Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate

by Taylor, Diana Wallis

  “My father must not know. It is best, Mater. I am dead to my children by Agrippa and to the rest of Rome. If my father thinks I am ill, he may take the child.”

  Scribonia nodded. “Who knows what he will do? He can be cruel.”

  Julia’s tone was bitter. “I can still remember crying out to you as his soldiers carried me away to the palace.”

  “Such is the law of Rome, daughter. The children belong to the father. I had no say.”

  “I know, but what was my life, Mater? At least Agrippa gave me children to fill my life. Yet now they are forbidden to contact me.”

  “Were you happy at all with Agrippa?”

  “Agrippa was kind to me. He didn’t die a natural death, I’m sure of it, but I had no time to mourn, for Father ordered me to marry Tiberius. I was a mere pawn in his scheme of things.”

  Her grandmother sighed deeply. “That is our world, daughter.”

  Just then Medina returned from the marketplace and put down her bag of meager gleanings.

  She faced Scribonia. “Domina, I met the courier. He brought a scroll along with the coins.”

  Scribonia took the scroll, and as she read the words, she put out a hand to brace herself against a chair. She handed the scroll to Julia who read aloud, “Agrippa Postumus murdered.”

  Julia clutched her throat as a cry of anguish wrenched itself from her mouth. “He was my only living son.”

  Scribonia put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “This means trouble, Julia. Someone ordered this, but who would do such a thing?”

  Julia turned to her, and Claudia could see agony in her mother’s eyes. “It was not my father. It was one who fears for his succession to the throne. Who else hated anyone related to me?”

  Scribonia’s eyes widened. “I have contacts in Rome. Surely someone will send me further word.” Her voice softened. “I am sorry for your loss, daughter, and in such a way.”

  Medina interrupted. “There is more news. It is whispered in the marketplace that the emperor is ill.”

  Julia wiped her eyes. “My father is ill?”

  The slave nodded.

  Julia gasped. “Mater, we must seek the favor of the gods for his recovery. If he dies . . .”

  Claudia felt her mouth go dry. The fear in the room became almost palpable as her mother whispered, “Tiberius!”

  Clutching the now squirming puppy tightly for comfort, Claudia tried to piece together what she’d heard. She knew Tiberius hated her mother and divorced her. She knew why her mother was banished from Rome, for she had seen with her own eyes over the years the men who had come and gone from the villa. Something terrible was coming, but what she didn’t know.

  The pains in Julia’s stomach increased, but Claudia was assured that it was only fear of something that would happen if her grandfather died. Her grandmother and Medina slipped in and out of her mother’s room with nourishing broths, but Julia ate little. She was troubled with strange dreams that faded when she awoke.

  Whatever her mother feared, Claudia sensed it would change her world forever.

  3

  The days moved with monotonous regularity as Julia faded before their eyes. Her once voluptuous figure wasted away and her skin seemed almost translucent. Medina brought herbs from another slave woman who practiced healing remedies, but they did little to dull the pain. Claudia sat by her mother’s bedside for hours. Sometimes her mother would speak to her of her own childhood. Past and present wove themselves together as she rambled. Sometimes Claudia held her hand and watched her mother sleep, as unchecked tears ran down her cheeks.

  One morning, as Claudia’s thirteenth birthday approached, there was a loud knocking at the entry door of the villa. Claudia, hearing the commotion, slipped out to the atrium just as Medina went to open the door. The servant was brushed aside by a large Roman soldier.

  Behind him, she could see a large company of soldiers on horseback.

  The soldier was powerfully built, nearly six feet tall. His very presence filled Claudia with terror. His face was hard as his eyes rested briefly on Claudia.

  “I am Captain Marcus Laurentius. Gather the household for an announcement from the emperor.”

  Claudia ran down the columned peristyle that surrounded the garden and found her grandmother in the doorway of her mother’s room. Her eyes widened at Claudia’s hasty approach. “What is happening?”

