by Sheila Finch
“Why have you made us wait so long for your visit?” she asked, but didn’t pause for his reply. “Marcus will be disappointed to miss you. He’s on training exercises with some of the men. Will you stay and dine with us? The slaves are about to serve the cena but they’re so slow! Actually, the only one who knows what she’s doing is sick today.”
“Gracila –”
She ignored the interruption. “Our son is accompanying his father today – never too young to learn the ways of the legion, Marcus says. Oh, Tiberius, there’s so much to tell! Did you know, they finished building the new arena while you were gone? You’ll have to bring your family into town to see the exciting gladiator fights!”
She was a chatterer, but exceedingly friendly, and he felt at ease with her. She wouldn’t be so quick to judge; her own status was not without stain. He tried again, holding up a hand to interrupt the flow of talk.
“Gracila, I’ve brought a visitor, a guest in my home.” He laid a hand on Antonia’s shoulder and felt her muscles stiffen under his touch. “Antonia Plautina, from Pyrgi.”
“Ah, so the gossips were right! You know how fast news travels here. I heard you’d brought a guest back with you.” She stopped, and he saw her blush as she realized the thorny ground she was about to tread on. She gave a tiny laugh and continued, “But Pyrgi? Oh my dear one! My grandmother came from that area! I grew up farther down the coast – Pompeii.”
She embraced Antonia, smothering the girl’s attempt at a reply. The child at her hem, caught in the embrace too, shrieked.
“Unfortunately, Gracila, I have business –”
Gracila released Antonia from her embrace. “I heard that too. You’re a king now, aren’t you?”
He heard the faint tone of mockery in her voice. Romans – even kind ones like Gracila – had scant respect for client kings. “I’ll leave Antonia with you. You’ll find lots to talk about.” At least one of them would, he thought.
Gracila held Antonia at arm’s length and inspected her. “You’re not feeding this child properly, Tiberius. Look how thin she is! Well, my cook will soon remedy that.”
Impatient to get away from the torrent of words, he went back outside to where Gallus waited.
“Like old times.” Gallus nodded toward a couple of soldiers walking by. “Off duty and on their way to the tavern.”
“Why don’t you join them?”
“I intend to. I came to Britannia for the beer, remember?”
“And to win at dice, separating poor soldiers from their pay.” He glanced at the servant still holding the horses. “See to the horses for me. I’ll walk.”
* * *
The dozen or so aging members of the Council, governing body of the Regni, who happened to be in the basilica today were enough to keep proceedings droning on through the afternoon. Some of the old men had adopted Roman togas and cloaks and were clean-shaven, a sign of their willingness to appropriate the benefits of the occupying power, but not necessarily the Roman philosophy of advance and improvement. The rest of them wore their braids and beards and traditional robes with an air of defiance, although most of them were Roman citizens by necessity if not by choice. Some of the Elders frowned over tablets bearing notice of tax disputes, neighbors’ quarrels and boundary issues. He doubted all of them could read Latin. Nor were all of them disposed to be friendly to him. Boudicaa’s cause had found many supporters here as elsewhere.
He’d known these men since his father’s day; he knew which ones were willing to take a bribe and which were not. They were capable of melding Roman law with Regni practice, governing without the input of a chief. Occasionally, a matter came before them for which the ultimate punishment was death, and the chief would have the final say. Nothing like that came up today.
But this was the body that also controlled public works, and he needed their approval – and funds – if his proposal for a temple was to become reality. He wanted it for Breca’s sake, but it would also be a symbol of his power as chief of the Regni. He reined in his impatience and considered which of the old men he could count on to be on his side, and which he’d have to win over, and at what price. He’d chosen not to take his official seat but sat on a bench that ran along one wall where several petitioners sat waiting their turn. Their rough clothing smelled of smoke and earth and onions, reminding him of his family’s own humble beginnings.
At last, the final complaint was settled and the old men prepared to go home. He stood.
“A moment more.” He used the Old Tongue to avoid stirring up the minority among them who regarded Latin as an abomination.
Some of the old men acknowledged him with a nod, others looked annoyed at being delayed. Two appeared to have just woken out of sleep. And one, the Chief Elder of the Council, a large man with hooded eyes and a small mouth, he knew instantly was no friend.
“Noviomagus grows and prospers. Fish and crops are abundant. Our mines flow with copper and silver. We are at peace with our neighbors. Our Folk, renowned throughout the south, grow too, and with this our need for monuments to mark our devotion to the gods who reward us. I propose that we build a worthy temple to honor Neptune and Minerva.”
He could almost hear the sound of coins being counted in the old heads as they considered the cost of this.
A small man shook his head, braids flying. “A very fine idea – if we had the money to do it!”
“How big a cost is too large to honor the gods that protect us?”
The Chief Elder, Epilus, looked up from the tablet he’d been studying. “This council has larger matters to dispose of than the cost of a temple.”
