The Memory of Snow (3 page)

AD 390

‘Janus! Janus! Are you able to speak with me?’ hissed Marcus,
as they passed one another on the main pathway through the vicus. Janus knew of
a very good gambling house in the township, or the vicus, which had sprung up
around Carrawburgh fort, and he often spent his evenings throwing dice with the
men who ran it. It was next door to a house where a beautiful sloe-eyed girl
lived with five of her ‘sisters’; and it was not unknown for the soldiers to
visit these ladies for a little conversation and comfort. The auxiliary
soldiers were unable to marry – but when they were discharged from the army,
their uxorio – or co-habitation – could then became a legal marriage. Until
then, they kept their ‘wives’ and children close by in the townships near their
forts. As well as an assortment of families relating to the Batavian Cohort,
the vicus near Carrawburgh housed at least three places of worship; the
Mithraic Temple, the Shrine of the Water Nymphs and Coventina’s Well. The
bubbles of excitement kept rising up in his stomach, and Marcus was finding it
increasingly difficult to keep his initiation secret. Surely, it would do no
harm to tell Janus?

Marcus ducked out of the way as a cart carrying animals ready
for slaughter bounced along the rutted road and called out to get Janus’
attention again.

‘Marcus! My friend! What is this urgency?’ laughed Janus. He
was in a good mood, his gambling for once having a positive effect on his
fortunes.

‘I need to speak to you. I have something to tell you,’ said
Marcus. Janus could tell that he was fizzing with energy.

‘I see this is important to you,’ Janus said. ‘Let us take
some wine together at this establishment and you can tell me. It is obvious you
are delighted about something. Or someone. Tell me; what is her name?’

Marcus laughed. Women, for all they were marvellous
creatures, were way down on his list of priorities at the minute. He was a
Corax! He had been accepted and initiated into the cult of Mithras. What more
could he want from life at this moment in time?

The two men ducked into the public house and Janus ordered a
flagon of wine.

‘Janus, I feel ashamed that you are purchasing this wine for
us when I am the one who has need to celebrate!’ cried Marcus, throwing himself
onto a bench in the corner of the room. Janus waved his hand.

‘No, it is my pleasure, dear friend. I have been lucky
tonight- The goddess Fortuna has smiled upon me. Now. What is it you need to
tell me?’

‘I have been accepted as a Corax into the cult of Mitrhras!’
said Marcus. ‘A Raven. The very first step on the ladder!’

‘No!’ cried Janus. ‘That is worthy of a celebration indeed,
my friend!’ He leaned over to Marcus. ‘Do you realise how fortunate you are? It
is every man’s dream to become initiated into the cult of Mithras. Tell me;
what ordeal did you have to perform for them? Or do you no longer call them
ordeals? Now that there is allegedly no ordeal pit.‘

Janus shook his head, but failed to stop the grin spreading
across his face.

‘I cannot tell you,’ he said. ‘It is a secret ceremony. And
only those lucky enough to be accepted into the Cult can discuss it.’

‘Ah, Marcus! We are good friends! Why do you not tell me the
whole story?’ cried Janus, refilling Marcus’ glass. ‘Please. I shall not
divulge it. You can tell me, your oldest friend!’ His dark eyes twinkled with
mischief and his handsome face creased into a grin. ‘Please. You know you want
to!’

‘I know I want to!’ laughed Marcus. ‘But I am afraid I cannot
tell you.’

‘No! You cannot tell me half a story!’ moaned Janus, rolling
his eyes and clasping his hand to his forehead. ‘What if I want to do it? Who
shall advise me if you, my dearest friend, will not do so?’

‘You shall simply have to join the cult, as I did,’ said
Marcus. ‘The Pater will advise you on what you need to do. He is the man with
the power. He is the man who walks with Mithras.’

Janus nodded slowly.

‘I see. We know the temple is there. But the rites are
secretive.’ He shook his head. ‘However. It is maybe something I will consider
in the future. After the new Commandant arrives. The stronger our support for
our ancient deities the better. The more power we have over these Christians
that force us to change our beliefs, the better. Shall we drink to that, my
friend?’ Janus raised his glass to Marcus and took a deep swig from it. Marcus
echoed the action

‘Indeed, my friend,’ he said seriously. ‘Let us drink to
Mithras and our sacred deities. And let no Christians tear us asunder.’

