The Memory of Snow

by Kirsty Ferry

  AD 391

  The men were arranged in the headquarters ready and waiting for the Commandant’s address. Marcus had managed to return on time, although he was aware of Janus looking at him quizzically as the troops lined up in the principia. In fact, Marcus realised, he wasn’t just looking at him quizzically; there was something else there as well. A sort of disgust and repulsion was evident in Janus’ eyes. Janus didn’t agree with their relationship, that much was clear. Well, Marcus thought, Janus would just have to accept it. Neither he nor Aemelia had any intention of changing anything. Marcus pressed his lips together firmly and stood so he was not looking directly at his friend. He would deal with the fall-out later. The Commandant was heading to the plinth in the centre of the square anyway. He looked stern and Marcus had a bad feeling about the news that was to come. Perhaps the First Batavian Cohort were to be posted elsewhere? Perhaps he was about to be separated from Aemelia? His heart began to pound as several different scenarios played through his head.

  ‘Men of the First Batavian Cohort,’ said the Commandant. His voice was strong and authoritative. ‘I have gathered you together to hear news from our Emperor, Theodosius.’ His eyes scanned the troops. For a moment, Marcus felt as if the Commandant’s eyes settled on him, but then, just as swiftly, the man looked away. ‘In February of this year, our Emperor issued the following edict - Nemo se hostiis polluat. This outlaws blood sacrifices. It forbids state officials to worship in a Pagan temple, or else they must face a heavy fine. My sources advise me that the next step could be to extinguish the eternal fire in the Temple of Vesta in Rome. Therefore, the Vestal Virgins would be disbanded. Taking the auspices will be punished – that is, men who consider the flights of birds to provide omens will no longer be tolerated. Practicing witchcraft will be punished. Ultimately, it is thought that no one shall be allowed to go to sanctuaries, walk through temples, or raise his eyes to statues created by the labour of man.’

  Marcus couldn’t help himself. All thoughts of Janus’ disapproval of his relationship with Aemelia fled his mind. He shot a look at Janus, and saw his friend staring straight back at him. All the men, he would wager, were thinking the same thing - what would happen to the Mithraic Temple? To Coventina’s Well? And even the Shrine to the Water Nymphs? To all the shrines to the domestic gods the villagers worshipped, and to the gods the soldiers worshipped in the fort?

  The voice of the Commandant droned on about how he believed the Batavians were sensible men, they would not disappoint him in adopting these practices should it become law; and how he trusted the men to deal with the buildings and artefacts in an appropriate way if the occasion demanded it. All Marcus could think about, was his initiation to Nymphus tonight. What would happen then? He would have to put his trust in the Pater and in Mithras himself. It was all he could do.

  After the meeting, the men filed away and Janus sought Marcus out. His shock had given way to fury and his dark eyes blazed with anger and hatred.

  ‘What do you understand about this decree?’ spat out Janus. ‘Do you feel the way I do, and the way the rest of the men do?’ Marcus nodded.

  ‘I do. It is despicable. We are peaceful men, here. We worship our gods quietly. There is no harm in what we do,’ he said.

  Janus threw his sword down with a clatter and glared at it, as if the sword had been responsible for the decree instead of Theodosius.

  ‘I wonder, does the good Commandant realise he named his beloved daughter after one of the most notorious Vestal Virgins?’ Janus said, still glaring at his sword. ‘Ha! Does he not realise she was executed four hundred years ago for having sexual intercourse?’ He looked at Marcus. ‘How would he feel if history repeated itself, I wonder?’

  Marcus flushed.

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be an issue,’ he said coldly. ‘And are you aware that you are named after the two headed god, also known as Chaos? Whatever you may think, I am more concerned about the cult than dead Vestal Virgins. Perhaps I can find out some information tonight. I have a feeling they will not abandon the temple as easily as the Commandant anticipates.’

  ‘”They”?’ asked Janus. ‘Should that not be “we”? “We” shall not abandon the temple easily? You are a part of it, are you not? You are going to be initiated to nymphus tonight, are you not?’

  ‘Yes. “We”. I meant “we”, you know I did,’ replied Marcus. ‘Now, please excuse me. I need to get ready. I have much to do before sunset. I expect the Pater will have some advice tonight for us.’

