O sing the might of Aethelwredd
Who saved the child from serpent fangs.
The fangs found flesh of Aethelwredd.
Deep plunged the fangs, the death blow dealt.
O sing the might of Aethelwredd
Who dying cried a curse on curse.
O sing the greater might of she
Who heard his cries and running came
To crush the head of serpent coiled
And cut the flesh of Aethelwredd.
O sing of greater might of she
Who sucked the blood and venom mixed.
She saved the life of Aethelwredd
And gathered up her child and he
Who saved the child from evil fate.
O sing praise of Aethelwredd,
The child, the wife of strength and might.
O sing his praise who fashioned fair
The amulet of golden light.
Sing praises to the savior wife
Who wears the talisman of gold,
A circle fastening up the ones
Who dwell secure within the fold.*
*A better translation for “fold” would be “keep.” Keep, n. The strongest and most secure place in the castle; often used as a place of residence, esp. during a siege.
Bran–Father of Caradoc; former King of Siluria; arch Druid; sometimes called Bran, the blessed
Caradoc (Caractacus)–King of Siluria; father to Cynon, Linus, Ergain and Gladys Claudia
Ergain–Queen, wife of Caradoc; mother to Gladys Claudia, Cynon, Linus, and daughter Ergain
Ergain–Mother of Claudia, Linus, and Cynon
Eubulus–Simon Peter’s father-in-law; one of the seventy Jesus sent out, early preacher in Britain
Gladys (Claudia)–Youngest child of Caradoc and Ergain; wife of Rufus Pudens; mother of Timotheus, Novatus, Praxedes, and Pudentiana
Gwynedd–Servant to Gladys Claudia
Hermas–Pastor of gentile church in Rome; mentioned by Paul in his letter to the Romans
Joseph of Arimathea–Uncle to Mary, mother of Jesus; Roman decurio in Siluria; one who preached in Britain after Stephen’s martyrdom (all except the apostles were scattered abroad preaching the gospel)
Novatus–Second son of Claudia and Rufus Pudens
Onisemus–Slave
Priscilla–Mother of Saul and Rebekah by her first husband, Aaron; mother to Rufus Pudens by her second husband, Quintus Cornelius Pudens
Pudens–Rufus Pudens Pudentia, Roman Senator, husband to Claudia; son of Quintus Cornelius Pudens and his wife, Priscilla
Pudentiana–Younger daughter of Claudia and Rufus Pudens
The Builder–Unnamed architect
Timotheus–First son of Claudia and Rufus Pudens
“The Christian religion began in Britain within fifty years of Christ’s ascension.”
“Interea glaciali frigore rigenti insulae, et velut longiore terrarum secessu soli visibili non proximae verus ille Sol, non de firmamento solum temporali, sed de summa etiam coelorum arce cuncta tempora excedente, orbi universo praefulgidum sui coruscum ostentans, temppore ut scimus, summo Tiberii Caesaris, quo absque ullo impedimento ejus propagabaature religio, comminata, senatu nolente, a princepe morte dilatoribus militum ejusdem, radios suos primum indulget, id est sua praecepta Christus.”
“These islands, stiff with cold and frost, and in distant region of the world, remote from the visible sun, received the beams of light from Christ, the True Sun. He afforded his light, the knowledge of his holy precepts, in the last year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar.”
“Christianity was brought to Britain by Joseph of Arimathaa, c. A.D. 36-39.”
“Christianity was privately confessed elsewhere, but the first nation that proclaimed it as their religion and called it Christian after the name of Christ, was Britain.”
“Joseph ab Arimathea nobiio decurio in insula Avallonia cum xi.”
“Joseph of Arimathaea, the noble decurion, received his everlasting rest with his eleven associates in the Isle of Avalon.”
“The regions in Britain which the Roman arms had failed to penetrate professed Christianity for their religion.”
“When all the disciples, except the Apostles, were “scattered abroad,” after the persecution which arose about Stephen, and went “everywhere preaching the Word,” it is but natural that some of them should go to Britain, the land of the Druids, where the Roman Governors could not persecute, and where the Druids would extend to them religious toleration.”
Josephas and I walked through the fields of wheat and barley. The crops were plentiful and wel-tended. The land was lush, the soil fertile. We lifted our eyes to the green hills and lifted our voices in psalms. Josephas, has a strong voice and he sings with enthusiasm. We passed farmers tending their crops. We passed flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. We passed merchants with their carts and wagons carrying their produce into the towns.
I served as a decurio—a provincial Roman Senator in charge of the management of Rome’s mining interests in Britain. I was responsible for a fleet of ships which plied the waters of the Roman world. The ships loaded at the mines in the southernmost tip of Anglia and, from there, they carried the ore to ports around the world. I have attained both wealth and respect. I am a Jew from Ramah, the birthplace of the prophet Samuel. Ramah—also called Arimathaim. I have always tried to be an honorable man. It has been my privilege to be a member of the great Sanhedrin. I have maintained a residence in my home town, of course, but also in Jerusalem, and in Insula Avalonia in Britain. The latter community provides a respite of peace in an increasingly violent world. Not that I plan to rest.
I am a follower of The Way. It was, after all, my great nephew, the son of Mary, my brother’s daughter, who taught a new gospel, healed the sick, raised the dead, and for all his goodness was put to death in Jerusalem by Roman crucifixion. I spoke before the Sanhedrin in defense of my great nephew– all to no avail. It was I who asked the Procurator Pontius Pilate for the body. And it was in my own tomb that they laid him. Our family and all his followers were devastated by the brutality of the death. Brutality is Rome’s way, but I believe in miracles. I am a witness. It was for this my son and I walked the Silurian roads. We were going to see the king.
The road to the royal residence was lined with trees. Four small children played among them under the supervision of a nurse. As we approached, the children ran to us laughing.
Their nurse hurried behind as if to shield them from harm. “Good day to you.” I smiled. “What a lovely sight these children are. My name is Joseph and this is my son, Josephus.”
Josephus knelt down in the grass and searched his pockets. He pulled out glass beads and a ball on a string. The children gathered about him under the watchful eye of their caretaker.
The oldest boy spoke. “I’m Cynon. I’m nine and I can read. That is my brother Linus. He runs faster than anyone. The girls are Ergain–she’s five, and the little one is Gladys.”
“And how old are you, Gladys?”
The child was sucking one grubby thumb. She hid behind the skirts of her nurse and shyly poked three little fingers upright.
“Three years old. My, what a big girl you are.” Ergain looked with big eyes and forthrightly asked me,
“Are you old?”
“Well,” I cleared my throat, “yes, I am.”
“You look old. You look as old as our grandfather.”
“I’ll venture it is your grandfather that I have come to visit. Is King Bran your grandfather?”
“Yes, he is the king, but he is our dear Papa.”
The children ran toward the house, calling for their grandfather. A servant came to usher us into the salon. “Please, make yourselves comfortable here.” A second servant appeared with towels and a ewer of water with which we could wash our hands and faces. Yet another entered with a tray of bread, butter and cheese. There were cups of milk and a large bowl of berries.
King Bran entered the chamber. “Welcome, my friends. Joseph, it is good to see you again. I hear that you have settled in Siluria. What a welcomed addition to our fair land. And this must be your son.”
Josephus bowed his head in respect. “I am Josephus, sir. We have just met your grandchildren. They are beautiful.”
“Oh, yes. They are very dear to me. They are the children of my son, Caradoc. Well, young Josephus. I remember you when you were the same age as Cynon. Time has a way of changing all of us. You have grown into a fine young man. I hope you are as honorable as your father. In all our dealings, I have found him to be worthy of trust.”
“Thank you, King Bran.” I smiled my thanks. “You and your people have always been most gracious to me.”
The preliminaries over, the servants removed the trays and retired to the kitchen. It was then that Bran asked the reason for the call. “Are you here on business, then?
“No. It is something of a more important nature.”
“More important than business? Come, Joseph, surely among the Romans there is nothing more important than making money.” Bran smiled inquiringly.
“If I may, I would like to speak to you about spiritual matters.”
At that moment, Bran’s daughter appeared at the doorway. “Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” She turned to step back into the hallway.
“No, Gladys, my dear, do come in. You may remember Joseph from Ramah. He was the Roman decurio managing the mining interests in our district. He was just speaking of spiritual matters. You must come in and hear him.”
“If I am not in your way.”
“Dear lady, I would be so pleased if you would stay.”
I smiled at her. “I believe there is a very little girl playing outside under the trees who bears your name.”
“Yes, she is my niece and my namesake.” I settled myself upon the bench. “She is delightful. Now, with your permission I shall speak of the important matters I came to address. I know that you are Druid. I am so greatly impressed by your search for the truth. Your people are well-educated. Your life revolves around a great system of ritual, worship, parliament, courts, and centers of learning. I know that you believe in one God, Creator and Preserver, and of man’s high origin and final immortality. I know that you teach reverence to the Deity, abstinence from evil, and valiant behavior according to the three grand articles. The very word ‘Druid’ derives from the word ‘Truth.’”
“You are well informed, Joseph, about our beliefs.” Bran nodded. I acknowledged my host who sat with hands folded, listening intently. I continued. “Your great motto I have learned and pondered, ‘Truth against the world.’ Your great educational system is ancient in origin. I am aware that you are worshipers, not of the heavenly bodies, but of the great Creator of the Great Lights. I know that you worship the one great Supreme Being. I do not come to destroy your magnificent system. It has served you well. Rather, I come to proclaim One who declared Himself truth.”
“His name is Yeshua. He was a prophet who healed the sick and raised the dead. He proclaimed that he is the way, the truth, and the life–the very Son of God. My own people rose up against him and he was crucified. He died on a Roman cross, but on the third day he arose from the tomb that I, myself, provided. He walked among us for some days after his resurrection, and then ascended into heaven to God the Father. We were left awed and desolate. At the great feast, his chosen disciples and followers met to pray in an upper room. One of his disciples preached that day to the multitudes. I tell you the very air was alive with his words. Suddenly, there came a mighty, rushing wind and flames of fire sat upon the heads of all those who believed. It was the great Spirit of God who came that day. The very foundations of the earth seem to shake. All the followers began to speak of Yesu, and every person there from all over the world, could understand the words that were spoken. Three thousand fell on their faces before the preacher confessing their belief in the crucified One–the One who died to take away our sins. I tell you, I was there, and my poor words cannot begin to express what happened to us all. God poured out his spirit on all flesh, just as the old Jewish prophets had predicted long ago. I’m telling you, it happened. Many of the Jews are beginning to believe that he is their Messiah. I am here to proclaim him to you. He gave his life willingly that all who believe might live fully. This Yesu promises to all who will follow him life abundant and life eternal.”
Bran listened with tears in his eyes.
“Do you not know that one of our names for God is Yesu? Surely, you are speaking of him. My heart tells me that he is Truth. I believe the words you have spoken.”
I turned to the lady Gladys. “And do you also believe in this One who is Truth?”
“I believe.” Together King Bran and his daughter bowed before me to receive my blessing. I laid my hands upon their heads and lifted my heart to God in a prayer of thanksgiving. Who knew how these two might influence their world? Who knew what they might suffer?
I, Paul, an Apostle of Jesus Christ, write unto you, my mother and dearly beloved, from Arabia. I have seen the Lord. I must stay here until my way is made plain. While I was traveling to Damascus breathing curses on his followers, I was blinded by a great light. I heard the voice of the crucified One. He told me to go into the city and wait. A certain man, Ananias by name, saw a vision. He was told that he was to care for me because I am God’s chosen vessel to bear his name before the gentiles, to the Jews, and to kings. He also said that I would suffer. When Ananias came to me, he called me “Brother Saul,” and I received my sight. I preached in the synagogues in Damascus. The Jews rose up against me, whereupon I escaped to Jerusalem. The believers would not receive me until they were convinced that I had been transformed. I do not know how long I shall tarry here. I am no longer Saul, but Paul. I bear witness that whereas once I persecuted followers of Christ, I now proclaim him Lord. He died and rose again that all who believe might have eternal life. Greet Rebbekah and little Aaron. Greet Rufus, my brother. May every tongue confess him whose name is above every name, and who gives life to everyone who believes.
“Penitus religionem Druidarum abolevit Claudius.”
“Claudius declared Druidism a capital offence.”
“The Druids teach that by none other way than the ransoming of man’s life by the life of man is reconciliation with the Divine Justice of the Immortal Gods possible.”
A group of children, my child among them, sat in a semi-circle. The priest, dressed in his white robe, stood before them. He asked questions of the children. They answered him by rote. The little ones recited their lessons in a high-pitched, sing-song unison. There is nothing more important in our land than the education of our children. From the earliest age, students memorize the triads. Holding up three fingers, the priest intoned, “What are the three duties of every man?” The children responded, “The three duties of every man are: to worship God, to be just to all men, and to die for your country.”
“What three things should all men love?”
“There are three things all men should love: He that loves the face of mother nature; he that loves rational works of art; and he that looks lovingly on the faces of little children.”
“Very good. What three things came into being at once?”
“The three things that came into being at once are: light, men, and moral choice.”
The triads are reminders of the great triune God of the Druids. We encourage the children to memorize. Our tribal bards can recite the genealogies of every member of the community back into the far reaches of time–a stunning accomplishment. Memorization sharpens the mind and encourages logical thought. I am proud of my children. Gladys is my youngest. She loves her lessons. Formal schooling begins at the age of five, but Gladys began learning as soon as she could talk. I was her first teacher. When Gladys was a baby I often held up three fingers and counted: one, two, three. Before she was a year old, she could hold up her own fingers for me to count.
Gladys is fascinated by the small circle of three golden petals I wear. It is a part of her earliest memory, as it was a part of mine. I loved it when it glittered in the sunlight, or when it caught the firelight’s gleam in winter’s cold as I rested my head on my mother’s breast. When my child is fifteen, I shall give it to her.
“Where did you get it, Mama?”
“From my mother.”
“Where did your mother get it?”
“From her mother.”
“What makes it shine?”
“It’s made of gold.”
“It goes around and around and around.”
“Yes, little one. It’s like the sun, like the moon, like grandmother to mother to daughter.” The amulet has passed through the family from mother to last daughter for as long as anyone can remember.
The priest continued the day’s lesson, “What do we know of the universe?”
“The universe is infinite; out of himself the creator created it; the creator now pervades it and rules it.”
“What is the essence of the creator?”
“The essence of the creator is pure light. He is called the one without darkness. His real name is mystery and so is his nature.”
“Who is the Supreme Being?”
“He is creator to the past, savior and preserver in the present, and recreator in the future.”
“Let us stand and repeat our motto three times.” The children stood straight and tall. They placed their hands over their hearts and repeated together, “Truth against the world. Truth against the world. Truth against the world.”
“Very good. You recited well today, children.” They lined up to receive their teacher’s blessing. He placed his hands on each child’s head and murmured a prayer.
Gladys ran to me. We walked the path toward home.
“Tell me the story about the flood, Mama.”
“Oh, that’s one of my favorite stories. I heard it from my grandfather when I was a little girl. Once, there were many animals and people on the earth, but the people were not good. The Creator was not pleased and so the rains came on the earth. It rained so much that it covered the trees and the mountains. Everything was destroyed. But there was one good family who built a boat. They saved all the members of their family and many plants and animals. When the rains stopped and the waters subsided, the whole world was washed clean. And the good family and all the animals came out to live in the new world.”
“Tell me about when the world was all ice.” Gladys held tightly to my hand.
“The sun went to war against the heavens. The sun was so unhappy that he hid himself and all the earth grew cold. It was so cold that everything was covered with ice—the trees, the grass, the rivers, and the lakes. One day, the sun appeared again and the earth was soon filled with green trees, and birds, and flowers once again.”
“It’s like winter and spring, mama. When the ice melts, the flowers bloom.”
“That’s right. What a smart girl you are.” I smiled into my child’s eyes. “We must be gentle with the earth. All of our food comes from the ground. We must help take care of all the creatures.”
“And all trees and flowers.”
I love to teach my child life lessons. She is so eager to learn. I want her to know about our family. I want her to know that people in our community, not kin to her by blood, are nevertheless, related to her. I want her to know that among our race, there is a kinship of heart, intellect, and spirit. She must learn that all gentle folk are related in love.
Learning is of such importance. I can still recite lessons from my own childhood: “What are the three ways man differs from God? Man is finite–God is infinite. Man has a beginning–God, none. Man changes–God is unchanging. Without freedom of will, there is no humanity. Man is master of his own spiritual destiny. Man can choose good or evil.”
I want my children to grow up knowing they are valued. They are growing up with stability of family, affirmation of personhood, and the discipline of study. I want my children to love learning. I want them to place a high value on education. Above all, I want them to have a nobility of spirit, a desire to search for truth, and a reverence for life.
