Ashes Under Uricon

Chapter 12. Maponus (364)

By Mihangel

Cras amet qui nunquam amavit quique amavit cras amet:
Ver novum, ver iam canorum, ver renatus orbis est;
Vere concordant amores, vere nubunt alites,
Et nemus comam resolvit de maritis imbribus.

Tomorrow let him love who never has loved, and let him who has loved love tomorrow. Spring is new, spring is song-time, spring is the world reborn. In the spring loves come together, in the spring the birds are mating, and the wood shakes free its tresses under the nuptial showers.

Pervigilium Veneris

And so we came to Fanum Maponi. It was well into April and the weather changeable, but spring was all around. Hazel and ash and beech were breaking into fresh green, hawthorn into white and pink, and the cuckoo was announcing his arrival. Our two symmetrical groups of father, son and slave broke down naturally into three pairs riding together -- two fathers in polite conversation, two sons in love, and two slaves in companionship. Theirs was an uneven companionship; but innate courtesy, I suspected, forbade Bran to leave Drostan to himself. We were in no hurry, for Tad had insisted on taking two days over a journey which, even with the visit to the temple, could have been squeezed into one. Our morning's ride, therefore, was a gentle ten miles along the Corinium road, and by noon we were on a high point looking down at the settlement half a mile ahead.

It was no Aquae Sulis. The setting was utterly peaceful, a rural valley which the road crossed at right angles. On the far side the ground rose sharply from the stream, on the near side gently. Here was a spacious walled precinct, dotted randomly with isolated trees and half a dozen structures. The temple was prominent, a large porticoed octagon at the upstream end. Below it, in the angle between stream and road, lay a low range surrounding a square grassed court, presumably the hostel. Towards us were several scattered buildings. One was an obvious bath house, the others, according to Tad, included a restaurant and a shop. The place, he said, catered not only for worshippers but for casual passers-by. If they were tempted in for a bite of food or a bed for the night, they would spend money; and they might become worshippers and spend even more. Indeed a number of people were strolling around. Tad cantered ahead to announce our arrival, and we followed at a walk.

As we dismounted inside the precinct gate, Tad appeared with the priest, a tall man and handsome, barely forty years old by the look of him, but with silvery hair and a face of grave but kindly authority. He wore a long white gown, a simple headdress of fine chain, and great necklaces of heavier chains around his neck. Pulcher stepped forward to greet him, ordering the slaves to wait with the horses. But the priest had other ideas.

"Let them come with you," he said. "Your horses will be attended to. And before we go in, will you introduce yourselves, please?"

First -- to put Pulcher in his place? -- he stopped in front of Bran who, though they had met before, gave his name. The priest scrutinised him closely and nodded, smiling gently. The same with Drostan. Then with Lucius, who gave his name simply as Lucius, and with me. I was in the presence, I felt, of wisdom immeasurably old. Finally Pulcher, who pointedly reeled off all his names and, for good measure, his senatorial status as well.

"Welcome," said the priest, addressing us all, "to the house of Maponus. First I shall take you to the temple. Approach the god with reverence. Ask him no questions, but open your minds. He will know what is in them. And he will speak to you, to each of you individually. Act, if it calls for action, on what he says. But do not ask others what they have heard. That is a secret between the god and them. Only I will have heard every one of his words. Come with me."

He led the way, talking politely to Pulcher about the wild beasts in the Cornovian countryside. We followed. Behind their backs, Lucius and I were holding hands for reassurance. Tad kept up the rear. Bran was by himself, preoccupied. Drostan was gazing curiously around. Pulcher too was looking around as if in search of sporting trophies or statues of huntsmen. We came to the shop, and he stopped as if to go inside. But two men were blocking the entrance, the priest was still talking to him, and he shrugged and walked on. We passed a plinth carrying a statue draped in a large sheet. I looked back to see one of the men from the doorway come and tweak the sheet away. Under it were life-size figures of two young men, naked and embracing. We reached the temple. In the portico several dedicatory altars were also covered in sheets. The priest ushered us inside. The door clanged shut behind.

