Q. I wish you wouldn't.
A. There, you see? They were just like you--they kept asking me
questions and getting more and more enraged when I answered them.
So, to shut me up, they tied me to a stake.
Q. You are too interested in your own reactions to things. Tell us
about something more constructive--about what you found in other
guises. I understand you led an insurrection?
A. If you call throwing an armed robber out of your house an
insurrection. The trouble was that on that occasion a lot of my
friends thought I was right. That's called conspiracy....
* * * * *
The captain led a small group of foot-soldiers into the village at
what, to the Romans, was the Twelfth Hour, which is sunset. The
soldiers had light armor and carried only the small shields--not the
enormous _testudines_--but they had been warned to keep their eyes
open as the British were tricky, even treacherous. The captain greatly
disliked to take such raw troops so far north, where the treaties were
uncertain and the Pax Romana was held lightly, if at all. An ancestor
of his, also a captain, had been killed near here in one of Hadrian's
marches, and no one was quite sure what had happened.
The earth wall that Hadrian's men subsequently built across the
British island was intended to keep out the more unruly natives of
the North, and later the emperor Severus built another one of stone,
but it was by now in a state of disrepair and only a few of the guard
towers were manned. Even the Great North Road made an attenuated
and unreliable line of supply, and the captain could expect neither
reinforcements nor food from the camps further south, like Eboracum or
Lancastrium.
Live off the land, he was told, and that meant quartering his troops--a
risky thing because it separated them--or sending foraging parties to
the surly farmers for "contributions." Since he was here to collect
back-taxes, the inhabitants would not take kindly to feeding the
collectors.
The village had a stockade of undressed logs and wide gates at either
end. These were surmounted by arched wooden structures that were
supposed to serve as watch-towers, but beyond spears and knives for
hunting and the necessary farming implements, the villagers were not
allowed to carry weapons of any kind. The stockade was not big enough
to enclose all the houses, and the majority of these were on the
outside and huddled against the walls.
The small body of Roman troops--barely a _manipulus_--were not
surprised to notice that all the windows and booths had been
shuttered, and in the exact center of the village, the local chieftain
and heads of families were gathered in a respectful and anxious
group. It annoyed the captain that it was impossible to make an
unexpected arrival anywhere in Britain; news traveled faster than Roman
foot-soldiers.
"Hail Caesar!" said the captain, putting his arm up, the palm of his
hand facing forward.
"Hail Caesar!" said the villagers.
"We come for the taxes which were not paid last year."
The villagers shook their heads and made regretful sounds.
"Nor the year before, nor the year before that. Which is your headman?
I shall require food for my men at once--they are tired after a day's
march."
A gray-bearded, very tall man stood forward. "The food will be ready at
once, noble decemvir, and I hope you will honor me with your presence
for dinner."
"Thank you very much," said the captain, "but I prefer to stay with my
men until I see them taken care of. And I am not a decemvir. My rank is
captain--Caesar's captain."
The bearded man bowed and said, "Then, after the arrangements have been
made, Captain, will you not take a cup of wine?"
"Don't press him, Grandfather," a voice said from above them, and,
looking up, the captain saw a girl's face at a second-story window. She
had very dark skin, red hair and blue eyes. "If he's been walking all
day, I expect he wants to go to bed early. You'll only keep him up all
night talking about boar hunts."
"Silence!" the headman shouted. "Get back, girl! You insult our ... our
guest!"
"No, let her stay," the captain said with an amused smile. "Better
still, have her come down. I think I shall accept your offer about the
wine later."
* * * * *
In the evening, the captain came to the headman's house with his two
lieutenants as guard. They were received with deference and given
wolf-hides to sit on. The wine was brought by the granddaughter and
served in horn cups.
"What is your name, young lady?" asked the captain politely. "This is
excellent wine, by the way."
"Thank you, Captain," she said. "We have had a cask taken to your men.
I made it myself, three years ago. My name is Boadicea."
"_Boadicea?_" said the captain in astonishment.
"No, no, Captain!" the headman said hurriedly. "She's joking--her name
is Flavia; the other is the name she takes for herself. I apologize for
her."
"It is not a joke," she said. "Boadicea is my heroine and I have taken
her name. I don't like the name Flavia--it's Roman. Do I look like a
Roman to you, Captain?"
"You look very beautiful," the captain said, laughing, "and there is
no need for apology. I admire Boadicea myself; she very nearly drove
Caesar's men into the sea. It was a long time ago." He drained his wine
cup. "A long, long time ago."
"But we have not forgotten her, Captain," the girl said, filling his
cup again.
"You insult our honored guest, girl!" her grandfather said. "Go to bed!"
"No, I beg you--please don't send her to bed," said the captain. "I'm
not in the least insulted. After all, it's ancient history now. I don't
think people think of us as conquerors any more. We are protectors.
