The Fire Waker

by Ben Pastor

  Satisfied with our mission, we began heading back. It is worth noting that beyond the border, the villagers are frightened stiff of us as long as we are there; when we cross back over, they fear the barbarians. That is not new. Rather, I do not like their mood, their half-words; something tells me there may be an uprising planned for much earlier than we expect. My report to headquarters will be in that vein.

  Early this morning, on an inhabited knoll at the edge of a woodland, overlooking the river, the gathered elders let themselves be interrogated, but only after promises of money backed with threats. The intelligence gained is incomplete but will provide a few tesserae to the large mosaic. More: These days out, so frantic and removed from the stagnation on the rear of the front, have brought me close to a solution to the murders, against which I battered my thick Pannonian head for weeks. Clues too small and too large to notice finally coalesced, and I could kick myself for taking so long. How far from the truth can a man find himself, misreading all the signals that Fate and his own determination place in his lap? In a purely coincidental way, the Greek verse scratched on the wall of the Old Baths clinched it for me: "Woe, woe, look, look! Keep away the bull from the heifer" — it is Aeschylus' s Agamemnon. When I passed by, in my haste to see the place where Marcellus had been killed, I ignored the suggestion implicit in the words from that ancient play. To think that I could recite it by heart once!

  The solution, as I have come to it, weighs on me. It is like medicine that leaves a bitter taste on the tongue. Riding to the brickyard on that first morning, it was presented to me, and I ignored it, for the next two months refusing to take it. Had I accepted its sourness, Judge Marcellus would still be alive, and also his wife, and also the idiots who went to their deaths at Mediolanum. But here we are. Because Nemorense is a watchtower not far from Ala Nova and Carnuntum, and I was in a region facing those localities, I asked my usual question. Describing Agnus and Casta as best I could, I inquired about foreign travelers who claimed to work magic. What did I say about the gods looking over us? The head of the tribal elders answered yes. In his words, a holy man has recently come from the Roman border; he works wonders; his fame has within days spread to the tribes from the Marus to the Tibiscus rivers; sheltering him is a privilege, and the barbarians will let no one harm him or try to take him away.

  Thus I understood the fire waker to be hiding nearby, in a neutral village of huts of dirt and branches built below ground, such as — I may add — one still sees in the most backward parts of my own Pannonia. "They can smell Romans from afar," the old man warned me about his barbarian neighbors, to which I did not reply that they won't smell these Romans: My men are fair-skinned northerners, drink milk as much as wine, and eat a northern diet.

  Need I say that I am going over, with a handful of my Guardsmen?

  8 February, Thursday

  Diplomatic skills, knowledge of the local dialect, and the gift of money were equally necessary for Aelius to gain access to the fire waker's sanctuary. The left bank of the Marus, close to the confluence with the Danube, was pretty much a no-man's-land, where traffickers, merchants, and deserters moved freely, and the occasional Roman patrols were not challenged as long as they left smugglers and women alone. When it didn't snow, and if one proceeded against the wind, typically one smelled hostile camps and bivouacs well in advance of seeing them. The use of hurriedly tanned pelts and large amounts of milk products gave a peculiarly rancid odor to the air. And by the time the wisps of smoke curling into tendrils above the tree line made the hostile hearths visible, usually the army had already attacked.

  The location Aelius reached at noon was halfway between a settlement and a seasonal camp. He left his Guardsmen at the outer perimeter, with strict orders not to intervene unless a direct assault was made on him. Once he'd cleared his reasons for being here with the suspicious barbarians who rushed up to him with their barking mongrels, he was allowed to proceed. They pointed to him one of the huts, outside of which a line of bundled locals huddled, hoping no doubt to catch a glimpse of the holy man.

  In the semidark interior, Agnus sat with his eyes closed, hands on his knees. Hearing the Latin speech, he opened his eyes so far as was necessary to glance at the visitor, and then rolled his pupils back under the lids, like a blind man or one inspired. If there was surprise in him, he concealed it well. Such a quick rearrangement of features followed, Aelius could not tell what role fear played in them, or spite, or wily interest in this meeting. In any case, the face turned curious and unfriendly. It was possible that superstitious Roman soldiers had already come to seek advice or help, although Aelius's countenance was hardly that of a postulant.

