate. Our countrymen don’t want to believe they’re a threat to our future prosperity, but from what your father tells me, you believe as I do.”

  I feel cold in spite of the warm breeze flowing in across the river.

  “The reign of Augustus will soon end,” Sejanus says softly. “He’s old, and his health weakens. When he dies, Tiberius will come into power. He shares our views of Judea. It needs a much stronger governing hand.” He lifts his cup and a servant girl fills it.

  Pilate asks, “And you intend for me to one day fill this position?”

  “You have experience and intelligence on your side. You are a diplomat and a commander, and Rome needs both in its more unstable provinces. Become one of my Praetorians. Mingle with the senate. Draw the attention of Tiberius. Work your way into power.” Sejanus looks at me and a meaningful smile touches his lips. “Praetorians can marry, unlike tribunes. As a Praetorian, you will be near Tiberius. Prove yourself to him and he’ll appoint you to a position of authority.”

  Silence descends other than the strumming of the harpist in the corner.

  “If you succeed with the Jews, every position in Rome will be open to you.”

  Turning his wine around in the glass, Pilate asks, “What might I want from Rome?”

  “All men want power but few are capable of it. You are one of the few. Join me, Lucius. Rise with me!”

  One of the slaves puts fresh bread on the table. I reach for it and my fingers brush against Sejanus’ hand. The shudder that passes over me includes a dark premonition, a strong suspicion that Sejanus will fall. I swiftly sit back and ask, “Isn’t it dangerous to plot the accumulation of power? The emperor may see it as treasonous.”

  Sejanus’s voice hardens. “You’re the child of a wine merchant, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” I feel my face grow warm.

  He lifts his brow. “Your father is Procula.”

  Chills tease my spine but I show no fear. I nod.

  Sejanus curls his lip. “Your father was in the senate for many years. He had promise but his lack of ambition cost him his place. Now he’s a wine merchant.”

  Lifting my chin, I answer, “You say it as if it’s an insult.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Men tire of ambitious fools but will always drink wine.”

  Hermina chokes and stares at me in open admiration. Pilate hides a smile.

  “Your father knows grapes, but not politics.”

  I lift my cup. “My father knows how to survive. I wonder, Sejanus, do you?”

  The harpist strikes a bad note. Sejanus looks on me in rage. Pilate says, “Certain aspects of the Praetorian Guard do appeal to me.”

  “Will you join me, then?”

  Pilate answers, “Yes. I think it’s time I stay in Rome.”

  His eyes flicker toward me in approval
and I smile.

  Fidelus says, “I hope your father’s harvest is bountiful, Claudia. I’m disappointed in all the summer wines, as the grapes seem sour this year.”

  “We’ve let them stay on the vine longer to bring on their sweetness. We start our harvest in the morning. Our workers come from as far as Nazareth.”

  Apicata’s brow rises. “You employ Judeans instead of Romans?”

  “We prefer it. They work harder and without complaint.”

  Pulling a grape from the cluster, Sejanus says, “You could use slaves.”

  “But then we’d have to feed them all year around. This benefits everyone.”

  He pops a grape into his mouth. “It also brings Judeans to Rome.”

  “Rome has nothing to fear from Jews. She’s a conqueror, not the conquered.” I motion a slave forward and take the wine jar from her. “Will you take more of my father’s wine, Sejanus?”

  It fills his cup with a rich, dark vibrancy. “You’re a clever girl, Claudia,” he says. “You know just how far to push and then you pull back. Be careful, for manipulation will not work on everyone. Cleverness can get you killed.”

  “Cleverness keeps you out of harm’s way. Ambition gets you killed.”

  Raising his cup, he answers, “We will see then, won’t we?”

  “Yes, we will.” I clink my cup on his and lift it to my lips.

  After supper, I slip out onto the terrace, grateful to leave the others behind. Pilate soon joins me and leans against the rail, studying my face. “You don’t like Sejanus much.”

  “I don’t like him at all. I don’t trust him.” I glance through the draperies at him and frown.

  Pilate moves closer to me. “Do you know more than you’re telling me?”

  “How would I know anything about Sejanus that you don’t?”

  Catching my hand, he shrugs. “You’re the dream-seer.”

  I pull away from him. “Is that what you see in me, a potential seer? Do you want me to cast entrails into the fire and read your future for you?”

  “I thought you dealt in dreams and premonitions, but if you insist…” His eyes laugh at me and my tension fades. “I don’t want my future. I want your opinion.”