While we are here, the Picts stay where they belong, and the Scots,
too."
"The Picts say they used to live hereabouts," said the girl.
"The Picts say, the Picts say! What do you know of what they say?"
asked her grandfather.
"The cook's mother is a Pict," she replied.
"Well, she'd better not come _here_!" said the headman. "We want no
Celts!"
"But, Grandfather, we _are_ Celts!"
"No, girl, we are Romans," he answered, looking sideways at the captain.
The captain nodded. "That is true. All members of the Empire are
Romans. Not citizens, perhaps, but Romans just the same, and all live
by Caesar's law."
"But suppose people don't want to live by his law?" said the girl.
The two lieutenants looked shocked, but the captain smiled. "That would
be most foolish and uncivilized of them. Don't you think it's better
for the whole world to live as members of one community and cease all
this useless warfare?"
"It seems to me," the girl said, "that warfare is the result of
somebody trying to take somebody else's land and subject him to a law
that is alien to him."
* * * * *
The captain raised his eyebrows and put his head to one side
quizzically. The headman coughed and attempted to change the subject.
"The taxes, Captain," he said, "are very much on my mind...."
"And on mine," the captain said. The two lieutenants tried to look
businesslike, but they looked more as if they were falling asleep.
"And I hope I may say that this time we will have them ready for you,"
said the headman.
"I hope so, too," said the captain.
"But there are other levies that have not been made, which we had
rather expected to be made...."
"Other levies?" The captain held out his cup and the girl poured more
wine into it.
"I refer to troops, Captain," the headman said. "You levy no troops
from us up here."
"You put me in rather an embarrassing position," the captain said. "You
must realize that while I make no comparison to yourself, there are
some people living at the outer boundaries of the Empire, people not
yet wholly reconciled to Caesar's dominion, people who--to give another
example--think of themselves as, say, Helvetiae first and Romans
second. It is the Imperial policy in such cases not to levy troops
because--"
"In other words," the girl interrupted, "you think we are not to be
trusted. It quite passes my understanding why anyone should expect
loyalty unless it is freely offered."
"But, my dear young lady, you are not slaves! You are given the
civilizing benefits of Roman rule, and you are taxed very much less
than people living in Rome itself, I can assure you of that." He felt
terribly sleepy--the wine was stronger than he had thought and he found
it difficult to think of the right words. He was beginning to sound to
himself like a senator, a race of men he secretly despised. "Let me put
it this way," he went on. "A child does not _offer_ loyalty to his
parents--it comes by nature."
"Perhaps grown people do not like to be treated as children," she said.
"_I_ don't."
"You behave like one, Granddaughter!" the headman said. "Go to your
room!"
Rather unexpectedly, she got up and walked to the door. "Good night,
Captain," she said, but he did not answer. He was asleep and so were
his lieutenants, and, since there were poppyheads in the wine, they did
not wake up even when, an hour later, the shouting began outside.
* * * * *
Almost the entire detachment of the Roman troops was killed, and the
captain and his lieutenants were being held hostage by the Pictish
Decaledonae who had swarmed over the broken Wall--the break having been
enlarged by the headman's granddaughter and her friends during the
previous night.
The headman and his companions were horrified; they pleaded with the
Pictish leaders to spare the Roman officers. "Caesar will send a
legion," the headman said, "many legions to avenge this! Leave them
unharmed and go back to the North, and the Roman captain will soften
the blow that will fall on us all...."
The Picts told him to shut up and called for wine. The headman and
his companions took advantage of the carousing to slip out the back
way and, taking some of the villagers, including Flavia, they hid
themselves in a cottage in the forest. Except for the girl, they were
shaking with terror. She was triumphant.
"Now Caesar will withdraw again," she said. "He no longer moves
north--but slowly southward. The next Imperial rampart will be below
us, and we shall be free!"
"You are mad," her grandfather said. "Under Roman rule, we are safe.
What can we expect from these Pictish barbarians?" He looked at her as
though she were some new kind of snake.
"I should rather be occasionally robbed by my cousins than taxed to
death by strangers," she said, her dark face flushed.
"But the Romans are civilized!" said her grandfather.
"Their civilization stands on slavery," she replied. "I'd rather be a
free barbarian. The Romans are doomed."
"This is revolt!" the headman said. "In the name of freedom, you
deliver us into the hands of the Picts--you are a traitor to your own
people!"
"The Picts won't stay," she said. "They never do; they hate farming.
What does it matter if they burn the village and steal some of the farm
animals? It will come to less than what you would have to pay in taxes
to Caesar."
"Caesar's men will return," said her grandfather, "and we shall have
to pay ten times over. And if the Picts kill the captain, the Romans
will have my life for it! You are a traitor! Who was with you in this
infernal plot?"
