The Memory of Snow (6 page)

AD 391

‘It is true, faithful ones. The new Commandant is a
Christian,’ said the Pater. The men were reclining on the benches in the
Mithraeum. The detritus of their feast surrounded them and it was Marcus’ job
as the Corax to clear up. He moved between the men, emptying flagons of wine
into goblets so he could tidy up.

‘It is more important than ever that we protect our
identities. Let nobody know you are a member of the cult. Tell nobody your
rank,’ continued the Pater. Marcus felt himself flushing. He needed to make a
conscious effort to rein himself in. Janus was still waiting for his invitation
to join and had been pressing Marcus for information.

‘Perhaps, with Titus Perpetuus here, the cult will need more
men?’ Janus had asked eagerly. ‘Will that be a factor in my initiation? I am
willing to enter the cult as soon as they need me. We can be strong and fight
against this Christian. He is here to change things, and I do not like to think
about what he might try and do.’ He had looked across at the temple as he took
up his watch, then further afield towards the Sacred Well. ‘Remind me to make
an offering to Coventina,’ he said. ‘The more deities we have on our side, the
better.’

‘I am inclined to agree,’ said Marcus,’ but here is not the
place to discuss it. We must do our duty to the fort and consider the
implications later.’ Janus had shot a glance at him in surprise. It was unlike
Marcus to deflect a conversation, whether it was at a change of watch or not.

‘Marcus! Where does your allegiance lie?’ hissed Janus. ‘To
Carrawburgh fort with this Christian in charge, or to your religion? You can be
moved to a different fort as easily as day follows night. But your religion and
your beliefs go with you. Unless, of course, you choose to follow Christianity
and become Titus’ lapdog?’

‘I do not like your attitude,’ snapped Marcus. ‘It is not the
place to discuss this.’ Janus opened his eyes wide.

‘But what is the problem?’ he asked, confused and hurt by
Marcus’ outburst. Marcus was one of the most good-natured, trusting people
Janus had ever met. Sometimes, he felt this personality did not sit well with a
Prefect of Marcus’ rank. Janus was more forthright and confident than Marcus;
sometimes Janus had a definite swagger to his walk, a way of fixing a person
with a stare that was both quizzical and challenging, yet somehow inviting
respect and honesty from the recipient. Marcus was much more relaxed. He
radiated common sense and openness, drawing people in like a moth to a flame.
They were both excellent leaders; yet where Janus seemed to have been born into
leadership and the role appeared to have evolved to accommodate him, Marcus had
worked his way up the ranks. Janus could not remember the last time Marcus had
been short with him. What had changed?

Janus had looked around him, shaking his head almost
imperceptibly, as if he could find the answer to his friend’s behaviour in the
wild moors and hills around him. Then he saw it; maybe not in the moors, but a
little closer to home. Aemelia, the Commandant’s daughter, was walking across
the square in the centre of the fort. She was heading towards the gate,
escorted by a slave who was carrying her basket. She must be going into the
vicus. This girl was allowed more freedom than Janus thought was usual. She
often wandered around the fort or disappeared into the civilian settlement.
Janus had even spotted her walking across the moors alone. He doubted that
Titus Perpetuus knew his only child was walking about the northern territory in
such a fashion. His sharp eyes spotted Marcus cast a glance her way and pull
himself up straighter as she hurried past them. He also saw Aemelia look up
under her eyelashes at the men standing on the ramparts, a smile playing around
her rosy lips. Her gaze was only for Marcus, Janus realised. This, then, was
what had changed. He would not let Marcus know he had realised yet. But at
least he had an explanation for his friend’s behaviour. Not that it was a
secret he was happy about knowing. Janus frowned as he walked down the steps
and left Marcus patrolling the wall. Things were definitely changing at
Carrawburgh. He wondered how this would affect the cult of Mithras and Marcus’
role in that.