My children love the annual religious celebrations. The vernal festival falls on the first day of May. I climb the hills with my four little ones and watch the celebration of the rebirth of life after the ice and snow. We delight in the flowers the girls wear in their hair. We watch the graceful, intricate dances and sing and clap our hands to the music. Spring comes to us accompanied by the playing of the flute—bright notes that shimmer in the air like drops of water. In autumn our family participates in the harvest festivals when the crops are in. We offer a portion in the high place to the Supreme Being. Autumn is beautiful in Siluria. It is the season of crisp air and rising mists. Trees turn to gold, red, and rust, and the apples are heavy and sweet with juice. We love the midwinter festival, too, always white with frost and snow, when the archdruid himself gathers mistletoe from high up in the branches of the trees.
We worship at the high places—the temples open above and on every side. The huge temple stones are so old their surfaces are soft with moss and lichen. Those stones were brought from far away in ancient times–so ancient that no one remembers just how they arrived at their present site. Our national religious processions are led by our priests resplendent in their canonicals of white and gold. Most of all, we pay homage to the benign and gentle Deity who watches over us all, who blesses the earth with abundance, and who is truth and goodness.
When Joseph and the other Apostles came to Siluria from across the sea to preach the new religion, it sounded very much like what we had always believed, so that there was not so much a turning away from the old and an embracing of the new, but rather, an instant recognition and affirmation of the Truth as it was now more fully revealed to us. It was not a violent ripping away of the old beliefs. It was rather a gentle merging and transforming of a basic foundation of love into Love.
“The British Isles which are beyond the sea, and which lie in the ocean, have received the virtue of the Word. Churches are there founded and altars erected. Though thou shouldst go to the ocean, to the British Isles, there thou shouldst hear all men everywhere discoursing matters out of the Scriptures, with another voice, indeed, but not another faith, with a different tongue but the same judgment.”
“The apostles passed beyond the ocean to the isles called the Brittanic Isles.”
I am old. I’ve lived more than sixty years. My hair and beard are white with age and my skin is wrinkled. I sat in the shade of an oak sipping cool water from a nearby spring. Lucas, my companion, sat beside me on the ground.
“How far to the market square?” Lucas called out to a passing farmer.
“Not far,” came the answer. “Go down that road. You should be there when the sun is high.” The man gave a wave and continued on his way.
“Do you think you can walk it, Eubulus?”
I smiled. “Do you think I’ve never walked before? I’ve been walking since I was a baby of two and that’s been many a year.”
“It has that.” Lucas laughed as he helped me to my feet. We brushed grass and dirt off our garments and fell into step together. “Tell me what it was like to follow Jesus,” said Lucas.
“I’ve told you that story over and over. Do you really want to hear it again?”
“I never get tired of it. Tell about the time He sent you out.”
“Yes. Well, there were seventy of us. We were just common folks–fishermen, farmers, tradesmen–no one special, you know. He sent us out two by two. He said it was good to have a partner so that if one got into trouble, the other could pull him out. He said we were not to take any money with us. He said God would provide for our needs. He said we were not even to take any extra clothes. We were not to take a walking stick. You talk about faith. We had to have it. He said that people would receive us gladly, and if there were some folks who didn’t want to listen to what we had to say, we were just to shake off the dust of our sandals and leave that place and go on to the next where we would have a good reception. I tell you, it was amazing. We never went hungry. We never wanted for something to eat. We always found a place to sleep. Sometimes we slept with the farm animals, but we made out just fine. People were eager to hear the good news. Once we met a woman who had just taken fresh baked bread out of the oven. We preached to her about the Bread of life. She opened her heart to believe and then she gave us bread for our journey. We would knock on a door and explain to the folks that Jesus said he was the Door. They would stop whatever they were doing and they would listen to us and pray with us to receive our words. I tell you, it was as if the great Spirit of God went before us and prepared the way. I’ve been preaching ever since. Now, I’m not the preacher that my son-in-law is. That Simon Peter can preach the ears off a camel–and get him to believe, too. No, I’m not the preacher he is. Once I get started telling my story, it is hard to stop. I tell you, I remember when the Lord called him–you know, Simon, from his fishing business. He had several boats and he had men working for him. Well, along came Jesus one day and said that Simon was to follow and he did. And he took his wife with him. Yes sir, my daughter, Perpetua, went with him. Off they went first all over Gallilee. For three years they traveled with him everywhere. There were twelve men especially chosen and there were women who went along to help out. Finally, they all went up to Jerusalem. Right up to the day he was put on that Roman cross, they went. Well, if truth be told, it was my daughter and the other women from Gallilee that followed all the way to the cross.”
I shook my head. “It was a terrible time. During the trials, Simon denied the Lord, just like Jesus told him he would. Simon never believed he was capable of doing such a thing until it happened. It just about broke his heart and he has spent the rest of his life trying to make up for it. Simon is a good man. He’s always been a little quick-tempered, but he’s a good man–and a good preacher. When he tells what Jesus did for him, and that he saw the Lord after he came back from the dead, I tell you, it is a powerful message.”
“It is the power of the Spirit of God.” Lucas pointed ahead. “Look, Eubulus. I think that must be the place up ahead. Let us pray that they will receive us today as others have received you in the past.”
We stopped on the road and I prayed, “Oh, Lord, You have entrusted us with carrying your word to these gentiles. Open hearts today, Lord, that our words might find a good lodging. In Christ’s name we pray.”
Lucas added, “Amen.”
We approached the market square. We stood in the middle and announced, “We come as friends. We are followers of The Way. Come and hear our message.” The people gathered–men, women, children. I looked at the children in the crowd.
“We come from far across the ocean. I came to your country on a ship with big sails and lots of mice.”
The children laughed delightedly.
“And did you bring a mouse with you?” asked one small boy.
“No, but I fed some of my bread to a mouse who became quite friendly with me.”
“You should have brought him with you. We would give him some of our bread.” The crowd clapped and laughed.
“The next time, I’ll bring a mouse. Today I will tell you a true story. There is a man named Jesus who is the son of the true God. He was kind and good. He loved everyone– poor people, little children, even sinners. He would go into a town and everyone would come out to hear him. I often heard him teach. I saw many wonders and miracles. He healed my wife when she was so sick with fever she couldn’t lift her head up. When Jesus came into our house, he laid his hand on her brow, and the fever left her immediately. She got up and fixed dinner for us all. It was a good dinner too. I can’t tell you how many sick people Jesus healed. He even raised people from the dead. He was truly a miracle worker. People came from far and near and brought their sick children. One woman who had been bent over double for almost twenty years was healed by him one day. She could barely walk before she met Jesus. After she was healed, she danced for joy. Another woman was healed just by touching the him of his robe. I tell you, it was wonderful to see. People flocked to hear him teach. He had a new way of looking at life. Instead of just keeping the rules, he said that it is what is in our hearts that really matters. My family has been connected to Jesus from the time he began to preach and teach and heal. My son-in-law was one of twelve men Jesus chose. Both he and my daughter were his followers. Men came to him and asked the question, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’”
“And what was the answer?” someone shouted.
“Once, he said that we must be born again–born of the Spirit. He told one young man that he had to sell everything he had, but that was because the man was too much concerned with what he owned–or what owned him. To inherit eternal life, you just have to believe that Jesus really was God’s very own Son, and that when He died, it was because he loved you. And when we do that, our hearts are never the same again, and we learn to love like Jesus did. Even a child can believe in Jesus. I remember once that there were mothers who brought their children to him for his blessing. His followers wanted to turn them away, but Jesus told them to let the children come to him. And when they ran to him, he put his hands on their heads, he looked into their eyes, and he blessed them with his love.”
Children came pushing their way through the crowd, elbowing adults and stepping on their feet. The oldest child stepped up to me and spoke in a clear voice. “My name is Linus. I believe in Him.” The child had deep blue eyes and a shock of hair that was as golden as a field of wheat. “I’m going to be his follower.” I nodded and put my hands on his head in blessing. A girl almost as tall as he stood beside him. She spoke confidently. “I believe the stories you told about Jesus.”
“And what is your name, child?”
“Ergain.” I smiled at her, put my hand on her head, and murmured a prayer. At last, the smallest girl whispered, “I wish I could give him a hug. I love him.”
“And your name, dear?”
“Gladys.” It was so softly spoken I had to bend to hear her. I put my hand on her head. She tilted her chin upward and looked at me with shining eyes. In that moment, I thought of his teaching: Unless we become like little children, we will not enter the kingdom of heaven.
From Paul, an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, to my beloved mother who is my sister in the faith, from the church that is in Lydia’s house: I greet you in the name of the Lord. Young Timothy is with me. I give thanks for the Lord Christ who works in him. In Troas, I saw a vision. A man of Macedonia, called to us to come over and help. We set sail and by the power of the Spirit of God, we came to Philippi. On the Sabbath day we found women praying by the river. Lydia, a wealthy woman, brought us into her own house where we proclaimed Christ unto her. She and her household received our words with joy. We have suffered imprisonment, beatings, and deprivation. We do so gladly for the glory of the Lord Christ who has cleansed us from all unrighteousness. We find rest in Lydia’s house. May the God of all righteousness give you peace and comfort and strengthen you in your time of suffering. Greet all the brethren in your house.
I open my eyes in the half light. I see Gwynedd moving around the room, laying out the ritual garments. Now, suddenly, I am wide awake. This day I shall be officially ushered into the clan.
“Is my father in from the field?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and kick the covers aside.
“Yes, my lady. The king arrived late last night.” Gwynedd held a robe warmed by the open fire for me.
“Poor man. He was so weary. He barely touched his food. Here, my lady, put on this robe. You mustn’t catch a chill.” Gwynedd was present at my birth and has taken care of me all my life.
“Thank you, Gwynedd. Please tell my mother I’m awake. Then you may call the women.”
“Yes, my lady.” She pushed the draperies aside. It is customary for the wise women of the clan to gather for the anointing just as the first rays of the sun appear on the horizon. Their incantations hold special power at daybreak. The official ceremony will take place at noon in the high place of worship. All the members of the community will be there, but this ceremony is for the women. It will be held in my bedchamber. When girls turn fifteen the wise women gather to bestow their blessing. No one remembers just when this custom began. It is very old—as old as the earth. My mother was blessed on her fifteenth birthday and my grandmother and her mother before her—all the way back to when no one can remember anymore. They do it to call forth all good spirits.
I hear my mother’s footsteps. My mother is a true queen. I love to look at her. People think I look like her. She makes me proud. She has taught me to walk tall as she does, with head held high. She says it is the mark of royalty.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Good morning, daughter. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, and I dreamed of roses in a green meadow full of galloping white horses.”
“Roses are sweet and horses are swift. Both are beautiful. A dream of sweetness, strength and beauty is a good omen for your initiation day. Are you ready for the ceremony? Here, let me brush your hair.”
Mother set aside the flask of scented oil and the sash of red lambs wool she carried in her hands. She picked up the brush and began gently to brush the tangles from my hair. She rubbed my neck and shoulders. I love my mother’s hands. I look at her hands, sometimes, when she doesn’t even know I’m watching. Her hands are busy, gentle, soft as they caress, strong in reprimand. Her fingers are long, the nails oiled and buffed. Her hands are clean. They smell of spices. Most of all I love my mother’s hands as they cup my face so that when I look at her, I see her looking back at me, looking deep into my eyes with such love as I never hope to find on this earth again.
At the sound of a rustling skirt I look up to see my Aunt Gladys standing at my bedside with a crown of blossoms in her hands. I love my Aunt Gladys. I am her namesake. My older sister is named for our mother. But I am named for Gladys. She is more like a big sister than an aunt. She is funny and fun, always ready for adventure.
“Good morning, Bright Eyes.” She grinned at me. “I understand that there is a beautiful young princess who is fifteen today and is ready to be initiated. Have you seen anyone that fits such a description?”
“Good morning, Aunt Glad. I think you must be thinking about me. I’m fifteen.” I smiled up at her. “When do we begin?”
Gladys smiled. “I saw the crones gathering as I came in. We begin when they say we begin.”
Three old women entered my room bringing spices, holy water and wine. The women spread sheepskin on the floor and bid me sit upon it. They placed the wreath of flowers on my brow and formed a circle around me and began to chant in unison:
Bless, O Chief of generous chiefs,
Myself and everything anear me,
Bless me in all my actions,
Make Thou me safe for ever,
Make Thou me safe for ever.
The oldest of the crones held up a cup of wine. Her voice was thin, but she did not falter in her incantation. She faced me and bid me bow my head. With every line spoken she dipped her thumb into the cup and anointed forehead, temples, cheeks, chin, shoulders, throat, breasts, belly, and feet.
From every brownie and banshee,
From every evil wish and sorrow,
From every nymph and water wraith,
From every fairy-mouse and grass-mouse.
From every troll among the hills,
From every siren hard pressing me,
From every ghoul within the glens,
The other women joined her, their voices rising like mist from the river:
Oh! Save me till the end of my day.
Oh! Save me till the end of my day.
The women circled me about, placing their hands upon my head. They anointed me with oil. They bid me sip from the cup of wine. They sprinkled my shoulders with spices and my hands with drops of wine.
I bathe thy palms
In showers of wine,
In the lustral fire,
In the seven elements,
In the juice of the rasps,
In the milk of honey.
And I place the nine pure choice graces
In thy fair fond face,
Each crone pronounced a grace while placing her hands upon my head in blessing. As one finished speaking, she stepped aside and another took her place, circling, ever circling:
The grace of form,
The grace of voice,
The grace of fortune,
The grace of goodness,
The grace of wisdom,
The grace of charity,
The grace of choice maidenliness,
The grace of whole-souled loveliness,
The grace of goodly speech.
They stepped aside beckoning to my mother. Queenly in every respect, she knelt before me. She placed the red woolen sash around my shoulders. She smiled through tears as she chanted:
Thou art the joy of all joyous things,
Thou art the light of the beam of the sun,
I responded:
Thou art the door of the chief of hospitality,
Thou art the surpassing star of guidance,
Thou art the step of the deer of the hill,
Thou art the step of the steed of the plain.
And then, my mother spoke again:
Thou art the grace of the swan of swimming,
Thou art the loveliness of all lovely desires.
Then, all the women chanted in unison:
The best hour of the day be thine.
The best day of the week be thine.
The best week of the year be thine.
Shield this child from sin.
Shield this child from ill.
May all fruitfulness be hers.
May all blessing be hers.
Gently, my mother took from around her neck the talisman her mother had given to her on the occasion of her anointing. My mother had worn it since the day she was fifteen. She kissed it and placed it around my neck. I felt as if I had been crowned. “Oh, mother, it is so beautiful.”
“Wear it in love until you pass it on to your own daughter.” My mother’s smile warmed my heart.
“When I was little, I thought it looked like a flower. See the petals?”
“Your grandmother told me that it represents the three stages of a woman’s life: maiden, mother, and crone. I think of it as representing body, mind, and spirit in perfect balance. If you put your finger on any part of it, you will trace it forever. It never ends. One part flows into another, like life. It is eternal, just as love is eternal.”
“I’ll take good care of it. I do thank you with all my heart.” She kissed me gently on the forehead.
The sunlight streamed into the whitewashed chamber. The women embraced me and then bowed before me and my mother. Then they retired and left us alone. My mother spoke with a tremor in her voice. “I do wish you every good thing, my dear child.”
“And I you, Mother.”
“I have every good thing. My children bless me. My husband protects me.”
“Gwynedd says that my father is in from the field.”
“Yes. He wouldn’t miss this day.” A shadow passed over her face and she shivered slightly.
“Do you worry, Mother?”
“Yes, of course, I worry.”
“I worry about him too. I know my father fights for the honor of Siluria. I just wish they would leave us alone. Why do they have to own the whole world? I can barely remember a time when my father was not at risk in battle.”
“I know. You were only—dear me, how old were you when the war began—six? Seven?”
“Seven, I think. Oh, I do remember when I was really little and father would carry me on his shoulders and let me pick quince and haws and blackberries.”
“I remember that. You came home with juice staining your face and hands and clothes, your hair tangled, and your bare feet dirty. You were a disgrace. But what joyful laughter in those days. There has been too little laughter these last years.”
“But today there’ll be laughter again. He’s home safe.
“Yes, he’s safe for now. Well, let’s have a look at your robe. I see Gwynedd sewed up the hem.”
Mother held up the garment I would wear later in the day. It is of the finest white linen and is intricately embroidered with gold thread. “It’s beautiful and so are you. My heart’s desire is that you shall be as beautiful in your attitude and in your actions as you are today in form and face. True beauty is of the heart, you know. True nobility comes from within.”
“You have always taught me so. I am grateful to you. I want you and my father to be proud of me.”
“Oh, my dear. You are a source of such joy and pride to us both.” For a moment, my mother held me fast in her arms, my face against her breast. I bid farewell to my childhood in those moments. Now I am a woman. My fingers sought the small gold disc at my throat. It felt warm to my touch. Warm, like my mother’s smile.
At high noon we lined up—fifteen-year-old boys and girls, eager to enter into the adult privilege and responsibility of the clan. The priests led the way to the high place down the long avenue lined with huge monoliths. Stones, so ancient no one remembers how or when they were placed on the hill, encircle the open place of worship. The priests chant incantations to the heavens, to the great lights, and to the fecund earth. One by one we step up to face the bard who stands behind the altar and chants each initiate’s genealogy back through nine generations of free Britons. All challengers are invited to come forward with any objection. As I listen to the bard retell my own family history, I smile. My father’s family pedigree can be traced back into antiquity hundreds of years. Our family began to keep a record of our generations long before the founding of Rome. I don’t know why the Roman armies are in our country causing trouble. I would like to tell them to turn around and go back to where they came from and let my father come home to stay. The bard completes his chant. It is time for the priests to ask the questions. One by one we respond with the correct answers and we are anointed with oil. They pronounce blessings. We are embraced by the priests and welcomed into the clan.