* * * * *
Q. Why didn't you tell them? Why are you always so stubborn? You
might have stayed on and found out many useful things.
A. There would have been nothing useful to find out. Men who submit
to autocracy cease to be a living, growing organism. Look at
Egypt--it stayed that way almost uninterruptedly for four thousand
years. However, I did find out one very surprising thing.
Q. I'm glad to hear it. What was that?
A. My grandfather was a Druid! I thought all that was dead and gone
with the Roman occupation--but there was a secret sect and he was
their high priest! So all the time he was in a conspiracy, too! I
couldn't help laughing.
Q. How did you learn this?
A. They took me to an oak tree, put a wreath of mistletoe on my
head, and he executed me with a stone sickle. Also all my friends
who didn't have the sense to escape north over the Wall of Severus.
But it made no difference in the end. The next emperor withdrew the
army to the southeast part of the island and the next--or the one
after; I forget which--took them all back to Rome. This was after
we invited the Saxons in--they made it hot for Caesar's men, I can
tell you! They also made things rather hot for us, but everything
calmed down in time.
Q. It doesn't sound like much of an improvement.
A. Well, the Saxons may have been pretty bloodthirsty, but they
hated slavery. They had sort of half-slaves--house-karls--but their
heart wasn't in it. Also, although they were extremely rough, they
didn't go in for official torture.
Q. But surely the civilized Romans didn't either?
A. I think you are being quite funny.
Q. I don't know what you mean.
A. I know you don't. That's the one really appealing thing about
men: they sometimes have a sense of humor--when the joke is not on
them. I think I must have caught it from them.
Q. Keep in mind that you are not an irreplaceable part of this
organism!
A. How can I forget it?
Q. One gets the impression that Man felt that you were not
irreplaceable either. When they want war, you are against it, and
when they want peace--like your North Britons--you are all for war.
How did you hear about Caesar withdrawing from Britain?
A. I was supposed to go back a little later, but I missed again,
and that time I was in real trouble--with both sides at once. It
was just about a thousand years later, when the French and English
were fighting each other.
Q. You seem to have made a rather dismaying number of mistakes.
A. I would never have learned anything if I had been afraid of
making mistakes. Anyway, the bishops were the ones I had to fear
the most, and when they started questioning me, I--
Q. Was it they who told you about the Saxons being invited to come
in?
A. No, indeed. By that time, scarcely anyone knew anything any
more, except prayers, recipes and how to supposedly cure warts.
Later on, there was a revival and everyone became very clever,
but I was in Italy at the time and I never got to hear about the
Saxons until long afterward--my last trip but two, in fact. I was
at a school in England....
* * * * *
The headmistress of St Agatha's prided herself on being fair. Her
way of being fair was to avoid favoritism by being equally unfair to
all the girls and to those of the assistant teachers who would stand
for it. Some of them didn't, and they usually left after their first
term, as the headmistress didn't believe in contracts. Besides, at
the beginning of the twentieth century, contracts for teachers were a
novelty.
The result of this policy was a rapid turnover in the young and
intelligent teachers, and a small permanent staff of compliant sheep.
That St. Agatha's had any scholastic standing was due to the fact that
Miss Wakefield had taken honors at Girton, and the school's social
standing was due to her being the cousin of a Peer of the Realm. The
girls were fed almost enough, the school uniform was expensive, and
nobody had much free time. French was well taught--by Miss Wakefield
herself--and so was Latin, but games were also stressed. The school
was run on what Miss Wakefield called the Honor System, which had the
effect of dividing the pupils into tale-bearers and secret rebels.
On a raw November afternoon, Miss Wakefield sent a prefect for Sarah
Stone, who was one of the new girls. "Tell her to come straight to my
office. She can have her shower later," she said, and Sarah arrived in
the jersey and serge skirt she had been wearing on the hockey field.
Her bare knees were blue and her nose was running. She stood waiting
while the headmistress looked with prominent eyes at some papers on her
desk. Sarah could see that they were examination papers and one of them
was in her own handwriting.
Without looking up, Miss Wakefield said, "I hear that your mother is in
trouble with the police."
"But she--"
"Do not interrupt. I asked you no question and no answer is called for.
It is a fact, which I have just read in the _Morning Post_, that your
mother is in trouble with the police. Again--is that not true?"
"No."
The headmistress looked up in amazement "Do you mean to stand there and
tell me the newspaper is _lying_? Do you tell me to my face that your
mother is not involved with the ... the authorities?" Miss Wakefield
also taught English Composition and woe betide the girl who used the
same word twice in the same context. "We are blessed with the richest
of all languages," she would say, "so let us explore it--let us make
use of it--for to do otherwise would be tautology." She never made
clear what tautology meant, but the girls got her drift.
