Ashes Under Uricon
Chapter 11. Aquae Sulis (364)
By Mihangel
Ut cuncti ad significandum sodalitatis ac propositi nostri parilitatem pronuntiaverent unam mentem atque animam duobus inesse corporibus.
To indicate the harmony of our friendship and purpose, everyone used to say that our two bodies contained a single heart and soul.
John Cassian, Conferences
First light saw us afloat again and running up-river on the tide for the few remaining miles to the quays of Abonae. Never had I seen so exotic a place. Here was a taste of the big world beyond. Here were ships, proper ships, high and bulky, which sailed all the way to Gaul and Spain and even the Inner Sea. Here were warehouses stacked with bales of cloth, with amphorae of wine and oil and fish sauce, with jars of pickled olives and boxes of dried figs and dates, with crates of glassware from Treveri and pottery from the Durotriges, with ingots of tin from the Dumnonii and our copper from Croucodunum, with pigs of lead from Onna and the nearer and larger mines of Vebriacum. Here were shipyards raucous with the sound of saw and hammer and redolent of wood sap and tar.
And here were Tad and Bran, awaiting us with a warm welcome. Never had I been away from both for so long; but, glad though I was to see them, I now had my own companion. Bran seemed more at peace with himself. Perhaps he had found the love he was seeking. If so, I was happy for him. And he seemed more at ease than usual with Tad, more familiar even. But never had they been so closely together for so long, and no doubt they had been discovering each other's qualities. But it was straight down to business, and for the next few hours, in one office after another, we were initiated into the mysteries of porterage and chartering and insurance.
Finally Lucius and I sought out Bitucus and Lurio, whom we found in a tavern. We had discussed what to give them by way of a tip, and Lucius had insisted that I leave it to him. I do not know what he slipped them, but it made their eyes widen. And when we thanked them, "Our pleasure," they said. "It's cool to see two young colts like you who're so obviously cut out for each other. Two halves of a whole. Come with us again. Any time."
At last we were off for Aquae Sulis, Lucius and I on spare horses which Tad and Bran had led down. We were now in the civitas of the Dobunni. The road undulated through land which grew ever hillier, yet richer and more mellow than ours, and Lucius was right: it was dotted thickly with villas, far more than around Viroconium. As we rode Tad passed on the latest news. The Emperor Jovian had died after only a few months' reign. His successors were two soldier brothers, Valentinian and Valens, sons of the Count Gratian who, twenty years before, had brokered the deal under which the Attacotti were settled in Demetia.
"I'm not sure what to think," said Tad. "All credit to them, the family's come from nowhere. Old Gratian was a rope-maker in Pannonia before he joined the army. But they're both Christians. Valens is to have the eastern half of the empire. He's the younger, and I'm told that he's just a yes-man. Nothing to look at, either -- pot-bellied, they say, bandy-legged, and a ferocious squint. But Valentinian's apparently a fine figure of a man and a fine soldier. He's taking the west, and we can only hope he's as strong as they say. Rumour's going round that our neighbours are plotting to attack us again."
The sun was low behind us as we came to the crest of a hill and looked down on Aquae Sulis. It was a small place, smaller than Viroconium by far and much less spacious, for buildings were packed tight within its walls and spilled out beyond them. Indeed it was more of a resort than an ordinary town, and it was teeming with visitors to the spa. Pulcher was staying with friends out of town, and we had difficulty finding accommodation. At last we struck lucky. The hotelier was sorry he had no single rooms, but could offer us a shared one with four truckle beds. He was also sorry -- with a knowing look at Lucius and me -- that there wasn't a double bed. Hmmm. Were we that obvious? But we took the room.
A good meal at a restaurant made up for our restricted menu on the voyage, and Bran ate with us. Over the meal we regaled them with our tales, and especially about the waves. Tad confessed that he had not warned us in advance of their terrors in case he put us off.
"So you were frightened, eh? No bad thing. You need to know how to cope with fear, unexpected fear. And there's good reason for fearing those waves. Ten years ago I lost a boat that way, and plenty of others have lost them too."