Here in the tall inner shrine, lit from high windows, were yet more altars, undraped. But no one was tempted to read them. The god standing in front of us held all of our attention. He was of honey-coloured stone, slim, naked, and as large as life. His body was muscled but with a hint of that boyish lack of definition, the body of a young man of perhaps eighteen. The head confirmed it. And what a head . . . blatantly British, not in the least Roman. The almost wig-like mop of hair was deeply sculpted into snake-like tresses, waving in the voluptuous curves so beloved by our artists. Cheeks and chin were smoothly rounded, and the mouth wore a gentle and enigmatic smile. The eyes were almond-shaped, their pupils and irises lightly marked in. And they fixed us all with a gaze of serene compassion.

We stood in total silence, Lucius and I still hand in hand. I framed no conscious question, I received no audible answer, but I knew. Our love was good and right; and everybody present knew that it was good and right.

I looked at Lucius and he at me, and our arms went round each other. Tad was beaming. Bran was half-smiling in what seemed to be relief and puzzlement combined. Drostan wore an air of dawning delight. What the god had said to him, none of us ever heard, although we could make, before long, a shrewd guess. The priest stood by the door, inscrutable. Only Pulcher spoke. He turned benignly to the two of us, wholly unsurprised but with a strange touch of concern.

"Hrrm," he said, clearing his throat. "I hadn't looked at it like that before. But I've no problem with it now. You're obviously cut out for each other. Congratulations to you both."

He made as if to shake hands with Lucius, but changed it into an embrace; the first between them that Lucius, as he told me later, could remember. And Pulcher actually embraced me. He came up only to my nose, and his hair smelled of scent.

"That's that, then," he said briskly. "What about some lunch? I'm peckish. And if you'd care to join us, sir" -- this to the priest -- "I'd be glad of a chat about Maponus as a huntsman. And you two," he added to the slaves, "feel free to join us as well."

"As you wish," replied the priest. "But when we have eaten I must claim a word with the young men."

He led us out again. Lucius and I were weak with relief. Drostan looked as if he had been hit between the eyes. At the restaurant something changed hands between Pulcher and the priest, the priest had a word with an attendant, and Pulcher had his chat. And more than a chat -- it was a deep conversation, during which long extracts from the lay of Maponus rolled off the priest's tongue. But I was not really listening. Lucius and I were in silent communion. Bran was lost in his thoughts. Tad was talking desultorily to Drostan. None of us, I think, ate much. Eventually the attendant returned and whispered in the priest's ear.

"I sent a message," the priest told Pulcher, "to a neighbour who has a villa close by. He often hunts of an afternoon, and in reply he says that he would be delighted if you and Senicianus would care to join him. He will be here very shortly, and my colleague will introduce you."

A ploy, I suspected, to take the adults out of the way. Tad went off dutifully with the attendant, Pulcher eagerly; and the atmosphere, for all his new-found benevolence, noticeably lightened. The priest turned to Lucius and me.

"If you would come with me, please. And Bran, would you wait until I have finished with them?"

He led us to his house and into a small room with a couch.

"Lucius and Docco," he said gently, "you are in love. True love is true ecstasy, on a higher plane by far, more enduring by far, than mere lust. That is because it is a divine phenomenon. It is to be treated with awe, as the visitation of a powerful influence external to man. There is a design to the universe, you know. Not a design whereby events follow a predestined pattern, but a symmetry whereby the earth reflects the heavens, and man, ideally, reflects the gods. Love is not fore-ordained. You met by chance, and by chance you fell in love. But once the spark of love is kindled, provided it be an exclusive and self-obliterating love, Maponus fosters it. He fans it into the consuming fire that is his own love, to burn until it is ended by death. Unions such as yours do not have to be formalised, but you have brought yours here for his blessing. This he has given, and as a visible reminder of his blessing I have to mark a symbol on you both."

