I, Claudia

by Charity Bishop

  No!

  My scream echoes in the room, widening the emperor’s cruel smirk.

  Arms catch me as I fall.

  “Claudia!”

  I look up into Pilate’s face, weary with concern. Our guests are long gone and the house quiet. Dawn creeps into the horizon. My arms go around his neck and he holds me close. He kisses my forehead and smoothes my damp hair. He cradles my face in his hands. “Are the dreams always so violent?”

  Flushed and near tears, I nod. “They should have stopped!”

  He lowers me into the pillows. “We’ll find someone who can help you.”

  “Avram,” I whisper.

  Pilate tilts my face back. “What?”

  “Father’s servant… let them come to me, both he and his daughter.”

  A cloud passes over his face. Flatly, he says, “Jacob’s father and sister?”

  “Yes.” I shiver in the crisp morning air and he pulls the coverlet higher on me.

  “You want me to bring the father of an insurgent into our house?”

  “Please? He says it is not a curse, but a gift. He can help me.”

  His blue eyes soften. “How can I deny you when you look at me like that?”

  “I’ll remember that for the future,” I answer mischievously.

  When Avram and Libi arrive with their things, I hurry out to open the gate. Libi eyes me ruefully as she enters the house and says, “I underestimated you.”

  “You underestimated Pilate.” I take Abram’s hand. “Can you help me?”

  Searching my eyes, he says, “I can try.”

  I fill my days with activities and spend my nights in Pilate’s arms. Avram settles into the household and soon arranges my schedule to keep me busy. “Idle minds have more time for dark dreams,” he says.

  That first dream lingers with me. “Who will be emperor after Tiberius?”

  “It’ll probably be his adopted grandson, Caligula.” Pilate kisses my shoulder and drops back into the pillows, stroking my back with his fingertips. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. Sejanus wants to introduce you to the emperor.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

  My dream becomes reality as we pass through the same columns and descend into the main hall. Faces turn in expectation, the women eyeing me with interest. We meet Sejanus at the foot of the stairs and he takes my arm. “Remember what I said,” he whispers.

  Fear takes hold as we cross the room and ascend to the throne, but it fades when I see Tiberius. His is not the face from my dream, but warm and full of good humor. “So you’re Pilate’s wife,” he says.

  Waving away the servant at his side, he shakes out his robes and motions me closer. His shrewd blue eyes brighten in approval. “Beautiful. What’s your name?”

  “Claudia.”

  He indicates the chair at his side. “Sit with me.”

  I sit and his slave hands me a cup of wine. Tiberius sips from his own ruby-encrusted goblet. “I must taste some of your father’s wine. I hear his vineyards are the finest in the province.”

  “You do him honor, Caesar.”

  “I understand he died recently. I’m sorry.”

  Sadness dulls my smile. “You’re kind.”

  “Death leaves a mark on us all, sooner or later.” His gaze strays to my husband. “Tell me of Pilate. He spends most of his time with Sejanus.”

  Conversation drifts around us. The servant offers me grapes and I take a few. “He’s a good man, Caesar, loyal to Rome.”

  “Yes, he does show promise. I only hope Sejanus won’t lead him astray.”

  My hands tighten on the cup. “What do you mean?”

  Tiberius turns cold eyes upon me. “Power is what most men covet, Claudia. Does your husband?”

  “His first and only desire is to serve Rome.” My voice softens with affection.

  The emperor looks at me. “I doubt that. He’d be a fool not to desire you.”

  “Pilate is a soldier, as you are. Father told me of your many victories.”

  Some of his sullenness fades. “I miss it. Rome is full of simpering politics and insipid conversation. I want to go to Capri and leave them to their evil schemes.” Bitterly, he beckons to a boy standing nearby. “Caligula, come here.”

  The dark eyed boy approaches with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. Tiberius puts his arm around him, drawing him to his side. Caligula stares at me and sips from a goblet. “What do you think of Pilate’s wife?”