  "You are outside the jurisdiction of Rome, Commander."

  "Wherever a Roman sets foot, that is Rome's jurisdiction. Aside from that, if you are Agnus whom they call Pyrikaios, or the fire waker, I am here to ask questions, knowing that Christians do not lie, and to confront you with the truth."

  "The truth from an unbeliever! Are you aware that the good people here protect me?"

  "Well." Aelius stretched the extent of his striking power considerably. "The good people here can be cut down." He stood with his right side to the hut's door, ready to react in case anyone should try to barge in. "To start with, tell me what itinerary you and your assistant Casta followed from Treveri."

  Once more, surprise was ably guarded. Agnus remained seated like a tribal chief, among the rude gifts these yokels brought him to ask for miracles: jugs of mead, pelts, pieces of bronze harness stolen or stripped from Roman horses and men. "I have nothing to hide. From Treveri, through Germania Superior, I reached Castra Regina on the border. I followed the right bank of the Danube for days before finding a place to cross over. The border is well guarded, if that is your reason for asking, but God was leading me. I met with the deaconess at Astura, where Noricum becomes Pannonia. She was the one who convinced me to follow her to Carnuntum, whose bishop she said had promised to shelter us. There, because of a spy, we were nearly caught by guards. We traveled at night toward the river, and but for Our Lord's help we'd have frozen to death. At some point outside Ala Nova, we parted ways. I crossed to Barbaricum. What she did, or where she is now, I do not know."

  "Were you aware, when you crossed over, that your miracles had been exposed as frauds in Treveri?"

  Agnus's eyes stayed rolled back and white, with a trembling of lids. Smoke rising from the hearth in the middle of the hut sought the hole in the roof. Sunlight rained from above, creating evanescent blades of smoke as it met with the shadows of branches and posts. "Our Lord taught that those who truly believe do not need signs and portents."

  "But contrary to your Prophet's teachings, you decided that they do."

  "I know nothing about that. When the power of God flows through me I am not aware of anything around me."

  "A letter was sent to the Treveri authorities, accusing you of concocting with Lupus his resurrection.' There's suspicion that you killed him when for whatever reason he threatened to talk."

  This time Agnus's eyes opened for good. He was a tall man of sixty or so, and his face had the strange quality ben Matthias had described, of being forgettable. Beard, length of hair, clothing, everything about him was ordinary. How many such elders had Aelius met in his life, in all trades, across the miles? The fire waker's god must content himself with mediocrity. "I, Commander? I never even spoke to Lupus before being called to his bedside! I heard of his sad ending after I left Treveri; it was only happenstance that my departure coincided with the day of Lupus's demise. During his illness the women in his family approached the deaconess for help, and my heart was moved into acquiescing." Down went the lids, and down the corner of his mouth. "I have no commerce with women. The righteous man's soul fears their wily tongues. The deaconess is the wall I place between myself and those impure beings; she is there to shield me from the insufferable insistence of those who trouble my contemplation." The white, veined hands left the knees slowly, seeking wide-fingered
the light raining from above. "I am the vehicle of God's power, because He wants to show the difference between man and woman: a Christian man, a Christian woman—but God's power flows only through the man. How could there be a moment, as Lupus's dead body was shown to me, when in my naivete I doubted my powers? What little faith did I have in the great works God planned for me! I even suspected Casta of setting me up. As if God would let a woman I raised from idolatry serve as anything but a tool in the service of a chosen man. I have to become reconciled with the fact that I am chosen: that it is my lot to perform miracles only Our Lord and the greatest saints have accomplished."

  Yes, and have you raised any dead lately? Aelius irritably thought the words without pronouncing them. "Those arrested in Treveri testified they were given money to certify Lupus's death, and to fake his burial."