"Mark?" I had a vision of red-hot branding irons. "How?"

"With a tattoo."

Not much better. We looked at each other dubiously. To the Briton, tattoos were the mark of the Pict, of the barbarian, of the enemy. To the Roman, they were the mark of the slave, of the chattel, of disgrace.

"Symbols," said the priest, seeing our doubts, "depend on how you read them. This is not a mark of enmity. You should, for your part, be no one's enemy. You should not fight, except in self-defence. Nor is this a mark of subservience. You are no one's property, but independent men."

"Please, er, what is the symbol?"

"A chain."

"A chain?"

"Yes. It bonds you not in slavery but in love. It is not the chain which shackles. It is the chain which connects, the bond which links lover to lover, and god to man. It is a small chain." With finger and thumb he demonstrated a length of about an inch and a half. "Many carry it. Yours will be the same as each other's, but they will be distinguished from all other couples'."

"Where are you putting it?"

"On the threshold where it will be a life-long reminder that only your bond-fellow shall enter there. Yes, it will be in your most private place, least likely to be seen by others, even in the baths. It is a tender place, but I shall apply an ointment which lessens the hurt."

An unexpected place, but acceptably out of sight. We looked at each other again and nodded.

"Good. Lucius, would you like to be the first?"

Lucius was pale-faced but determined. He lifted his tunic, dropped his drawers, and lay as directed on his back, holding up his legs.

"Ah," said the priest. "I shall have to do a little shaving first."

He plied a razor on the right side of Lucius' anus and smeared on some ointment. Then he set to with a needle and blue dye, and within a surprisingly short time had created a simple six-link chain, curving to follow the edge of the pucker. Inside one link were three dots, one in the next, and four in the one after. They distinguished, presumably, our chain from everyone else's. He anointed Lucius again, and it was my turn. I had no hair there to shave. It certainly smarted, but there was no real pain. And I too was done.

"Love," said the priest as I put on my drawers and came down to earth, "is a delight and a reward of the soul. But the soul resides in the body, and love is also a delight and reward of the body. I need hardly remind you of that. But I suggest" -- for the first time his voice held a tinge of humour -- "that for a few hours, until the tenderness wears off, you do not try to, ah, pass each other's threshold."

"Um, thank you," said Lucius matter-of-factly. "We, er, we'd like to make an offering to the god."

"Certainly, but in moderation. Your father has already been very generous."

Lucius showed three gold coins in his hand.

"One will be enough, Lucius. Leave it on the table in the shrine."

When I fumbled in my pouch he raised his hand.

"No, Docco. That is much too much. And it is already a bond between you."

How did he know that I was going to offer the most valuable thing I owned, the great brooch which Lucius had given me?

"Buy a small bracelet from the shop. Its unbroken circle symbolises the unbroken union. It will be entirely adequate."

He saw us out, and invited Bran in. It seemed that Bran had indeed found the love he was seeking, and was having it blessed in absentia. We went to the shop, where I bought a bronze bracelet. Our eye was caught by other items on sale -- small pottery figurines of Maponus; fascina or good-luck charms of a phallus on a chain; cameos of clasped hands; and a knife with its bone handle exquisitely carved into a phallus, not life-size, but very lifelike. It was slightly curved, and from the taut skin and the part-retracted foreskin it was obviously erect. Lucius insisted on buying it for me and having my name engraved on the handle.

From there to the temple. On its steps we met Drostan, who had found a piece of wood and was whittling it into a kneeling figure in a style reminiscent of the tattoos on his arms.

"For Maponus," he grunted, and asked, as far as we understood, if we would wait for him before giving our offerings.