  “She’s beautiful.” His eyes roam more freely than they should and shift to the foot of the stairs, where Hermina stands in a small group of girls. Her eyes sparkle at me and I feel a swift, sudden desire to send her home.

  The emperor notices her. “Pilate’s sister? I see a resemblance.”

  “Yes.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twelve, Caesar.”

  Caligula asks, “May I go?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  The boy descends the stairs and stands behind her until Hermina notices. He leans forward and whispers into her ear. She laughs and a shiver captures me. Tiberius bites the edge of his goblet. “He’s an unusual boy.”

  Caligula’s is the face from my dream.

  Chapter Seven

  I do not want to be here. I feel sick standing on the street outside. The smell of blood and incense turns my stomach. Still, I climb the stairs to the temple. The seers have a dark, spectral look, an aura in their eyes that disturbs me. One offers me her hand. “Claudia, come with me, your husband made arrangements.”

  I follow her into a dark inner room with a fire pit in the center of the floor.

  “Sit,” she says, motioning to a pillow. Heavy draperies surround us. I sit as instructed and remove my hood. Red embers burn in the pit and stirring them, she asks, “How often do you dream?”

  “I can’t predict it. I can go months without dreaming.”

  “We’ll try to focus your mind. Concentrate. Think on someone or something and the gods may show you more.” She casts a handful of ashes onto the fire. It bursts upward, the flash of heat giving way to a sickeningly sweet scent. Smoke fills the room and closing my eyes, I drift into it.

  Pilate...

  It is like plunging into an icy stream. I sense cold and darkness… the same darkness as in my dreams, a heavy, oppressive force that fills me with horror.

  Screams fill a familiar corridor not far from Fidelus’ room. The scream cuts short and a young Pilate rushes past. I follow him into his father’s chambers. Fidelus holds a woman by the throat and lets her body drop limply to the bed. Pilate stares in horror. His father glares at him.

  Footsteps run along the hall and a servant enters. Master, what did you do?

  I move toward Pilate’s mother, her sightless eyes staring heavenward. Fruit spills over the floor, the result of an overturned table. I see a beautiful child huddled in the corner. Two-year-old Hermina is shaking.

  I did what I should have done years ago.

  The servant approaches. Murder is not always a crime in Rome but your enemies may use it against you.

  Fidelus stares remorselessly at his dead wife. What do you suggest?

  She drowned, yes?

  Pilate’s head snaps up and hatred burns in his eyes.

  You even tried to save her... right, Lucius?

  I feel sick as Pilate asks, is that what happened, Father?

  Yes, and it is what you will encourage your sister to remember.

  Her wails fill the air. Pilate passes his father and picks her up. She clutches at his neck and buries her face in his tunic. Yes, Father, he says, his voice full of loathing.

  Good. Take her away.

  I want out of the oppressive room; the heat makes me feel faint.

  A hand touches mine. Calm yourself.

  Let me out!

  My eyes fly open and adjust to the dark space, full of smoke and flame. I turn to the seer angrily. “You said I’d see the future, not the past!�
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  “I said the gods might show you something. Did they?” Her strange, pale eyes search my face through her veil. Pushing away her hand, I stagger on my feet. She grabs for me. “The gods aren’t finished with you! Let them do their work.”

  “No, I’ve seen enough.”

  She follows me through the temple. Incense stings my nose and the stench of raw meat makes me want to vomit. Her hands flutter anxiously. “Please, sit and wait until your mind clears! It’s dangerous to enter Rome in a seer state!”

  I shove past her out into the brilliant sunlight. Avram hastens to meet me in the street, warning off the seer with a frown. “Be off with you!” His arm wraps around me and he walks me to the litter with disapproval in his face.

  “You don’t like it,” I say weakly, my head spinning.

  He sets his mouth in a firm line. “Beware of soothsayers and sorcerers and don’t consort with them. That is the teaching of our ways. You know not what evils you wake with such practices. Let this be an end to it!”

