by Kirsty Ferry
The two men left the fort and headed down to the temple. The path was slippery with the rain that had fallen earlier that day and Marcus knew the temple would feel damp and cold once they were inside it. It never seemed welcoming when there were no people in it. Aemelia hated the place. He had taken her down to it once, to show her what he believed in. She loved Coventina’s Well and adored the Shrine to the Water Nymphs, so he thought she would like the temple. He was wrong. She had refused to enter it, shaking her head as Marcus paused at the door, ready to open it for her.
‘No, I do not want to come in. It is a horrible place,’ she had said, pulling her arm away from his and walking deliberately away from the temple and towards the Water Nymph shrine. ‘I shall wait here. Anyway, I am sure women are not allowed in your temple.’
‘Well, no. They are not usually allowed in,’ said Marcus frowning. ‘But I think the men would make an exception for you, just so you can see what it is like inside. You are the Commandant’s daughter, after all.’
‘Yes, and we are a Christian family,’ said Aemelia. ‘Don’t think I haven’t heard the whispered comments or the complaints about us. I am invisible to a lot of these men. They think because I am a young woman I do not understand them. But I do. They would rather we had not come to your Carrawburgh.’
‘I don’t feel like that!’ cried Marcus walking up to her. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. ‘Truly. I am happy that you are here. Perhaps more happy than you know.’
Aemelia had ducked her head, but not before he had seen her smile.
‘I know you are happy, Prefect,’ she said. ‘As I am happy to be here. But it does not make this awful building any more bearable. Even if it is important to you.’
‘It is important to me. Of course it is,’ said Marcus looking over his shoulder at the building. Then he turned back to face Aemelia. He looked down at her, his eyes softening. ‘But not as important as you are. If you feel uncomfortable here, I shall not go in. We can go back to the vicus and find something to eat or drink. I don’t want you to feel like that.’
Aemelia smiled at him and squeezed his hands.
‘Thank you, but you don’t have to avoid it because of me. It is such a dark, eerie place. It just feels wrong to me,’ she said.
‘Sssh. No. We will leave. Don’t worry about it,’ said Marcus. ‘Come on.’ He dropped her hands and offered her his arm. She took it and smiled up at him.
‘Thank you,’ she said. He smiled down at her and they began to walk away from the temple, up towards the vicus.
When they had disappeared over the hill, the heavy wooden door of the temple cracked open. The Leo who had been making an offering to Mithras had heard Marcus. He watched to make sure they weren’t coming back, then closed the door and sat down inside the temple. The Corax perhaps needed his next initiation now more than ever. He might mention it to the Pater, he thought. Just so the Corax was gently brought back into the fold. It wouldn’t do any harm.
Marcus pushed open the door of the temple and looked into the gloom.
‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Are there any servants of Mithras here? Any men who are willing to do their duty to the sun god?’ Nothing answered him except a black silence. He waited a moment until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, then beckoned Janus inside. ‘Come. We will leave a message and hope that the Pater finds it in his heart to answer you.’
Janus nodded, silhouetted in the grey light outside the door.
‘Thank you for coming with me,’ he whispered, squeezing in beside Marcus who still held the door open. Marcus pushed a block of stone against the door to prop it open so some light filtered through. ‘In the name of the gods...’ muttered Janus looking around him. ‘It is nothing like I expected.’
‘What did you expect?’ laughed Marcus. ‘It is a temple. That is all.’
‘But it is like a cave; it is a sacred cave!’ said Janus, his voice echoing around the building.
‘Yes. Mithras was born from a rock within a cave,’ said Marcus. ‘That is why we worship in places like these. Come. Let us leave the message and go. It is never very pleasant when there is nobody else around. It is very different when we have a ceremony. You will see. Now – here is the chest which contains the writing equipment. Write your message and I shall place it where the Pater will find it.’
Janus took the stylus and the wax tablet from Marcus. The tablet consisted of two frames of wood laced together, filled with wax. Any messages could be written then erased, and this preserved the secrecy of the contents. Janus thought for a moment, tapping the stylus on the stone altar.