So in harmony, beyond need for talk, we strolled around the precinct. It exuded an atmosphere of peace and calm, a feeling of modesty and restraint. The statuary spoke of love, not lust. Other than the wares in the shop, not an erection was in sight. In the architecture and decoration there was nothing gaudy or extravagant as there had been at Aquae Sulis, and we did not see a single mosaic pavement. Cement floors were worn, stucco and plaster were peeling. There was a large crack in the wall of the temple. The whole of Fanum Maponi wore an air of somewhat shabby homeliness, well-used, well-loved, disdainful of a lick of paint in case it were misinterpreted as ostentation.

Downstream of the road bridge was a building which turned out to be a watermill. It too belonged to Maponus, the miller told us, and supplied the settlement and neighbouring villas. We sat idly, as sometimes we did at the mills of Viroconium, watching the great waterwheel churning hypnotically around. It was undershot, and there was hardly a splash. In unusually philosophical frame of mind, I mused. The mill was like the body. Like the heart beating and the lungs breathing, it kept going, indefinitely, without thought or effort. The wheel gave motion to the gears and stones inside. Grain was fed in at one end and emerged as meal at the other. The whole process was one which everybody took for granted. Then the miller came out, knocking off for the day, and closed the sluice. Deprived of its life-blood, the wheel ground to a halt and the rumble of the stones ceased. It would start up again in the morning. But a body, once stilled, would not.

Morbid thoughts. Why was I thinking them today of all days?

We returned to the precinct and looked in at the hostel. Our saddlebags had been brought over, and we were shown our rooms. All of them were the same, small and square, double-bedded, opening on to the central courtyard but with a window in the outside wall. Through it we could hear the placid tinkle of the stream nearby. The two of us were sharing. The others, even the slaves, had a room apiece. Tad's hand at work, surely. We smiled at each other, anticipating what we would be doing in a few hours' time. Hitherto we had done it, on Lucius' part, clandestinely. Now we need pretend to nobody.

At the temple, Drostan had nearly finished whittling. Then Bran appeared from the shop. He too had a bracelet for the god, and seemed to have regained some confidence. I could not pry, but I had to say what was in my mind.

"Bran, it's your secret, so don't tell me. But my guess is that you've found love and the god has blessed it. If I'm right, then I couldn't be happier. I want you to know that."

To my surprise, it sent him into tears. He gave me a big long hug, the biggest and longest since the day Mamma died, and I tried to convey my love to him as I had done then.

"Thank you, Docco," he managed to say. "Credimus? An qui amant ipsi sibi somnia fingunt? Is it true, or do lovers fashion dreams of their own?"

I still could not pry, although I could not read his mood. It was not rapture, nor yet was it disappointment, let alone despair. Was it relief? Was it merely hope? He transferred his hug to Lucius, who told me later that he did not understand either.

But we sat silently and companionably on the steps. A nearby ash tree was bursting into foliage, birds were chirping, and, it being April, showers came and went. It was the springtime of our love.

When Drostan had finished his figure we went together into the shrine and laid our offerings on the table. Then Drostan wandered off and left the three of us alone with Maponus. He smiled at us in compassion still, tempered now with a hint of friendly conspiracy. His statue was old, very old. Modern sculpture, such as there was of it, was stylised, posed, rigid, shallow. This was naturalistic, fluid, and profoundly deep. Oh for the days when men had certainty like that! The sculptor's knowledge of Maponus had surely been intimate. Intimate? Did that mean it was the likeness of a lover, carved from life? Maybe. But into it the god had breathed inspiration. Inside that casing of human flesh, that shell of stone, lay the divine.

Soberly we inspected the dedications. Around the shrine and portico were altars and on the walls bronze plaques, all given by couples who, for the most part, had British names. They bore such phrases as IVVENVM CONIVGATOR, uniter of young men; MAPONI ADPROBATIONE, with Maponus' approval; CATENA COMPVNCTI, bearing the chain-tattoo. It did not strike me until years later that Bran never asked what that last phrase meant.

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