Lady of the Eternal City

by Kate Quinn

  The crowd thronging the great stoa of Athens rippled and shivered. Lowly slaves and nobly born citizens, packed shoulder to shoulder with merchants and prostitutes and the Emperor of Rome himself—all reduced under the night’s darkness to mere shadows. Hadrian, standing before Sabina with his gaze fixed eagerly on the hierophant, was just another man in a tunic that didn’t show in the darkness as Imperial purple.

  The moon rose beyond the double vault of columns, full and white, and the hierophant let out a cry. “To Eleusis!”

  The cry redoubled from the mass of acolytes, and feet rushed to be first to leave, first to set foot on the white ribbon of road called the Sacred Way. “To Eleusis,” Sabina echoed softly.

  “We’ll be all night walking,” Vix grumped, shifting to put his own armored body between Sabina and the buffeting crowd streaming past. “It’s a full night’s march to Eleusis, and with the Emperor on a crutch—”

  “Enlightenment cannot be had without pain, Tribune!” Hadrian sounded almost merry, his eyes glinting under the moon. “We walk to experience hardship; to echo the footsteps of Demeter as she searched the earth in her despair—and to weed out the faint of heart! Do I want our fellow acolytes to say their Emperor was faint of heart? No.” He lifted an arm. “If young Pedanius Fuscus will be kind enough to lend me his shoulder—”

  Hadrian’s entourage could have doubled the year’s acolytes, but he’d flatly limited his party to ten. Vix and three hand-selected Praetorians, picked first to provide protection—“What better place to launch an attack than a mob of god-crazed acolytes?” Vix had argued. Hadrian himself walked first inside that ring of guards, flanked by Suetonius with his slate and stocky Pedanius, who Sabina suspected had been chosen for his sturdy young shoulder as much as for family feeling. Sabina brought up the rear with Balbilla, ignoring the other woman’s chatter and giving a little skip despite her Imperial dignity.

  “Careful, Lady.” A hand steadied her arm. “The footing’s still uneven.”

  “So serious, Antinous.” She smiled at the handsome boy with his moon-bleached curls, striding along on her other side and earning Balbilla’s appreciative glances. Sabina’s maids were frightened of the dark or the ritual or both, but Antinous’s eyes had lit up when she asked if he’d act as her attendant. “I know you aren’t an acolyte,” she said now, “but are you hoping to find something in Eleusis anyway? Adventure? The gods? Or just a good drunken celebration?”

  He smiled, but his eyes were serious as he turned the question over. “I don’t know, Lady. I wouldn’t mind partaking as an acolyte, really. My father says it’s all foolishness, but . . .” He struggled for the words. “I wouldn’t mind seeing something—more. The paedogogium fills you up with facts: sums to learn, dates to remember, how to pour wine and write a good hand and speak gracefully. But there are things that can’t be taught—and from what I’ve heard of the Mysteries, well, people say you come away with a glimpse.”

  “A glimpse of what?”

  “The ultimate mystery. Death, life, the future.” Antinous rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious. “A peek at the future, anyway.”

  “Antinous.” Vix’s voice was sharp. “Go walk with Boil. He could use your eyes.”

  “Yes, sir.” A quick bow, and Antinous jogged ahead to the front of the little Imperial party.

  “My dear,” Balbilla murmured, squeezing Sabina’s arm. “Where did you find that beautiful boy? He’s positively mouthwatering!”

  The whole procession was passing out of the city. With the torches and lamps of Athens behind, Sabina could see the prick of the stars overhead even more clearly, a scatter of glass chips around the great shining pearl of the moon. Vix was just a dark looming shape, coming up on Sabina’s other side.

  “See here,” he growled, too low for inquisitive ears. “I don’t like you dragging Antinous along tonight under the Emperor’s nose—”

  “You’ve made that clear, yes.”

  “—but that’s nothing compared to how angry I’ll be if I think you have your eye on my son.”

  “Dear gods, Vix. I’m fond of him, that’s all. He made very good company on the voyage from Rome.” An eager conversationalist who also knew when to be silent; a boy who could serve at table, make her laugh, or play a good game of latrunculi, all with equal grace and enthusiasm.

  Vix gave her a look.

