‘Quite beautiful,’ Hadrian said softly as they came out into the open air again. He had to admit that Apollodorus had done a good job.
‘Not bad,’ Piso smirked, mistaking his meaning and instead staring at the two ladies standing in the prow, the wind rippling their dresses and outlining their figures. Hadrian’s senatorial tribune could be both vulgar and tiresomely direct. He tended to frown when he was thinking, head slightly bowed, so that he almost stared up as he fixed his gaze on whomever he was addressing at the time. Perhaps Piso believed this made him appear earnest, but the impression was of a halfwit, although Hadrian was coming to believe that it was a false one. Now he was almost leering at the women as blatantly as the soldiers, whenever they got a chance.
They were both married to officers, on the way to join their husbands and would travel with Hadrian on the first stage of his journey beyond the river. Apart from his own escort, there were several hundred troops marching with them on their way to garrisons, so they had asked to come with him and he had been happy to grant the request. The older of the two, Sulpicia Lepidina, was a senator’s daughter, so a clarissima femina, even if she had married a mere equestrian. Her own family was impoverished, from a mixture of excess and poor management, which did much to explain the choice of husband, who had money if not high birth, and was by all accounts a decent enough fellow, well thought of by the emperor – at least when Trajan remembered to think of him at all. Lepidina’s uncle by marriage was Neratius Marcellus, just coming to the end of his term as governor of Britannia, and his brother was in charge of Pannonia. There were six hundred or so senators, and Hadrian always felt that it was like living in some rustic village, where everyone knew each other, and husbands were the neighbours’ cousins or brothers, wives their sisters, and all old kindnesses were remembered just as long as the old squabbles. Doing a favour was always wise, as long as it did not come at too high a price, and he had willingly granted the request when the ladies called on him, having arranged the matter with a courteous letter. When to his surprise they asked to accompany him on his trip on the river, Hadrian readily assented again. Curiosity was impressive in a woman, if not carried to excess.
Hadrian guessed that Lepidina was in her thirties, yet her pale skin was flawless, her hair thick and golden, tied back in a simple bun. She was a beautiful woman, a rare intelligence in her eyes, her pale blue dress, like her hairstyle and modest jewellery, in contrast to the opulence of many fashionable ladies and far more elegant. He liked her, wondered whether she might be interesting company, and regretted that she was not even better connected for he suspected that she might have a formidable instinct for politics. That was a guess, for the lady was also reserved and he had not yet had the time to see whether this could be broken down. If she were ten years older he was sure that he could soon make her laugh enough for the walls to drop and for her to take him into her confidence.
There was a little shriek as the rowers drove the boat against the current and the prow dipped, sending a spray of water over the ladies and the tribune escorting them. The cry was from the second lady, the younger one, Claudia Enica. She was laughing, flirting with the tribune and soon she was talking again, as she had jabbered away from the start. Claudia was green eyed, her flaming red hair rolled and piled high in a style more suited for a dinner than a boat trip. A number of red strands had worked loose of the pins and blew around her. She was younger than Lepidina, perhaps twenty-five, with an expensive green silk dress, almost too much make-up and almost too much jewellery that almost took away her own beauty.
Hadrian was beginning to think that Claudia was not quite what she seemed, and was no longer so ready to dismiss her as an empty headed nobody. She was an equestrian, a third-generation citizen, from the royal family of the biggest tribe in Britannia, claiming to be their queen, although not formally recognised, at least so far. There were plenty of would-be kings and queens throughout the empire, most of little account except locally. The red hair was a distraction, contrasting with the would-be fashionable Roman lady, and reminding the world that a barbarian lurked underneath. Hadrian could not help thinking that this was deliberate, for surely someone wanting to pose as fully Roman would have dyed it some unexceptional shade.
The tribune offered Claudia his cloak, apologising to Lepidina that he only had one. The redhead refused, very politely, as did the older lady when the embarrassed officer proffered the garment to her. So different in so many ways, the close bond between the two women was obvious, which in itself hinted that Claudia was play-acting the part of a frivolous young woman. There was something else, although Hadrian struggled to pin it down. Claudia moved well, almost like a dancer, and yet not like a dancer, and for all her good looks there was almost something boyish about her.
As the boat turned to head back under the bridge a final time the wind shifted, gusting stronger. The tribune almost fell as the boat lurched, and Claudia squealed and Lepidina gasped with surprise as the wind struck them, their dresses ballooning up over their knees for an all too brief instant.
‘Lovely the virgin seemed as the soft wind exposed her limbs, and as the zephyrs fond fluttered amid her garments, and the breeze fanned lightly in her flowing hair,’ Piso intoned.
‘She seemed most lovely to his fancy in her flight,’ Hadrian continued the quote. ‘And mad with love he followed in her steps.’
‘Quite,’ Piso said.
‘They’re married, you know, else they would not be here.’ Like the mention of Apelles, having his broad stripe tribune quoting Ovid was another sign that the man was not without learning or wit.
‘Since when did that matter?’ Piso said hungrily, and he smiled at the ladies’ embarrassment, becoming once again the crude, feckless young aristocrat. ‘The chase makes it worthwhile.’
‘You ought to be careful,’ Hadrian told him. Whatever his feelings for this man, what Piso did during his time with the legion would reflect on his own reputation. Hadrian needed to make the man useful, and if there was a mistake or worse, show to the world that he was not to blame for his tribune’s folly. ‘Daphne was turned into a tree to save her from Apollo’s lust.’
‘That’d be her problem not mine. Still, the blonde might be easier to run down. Less speed on her by the look of it.’
‘If you must be a fool, do not get caught while you are with my legion,’ Hadrian kept his voice low, so that even Ephippus could not hear, but made his tone as menacing as possible. Piso was not required to like him, and what mattered was that he obeyed.
‘My lord,’ Piso said, giving that familiar frown of earnest concentration.
Ephippus was drawing his attention to the breakwaters once again, explaining matters Hadrian already understood, but it was better to turn to this. Yet something Piso had said had let him see clearer than before, and a name for Claudia came to mind and would not go, seeming less absurd with every moment – amazon. He laughed at the thought, and still it was there, like the red hair, utterly absurd if all someone saw was the chattering, rather silly young woman.
After heading back under another arch they were to row to the far bank and stay in the fort at Dobreta for the night. The troops who were to accompany him had been ferried across the Ister during the day, along with the baggage, and all the impedimenta brought by the ladies. He could see the last load being carried across. As they came out from under the bridge, he saw the top of Dobreta’s new amphitheatre. Pontes already had one, and it was surprising how swiftly these garrisons were developing into substantial towns. When the bridge was finished they were bound to grow even more.