Emperor

XX

Lepidina met him at the fort gate not long after dawn. One of her husband's slaves had prepared horses for them, and a pack of food and wine. It was a bright October morning, only a few days after the autumn equinox, and unseasonably cold; the horses' breaths misted in the air and a thick dew glistened on the ground. But the sun was low, the sky a deep blue, and the light was rich, making the cut stone of the fort walls shine.

And in this setting Lepidina looked wonderful, Brigonius thought helplessly. She wore a sensible leather coat, woollen trousers and heavy sandals. He saw on her neck a medallion he thought he remembered, a fish design done in silver. Her rich strawberry hair, now touched by a little grey, was pulled back from her forehead and tucked under a woollen cap. She didn't seem to be wearing cosmetics, and the natural pink of her skin glowed. She was still beautiful, but it was no longer the beauty of a girl, he thought. This was the wistful autumn beauty of a woman on the cusp of age.

She gazed at him with her deep eyes, and turned away, almost girlish. 'You're staring. You always were a fool, Brigantius-Brigonius.' But there was no reproach in her voice.

'I'm sorry. It's just you look so-'

'If you say I look beautiful I'll punch you. I've given birth to three strapping Roman senators-to-be, and a daughter. She is beautiful. I'm a mother.'

'Very well. You look Brigantian, then.'

That seemed to touch her. 'I do?'

'You look as if you belong here. As if-'

'As if I belong at your side. Is that what you mean?'

For a moment, as he looked into her eyes, the world expanded around them, and the fort, the horses, the patient slave, even the mighty Wall, receded to leave them alone in a pocket universe of their own.

'It is still you,' he said. 'Inside there. Somehow I can see that.'

'Yes. How much baggage we carry around now! Our sagging bodies, our spouses and children, all our business. And yet we are still here.'

He was falling in love with her all over again, he thought, Coventina help him! But the moment passed, and Brigonius tugged on his horse's rein.

They rode along the line of the Wall, to the east of Banna. Their horses were lively, glad to be working their muscles on this cold morning. They were on the south side of the Wall, so the curtain wall was to their left, the defensive earthwork to their right. They rode into a low sun that glimmered from dew on the churned-up turf of the annexed land. In places you could still see where rows of ploughing had been cut off by the line of the Wall-the last relic of some dispossessed farmer.

They came to a rise, and Brigonius pulled up his horse. From here they could see the Wall sweep across the country from the western horizon to the east, the bright red bands painted on the curtain wall shining in the low northern light, the sandstone of the mile-forts' flat faces glowing. The Wall was a man-made thing that cut the natural landscape in two.

And the vista wasn't static, not just a thing of stone and turf, but human too. It was still early but there was already traffic to be seen on the rough causeways leading to the nearest mile-fort, and the smoke from its hearths rose into the crisp air. In one section of the curtain a party of legionaries was busy, with a chime of pick on stone and distant calls like gulls' cries. Even now the Wall was still being built, rebuilt and refurbished, and it always would be.

Lepidina said, 'Do you remember how we drove to Rutupiae, all those years ago? My mother told me that the first thing the legionaries did when they landed there was build a wall across that little coastal island, just a rampart of wood and turf to keep out the local barbarians. And now Roman walls have scraped their way across the length of Britain, all the way here, to become…this. How many miles long-seventy, was it?'

'Nearer eighty now,' Brigonius said. 'Depending on how you measure it-at either terminus it runs into coastal defences which the fleet crews have been building.'

'Old Xander would have been delighted to see it, if he'd lived.'

'Well, perhaps,' Brigonius said doubtfully. 'But look at this.' He led her a little further, to the nearest of the mile-forts. You could clearly see where two wings of thick curtain protruded from the outer walls of the fort, but they were built into a much thinner cross-section of Wall. 'We had to make compromises which Xander would have despised. This mile-fort was already built before the Decision. It was meant to join to a thicker curtain, with those stubby wings. But then we decided to reduce the thickness of the Wall, and so the wings don't fit. There are other messy bits-places where you can see thicker courses of stone overlaid by thinner.'

'I see. It's all rather untidy.'

