Empire

AD 16

It was a bright morning in the month of Maius. On this day, so long awaited, Lucius Pinarius and Acilia would become husband and wife.

Their marriage had finally been made possible thanks to the generosity of the late Augustus. In his will, besides naming Livia and Tiberius as his chief heirs, Augustus had made numerous smaller but still very generous bequests. Among these was a large sum left to Lucius Pinarius. The gossips of Roma, who pored over the details of the will like Etruscan soothsayers scrutinizing entrails, assumed that this bequest was the emperor’s way of making amends after a lifetime of ignoring his cousins the Pinarii, and perhaps it was; but Lucius assumed that the inheritance was also a kind of fee paid posthumously to him for his role in divining the lightning omen. For whatever reason, Augustus had made Lucius a wealthy man.

Yet, even with Lucius’s new wealth, Acilia’s father had insisted on a lengthy engagement. This gave Lucius time to pay off the family’s debts, to invest the money left over in the Egyptian grain trade, renewing his grandfather’s old business associations, and to buy and furnish a house for himself and his bride-to-be. He could not afford property on the Palatine, but he was able to buy a house on the more fashionable side of the Aventine, with views from the upper story of the Tiber and the Capitoline and just a glimpse of the Circus Maximus. This pleased his mother greatly.

At sundown, the wedding party departed from the house of Acilius. The procession was led by the youngest boy in the household, Acilia’s little brother, who carried a pine torch lit from the family’s hearthfire. Its flame would be added to the hearthfire of the bridegroom when they arrived at the house of Lucius Pinarius.

Following the torchbearer was a Vestal virgin. She wore linen vestments with a narrow headband of twined red and white wool called a vitta across her forehead, a headdress called a suffibulum that concealed her closely shorn hair, and a mantle that covered her head and shoulders. The Vestal carried a cake made from consecrated grain and sprinkled with holy salt; a few bites would be taken by the couple during the ceremony, after which the cake would be shared with their guests.

Next came the bride. Acilia’s golden hair was pulled back from her face, elaborately coiled and secured with pins of ivory. She wore a yellow veil and yellow shoes. Her long white robe was cinched at the waist with a purple sash tied at the back in a special configuration called the Hercules knot; later, it would be Lucius’s privilege to untie the knot. Acilia carried a distaff for spinning and a spindle with wool. Flanking her were two of the bride’s cousins, little boys hardly older than the torchbearer.

Following the bride were her mother and father and the rest of the bridal party, who sang the ancient wedding song. It was called “Tallasius” and recalled the taking of the Sabine women by Romulus and his men. According to legend, the most beautiful of the Sabines was captured by the henchmen of a certain Tallasius. As she was carried off, the Sabine begged to know where the men were taking her. The women in the wedding party sang the questions, and the men sang the responses.

Where do you take me?

To Tallasius the dutiful!

Why do you take me?

Because he thinks you’ re beautiful!

What will my fate be?

To marry him, to be his mate!

What god will save me?

All the gods have blessed this date!

The wedding party arrived at the home of Lucius Pinarius. In the street, under the open sky, a sheep was skinned and sacrificed on an altar. Its pelt was thrown over two chairs, upon which the bride and groom sat. Claudius, as augur, asked the gods to bless the union and took the auspices; the flight of two sparrows from right to left across the darkling sky he declared to be a very favourable omen.

Carrying her distaff and spindle, Acilia rose from her chair and stood before the door to the house, which was decorated with garlands of flowers. Her mother embraced her. Everyone knew what was to come next, and there was a thrill of nervous excitement in the crowd. When Lucius, still seated, seemed to hesitate, his father shouted, “Go on, son, do it!”

“Yes, Lucius, d-d-do it!” shouted Claudius.

Smiling and laughing and clapping their hands, others took up the chant: “Do it! Do it! Do it!”

Blushing and laughing, Lucius sprang from his chair and pulled Acilia from her mother’s arms. She shrieked as Lucius swept her off her feet, kicked open the door, and carried her like a captive Sabine over the threshold. The wedding party cheered and applauded and crowded around the open door to witness the final act of the ceremony.

Inside the house, Lucius set Acilia down on a sheepskin rug. She put aside her distaff and spindle. He handed her the keys to the house. “Who is this newcomer in my house?” he said, his heart pounding.

“When and where you are Lucius, then and there I shall be Lucia,” she replied. The ceremony gave Acilia something no unmarried woman possessed, a first name; it was a feminine form of her husband’s first name, and would be used only in private between the two of them.