Marcus was wondering much the same thing as he moved around
the temple after the feast. The worship of Mithras was not at the forefront of
his mind any more: and he knew it was something he was loathe to admit to
anybody.

AD 391

Aemelia was alone today; at last she had escaped from her
mother and the slave she insisted accompanied her daughter everywhere. She
checked over her shoulder as she slipped out of the fort gate, then sighed. She
had thought she was alone. Syrus, her slave, had other ideas. He was there
again, tailing her. He followed at a discreet distance, stopping in the shadows
every so often and waiting for her to move on. There was no escape from him. It
was like having a bodyguard, she thought. And for what reason? She only wanted
to visit the vicus again. It was not as if she was going to come to any harm in
the little village.

Aemelia enjoyed wandering around the market stalls and
peeping into the taverns. She loved the smells of the meals cooking in the
houses, the sound of the children laughing and playing in the little forum
whilst their mothers chatted. Occasionally she would see a soldier from
Carrawburgh, slipping into certain buildings furtively, or leaving them with a
kiss and a wave from a woman who was wrapped only in a blanket. Aemelia
couldn’t help smiling. Everyone knew exactly what was going on; yet some of
these men tried so hard to hide it. Why, most of these children belonged to
serving auxiliary soldiers in the cohort. The families were happy to wait until
their men had completed their service, before they could be married and granted
Roman citizenship. The Officers were more fortunate. They had quarters in the
fort with their families and slaves. Marriage was legal for them. Aemelia
always loved it when babies were born within the walls of the forts– it was
always a cause for great celebration. And although her father was a devout
Christian, he turned a blind eye to the offerings and prayers the families made
to the Pagan deities who had blessed them in such a way.

Aemelia had grown up surrounded by men on the forts. She had
changed from a chubby, dark-haired toddler, always ready with a smile for the
soldiers, through the awkwardness of youth where she blushed and stammered
should anyone address her and finally to the beautiful, confident young woman
she was now. She enjoyed exploring new places and meeting new people. Any
change in her father’s post was a God-given opportunity. She particularly loved
it up here. It still amused her to think of the Picts trying to storm the Wall;
but to be fair she had never seen any of them attempt it.

Aemelia wound her way down the path to the vicus and headed
towards the village; for, to all intents and purposes, a village was what it
had become. She walked towards a large, stone wall, which formed the edge of a
square building. She leaned over the side and rested her hands on the wall as
she sniffed deeply. This place had a special smell – sort of fresh and pure.
She couldn’t explain it any better. Water bubbled within it, and like the
shrine to the water nymphs by that awful temple, it was open to the elements.
It was obviously a shrine as well, or something sacred at least; it had that
feeling about it. Aemelia shivered slightly – it always had that effect on her.
She didn’t know if part of it was guilt. Lenient though her father was with his
soldiers, he was less lenient with her. He made her wear a gold cross around
her neck and had taught her to be proud of her Christianity. It was nothing to
be ashamed of, he told her. Aemelia knew that; yet she couldn’t help but be
fascinated by this shrine. A man walked past her and threw a coin into the
water, muttering something as he did so. Aemelia watched the coin sink into the
pool and wondered what he had thanked the goddess for. She saw a stone carving
leaning up against the wall, depicting a woman reclining on what might have
been the edge of stream. There were several smaller altars lining the walls.
They showed carvings of leaves and wreathes and patterns and even people. She
wondered again what the significance was. There was a carving showing three
people at the other shrine. It was enormous; but this one wasn’t quite so big.

‘Do you find this interesting?’ said a voice close by her
ear. She jumped and turned to see another man smiling shyly at her. It was the
fair haired man she had noticed on her first day here.

‘Oh! I’m sorry – am I in the way? Do you need to be in here?’
asked Aemelia stepping back. ‘Please – don’t let me stop you.’ She waved her
arm towards the entrance and smiled.

‘No, I do not need to be in there. I have no need of the
goddess today,’ smiled the young man. ‘Forgive me; aren’t you the Commandant’s
daughter?’