I am of the royal line. My mother stands tall and proud beside my father. My father is a good king. At the name of Caradoc, all knees bow in homage. I burst with pride when I look at him. He is a big man—massively built, every bit the warrior-king. I can see, out of the corner of my eye, my older brothers and my sister. They would make me laugh if they could. They are proud of me, but that doesn’t mean they have stopped teasing me. Now that I am officially a member of the clan, they must treat me more respectfully. Today is my day. Tomorrow, my father will take the field again and we shall all be sad and worried for him. But today is mine. Today is a day for celebration.
“The Silures reposed unbounded confidence in Caractacus, enumerating the many drawn battles he had fought with the Romans, the many victories he had obtained over them.”
“Caesar’s original intention was to carry the war into the interior, but finding his forces inadequate to cope with the British in the field, he abruptly determined to close the campaign.”
“The army marched against the Silures, a naturally fierce people and now full of confidence in the might of Caractacus who had raised himself far above all the other generals of the Britons.”
“In 1723, whilst excvavating for the foundation of some houses, the monument generally known as the Chichester Stone, was discovered. The inscription, which was partly mutilated, and is cut in very bold characters, as restored by Horseley and Gale, is as follows:
Neptuno et Minervae Templum
Pro Salute Domus Divinae
Ex Aucoritate Tib: Claudii
Cogiduni Regis Legati Augusti in
Britannia
Collegium Babrorum et qui in eo
A sacris sunt de suo dedicaverunt
Conate Arcam Pudente Pudentini Filio.
The temple was erected about A.D. 50 before the conversion of Pudens and before his marriage with Claudia.”
“As for Caractacus, he flew hither and thither, protesting that that day and that battle, would be the beginning of the recovery of their freedom, or of everlasting bondage. The host shouted applause. Every warrior bound himself by his national oath not to shrink from weapons or wounds.”
An arch of triumph stands in Rome and another in Gaul, built by the Roman army corps of engineers. The arches are dedicated to Claudius. The arch in Rome is in honor of his great victory over Britain. The one in Gaul is there because it was from Gaul that the largest expeditionary force Rome ever sent out set sail from there. On both arches, these words are cut into marble: “ARCUS CLAUDII: He received the surrender of eleven British kings who had been defeated without loss in battle, and was the first to bring barbarian people from across the Ocean under the sway of the Roman people.” The inscription infers it was an easy victory. Such was not the case. The phrase “without loss in battle” is sheer fiction. The Roman losses were staggering. Claudius was in Britain only sixteen days. And even after he rushed back to Rome to proclaim to the Roman senate that Britain was under their domination, the war continued for another seven years. The senate had no way of knowing the war was far from over. They conferred on both Claudius and his son the name of “Britannicus.” They voted that there should be a national holiday to commemorate the emperor’s great triumph. When he arrived in Rome, he ascended the steps of the capitol on his knees, his sons-in-law supporting him on each side. He held a grand triumphal festival which included horse racing, bear killing, athletic events, and gladiatorial contests in which British prisoners, along with other foreigners, fought to the death. It was a great day in Rome.
Claudius was well-aware that his “victory” was partial at best. As for Rome’s defeating the “barbarians,” well, I could argue him down on that point. Britons are far from barbaric. It is not we who hack each other to death for entertainment. Our queens do not poison their relatives as the Romans do. No, Claudius knew that it would take more than his presence to put us under Rome’s heel.
I suppose if one tries to understand this war, it is necessary to look back to other attempts on our island. Julius Caesar tried to conquer Britain almost a hundred years before Claudius became emperor. Caesar had his eye on the riches of Britain–its wheat and barley, its iron, tin, bronze and gold, its wool and linen goods. During that invasion, in fifty-five days of battle, the Roman battalions managed to advance only seven miles. The second Julian invasion involved more than a thousand Roman ships carrying their army. That campaign lasted four months. The Romans managed to advance only seventy miles inland, and they took no hostage or prisoner of status. The second attempt was more of a failure than the first. The defeat of Julius Caesar by our little island is unparalleled in history. After that, for ninety-seven years, no other Roman attempted to set foot on our land. Rome still remembers the Julian campaign with distaste. For a Briton it is the stuff of which legends are made.
Our island is small compared to the Roman Empire, but our warriors have always been as brave as the legionnaires. Britain is famous for its breed of horses and its daring charioteers. The British fleet, too, was, even then, formidable and her mariners sailed their waters with steady eye and hand. The armies were well-trained and well-manned. Rome was the world and the world was Rome, with the exception of our island to their west. During the reign of Augustus and Tiberius, Rome spent her manpower in building roads from the capitol westward to Calais, and eastward to the Persian Gulf. The Roman Empire extended across the earth and a hundred and twenty million paid homage and taxes to it. Rome maintained a military complex such as the world had never seen. Her armies were highly disciplined and in a constant state of preparedness.
At one point during Augustus’ reign, war seemed imminent. Augustus sent ambassadors to our island demanding the reinstatement of the properties of three traitors to Britain. The demand was refused on the grounds that Rome had no right to dictate Britain’s internal matters. Augustus moved half of his forces within striking distance of our island, but he obviously had no real intention of invading. A British fleet swept the Channel. Augustus was warned by his own advisors that he was courting disaster and so retreated. My grandfather, King Lear, requested a conference with Augustus—his old tutor and honored friend. The result was a triumph of diplomacy. The emperor retracted his demands and reduced the heavy duties imposed on British goods to a light tariff. Diplomatic relations were reinstated and British nobility again resumed their lives in the Roman capitol.
Then there was Caligula. He was the first since Julius Caesar to attempt an invasion. He did it to celebrate his birthday. He was mad, of course. He ordered the armies of Gaul and the Rhine to rendezvous at Boulogne. When the Roman flotilla was moored and prepared to embark, Caligula saw the British fleet gathered to oppose his army and suddenly, he had a change of heart. He began to make light of the whole operation. He held a grand review of his troops on the sands of the shores of Boulogne. He turned to his soldiers and said, “Let us, my comrades, leave these Britons unmolested. To war beyond the bounds of nature is not courage, but impiety. Let us rather load ourselves with the bloodless spoils of the Atlantic ocean which the same beneficent goddess of nature pours on these sands so lavishly at our feet. Follow the example of your emperor. Behold, I wreathe for laurel this garland of green sea weed around my immortal brow, and I fill my helm with these smooth and brilliant shells. Decorated with these we will return to Rome, and, instead of a British King, Neptune and Nereus, the gods of ocean themselves shall follow captives to the Capitol behind our triumphal car.” He then promised a year’s extra wages to his troops. The British fleet stood scandalized as Roman soldiers in full battle dress began, laughing and shouting like children, and gathering sea shells and sea weed. Caligula’s own officers were angered by his antics, but feared to oppose him. He led a grand procession through the streets of Rome on his birthday. Caligula was assassinated the next year—not that the British had anything to do with that, although there were many people who were glad to see him dead. Claudius, rather reluctantly I’m told, succeeded Caligula as emperor.
Two years after Caligula’s farcical attempt, Claudius decided to invade in earnest. My armies were prepared to meet the enemy. I stood before my troops to encourage them, “This day, my fellow warriors, this very day, decides the fate of Britain. The era of liberty, or eternal bondage, begins from this hour. Remember your brave and warlike ancestors, who met Julius Caesar in open combat, and chased him from the coast of Britain. They were the men who freed their country from a foreign yoke, who delivered the land from taxations imposed at the will of a master; who banished from your sight the fasces and the Roman axes; and above all, who rescued your wives and daughters from violation.”
We were battle ready. We would stand and fight. We would die, if necessary, to protect our families, our homes, our freedom. Rome was not at that time engaged in any other war so the entire might of the Roman Empire was thrown against us. Claudius was no Caligula. When Claudius decided to invade Britain, he was as serious as death.
I was eighteen when I went to war. My father, the senator, arranged an assignment for me to be aide to General Plautius. I was wild with excitement. I knew that one day I would assume the position of my father in the senate, but my interest had always been engineering. This was my opportunity to observe the army engineers at work in time of war–an invaluable part of my education. From my childhood I have built things. When I was a boy, I built a bridge over the creek that fed the baths beside our property. I was always interested in watching the road crews lay the stones in the road beds. As soon as I was old enough to ride by myself, I spent my days marveling at the roads, the buildings, the monuments that cover the face of our city. How did they do it? How were they able hundreds of years ago to move so many huge stones and put them in place to form the roads? How did they build the public baths? How did they build the temples? Augustus said he found Rome built of bricks and left it covered in marble. It really is magnificent. I’ve been to the quarries. They are enormous. I traveled to Luna northwest of Rome to observe the workers cutting the carrara marble. It is fine grained with a smooth surface. It is used by both sculptors and builders. I have seen the quarries of the Alban Hills. I walked the miles to Tibur to watch the workers cut the travertine limestone. I loved nothing so much as watching the men clearing the harbor or examining the aquaducts and conduits that bring water into Rome from springs far away. It is rumored that Claudius has great plans. He has plans for a new aquaduct, I know. Everyone is saying that he has resurrected the plans of Julius Caesar for a sea wall at Ostia.
At eighteen I was off to war. I believed we would strike, overcome the British, and be back in Rome for a grand parade before my next birthday. I stood behind the general, ready for any command. This campaign was triggered by Claudius’ refusal to receive ambassadors from Britain. Our troops were already gathering at Bologne. The total invasion force numbered between forty and fifty thousand men. It was dawn of a hot July day. Our ships were in the harbor ready to board our troops.
“Look, young Pudens.” General Plautius pointed out to the Channel. “You are about to see the approach of the British navy. If they are wise, they will turn around and run back home. Watch with me.”
I had some difficulty seeing anything through the morning fog, but then I saw the shape of a ship, and another and then another. The general turned to me. “Go down to the dock. Tell the captain to pass the word that the British ships are on their way.” I nodded and ran as fast as I could.
“General Plautius commands that you pass the word that the British ships are in the harbor.” I was breathless from excitement and from running. Calmly, the captain responded.
“Yes. Message received.” My task complete I ran back up to the observation post. My father could not have chosen a better mentor for me than my general. Aulus Plautius was a man known to all as being of fine character and dedication to duty. He was an excellent leader and well-respected by his men. Now, I stood beside him, proud to be under his command. We stood watch together.
“It won’t be long before we know whether they will engage or retreat. My guess is that when they see they are outnumbered they will retreat.” We waited and watched. Before the sun was fully risen, slowly, silently their ships slid back in the direction from which they had come. No attempt was made by our ships to stop them. A shout was heard from our armies. With the British navy in retreat, we were ready to embark.
Plautius gave the command for the troops to board. Suddenly, and for no reason I could see, someone shouted, “No!” Others took up the cry. Officers began shouting orders. The orders were disobeyed or ignored. Appeals to duty had no effect. Someone shouted, and the shout was repeated by others, “We will follow you anywhere in the world, but not out of it.” A rumor spread that if our ships sailed too far, they would topple into the abyss. Plautius was apoplectic. This was mutiny. The general sent a senior officer to Rome to report to Claudius. We waited for orders from the emperor. The troops were immovable. I’ll never forget, days later, when Narcissus hurried in from Rome. He was Claudius’ trusted advisor. Narcissus is a eunuch, plump as a girl. He curls his hair and paints his face. I’ll never know if Claudius planned for Narcissus to have the effect he did, but the effect was immediate and decisive. As soon as Narcissus pranced up to the podium to harangue the troops declaring that he, himself, would lead them into battle, to a man they rose up and demanded that General Plautius assume command. Suddenly, they were ready to fight. Plautius quickly took advantage of their change of attitude. The army embarked in four divisions, I Augusta, the XIV Gemina, the XX Valeria, and the IX Hispania. They landed two days afterward at Rutupium. The war was on.
We made camp. Our engineers set to work overseeing the digging of huge earthworks. With my general’s permission, I consulted with the army corps of engineers. They designed and built a temple to Nepture and Minerva. They cut in stone the following words:
NEPTUNE AND MINERVA
A TEMPLE
THE COLLEGE OF ENGINEERS AND MINISTERS OF RELIGION ATTACHED TO IT, BY PERMISSION OF TIBERIUS CLAUDIUS COGIDUNUS, THE KING, LEGATE OF AUGUSTUS IN BRITAIN, HAVE DEDICATED AT THEIR OWN EXPENSE, IN HONOR OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY THIS TEMPLE TO NEPTUNE AND MINERVA. THE SITE WAS GIVEN BY PUDENS, SON OF PUDENTINUS.
Romans do not go into battle without paying homage to the gods.
I listened and learned. General Plautius and his advisors allowed me to sit in on strategy planning. As Caesar had directed his march along the Sarn, so Plautius moved his own troops. Our first encounter was with Guiderius and Caradoc at Southfleet across the river on the flats between the hills of Kent and the Thames. The Britons retreated. In that battle Guiderius fell. His brother, Arviragus succeeded him. The British elected Caradoc pendragon–their military dictator. He became Rome’s nemesis. Three times Plautius attempted to force his way across the Thames. Three times he was foiled. Caradoc was a formidable foe. For two days of desperate fighting he was able to hold off three Roman generals–Plautius, Vespasian and Geta. Caradoc did not quit. He regrouped. Plautius was forced to send messages to Rome for instructions and reinforcements. The emperor, himself, came to Britain. He brought with him his Praetorian guards, the eighth legion, and a detachment of elephants. Yes, elephants. They were to confound the British horses, which, I must say, they did. Their odor so confused the horses that the British chariots were soon in total disarray. So, there was a decisive victory for us at Colchester. The emperor soon left Britain for Rome. He announced to the Senate that Britain was now under Roman rule. That was not entirely true. The war was just beginning.
Plautius appeared in the doorway of his tent and called for his leaders. Officers and advisors gathered. I stood just behind the general and listened to their discussion.
“We are badly bloodied. Our troops are decimated. Winter is coming on. You may recall from last winter’s ice that winter in Britain is like nothing we ever experienced in Rome.
“We need time to regroup. The British are far stronger than we anticipated and they are not going to give up.” Plautius paused. “We can ask for a truce and try to settle our differences with diplomacy. Or we can rest our men and horses, wait out the winter, and in the spring, fight on. One thing is certain. We cannot fight now without massive reinforcements. The decision is mine, but I welcome your opinions. What say you?”
“I say we fight on and fight now. If we are bloodied, so are they.” Drusis Tullius was young and ambitious. “Diplomacy never conquers”
“I disagree. Our men are in no condition to mount another attack. And if supplies do not arrive soon, we will be in danger of running low on food. The soldiers are battle weary. We cannot risk another battle. We need fresh troops.” The opinion was voiced by Aulus Tyrenius, a veteran of many campaigns.
“If we call for reinforcements when can we expect them to be battle ready and in place?”
“The tenth legion can be here before Spring.”
I listened as each man expressed his opinion. War is not what I expected it to be. When I was assigned to General Plautius, I thought only of the adventure. I have discovered that war is made up of long periods of tedium broken by horrifying battles. We have been in Britain for three years now. We have engaged the enemy in nine major battles and innumerable skirmishes. I have seen men and horses hacked to pieces. I have seen forests burned and villages sacked. There is no army on earth like ours, but these Britons are determined to stand their ground. I don’t know what Plautius will do. Going into winter quarters means keeping men and horses fit and maintaining military discipline. Even I agree that fighting now is out of the question. My attention wandered until I was abruptly brought back to the discussion at hand.
“Pudens, call for a scribe.”
“Yes, general.” I ran through the camp to the tent of my friend, Marcus.
“Marcus, the general is calling for you.”
“Ah, so the general needs me. The fate of Rome is now in my hands.”
“Don’t stop to play games. General Plautius is in no mood for foolishness.” Marcus gathered up his writing materials.
“Patience, young Pudens. Rome will not fall in the next hour.” I pulled at his sleeve. “Hurry. Follow me.” I ran back to the general’s tent with Marcus trailing behind.
“We are calling for a truce.” General Plautius looked at me. “Rufus, you will deliver the message to Caradoc’s camp.”
“I am honored.” My heart beat fast as I thought of going into the enemy camp. General Plautius dictated while Marcus wrote, “To Caradoc, King of Siluria, General of the Armies of Britian: ‘This is to inform you that I am willing to call a halt to our hostilities so that we may negotiate our differences. I request that you send your response by the hand of my aide, Rufus Pudens Pudentia.’ Sign that ‘Aulus Plautius, Commanding General of the Armies of Rome.’” Marcus wrote carefully. He blotted the scroll, rolled it and tied it with a leather thong.
The general handed me the rolled message. “The gods go with you, Pudens. Do not fail in this mission.”
