When no one was looking, I put the cosmetic pot into the box too, and hid it under my bed. I had not told Arcturus what I suspected about Theodora’s death. I knew that if I did, he would have to seek out vengeance whether he wanted to or not, and. . . well, somehow, I could never bring myself to say it. I could not rid myself of the memory of Avitoria’s veiled blue eyes. By now, she had gone North, I heard, and Vitia was doing well, working for the same people as before, but this time earning money she could keep and save for her future. Who would have gained if I told the truth? If I must, I will answer to the gods and the spirit of Theodora for it when I die.
“Your mother was kind to me while you were in Eboracum,” I said to Arcturus after he gave me my medicine chest.
“She sees you as a sick lamb who needs feeding up,” he said with a grin. “Then she’ll send you out into the fields again.”
“That’s what I am wondering. I have some skills. . . I can read and write Latin and Greek. I have some ability in medicine. Do you think anyone would want to employ me?”
“A few might,” he said carefully.
“But in any city, they will wonder who I am, and it will get back to the Emperor, and. . .” I began to panic again. “What am I to do?” The thought was there, but it was a horrible one. “In my circumstances, girls with no protection, no family, no money. . . sell themselves into slavery.”
“You could stay here,” he said, looking down at his feet.
“As a slave?” I snapped back. I had thought better of him, but now I felt foolish and angry. Of course, I had to be of some benefit to him. He would not have come to rescue me for nothing. My mind leaped forward: he would sell me eventually, and then who knew who would own me or what would happen to me? No doubt an educated slave girl would make some money on market day.
“You could stay as a slave,” he said bluntly. “Or you could stay as a wife.”
I stop talking and give a short laugh. It’s strange to think back on that day, though those words are imprinted on my mind like an official seal on a letter.
“So you did,” you say, clearly uninterested in the love stuff.
“So I did,” I agree. After all, there was not much love stuff, not at first.
You charge down the hill towards home, wooden spear whirling above your head. I watch you, smiling. You are right, of course. All that matters is that I am here. I stayed, as a wife, at the end of the Empire, where fate and the gods drove me.
Arcturus comes out of the house, a smile on his face at the sight of you back safely.
“Daddy!” You dismount and run into his arms. Arcturus hugs you and swings you around. He looks up at me. I raise a hand in a silent message: it is done. I have hidden the treasure until safer times come along.
For the truth is, Rome’s Empire is over.
Looking back, I think the Empire began falling apart the moment that Septimius Severus died. He was the keystone that held the arch of the Empire together. Just six years after his body went up in flames on a hill near Eboracum, Julia Domna, Caracalla and Geta were all dead too. Caracalla murdered Geta, the army killed Caracalla, and Julia Domna took her own life when she knew that both her sons were dead.
I remember that eagle I saw soaring above Septimius Severus’ funeral pyre. Back then, I thought it was the spirit of the Emperor. But perhaps it was the spirit of the Empire itself, leaving us – because things were never the same for Rome after that day. We were never really safe again.
The last emperor who was of Septimius Severus’s line, Severus Alexander, has just been murdered by his own troops. There is no one to take the reins from him. Legions are arming and marching, and generals from Gaul to Syria, all wanting to be the next emperor of Rome, are preparing for war. It is vultures, not eagles, that will swoop on Rome now.
When Rome fights itself, the borders of the Empire will be left undefended. The Caledonians have never forgotten how Caracalla massacred their people. They will take their revenge on the Romans in Britain if they can, and we are in their path.
That is why I chose today to bury my treasures, the pieces of my story. They will remain hidden until times are safe again.
But, as I watch you play with your father, the wind scudding clouds high above our heads, I realise that I have buried another treasure today, one I did not plan to. I have buried the story of my life, the story of your history, in your memory. Some day, perhaps, you will dig it up – and pass it on to your children.
Present-day
Epilogue
THE YORKSHIRE GUARDIAN
Saturday
ANCIENT TREASURE DISCOVERED BY GIRL ON HOLIDAY
A silver ‘treasure chest’ dating to the third century ad has been discovered at Strandby Cliffs by a Birmingham girl on holiday in the area with her family.
Zaibun Ali (9) said: “I was just climbing on the rocks by the beach and I noticed something that looked like an old tin can, so I tried to get it out because we’ve been learning about keeping beaches clean in school.