  It takes hours for my senses to clear and once the haze passes, a headache takes its place. I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and hardly move when Pilate enters. He removes his armor and drops it into a chair. My hand reaches for his and he sits beside me. “Is your sister Sejanus’ child?”

  Shock crosses his face. “Why do you ask?”

  “The rumors in Rome are that he favors you because you’re his illegitimate son, but I saw your mother’s death today, in the flames. It is not you, but Hermina! She’s his child, not you!”

  Darkness enters his eyes and I move closer to him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Does it matter?” Pilate strokes my hand. “You grew up in an atmosphere of love, Claudia. Your father approved of you, doted on you, loved you. Mine hated me because I saw him at his worst—in a blind rage, a fit of jealousy that cost him his career as a general. Oh, the lie flourished, but before long, they replaced him. Mother was foolish to deceive him, but I can hardly blame her.” He looks distant. “I heard things growing up… terrible things that no child should hear. She should have left this house but I suppose Sejanus did not ask her. Why would he, when she gave him everything he wanted at no cost to himself?”

  Our fingers entwine and I rest my chin on his shoulder. Pilate leans his head on mine. “Since that day, I’ve waited for death. I know far too much and am a daily reminder of my father’s folly. He has every reason to arrange my demise, but my survival protects Hermina, so I haven’t made it easy for him.”

  Pulling my knees to my chest, I ask, “Gaul?”

  “He sent me to war hoping I’d die. I returned a hero instead, much to his disappointment, so he pushed me toward Sejanus. He’s dangerous and my father hopes that when Tiberius tires of him it’ll destroy us both.”

  Pilate touches my hair, his fingers lingering on my arm.

  “What of Hermina?” I ask.

  He frowns. “He denies her love yet she’s loyal to him. She remembers enough, but not all.”

  I reach for his hand. “Let me help you.”

  “You do simply by being here. You give me joy.”

  Embracing him, I calm the rapid beat of my heart. “I’ll help you protect her.”

  Someone knocks on the door and it opens, a servant offering us a scroll. Pilate takes it. His expression changes as he says, “It is Tiberius’ seal.” My feet slip to the floor as he opens it. His brows shoot up. “Tiberius appoints me as the prefect of Crete. Did you have anything to do with this?”

  “No! He said nothing to me of Crete.”

  Biting his lip, he glances toward the window. The city thrives beyond our walls and voices drift to us on the breeze. “He’s separating me from Sejanus.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing, if he’s so dangerous?”

  Pilate taps the scroll on his hand. “Maybe but it worries me. Still, a governor is a step up from a Praetorian Guard.”

  “How soon must we leave?” I take the scroll from him and read it.

  On his way out the door, he says, “In a week!”

  Hermina is broken-hearted. Not even our promises to write can lift her sulk and it takes an afternoon with Caligula in his chariot to improve her mood.

  The voyage is uneventful apart from my seasickness. Libi consoles me, her cool hand sponging my burning brow. I want to die with each toss of the sea. Our first glimpse of Crete is beautiful; the sun beats on the white shore and its line of matching stucco buildings. We drift in with the tide, letting us see the standards of Tiberius fluttering from the ramparts and the heavy military presence on the city walls. There is a gathering of officials to greet us; a man steps forward.

  “I’m Demetrius, your Captain of the Guard, Prefect,” he says. He helps me from the boat. The air is thick and sultry. I walk behind Pilate and the soldiers form around us protectively. “Crete is different from Rome or even Judea, which I understand you’re familiar with. We have few uprisings and our populace is loyal to the emperor. Still, it is not an easy post and I suggest caution. There are many here eager for power hoping for your demise.”

  “They’ll have a long wait,” Pilate answers.

  A chariot awaits us pulled by two black horses and Demetrius drives us into Crete. Merchants crowd the streets. Pagan temples shine under the midday sun. Fountains flow against white stone terraces. The governor’s palace is spacious, built a short distance from the forum. I walk through the garden to the temple and examine the row of ancestor statuettes on the altar.