  “Grandmother, a soldier is here with a message from the emperor. We are all to gather in the atrium. Come quickly.”

  Julia struggled to rise. Claudia and Scribonia helped her from her bed and pulled a stola over her head to cover her wrinkled tunic. Between them they supported her as she struggled to walk toward the atrium. She gathered what little strength she had, insisting she could stand alone. Finally, the three women faced the captain. Medina, who had taken the puppy from Claudia when the captain barked his order, stepped back into the shadows, her eyes wide with fear as she too listened.

  Captain Laurentius opened a scroll and began to read—

  “By order of the Emperor, from this moment, the woman, Julia, is to be confined to one room in this villa. She is to have no visitors, including family . . .”

  Scribonia interrupted him. “Can you not see she is ill? She is already confined to her room . . .”

  The captain gave her an angry look. “Be silent, woman.” He continued reading.

  “The woman, Scribonia, will accompany the child, Claudia Procula, to Rome where she will relinquish the child to be brought up in the palace as the granddaughter of an Emperor. Her grandmother is to return to her own villa in Rome. The servants will remain to care for the villa in Reggio, but they are not to contact the woman Julia in any way. Soldiers will be posted to make sure this edict is followed. By order of the Emperor, Tiberius Caesar.”

  He turned to Scribonia, his eyes narrowing. “The emperor requests that I inquire if the girl, Claudia, is a virgin.”

  Claudia leaned against her mother, who put a protecting arm around her.

  Scribonia drew herself up and stated tersely. “The child is a virgin.”

  “You will swear to this?”

  “I will swear by Vesta, the goddess of our household.”

  Claudia clung to her mother as her eyes pooled with tears. “Grandmother and I have to leave the villa? Why must you stay behind? Will I not ever see you again?”

  “You will not see me again, child. But it is as the gods will it. Remember me as well as you can, and know that I have loved you.” She held Claudia close and kissed the top of her head.

  At that moment one of the soldiers wrenched Claudia away from her mother.

  “Where is her room?” The captain asked tersely.

  Taking Julia by the arms, two other soldiers began dragging her down the peristyle.

  “Medina!” Scribonia cried out.

  Medina thrust the squirming puppy back to Claudia and hurried ahead to show them the way to Julia’s room.

  Her grandmother held Claudia firmly as she cried out and tried to follow her mother. Scribonia’s voice broke as she addressed the captain. “This is a monstrous thing to do to.”

  “Are you questioning the orders of the emperor, madam?” His face was like cold marble.

  Scribonia, with a slight shake, bowed her head and remained silent.

  He rolled up the scroll. “Gather your belongings. You have one hour before we leave. There is a covered coach outside. Have your servant prepare food and drink for your journey.”

  He stepped to the doorway of the villa and ordered his men to dismount and wait.

  Medina returned with one of the soldiers and looked at Claudia with tears in her eyes. The other had been left behind to guard the door to her mother’s room.

  Scribonia grabbed Claudia’s hand. “Come, Claudia, Medina, we have work to do, we must obey the captain.”

  Captain Laurentius stepped outside to wait.

  Scribonia reviewed their storage room, but there was little food in the house to prep
are or, for that matter, to leave for Medina and Cato.

  “No messenger has come, Domina.”

  “With Augustus dead, our allowance has evidently been stopped by Tiberius. I pray to the gods that he will make provision for you and Cato.”

  Medina looked up at her mistress. “Domina, what will happen to the Lady Julia?”

  With her back to her granddaughter, Scribonia answered sadly. “I don’t know, Medina. I don’t know.”

  A look of sudden understanding came across Medina’s face. “Yes, of course. I will see to her mother so the child will not worry.”

  Claudia, her voice breaking, cried, “What will happen to my mother?”

  Scribonia took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me and listen well, child. You must be brave. Your mother is dying. She wished to keep this from you as long as possible, but now you must know. You have seen how ill she is. It took her last ounce of energy to face the captain. She has but a few days to live. When the time comes, Medina and Cato will see to her burial. Perhaps we will bury her ashes in the garden by the roses she loved. You are of royal blood, the granddaughter of an emperor. You must learn early in life to endure what comes your way. We, as women, have no other choice.”