Amid the feasting that followed, Lucius sought out Claudius. They strolled to a quiet spot away from the others, under the portico that surrounded the garden. The moon was full. The air was fragrant with night-blooming jasmine.

“You have a 1-1-lovely house, Lucius.”

“Thank you, Claudius. And thank you for taking the auspices today.”

“It was my pleasure to serve as augur, Lucius. But with this house and your lovely bride, you hardly needed m-me to confirm that Fortune is smiling on you.”

“Fortune, or Fate?”

Claudius laughed. “I see you’ve followed my advice and taken up the study of astrology. As Bolus writes in Sympathies and Antipathies, every student of astrology must sooner or later confront the paradox of Fate versus Fortune. If Fate is an inexorable path laid before us by the stars, from which no divergence is possible, then what good is a prayer to Fortune or any other deity? Yet men call upon Fortune all the time and in every circumstance. It is our nature to propitiate the g-g-gods and ask their blessing, so there must be some utility in doing so, despite the inescapable nature of Fate. It is my opinion that our personal destiny is like a broad pathway. We cannot go backwards or leave the path or change the destination, but within the pathway we can execute small twists and turns. In those circumstances we are able to exercise choice, and the favour of the gods can make a difference.”

Lucius stared into the middle distance and nodded.

Claudius sighed. “I see by your face, Lucius, that not one word I’ve said makes sense to you.”

Lucius laughed. “To be candid, Claudius, my study of astrology has not gone especially well. It’s not like augury. I didn’t particularly like spending all that time with the magister, but I did enjoy the instruction he gave us, because the science of augury makes perfect sense to me. Augury was perfected by our ancestors, it served them well, and it’s our duty to continue the practice, so as to maintain the gods’ favour for ourselves and our descendants. But astrology…” Lucius shook his head. “Naming the planets, categorizing their effects on human behaviour, and the rest – it all seems rather arbitrary to me, as if some long-dead Babylonian simply made it up. And as you say, if Fate exists, what point is there in knowing what the future will bring? Unlike you, Claudius, I’m not sure that augury and astrology can be reconciled. I think a man must believe in one or the other.”

“In that respect, at least, you are in agreement with Uncle Tiberius.”

“It was thoughtful of you, Claudius, to obtain the emperor’s birth information for me, as well as those two horoscopes. The older one, cast by Scribonius at Tiberius’s birth, I was able to decipher fairly well. But the more recent horoscope, by Thrasyllus – well, it made no sense to me at all. I simply couldn’t follow his calculations. And his description of Tiberius’s character – a humble man, reluctant but compelled by Fate to assume great responsibility – may be accurate, but I couldn’t see how it followed from the casting.”

“It could be that Thrasyllus, sifting among the d-d-data, delivered a reading in accordance with the image Uncle Tiberius wishes to project.”

“You mean he told the emperor what the emperor wanted to hear.”

“The fact that an astrologer may be devious does not negate the science itself, Lucius. Uncle Tiberius is probably as great a puzzle to Thrasyllus as he is to the rest of us. We have an emperor who refuses to wear the laurel crown, or to take any of Great-Uncle’s titles – no Augustus, no Father of His Country, no Imperator after his name. But neither d-d-does he seem likely to restore the Republic – he says the whole lot of senators are ‘fit to be slaves.’ Is Uncle Tiberius truly a humble man, thrust into prominence by circumstance, not to mention the ambitions of my grandmother? Or is he merely striking a pose, as Great-Uncle did when he styled himself the humble public servant who wanted nothing more than to serve the state?”

“Studying the stars may give an answer to Thrasyllus, but not to me,” said Lucius. “I simply have no aptitude for astrology.”

“Ah, well, I had thought to set you on the p-p-path, but it was not to be. Smile, Lucius! I just made a joke about Fate.”

“And you had no choice but to make it.”

Claudius nodded and looked across the garden, where Acilia was speaking to her mother. “If free will exists, then you certainly made a fine choice for a bride. Acilia is very b-b-beautiful.”

“She is. And I love her. It’s a curious thing: my father chose to court the Acilii because they had money, but now that’s irrelevant, thanks to the fortune I inherited from your uncle. I am free to marry for love.”