1650

A gaggle of village women stood by the edge of the market,
arms folded and baskets laden with purchases. Some of their items had been paid
for, others had been bartered for. Stray chickens and animals wandered amongst
the merchants and bits of old straw and rubbish littered the ground.

‘If I was her, I’d watch my step,’ said one of them. ‘I heard
tell there’s a man been to Newcastle who’s flushed them all out over there.’
The rest of the women nodded in agreement.

‘The likes of her should be careful,’ muttered another - a
toothless old biddy who walked with a stoop and stank of ale.

‘You’re just worried about yourself,’ said another one
snidely. ‘You can see the signs on any old woman if you know what to look for.
They just need to see you and they can tell. Then they do the test and that
proves it.’

Meggie hurried past the women, her head down and her shawl
pulled over her hair. In another life, Meggie would have been beautiful. Her
hair would have been ash blonde and her eyes a soft, dove grey. Her skin would
have been smooth and peachy and her smile would have lit up her oval face.
Living in this village, however, the reality was different. Her hair, although
blonde, would hang in greasy rats’ tails over her shoulders until she managed
to wash it with some rough soap and a pail of water. Her grey eyes were haunted
and as she was short-sighted, she squinted, which had the effect of creasing
her face into a scowl as she studied distant objects. Her face was too gaunt to
be smooth; instead her cheekbones were planed and angular and her eyes appeared
too big. The worst thing was, Meggie knew all of this. She knew that she could
have been beautiful if she had been given the privileges Charles Hay had. She
knew he mocked her when he told her she was pretty. But, on the other hand, she
had much to be grateful for. If she was truly beautiful, like some of the
village girls, then she could have been in the same situation as they had been,
when she had been ordered to help them out of it. Charles Hay would not just
tease her, but he would target her. And what she lacked in beauty, she made up
for in knowledge – the knowledge she had gleaned from the world around her and
the ancient tales her Grandmother had told her. Meggie was an autumn-child. Her
Grandmother told her she had given her hazelnut milk to drink when she was a
baby, in order to encourage her abilities.

‘Yes,’ said the first gossip, watching Meggie scurry by, ‘she
ought to watch herself, that one.’

‘But didn’t she sort you out, when you had that foul rash
last year?’ asked the snide one. The first woman flushed an ugly red.

‘That’s as may be,’ she said. ‘But it’s still unnatural what
she does. It just needs to go bad the once, and she’ll be in trouble.’

Meggie was oblivious to all this. She needed to go to the
Sacred Well – the meeting with Charles Hay had unsettled her, and only by
distancing herself from the village, could she find any sort of inner peace.

2010

Liv walked along the grassy path across the field and scanned
the area ahead of her for any sign of Coventina’s Well. She was fairly sure it
was along here. Looking down on it from Carrawburgh had played havoc with her
perspective, throwing her geography into disarray as well as throwing a mirage
at her.

She looked down at her notes and stopped where the grassy
path led off on a smaller track, obviously well used by sheep, cows and other
farming stock. It was narrow and straight, heading directly towards a muddy
mess by the fence. Tall, white flowers, like stars, nodded towards the mud, and
delicate fronds of greenery dripping with more pale flowers fluffed around the
edges of a grey, marshy pool.

‘That’s it,’ said Liv. ‘That’s the Well.’ She looked around
for Ryan. He had wandered off up the hill, away from the Well, for some reason.
She opened her mouth to call him down, but then thought better of it. It didn’t
seem right to shout or to raise voices here. It was strangely peaceful. Liv
felt calm and tranquil, standing at this sacred spring, which burst through the
moorland and fed the burn, running into the River South Tyne near Stanegate
fort at Newbrough, three miles south. She looked up at Carrawburgh and tried to
imagine it when it was inhabited by the Batavian Cohort. It would have been
immense – soldiers moving briskly around, planning battles, perhaps, or just
looking after the day to day arrangements of the fort. Someone was up there now
– maybe a backpacker, or one of the holidaymakers from the camper van. She
could see them standing on the edge, looking down towards the Mithraeum. Then
they turned and moved away, disappearing behind a scrubby bush, no doubt on
their way back to the car park. Liv heard footsteps as Ryan came up behind her.
He put his hand on her shoulder and she turned to speak to him.