  He nodded a brief farewell to Janus and headed back to his quarters. Janus was his friend, but at times he felt as if he didn’t know him very well. The flashes of temper he was wont to display were not one of his best traits.

  ‘Understand that my name also reflects the patron of civil and social order!’ called Janus after him. ‘And unlike some, the god Janus does not have to watch his back!’

  Marcus raised his hand in acknowledgement, but did not turn back to face him. He hoped that his friend would be sensible, and not do anything to sabotage either his position or the worship of the neighbourhood gods. He suppressed his own anger at the insinuations Janus had also made. What he and Aemelia did or did not do, were nobody’s business but their own. He hadn’t really thought about the fact she was named after that particular Vestal Virgin, though. And despite everything else, that image did bring rather an inappropriate smile to his lips.

  AD 391

  Once more, Marcus lay blindfolded on the floor of the temple, his arms and legs stretched out like rays. He knew what to expect this time. But at least this time, he was partially clothed. He wore the loincloth of the Corax, but the stone flags were still bitter. He had gone past feeling simply cold; his hands and feet were numb, the chill spreading throughout the rest of his body. His face was pressed against the stone flags again. He could hear the Pater approaching the altar, the steady thump, thump, thump of his staff as he walked to the front of the temple. The other members of the cult were reciting the sacred words as he passed them, the low hum of the chant filling the temple.

  Marcus felt the swish of the Pater’s robes as he came to stand before him and heard the Heliodromus move to the side.

  ‘Welcome, faithful servants of Mithras. Today we have heard some disturbing news. Our beloved Emperor, Theodosius, has made some changes. Our beloved Commandant, Titus Perpetuus, chose to share those changes with us, and perhaps give us some idea of the future edicts that we will be forced to deal with.’ There was an angry murmuring in the temple. Marcus shifted slightly. He wished the Pater would save the eulogising for later and initiate him. He was anxious to be done with the ceremony today. There was too much to think about. He hadn’t seen Aemelia since the announcement and he was still angry with Janus. And the floor wasn’t becoming any more comfortable, the longer he lay there. The Pater continued,

  ‘We have also an initiation taking place tonight.’ Marcus felt a slight pressure on his cheek. The Pater was nudging him with his toe. ‘Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex. Tonight you shall be initiated into the role of nymphus. This initiation has been delayed. You are overdue your promotion, Corax. It has been noted that you did not attend the previous ceremony. It has also been noted as to the reason why this occurred. The cult members watch and report, Corax. Should you not be willing to embrace our values and beliefs, you shall be suitably discharged from the service of Mithras.’

  The murmuring in the temple changed to noises of assent.

  ‘No third chances!’ called someone. Marcus squirmed on the stone flags. He understood their annoyance with him, he really did. But he was here now. It was only one transgression.

  ‘And may I also remind you of the vow of secrecy,’ said the Pater. ‘Our cult and our temple are sacrosanct, accessible only to the chosen few. Women are not allowed in the temple. Our beliefs are not to be discussed outside the temple. Our rituals are private.’

  Marcus felt his cheeks flare in embarrassment and contrition. Had he really been so open about
the temple? He could not think. He had spoken only to Janus. Yet who else may have heard the things he told them?

  ‘So, on the understanding that you accept and embrace your duties, I shall commence the initiation. Please remember all I have told you tonight. Secrecy is paramount. Nothing which occurs here tonight may be discussed outside the temple. Do you understand, Corax?’

  ‘Yes, Pater,’ said Marcus, his voice muffled by the floor.

  ‘Speak up,’ commanded the Pater. ‘We did not hear you.’

  ‘Yes Pater!’ shouted Marcus, raising his head painfully.

  ‘Good. Now I shall begin,’ said the Pater. Marcus knew the man was in charge here, but he could not help feeling the Pater was being a little overdramatic. He had hardly uncloaked the cult members and subsequently paraded them through the fort and the vicus, had he? He frowned beneath the blindfold and flexed his fingers. I must lose this attitude, he told himself. This is what I want. A picture of Janus’ eager face flitted before his mind’s eye, and he knew his friend longed to be in the position he was within the temple. Then just as quickly, an image of Janus’ angry, contorted face flashed before him. He hoped that Janus wanted to join the cult for the right reasons. Any more thoughts such as these were chased from his mind as he heard the Pater begin the words of initiation he had first used when Marcus became a Corax.