'That's soldiers for you,' Brigonius said. 'Their work is solid and fast, but it's always functional rather than elegant.'

'Perhaps, but look around you! This is more than a wall, Brigonius. It is like one immense town that stretches eighty miles from coast to coast. I live in Rome itself and have never seen anything like it-I daresay there is nothing like it in all the world. But here it is in Britain, and you built it, Brigonius. And even when Rome is gone-oh, don't argue, our Emperor, who rules the wreckage of vanished empires himself, has a profound sense of the mortality of all things-even when the Romans are forgotten this Wall's mighty ruins will strike awe.'

He said impulsively, 'You know, you remind me of your mother.'

She shot him a look of suspicion. 'What do you mean by that?'

He held up his hands. 'Only her best qualities. When we first rode up from Rutupiae together-do you remember? She spoke to me, and it was as if I was seeing my own country through her eyes. So it is now with you.'

She pursed her lips. 'I think you're trying to compliment me.'

He sighed. 'But that woman keeps coming between us, doesn't she?'

'Yes, she does. Shall we ride on?'

They walked their horses further along the line of the Wall, and the sun rose steadily into the sky. Brigonius talked of his wife, his boys; she spoke of her own children who were growing up in such unimaginably different circumstances. And they spoke of old times, of Karus, long retired to Camulodunum-'I've had enough of history,' he had protested, 'all I want is life!'-and old Tullio, who had completed his twenty-five years in the army, filled a sprawling farm with a brood of red-haired grandchildren, continued to use his own mighty cock as a reference-point in every conversation, and died peacefully in his bed.

They halted on another bit of high ground, overlooking still more of the Wall as it marched on out of sight.

'You told me before that it felt as if I still belonged at your side.'

'You said it for me,' he reminded her gently.

'You thought it, though.'

'That's true.'

'And do you still think so now?'

He said honestly, 'I don't know. Too much has happened.'

'Yes. For us to be together the tapestry of time would have to be unpicked and woven again-wouldn't it? Perhaps if I had stayed in Brigantia all those years ago, rather than leaving with my mother. Or if you had given up all this to come with me to Rome.'

He shrugged. 'What's the point of speculating that way? You can't change history.'

'No. But, Brigonius-what if you could? For that is what my mother believes is the meaning of the Prophecy.'

In the intervening years he had all but forgotten Severa's mysterious document. 'That old bit of spookiness. Does it still exist?'

'Yes. And in a way it has been fulfilled, or so my mother believes. There are three lines relevant to our century, she thinks.'

Relevant to our century. Despite the gathering warmth of the day Brigonius shivered. 'Are there words relevant to other centuries, then?'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'I always did argue with my mother about whether the Prophecy was more than just a tool for her to further her ambitions. Once her plans imploded she started to think about that. And she has decided the Prophecy is a warning from the future, that a Weaver of history has sent it back in order to influence our times-which to him would be the past.'

'And what do you think?'

'I still believe it all has something to do with Christ. Remember, the Prophecy was delivered at the birth of my forefather Nectovelin, who, it happened, was born in the same year as Jesus of Judea. I think the Prophecy actually has some connection to the destiny of Christianity, and this business of conquering provinces and building walls is all incidental. My mother denies this, though; she's nothing if not a loyalist to the gods of Rome. We've always argued about Jesus…But it's not the future outcome of the Prophecy that concerns me now but its present.'

'What do you mean?'

'The Prophecy is the issue of my mother's supposed sedition. The Emperor's court have always been suspicious of the Prophecy. Now she has been accused of subversion. And where better to investigate the case than here, where the Prophecy originated?'

'So that's why Sabinus was sent here.' They sat for a moment, with the Wall splayed brightly across the countryside around them. Brigonius said sadly, 'You know, here we are talking of mothers and emperors, of walls and prophecies. We aren't talking about us.'

'But there isn't really an us to talk about, is there?'

'No,' he said hotly. 'But I will always-'

She leaned from her horse and pressed a finger to his lips. 'It's better not said.'

He nodded. 'We should return. The day is advancing.'

'Of course.'

He spurred his horse, and the two of them trotted side by side back to Banna to resume the business of the day, the business of their bifurcated lives.