“I will not fail you, general.” I tucked the message inside my tunic. I felt excitement and dread. I had no weapons. I carried a flag as a signal that my purpose was peaceful. I mounted my horse and rode toward the enemy camp.
Everything was eerily quiet. I rode alone through open country, through deep meadows flanked by woods. Up hills and through gullies I heard only the clatter of my horse’s hooves and the beating of my own heart. Nothing moved. I felt the eyes of the enemy on my back. From the moment I crested the highest hill, I knew the woods around me were full of British fighters. I lifted my banner and called out, “Truce.” I carefully and slowly spurred my horse onward. Suddenly, I was knocked from my mount. Two blue-painted warriors grabbed me under the arms and propelled me forward. My mind whirled. Surely, I would die.
“I am unarmed.” They half-carried, half-dragged me to the edge of the woods. It was then that I saw the tents of the British forces. The soldiers held both my arms in their strong grip. I offered no resistance. They took me directly to their general’s tent.
I shall never forget my first sight of King Caradoc. When he stood, he towered over me. His shoulders were broad and his arms and legs muscular and as big around as logs. His hair, whitened with lime, stood in spikes. His mustach was magnificent and were also caked with the white powder. His bearing was erect and regal. Dressed in a fine woolen tunic and a heavy cloak, he exuded power. I felt fear, but did not show it. He spoke in a voice that was deep and commanding. “Who are you?”
“Rufus Pudens Pudentia, aide to General Aulus Plautius.”
“And what is your business here?”
“I bring a message from my general to you, sir.”
“What is this message?”
“It is underneath my tunic. I am unarmed. May I give it to you?”
“You may.” It was only then that the two British fighters let go of my arms. I felt bruised. I slowly reached into my tunic and handed the message to Caradoc. I have been told that he was educated in Rome and not only reads Latin, but uses our language eloquently. He read, called for a quill and wrote one word across the face of Plautius’ message: TRUCE. He handed it back to me. “Take this to your general. We shall negotiate the truce three days from now at sun up in my tent.”
Someone brought me my horse. I mounted with relief. I would live. I rode back to report to Plautius. Had Caradoc refused to negotiate, his men would have cut off my head and sent my horse back with my headless body–his message to my general. I spurred my horse onward. As I rode toward our camp, I saw my general on the crest of the hill, waiting and watching.
“So a truce it is, Pudens,” he shouted. I spurred my mount and rode up the hill. I reigned in and dismounted. Plautius clapped me on the shoulder. “Welcome back. Well done.” I saluted and handed him the message from Caradoc. Suddenly, my knees felt weak. I began to shake. Plautius roared with laughteer.
“Bring this soldier wine.” He turned to me. “Sit down, young friend. You’ve gone pale as a girl.” Someone handed me a cup of wine. Gratefully, I drank. I was surrounded by my compatriots. They cheered. They laughed. They embraced me and each other. I was lucky to be alive.
Three days later, General Plautius and his advisors met with Caradoc and his staff. There, in Caradoc’s camp, they negotiated the terms of the truce as follows:
In order to insure peace, it shall be agreed that neither Rome nor Britain will use arms against the other.
Caradoc shall go to Rome to negotiate peace with the Emerpor Claudius and his advisors. He will argue for the sovereignty of Britain and plead for a lowering of tariffs on British goods.
Within a half a year, all Roman troops shall leave Britain.
British citizens living in Rome shall not be molested.
Educational exchange will be encouraged.
Trade between Rome and Britain shall resume.
Diplomatic relations between Rome and Britain shall be restored.
To seal the bargain, Aulus Plautius will be married to Caradoc’s sister, Gladys and Claudius will give his neice, Venus Julia, in marriage to Arviragus.
If the truce holds, Britain may yet enjoy a cordial relationship with Rome while, at the same time, refusing to relinquish her sovereignty. We shall see.
I have always loved my Aunt Gladys. I am named for her. Our name means “princess.” And, of course, we both are truly princesses. Her father is King Bran who is my grandfather. My father is King Caradoc, Aunt Gladys’ brother. Sometimes I watch her as she studies. She is a Greek scholar and a writer. Perhaps that’s where I get my interest in poetry. I can remember when I was little that my Aunt Gladys taught me my letters. I know some words in Greek and can write it. I do know Latin well. My father taught all us children Latin almost as soon as we could talk. My mother tried to teach me to weave tapestries, but I’m not good at it and it doesn’t interest me.
“Gladys, come.” My Aunt Gladys called to me from our front door. “Let’s find a quiet place to sit. I feel I haven’t had a moment’s rest these last few days.” I nodded agreement and fell into step with her.
We walked the path through our woods until we came to our special place. It is a bower of moss-covered ground beside a quiet little stream surrounded by great trees which shut out the sun in summer. We discovered it long ago. Sometimes, we sail boats of leaves in the stream. Sometimes, we build a dam with stones and mud and twigs. We sit on the bank and and dangle our feet in the water. The water is cold and clear. It is good to drink. I put my face close to the surface. I can see the sandy bottom rolling with pebbles smoothed and polished. I love to watch the tiny fish darting to and fro. This is our secret place and it is perfect for hiding or talking or giggling. I think of it as a girls’ place. My aunt settled herself on the grassy bank and took sweets from the basket she carried. She smiled as she gave me a sweet cake, but somehow, behind her smile I thought I saw sadness. We’ve always known, without words, what the other is thinking and feeling.
I took the proffered sweet with thanks. “You are different.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
“Tell me, then.”
My aunt sighed. “I hardly know where to begin. This is going to be difficult for both of us.”
“Has something happened?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Gladys, dear little one, I am going away.”
“Away? Where?”
“I am going to live in Rome.”
“What do you mean? You can’t live in Rome. Rome is our enemy.” Suddenly, I felt a tightness in my chest.
“Gladys, do you understand what a truce is.”
“I know the armies have stopped fighting. Is a truce the end of the war?”
“Not exactly. A truce is more a temporary peace. Both armies agree to stop fighting and they negotiate. Do you know the word ‘negotiate’?” She looked at me inquiringly.
“I’m not sure.”
“Negotiate is when they try to work something out. One side agrees to something and then the other side agrees to something and maybe the war will end. As a part of the truce, the daughter of the Roman Emperor will be married to our General Arviragus. And the other side of that agreement is that I shall be married to the Roman General, Aulus Plautius.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading for my understanding. “And then, after we are married, he will take me to Rome to be part of his family.”
“Why? You don’t have to do this. I’ll talk to my father. He won’t make you do this.”
“It’s already settled. I shall marry General Aulus Plautius and we shall live in Rome.”
I felt as if I was smothering. “Please, don’t go. What shall I do without you? I hate this. It’s not fair. You don’t even know General Plautius. Why is my father making you do this?”
“Gladys, don’t be angry with your father. I do this for Siluria. Do you know about the peace weavers?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Let me tell you. Men fight wars, child. They fight for gain. They fight for freedom. They fight to protect their families. They fight to protect their domains. Sometimes they fight to conquer and to acquire new territory. Women wait. Women have never loved war. Women have always been a part of the spoils of war. Women weep to send their husbands and sons to battle. Women of high estate have often been traded for peace. We call ourselves the peace weavers. Think of it, Gladys. There is a quiet power in peace weaving. If, by my marrying General Plautius, the war will end, think of the good things that will come of it. Your father will come home to stay. Our men will not die at the hands of the Romans. There will be no more killing. Peace is better. If I can be a part of making peace, I will.”
“I can’t live without you.”
“Yes, you can. And you can come to visit me in Rome. And I can come home to Siluria to visit. It won’t be so bad. You’ll see.”
“It will be bad. It won’t be like it always has been. I’ll miss you.”
‘I’ll miss you too.”
“I can’t believe you are going to be married.”
“I know. I can hardly believe it myself. But, I believe it is right. I am at peace within myself.” She offered me another sweet cake, but I wasn’t hungry anymore.
“I suppose so. He is not so tall, but broad and muscular.”
“Is he rich?”
“I imagine Rome has paid him well.”
“Are you going to have babies?”
“Perhaps.”
“What shall I call him?”
“He’ll be your uncle.”
“Uncle Plautius? Uncle Aulus?”
“You’ll have opportunity to ask him. Oh, I must tell you. I have been asked to take a Roman name.”
“You won’t be my Aunt Gladys anymore?”
“I’ll always be your Aunt Gladys. The name I have chosen is a beautiful one, I think.”
“What is it?”
“I shall be known in Rome as Pomponia—Pomponia Graecina.”
“Pomponia Graecina.” The name tasted like honey in my mouth. “Pomponia Graecina.” It has the sound of dignity and grace. “When will you be married?”
“Soon.”
I stood and brushed the dirt from my clothes. I tried not to cry. I hugged my Aunt Gladys Pomponia Graecina. She hugged me back.
“Be happy, Gladys. Remember the peace weavers. It is a splendid thing.”
I finished brushing the general’s cloak. He paced nervously.
“Well, Pudens. Today I shall be married. We must be at the royal residence by midday.” The general was as excited as if he had chosen the bride himself.
“Yes, general.” He was dressed in full military regalia. I placed his cloak around his shoulders. “What do you know about your bride?”
“She is of royal blood, the sister of King Caradoc. I have seen her only once. She is comely in the British way. She is intelligent. I understand that she is a Greek scholar. I shall have to see to it that she is instructed in the ways of Roman domesticity. She will bear me many sons.”
“And the emperor’s daughter will marry Arviragus?”
“Correct. Next month in Rome, Claudius is giving Venus Julia to Britain’s second in command. Too bad Caradoc is already married. He might have been the one to be wed to Julia. With my marriage and with Julia’s the alliance between Rome and Britain will be doubly sealed.”
“Shall you keep your command?” If Plautius was recalled to Rome, I, too, would be ending my military service.
“As long as the truce holds, I shall remain at this post. If hostilities should break out again, I shall be recalled. Claudius will not allow the brother-in-law of the British king to remain as commander in chief of Rome’s armies. Well, we shall hope the alliance holds, though I must admit I would like to go home. The British are more stubborn than we imagined. I trust that stubbornness does not extend to my bride.” He laughed. “That is one Briton I shall conquer.”
Plautius mounted his horse. A column of Roman officers followed him. They rode, backs straight, chins in, heels down, in perfect cadence, toward the British royal residence. Every horse was curried, every breastplate and epaulet was shined to a high gloss. This was a wedding procession. The Roman general was to receive his royal British bride.
The wedding took place in their high place of worship. The druidic priests, dressed in white and gold, chanted blessings on the couple. The bride was, indeed, comely if a bit delicate. All these British women have golden hair and blue eyes. They are not nearly as voluptuous as our Roman women. Give me a woman with black hair, dark eyes, and enough flesh to hold on to. These British women are bones covered with pale skin. This bride may be a princess, but she doesn’t look capable of bearing sons for the general–maybe a daughter or two. Oh well! Any sacrifice for the glory of Rome!
The truce held for six months. During the break in the war, I went to Rome. I did not bow before Claudius. Hostilities broke out again over some small misderstanding. There is no trust between Britain and Rome. Plautius was recalled to Rome. Claudius took a dim view of my brother-in-law’s keeping his command. He and my sister left for Rome where she, no doubt, learned to be a proper Roman matron. I am proud of my sister. She showed her allegiance to Siluria. She did her duty. The truce seems a hundred years ago, though it has been only seven.
I have fought thirty battles with the Romans–nine before the truce and the others after. I have often been outnumbered, but never outmaneuvered. I know the terrain. I know every corner of this island. I also know the Romans are more prone to use brute force than finesse. My forces faced a hundred thousand men, and we did not fail. We relied on surprise attacks. I encountered Rome’s best–Plautius, Geta, Vespasian, Ostorius Scapula. Once I had Vespasian at sword’s point in his own tent, when his son, Titus, led the first cohort of the fourteenth legion to his rescue. Even the Roman chronicles record my victories. Never was I conquered. I was, however, most foully betrayed.
I, Paul, write these things to you, Rufus, my brother, that you may know the truth that you may have liberty in the Lord Jesus Christ. I hear that you completed your service to Rome and have returned to your household. My prayers have been for you, for I know that you can be a useful vessel, fit for service in His name. I would that you not only be my brother in the flesh, but that you also be my son, begotten by me into eternal life. I proclaim to you Jesus Christ, who was, in the fulness of time, born of a virgin, nourished in the Law, lived a perfect life, worked many signs and wonders, was arrested, tried, and convicted, and suffered death on the cross, laid in the tomb, and rose again the third day. Believing this, Rufus, you may have eternal life. Grace be to you. I long for you that you may know the joy of the Lord. Greet our mother who has prayed unceasingly for you. Salute those of your household.
“It was a glorious victory; the wife and daughters of Caractacus were captured, and their brothers, too, were admitted to surrender.”
Everyone huddled together in the grand salon. I stood to address the gathering. I saw Gladys touch the gold circle at her throat. She moved close to her mother. I wasn’t going to convince anyone that we were not in danger, but I wanted to avoid an outbreak of panic.
“This is the time for bravery.” I kept my voice low. “We know that the Roman armies are coming here. They are on their way even as we speak.” The air was thick with tension. No one moved.
“What will happen to us?” My granddaughter is brave. Her question was asked in a clear voice that did not tremble.
“Stay calm and listen to me. We men will meet them at the gate. We will be unarmed and we will let them know that we are willing to talk peace. While the king is in the field, Cynon, Linus and I are the male leaders of this family.” All eyes fell on the three of us. What they saw was one frail old man and two beardless boys—not a reassuring sight.
“What will happen if they are unwilling to listen to you?”
“You are not to concern yourself with that. All male servants will stand with us. We will protect our women and children. Queen Ergain, Gladys, and little Ergain will be responsible for keeping everyone calm inside the house.” I lifted my face and hands toward heaven. “Great Lord of life, keep this house from evil.” Gwynedd began to weep softly. Gladys reached out to her. “Don’t cry, Gwynedd. Stay close to me. Listen to my grandfather and do as he says.”
I looked around the room. “Let us remember, we put our trust in God. Truth against the world.” Everyone repeated it in unison. Their voices did not waver. “Truth against the world.” Thus fortified, I motioned to the men. We moved out to meet the Roman legionnaires
We stood silently under the trees. We did not have long to wait. In the distance we could see a contingent of what looked to be a hundred men in battle dress, well-mounted, and galloping at full speed straight toward us. The hoofs of the horses sounded like thunder across the meadow. The ground shook under our feet.
A hundred yards from the gate, the centurion held up his hand and called his men to a halt. Everything stopped. There was no noise except an occasional whinny from the horses and the sound of their stamping feet. The centurion dismounted. He walked toward us. I squared my shoulders, lifted my head and went out to meet him.
“Who is in the house?” The centurion barked the question.
“Women and children only. No one here is armed.”
“Is the queen here?”
“Yes.”
“Are her children with her?”
“They are.” The centurion picked up a sharp stick from the ground. He made marks in the dirt and handed the stick to me.
“Draw a diagram of the house. Show me where the entrances are located.”
“Yes, Commander.” As I took the stick, I looked down at the marks the Roman had made. I saw in the dirt, two curved lines forming a simple fish. I looked into the impassive face of the Roman commander. I thought I detected a slight nod of the head, though it might have been my imagination. I looked into the man’s eyes trying to read a message in the expressionless face. I took the stick and drew the requested diagram.
“There are entrances here, here, here, and here.” I drew two curved marks at the top of the drawing. The message was clear to us both. The centurion feigned interest in the diagram, and then he turned to his cohort. “Surround the house. Harm no one. The goods and people are to be saved. Take family members and their personal servants hostage. The others may go free. Do not burn. Do not take spoil. Leave the women. I have instructions to deliver the hostages safely into the hands of Ostorius Scapula. The man who harms one hair on the heads of any one of these prisoners will be executed by my own hand. Do not draw your swords. You have your orders.”
The soldiers surrounded the house. Four of them went in to round up the members of the royal family. They were almost obsequious in their treatment of them. The soldiers put each hostage on the back of a horse behind a legionnaire: Queen Ergain, her daughters, her sons. I stepped forward. “I’m going with you.”
“Get out of the way, old man.”
“I demand to be taken with you. I am responsible for the safety of this family.”
“You?” It was a hoot of derision. The soldiers were convulsed with mirth.
“Take him.” It was a command shouted by the captain. I nodded my thanks. In what looked light sleight of hand, a soldier lifted me and threw me onto the back of a horse.
We took courage. We were not to be harmed. We had no news of the battle, nor of Caradoc. We rode toward the castra.
“Caractacus, seeking the protection of Cartismandua (Arregwedd), queen of the Brigantes, was put in chains and delivered up to the conquerors nine years after the beginning of the war in Britain.”
“In Britannia Romanos post Caractaci captivitatem ab una tantum Siluram civitate sawpius victos et profligatos.”
“In Britain, after the cativity of Caractacus, the Romans were repeatedly conquered and put to the rout by the single state of the Silures alone.”
“She (Arregwedd) strengthened her throne when, by the treacherous capture of King Caractacus, she was regarded as having given its chief distinction to the triumph of Claudius Caesar.”