  ‘As the sun spirals its longest dance, cleanse your servant. As nature shows bounty and fertility, bless your servant. Let your servant live with the true intent of Mithras and enable him to fulfil his destiny. Marcus Simplicius Simplex, arise from the rock as our god Mithras was born from the rock. Let us witness the Slaying of the Bull.’

  Marcus stood up, swaying slightly as the blood rushed back into his limbs. The Slaying of the Bull. It was the Water Miracle he had performed last time. This, then, was his next challenge. The low chanting began again, and he felt two men grasp his wrists and lead him to the side of the temple. This time, they did not bind him, but he felt something being placed into his hands. By the size and feel of the item, he realised it was a gladius – a sword. He heard the door of the temple open and the chanting became louder and more insistent. There was a scuffling noise as they brought something in, and Marcus weighed the gladius in his hands. He knew how to wield these things to do the most damage. It was basic training for all legionaries. Swung from right to left, a gladius could decapitate a man. Brought straight down on the enemy’s head, the sword would split it in two like a piece of fruit. He guessed they had found a wild animal. Or maybe one brought in one the domestic ones from the vicus or the fort. They are deliberately flaunting the edict banning blood sacrifice, Marcus thought. They will not accept these edicts as willingly as the Commandant hoped. His stomach flipped a little, realising that the further into the cult he went, the more militant he would be expected to become. Marcus was at heart a peaceful, quiet man. He had joined the army to protect the country and the people, not to instigate death and destruction.

  ‘You understand what you hold in your hands, Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex?’ asked the Pater. Marcus nodded, then realised he was probably expected to speak.

  ‘Yes, Pater. I am holding a gladius,’ he said loudly and clearly. It echoed around the temple, his voice magnified, bouncing off the walls.

  ‘You understand your foolish behaviour of the past?’

  ‘Yes, Pater.’

  ‘You understand that women should not be brought into the temple?’

  ‘Yes, Pater.’

  ‘You renounce your ill-advised judgement in these matters that have gone before us?’

  ‘Yes, Pater.’ Marcus’ voice wavered a little. He didn’t quite understand where this was leading to.

  ‘You renounce Christianity and all that goes with it?’

  There was a beat.

  ‘Yes, Pater,’ said Marcus, his voice guarded.

  ‘All that goes with Christianity?’ repeated the Pater.

  ‘I...I do not understand, Pater?’ asked Marcus. ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Exactly as I say. All that goes with Christianity. The belief system. The worship of one God. The people who subscribe to this religion.’

  ‘I cannot do that, Pater,’ said Marcus softly.

  ‘I ask you once more,’ said the Pater. ‘The people who subscribe to this religion. Do you renounce them?’

  ‘I cannot renounce them all, Pater,’ said Marcus. His stomach was churning now. He would never do that. He could not renounce Aemelia for the sake of this cult.

  ‘I have tried,’ sighed the Pater. ‘Yet I find it in my heart to continue the initiation. Mithras has willed it. But you must exercise better judgement, Corax Marcus, in all aspects of Mithraism. You have one more chance. Then you must face the consequences.’

  ‘Yes, Pater,’ replied Marcus. He made a mental note to give thanks to Mithras and Coventina when this was over. He would never bring Aemelia down here again. It was a small price to pay.

  ‘To be initiated into the role of nymphus, you must perform the slaying. My Sun Runners will guide you to the centre of the temple. You must slay this animal, as Mithras slayed the sacred bull,’ said the Pater.

  Marcus was guided silently into the centre of the aisle and there were more scuffles and scrapes. The animal was trying to escape. They must have drugged it or silenced it somehow; there was no noise from the animal, apart from a guttural moan that went on and on and on. Marcus determined to complete the ritual quickly. He had seen animals sacrificed before; brought to their knees then slaughtered. It would be done cleanly.

  ‘Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex, slay the sacred bull!’ bellowed the Pater.