‘No. Janus. Not the altar. Please, don’t tap on the altar,’ said Marcus, stifling a laugh.
‘Oh! Oh dear. I am sorry,’ said Janus, looking horrified. ‘Forgive me Mithras!’ He moved away from the altar and bent over a stone bench. He scraped his message into the wax tablet and folded it up with a small thud. He handed it to Marcus, along with the stylus. Marcus replaced the stylus in the chest and felt around in the wall. All the cult members had access to this secret area. They were bound to read the messages as part of their duty, and also to act upon them as necessary.
‘Ah!’ said Janus. ‘I knew it! Yet it is hardly the cursus publicus is it?’ He was referring to the very efficient postal system. Messages and dispatches were sent through various messengers and various postal houses along the route to their destination. In extreme cases, one messenger had to travel throughout the whole empire, stopping at these places on the way for a change of horse and a bed for the night. Less important mail came via oxen and changed hands frequently along the route. Marcus snorted with suppressed laughter and dislodged a large, rectangular brick. He reached into the gap and his fingers touched something hard and cold. Someone had already left a tablet there. Marcus pulled it out and put Janus’ tablet in its place.
‘Excuse me for one moment,’ Marcus said. ‘Cursus publicus it may not be, but it serves our purpose. Let me read this.’
Marcus took the tablet to the doorway and opened it up in the light, leaving Janus staring around the temple in awe, fingering things here and there.
‘Leave the artefacts alone,’ called Marcus, his eyes never leaving the tablet. He heard Janus apologise again, but he was more interested in the wax tablet. What he saw made his heart beat faster.
Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex. The Pater decrees that you shall be initiated to the rank of Nymphus, the bridegroom. Your protecting deity from that day forth shall be Venus. This ceremony is to take place on the market day in March. This is the second time the Pater has decreed your initiation. It has been observed that you did not attend the original ceremony, although the information was displayed for you in good time. Remember – you are a servant of Mithras and as such should do his bidding. There will be no third chance.
Marcus wasted no time in returning to the chest and seizing the stylus. He wrote his acknowledgement of the message on the bottom of the tablet, frowning as he pushed the tablet back into the hole and replaced the brick. It was market day today. He dreaded to think what might have happened had he not visited the temple with Janus.
‘You scare me, my friend,’ said Janus, opening his eyes wide. ‘Did that tablet contain bad news?’
‘It was good news,’ said Marcus. ‘And it may also prove good news for you. Soon, the cult of Mithras will need a new Corax. Your request could not have been timed better.’
‘Are you certain of this?’ asked Janus, clutching the top of Marcus’ arms. ‘Truthfully? You think I may be called upon?’
‘You may be,’ said Marcus. ‘I have much to thank you for, my friend. Had I not come here today with you, things may have been very different. I have missed an important ceremony. Yet I must apologise to you as well. You could have been initiated much sooner had I not been so lax in my duties.’ Marcus was mentally thanking the gods for guiding him to the temple today. But he was puzzled and confused. How had he missed the ceremony? When had he neglected his duties and
not entered the temple? Then he remembered; it was the day he had brought Aemelia down and she had refused to enter the building. That had been another auspicious day in the Roman calendar. He was willing to bet his last few denarii that his original ceremony had been planned for then. It had been instilled in him that he must not neglect his duties, he must follow orders and act upon things promptly. Mithras would not wait for him.
‘You must not tell anyone of this development,’ Marcus said to Janus. ‘It is secret. You understand that, don’t you?’
Janus nodded.
‘I shall not breathe a word,’ he said.
Marcus clapped him on the back and walked towards the wooden door. He bent down and moved the stone away from the door, ushering Janus out in front of him. Janus walked back to the fort with an extra swagger in his step and Marcus followed him, checking his leather pouch again. He still had time before the meeting with the Commandant. He still had time to see Aemelia and give her the gift. And he must return to the temple later for his initiation.