It was a challenge thrown at his feet. The chamber fell silent. He was suddenly aware of the distant sounds of the town outside this building, the rumble of carts, the shouts of tradesmen. These were his people. He must be strong for them now. The old men stared at him, waiting. He knew what was coming; he’d expected it. He had to hold firm, let them see the righteousness of his claim to lead the tribe no matter how it had been decided..
“Let us begin with these large matters.” He stood tall before them, a warrior, willing himself to show no expression.
“You have proclaimed yourself king in violation of our laws,” the Chief Elder said. “It is our custom for the Council to elect a king after a study of the eligible.”
“My father Cunobelinus was a king. I’ve proved myself in battle with the best of the legions.”
“One princeling among several,” a very old man put in.
“Nevertheless,” Epilus said, “You took it upon yourself to usurp this Council’s right to make the choice.”
“I heard that Caesar had something to do with it,” a man he didn’t know, with a narrow, scarred face said slyly.
Several of the Council murmured at this. For some of them, that was worse than if he’d seized the kingship by himself. But there was also the other matter of the Roman wife Caesar had thrust on him; they hadn’t mentioned that yet, but he knew they were thinking of it. Lesser affairs had split a tribe before. Though he understood the justness of their argument, what had been done was done.
“The proper ceremonies were never performed.” Epilus said.. “You have not been consecrated.”
He let the words hang there; there was no answer he could give to them. In his mind, the Regni must move forward, leaving the old ways in the past. But he knew he was in the minority in this chamber.
A man, bearded, with long grey locks braided in the old style, who hadn’t spoken up yet, said, “It may prove that having a king who is Caesar’s friend will be of benefit to the Regni.”
Togidubnus was aware of the ripple of disapproval that ran through the Council. The Regni, like other tribes, had no choice but accept the authority of their Roman conquerors, and on the whole they understood the benefits of the situation. But being a friend of Caesar had a smell to it like two day-old fish. Trying to explain or excuse would make it worse. He held his words.
“What Caesar has done w
e can’t undo,” the grey-braided man said. “But, surely, the son of Cunobelinus was a worthy candidate, and one we might have selected by ourselves. I see no harm done.”
“Has the Praetor been consulted about this proposed building of a temple?” another man asked suddenly, jolting the discussion away from the dangerous ground it had been occupying. “Governor of the province, his approval surely is necessary?”
He knew he hadn’t escaped their anger entirely. He heard the scorn underlying the man’s words. He had to let their resentment take its course.
“And when was the last time the Praetor was in Noviomagus?” The youngest member of the Council, scarcely beyond his middle years, spoke up. “Does the Praetor give a fig for what we build?”
“A little caution!” Epilus rapped on the long table, bouncing the writing tablets. “Remember we have Caesar’s friend here!”
He read the waves of both pro- and anti-Roman feeling in the chamber, no better and no worse than they had ever been since the days of Boudicca’s rebellion.
“How long would this take to plan?” a man asked.
“I’ve made preliminary sketches, based on the temple to Neptune in Rome.”
“A formidable model, no doubt,” the Chief Elder said. “But why Neptune and Minerva and not Jupiter? Won’t a temple in their honor and not his draw his wrath on us?”
“We’re dependent on Neptune’s protection of our island. And Minerva –”
“Is the new name for an old goddess of our ancestors,” the man with braids said smoothly. “I say we should build a temple to Sulis here.”
He marked that one as a friend. “We have no shortage of craftsmen and builders in Noviomagus.”
Committing the large amount of money that would be needed to build a big temple was a serious matter. Some of these men would never forgive him for fighting against Boudicca, necessary though that had been. On the other hand, offending a chief selected by Rome by vetoing his project wasn’t a good idea either. He let them consider their dilemma.
“We need time to think this over,” the Chief Elder said. “Such a large undertaking....”
“So large indeed!” The small man who’d first questioned the project shook his head.
Angered, he abandoned his resolve to stay calm. “We can’t continue to live in the past! We must move forward, taking the best from Rome and marrying it to the best from our ancestors.”
He stopped, aware that his unfortunate choice of image had not gone unnoticed. His stomach clenched and heat rose into his face.
“Ah,” the Chief Elder said, his tone silky. “We’ve heard about that too.”
“Where would you build this temple?” the man with the braids asked.
He was grateful to the man for deflecting their spite.“Where the old sanctuary to Sulis once stood.”
The man nodded solemnly. “That’s hallowed ground. It so happens that I own that land.”
He gazed at the man. He’d thought he might count that one as an ally. Had he been mistaken?
The man smiled. “I shall donate the land for this noble cause.”
No one offered any further argument, The Elders filed out of the building, but the one with traditional braids remained.
“You have an enemy in the Council,” he commented. “Epilus doesn’t like ideas he didn’t think of first.”
“I haven’t sought an enemy. But I won’t hide from one who chooses to make himself such.”
“You don’t remember who I am, do you? I’m Pudens, son of Pudentinus. I knew you when you were hardly more than a young lad following your father around and carrying a Roman sword that was too big for you.”
“A sword I learned to put to use! But I don’t play the warrior any more.” Not since the campaign against Boudicca where he’d been torn between family ties and the sense that Britannia’s future lay with Rome. “I’m a man of peace now, a builder of temples.”
