Part 20 (1/2)

I smiled, having hoped that someone would raise this point.

”Certainly, it makes more sense to see the Highest Power as female, if one must a.s.sign a gender to Deity, for it is the female who gives birth. Even Jesus, whom the Christians say was the son of G.o.d, or even G.o.d himself, had to be born from Maria before he could take human form.”

”Well of course!” answered Portia. ”That's where the heroes and demi-G.o.ds come from-Hercules, and Aeneas, and the rest of them.”

”But the Christians say their Jesus was the only one,” observed Lucretia. The rest of the girls contemplated this lack of logic and shook their heads.

”Let us return to the original question,” I said when the discussion came to an end. ”Pythagoras tells us that the supreme Power is 'a soul pa.s.sing to and fro, and diffused through all parts of the universe, and through all nature, from which all living creatures which are produced derive their life.' This is very much the same teaching as I received among the Druids, except, as I said, that we tend to think of this Power as being female when we give it a gender.

”This being so,” I gestured towards thematronae once more, ”why do we feel impelled to make images of that which cannot, in truth, be pictured, and divide it up into G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses and give them histories and names? Even the Christians do it-they say their Jesus is the Supreme G.o.d, and yet the stories they tell about him are just like our own hero tales!”

There was a long silence. In a way, I thought, it was unfair to ask these girls to answer a question whose solution had eluded the theologians and philosophers. But perhaps, just because they were female, they might find it easier to understand.

”You have dolls at home, don't you?” I added. ”But you know they are not real babies. Why do you love them?”

”Because...” Lucretia said hesitantly after another pause, ”I can hold onto them. I pretend they are the babies I will have when I grow up. It is hard to love something that has no face or name.”

”I think that is a very good answer, don't you?” I asked, looking around the circle. ”In our minds we can understand the Highest G.o.d, but so long as we are in human bodies, living in this rich and varied world, we need images that we can see and touch and love. And each one of them shows us a part of that supreme Power, and all the parts together give us a glimpse of the whole. So the people who insist there is only One G.o.d are right, and so are those who honour the many, but in different ways.”

They were nodding, but I could see a glaze of incomprehension in some of their eyes, and others were looking out into the garden, as if they found more truth in the play of light on the leaves. Still, I could hope that something of what I had said would stay with them. Laughing, I dismissed them to go out and play.

For two more years, Diocletian's edict remained in force in Britannia. The year after the edict, when everyone was ordered to sacrifice, a soldier named Alba.n.u.s had been put to death in Verulamium for refusing to do so, and one day I found Vitellia weeping because she had heard that her fourteen-year-old nephew, Pancratus, had been killed in Rome, but in Londinium there were no executions, though the bishop had been imprisoned and stayed under guard.

The Christians continued to meet in their houses, and when even that became too dangerous, I allowed them to hold services in mine. Or rather, in my atrium, since even with veils thrown over my images and altars, the interior was considered too polluted for them to expose the holy things of their G.o.d. They were happy, however, to welcome me to those parts of their service open to the uninitiated.

Nathaniel the rope-maker, who, since he was only a deacon in the church, had escaped arrest with the others, was holding forth to his congregation, the men on one side of the garden and the women on the other, heads covered and eyes cast down in piety.

”Oh G.o.d, the heathen have come into thy inheritance;”he intoned, moving his finger along the line of writing.

Vitellia sat in the first row, eyes closed and lips moving. Why did they not allow her to speak, I wondered, since obviously she knew the holy writings as well as he?

”They have defiled thy holy temple; they have laid Jerusalem in ruins. They have given the bodies of thy servants to the birds of the air for food...”

As he continued I reflected on the appropriateness of the words, which had been written, so I was told, by one of the ancient Jewish kings.

”We have become a taunt to our neighbours, mocked and derided by those round aboutus...”

Apparently those who served the G.o.d of the Jews had always had difficulty in getting along with their neighbours. Was it because they were wrong, or because, as they believed, they were ahead of their time? I had suggested that since the Christians did not believe in our G.o.ds, it could do no harm for them to go through the motions of making an offering, but Vitellia reacted with horror. I realized then that the Christiansdid believe in the G.o.ds, and considered them evil. I did not understand her reasoning, but I had to admire her integrity.

”...let thy compa.s.sion come speedily to meet us, for we are brought very low. Help us, O G.o.d of our salvation, for the glory of thy name...”

For the past few minutes I had been aware of a distant murmur. As Nathaniel paused, it grew louder-the sound of many feet and many voices. The Christians heard it too.