  "I repeat that I know nothing about that. It is true that I had to avail myself of occasional helpers to convince the unbelievers, as teachers use models to illustrate their lessons. What is worse: pretending to heal a false leper, or letting go of an opportunity to convert the crowds? Those who think they'll be healed are often healed: The fire is in them, and it only needs stirring. The name 'fire waker illustrates precisely what Christ himself said: 'Thy faith hath made thee whole.'"

  A wet log in the hearth hissed. Without flame, a whorl of thick smoke rose from it and filled the sunlit center of the hut. Aelius stepped aside not to lose sight of the miracle worker. "What about those who are not so sure they'll be healed?"

  "Why, there's either flame or ice, Commander: There's no such thing as a lukewarm believer. Some are stone cold. I know—I worked with their useless lot for years! Time after time, until the day I met Lupus, I stood for hours in prayer to heal a sore or relieve a fever, to no avail. But the lack was not in me: It was in them, as they did not believe. Then, in Belgica Prima, they bring to me a brick-maker's cadaver: I pray in a manner not appreciably different from the others, and the miracle blooms in front of my eyes. He rises and walks again, like Lazarus! His relatives' faith was the kindling, and I was the fire. You speak of fakery, but I tell you, it is an ineffable mystery."

  "Not according to the judges in Treveri," Aelius grumbled.

  The white hand stayed lifted, each outstretched finger trembling with tension. "What are Plato and Aristotle to the power of God, Commander? What worth has Pythagoras, who holds that women's minds are trainable as men's are? Blasphemy! I have it on the authority of the Apostle Paul. Paul clearly says that man is the image and glory of God, but woman is the glory of man. Man was made directly by God; woman was formed out of one of man's ribs. A clear matter of proportions. Thus a Christian woman's place, in her modesty, is to serve her husband and family and—if she be a consecrated virgin—to serve those who serve God. Thus the relative proportions alluded to by Paul are respected."

  "Shouldn't men then have one missing rib in their skeleton, compared to women? I never heard that they do."

  The question was ignored. Agnus's left hand went up to meet the other, thumbs joined, catching and breaking the smoky sunlight. "There are physiological facts," he added, head thrown back, lids fluttering, "that prove the truth and wisdom of Paul's statement. In our own scientific tradition, if a woman in her monthly cycle touches wine, it will turn to vinegar. She will fog mirrors so that they become unusable—better, as vanity sits in mirrors like a bitch in her lair—and kill honey bees if she passes by the hive. There's plenty more that, on the authority of the ancients, could be said in regard to such baleful influence, but it all results in the recognition of woman's impurity and unworthiness to be a minister of the faith."

  "A girl I lived with in Egypt habitually handled her mirror during her monthly time, and it seems to me that it kept its luster."

  The fire waker frowned. Only his right arm remained lifted, hand gathered in a fist except for the forefinger—the theatrical gesture Aelius had seen philosophy teachers and rhetoricians make to mark the importance of the moment. "What do you believe?"

  "With Epictetus, I believe that the sole thing that truly belongs to me is my will. For me life is a battle to be fought courageously, the cosmos is generated by fire, pain is not to be fled, and equanimity is a chief virtue."

  "Is that all?"

  "No. I also believe I am a rational animal, with a soul that possesses knowledge of the Good, because in nature there exist what Cicero called 'seeds of virtue,' and the world itself has a cohesive soul. Although I have a bit of trouble letting go of pleasure as intended between man and woman, I realize that the Logos —intended as reason—ought to triumph over all irrationality and exaltation."

  "Stoicism is only less despicable than most philosophies, Commander. Clemens of Alexandria, one of our profound thinkers, writes that philosophy was for Greeks what the law of Moses was for Jews: a preparation for the coming of Christ. Clemens himself began as a Stoic but saw the error of his ways. Pray to God that you will." Agnus joined his hands reverently. "Now, be so good as to confront me with your truth."

  Aelius had physically cut men down with less disgust. He said, "I have seen arrogance blind army men and politicians, but your conceit is monstrous. Do you really not know, Fire Waker, that there was no resurrection in Belgica Prima, and the magician is as gullible as his public? Who do you think has turned you in?"