Bran told us, in turn, about their journey, which had been as much an eye-opener to him as ours to us. He waxed lyrical about the novel scenery, the richness of the farmland hereabouts, the multitude of villas. Like us, he was not impressed with Glevum. But they had travelled from there by way of Corinium to hand over the silver from Onna and collect cash from the bank for paying the miners' wages. Bran was full of the town's glories. It was little if any bigger than Viroconium, he said, but grander. It had a theatre and an amphitheatre and a magnificent palace for the governor. What pleased him particularly was its great Taranis column, like ours but taller. It carried an inscription to the effect that it had been put up under the old religion -- its very words, he said -- and that the Governor had recently restored it.
"That's right," Tad put in. "Septimius, who got the job last year. A good man. And not a Christian, I hardly need say."
"And you were right, Lucius," Bran added, "about Taranis being like Jupiter. The column's actually dedicated to Jupiter, even though it's got Taranis on top."
"It sounds like Camulodunum, where British gods are always twinned with Roman ones," Lucius said teasingly. "Not like Viroconium, where you're so behind the times that you've hardly heard of the Roman lot."
Bran laughed. "Well, all right. And we saw something else where Viroconium's behind the times. One reason we went by way of Corinium was to book beds for our return trip, and the hotel we went into had a marvellous gadget. There was running water, of course, a branch off the mains just like we've got. But instead of the spout flowing all the time and the water going straight down the drain, there was a bronze thing fitted to it, with a handle on top. Turn it through a quarter circle and the water stops. Turn it again and it starts. The hotelier said that at Corinium they have difficulty meeting the demand for water, and quite a lot of houses have this gadget fitted. They use less water, so they're charged a lower water rate. I reckon we could do with something like that. Viroconium can't meet the demand either."
"Nice idea, but small chance," Tad commented gloomily. "Old Belator" -- that was the councillor in charge of water supply -- "is a stick-in-the-mud."
And from Corinium the two of them had passed Fanum Maponi.
"We dropped in," said Tad, "just to have a snoop, and to book us all in at the hostel there. So we're expected. And we told the priest why we were coming, to put him in the picture. He confirmed what I'd been told. If Maponus approves, he'll tell you your love's all right, and he'll tell everyone else who's present."
Excitement welled up. "Did you see the god?"
"Yes. We went into the temple. How would you describe him, Bran?"
"Um . . ." He seemed taken aback, and was not forthcoming. "Interesting. Very interesting." His eyes flickered towards Lucius. "It's a lovely statue."
We soon called it a day. In our cramped room with separate beds, Lucius and I had to be abstemious, although we had a decorous kiss before turning in. Tad looked on with approval, Bran with a curiosity I could not fathom. Was he picking up tips for his own love?
Next morning, on our way to meet Pulcher at the baths, we joined the jostling throng in the streets. All humanity seemed to be there, locals and visitors, elegant and scruffy, hale and doddery, invalids in wheeled chairs, tradesmen bawling their pricey or cheapjack wares, beggars whining piteously, quacks promising miracle cures. The buildings were nearly all of stone rather than our stuccoed half-timbering, the architecture was imposing, and fine sculpture was everywhere. Tad knew it of old. Lucius compared it not unfavourably to Camulodunum. Bran rated it higher even than Corinium. And I simply gawped like the provincial tourist I was.
We found our way to the great precinct in the centre. In front was a theatre, the first I had seen. Behind lay a courtyard with a massive altar crowned with a fire of stone-coal. And beyond the altar stood the temple of Sulis herself, goddess of healing and guardian of the hot springs. From a flight of steps rose four tall columns carrying an elaborately carved pediment. The cult statue inside was gilt bronze, life-size and helmeted. It was all utterly Roman, except that from the great roundel at the pediment's centre there glowered a Gorgon's head with beetling brow. It was not the usual female Gorgon but a male one, and its almond-shaped eyes and tangled mane of snaky hair and moustache and beard proclaimed the sculptor as British. The same mingling of cultures showed up in the inscription on the architrave below, dedicating the temple not just to Sulis but to Sulis Minerva.