  Sabina gave it right back to him. “Do you truly see me lusting after a boy young enough to be my son?”

  “I’ve seen fine ladies old enough to be his grandmother giving him the eye.”

  Sabina gave a sidelong glance at Balbilla, her eyes painted to hide the lines and piled curls tinted to hide the gray. “I don’t think I’m quite so shameless as that.”

  Vix eyed her slowly, up and down—her, not Balbilla. “I seem to remember you have no shame at all.”

  “Flatterer!” Sabina mocked. “Antinous is perfectly well able to shield himself from avid matrons, Vix. What irritates you is the thought that I’d admire your son instead of you!”

  He gave another withering glare and turned away. Sabina felt a prick of warmth in her stomach. He’s jealous, she thought, and grinned. Imagine that!

  They soon passed over the Kephisos, a flow of moon-glossed water beneath the arches of a new bridge. “I commissioned this bridge, you know,” Sabina heard Hadrian expounding up ahead, as young Pedanius made admiring noises. “Quarried limestone, fully one hundred sixty-five feet long—”

  “Hadrian,” Sabina called merrily, “don’t be boring. We’re on a mystical procession under a full moon; do you think we care how long the bridge is?”

  A brief, sticky silence, and Sabina wondered if she’d been too careless in her night-found happiness. But then at length she heard a chuckle from Hadrian, just slightly forced. “You may,” he said, “have a point.”

  More dark miles as the moon rose. The winding countryside around them, black and mysterious; the pressing crowds of acolytes. “Though the acolytes of Eleusis are called the mystai,” Sabina explained to Antinous, who was curious. She paused to strip off her sandals, feeling blisters rise on her feet. Demeter’s feet bled. The rites at Eleusis followed the legend of Demeter, walking the earth to find her daughter, to bring her reborn from death. Pain, death, rebirth; the oldest of cycles. If my feet bleed, will I find my daughter? Sabina walked until her blisters burst, then walked on blood-shod. Antinous tread behind her, singing softly in Greek. He had a pure young tenor, heartbreakingly tender.

  Balbilla again: “The mystery and wonder of it all, I can already sense it filling me! The pain of the Goddess, the eternal pain, though of course she didn’t get blisters, did she? If you’re not going to wear your shoes, Vibia Sabina, may I? I didn’t anticipate so many pebbles . . .”

  Hadrian ahead, talking cheerfully, though his bound and broken leg must have sent a ripple of pain through his body at every uneven advance of the crutch. Talking of his forthcoming tour to the Peloponnese, the peacock he would sacrifice to Juno in the ruins of Mycenae. “And then to Sparta; do you know they still hold demonstrations where the boys subject themselves to bloody whippings to prove their bravery?” Pedanius Fuscus trying to pipe in. “I could whip myself to prove bravery, Great-Uncle. I don’t fear anything!” Hadrian, sounding indulgent: “I’m sure you don’t.”

  The moon rising, full and soft. At some point, Hadrian called Vix forward. “Vercingetorix, join me . . .” Vix tramping ahead, armor jingling in the dark. Their voices drifting back to Sabina.

  “—inspection of the eastern legions, Tribune. What do you make of the men? I would welcome your opinion—”

  Sabina smiled to herself, remembering Britannia, where she’d first suggested Hadrian cull opinions from Vix about the legions. A man may be an enemy and still be useful, she’d said, and he had ignored her. Or so she thought.

  “—getting the legionaries back on regular rout
e marches, keeping them fit during peacetime,” Vix was replying, sounding guarded. “The officers, too. You know I saw a tribune of the Sixth Victrix who padded his saddle with feather cushions?”

  “Really. What on earth is the Empire coming to? Go on—”

  Vix went on, and he went on at length. If I do not leave the Mysteries enlightened by the gods, Sabina reflected, I will at least be enlightened about the finer points of legionary training. “—Men are always transferring between legions; there should be a manual of standard regulations—”

  “Yes, they should know the rules are the same regardless of the standard under which they march.” Hadrian’s shadowy head was nodding. “A manual. Would you like to write it?”

  “Me?” Vix’s voice scaled up.