But her heart skipped a beat when she realised that Ryan was
still on the hillside, staring out across the fields. And she was still alone,
next to an ancient sacred spring in the shadow of a ruined fort.

AD 390

‘Io, Saturnalia!’ cried Janus. He was dressed in women’s
clothing and had a wreath of ivy and berries balanced on his head. Ridiculous
as he should have looked, Marcus was forced to admit he carried it off well.
Janus was tall and muscular; olive-skinned and dark-haired, he was one of the
few true Romans in the cohort. He seemed to have been born with confidence and
a natural ability to lead. He was the unanimous choice for the Saturnalicius
princeps, and as such would lead the Saturnalia celebrations. Other members of
the cohort, like Marcus, had come from Germania Inferior; the area that would
eventually become known as the Netherlands. They were happy to be guided by
Janus this year – nobody knew how the new Commandant would react to future
celebrations if the rumours were true, so they were determined to enjoy
themselves while they could.

‘Ho! Praise to Saturn!’ laughed Marcus in response. He was wearing
a colourful outfit begged from one of the sloe-eyed sisters in the vicus. As he
left her house, Aelia had placed the pileus, or ‘freedman’s hat’ on his fair
hair and stretched up to kiss him.

‘Enjoy yourself this week. It is the strangest sight, seeing
all you men dressed as women,’ she said. ‘I hope you do not forget yourselves
and become less than masculine after the celebrations end!’

‘With beauties such as you and you sisters so close to us,
that is hardly likely!’ said Marcus. ‘Thank you once again for these wonderful
robes!’ He lifted the edge of the purple cloth and let it drop again. ‘I cannot
recall seeing you in this, Aelia? I hope it is not your best outfit. I cannot
forgive myself if that is so.’

‘Dear Marcus! Do not worry. I have many, many outfits. You
beautiful men do not see most of them! Or indeed, do you even see any of them?’
Her eyes twinkled and she kissed him again. ‘Just return my dress after the
week is over and do not forget who you are. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Marcus. He bowed to her and made his way back
to the fort. On his way, he threw a few coins into the Sacred Well.  The
cohort had dedicated this Well to Coventina, the water goddess. It was an open
air shrine, made from a natural spring which started at the Well and gurgled
past the Mithraeum and the shrine to the Water Nymphs. One day, he had walked
the length of the stream and stood and watched as it emptied into the River
Tinea, near Carvoran fort. He had a great respect for Coventina. She was the
goddess who eased them out of the harsh winters they experienced at
Carrawburgh; the goddess who helped the ice and snow melt and returned water to
the frozen landscape. This Saturnalia, her help would be appreciated more than
usual. The ground was icy underfoot and drifts of snow piled up against the
walls of the fort and the buildings in the vicus. Someone had been out and
broken the thick ice which had formed on the surface of the Well. Marcus
thought it would do no harm to pacify Coventina by offering her a few denarii.
What did the coins matter to him, really, anyway? He was well-paid and could
afford to give some coins to the goddess.

Marcus walked past the Mithraeum, and stole a glance inside
it. The door was open, which was unusual. He could see someone inside, reaching
their hand out to touch an altar; another soldier, he guessed, celebrating
Saturnalia by being clothed in white. His heart swelled with pride as he
thought about his altar, which now stood propped up against the inside wall.

DEO INVICTO MITRAE M SIMPLICIVS SIMPLEX PREF VSLM

"To the Invincible God Mithras, the prefect Marcus
Simplicius Simplex, willingly and deservedly fulfills his vow."

He knew this would be the case, whatever the Pater asked him
to do. Being initiated into the cult was the second most important thing he had
done in his life. The first thing, had been to join the Roman Army.

Marcus had walked on past the temple and up to the fort. He
nodded at the guard standing at the gate, and the guard moved aside to let
Marcus in. It looked faintly ludicrous – both the men wore female clothing and
hats, yet they still had the stature and bearing of soldiers. Saturnalia was a
time for revelry and feasting; a time to eat, drink and be merry. The fort was
decorated in swathes of greenery and candles stood in alcoves and niches around
the building. A long, low couch had been placed in the quadrant inside the
fort, and it was on this that Janus was reclining.