“Lucky man! Nowadays, most people marry for the tax advantages. Great-Uncle was determined that everyone should pair up, settle down, and breed, so he punished the unmarried and childless with taxes. He made life easier for the married man, and easier still for the man with children. You can get started on that tonight!”

Lucius joined him in gazing at Acilia. In her white robe and yellow veil, lit by moonlight and lamplight, she seemed to glow softly.

“At this time next year, I could have a son,” he said, awed by the enormity of it. “Do you remember, Claudius, when Augustus showed us those baby shoes?”

“Baby shoes?”

“When we spoke to him in that upstairs study, he showed us a pair of your nephew’s shoes.”

“Ah, yes, the baby shoes my brother sent as a keepsake. Little Gaius has grown since then. He’s big for a four-year-old, and quite the warrior. Germanicus tells me the boy has his own pair of miniature army boots, the caliga worn by soldiers. How the troops love to see the boy on parade. Caligula, they call him, ‘Little Boots.’”

“Your older brother has done well. He’s lived up to his name.”

“He has, indeed. His first task was quelling the unrest in the ranks when Uncle Tiberius reneged on the bonuses promised by Augustus; only Germanicus’s popularity with the troops prevented a wholesale uprising. We learned a lesson there, about where the real p-p-power behind the emperor lies – not with the Senate, but with the legions. Germanicus not only rallied the troops on the Rhine, he led an invasion deep into German territory and avenged the disaster of the Teutoberg Forest. Two of the lost eagle standards were retrieved, and he’s vowed to take back the other as well, even if he has to pry it from the dead hand of Arminius.”

“Everyone in Roma is talking about his success.”

“The people now love him as much as his troops do. Almost certainly Tiberius will have to award Germanicus a triumph when he returns to Roma. Imagine the pomp and glory, all the German slaves and captured b-b-booty on display, the acclamation of the legions, and little Caligula riding beside his father in the chariot, wearing his tiny army boots!”

Lucius touched the fascinum at his breast. “And beneath the chariot will be the sacred fascinum of the Vestals, to ward off the gaze of the envious.”

“The envious in this case being Tiberius,” said Claudius under his breath.

Lucius lowered his voice. “Does he see Germanicus as a rival?”

“Who c-c-can say?”

“If Tiberius feels threatened by your brother, what does that mean for you, Claudius?”

“Perhaps I should c-consult my horoscope.”

Lucius suddenly felt uneasy. For many years, under Augustus, power in Roma had been a settled affair; whether a man liked it or not, everyone knew his place. But in the aftermath of Augustus’s death, the future of the city and the individual destinies of its people seemed uncertain.

But for himself, at least in the short term, Lucius could foresee only happiness. The opportunity to serve Augustus had made him a wealthy man and delivered to him the bride he had longed for. His friendship with Claudius had brought him into the outer circles of the imperial family, close enough to enjoy certain privileges but not so close as to provoke the fear and jealousy of powerful men. To be sure, his study of astrology had led him to a dead end, but his love of augury was greater than ever. What did it matter that the new emperor placed his trust entirely in astrology?

The current fascination with Babylonian stargazing might be only a passing fashion, while augurs would always be needed and respected in Roma.

At last, after much celebration, the last of the guests departed. The slaves disappeared into their rooms for the night. While Acilia withdrew to the bed chamber to make ready, Lucius walked alone from room to room, taking inventory of his surroundings. Claudius had said the house was lovely, and it was. Lamplight softly illuminated the walls, freshly painted with images of peacocks and gardens, and fell softly on all the beautiful objects Lucius had purchased to make the house worthy of Acilia: the lamps and tables, the chairs and rugs, the dining couches and draperies. What a great deal of furniture was required to fill a house, and how expensive it all was! How could anyone who had not received an inheritance afford it? Lucius knew he was a very lucky man.

He entered the bedroom where Acilia awaited him. With trembling fingers, he untied the Hercules knot that secured the purple sash around her waist and removed her bridal robe. Beneath, she wore a brief gown made of shimmering fabric so sheer that he could see right though it. She unpinned her hair, and the honey-coloured tresses fell almost to her waist. He stood rooted to the spot, simply gazing at her, wishing he could stop time. What moment could be more perfect than this, balanced between the deep satisfaction the day had brought him and the exquisite pleasures of the night to come?

He stroked the golden hair that framed her face, then he touched the shimmering fabric and felt the warmth and solidity of her flesh.

“My Lucia!” he whispered, uttering the name only he was allowed to speak as he covered her mouth with his.