The two men headed back to the fort, both thinking their own thoughts about the Mithraic Cult. Marcus saw a figure bundled up in furs flitting around the market stalls, fingering the jewellery on display and chatting to the traders. Keeping a respectable distance, was her slave. ‘Excuse me, my friend,’ said Marcus. ‘There is something I need to attend to in the vicus.’ He broke away from Janus and took the pathway into the village. Janus watched him walk off and approach the girl at the jewellery stall. He stood for a minute or so, seeing the body language between the couple and the dismissal of the slave. Marcus and Aemelia – for that was who Janus knew it was – disappeared into the crowd, and eventually Janus turned back towards the fort.
AD 391
‘Aemelia, would you mind if we went somewhere a little less crowded?’ asked Marcus. ‘Marcus! I did not expect to see you here today,’ said Aemelia. ‘But I must say, it is a very pleasant surprise. Olivia, you are dismissed for the moment. Give me some time with this Prefect; we have business to discuss.’ A red-headed slave-girl bowed and stepped aside, holding the basket of goods Aemelia had bought. Marcus nodded at the slave-girl, and guided Aemelia away from the jewellery stall with a light touch on her arm.
‘You have a different companion today,’ he said. ‘Where is Syrus?’
‘Father has use of him elsewhere. I now have Olivia to protect me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘The girl is simple. She does what I tell her to do.’ Marcus laughed.
‘I prefer you to be guarded by Syrus,’ he said. ‘He is a good man. I can tell. He would never leave you on your own with a soldier.’
‘Syrus was my shadow,’ smiled Aemelia. ‘It was very inconvenient. Sometimes, I like to be free.’
‘It is good to be free. But you also need to be safe,’ replied Marcus.
‘I have no fear of anybody here!’ cried Aemelia. ‘I do not need a babysitter. Syrus used to lurk around in the shadows, watching me. He never let me go far on my own. You know that as well as I do. I would often see little leaves waving around in the bushes, or hear twigs snapping. It was all so annoying!’
‘Syrus is a good man,’ laughed Marcus. ‘He would never risk any harm coming to you. You are too precious. But then, I am pleased Olivia has left us. You need not fear me.’ He took Aemelia through an alleyway between two houses and they came out behind the buildings. Aemelia could hear water trickling gently behind some trees and followed Marcus as he pushed his way through a gap in the greenery. She gasped in wonder and looked around her
‘Where is this place?’ she asked. ‘I did not know this existed!’ They were standing in a small garden area. A fountain stood in the middle of a pebbled square, and statues were dotted around the four edges. It was too early in the year for flowers, but Aemelia knew that come the summer months, the place would be a profusion of blooms.
‘Do you like it?’ asked Marcus. ‘It belongs to Aelia and her sisters. Look; this is the back of their home.’ He pointed to one of the walls which formed the square. ‘They keep it as a kind of secret place; a trysting garden, if you like. Only a few people know about it.’ He smiled. ‘I shall confess that this is not the first time I have visited this place, but it is the first time I have brought anyone special here.’
‘Am I special?’ asked Aemelia. Feeling bold, she moved closer. She took his hands in hers. Without taking her eyes off him, she raised his hands to her lips and kissed them. ‘I hope I am special to you,’ she said.
‘More special than you can imagine, dear Aemelia,’ he answered. He couldn’t even think about blaming her for missing his initiation ceremony; he knew he would have done the same again. No, he could only blame himself for that one. He should have returned to the temple without her later on. It had been his own fault.
Their hands still together, Marcus drew Aemelia towards him and returned the kiss; but this time he kissed her on the lips. When they finally drew apart, Aemelia opened her eyes and smiled up at Marcus.
‘Well, now. That was rather unexpected,’ she said. ‘I think I like this trysting garden.’ She looked around her again; the colours seemed less grey, the tinkling of the water more magical then before. ‘I always thought Coventina’s Well would be our special place,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘It is where we first met, after all.’
‘No, I believe Carrawburgh was our first meeting place,’ smiled Marcus. Aemelia wrinkled her nose.
‘Perhaps. But somewhere like the Well has a far better memory for me. That is where you first spoke to me. And here; this is where you first kissed me.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘I don’t suppose you would like to do it again?’ she asked.