Two of the most honoured officers in the Cohort stood to his
side, and he waved them away regally as Marcus approached him.

‘Please, bring my friend Marcus some wine and some food. He
must be tired after his exercise,’ called Janus. The men bowed and moved away
from the couch. Janus grinned at Marcus. ‘I do so love it when we are able to
order the likes of Longinius and Milenius around. Buglers and standard-bearers
– pah! They think they are as godly as Saturn himself. It is a shame that we
can only do this for seven days.’ He sighed theatrically, and beckoned Marcus
over to him. ‘So.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Whilst my slaves are otherwise
engaged, let me discuss some interesting information with you. Not only does
our new Commandant seemingly worship the Christian God, but he is a firm
follower of the Emperor.’

‘No!’ cried Marcus, opening his eyes wide. ‘So all this...’
he gestured around the fort. ‘All the celebrations will be stopped once he
comes? And that is definite?’

Janus nodded.

‘I am afraid it seems that will be the case. Theodosius’
people have already been despatched to break up certain temples. It is he we
must thank for criminalising our sacrifices. We might be fortunate and maintain
some of our Saturnalia celebrations, as it co-incides with the Christian
Yuletide celebrations. But I fear for our shrines and our Mithraeum once he
arrives.’ Janus pulled a face. ‘I can only hope that the information is
incorrect on some level. For the likes of you, this will make your next step up
the Mithraic ladder seem further away than ever. It seemed as if you had your
name down for months, before your initiation as a Corax.’ His face fell. ‘I
suppose it is no good me putting my name forward to follow you, if this is
going to happen. I might as well go back to Rome and throw myself to the lions
if I will be forced to become a Christian.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ whispered Marcus. ‘It is wrong.
We have been sent to this outpost, forced to retreat from Caledonia and now we
have to bow to this man. It is all wrong.’ He balled his fist and punched it
off his thigh. ‘Janus, let me speak to the Pater. He may be able to initiate
you as a favour to me, if I tell him this news...’

‘No!’ hissed Janus looking worried. ‘You can’t tell him the
information came from me. He might think that I used to my advantage, to ensure
I was initiated. Please. Do not mention it to anyone. Just – just take my name
to him and let him know I am interested. At least I will be on record. And if
all this comes to nothing, I may eventually be able to worship inside the
temple with you.’ He smiled at Marcus, and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Would
you do that for me?’

Marcus nodded.

‘Certainly, my friend. I shall let it be known you are
interested. And if our god wills it, you shall be initiated as a Corax and we
shall work together in the service of Mithras.’

‘Thank you,’ said Janus. ‘I appreciate it. I shall offer
something to Coventina and the water nymphs next time I am passing. It cannot
do any harm to have them on my side, can it?’

‘Not at all,’ replied Marcus. He looked up. The two officers
were coming back with glasses of wine and a plate of food. They looked
preposterous, dressed up as women and doing the work of a slave; Marcus
couldn’t help but laugh at them.

‘Thank you my dear slaves,’ he called. ‘I shall recommend you
to your master.’

Milenius, a standard-bearer and therefore a highly privileged
man in the cohort laughed good-naturedly.

‘Enjoy it, Marcus Simplicius Simplex. I shall store all this
up here,’ he tapped his head with his forefinger, ‘and remember it. Six more
days, my friend. Only six more days!’

‘Ah, and what a wonderful six days it shall be,’ retorted
Marcus taking a glass and raising it to Milenius. He took a sip and rolled the
wine around his mouth, tasting the rich berries. ‘Is this your best wine,
Slave? If I find you are giving me the dregs from your amphoras, I shall be
forced to make a complaint to your master.’

‘Only the best for you, Sir,’ said Milenius and bowed low.
‘Would I ever give you bad wine?’

‘Am I able to trust you, then?’ asked Marcus, taking another
sip of wine.

‘For six more days you can,’ replied Milenius, barely hiding
his smile. ‘For six more days. Then I shall tell everyone how much you enjoy
dressing as a woman. Lucius was right.’