  “Quit squawking like a startled owl. You may irk me to the point of violence, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have some sensible ideas. Suetonius, a note if you please . . .”

  “Men,” said Balbilla. “So insensitive to life’s great mysteries. The cosmos opens around them, and they can talk of nothing but legions! I must write a poem about that, the female mythos—”

  I am happy, Sabina thought. Why am I so happy?

  Dawn, showing itself first in the slow retreat of the stars as they curtsied and took their leave of night. The moon fading, the gray line of horizon blushing with pink. And a great hoarse shout rising up from the first of the acolytes, shoving and pushing for their first look at white-walled, many-stepped Eleusis, framed by the endless rush of the sea.

  Sabina found herself running to join the flood of mystai, but checked herself. Hadrian was stumping forward eagerly on his crutch, Vix’s hand under his elbow—Sabina came up under Hadrian’s other arm. “Hurry up, husband,” she scolded. “Will you keep the gods waiting?”

  Hadrian reared back for a moment at her chiding, but she laughed and pulled him along, feeling the happiness rising giddy in her chest like warmed wine. Sand underfoot at last, first dry and slipping, then damp and soft, and Sabina released Hadrian’s arm at the same time as Vix, and the three of them plunged into the sea.

  A shock of cold as the autumn-chilled wave broke over her head. Sabina laughed, choked, laughed again, then sank under the water and held her breath until she could hold it no more. She surfaced at last, letting the water lift her, and saw that the ocean was full to the brim: everywhere around her the mystai were bathing, washing the impurities of the world away. Antinous watched wistfully from the water’s edge, and a buxom Greek girl took the advantage of the tumbling waves to fall into his arms. He set her on her feet with a laugh, stealing a kiss. Hadrian was washing himself in ritual motions, his beard sending rivulets of water down his strong throat, his face absorbed and solemn. Balbilla waded arms outspread into the water and promptly fell under a wave.

  Vix had already splashed out, water shedding off his broad shoulders, one hand on his gladius. No assassins here, Sabina wanted to tell him, but you might as well tell Vix to cease breathing as cease preparing for danger. Her heart squeezed, half in pain, half in exquisite pleasure.

  “Empress Sabina!” Antinous called. He had her new acolyte’s robe ready, conscientious of his duties. “If you wish to change—”

  “I do,” she called back, “I do.” The sodden curls of her wig felt twice as heavy as usual, and suddenly she wanted it all gone. She swept the wig off into the water, laughing as a wave carried it away like a mass of lumpy seaweed, then yanked out the brooches at her shoulders, gave them to the sea as an offering, and let the waves sweep her purple silks away. She floated in the water a moment, naked and weightless. Free, she thought. How long has it been since I felt that?

  An illusion, of course, even if a sweet one. The Empress of Rome was not free to walk naked out of the sea before the eyes of plebs, even for the Mysteries of Eleusis. Hadrian was already glaring, conscious of their Imperial dignity, so Sabina crossed one arm over her breasts as she rose from the water. Antinous tossed her new robe out, the wool unfurling on the snap of the sea breeze, and she managed to catch the bundle one-handed. She tugged it over her head, the plain undyed linen that marked her not an empress but just another worshipper, and lowered the hem modestly as she came out of the ocean. Her blistered feet stung, but it was a clean pain, and she curled her toes into the damp sand. The robe was shapeless, too big; the neck hole slid down one shoulder and she could feel the skirts flapping about her wet legs. Antinous held out a cloak to cover her goose-prickled arms, but she just stood a moment, ruffling a hand across the damp silk of her short hair and gazing at the sea. Empress Vibia Sabina: soaking wet, freezing cold, falsely but gloriously free.

  “Lady?” Vix sounded impatient. Sabina tilted her chin over her naked shoulder and grinned at him. A wicked, carefree grin like the girl she’d once been, the girl she felt like instead of the somber marble-carved Empress.

  “Yes, Tribune?”

  He looked back at her a moment, the stone soldier as she’d become the marble Empress, and then he smiled as though he couldn’t resist any longer. A reluctant, invisible smile, more a movement of his eyes than his mouth. His gray gaze went over her, and the Empress of Rome knew why she was so happy.

  “Put a cloak on,” Vix said finally. “You’ll die of cold.”

