Lugunda’s lather seemed to consider this an insignificant wedding present, for when Lugunda had put her hair up he took out a gold neck-lace as thick as a child’s wrist and put it around his daughter’s neck. Such necklaces are worn only by the queens and most noble women in Britain. From all this even I, numbskull that I was, realized that Lugunda was of more noble lineage than I had ever imagined, so noble that her lather did not even have to boast about it. Petro explained that if I had not been a Roman knight and son of a senator, I should have had a sword run through me and certainly not the family battle shield put over my sore back,
I had both my Iceni father-in-law and Petro’s position as sacrificial priest, physician and judge to thank for the fact that I escaped being accused of witchcraft as well. The noble British youth who had attacked me with his fists out of jealousy broke his neck that same moonlit night when his horse at full gallop shied away from some unknown animal and sent him hurtling headfirst at a stone.
Of course I was occasionally tormented by the thought of the promise I had given to Claudia and so reluctantly broken, and also by a painful feeling that Lugunda was not really my lawfully wedded wife since in my thoughts I could not regard my British marriage as legally binding. But I was young. My body, for so long disciplined, was completely bewildered by Lugunda’s caresses and tenderness, and day after day I postponed my inevitable departure to Colchester.
But one tires more quickly of an excess of physical satisfaction than of self-control. Soon we began to irritate one another, Lugunda and I, exchanging angry words and agreeing only in bed. When I at last began my return journey, I felt as if I had been freed from shackles or a spell. Yes, I flew like a bird from its cage and did not reproach myself for an instant that I had deserted Lugunda. She had only had her own way. She would have to be satisfied with that, I thought.
Vespasian excused me from military exercises and tribune staff duties, and I rewrote my book on Britain from start to finish. I had rid myself of the enchantment of that first summer and now described everything as lucidly and factually as I could. I no longer saw the Britons in the same rosy light, and even made fun of some of their customs. I acknowledged Julius Caesar’s contribution to the civilizing of Britain, but verified, for instance, that the god Augustus’ treaty with the Brigantes in the eyes of the Brigantes themselves constituted nothing but a friendly exchange of gifts. They considered they had received more than they needed to give, as long as they remained peaceful.
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On the other hand, I gave Emperor Claudius full credit for leaving southern Britain in the Roman Empire, and Aulus Plautius for bringing about peace. Vespasian himself asked me not to say too much about his own merits. He was still waiting in vain for a new procurator or commantler-in-chief and did not wish to stir up ill feeling in Rome with praise of himself.
“I am neither clever enough nor deceitful enough to adapt myself to the changed circumstances there, and so would prefer to stay in Britain, without unnecessary reminders of my merits, than to return to my former poverty in Rome,” he explained.
I already knew that Emperor Claudius had not kept the oath he had once sworn before the Praetorian Guard to the goddess Fides, his right hand covered with a white cloth. Some months after Messalina’s death, he had explained that he could not live without a wife and had chosen the most noble woman in Rome as his consort, his own niece Agrippina, the same person whose son Lucius Domitius had once sought my friendship.
New laws permitting incest were necessary for this marriage, but the Senate had willingly obliged. The most farsighted of the senators had begged Claudius to take back his sacred promise and benefit the state by marrying again. In Rome everything had been turned upside-down in a very short time. Vespasian was being careful not to burn his fingers in this mess.
“Agrippina is a beautiful and wise woman,” he said. “She will certainly have learned much from the bitter experiences of her youth and her first two marriages. I only hope she’ll be a good stepmother to Britannicus. Then she won’t abandon my son Titus, although I made the mistake of leaving him with Messalina when I went to war.”
Vespasian realized that with the completion of my book, I had had enough of Britain and was longing to return to Rome. The book had to be copied. I myself was restless and uncertain. More and more, as the spring in Britain bloomed, I was reminded of Lugunda.
After the feast of Flora, I received a letter in London, written on bark in faulty Latin. In it stood the hope that I should soon return to the Iceni country to take my newborn son on my knee. This astounding news terminated my longing for Lugunda abruptly, and instead roused in me a burning desire to see Rome again. I was still young enough to think that I could rid myself of guilt by changing abode.
Vespasian kindly gave me a courier’s plaque and several letters to take to Rome. Ignoring the high winds, I boarded the ship and on the journey vomited the whole of Britain into the foaming salt sea. More dead than alive, I landed in Gaul, and there is no more to tell about Britain. But I decided never to return there before it was possible to do so on foot. This is one of the decisions of my life I have been able to keep to.
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