  Her grandmother’s arms dropped to her side and she looked away. “This is the revenge of Tiberius. Your mother knew it would come someday. There is nothing we can do.”

  “And Medina? Will I never see you again?”

  Medina moved closer and tilted Claudia’s face with one finger. “When I have done what I must do, I will find a way to come to you.”

  Claudia could only nod before throwing her arms around her grandmother as great, wrenching sobs shook her body. For once Scribonia did not push her away.

  Felix whimpered as if sensing the emotions of his mistress when Claudia placed him gently in his basket.

  “The dog must stay,” the captain said harshly as he saw Claudia standing in the atrium, holding the basket.

  She felt panic rising and looked anxiously at her grandmother. Scribonia took a deep breath, then in a calm voice, asked the captain. “Do you have children, sir?”

  The captain eyed her suspiciously. “I have a young son. Why do you ask?”

  Scribonia’s voice was soft and submissive. “Sir, we wish to be obedient to the emperor’s command, but the child is the granddaughter of the Emperor Augustus. She has had no companions her entire life, save this small dog, and her mother has been wrenched from her. Would you be merciful to her and leave her this small comfort?”

  The captain looked at Claudia’s stricken face. His voice softened for a moment. “I suppose she can keep the dog, but she must be responsible for it.” The hard look returned as he spoke to his men from the doorway. “Mount up. We must deliver our charges safely to Rome.”

  The large group of soldiers and their weapons would insure the women’s safety as they traveled.

  Claudia glanced around the only home she’d ever known for the last time. She turned longingly toward her mother’s room, but a sharp look from the captain erased all thought of going that direction. Anger smoldered in her heart. How could Tiberius be so cruel? She would hate him until her last breath.

  Medina had packed a little bread, some cheese, a couple of pears, some dried apricots, and a goatskin bag of diluted wine. It was all they had in the house. Captain Laurentius seemed surprised at the paltry bundle Medina handed her mistress.

  Claudia gathered her courage and faced the captain. “Who will provide food for Medina and Cato?”

  “The emperor has made provision for the slaves to care for the villa. You need not concern yourself with them.”

  Claudia, her emotions in turmoil, took her lead from her grandmother, gathered her courage, and held her head high as she carried Felix to the coach. She stopped suddenly, staring at the large ornate wagon that had been pulled in front of her. There were carvings in wood on the side panels. Figures that Claudia felt must be gods and goddesses. The wagon was pulled by two huge mules that stood stamping their feet and snorting.

  Scribonia put a hand on her shoulder. “It is a carpentum, child. Those of our praetorian class travel in these. It will protect us from the sun and make our journey more comfortable.” She bent down and whispered, “I’m surprised Tiberius allowed us this extravagance.”

  Medina and Cato waved bravely from the doorway and Claudia struggled not to cry in front of the soldiers. She would be brave, as her mother and grandmother were.

  As the coach pulled away and began the long journey to Rome, her heart felt constricted. Why did the emperor suddenly send for her and what did he have in store for her at the palace?

  4

  There were two small windows in the coach, and in spite of her anguish, Claudia found herself looking out at things she’d been unable to experience while confined in the villa. They passed through the marketplace, alive with the sounds of goats bleating, birds squawking, and merchants calling out for people to buy their wares. She smelled the bread, hung in long narrow loaves, and the tangy fragrance of onions and garlic. Baskets of crisp apples, juicy plums, and quinces lent their colors to the variety of foods. Claudia had never seen such bounty.

  The coach stopped in the shade while the captain bought white bread, olive oil, some honey to mix with wine, hazelnuts, grapes, and two apples and brought them to the coach.

  On the road, villagers stepped aside to let the coach and soldiers pass. Some glanced up, their eyes wary. Others gazed at the ornate wagon with open curiosity. They didn’t know who was in the coach, but it was someone important.