Offerings to her were made at the sacred spring alongside. A window opened into a large vaulted chamber, most of its floor occupied by an oval pool of pale green water welling up from below and swirling with a white mist of steam. I did not see what Tad threw in. But I threw a silver coin, Bran a copper, and Lucius, I was almost sure, a gold. Others were throwing rings, or jewellery, or little rolls that looked like lead. Yes, they were lead. Nearby was a stall selling thin sheets of it, a copper coin for a blank on which to scratch your own message to Sulis, or five if the scribe wrote it for you. A young man, almost in tears, was vainly begging the scribe to give him a sheet for nothing.
"Can we help?" Lucius asked.
The young man, it appeared, was named Annianus, a baker visiting from Corinium. He had just had his pocket picked of his whole week's wages, and he was penniless. Lucius bought him a sheet.
"Oh, thank you! But I can't write! Would you do it for me? Please?"
Sitting on the temple steps, the five of us went into committee to compose a message, including the necessary protection against a counter-curse from the pickpocket. Lucius scratched it neatly with his brooch pin. The finished version read:
Whoever it was -- pagan or Christian, man or woman, boy or girl, slave or free -- who this morning stole six silver coins from Annianus' purse, you, lady goddess, are to recover them from him. And if by some trick the offender has secretly reversed this curse, do not grant it, but let him pay with his blood.
"Hang around here," suggested Tad, "and we'll be finished bathing in a couple of hours. If you're still penniless, I'm sure we can help you out."
Annianus, gratefully rolling up the lead, threw it into the pool, and we entered the baths. They were overwhelmingly imposing. Money had been no object, with floors of intricate mosaics and walls inlaid with marble. They were capacious, busy, and very welcome. For a week I had not had a proper bath, and Lucius had hardly washed. We left our clothes in the undressing room and oiled each other. We lay in the hot room, looking up at the coffered ceiling as we got up a sweat. We scraped each other. There were cubicles where the gouty and scrofulous could sit in the healing water all day, but we progressed to what Tad described as the crowning glory. The Great Bath was in a huge hall, not as long as the Town Hall in Viroconium but almost as wide and covered by a soaring vaulted roof. Lead-lined steps all round led down into a steaming pool. Water from the sacred spring flowed in at one corner, and an acrid smell hung in the humid air. In the surrounding corridor we spotted Drostan standing with a towel and evidently awaiting his master's orders.
Lucius hailed him and asked where his father was. Drostan pointed. A short and squat man was floating near one side, and we went round to stand above him. It was the first time I had set eyes on Pulcher. He was utterly unlike Lucius, his head round, dark hair cut unfashionably short, eyes beady, and chest and belly as shaggy as a bearskin. Bran he ignored. Tad he greeted civilly. To Lucius he nodded as if giving him his cue.
"Father, let me introduce my friend Docco."
"Ha! So you're the lad who's turning my son into a native!"
What a way, I thought, to meet one's prospective -- so to speak -- father-in-law. I felt, for the first time in my life, at a grave disadvantage in being stark naked. He might be stark naked too, but he was very obviously in command. Was this how slaves felt? I was tongue-tied, but Tad helped me out.
"Not only Docco, Pulcher. We all are. And so is the whole of Viroconium."
"Maybe, maybe. But don't just stand there, lad! You're giving me a crick in the neck. Come in, come in. I'm told that all Cornovii swim like eels. Show me!"
I stepped down and the others followed. The water was chin-deep and so hot that it was only just bearable. We swam for him, Bran and I, on the surface and underwater, on our backs and fronts and sideways, forwards and backwards, all the while dodging the other bathers. I got water in my mouth and spluttered, grimacing, the taste being indescribably foul. At that, Pulcher deigned to laugh. And our demonstration had impressed him.
"Lucius is a wimp in water," he said, and there I had to agree. "Teach him native ways like that and I'll be grateful."
He turned to Tad with some comment about the town palisade, dismissing Bran and me to teach Lucius how to swim. It had never crossed my mind to think about techniques, but Bran's approach was scientific, and after an hour of coaxing and support and encouragement Lucius was beginning to grasp the idea of floating and even of propelling himself. Then we heard Pulcher yelling cantankerously for Drostan, and he came to stand above us.