We were half dead from exhaustion, our faces covered with dirt, sweat, and drying blood. We rode our lathered horses to the nearest shelter. We were, by my calculations, due north of Siluria, close to Caer Evroc. Finally, after days of heavy battle, the Roman army, under the command of Ostorius Scapula, had, for the moment, at least, prevailed. Regan and I reined in our mounts. Regan, my loyal aide, has been with me through many a battle. When I face danger, I am happy to have my old companion at my side. We stopped under a protecting grove of elms. Our horses were trembling with fatigue.
“Look.” I pointed to the north. “A rider.” We waited, alert to danger. “He sees us. Keep your sword ready.” The rider approached us and reined in his mount. “You are Caradoc, King of Siluria?”
“Who asks?”
“Kerick, a servant of Queen Aregwedd of the Brigantes. I bring news. Are you Caradoc?”
“I am. What news do you bring and from whence do you ride?”
“I am in the service of your kinswoman. I bring this letter written in her own hand.”
Regan approached the messenger, took the missive, and handed it to me. I opened it and read:
“To Caradoc, esteemed cousin, by the hand of my servant, Kerick, I Aregwedd, write unto you to inform you of the calamity which had befallen you, your wife, and your children. Ostorius is victorious in the field. Your armies are routed. Your wife, your daughters, your sons, and your father have fallen into the hands of your enemy. Your family has been carried to the castra at Uriconium where they are being held prisoner. I solicit you, not for the first time, to come and find shelter and restoration at my compound. Do not seek at this time to attempt to rescue your family members. It would be reckless and would put them in mortal danger. Let me assure you that according to the intelligence I have received, they are being well-treated. Caradoc, dear cousin, come to my palace to rest. I can help you to free your family. I have a plan. Trust me. All will be well. Farewell.”
I rolled up the letter and put it in my saddle pouch.
“What shall you do?” Regan’s eyes questioned me. I thought fast. Aregwedd was not to be trusted. She is loyal to Rome. She is last in a long line of traitors to Britain. Her political leanings reach back to Caswollan’s victory over the Tribunates when Mandubratius fled to Rome to save his own neck—traitorous coward that he was. Aregwedd is of that branch of the family. They are vipers, always ready to curry favor with Rome. The woman is my cousin, and queen of the Brigantes. I don’t trust her, but she has news of my family. Regan waited for my answer.
“We ride to Aregwedd’s compound–and we keep our wits about us.” I instructed the messenger to lead the way. We mounted our already exhausted steeds and spurred them toward Caer Evroc. In an hour of hard riding, we arrived at my cousin’s gates. Aregwedd herself came to meet us. “Dear cousin,” she saw the blood on my forehead, “you are wounded.”
“It’s nothing. What news of my family?”
“Come. You must be calm. Refresh yourself. Wash. Eat. We have ointments for your wounds. I have sent a servant to acquire the latest news of your family. You will feel more at ease when you are clean and you have a full belly.” She commanded a servant to see to the horses. He bowed and led the exhausted animals toward a stall where they would be fed, watered, and rubbed down.
We were offered the comforts of the house–water, ointments, food. After a meal at which we drank a goodly portion of red wine, we lay down to sleep. We were beyond exhaustion. I don’t know how long I slept. Sometime in the blackness of the night I opened my eyes. I sensed the presence of someone in the room with me. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I came fully awake to a room full of Roman soldiers. I struggled to sit up. Before I could get to my feet, they slit Regan’s throat. I tried to shout, but no sound came. I felt a sword’s point at my own throat as ten men fettered me with iron chains. They dragged me to the floor. I kicked and struggled against the chains. Aregwedd stood to one side observing it all. I saw her face. Never have I seen a look of such hateful malice.
“Kill him,” she hissed.
“Oh, no. This one will be delivered to our general.” The soldiers surrounded me. I looked into my cousin’s eyes. “Traitor!” I strained with all my strength against the fetters.
“How the mighty have fallen.” She taunted me. “You have caused Rome much grief with your chariots and your armies. Claudius now owes me a debt I do not intend to let him forget. All Rome will applaud me. Everyone will say that it was a frail little woman who brought the great warrior to his knees. And I will never walk in your shadow again as long as I live.” She turned to leave, but not before she saw me spit on the floor at her feet.
“If harm comes to my wife or my children, their blood is on your hands. I shall not rest until I avenge this treachery.” I heard her caustic laugh.
The soldiers led me away, bound hand and foot, still struggling.
“Quiet him,” shouted the captain. In obedience, someone picked up a large rock and knocked me senseless. I was mercifully unconscious most of the ride to the casta at Uriconium where I was delivered to the tender mercies of Ostorius Scapula. As I struggled toward consciousness I was aware that every bone and muscle in my body ached. The slightest movement caused me pain. I heard someone shout.
“Bring in the prisoner.” The captain barked the orders. Four men carried me into the presence of their general.
“Sir, shall we make plans for his execution?”
“Oh, no. Claudius has been waiting a long time for this moment. He may have plans to torture this one before his execution. I’m certain the suffering will be prolonged. Oh no. We don’t kill him. We let the emperor decide how he dies. We send to Rome for instructions. Keep him chained. Assign four men at every watch to guard him. Call for a scribe.”
Presently, the scribe bustled in with papyrus and ink and arranged himself at a low table. He waited, pen poised. Scapula dictated, “To our great emperor, Claudius, from Uriconium: Hail! I, Ostorio Scapula, inform you, oh most revered Caesar, that I have in my custody, Caradoc-Caractacus and his family. I await your instruction. Honor unto Caesar.”
They did let me visit my family. My wife and children were brought to me. We were silent until the guards turned their backs. Then my father, my wife, and the children gathered around me.
“Have they harmed you or our daughters?” Urgently, I clasped my wife’s hands.
“No. They have not harmed us. They have treated us well. But, you, oh my husband, I fear you have been ill-treated.” She examined the scrapes and cuts and bruises on my face and head. My daughters and sons embraced me.
“Father, you are wounded.” Gladys and Ergain tearfully fluttered around me. I reassured them. “Do not let them see tears. They will take it as weakness. I do not fear for myself. Be strong.”
“We shall follow your example, Father.”
Linus spoke. “What shall they do with us?”
“They will do nothing until they hear from Claudius. They have wanted to capture me for years. I have cost Rome dearly. Only Claudius will decide what shall be done with me. While we wait, let us be brave. Let us show these Romans what British royalty is made of. No groveling. No weeping. Heads held high and hearts of courage.”
Gladys whispered to me, “I have concealed my mother’s talisman in the folds of my cloak. I shall carry it with me wherever they take us. It gives me strength.” And then she whispered in my ear, “Truth against the world.”
I smiled at my daughter and responded, “Truth against the world.”
For a month we were kept under guard at the castra. Finally, word came from the Emperor Claudius: “Bring them to Rome.”
I was in a hurry. My thoughts were on the words I would use to frame my request to the emperor. On some level I was aware of my toga ruffling in the breeze against by legs, and my sandaled feet making slapping noises on the polished marble corridor. I walked toward the anteroom of the emperor’s chambers. I paused and nodded. A praetorian saluted, searched me for weapons, and led me into the presence of Claudius. The emperor was sitting at his writing table, pen in hand, laboring over a document. Claudius serves Rome well. I hear that he arises hours before dawn to begin the day’s work. I knelt before him.
He waved me to my feet, and stammered: “S-s-s-enator P-p-p-udens, welcome to my l-l-library. Wh-wh-what brings you here, my son?”
“It is so good of you to receive me on such short notice. I come to ask a favor, Caesar.”
“And how much will this f-f-f-favor cost me?” Claudius smiled, his mouth drawn downward, his eyebrows raised sardonically, his head bobbing slightly.
“You will be glad to hear that it will cost you nothing. In fact, in a way, I would be the one bestowing the favor. My idea will save you money.”
“S-s-so,” said the emperor, “just what is this favor we can do for each other?”
“It has to do with the Briton.” I looked earnestly into my sovereign’s face. “It is about Caradoc and his family.”
“Caradoc? You mean Caractacus? I hope you can do something to s-s-save me m-m-money. He has cost us dearly in the past seven years. D-do you have any idea what s-s-seven years of warfare has cost us in men and materiel? B-b-by the gods, everything costs money. And everybody c-c-complains. Do you know what the Fucine Lake project has c-c-cost us? Eleven years and thirty thousand men d-digging through solid rock and the thing doesn’t w-work. D-d-do you know h-how humiliating it is to st-stage a great sp-spectacle, to c-c-celebrate the opening of the sl-sluices and n-nothing happens?”
“But the principle is sound. We are even now redigging the tunnel and the lake will be drained. It will work, Caesar. It will provide needed farmland.” I was present at what was supposed to be the grand opening of the draining of the lake. Claudius ordered a grand naval battle with real ships and nineteen thousand combatants divided into opposing navies—the ‘Sicilians’ and the ‘Rhodians.’” They were to reenact a battle. We built stands around the entire lake to accommodate the spectators. Claudius, Nero, and Agrippina appeared in full military regalia. We were all horrified when we opened the sluices and discovered that the channel had not been dug below the level of the lake. It was not our finest hour. I hope never to be the recipient of the kind of anger Claudius displayed that day. I spoke to soothe him. “The lake project is just as important as the aquaducts or the canals. You have brought glory to Rome, Caesar, not only with your projects, but look how you have expanded the empire. Look at the good laws you have passed. Under your leadership conquered people become citizens of Rome.”
“G-glory will n-n-not pay for these p-projects. Do you know how much we’ve spent in ten years on the canals alone? We’re nowhere near finished with it. But I’m still convinced it is the best thing for Rome to have a p-p-port closer than Ostia. To t-t-trans-ship our merchandise is foolish and outmoded. I know it costs m-money to build a new system, but I also know it’s worth it. Listen Pudens. When I came to this exalted p-position Rome was on the verge of f-famine. You are too young to remember, but by Jove, I re-re-remember. We had eight day’s s-supply of grain for over four million p-people. I had t-t-to do s-something immediately. Grain shipment wasn’t due to b-b-begin until March s-so I offered to insure any vessel that w-w-would supply Rome. A t-t-temporary s-s-solution, b-but it worked. It will n-n-never happen again with the n-new harbor. In spite of m-my advisors, I ordered it d-d-done. They said it was too c-c-costly. W-Well it is c-c-costly, b-but it had to be d-done. I don’t regret it.”
I watched as he became more agitated. “Emperor, your plans for a port are nothing short of visionary. Both Julius Caesar and Augustus drew plans, but you are the one who put the thing in working order. The sea walls are magnificent. It has been my honor to help design the granaries. And they will make life in Rome–not simply more convenient, but possible. Tomorrow we expect a shipment of ten thousand modii of wheat. The forty-five arcades are almost complete. We will number the arcades. Tickets will be issued with matching numbers so that there will be fair distribution to the populace.” I spoke out of conviction but I also hoped to placate him into listening to my idea.
“J-just so, P-p-pudens. I’m glad you bring your s-skills to the project. It’s g-g-good to hear a v-v-voice of s-support. So, how are you going to save me m-money?”
“Well, Caesar, as you may recall, I served as aide to General Plautius in the Silurian campaign. When I arrived in Britain, the first thing I did was arrange for a temple to be built in honor of Neptune and Minerva. It was erected by the legion’s engineers and it bears my name in honor of my father.”
“Yes, your father. Quintus was a distinguished senator and a pious man. The gods smiled on him. He and I agreed on m-m-most issues. Yes. A fine man and one who could be trusted. You come from good stock, young Pudens. May the gods bless you as they blessed your father.”
“Thank you, Caesar. Well, I was in Britain during the six-month truce.”
Claudius looked up from under bushy brows. “Ah, the double wedding–my neice to a British king and Plautius to Caradoc’s sister. Marriages seal our negotiations, Pudens. We trade women for peace. The sister of Caractacus–her British name was Gladys, was it not?”
“It was.”
“She assumed the Roman name of Pomponia?”
“Correct. Pomponia Graecina.”
“That truce!” The veins stood out at the emperor’s temples. Foamy saliva formed in the corners of his mouth. “By Jove, that was the year C-c-caractacus visited Rome–by way of the n-n-new canals, as it happened. C-c-caractacus! What an insolent fellow! To the senate he said he ordered every tree in Siluria felled so that we Romans would know it was British strength and not their forests which had defeated us. And when he saw our public buildings he said, ‘Rome’s buildings are magnificent. Why should Rome envy me my soldier’s tent in Britain.’ I didn’t begrudge him his tent. I wanted his domains.” Claudius sighed. “It is a costly war, but Rome will win. With generals such as Plautius, Geta, and Vespasian, how can we fail?”
“Of course Rome shall conquer.” I spoke reassuring words. “It was a privilege to serve under Plautius. Yes, I remember the truce well. Of course, when the fighting resumed my general was recalled to Rome.”
Claudius tapped his fingers on the table top. “He had to be recalled. Ccccan you imagine leaving him there in cccommand, now the bbbbrother-in-law of our enemy? Caractacus would have had his sssspy ssssystem built-in.” He turned to me. I sensed his impatience. “What has all this to do with you and a f-f-favor?”
“When I was in Briton as aide to Plautius, during the truce, as a part of the wedding festivities, I was invited to the Silurian palace. The king and queen were most hospitable and their children were kind, as well. The sons, like their father, studied here in Rome. The daughters are gentle and proud of their family. I would ask, Caesar, that you grant me the privilege and the responsibility of taking them to my villa when they are brought to Rome. Domus Pudens is far enough away from the center of the city that there will be less likelihood of an unfortunate event. The Carcer is no fit prison for the British royal family–particularly the women. I realize they are political prisoners. There will certainly be a trial. Until you decide what punishment will be given to Caractacus, let them live with me. I will pay all their expenses, lodging, food, and whatever else they will need. I will be personally responsible for their conduct.”
Claudius pursed his lips. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. He must know that the Briton’s arrival in Rome will be the occasion of some degree of upheaval. Claudius thought awhile and then turned to me.
“The p-populace will be eager to catch a glimpse of the b-barbarian–the Beast of Briton. Better, perhaps, that he be housed away from public view. You may take him and his f-family members to your villa, but Caractacus must stay under armed guard at all t-times. I will order the Praetorians to pull that d-d-duty. I will hold you personally responsible for their s-safety and their conduct.”
“Thank you, Caesar. Then it is agreed?”
“Agreed, young Pudens.” Claudius stood with difficulty and took me by the arm, leaning heavily on me for support. He hobbled to a nearby bookshelf. “I s-s-say, have you seen the books I have written on the history of the Etruscans? Most f-f-fascinating. Also, I have completed a history of Carthage. I wasn’t always emperor, you know. I spent thirty-five years as a historian. Perhaps, that shall be as much my legacy as this exalted position I now hold.” He smiled sardonically. “C-c-come, let me show you. You s-s-seem well informed about historical matters.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon listening as he told me, in minute detail, the history of the early settlers of Rome. It was more than I wanted to know. Withal, I could not help but admire the emperor his indefatigable efforts at recording this history, and his insightful commentary on his research. His engineering projects are simply magnificent. Claudius has multiple physical handicaps, but his mind is sharp as a two-edged sword.
“Roma catenatum tremuit spectare Britannum.”
“Rome trembled when she saw the Briton, though fast in chains.”
“The people were summoned to a grand spectacle; the praetorian cohorts were drawn up under arms. Then came a procession of the royal vassals. Caractacus did not stoop in supplication. He, neither by humble look nor speech, sought compassion.”
We were marched like criminals on display. The populace lined up along the avenues for the spectacle–three million of them they told me later, sweating in the hot sun, jostling for position to better see the Beast of Britain. Rome is a whore, drunk on excess. Rome is glutted with too much of everything– too much wealth, too much power, too much entertainment, too much wine, too much cruelty, too much intrigue, too much blood, too much, too much, too much. I loathe Rome. I felt the excitement in the air. The crowds shouted and jeered.
“Bring him on. Bring on the great warrior.”
“Let’s have a look at him.”
“He’s not so great now.”
“I guess Rome showed him he can’t forever win.”
“Rome conquers all.”
“Hail, Caesar!”
Their shouts echoed from the Palatine to the Capitoline across the Forum, bouncing from the public buildings—temples, basilicas, colonnades and triumphal arches until there was one enormous and continuous roar of sound. It was as if the forces of hell were let loose on this one particular golden Italian day. I heard someone shout: “Here they come.”
Charioteers in full regalia stood tall behind their steeds which they controlled with a flick of the whip. The iron wheels made a deafening thunderous sound on the stone roadway. Trumpets and banners and soldiers without number marching in perfect cadence made for a colorful and impressive spectacle indeed. I heard it from every direction: “Hail, Caesar! Hail, Caesar!”
It was shouted in unison until it became a litany burned into the brain and sinew.