Aemelia laughed.

‘It is very obvious, Sir, that I am,’ she said, bowing
slightly. ‘My name is Aemelia. I am very different to these lovely ladies of
the vicus. I do not feel that I blend in particularly well here.’

‘Only because they are used to this weather,’ said the man.
He indicated her wraps. She had several layers of furs around her body and
looked like she could have used some more, had she been given the opportunity.

‘Hmm, yes. My attire sets me apart somewhat,’ said Aemelia.
‘That and the fact that my teeth are chattering and my nose is red.’

‘It gets colder,’ warned her companion. ‘Much colder. This
place,’ he indicated the Well, ‘is dedicated to our marvellous goddess
Coventina. She helps, amongst other things, to melt the ice and snow and bring
back running water to the countryside. She is a water nymph, but a very special
one. Her name means ‘the memory of snow’.’

‘How lovely!’ cried Aemelia. She tugged the animal skins
closer to her and fixed the man with a look. ‘So I know that this is Coventina,
and you know that I am Aemelia. I do not know who you are, though. Would you be
so kind as to enlighten me?’

‘Certainly.’ The man bowed. ‘My name is Marcus Simplicius
Simplex. I am a Prefect in the Batavian Cohort, stationed at Carrawburgh. But
you will know where I hail from, no doubt.’

‘I had my suspicions, Prefect,’ smiled Aemelia. ‘Are you free
for a little while, perhaps? I would like to become better acquainted with the
vicus. You have already explained Coventina’s Well to me. I should like you to
escort me around the area and point out some places of interest.’

‘That would be my pleasure,’ said Marcus. ‘But will your
father be agreeable to it? I should hate to think that I was crossing
boundaries...’

‘No boundaries,’ said Aemelia. ‘I am new to the area. I am
being escorted and advised by a soldier in my father’s cohort. You are looking
after me, a stranger, in a new place. He cannot complain about that, can he?
And besides,’ she nodded pointedly behind her where an olive skinned man stood
half-hidden amongst some tall ferns. ‘My dear slave Syrus never lets me wander
far from his sight.’

‘Then we have no issues. It is perfectly reasonable that I
should escort you, under the eagle eye of Syrus,’ said Marcus. He raised his
hand in acknowledgment to Syrus and offered Aemelia his other arm. ‘Come with
me, young lady, and I shall protect you.’

Marcus had originally intended to go to the Mithraic temple
to give thanks to the sun god. It was a brighter day, today, despite it being
cold and blustery; the icy wind that blew from the north had not brought snow
as they had feared. But he contented himself with throwing a coin into
Coventina’s Well, and sent a silent prayer to her instead, thanking her for the
absence of snow and ice.

Marcus and Aemelia did not see a man standing at the door of
Aelia’s house, watching them walk away from the Well and in the opposite
direction to the temple. The Pater watched them disappear behind a building and
narrowed his eyes. He had expected Marcus to come to the temple today. He had
mentioned that he would be there. It was almost time for the Corax’s  next
initiation ceremony and the Pater needed to let him know.

AD 391

‘She is rather attractive, is she not?’ asked Janus. Marcus
dipped his head and coloured. The disagreement on the ramparts long forgotten,
Janus and Marcus had slipped easily back into their friendship.

‘I do not know who you are referring to, my friend,’ Marcus
replied, busying himself with mending the leather thongs on his sandals. He had
spent the morning on drill and practising swordsmanship. It was not his turn
for watch yet, so he had taken the opportunity to tend to his kit.

‘Our Commandant’s beautiful daughter, of course,’ said Janus.
‘I believe she is called Antonia?’

‘Aemelia,’ responded Marcus, too quickly.

‘Ha! So she has been worthy of your notice, then?’ laughed
Janus, nudging him good-naturedly.

 ‘Perhaps,’ smiled Marcus. Janus knew him too well. He
couldn’t bluff with him for very long.