"Keep going, lad!" That was addressed to me, not to Lucius or Bran. "You're doing well!" His eyes switched to Bran. "And this is your slave, is it? How extraordinary!" And off he went with Drostan.
What was extraordinary? Not Bran's face or figure, I was sure, not to Pulcher. His teaching skills? Or the mere fact that he was with us in the bath?
"I'm sorry," said Lucius, mortified. "But that was high praise, from him."
"Not your fault, Lucius. And you are doing well."
"Except when I get water in my mouth. It's vomit-making!"
Bran agreed. "Tastes like cow shit."
"How do you know?"
Tad swam over to join us, and by unspoken consent we gave Pulcher plenty of time to leave the baths before getting dressed ourselves. In the temple courtyard Annianus accosted us, a great smile on his face.
"I've got it back!" he cried. "Sulis has brought it back! All of it. I suddenly found it in my purse. I've given her one of the coins in thanks."
So there was one happy ending. We had a snack and went to the theatre, which was another first for me. The performance was not in the least what I expected. I had visualised a revival of some old tragedy -- nobody seemed to write them these days -- or a comedy by Terence or the like. Instead, it was what they called a pantomime, a mixture of the two. It was based on the story of Dido and Aeneas and their ill-fated love-affair. Some was in prose, some in verse cribbed or adapted from Vergil, interspersed with clowning and dancing. Most was in Latin, though the clowns jabbered in broken British. I hardly knew what to make of it. Tad was laughing his head off, Lucius, who had seen plenty of these things, was following more uneasily, and Bran was as puzzled as I. To crown it, the wind rose and the rain descended, and the top tier of the theatre was very exposed.
Comparing notes afterwards, as we dried off over a cup of wine in our restaurant, three of us complained about the British being cast as fools. Tad disagreed.
"Come on, aren't you being too serious? It does everyone good to laugh at themselves."
"I saw one once in Camulodunum," Lucius offered, "where the clowns jabbered in dog-Latin. The governor banned it."
"There you are. The Romans don't have much sense of humour, if you'll pardon my saying so. Though you hardly count as a Roman these days."
"They had a sense of humour once," I chipped in. "Look at Terence. He's hilarious."
"And aren't there lots of slaves in his plays?" asked Tad. "You laugh at them, though you shouldn't."
"Not at them, Tad. With them. It's they who make the jokes, at their own expense. Terence isn't deriding them. I wouldn't laugh if he were. Just as I wouldn't laugh at someone deriding the Irish."
"That's the point, isn't it?" suggested Bran, "Doesn't it depend on who's poking fun at who? Britons can laugh at themselves if it's Britons who're poking the fun. If someone else does the poking, it turns into, well, discourtesy."
"That's right," said Lucius. "That was the trouble with that pantomime. It wasn't a British troupe. They came from Mediolanum. It said so on the billboard."
"Did it?" said Tad, surprised. "I didn't see that. In that case you're right. I take back what I said. I won't have foreigners mocking us. But it's odd, isn't it, that people are so touchy." He ruminated. "I suppose it's self-esteem. Patriotism, almost. And I've a feeling that in Britain patriotism's on the rise."
The waiter came to take our order, and when that was sorted out Tad changed the subject.
"Tomorrow's the great day, then, boys. There are one or two places in the precinct where we'll have to be careful, because Pulcher still thinks he's paying his respects to a hunter god. But once we're inside the temple it'll work. I know it'll work. Maponus will approve. I've never seen so obvious a pair of love-birds. That boat trip served its purpose, didn't it?"
"Yes, it did. We knew before, but we had to make sure. We do share a soul, and we're not going to Maponus under false pretences. Thanks, Tad. Thanks, Bran."
"No problem," said Tad. "I'm happy for you."
Bran smiled. "I know it'll work too. Quis fallere possit amantem?" He was quoting from Vergil and the pantomime. "Who could deceive a lover?"
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