“Hail to the Emperor Claudius.” We were marched through the wide avenues. At last, I caught sight of the emperor. He sat, waiting and calm, at the main entrance to the Basilica Julia–the largest basilica of the Forum. The building was meant to intimidate. I’ve seen this building. I’ve been in Rome before, though certainly not under these circumstances. Julius Caesar laid the cornerstone to this one a hundred years ago. It is the great judicial building of Rome. It houses the civil court. I know about it. And I can guess that Claudius chose it because he felt it made an impressive backdrop for a god. I’m sure he thinks he’ll join the pantheon after they deify him. He does not look godlike. His head bobs incessantly. His knees shake under that pristine toga. He is afflicted with a mouth that drools a thick, foamy saliva. Everyone knows that his own mother called him “my son, the imbecile.” Claudius has his physical afflictions, but he is no imbecile. I respect his mind. He is sharp, meticulous, and cruel. I, of all people, know that he holds life and death power over most of the world. There he sits, surrounded by members of the Senate and the Praetorian guards. One of the senators shouted again, “Here they come!”
Claudius, with the assistance of two Praetorians, rose to his feet. The ranks parted, opening a corridor to make way for our entourage. A detail of five soldiers escorted me. One soldier led the group. The other four formed a square, and in the center of the square I marched. I was followed by the other members of my family. Weighed down with chains, my ankles and wrists were encircled by iron cuffs and the chains were so arranged as to hobble me as I walked. Even so, the populace seemed terrified at my appearing. Britons stand head and shoulders over even the tallest Roman. British men are well-muscled. As I passed along the parade route, there was a collective and audible gasp.
“By the gods. Look at him. He’s enormous.”
“No wonder we haven’t been able to take him before now.”
“He is a most admirable foe.”
“Look how fiercely he struggles against the chains.”
“His eyes are full of rage. I’d hate to meet him on a dark night.”
“They say the Britons are well-trained and well-armed.”
“He has led battalions into war against Rome. I’ll wager his fate is sealed.”
“It would be no disgrace to fall in battle to so brave a one.”
“I hear he was betrayed by a kinswoman.”
“He’ll be condemned by the Senate. Surely, they will not let him live.”
“Look how strong he is. Never have I seen such a body.”
I stand tall. I was trained from childhood in the strengthening of body and in swift and accurate martial arts. How must I appear to this Roman rabble? My hair is long, my skin fairer that Roman men’s, but deeply tanned from months and years of living close to earth and sun. I am an excellent runner. As a boy I learned to swim and to climb. I am trained to bear pain and fatigue with dignity. I live for my own honor and for the honor of my country. I am trained not to show fear. All the forces of Rome cannot shake me.
It is ludicrous that Rome considers me a barbarian. I was educated not only in the British centers of learning, but in Rome as well. I know their language as I know my own. All the nobility of Britain and Gaul study in Rome–some in the emperor’s palace. Our own educational system requires twenty years to master the circle of knowledge. I studied philosophy, astronomy, geometry, jurisprudence, medicine, poetry, and oratory, among other subjects. I can say, with certainty, that I am no barbarian. Rome, drunk on bloodlust, seems more accurately to fit that description. As I struggled through the Roman streets, I was sustained by our motto: “Truth against the world. Truth against the world.”
My father followed me in this travesty of a procession. How could it be that the blessed, Bran, Arch Druid.of Siluria, former king and honored chief of the Silurian university should be subjected to such an ordeal. How I love and respect my father. He put aside his crown so that I might rise to the throne. I have always honored him–more so now. Even in his old age, he walks with pride. His steps are made firm by his conviction of the righteousness of our cause. Behind him came my queen. She is brave and beautiful. Any worry she felt for me or for our children, she concealed behind a mask of serenity and peace. Behind her came the children walking two by two. The boys, Linus and Cynon, vowed to protect their mother and their sisters. At last, the girls, Ergain, and Gladys, followed behind the rest of the group. They are young and beautiful. They emulate their mother. This day they walked firmly without display of fear. Unmindful of the harsh and jeering multitude, we walked with heads held high through the indignities of the day. The Roman men, laughing coarsely, made crude remarks. Perhaps they think we cannot understand their language.
“I’d like to meet her in the dark.”
“By Jupiter. I could do something with that.”
“I like the young one best. She looks ripe enough to be plucked.”
“Hey, beauty. Look my way.”
I wanted to get my hands around their fat, sweaty necks. As for my women, the jeers fell on deaf ears–the crudity beneath their noting. Ah! These Romans. They call us barbarians. Who is barbarous after all?
Claudius raised his hand. Instantly, a hush fell across the Forum.
“What say you? Who comes here?”
A guard stepped smartly up and handed a rolled letter to the Praetorian who passed it to the emperor. He read: “To the emperor of Rome, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus, Hail!
I, Ostorius Scapula, deliver into your hands, the Briton, Caractacus, known as Caradoc, King of Siluria. My battalions were victorious over the British armies. The family of Caradoc was captured at the royal residence. We received intelligence that Caradoc, himself, took refuge at Caer Evroc with Aregwedd, Queen of the Brigantes, a kinswoman of the prisoner and a friend of Rome. By her orders, the Briton was seized in his sleep, fettered and delivered into my hands. According to your orders, I hereby deliver him and his family captives into your presence. Hail, Caesar!”
Claudius handed the missive to his guard and addressed me.
“What s-say you? Are you an enemy of Rome?”
“I am.”
“You shall be s-sentenced three days hence in the S-senate of Rome. Whom do you wish to speak in your d-defense?”
“I shall speak for myself.”
“Are you certain you do not w-wish to have an advocate?”
“I shall speak for myself.”
“V-very well. I have nothing more to s-say at this t-time. We are dismissed until such time this p-prisoner appears before the Senate.”
Claudius and his guards turned to leave. Rufus Pudens caught the eye of the emperor and raised his eyebrows in questioning permission. The emperor nodded and hobbled out of the hot sun toward the comfort of his palace.
The young senator approached the guards. “By order of the emperor, the prisoners are to be conducted to Domus Pudens.” We were taken to the villa.
“Adjacent to the palace were baths on a corresponding scale, known subsequently as Thermae Timothinae and Thermae Novatianae. The palace baths and grounds were bequeathed by Timotheus to the Church at Rome. And these were the only buildings of any magnitude possessed by the Roman Church until the reign of Constantine. Hermas terms the Titulus “amplissima Pudentes domus.” It was the hospitium for Christians from all parts of the world.”
Our family was conducted to the senator’s villa. As soon as we were settled in the sedan, young Pudens ordered Caradoc released from his chains. The Praetorian demurred.
The senator looked at him in astonishment. “By the gods, man. He is unarmed. All of the Roman army stands between him and Britain. Do you think he will escape? I alone am responsible to the emperor for him. Take off the chains.”
Reluctantly the guard did as he was bidden. I gasped when I saw the skin rubbed raw from my husband’s wrists and ankles.
Pudens spoke comfortingly to me and to all the family. “We’ll soon be at my home. You are my most welcome guests. You will find everything you need there. We have ointments for your cuts and bruises. We have water for bathing and clean clothes for all of you. My servants are preparing a meal for you. I well remember your hospitality to me when I was in Siluria during the truce. Please, set your minds and hearts at ease. I will extend to you every comfort. My mother, the lady Priscilla, is eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
I looked at him with gratitude. “You are most kind. My daughters are fainting with fatigue. If you can give us a place to rest, we will be most grateful.”
“I am your servant, madam.”
Caradoc was fuming. “What a humiliation to be paraded through the streets of Rome like a common criminal.” His hands clenched and unclenched in an effort to get the blood circulating again.
Gladys looked at her father’s bleeding wrists and was appalled. “Please, Senator Pudens, do you have a clean kerchief we can use to bind up my father’s wounds?”
“No need for that,” her father insisted. “I’m not a baby. I’ll be all right.”
“But, of course.” He pulled a clean square of linen from the fold of his toga. I watched my daughter as she applied the linen to her father’s cuts and bruises. I watched her gentle attention to her task. My daughter is beautiful and kind.
We traveled east for some time. When we topped a hill and the senator announced, “We have arrived. This is the entrance to my villa.” The gate was opened by servants who bowed to our group. We were escorted through lawns and gardens to the door of the large main house. The senator’s mother was waiting to welcome us.
“Do come in. You must be exhausted.” She smiled and opened her arms to us.
“This is my mother, the Lady Priscilla.”
I looked into his mother’s welcoming eyes and returned her smile.
“You are so kind to take us in. We are frightfully unkempt and we are so weary. We don’t want to impose on you.”
“Not at all. It is our pleasure to have you here.”
The senator’s family home is impressive. He pointed to the baths adjoining the living area. “Please make yourselves at home. You will be shown to your apartments and there will be servants who will conduct you to the baths. I’m sure you will find everything you need.”
We women were left to the care of the lady Priscilla and the servant women. My husband was conducted, still under guard, to a bedchamber. We were taken to our bedroom. It was full of flowers. There was a large platter of fresh fruit, some of which we did not recognize. There were towels of linen, a basin of water, oils and spices, and, best of all, a clean, large bed. A servant girl appeared and conducted us to the bath house where we bathed in warm spring water. Afterward, we were oiled and massaged by expert hands. What luxury! What a pleasure to get rid of soiled clothes and the grime of travel. What comfort for sore, tired muscles to be soothed by the servant girls. After our capture, we lived in a Roman castra for a month. We sailed to Rome under arrest– and in conditions not fit for women. Here, in this house, we are treated as guests, not prisoners. These servant girls are trained to be gentle. They warmed the fragrant oils before they were applied to our tired bodies. We were wiped down with soft cloth. Our hair was brushed and braided and we emerged feeling clean and sleepy, and grateful. We put on the clothing that was laid out for us and then we slept. For two hours we napped before we were summoned to the atrium, the large central open space in the house. We women were taken to a dining room for the evening meal. The men were conducted to their own dining area, the triclinium.
We have no idea what the future holds for us. I may be a widow in a few days. No one knows what the Roman emperor will decide. I am fearful, but I must not show my fear. I am grateful for this place and for the kindness shown to us. Domus Pudens is to us, at least for the present, both safety and comfort.
We reclined at table. Conversation over dinner ranged from memories of the truce in Britain to the upcoming trial of Caradoc. Huge platters of fish, fruits, and vegetables were carried into our dining room on the shoulders of young men. Wine flowed freely.
“I’ll never forget bringing you the truce proposal. I must confess that I was terrified.” I smiled at my guest.
“I remember you. You had reason to be afraid. I was impressed by your demeanor. You did not show fear.” Caradoc raised his cup. “Let us drink to feigned courage. It often accomplishes as much as the real thing.” We raised our cups and drank.
“You must accustom yourself to being called by your Roman name. Here in Rome, you are known as Caractacus. It has a noble ring to it.”
“Caractacus it is, then, I suppose. But my Silurian name has served me well.”
“What shall you say before the Senate?”
“I shall tell the truth and I shall be eloquent.”
“It is not often one goes before that tribunal alone without an advocate to plead his cause.”
“I imagine that it is not often that a king and an innocent and honorable man goes before that tribunal.” The Briton rose from the table. Two Praetorians stood just behind him, watchful, hands on their swords. “If you do not mind, Senator Pudens, I believe I shall take my leave. I have work to do before I sleep. I have a speech to write.”
“Of course. You will find writing materials in your chamber. I do hope you rest well.” I stood as Caractacus was led from the banquet hall.
It was the day of the trial. Everyone in the family went to the Curia—the Senate’s meeting hall, to be near Caradoc. The Curia stands on hallowed ground. The original building was planned and erected by Rome’s third king, Tulius Hostilius, and stood—remodeled and revised, to be sure—for five hundred years. Fire destroyed it twice. Julius Caesar planned and began the third major rebuilding, but when he was assassinated, it was left to Augustus to complete. It stands within a grand complex of buildings and is sacred to our history. It is known now as “Curia Julia,” after the great Caesar. Many of the senators pause in the small temple in the courtyard west of the Curia to offer sacrifice and pray before entering the hall where deliberations take place. They arrive by way of the colonnaded walkways. Only senators, their guests and invited speakers may enter the building. Caradoc’s family wanted to witness these proceedings, but when they arrived their entry was barred. It was to be a closed meeting. They were invited to stand on the porch beyond the open doors. The chamber is built with huge bronze doors commissioned by Julius Caesar and installed by Augustus. These are traditionally left open so that the spectatori and auditori may gather on the porches. This day, we senators were all present–seated along both sides of the tiered chamber on long marble benches. Claudius sat elevated above us. The trial was ready to begin. Conversations stopped. A reverential hush fell over the chamber.
“Bring in the prisoner.”
“There is one small difficulty, sir.”
“And what might that be?” Claudius looked impatient.
“It is the matter of the prisoner’s daughter, Caesar.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose.
Claudius sighed. “And what is her problem?”
“She insists on standing beside her father while he pleads his case. No woman has ever stood before the Roman senate.” All eyes turned toward Agrippina sitting, silently for once, in the shadows. No woman indeed, yet here was the emperor’s wife pushing her way in, not willing to miss this trial of the century. She was, no doubt, here with the permission of her husband–or at least his acquiescence. Agrippina does pretty much what she wants to do. “What shall we do about the prisoner’s daughter?”
Claudius laughed. “How old is this woman?”
“Sixteen.”
“Bring her in.”
I must confess I was seized by a moment of anxiety. Gladys could be executed as a part of her father’s humiliation. I know Claudius. He may appear avuncular, but he is remorseless. More than thirty senators and hundreds of military officers have been executed for mere suspicion of disloyalty. Caradoc’s life is at stake and now, Gladys, too, is in danger. This kind of impertinence would not be overlooked.
The guards conducted Gladys into the senate chamber. She looked straight at the emperor. She neither bowed nor nodded. Her chin and her mouth were set firmly. Her hand rose momentarily to the small gold object at her throat as if it could impart courage. I held my breath.
“By Jupiter. Who is this pretty one? What is your name, child?” Claudius smiled at the sight of her.
She lifted her head proudly. “Princess Gladys, daughter of Caradoc, King of Siluria.” Her voice did not waver.
“And how old are you, Gladys, daughter of the King? They tell me you are sixteen. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, why do you want to attend this proceeding?”
“I stand beside my father in support of his cause. He is innocent of any wrong against Rome. You are the ones who invaded us.” There was an audible gasp from the assembled senators.
Claudius laughed out loud. A sigh passed through the room like a wave. The senators laughed retroactively.
“What do you want, Gladys?”
“I want to stand beside my father as he addresses this body.”
A voice from the back of the chamber was raised in displeasure. “Objection.” The voice belonged to Persius Gaius, old nemesis to the emperor. “It is not fit that she should be present.” Several senators murmured their agreement.
“I will stay.” Gladys looked like a small fierce animal ready to pounce. Arch enemies sometimes have a way of making our decisions for us. At Gaius’ objection, Claudius knew immediately what he would decide.
“Granted. You may stay. I like your spirit. Call Caractacus.” I realized I was sitting on the edge of my bench, every muscle and nerve strained toward the proceedings. It was as if my own life were at stake.
The guards brought Caradoc into the chamber. He stood tall. He was the hero of forty battles. There was nothing in his character nor in his demeanor to cause him shame. Everyone present recognized his nobility. He planted his feet firmly, squared his massive shoulders, lifted his chin, looked at his daughter with pride, nodded to the emperor, and began to speak.
“Had my government in Britain been directed solely with a view to the preservation of my hereditary domains or the aggrandizement of my own family, I might long since have entered this city an ally, not a prisoner; nor would you have disdained for a friend a king descended from illustrious ancestors and the director of many nations. My present condition, stript of its former majesty, is as adverse to myself as it is a cause of triumph to you. What then? I was lord of men, horses, arms, wealth: what wonder if at your dictation I refused to resign them? Does it follow, that because the Romans aspire to universal dominion, every nation is to accept the vassalage they would impose? I am now in your power–betrayed, not conquered. Had I, like others, yielded without resistance, where would have been the name of Caradoc? Where your glory? Oblivion would have buried both in the same tomb. Bid me live, I shall survive forever in history one example at least of Roman clemency.”
He stopped, bowed his head, and waited. The senate to a man, accustomed to hearing great oratory, sat stunned at the persuasive skill of the Briton and at his poetic command of their language. We looked toward Claudius. The emperor paused. The whole world seemed to be holding its collective breath. Everyone knew that clemency was seldom granted. In case after case, men were routinely condemned to death for much less crime than Caradoc’s. Certainly, none lived who had caused Rome so much grief in defeat. Suddenly, Claudius smiled and, in a radical departure from the norm, jabbed his thumb upward. Cheers erupted from the senators. Gladys threw herself into her father’s arms.
Claudius lifted his hand. The silence was immediate. Now the emperor would pronounce the sentence. Everyone leaned forward to hear.
“I grant you your life. You will be a prisoner in Rome for seven years. You will be in libera custodia—free captivity. You will not be confined, but may go about Rome at will. You will not leave the city. You will be able to receive funds and goods from your homeland.” Claudius paused. “The most important stipulation of all is this: You will never take up arms against Rome again. Do you understand the verdict?”
“I understand.”
“Do you accept the conditions of this sentence?
“I accept.”
“One more thing,” said Claudius. “I hereby adopt this young woman, Gladys. She shall henceforth enjoy the privileges of being the daughter to the emperor. Also, she shall be known from this day, not as Gladys, but as Claudia–after me. Come, Claudia, and embrace your new father.”