‘I could easily be convinced,’ murmured Marcus and bent down to her once more. Aemelia gave herself up to him willingly, knowing that nobody would disturb them in the garden. She had been attracted to soldiers before, it was only natural; but Marcus was the first one she had ever felt like this about. It was like she had come home, like the missing part of her suddenly slotted into place. But with the realisation came a kind of sorrow. Marcus was a Pagan, and one of her father’s troops as well. She could see no easy way to build on this relationship. What sort of future would they have together? She shook her head to clear her thoughts, trying to dampen them down so she didn’t spoil the moment for herself.
‘Dear Marcus,’ she whispered and laid her head on his shoulder, resting it in the crook of his neck. ‘What will become of us, do you think?’ Marcus lifted his hand and stroked her dark hair. It was thick and springy beneath his fingers, and he stared out over the garden as he considered her question.
‘Truthfully, I do not know,’ he said eventually. ‘But I want you to have something, so whatever happens in the future, you can look at it and remember me and Carrawburgh and this garden. Would you accept a gift from me?’ Aemelia pulled away from him.
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I would be honoured to accept a gift from you.’
Marcus smiled and opened the leather pouch he had tied around his waist.
‘I had it made especially,’ he said, smiling at Aemelia. ‘I hope you like it.’
Marcus put his hand into the pouch and brought out a tiny, golden ring. Aemelia gasped, the delicately carved item incongruous in his strong, weather-worn hand. A design had been punched in the ring to form a string of letters. Aemelia hesitated for a moment, then picked the ring out of Marcus’ palm. She turned it over and spelled out the letters. AEMELIA ZESES.
‘Aemelia may you live,’ whispered Aemelia. ‘It is beautiful! And so precious. Thank you!’ She kissed Marcus again. ‘But tell me; why zeses? That is Greek! You are from the Germanic regions, are you not?’
Marcus nodded.
‘I am from the Germanic regions,’ he said. ‘But my craftsman friend tried to translate our Latin word vivas into Greek, then back again.’ He shrugged and suddenly laughed at the thought. ‘I do not know why! But, whatever he did it for, that is the reason for zeses. I thought you would like it; doesn’t vivas in d
eo mean may you live in God? I am hoping that your God will protect you and help you in all you endeavour to do, as my gods and goddesses protect me. Go on. Put it on. Just on that delicate, smallest finger of yours. It is a token of my love for you. I hope you receive it in the spirit in which it was given.’ He bowed at her solemnly and she giggled. She held up her right hand and flexed the little finger.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘You have an eye for jewellery, Sir. Or did someone else advise you on what to buy? Your friend Janus, for instance. He seems to be a popular choice of companion for the ladies in the vicus.’
‘Ah yes, my good friend Janus. No, it was not his idea. But you are right. The ladies in the vicus look forward to Janus having free time. If we could stop him gambling, he could spend even more time with them.’
‘Perhaps he gambles to control the hordes?’ suggested Aemelaia with a smile. ‘If he is gambling, he cannot amuse the ladies.’
‘Very true,’ agreed Marcus. ‘But enough of Janus. I want to speak of Aemelia.’
‘What do you want to speak to her of?’ teased Aemelia.
‘I just want to know whether she feels the same about me as I do about her. If I know that, at least I can carry some hope with me into the future.’
‘She does feel the same,’ whispered Aemelia. ‘But neither of us knows what the future will hold.’
‘Do you believe that we can change the future?’ asked Marcus, taking her face in his and running his thumbs down the side of it tenderly. Aemelia closed her eyes and caught a tiny breath.
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated. ‘But please, let us not spoil the present with such talk...’ Her words died on her lips as Marcus kissed her again, more deeply and slowly than before. He drew away eventually.
‘In a few years I will have left the army. Maybe then, if it is meant to be, our gods will guide us. I can wait,’ he said.
‘As can I,’ whispered Aemelia, and gave herself up to the moment, driving all thoughts of the future away.