Softly, one of the women began to sing- ”The eternal gifts of Christ the King, The martyrs' glorious deeds we sing; And all, with hearts of gladness, raise Due hymns of thankful love and praise...”

I caught Philip's eye and nodded, and he got up and went through the house towards the door.

Then we heard a heavy banging, and even Nathaniel's voice failed. Some of the women were weeping, but others sat straight with burning eyes, as if hoping for martyrdom. And they continued to sing.

”They braved the terrors of the time, No torment shook their faith sublime; Soon, holy death brought peace and rest And light eternal with the blest.”

I rose to my feet. ”Do not be afraid. I will go out to them.”

When I got to the door, Philip had it open, confronting the crowd. I stepped past them, and as the first man opened his lips to speak, stared him down.

”I am Julia Coelia Helena. For twenty years I was the wife of Constantius who is now your Caesar, the mother of his first-born son. And I promise you, it is his wrath that you will feel if you dare to invade my home!”

Behind me, the Christians were still singing- ”Redeemer, hear us of thy love, That, with thy martyr host above, Thy servants, too may find a place, And reign forever through thy grace.”

”Oh Lady!” the leader shook his head, and I saw that he was laughing. Now I could see that many of those in the crowd had garlands on their heads, or carried wineskins, and I began to realize that the fervent souls who were singing behind me were going to be frustrated in their desire for martyrdom.

”That was never our intention! In the name of Jupiter and Apollo, we are not bent on slaughter, but celebration! Have you not heard the news? Diocletian and Maximian have abdicated, and your Constantius is now Augustus!”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

AD 305-306.

In my dream I was walking with Constantius along the banks of a river. I could not tell if it was the Rhenus or the Tamesis, for the sky was a dim, featureless grey. It hardly mattered, since my beloved was with me. His features were shadowed, but my body knew the strong grip of his hand. It was unexpectedly sweet, after so many years in which I had denied even my memories, to have his companions.h.i.+p.

”Where are you taking me?” I asked.

”To see me off on my journey-”

”Not again!” I stopped, trying to hold him, but his steady progress drew me on. ”Please, do not leave me again!”

”This time,” he told me, ”it is only by leaving you that I can be with you once more.”

”Is night falling?” I asked through my tears.

”No, my beloved, look-it is the morning!”

I blinked, for his face was growing more radiant as the sun rose above the horizon. And then he was all light, slipping through my fingers as I reached out to embrace the dawn...

Light blazed through my eyelids, and someone was banging on the door. I struggled free of the bedclothes, rubbing my eyes as the ordinary reality of my bedchamber, frescoed with scenes of the nymphs of wood and fountain, replaced the misty radiance of my dream. It could not be danger-though Vitellia was still living with me, in a new wing we had built onto the house where no one had ever honoured the G.o.ds. Since Constantius became Augustus, even the pretence of Christian persecution had ceased. But spring sunlight was flooding through the windows. Clearly I was going to get no more sleep, and it was time to start the day.

As I pulled off my sleeping s.h.i.+ft and began to wash from the basin I could hear voices below. My hair showed a few threads of silver at the temples, but I still walked everywhere instead of taking the carriage or a chair, and my body was firm. Hrodlind appeared in the doorway, and seeing that I was up, hurried to set out a fresh s.h.i.+ft and one of my finer tunicas, the saffron silk with embroideries of wheat sheaves around the hem.

When she saw the surprise on my face she grinned. ”You have a visitor, Mistress. You will want to look your best today!”

I considered forcing the truth out of her, but apparently it was not some disaster. I held out my arms for her to pin the gown without a word, suppressing a smile at her expression. She had not expected me to give in so easily.

By the time I approached the dining room, settling a palla of light-weight, creamy wool across my shoulders against the early morning chill, I could smell the tantalizing aroma of nut custard, which Brasilia used to make as a holiday meal when Constantine was a boy. And with that, I stopped short, understanding who, beyond all hope or expectation, my visitor must be.

My heart pounded in my breast and I took a deep breath, grateful for the sense of smell which is the key to memory, and which had given me this warning. Constantine could not be bringing bad news, I thought, or the servants would not have been so cheerful. I waited a little longer, summoning up the courage to face this son whom I had not seen since he had been home for a visit when he was eighteen years old. He had written, of course, but guardedly, as if he suspected his letters were being intercepted. I no longer knew where his heart lay, and I wondered if the intervening thirteen years had changed him more than they had me.

Then I rearranged my palla and made my entrance into the dining room.