I felt pride and relief. Claudius was clever. To seal an alliance, if one can’t marry, one adopts.
Gladys stepped in front of the emperor. She bowed low before him, her long hair falling like a silken veil, hiding her face. She gracefully rose to her feet and gave the commanded embrace.
I heard her words, softly, but clearly spoken.
“Thank you, for sparing my father’s life. Thank you for being kind to me. I shall try to be a good and obedient daughter to you, my second father.”
“In so doing, my dear child, you have sworn allegiance to Rome. You are now and forever under Rome’s protection.” Everyone present understood that Claudius had scored a triple triumph: victory over the Briton with a promise he would not oppose Rome again; vengeance on an old enemy; and a new alliance sealed with the adoption of his enemy’s daughter. Who said Claudius is an imbecile?
Amid cheers, the royal family left the Senate chamber to return to my villa.
I sat in my chambers that night, a vision playing over and over in my mind. It was the vision of the Briton standing straight and tall before the Roman Senate pleading for his life. I thought of the daughter standing beside her father. What courage! What poise! What presence! Before I slept, my mind played the scene over and over again. Caradoc, Caractacus. Gladys, Claudia. Who are these people?
It is hard for me to believe that we have been in Rome a year. I sometimes long for Siluria, but my father says we should live our lives as pleasantly as possible while we are here. We’ll be here for another six years. Six years! It seems an eternity. The lady Priscilla has befriended my mother and she has taken a great interest in me and my sister. She said she will teach us how to please a Roman husband. Priscilla often sits in the atrium with her needlework. She lets Ergain and me sit and watch. Her hands are swift and delicate as they weave the complicated tapestry pattern. She let me try it once.
“I don’t see how you do it. I keep tangling my threads until it is impossible to know which thread goes where. I’ll never be able to do this.” By the time she helped me untangle the knots, I was trembling with vexation. She is so patient and kind. “You are the mistress of the needle, Priscilla. I fear I’ll never master it.”
“Patience, my dear. You’ll learn yet. We all have our talents and skills. I could never write poetry as you do.”
“I do love to write poetry.”
“See? We are different in our abilities. I can teach you needlework. A good Roman wife must be skilled at weaving and cooking. Tomorrow we’ll work in the kitchen. I’ll teach you how to make passum. Oh, Claudia, we’ll make a fine Roman wife of you yet. You will bear many sons for your husband and he shall respect you and honor you.” She smiled and nodded.
I wonder what life holds for me. While growing up in Siluria, I never dreamed I would be in Rome. Our coming here has changed many things for us and for others. Even the name of the villa has changed. Since our arrival it is less frequently called Domus Pudens and is now known as the Paladium Britanicum. The villa is drenched in sunshine. It sits high on what is known as Viminilus Hill. The view from the front lawn is spectacular. I love to sit and look at the rolling countryside. I often take my writing materials and sit on a bench and think and write. Life is pleasant for us in Rome. There is always something to do. I am learning to like Roman food. It is plentiful and there is always a new treat to taste. The cooks never stop working. There are about four hundred servants on this place.
Guests are forever dropping in. Family members come and go. My Aunt Gladys—Pomponia Graecina—comes often to spend an afternoon, and sometimes, her husband with her. Dear Uncle Plautius. He surprised me with a gift. He gave me my father’s battle shield. General Scapula took it from my father at the time of his capture. The general passed it on to his predecessor, my Uncle Plautius, who said I deserved to have it because of my bravery before the Senate. Who would have thought that when my Aunt Gladys married and came to Rome that, one day, our whole family would be here. I still remember our conversation about the peace weavers. It seems a hundred years ago. My Aunt Gladys is a peace weaver, and I suppose, in a way, I am one as well. When the emperor adopted me, it was not because he loved me as a daughter. He did it to seal an alliance. That makes me a peace weaver too. I hope that Claudius is happy with the result. For my part, I am content.
Life here is exciting. Sometimes we go into the city, but for the most part we stay at the villa. There is always entertainment to keep us amused—exotic birds in wicker cages, musicians eager to entertain. There are people on the premises who excel at playing the flute, the kithara, and the lute. They will perform at the slightest pretext.
I must admit that I am interested in the young senator. He holds himself aloof as all Roman men do. Women and domestic life are far beneath the notice of a member of the Roman senate. I do believe, though, that he has noticed me. I have been instructed by his mother to sit modestly and quietly as men do not like to hear female chatter. I am not given to chatter, so he will certainly not be inconvenienced by me in that way. If I have an opportunity to speak directly to him, I shall make intelligent sounds. He may be surprised to discover that I can think and speak. Some days I find myself looking around a corner for him. Someday he may look for me. When he does, he shall find a woman who is accomplished at many things–British royalty who has learned to be a fine Roman wife.
I often find myself absorbed by my own thoughts. “I wonder what he thinks of me? I wonder if he finds me beautiful? How must I appear to him? I wonder if he thinks me too much younger than he? He is muscular and manly. His hair is dark like his eyes. His face is pleasing. He has a firm jaw line and a noble brow. He and I are very different in appearance.”
My sister, Ergain, came and sat beside me. She poked me in the ribs with her elbow. I frowned at her in annoyance.
“What was that about?”
She looked at me. “I know what you’re thinking. You are thinking about the senator. When you look at him, you look like a calf looking at its mother.”
“Hush, Ergain. I look nothing of the sort. I simply find him interesting.”
“Interesting?” She snorted. “Nothing interests me that much!”
“There must be some young Roman you find interesting.”
“No, sister Gladys. I am not content to settle down to Roman domesticity. I am going home to Siluria.”
“Just how do you plan to do that?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’m going.” She stood and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t you miss our home?”
“Do I miss Siluria? Sometimes I do. But our parents and brothers are here. I’m beginning to feel at home in Rome. We’ve been here a year, Ergain. It’s time we put down roots.”
“My roots are in Siluria. Rome will never be home to me. One day, somehow, I’m going home.”
I rose, gathering my scrolls. We walked together–my sister and I. She has a mind of her own. She is strong and proud and extremely opinionated. In some ways she and I are alike. We British women can be formidable. The senator should be well-advised.
“Obstat, care Pudens, nostris sua turba libellis lectoremque frequens lassat et implet opus.”
“Dear Pudens, their very number hampers my poems, and volume after volume wearies and sates the reader.”
We shall be married. It will be a good union. We shall have sons. My future wife appears fragile, but she has her father’s strength. Our marriage will unite two noble families. Rome will benefit from yet another tie to British royalty. It is time for me to be a married man, to assume the responsibilities of family life. The character of the princess Claudia is impeccable. We stroll the garden pathways. We speak of our future. I find delight in her. Her voice is soft. She is never at a loss for words.
“Your land is beautiful. Such skies are never seen over Siluria. It is sometimes cold there, and damp.” She looked at me with eyes as deep blue as a cloudless Roman sky.
“I remember the cold, but your land is beautiful too. It is green. It has many trees.”
“Yes, I love the trees. They tell me your armies were defeated as much by the trees as by our soldiers.” She looked at me archly. Her eyes twinkled. I think she is teasing me. I cleared my throat.
“Let us not talk of defeat.” I took her hand in mine. Her skin is soft. “I remember you. During the truce, when General Plautius was invited to your home, I came along as his aide. I was eighteen, and fancied myself quite the military man. I remember you and your sister and brothers.”
“I was just a little girl then. I do remember that my brother and you almost came to blows over some silly disagreement. But you remember me? What did you think of me?”
“I thought you were a sweet child. You hid behind the furniture or behind your mother’s skirts.”
“I remember being in awe of the General. He was quite intimidating. And then, as a part of the truce, he married my Aunt Gladys and when I got to know him, I found him to be honorable and kind–dear Uncle Plautius.”
“He is a great leader. I was proud to serve under his command. You have changed in these last years.”
“I should hope so. Seventeen is very different from ten.”
“Indeed.” My eyes swept over her from head to toe. “You have changed.”
She blushed.
“So, what do you do for amusement?” I asked.
“I read. I write. I love language. Sometimes I think my heart will burst before I can record what is in my heart.”
“What do you write?”
“My thoughts. My dreams.” She paused and ducked her head.
“What do you dream?” My eyes sought hers.
“Of a happy life.”
“And you write this?”
“Yes.” She turned to me. “My father says it is something I inherited–this hunger to write. My Grandfather took vellum from Rome into our country. Everyone in my family enjoys reading. Always copies of the works of your best authors are circulated and can be found in our centers of learning. My papa says we are a literary bunch.”
“You must meet my friend, Martial.”
“The poet? You know him?” Her eyes widened in astonishment.
“Yes. Are you familiar with his work?”
“Indeed. I find him witty, articulate, and often scandalous.”
I smiled. “He often drops in at my villa. He brings me poetry he has written for my perusal before he puts it out for public consumption. He asks me to correct his work, but doesn’t always like my suggestions, nor does he always take them. I suppose you could say I am his editor.”
Gladys laughed delightedly. “How fascinating.” She looked at me with what I can only describe as open admiration. It was the universal look that women give to men in whom they can find no flaw. It was as if she said the words (though, of course, she did not), “Oh, you big, strong, brilliant, wonderful man.”
I must say I was flattered. I strutted a bit—to impress her. I threw out my chest and struck a pose. I felt silly. I am a Roman senator after all.
I smiled. “Let me see if I can remember the epigram he wrote to me just recently. It goes like this: “A certain person, Rufus, lately looked me up and down carefully, just as if her were a purchaser of slaves or a trainer of gladiators, and when he had furtively observed me and pointed me out: ‘Are you, are you,’ he said, ‘that Martial, whose naughty jests everyone knows who at least has not a barbarous ear?’ ‘I smiled quietly, and with a slight bow, did not deny I was the person mentioned. ‘Why then,’ said he, ‘do you wear a bad cloak?’ I replied, ‘Because I am a bad poet.’ That this may not happen too often to a poet, send me, Rufus, a good cloak.’”
Gladys laughed. She is utterly charming.
“And shall you send him a good cloak?”
“Certainly. It is the least I can do for such a witty friend.” I took both her slim hands in mine.
“Ah, my dear, you shall be my wife. You shall give me strong sons. You are beautiful and you are bright.”
She smiled. “For a woman?”
“For anyone, man or woman. I find you interesting. What is that you wear around your neck?”
“My mother gave it to me on the day of my fifteenth birthday and the day I was initiated into our clan.”
“What does it mean?”
“It can mean many things. If you trace it with your fingertip, you will eventually find your way back to where you started. It has no set beginning and no end. It is very much like our lives. There is balance and flow, leaving and returning. There is something eternal about it. It is passed down from mother to daughter. Perhaps I shall have a daughter to give it to one day among all the sons.” I nodded agreement.
We ambled slowly toward a fish pond and found a shady place beneath a tree. We sat together on a stone bench and watched the orange and yellow fish dart through the water.
“I have a secret.” She took a deep breath.
“Do you now?” I smiled at her.
“May I tell you?”
“Of course. I promise not to tell.”
“You will be my husband. I feel I can tell you anything. I feel as if I have known you all my life. When I look into your eyes, I feel like a ship that has found safe haven.” Her words tumbled out in a great rush. It was as if she didn’t say them immediately and all at once, she might never have another opportunity.
“You can trust me.”
She paused and looked intently at me as if to take my measure. She spoke softly now, almost in a whisper. “I fear that my family has put you in danger. You have been kind to us. If it is discovered, your household is at risk. I am a follower of The Way and all my family, except my father, are followers, too. Have you heard of it–The Way?”
I picked up a handful of pebbles and arranged them on the bench between us in a curved configuration.
She gasped. “Ichthus.” She blinked back tears. “You too?”
I laid my fingertips upon her lips. “You are correct. It is not safe to speak it aloud. Our emperor has declared it a capital offense. But yes. I follow Him too.”
Gladys spoke, “He is risen.”
I responded, “Risen, indeed.”
In that confession, we entrusted our very lives one to the other.
Some months before my lady was married, the midwives were called in. It was a necessary precaution. No man wants to marry a woman who is unable to conceive. With the senator’s family wealth, altogether too much is at stake. My lady and the young senator are to produce a male heir as soon as it is possible to do so. It isn’t enough for my lady to have a strong body. There are other considerations. Marcella, the chief among the midwives, says there are certain signs of obvious female sterility, the worst of which is a protruding forehead. In my opinion, the lady Claudia has a beautifully flat brow. Lucky for her. Seven women sat in a circle to listen to Marcella’s lecture.
She turned to me and spoke sharply: “Gwynned, go fetch a bench for the lady.” Marcella orders me around as if it is her right, which it is not, but that doesn’t seem to matter to her. I do what she says. No one wants to be at odds with Marcella. So I brought the bench and placed it in the middle of the room. I said, “Yes, madam, yes, indeed.” What I thought was another matter.
Marcella bid my lady to sit down on the bench and she proceeded to measure her head. “Small heads are not good. Large heads are not good, either. The wife’s head must be of a medium size and the features of the face must be in harmony. Eyes set too close together bode evil and will prevent conception. The nose must be straight and not too wide. Nor should it be too narrow. All in all, the features of the face must be in pleasant alignment, otherwise, there will be no heir.”
Claudia listened raptly as Marcella lectured. Her voice was anxious as she asked, “What do you think? Is my head the right size? Do you think I shall be able to have children?”
“It seems so,” Marcella responded. “But there are other tests we must perform before I can be certain. It’s a good thing you are not fat. Fat tends to block the entrance to the womb and prevent conception. Stand up, my dear. Now, where did I put that incense?” She scrambled through her bag of midwifery tools. “Ah, here it is.” She handed it to me.
“Gwynedd, light this.” The order was imperious. I dutifully ran to the kitchen and begged the cook for a coal from the oven where the bread was baking. I carried the glowing coal back to the chamber and managed, after some difficulty, to light the incense. The smoke from it rose in a choking cloud. The odor was overpowering.
Marcella, ever in charge, spoke again to my lady, “Stand over the incense. Your cloak must cover it. Be careful not to burn yourself. If your breath smells of the incense, we will know that your body is hollow enough to receive seed and contain a child, and you will conceive.”
Claudia dutifully stood over the incense, the hem of her garment encircling the bowl wherein it burned.
“Now exhale.” My lady Claudia obeyed with a great ‘whoosh.’ Marcella stepped close to smell her breath. “Yes, I smell the incense. This is a sign that you are fertile. This time next year, you will be the mother of an heir to the senator’s fortunes.” Everyone smiled and clapped their hands delightedly at the good news. My lady was obviously relieved to hear that she would be able to fulfill her duty as a wife.
Marcella is very knowledgeable, even though I find her bossy in the extreme. The women, enraptured, sat in a circle on the floor as she lectured us: “Women are in great danger between the time of first bleeding and the time of their deflowering. To know a man’s body is to open the entrance to the womb. That opening is what allows the blood to flow out. If this does not happen, the woman is in danger because the blood will back up into her lungs and heart. If that should happen, she will become licentious and she may suffer hallucinations.”
We all gasped at the very thought.
“The womb is eager to become pregnant. If it does not, it can wander around inside a woman’s body causing all manner of ills. Women with heavy flow which lasts more than four days, are delicate and will produce delicate children. Women with light flow lasting two or three days are healthier and more robust, but they are often mannish in appearance and are not interested in having children.”
“Oh, I’m very interested in having children, and I don’t think I look mannish. I certainly hope not.” Claudia looked imploringly at the midwife.
“Certainly not. You are a very feminine young woman. You don’t drink heavily, do you?’
“Oh, no.”
“Well, that’s a good thing. Drunkenness has no place when you are attempting to conceive. You must be sober in the marriage bed with your husband. Otherwise, your soul might become a victim of strange fantasies. The child will always resemble the mother’s soul. Yours is a great responsibility.”
Claudia blushed and stammered, “How, exactly, is the child formed?”
Marcella spoke authoritatively. “Both the mother and the father produce seed. When the seed mingles in the mother’s womb, the child is formed. If the father’s seed is stronger, the child will have his characteristics. If the mother’s seed is stronger, the child will take after her. If both parents produce strong seed, the child will be male. If both parents produce weak seed, the child will be female. To ensure strong seed, both the man and his wife should have a snack before coming together in the marriage bed. Also a good massage will aid in conception. These are things that every woman should know before she stands before the marriage altar.” We all nodded sagely. Marcella certainly knows a lot about babies. I have to give her that. She had one last bit of advice for my lady.
“Eat onions the day of your wedding. It strengthens the blood and aids in conception.”
Thus fortified, my lady Claudia proceeded with her wedding plans. Every unmarried woman present at the lecture that day, left the chamber intent on measuring her own head, wondering if her body was sufficiently hollow to receive male seed, and pondering the efficacy of onions.
Claudia, Rufe, meo nubit Peregrina Pudenti:
Macte esto taedis, O Hymenaee, tuis.
Tan bene rara suo miscentur cinnama nardo,
Massiea Theseis tam bene vina favis;
Nec melius teneris iunguntur vitibus ulmi,
Nec plus lotos aquas, litora myrtus amat.