‘Then tell me, what do you propose to do about it?’ asked
Janus, more seriously now. ‘It would never be allowed; you understand that,
don’t you?’ Marcus pulled the needle through the sandals and didn’t answer. He
shrugged. He knew that Aemelia was only eighteen. Janus shook his head and
looked at Marcus with concern in his eyes.

‘Be sensible, Marcus,’ he said. Marcus ignored him and tugged
the leather thongs to test them. He turned and reached for a small,
bone-handled knife and cut the thread off.

‘You are a stubborn man,’ sighed Janus. ‘When will you learn
to take advice?’

‘I will never take advice from you,’ smiled Marcus. ‘You
should know that by now.’ Janus rolled his eyes.

‘Yes. You are a difficult man indeed. So if you will not
listen to me, you must tell me more. What is it about Antonia...’

‘...Aemelia...’

‘...Aemelia, that you like?’

‘Ah, Janus,’ implored Marcus. ‘Do not make me do this! It is
wrong that I should even have confided in you! Forget I said anything. Look.
There is Felix, coming to seek you out.’

Janus looked up and saw one of his men walking towards him.

Felix stood tall and straight before the men and waited to be
acknowledged. Janus nodded at him.

‘What is it?’ he asked the soldier.

‘The Commandant has issued a request that we convene in two
hours at the principia,’ he said. The principia was the headquarters of the
fort. The Cohort met every morning there, and it was unusual that the
Commandant should want another meeting. Marcus and Janus looked at one another.

‘And did he advise you why this was the case?’ asked Janus,
sitting back and looking at Felix curiously.

‘No, Sir. But I believe a messenger arrived this morning.’

‘Whilst we were training, perhaps. Very well. Thank you. You
are dismissed.’

Felix nodded and marched away from the officers.

‘Interesting,’ said Janus. ‘I did not see anyone come. Did
you?’

Marcus shook his head.

‘No. Well, it should be interesting what he needs to report,’
he said. Plus, he knew if they were at the headquarters, it was only a stone’s
throw to where Aemelia was in the praetor, the Commandant’s house. Perhaps he
would be lucky enough to see her. He smiled to himself. He felt in the pouch
that he carried around his waist. Perhaps he would have time to give her his
gift before the meeting.

Janus stood up and stretched.

‘Will you be visiting the temple soon?’ he asked Marcus. ‘I
was wondering if...’

‘In the name of the gods, Janus!’ said Marcus. ‘I have told
you; the Pater will let you know when he can initiate you.’

‘I know,’ sighed Janus, holding his hands up. ‘You are right,
my friend. But I have a feeling that this little talk by the Commandant will
not help our cause. I am anxious to do my part for Mithras. He has been good to
us. Please. If I go to the temple now, will you come with me? I would like to
see if I can contact the Pater myself; or at least see if there is some way I
can leave a message for him. Is it true that there is a secret place to leave
messages for members of the cult?’

Marcus sighed. He looked up at his friend. Janus was rocking
back and forth on the balls of his feet now, his hands behind his back; a sure
sign that he was anxious to get moving. He smiled engagingly at Marcus.

 ‘Please?’ asked Janus.

‘All right. I will come with you. But I have to return in
good time. I have things I need to do.’

‘I understand,’ said Janus. ‘Time, tide and Antonia wait for
no man.’

Marcus didn’t bother to correct him.

‘Come. If you want to go, we have to go now,’ he said.

‘So, there is a secret place for contact?’ asked Janus. ‘Wait!
I need something to write on.’ He looked around and patted his tunic as if a
wax tablet and stylus would leap out at him from nowhere.

‘There are implements at the temple,’ sighed Marcus. He stood
up and cast a glance at the Commandant’s house. Was she in? He would make
certain he caught her later. But he might as well humour Janus for now. Perhaps
if Janus left a message, the Pater would contact him directly and he would stop
asking Marcus about his initiation.