  Claudia wrinkled her nose. The heavy smell of fish filled the coach as they passed the fish market.

  Her grandmother was keeping a close eye on her and, when Claudia was on the verge of tears again, would point out something for her granddaughter to observe.

  “The sea is so vast, and so many shades of blue. It is calm now, but when the storms come up, it can be hard on a ship, for the waves are very large.”

  The wind drafts from the Tyrrhenian Sea wafted through the coach. Claudia lifted her chin, remembering the times she had smelled the sea from the window of her room. Once the road passed so close to the shore she could see the waves crashing on the beach.

  “How far must we travel, Grandmother? It is so hot.”

  “As I recall, when I came from Rome to Reggio, it was around five hundred kilometers. It will take several days of travel.” Scribonia sniffed. “We will get there tomorrow at this speed!”

  The captain drove his men at a steady pace. The roads, the pride of Rome and succeeding emperors, were relatively smooth. The large stones that topped the clay and gravel bed had been fitted carefully, sloping down from the center so rain would run off.

  They passed mansios, where fresh horses could be procured, but the captain did not stop. He kept up his pace until they reached a second mansio, offering food and lodging.

  The next morning, after little sleep, Scribonia combed Claudia’s hair and bound it up in a knot at the nape of her neck. After a very unsatisfying breakfast, they were glad to be on the road again.

  Her grandmother took something on a chain out of her cloth bag and held it out to Claudia. It was a ring of bright silver in which two vines intertwined. Two small emeralds imbedded glittered in the sunlight.

  “Your mother had a premonition and asked me to give this to you if anything happened to her.”

  Claudia looked down at the ring. “It is beautiful.” Something to remember her mother by. “I’ve never seen her wear this.”

  “She had her own reasons.” Her eyes held Claudia’s. “It was given to her by your father.”

  Claudia’s eyes widened. “My father? Who was he, Grandmother?” She leaned forward and waited.

  “I truly don’t know, child. There were other men besides Gracchus, Claudia, do not set your heart on one. Keep this to yourself. If anyone asks, say only it was a gift from your mother.”

  Claudia sighed and nodded her head, finger
ing the ring as she looked out the window of the coach. She would keep it forever.

  When they stopped again to rest the horses, Claudia was grateful to be able to stretch her legs and let Felix sniff around in the grass. Some of the younger soldiers looked at her and whispered among themselves. Coarse laughter followed and she felt uncomfortable. Other than Cato, she had not been around men. Her mother made sure she was in her room or the garden when a Roman soldier was in the villa.

  Scribonia took her arm and drew her away into a small copse of trees to relieve herself. As they approached the coach again, Claudia kept her eyes down and, picking Felix up, quickly climbed into the coach.

  “Why do they look at me like that, Grandmother?”

  “Because you no longer have the body of a child, Claudia. Have you not noticed?”

  Claudia looked down. She had been aware she was no longer flat-chested but had no means to look at herself further.

  “You have experienced the time of women. You are young, but your body is now capable of carrying a child. In two years you will be married.” She gave a huff of irritation. “At least I hope Tiberius will see to that for you.”

  The next mansio where they stopped for the night had a little more to offer. When the innkeeper saw the ornate coach, he gave them his finest room and brought out his best meal—broiled fish and fresh fruit, along with the white bread Claudia enjoyed.

  Scribonia looked carefully around their room for any signs of the unwanted creatures she’d seen in the last mansio and couldn’t find even a spiderweb. She nodded with satisfaction, and this time they got a good night’s sleep.

  Before they left, her grandmother spoke to the captain about the men staring at Claudia. He listened and walked over and ordered his men to look the other way when the girl was out of the coach. The threat of the emperor’s displeasure was enough to deter them.

  After two days of being shaken by the rapid pace of the coach, Scribonia finally approached the captain.

  ”We travel with great haste. Is it to deliver us in as short a time as possible or do you fear we are in danger somewhere along the road?”