Candid perpetuo reside, Concordia, lecto,
Tamque pari semper sit Venus acqua iugo.
Diligat illa senem quondam, sed ipsa marito
Tum quoque, cum fuerit, non videatur anus.
Claludia Peregrina weds Rufus, my own Pudens;
A blessing, O Hymenaeus, be upon thy torches!
So well does rare cinnamon blend with its own nard;
So well Massic wine with Attic combs.
Not closer are elms linked to tender vines,
Nor greater love both the lotus for the waters,
The myrtle for the shore.
Fair Concord, rest thou unbroken on that bed,
And may Venus be ever kindly to a bond so equal knit!
May the wife love her husband when anon he is grey,
And she herself, even when she is old,
Seem not so to her spouse!
Martial Epigrams IV xiii
Three days ago, the formal betrothal ceremony transpired. In the Roman fashion, Caractacus as father of the bride, and I as the groom-to-be, exchanged the necessary vows and pledges. I offered my future father-in-law the bride purchase which he accepted. Although, in this case, the amount of money and property might have been considerable in view of the fact of the Pudentian family wealth, it was, in fact a mere token as has become the custom. It is important, however, because it signifies the transfer of legal authority from Claudia’s father to me. The dowry Caractacus paid to me was rather more munificent. We agreed that Claudia would marry sine manu, that is she will retain membership in her father’s family with all her inheritance rights intact.
Everyone in the family was present as I faced my future father-in-law and asked, “Do you promise to give your daughter to me to be my wedded wife?”
Caractacus gave the Roman response, “The gods bring luck! I betroth her.”
I turned to Claudia and she to me. We kissed and I slipped an iron ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. There is a vein that runs directly through the fourth finger of the left hand to the heart. Claudia blushed and smiled and was conducted to her quarters by the women to await our wedding day three days hence. Caradoc and I went off together to drink wine.
For weeks our villa has been alive with activity–cleaning, scouring, repairing, polishing, cooking, tasting, weaving, sewing, arranging, shopping, haggling. It was all because I was to be married to the Princess. Everyone who was important in Rome was invited to the nuptials. Around the villa, everyone hurried. Tempers flared. Arguments with much gesticulating and arm waving mixed with bouts of convulsive laughter indicated that there was a general outbreak of a good case of nerves. It is hard for me to think of my villa as anything but Domus Pudens, but since the arrival of my bride’s family, people are beginning to call it the Palladium Britanicum. We have about four hundred people living here. The servant population numbers right at four hundred, more or less equally divided in gender. Even on ordinary days, the villa requires an extraordinary amount of labor just to keep the place running.
Our family has been most fortunate. We have enjoyed a measure of wealth. The house was built by my father. I was born here. I have always loved it. All high born Romans of means build their homes of masonry. Ours sits on a high hill east of the city–far enough away to avoid noise and congestion. My father designed the house to include many private rooms built around a large central courtyard. All the floors are of the finest Italian marble. Murals, mosaics and tapestries cover much of the wall space. My mother is responsible for choosing many of the pieces of art which adorn our home. Father ordered the construction of pools and fountains, but it was my mother who chose much of the statuary which stands in the courtyard and hallways. Adjacent to this property is an elaborate terraced and intricately connected system of baths. The baths occupy more land than the property on which the main house stands. Outbuildings house the servant population. Their labor is unending.
For an occasion as auspicious as my wedding, I fear that the work load has multiplied tenfold. The days of preparation before the wedding were filled with a cacophony of sounds– rumbling carts, squawking fowl, clanging hammers, tramping feet. Fragments of various conversations wafted simultaneously across the courtyard.
I heard snatches of talk.
“Don’t you bring that cart across my floor. I just finished polishing it. You’ll leave tracks.”
“How else do you suppose I’m going to get these figs to the kitchen? Move out of my way, you old cow.”
“Don’t you call me old cow. You might have been a young bull in your day, but from the looks of things now your stud days are over. Get on out of here.”
“Buy my birds. They’ll bring good luck to the young couple. Buy my birds.”
“No birds. We don’t want your birds. Move along.”
“We’re here to build the dais for the emperor. Where do you want us to put this lumber?”
“Ask the majordomo. He’ll direct you.”
The nuptials were something to behold. The emperor himself was a guest. He was, after all, my bride’s self-appointed adoptive father. Claudius sat regally, as befitted his office, on the specially prepared dais apart from the crowd, surrounded, of course, as he always was by Praetorian guards. From time to time he summoned one or the other of the prominent guests and entered into private conversation. He seemed in a holiday mood this day, as indeed were all of the guests—with the possible exception of Agrippina, his fourth wife, who was also his niece—his own brother’s daughter and the sister of Caligula. She sat beside him looking bored. What a scandal their marriage had caused! Shortly after those nuptials, the Roman Senate, in emergency session, was quickly called upon to quell the outrage of the populace by passing laws redefining incest.
“Claudius has not had much luck with his four wives. First there was Urgulanilla whom he married at his coming of age at sixteen. She was a troll–large and physically unattractive. She was sullen and given to fits of temper. At the end of her life she was hugely obese—so obese that they had to knock out a wall to remove her body from her bedchamber. She had committed murder on at least one occasion—not a pleasant person. Then there was Aelia, sister to Sejanus, the emperor’s closest advisor. Claudius agreed to marry her when Sejanus offered her to him. It was a marriage in name only. Then he married Valeria Messalina when he was in his fifties and she was fourteen. In spite of the nobility of her family, she comported herself like a common whore, much given to wild parties with a multiplicity of men–many of whom died under strange circumstances after scorning her attempts at seduction. She made a public display of competing with a professional prostitute to see who could fell more men in a single day. Everyone knew about it except Claudius. He loved her and didn’t want to know. None of his advisors had the courage to inform him. Messalina divorced Claudius while he was off at Ostia and married her paramour, Gaius Silius, at a drunken party. No one wanted to tell the emperor. Claudius’ advisors got him drunk, it was said, and made him sign an order for her execution along with the groom and various of her followers. When Claudius sobered up the next day, he was devastated to discover that Messalina had already been executed at his command. Nasty bit of business. His present wife—the wife of his old age—was not much comfort to him either. At least, that’s the way It appeared to most of us. She was relentless in her promotion of her young son from her former marriage, Nero Claudius Drusus Germanicus Caesar—known to all as Nero. Claudius adopted him and favored him over, Britannicus, his own son by Messalina. Agrippina reveled in her power. Where her brother had been mad, she was merely hateful. Her ambition for Nero knew no limit. Three years previously, the Senate voted her the title “Augusta,” the first imperial woman to hold the title since Livia, who was given the title only after the death of Augustus. Agrippina is excessively aggressive in her self-promotion, receiving foreign dignitaries and appearing at public functions dressed in military garb. No, Claudius isn’t greatly enthusiastic about his own marriages, but out of respect for our family, he accepted the invitation to my wedding. It is the second wedding of importance Claudius had attended within as many weeks. Nero at sixteen has just wed Claudius’s daughter, Octavia. What a tangled, incestuous web. It’s not easy to keep up with all the intrigue.
“I am happy to report that our wedding is without taint of scandal or disapproval. Our wedding is cause for general celebration. The Roman Senate is in attendance. Everyone is here—from paunchy Marcus Plautius to young Andronicus Persis, the newest member of our exclusive club. For a wedding gift, the senators presented us with an intricately carved tri-fold screen inlaid with ivory and mother of pearl. I heard that the senators entered into long discussions about it, and that ultimately, most senators were happy with the choice. Claudia certainly seemed pleased.
Literary Rome is also out in force for our day. The writers will observe, gorge themselves on our food, drink our wine, and read their paeans of praise to the beauty of the bride and my virility and stalwartness. Chief among the writers is my friend, Martial—licentious as always. I am ever the recipient of Martial’s literary efforts. Today, he will outdo himself by presenting his epithalamion—his wedding hymn—our wedding hymn, I should say—at the ceremonies. He has already shared it with me. It is replete with praises to the bride’s beauty, and references to wedding torches, lotus blossoms, and nuptial wine. I suppose it is fairly standard fare, but Martial has thrown himself into it with his accustomed enthusiasm. It has special and particular meaning to us. One line I particularly remember has to do with the mixing of rare cinnamon sticks with nard. Our poet friend has a way of vividly calling an image to mind. Every wedding hymn, I am sure, seems unique to the two whose happiness is immortalized. He promises to write another hymn of praise at the birth of our first son. He smirked when he said it would be nine months and a half hour after our wedding festivities. We shall see about the timing.
It is not every day that two such families are joined–a senator and a princess. Never mind that her father is a prisoner in Rome. Caractacus commands respect as a man who held off the Roman legions for almost a decade–a warrior betrayed—never conquered. He has access, by the grace of the powers in Rome, to his Silurian wealth. Rome is ever impressed by wealth.
I slept. The women brought purifying potions for me to drink. I received relaxing massages. I soaked my hands and feet in scented oils, and gave myself up to the luxury of allowing the women to brush my hair until it lay heavy on my shoulders and it shone like silk. Never have I felt so pampered. I received instructions from the women.
“You want to be ready to receive your bridegroom, Princess Claudia. He will be eager to embrace you. You must be shy, but ardent.” They taught me to lower my eyelids in modesty, but to arch my back and thrust my breasts upward in anticipation.
Our wedding day dawned clear and bright—a good omen. The women dressed me in my wedding garments. They all stood back in admiration. I am tall for a woman. I wanted to wear my hair loose to my shoulders, but the women seemed so scandalized that I allowed them to bind it up in the Roman fashion. I wanted it to cascade in waves and curls. Rufus loves my hair. The women said that all Roman brides wear the tutulus. With my groom’s spear, they divided my hair into six parts and braided each section. They fastened each braid and then fashioned them into a cone on the top of my head. Everyone said that I looked like a proper Roman bride.
Priscilla came to me. “Before this day is gone, you will be my daughter-in-law. I want to welcome you, my dear child, to our family. You are beautiful and intelligent. Your eyes are blue as the Aegean. I am so happy for Rufus. I have always dreamed of a good and kindhearted wife for him. I hope you give me many grandchildren.”
“I hope so, too, my new and beautiful mother.” She hugged me and smiled. I am happy that I have lived in the same house with her for a year. She and I have become friends.
I tried to concentrate on being serene. I could not help but compare myself to the Roman women. I am so different: slender rather than voluptuous—my coloring so different from their dark eyes and raven hair. Someone told me I appear fragile. I chuckled to myself. I look like my mother. We are apple blossom pink, but we are both sturdy and durable.
My wedding attire is simple and unadorned—a gauzy white billow tied at the waist with a cord of pure silk. There was much giggling and ribald commentary by the women who tied the knots of my sash which wound about my loins.
“The young master will have to await his pleasure tonight.”
“He’ll have a time untying all these knots, that’s certain.”
“He will be highly motivated.”
My mother came to me and asked, “What jewelry do you wish to wear on this most important day?”
“Only my talisman, Mother. I want no other.”
She smiled at me with tears in her eyes. “I wore it on my wedding day. It pleases me well that you choose to wear it today.” My mother stepped back to look at me. “You are so beautiful. Never did I think my daughter would be a Roman bride.”
And then, the women brought my veil—the flammeum—it means flame, and it is the color of fire. It is so sheer it is transparent. My face is left uncovered. They pinned my veil under the braids in the back. It is like a cloud. They instructed me to say, “Nubo—I veil myself.” The cloud reaches to my heels, and matches my shoes. The women arranged the wreath of flowers like a crown around my cone of braids and stood back to inspect me from head to foot. They made tiny adjustments in my attire and then sighed and declared me beautiful. I have never felt more beautiful in all my life. I was ready to meet my bridegroom.
“Plautius, I think I am a little drunk—from prenuptial wine, yes, but also with the thoughts of my bride.”
“Come, Rufus. Sit here on this bench. You are like every other man on his wedding day. You are not worried about tonight, are you?”
“No, of course not. I just don’t want to hurt her. She is so delicate.”
“She may appear delicate, but I imagine that her ardor will match yours. She is young and healthy.”
“I’m no neophyte in these matters. I have had some experience, you know. I’m not particularly proud of it. A man of my position is expected to be experienced. I’ve had my share of women. A man serving in the Roman army understands that one of the rewards of conquest is sexual pleasure at the expense of the conquered. It is the way things are. It has always been this way. Rape and pillage are not new phenomena.”
“Too true. It’s a sad commentary. We Roman men divide women into categories: maidens, matrons, matriarchs, and mistresses. You just need to keep them straight.” Plautius clapped me on the shoulder.
“I’m no child. I grew up in Rome. I can’t remember when I did not know of Tiberius’s cruelty or the madness of Caligula. Intrigue of every stripe–deceit, poisonings, false accusations, murder–it is all a part of the history I have lived. For sport I have seen men hack each other to death. I’ve seen wild animals kill prisoners. I have witnessed, on the public stage, sexual acts performed as entertainment.”
Plautius nodded. “Sexual license makes Roman court life something of a pig sty. Every abomination is readily available. But, in the best of families, there is a sense of honor.”
“Certainly in my family we were taught honor. I am proud of my father’s service to Rome. My father was an exemplary man. I have sought to emulate him. I miss him. I wish he could have lived to see me married. I swore allegiance to Rome long ago. Recently, I swore allegiance to a new God. Plautius, I know you follow the Nazarene. Today is a good day to tell you that I, as well, am a secret follower of The Way. I find honor in this new religion. It teaches a new ethic. I want to be a true husband to my wife. I will treat her with the respect she deserves. I will be faithful to her. Besides, I am sickened by the excesses of Roman court life. I want a family.”
“I applaud you, my young friend. Don’t worry about tonight. There is respect between you and Claudia. You will have a good life. I hope this time next year, you will have a son.” We rose and embraced.
I chose Aulus Plautius, my old general and mentor as my best man. It was fitting that this should be so. We had been together in Britain when I first laid eyes on Gladys. It was all the more fitting because Plautius married Claudia’s Aunt Gladys Pomponia. They have a good marriage. She said she felt honored to be Claudia’s matron of honor. Pomponia helped me explain to Claudia and her family how we in Rome do weddings. They do things differently in Siluria. Here, it is the best man who pronounces the legal formula that seals the marriage in the eyes of Rome.
The wedding party gathered around. Plautius looked at us with great affection.
“Nuptius consensus non concubitus facit. Consent, not sexual relations, make a marriage. Do you, Gladys Claudia, daughter of Caradoc Caractacus, King of Siluria, of your own free will take as your husband Rufus Pudens Pudentia and will you be under his legal authority promising to be faithful to him to the death?”
“I take him to be my husband and I will be a faithful wife to the death.”
“Do you, Rufus Pudens Pudentia, take Gladys Claudia, Princess of Siluria, to be your wedded wife? And do you promise to provide for her and to assume legal responsibility for her until your death?”
“I do assume legal responsibility for her and I take her to be my wedded wife until death.”
Claudia’s Aunt Gladys placed my bride’s hand in mine.
Plautius concluded, “You are now under Roman law, husband and wife.” We were married.
The wedding guests shouted and cheered. We turned to face the crowd and I conducted my bride to the wedding feast. Our guests pelted us with walnuts, a tried and true fertility symbol. There was much good-natured jostling and irreverent comment. The wedding feast was plentiful and joyous. Gifts were lavished upon us. Martial read his ode. The wedding guests cheered. The wine flowed freely. Toasts were offered to our future happiness and fecundity. I promised to do my part to insure the Pudens name be carried forth. My bride was radiant. I could not have been more filled with pride. At the end of the day, we were escorted around the villa by the light of many torches. We arrived at the colonnaded garden opening to the bedchambers. As she had been instructed to do, Claudia rubbed fat and oil on the doorway of our bedchamber and wreathed it with wool. She poured water into a bowl and lit a lamp. These were all symbols of her assumption of the wifely domestic role. She set the lamp beside the lavishly decorated replica of our marriage bed just outside the door. Wedding hymns were sung. Martial read his poem. Other poetry was read, as well. Everyone wished us well. This night, instead of going our way to separate bedrooms, I picked up my bride in fine Roman fashion, and carried her across the threshold into our bedchamber. I then, stepped out while the pronuba—the faithful wife of a living husband–undressed my bride, took Claudia’s jewelry—just the simple gold circlet—and put it away. She then put Claudia in our bed, and pronounced a blessing on our marriage. When she stepped out of the room, I, finally, entered the bedchamber and closed the door behind me. I understand that our wedding guests enjoyed a splendid celebration with much drinking and feasting. They told me later that the party lasted all night. I wouldn’t know. Claudia and I had a celebration of our own.
I am delighted with domestic life. My husband is satisfactory in every way. I am also highly amused at my sister. In spite of her protestations about marriage in general, she will soon be wed to the Lord of Caer Salog, a Roman patrician. He is also a follower of The Way. He seems smitten with my sister. I don’t suppose, however, that Salog will be making plans to leave his holdings in Rome. Ergain still maintains that she will be returning to Siluria. I can’t imagine her being in any way submissive. I also can’t imagine a Roman male taking orders from his wife. We shall all be watching with great interest as the events unfold. Meanwhile, I can heartily recommend married life to her.