The two men left the fort and headed down to the temple. The
path was slippery with the rain that had fallen earlier that day and Marcus
knew the temple would feel damp and cold once they were inside it. It never
seemed welcoming when there were no people in it. Aemelia hated the place. He
had taken her down to it once, to show her what he believed in. She loved
Coventina’s Well and adored the Shrine to the Water Nymphs, so he thought she
would like the temple. He was wrong. She had refused to enter it, shaking her
head as Marcus paused at the door, ready to open it for her.

‘No, I do not want to come in. It is a horrible place,’ she
had said, pulling her arm away from his and walking deliberately away from the
temple and towards the Water Nymph shrine. ‘I shall wait here. Anyway, I am
sure women are not allowed in your temple.’

‘Well, no. They are not usually allowed in,’ said Marcus
frowning. ‘But I think the men would make an exception for you, just so you can
see what it is like inside. You are the Commandant’s daughter, after all.’

‘Yes, and we are a Christian family,’ said Aemelia. ‘Don’t
think I haven’t heard the whispered comments or the complaints about us. I am
invisible to a lot of these men. They think because I am a young woman I do not
understand them. But I do. They would rather we had not come to your
Carrawburgh.’

‘I don’t feel like that!’ cried Marcus walking up to her. He
took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. ‘Truly. I am happy that you are
here. Perhaps more happy than you know.’

Aemelia had ducked her head, but not before he had seen her
smile.

‘I know you are happy, Prefect,’ she said. ‘As I am happy to
be here. But it does not make this awful building any more bearable. Even if it
is important to you.’

‘It is important to me. Of course it is,’ said Marcus looking
over his shoulder at the building. Then he turned back to face Aemelia. He
looked down at her, his eyes softening. ‘But not as important as you are. If
you feel uncomfortable here, I shall not go in. We can go back to the vicus and
find something to eat or drink. I don’t want you to feel like
that.’  

Aemelia smiled at him and squeezed his hands.

‘Thank you, but you don’t have to avoid it because of me. It
is such a dark, eerie place. It just feels wrong to me,’ she said.

‘Sssh. No. We will leave. Don’t worry about it,’ said Marcus.
‘Come on.’ He dropped her hands and offered her his arm. She took it and smiled
up at him.

‘Thank you,’ she said. He smiled down at her and they began
to walk away from the temple, up towards the vicus.

When they had disappeared over the hill, the heavy wooden
door of the temple cracked open. The Leo who had been making an offering to
Mithras had heard Marcus. He watched to make sure they weren’t coming back,
then closed the door and sat down inside the temple. The Corax perhaps needed
his next initiation now more than ever. He might mention it to the Pater, he
thought. Just so the Corax was gently brought back into the fold. It wouldn’t
do any harm.

Marcus pushed open the door of the temple and looked into the
gloom.

‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Are there any servants of Mithras here?
Any men who are willing to do their duty to the sun god?’ Nothing answered him
except a black silence. He waited a moment until his eyes adjusted to the
darkness, then beckoned Janus inside. ‘Come. We will leave a message and hope
that the Pater finds it in his heart to answer you.’

Janus nodded, silhouetted in the grey light outside the door.

‘Thank you for coming with me,’ he whispered, squeezing in
beside Marcus who still held the door open. Marcus pushed a block of stone
against the door to prop it open so some light filtered through. ‘In the name
of the gods...’ muttered Janus looking around him. ‘It is nothing like I
expected.’

‘What did you expect?’ laughed Marcus. ‘It is a temple. That
is all.’

‘But it is like a cave; it is a sacred cave!’ said Janus, his
voice echoing around the building.

‘Yes. Mithras was born from a rock within a cave,’ said
Marcus. ‘That is why we worship in places like these. Come. Let us leave the
message and go. It is never very pleasant when there is nobody else around. It
is very different when we have a ceremony. You will see. Now – here is the
chest which contains the writing equipment. Write your message and I shall
place it where the Pater will find it.’