“A fine occupation,” Pudens said. “Alas, I am only a merchant.”
“A little more than that?” he guessed, since the man had land in Noviomagus to donate.
Pudens chuckled. “I’ve found a new occupation, supplying the garrison with its needs – whatever they might be. I’m rewarded well enough.”
* * *
Once he retrieved her from Gracila’s non-stop chatter, Antonia was ready to talk.
“You can’t imagine what a relief it was to be in a comfortable Roman house!” she told him as they mounted the horses .
Gallus was nowhere to be found, and they left without him. As the horses plodded their way through the remaining puddles out of Noviomagus, he became aware of the clusters of men and women on the streets– two here, four there, another outside the inn – staring at them as they passed. The faces turned towards his were grim, accusing. This was not the reception he was used to as a prince of the Regni. But he knew what they were seeing: Their leader riding with his new wife, a public insult to Breca. He wanted to explain – but there were no words to excuse his actions in their eyes.
“It was actually warm!” Antonia said. “They have a functioning hypocaust, and not just for the baths. You should have one built.”
Luxuries like that had never been high on Breca’s list, though she might enjoy it if he installed it. If she came back to him.
When she came back to him. He was not ready to give up hope.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was nothing to do. She’d explored everything. The servants went away because they didn’t like Romans, Ma said. Ma said she and Lucia were Romans. There was no one left to play with her.
Ma said Niko was her tutor now, and what that meant was Niko didn’t have time to play with her any more. They had to spend the whole day doing lessons. She liked learning to read! But the book Niko had was all about kings and emperors, no children in it once they’d got past the story of the twins and the mother wolf.
The rain had stopped and the clouds raced across the sky, looking as if something was chasing them. The air was so cold she could see her breath even indoors. Making clouds with her mouth was boring after a while too.
The boy with the odd name might come back with his dog.
She pulled on her tunic, hitching it up at the waist with her belt so it left her lower legs free, grabbed a palla and wrapped it around her shoulders, not bothering to fasten it. She left her sandals inside because the grass was going to be wet and Ma would scold if she ruined them. If only she had a dog, like that boy, it would come running after her and they could play in the meadow where Niko wouldn’t see them and call them back inside.
No one else was awake in the villa, not even the stable boy who had to get up early to feed the horses. Some day, she’d like to help him. She stopped under a stand of trees. They’d lost most of their leaves – didn’t they feel cold? She listened, hoping to hear a dog bark. A strong wind whipped the bare branches about, but the only sound was birds, crows mostly, and house sparrows chirping. All the ones with pretty songs had already flown south, Niko said. Ma had added, To Rome, probably! Wasn’t that a very long way for little birds to fly?
The stream where she’d met the boy and the dog was a short walk. But this morning she thought of something else. She could see the pathway to the dock where they’d landed when they’d come to live with Tiber. She hadn’t liked the sea much when they were on it, but that was because Ma kept her down in the cabin where she was being sick, and the smell had almost made Lucia sick too. She could have a quick look before Ma and Niko were awake. No one would know.
Pulling her palla tight about her shoulders, she ran as fast as she could across the damp turf that led to the wooden dock. Out of breath, she stopped on the slick, wet planks and stared at the water. To one side, the dock was wide where the boats tied up. The other side sloped down to a stony beach.
Waves crashed against the dock, and the water was a dull grey color with sparkles here and there when the sun came out. The waves had foamy white tops that looked like lambs’ wool. Seagul
ls flew circles over the water, screeching, their heads turning this way and that. She saw a small black dot on the grey water, a little boat. Maybe it was a fisherman, catching the fish she’d eat for cena. Niko told her that Britanni girls and women hunted for shellfish and oysters here along the rocks at the edge of the sea. She’d like to see that too – maybe help -- but nobody was doing that today.
The air was very cold and the sea spray smelled grey-green like kelp. Niko called this an inlet from the real sea. Like the mouth of the River Tiber, he’d explained, only the other way around.
Something jumped in the water – Something big and dark. Two somethings.
Her heart raced
Dolphins.
She recognized them immediately. They were close enough to shore that she could see their smiling faces poking up above the surface, looking at her. She waved, but they had gone under the water again.
She jumped off the dock onto a narrow stretch of sand and ran along at the edge of the water, dodging the incoming waves. If only they’d stay near shore long enough for her to get closer to them!
A wave caught her as it broke on the shore, and the edge of her tunic was soon wet. How cold the water was! She remembered a pool in her grandparent’s garden. That water was never cold. Her toe stubbed against something and she looked down. A little pile of shells the storm had swept in, most of them broken but one or two whole. Forgetting the dolphins, she bent to pick them up. Another wave came in. This one drenched her from the shoulders down. This wasn’t a good idea. She liked water – Uncle Valentinus had taught her to swim a little bit in that pool – but that water was warm, not nasty cold like this. She remembered her uncles, laughing and shouting out, their hair streaming wet over their shoulders. Swimming looked like so much fun.
