in Gaul and Iberia. And when they go, the Picts and the Scotti become restless. The Franks and Saxons raid.'
'Raid where?' Valeria asked.
'The coast. Or the Wall, where you're going.'
'By the gods, that's frightening talk for a woman betrothed!' Clodius objected.
'Yes, Quintus,' Calpurnia scolded. 'Frustration with your wine is no reason to threaten danger to a pretty bride. She'll be safer with the Petriana than in Rome.'
Quintus looked embarrassed. The last thing he wanted to do was offend a senator's daughter. 'Of course, of course. I exaggerate. It's just that Rome ignores our problems.'
Valeria smiled in forgiveness. 'The Roman energy you're seeking has come back in my Marcus,' she promised.
'Well said! Every man should have such loyalty! And before you're even married!'
'The gods know that few men earn it after the wedding,' Calpurnia said.
And with that they laughed, Quintus clapping for the main course in relief.
'Please, I don't intend to scare you, Valeria,' their host went on. 'This is a good place you've come to, and a good man too. I just talk without thinking at times.'
'It's his most tedious habit,' his wife said gently.
'But the barbarians are getting bolder and the garrisons weaker.'
'The Wall stands,' Clodius said grandly. 'Sleep well behind it, Quintus.'
'I appreciate your reassurance, young tribune. But I mean no disrespect when I point out that you've yet to serve in the north.'
'True.' Clodius speared a dumpling. 'In military matters, as opposed to wine, I defer to our senior tribune.' It was an attempt at truce.
Their host turned. 'And you, Brassidias, who has served on the Wall: Are you as sure as your young officer here that the garrison can hold, should civil war break out?'
Galba had been speculatively eyeing the slave girl waiting in a corner. Her little conspiracy with Clodius had made him want to possess her even more. Now he turned reluctantly back. 'For once I agree with the junior tribune,' he said slowly. 'The issue is never numbers, Quintus. It's fear, generated by Roman will.'
'That's exactly what I'm questioning! Roman will!'
'No, you're questioning my will. And as long as I will it, no barbarian tribe will threaten Hadrian's Wall. My will creates their fear. My will sustains the empire.'
X
I dismiss the landowner Quintus Maxus from my chambers and review my information with unease. It is but a short step in today's empire from candor to treason, and I realize that my report will have to tread carefully. How much can I blame on the characters of this story? How much on the empire itself?
The truth is that this woman Valeria came to Britannia at a particularly troubled time, and that the key to understanding what happened might be not just her but aging emperors and the dispatch of legions. How much do we control events, and how much are we controlled by them? As my own years grow longer, I argue increasingly for fate, and for blind reaction to trends so enveloping that we fail to notice their significance at the time. The world is changing, and I am disturbed by that change. Disturbed most of all that I can't quite put my finger on what is different. The soldier Titus comes next, and I hope that in his military simplicity he can see what I cannot. That he can explain the strange final episode of the woman's journey northward to meet her future husband.
Larger mysteries remain. I've detected a peculiar restlessness in the empire. Is there something about the human spirit that defeats satisfaction and prevents contentment? Rome provides peace, commerce, and tolerance. Yet there is this strange yearning among the empire's subjects for something intangible and inexpressible, a dangerous freedom that invites chaos. Part of it is this restless longing for religion, this back-and-forth favoritism between the old gods and the crucified Jew. Part is a childlike rebellion against authority. Part is real difficulty with taxation, debased coinage, and cynical corruption.
Now there are no truths, only opinions, and not just rightful birth but, under the Christian creed, an unseemly equality. As if patrician and slave can ever share the same paradise! Is it any wonder that disasters occur? Yet I must he careful how I couch my conclusions. Rome seeks fault in individuals, not in Rome.
Perhaps the problem is Britannia itself. It is too distant, too foggy, too ungovernable. Its northern third has never been conquered. Usurper after usurper has arisen here. The Britons themselves remain crude, intractable, argumentative, and ungrateful. One shudders at what will happen if they ever break loose of their soggy island and create empires of their own. One wonders if the Britons would have been better off left to themselves: ignorant, forgotten, and penned by cold water.
I am investigating only one incident. But as I talk to these people, I'm beginning to wonder if Rome should be here at all.
XI
The party was six more days reaching Eburacum, headquarters of the Sixth Victrix Legion. Despite her impatience, Valeria was grateful for a day's relief from the sore tedium of the mule cart. She'd never realized travel was so slow and terrible! Waiting at Eburacum was the pleasure and admonition of a letter from her mother. It had been mailed after she'd left Rome, carried by imperial post, and had now overtaken Valeria's own slow progress.
To my obedient daughter Valeria:
Two weeks have passed since you left to join your future husband. Already your absence seems like two years. The house is quieter without your mischief, and emptier than I would wish. Even your brothers miss you! I pray to the gods to keep you safe, and long for the day of your return to Marcus. Is it cold in Britannia? Have you kept your health? I told Savia that she must be your mother now, and I hope her common sense is helping you sustain decorum. Such a long journey! I grieve at its necessity, even while I am proud of you for making it.
Your father's career has been saved by this alliance, and he sends you goodwill. Your friends are astonished at your courage. I mourn that I cannot see you in your bridal gown, when I know you'll be beautiful. Yet my heart is glad at the thought of it! Valeria, make us proud by devotion to your new husband. Marcus is a good man, an aristocrat of duty and prudence. His honor is your own, and your reputation is his honor. Obey, respect, and stay loyal. You are of the House of Valens! Never forget that, even on the farthest frontier…
Dutifully, Valeria wrote back of her own health and good spirits, but what more could she say? She'd yet to see her husband, let alone marry him! Valeria had been trying to live up to Roman ideals for as long as she could remember, and she didn't need reminders now. Savia was nag enough. She felt already married to stuffy tradition, a thousand-year stale crust of history, famed battles, proverbs, cautionary fables, and overlapping religions endlessly repeated, in the most tedious ways, to instruct citizens how they should behave. Rome worshiped its own past. Would her husband too lecture her on Roman virtues? And would she in turn torment her own children?
Probably. But right now she didn't want rectitude. She wanted strong arms.
Galba met briefly with Duke Fullofaudes, conferring on the administration and mission of the Petriana cavalry and receiving dispatches for delivery to the fort. He emerged and announced to Valeria and Clodius a change in plan.
'We're going to have to add a couple days to our journey. We have to go to Uxelodunum, at the western end of the Wall.'
Valeria protested. 'But I've been traveling for more than a month!'
'Remounts have been imported from Hibernia. The duke wants me to collect them for the Petriana.'
'I thought our mission was to deliver Valeria,' Clodius objected.
'So it is. But with new horses, as well.'
'I don't agree with this detour.'