  “I suggest you meet with the priests before doing anything else, and there are several Roman senators waiting for you in the library.” Demetrius indicates the way and Pilate accompanies him.

  Entering the house, I meet with a line of servants. They examine the floor as I consider them. Motioning to the older man in the doorway, I say, “This is Avram. You will report to him and him to me. Is this understood?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” is the murmur, but several shoot him dark looks.

  The islands are balmy and the nights never cool. Late afternoon heat drives me indoors. Whenever my husband is not there, I sit in the library. The collection of scrolls is extensive and I happily read the Greek philosophers.

  “Do you want me to bring you anything?” Libi asks.

  I look up from my scroll and shake my head. Her footsteps fade down the hall. Wind stirs the curtains and draws my attention to the inlet. Sweat drips down my spine and I rise. It is not far to the beach, down the rocky path, and I sit to remove my sandals.

  “How much are you going to take off?” Pilate asks from behind me.

  Shading my eyes to look at him, I smile. “How is the Roman consul?”

  “He’s an idiot, like usual.” Pilate nudges me with his foot. “You didn’t answer me.”

  Laughing, I stand up. “I can’t take off much, what if someone’s looking?”

  Pilate leans his head against mine. “I’d have to put out their eyes, and since I just ordered another execution, that might not make me popular.”

  My heart sinks and I ask, “So soon?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He moves past me along the shore. “I wouldn’t have to do it if they’d submit to Rome instead of defying her at every turn!”

  Water laps at my feet. “You’d defy her too, if you weren’t a Roman.”

  “No, I’d see the futility in resistance.”

  Catching his hand, I say, “Swim with me.”

  “Is that dignified for a man of my position?”

  I grin and back into the sea. “No, but it is fun.”

  He catches me around the waist and kisses me, his touch exciting my senses. Footsteps pound along the path and a servant scrambles down the embankment. He shouts, “Prefect, there’s a mob at the gates demanding to speak with you!”

  Pilate rolls his eyes and returns to the house, gripping my hand. “Stay inside.”

  The mob presses against the gates and roar at his appearance, shouting against the taxes recently imposed to
fund the imperial treasury. Guards stand at intervals around the courtyard. I linger in the doorway.

  “I assume they have a list of complaints,” Pilate says.

  Demetrius hands it to him and he reads it. Rolling the scroll up in one hand, he lifts his arm for silence. The crowd quiets. “For too long, the citizens of Crete have neglected to pay Roman taxes. The last governor saw no reason to enforce this law but I do. Since you benefit from the protection of the empire, you should help sustain it.”

  The mob shouts their disapproval. Pilate watches them in amusement and again motions for silence. “I won’t have riots outside my house. Leave before the shadow shifts over the sundial, or I’ll arrest every second man in the crowd.”

  He hands the scroll to Demetrius and I follow him into our room. Pilate pours a cup of wine and watches the mob disperse in the street. I linger at his side and ask, “Is it wise to threaten them?”

  “The last governor was too lenient.”

  My damp garments cling to me as we turn inside. Pilate rifles through the scrolls on the side table. “Crete is a stepping stone. If I prove my worth, Tiberius will assign me to another governorship, one more important. I want Judea.”

  “You make her sound like a woman.”

  His eyes flicker to me in amusement. “She’s the whore of our empire. I want to beat her into submission.”

  I motion toward the gates. “What if they hadn’t dispersed?”

  “Then they would be arrested.”

  Crossing my arms, I ask, “And if they resisted?”

  “They wouldn’t resist twice.” He smiles but it does not comfort me. Feeling nauseous, I feel my way to a chair and sit down. Concern crosses his face. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just can’t seem to shake the seasickness.”

  He kneels beside me and touches my forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “Crete is hot.”

  Blue eyes darken and he asks, “Could you be with child?”

  I stare at him. “I don’t know…”

  Squeezing my hand, he says, “We’ll find out. Come, lie on the bed.”