One evening later that week, Marcus slipped into the Mithraic
Temple. He had discarded his women’s clothing and dressed in his Corax
loincloth, wrapping a thick woollen blanket around his body. It was bitterly
cold, with a fresh snowfall and a whirling blizzard covering the countryside.
He was shivering as he took his place on the feasting benches, next to the statue
of Cautopates. Plenty of candles had been lit and the temple was filled with a
smoky haze, but it did not do much to disguise the fact that it was bleakest
winter outside. The stone plinth was covered with animal skins and the Nymphus
were walking down the aisle holding their lamps before them. The other grades
of initiate were processing behind them, amongst them, the Leos, carrying
carved thunderbolts before them, and the Perses, who held images of the moon
and stars aloft.

Marcus joined in with the chanting as the procession passed
him. The Pater was at the back, flanked again by his Miles, or soldiers. He
took his place on the stone plinth and began the ceremony. Marcus participated
whole-heartedly, despite the coldness of the cave-like building, and privately
wondered when it would be the best time to approach the Pater about Janus.

At the end of the ceremony, the cult members partook of a
feast. Marcus raised his glass along with the others, and wryly considered how
much wine he had consumed over the past few days. He knew the major ceremony
for Mithras was at mid-summer, to celebrate the solstice. Marcus had wondered
whether they would still be worshipping Mithras by mid-summer, knowing what he
now knew about the Commandant. All the more reason to approach the Pater about
Janus as soon as possible.

Marcus got up from his seat with the other cult members and
wandered around the temple, chatting to people. As a Corax, he was the only
level of initiate not to wear a mask. As such, there was only one Corax at a
time. This was to preserve the mystery of the higher echelons and to remind the
Corax that they were the lowest of the low. That was why their identity was not
hidden within the temple walls. It felt odd talking to people who you did not
recognize. He had his suspicions about the odd person here and there; a
movement, a gesture familiar to them, and he could sometimes make an educated
guess. He felt certain that one of the Leos was Lucius; he had a particular way
of standing. An old wound had left him putting more weight on his left leg than
was usual. The Leo in question seemed as if he tried to compensate for this,
and as such looked awkward and ill at ease. Which was why, Marcus noticed, he
sat down more than the other Leos. Marcus took a deep breath and approached the
man he thought was Lucius.

‘May I ask your advice, Sir?’ he began. The man turned his
head towards Marcus and nodded.

‘You may, Corax,’ he replied. His voice was muffled through
the head-dress. Marcus had realised, to his mild annoyance, a while ago, that
you could not even identify the members from their voices.

‘I have a friend who is interested in joining our cult. I
need to pass his name on to the Pater. How do you suggest I do this?’

‘Why can he not go through the correct channels?’ asked the
Leo. ‘His name shall stay on the list until the Pater decides and works through
it.’

‘It’s…complicated,’ said Marcus. He felt his cheeks redden,
despite the chill in the air. How could he explain his reasoning to the Leo?
‘Perhaps I should just ask the Pater directly. Do you think he would accept
it?’

The Leo laughed.

‘You have much to learn, Corax,’ he said. ‘We do not bother
the Pater with such requests. If you are desperate, you could try to speak to
his Heliodromus. As we are celebrating Saturnalia outside in the fort, the
hierarchy may be slightly more open to your suggestions. After all, doesn’t our
Pater fall under the protection of Saturn? As second-in-command, the
Heliodromus could attempt to grant you an audience, if the Pater accepts it.’

‘Thank you. I shall do that,’ replied Marcus. ‘I realise that
you act in my best interests here, Sir. You cannot bring pain or harm or
anything impure to bear at your grade. Which is why I requested your counsel in
the first place. I thank you once again.’ He inclined his head and moved away
from the Leo. He looked around the temple and caught sight of a Heliodromus. He
had no idea who these men were – so he would act in deference to them, as
befitted his status in the cult, and beg them for an audience from the
Pater.           

Ten minutes later, Marcus found himself escorted to a
screened off portion of the temple. His heart was banging against his chest and
his palms were horribly sweaty. Which was ridiculous, because he obviously
worked with the man he was about to see. He just didn’t know who he was. And
here in the temple, normal day-to-day relationships in the fort did not count.

‘I have been advised that you wish to speak with me
privately?’ said the Pater.

‘Yes Sir,’ replied Marcus, kneeling before him. ‘I was hoping
you could advise me about something.’