  Marcus roared, shouting a battle cry as he charged blindfolded towards the sacrifice. He felt the blade of the gladius sink into soft flesh, then force its way into bone. He heard a gurgling sound in the animal’s throat, and pulled the blade out. He swung the sword to the right and yelled again as he brought it the blade crashing through where he visualised the animal’s head to be. The gladius connected with something, then sliced through bone. Marcus knew if he hadn’t decapitated the animal, he would at least have taken a piece of its skull away. There was a soft thud as the animal crumpled to the ground.

  He waited for the cult members to resume their chanting as he completed his initiation, but there was a silence in the temple. Something warm and sticky ran over his foot and he could smell blood.

  ‘Congratulations. You are now a nymphus. A sacred bridegroom,’ said the Pater. His voice was soft and dangerous. There was a triumphant edge to it. ‘Remove the bridegroom’s blindfold, heliodromus.’

  Someone pulled the blindfold off Marcus, and he blinked, his eyes watering. The candelight flickered in the temple and threw shadows over the bloodied heap, covered in a robe of some sort, in front of the altar. Marcus leaned over it to see what he had achieved.

  ‘What – what is it?’ he asked. It was too small to be a boar or a deer, or indeed any animal he had witnessed in the area. His eyes flicked across the temple to see where the head was. He hadn’t managed to decapitate it. He had taken a slice off its skull. Blood and brain matter clung to the dark, curly hair on the piece of skull. Marcus suddenly retched. He ran back to the body in front of the altar.

  ‘No. Please, no!’ he cried. He ripped the robes off the body, dreading what he knew he would see beneath it. A deep gash gaped where his blade had pierced the chest. He grabbed the hand and saw the delicate gold ring on the little finger. He brought the smooth, white hand up to his face and closed his eyes. The floor felt as if it was shifting sand beneath his feet and there was a humming in his ears. Marcus cupped the bloodied, spoiled, face in his hands and stared at, willing this all to be a bad dream. Had it just been this afternoon when he had stroked that face in the garden? When he had kissed her? Her dark, unseeing eyes seemed to look straight into his soul. There was an expression of shock and disbelief on the girl’s face. Marcus knew it was an image he would hold in his memory forever. It would never leave
him.

  ‘Aemelia!’ he sobbed. ‘Aemelia. May the gods forgive me! What did they make me do?’ Then, with another battle cry, he leaped to his feet and swung around to face the cult members, grasping the gladius in both hands.

  But the temple was empty. The cult members had been ushered out and the door barricaded, trapping Marcus inside. He ran at the door, screaming and stabbing it again and again, breaking it down splinter by splinter until he could escape.

  By the time he pushed through the broken planks, it was pitch black outside and the countryside was deserted. He could hear the night-time noises carrying down the hill from the temple and the vicus settling down for the evening. He heard laughs and shouts coming from the taverns and brothels as people went home. Marcus collapsed on the ground outside the temple and lay on the grass, too numb to move or think. It began to snow, soft flakes at first, falling from the night sky. The snow came down harder and harder, covering everything with white. Marcus wanted to stay there, to die like Aemelia had, to be with her again in whatever afterlife they could meet in.

  Marcus didn’t know how long he had lain there, but someone walked past him and leaned over him. He thought they asked how he was and what had happened; but he didn’t answer. He willed them to go away and leave him alone. The person knelt down beside him and touched his shoulder, but he flinched away. The person eased him up and wrapped their cloak around him. Then they began to guide him away from the temple. Marcus struggled, but the other person was stronger. They forced Marcus to put one foot in front of the other and returned with him to the fort. They took him back to his quarters and guided him into his bed. Then they sat with him until he eventually slept.

  Marcus thought the person might have been Janus; but he wasn’t sure. It could have been Janus. He might have been visiting Aelia.

  AD 391

  Marcus was confined to his quarters for two days, as he burnt with a fever and rambled nonsense. On the third day, he managed to crawl out of bed and take his place in the ranks. His face was taut and pale, his eyes dull and blank. He was slow and uncoordinated, refusing to handle the gladius, preferring to supervise the legionaries instead. Janus came over to him after drill and took him behind the stable block.