  VIX

  I’m under pain of death never to reveal what I saw at the Mysteries of Eleusis. There was an ear of wheat; I’ll leave it at that. But I didn’t even hear half their sacred words. I was too busy dreaming dreams.

  “What do you know about how to improve our legions?” Hadrian had asked me on that long march along the Sacred Way.

  Plenty, I had thought. Oh, plenty. I’d hesitated, hating to give him anything, but the problem had been toying too long on the fringes of my own bored mind. I’d chattered to him under the moon, and he’d listened. The bastard had listened.

  “A manual of standardized legionary regulations . . . Would you like to write it?”

  It takes a great deal to startle me. I have fought in battles shield against shield; I have led night raids through country as dark and strange as Hades itself; I killed a Dacian king who had the strength of ten men. I had never been quite so startled as I was now.

  Hell’s gates, yes, I wanted to write it!

  The Mysteries of Eleusis take a full nine nights to complete, nine long nights under the waning of the full moon, and I went through those nights in a white-hot haze of inspiration. A practical manual for the common legionary, I mused as Hadrian went blindfolded to the priests who approached with torches and fans. Something to do with being purified by wind and fire—he twitched as the torch approached, but Sabina leaned forward and kissed the flames when it was her turn, moving too quickly to be burned.

  No, I thought, following behind Emperor and Empress alike as they presented a pair of piglets for sacrifice. A practical manual for all soldiers of Rome. Why limit it just to legionaries?

  “I want to be initiated,” Antinous told me on the dusty toil back to Athens. All through the Mysteries, we’d be trudging back and forth along the Sacred Way. “I know you think it’s foolishness, and I know I’m only here to attend the Empress, but she’d let me take the rites if you will. I qualify under the rules—”

  “As you please.” A multiorganized system of training, not just the same formations and shield drills. Those fighters in Parthia were lethal—Parthian drill instructors . . . ?

  Days of fasting and rest, allowing the tardy candidates to present themselves. Antinous taking his place among them, glowing under the blindfold. Sabina sleeping the sleep of the dead on the end of that second endless walk back to Athens; me tugging the wolf-skin cloak up over her shoulders against the cold. Cold, I thought. Should be different slants for the eastern and the western legions; training in the cold versus training in the heat . . .

  The fifth day. Sabina and Hadrian and the rest tying saffron ribbons about left leg and right hand as th
e mark of the newly purified. Sabina in her too-big robe, sliding the shapeless folds up so she could loop the ribbon around one narrow brown thigh . . . Another trudge to Eleusis, but I didn’t mind it somehow. It reminded me of the long marches under Trajan in Dacia, when Sabina had been a brown girl stealing away from her illustrious quarters to march beside me. We’d come full circle; here she was marching beside me again, and she was turning just as brown, freckles sprinkling her nose like flakes of gold. We crossed a narrow bridge on our march where old women waited to offer the ritual ribald jeers, mimicking the mortal women who had mocked Demeter in her journey. Sabina gave as good as she got, hauling out all the old legionary obscenities I’d ever taught her, and I even saw Hadrian’s mouth twitch when he heard his Empress tell a wizened old crone to go fuck a horse.

  Entering the temple grounds at Eleusis, cups were passed filled with something dark and bitter called kykeon, but I was thinking of how I could improve the drill exercises for javelin throwing . . . Around me rose shrieks and cries as whatever was in the kykeon took hold, but I sat dreaming and the Mysteries of Eleusis passed me by untouched.

  Or did they? Because by the sixth night, the Night of Torches, the serenity of the mystai was infecting even me. Maybe my thoughts were all of military matters rather than godly ones, but my voice had fallen just as silent, my eyes turned just as reverently to the sky and the waning moon. I found myself laughing like a child, and so did the others: Hadrian’s crutch slipped on a stone and tipped him splat into a puddle, and instead of looking vengeful and outraged, he looked at the mud down the front of his tunic and just said, “I look a sight, don’t I?” We all dared to laugh then, and when Hadrian called for my arm to support his lamed side, I didn’t quite recoil at his touch as I had ever since Britannia. My stomach growled at some point, and I realized I had not eaten in God knew how long. Food had not seemed important.