  Notes by Aelius Spartianus, written at Gervelata, 11 February, Sunday

  My head was reeling and my stomach in revolt by the time I left Agnus. That mountain of self-importance and hypocrisy all hut sneered me out of his stinking hut. Had I not been so far from our lines, Yd have cut his throat there where he sat, the sanctimonious prig. In the face of the evidence I presented he denied it, and stands by his role in resurrecting the dead! He claims no moral responsibility in Marcellus's death, despite the inflammatory attacks and maledictions against the judge contained in his pastoral letter, which not even Protasius could justify. When he heard of the many riots and executions of Christians in his wake, he dismissed them as part of God's great plan for him. I left his lair sick at heart, asking myself why, why can't he be the murderer I seek, and Vm doomed to keep following? Still, the fire waker is a dangerous man, I am convinced of it: Were he to put it into his head that he can also he a leader of men, we could have trouble on the frontier. Dragging him before a court of law would be a move of political prevention, in addition to being an act of justice. Unfortunately, given his apparent popularity among the barbarians, this time it was not possible to abduct him with the number of men I had with me. His attitude as we parted was, "Well, what can you do about it?"

  I plan to do something about it sooner or later. This coming spring, when we attack in force, if I cannot find a way before then.

  No sooner did I return to Gervelata than another duty, at the counter-fortress of Burgus Aquae Mortae, calls me back out. A small group of experienced officers is wanted to go out alone, for a parley with leaders of the Boian and the Quadian tribes, tottering between us and the Sarmatians who breathe on their necks. A diplomatic duty, but we're to wear mail shirts and full gear. The name of the counter-fortress, Dead Water's Tower, is not the happiest, but the frontier has odd names to sell.

  Perhaps it is my contrary mood that needs lifting: God knows I have enough worries. A letter from Anubina awaited me at the post, yet I hesitate to open it, for fear of what she might tell me. I think I will read it in the field, where events are likely to distract me if it isn't welcome news.

  The weather is turning foul, as the winds blow from the north once more.

  East of Burgus Aquae Mortae, 13 February, Tuesday, first day of parentalia, feast of the dead

  The snow was small and hard; it did not stick to things and people but kept turning in the air, doubling the effect of a white mist that rabidly sought to blind and confuse. Whenever the military road ran by a clearing, the wind brought pailfuls of dusty ice against the troops escorting the negotiators. The mounts proceeded with heads low, looking down, and the men, bundled in kerchiefs
and hoods, kept their faces averted to avoid the sting of the snow. Along the river, patches of land that had been green until late in the season now disappeared under the squall; a sun so small and ghostly as to seem transparent sailed above the thin layers of clouds shredding into that mockery of a blizzard. Aelius had been through much worse storms, both in and out of Pannonia, but he never took winter weather lightly. There was no following tracks in this kind of snow, and the only good thing was that your own mount passed through unobserved. The southern troopers coughed and sniffled; some of them would be laid up in the morning.

  The four negotiators—Decimus being coincidentally the only one known to Aelius, and also the senior officer among them—rode wrapped in their capes, but loosely, so as to be able to reach for their cavalry swords immediately if need be.

  On the other bank, it was unlikely that hostiles were not watching. Parleys took place in the midst of preparing for war, and there was no telling which groups or clans at any one time would take part in one or the other. "Hostiles" was the usual term used to describe barbarians by the army in the field, regardless of the complicated nomenclature of tribes and subtribes that pertained to the crowds pressing on the border. In stories and from veterans of Aurelian's days, one heard of how the barbarians would communicate by exchanging animal calls, but in Aelius's experience that was another veterans' tale. He'd heard it done only once, and it'd been farther off anyhow, in Armenia. The sudden silence of birds in the woods, that was a signal to mind, as in nine out of ten cases it meant enemies on the move among the trees. For the rest, training made him sensitive and alert to what his senses caught, disregarding no sign but evaluating each one of them without fear. By the second morning hour, over waters running black in the ice, the negotiators crossed a fortified bridge to the burgus, a three-story tower on the perilous right bank of the Danube.