Janus took the stylus and the wax tablet from Marcus. The
tablet consisted of two frames of wood laced together, filled with wax. Any
messages could be written then erased, and this preserved the secrecy of the
contents. Janus thought for a moment, tapping the stylus on the stone altar.

‘No. Janus. Not the altar. Please, don’t tap on the altar,’
said Marcus, stifling a laugh.

‘Oh! Oh dear. I am sorry,’ said Janus, looking horrified.
‘Forgive me Mithras!’ He moved away from the altar and bent over a stone bench.
He scraped his message into the wax tablet and folded it up with a small thud.
He handed it to Marcus, along with the stylus. Marcus replaced the stylus in
the chest and felt around in the wall. All the cult members had access to this
secret area. They were bound to read the messages as part of their duty, and
also to act upon them as necessary.

‘Ah!’ said Janus. ‘I knew it! Yet it is hardly the cursus
publicus is it?’ He was referring to the very efficient postal system. Messages
and dispatches were sent through various messengers and various postal houses
along the route to their destination. In extreme cases, one messenger had to
travel throughout the whole empire, stopping at these places on the way for a
change of horse and a bed for the night. Less important mail came via oxen and
changed hands frequently along the route. Marcus snorted with suppressed
laughter and dislodged a large, rectangular brick. He reached into the gap and
his fingers touched something hard and cold. Someone had already left a tablet
there. Marcus pulled it out and put Janus’ tablet in its place.

‘Excuse me for one moment,’ Marcus said. ‘Cursus publicus it
may not be, but it serves our purpose. Let me read this.’

Marcus took the tablet to the doorway and opened it up in the
light, leaving Janus staring around the temple in awe, fingering things here
and there.

‘Leave the artefacts alone,’ called Marcus, his eyes never
leaving the tablet. He heard Janus apologise again, but he was more interested
in the wax tablet. What he saw made his heart beat faster.

Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex. The Pater decrees that you
shall be initiated to the rank of Nymphus, the bridegroom. Your protecting
deity from that day forth shall be Venus. This ceremony is to take place on the
market day in March. This is the second time the Pater has decreed your
initiation. It has been observed that you did not attend the original ceremony,
although the information was displayed for you in good time. Remember – you are
a servant of Mithras and as such should do his bidding. There will be no third
chance.

Marcus wasted no time in returning to the chest and seizing
the stylus. He wrote his acknowledgement of the message on the bottom of the
tablet, frowning as he pushed the tablet back into the hole and replaced the
brick. It was market day today. He dreaded to think what might have happened
had he not visited the temple with Janus.

‘You scare me, my friend,’ said Janus, opening his eyes wide.
‘Did that tablet contain bad news?’

‘It was good news,’ said Marcus. ‘And it may also prove good
news for you. Soon, the cult of Mithras will need a new Corax. Your request
could not have been timed better.’

‘Are you certain of this?’ asked Janus, clutching the top of
Marcus’ arms. ‘Truthfully? You think I may be called upon?’

‘You may be,’ said Marcus. ‘I have much to thank you for, my
friend. Had I not come here today with you, things may have been very
different. I have missed an important ceremony. Yet I must apologise to you as
well. You could have been initiated much sooner had I not been so lax in my
duties.’ Marcus was mentally thanking the gods for guiding him to the temple
today. But he was puzzled and confused. How had he missed the ceremony? When
had he neglected his duties and not entered the temple? Then he remembered; it
was the day he had brought Aemelia down and she had refused to enter the
building. That had been another auspicious day in the Roman calendar. He was
willing to bet his last few denarii that his original ceremony had been planned
for then. It had been instilled in him that he must not neglect his duties, he
must follow orders and act upon things promptly. Mithras would not wait for
him.

‘You must not tell anyone of this development,’ Marcus said
to Janus. ‘It is secret. You understand that, don’t you?’