"I don't know whether the newspapers are lying or merely mistaken,
Miss Wakefield," Sarah said, "although my mother says that it's hard to
tell the difference with most journalists. At any rate, she is not in
trouble with the police. They are the ones that are in trouble."
The headmistress stared hard at Sarah; she was rather good at this
with small girls of thirteen. (You and I might find it difficult to
stare down a child, and impossible in the case of a kitten, but Miss
Wakefield was, after all is said, the cousin of a Peer of the Realm.)
"I believe I can understand that," she said. "In fact, I pity the
arresting officer. Here is a woman who breaks shop windows for the
sake of attracting attention to her political _clique_, and he is no
doubt subjected to scratching and biting. Votes for women, indeed! Does
breaking shop windows prove that people like her should have the ...
the franchise?"
"She didn't break the window," Sarah said. "She was pushed against it
by the policeman. And she never scratches unless a mosquito happens
to--"
"You were not there, Stone," said the headmistress, "so how can you say
that?"
"I know my mother. And she doesn't bite, either," Sarah said, looking
at Miss Wakefield's neck. "Unless it's a tough old hen!"
* * * * *
Miss Wakefield had enough sense to refuse the bait, but she flushed.
"I do not feel that it is at all suitable for the mother of one of our
girls to be a Militant Suffragette! The reputation of the School...."
The sentence was left unfinished.
She picked up the sheets of paper. "I have here two of the mid-term
examination papers in arithmetic, yours and Angela Harvey's. There is
a curious, a very curious similarity between them. All the answers
are correct except for problems five, seven and twelve, and they have
precisely the same mistakes in both papers!" She paused and stared hard
at Sarah, who blinked but refused to lower her eyes. "You and Harvey
sit next to one another," Miss Wakefield said meaningly.
Sarah said nothing. She sniffed because her nose was running and there
was no pocket in her games uniform for a handkerchief.
"Well?" said Miss Wakefield. "Have you nothing to say?"
"No, Miss Wakefield," Sarah said, "except I didn't copy from Angela, if
that's what you mean."
"Then it would appear that she copied from you."
"That's a beastly thing to say! It was a coincidence! She's not a
cheat!"
The headmistress felt on secure ground: the child was losing her
temper. It was Miss Wakefield's favorite stratagem to make people lose
their tempers--that is, if they were children or underlings.
"Blow your nose, Stone," she said, and then, seeing that Sarah had no
handkerchief, she gave her her own, with a look of distaste. "I think
perhaps you might do better at some other school."
"So do I, Miss Wakefield," Sarah said. "Mother wanted to get me into
Mr. Russell's school, but it was full up."
"_Bertrand_ Russell?"
Sarah nodded, blowing her nose again. She was shivering.
"_Well!_" said Miss Wakefield. "I never heard the like! He's an
Atheist! Why, he believes in _Free Love_!"
"I don't know what he believes," Sarah said. "I know he was awfully
nice when he came to tea. He said I had some kind of a guiding somebody
standing over me. He said he would like awfully to have me at his
school, but it was full up. I know one of the boys there and he says
it's simply ripping."
"_Well!_ Of course, if your mother thinks of us as Second Best....
Perhaps Mr. Russell believes it is all right to cheat in examinations,
but we have a Tradition at St. Agatha's." She rang a bell on her desk
and a scrawny little housemaid came in. "Send one of the girls for
Angela Harvey," Miss Wakefield said. "Tell her to come here directly."
The little housemaid bobbed respectfully and went out. "Now we shall
see what _she_ has to say," the headmistress said.
"She'll only be frightened and cry," Sarah said, "and she'll say
anything you want her to. She wouldn't _dare_ cheat in an examination."
"Then you admit that you copied from her?"
"I do not!" Sarah said, her teeth chattering. "I tell you it was
a fluke! Miss Somerville jolly well knows I wouldn't do it!" Miss
Somerville was the new and still enthusiastic math teacher, but her
enthusiasm would be gone by the end of the term, and so would Miss
Somerville.
"That will do!" said the headmistress. "Impertinence will not improve
matters."
* * * * *
There was a timid knock on the door and a girl of Sarah's age, but
smaller, came in. She had changed into the school uniform and wore
steel-rimmed spectacles.
"Stand beside Stone, Harvey," the headmistress said. "Now I want you to
think very carefully before you answer what I'm going to ask you."
Angela Harvey looked terrified and began to cry.
"There, you see?" Sarah said. "You're only doing this because you don't
like my mother! You want me to leave school, and it's the only excuse
you can find!"
"Be quiet," Miss Wakefield said with an unpleasant smile. She never
lost her temper. "Did you, or did you not," she went on to the damp
Angela, "copy the answers in your arithmetic from Stone?"
"Oh, no! Oh, I _wouldn't_, Miss Wakefield!"
"Then how is it you have seventeen right answers? You never do as well
as that, and you got the same three wrong that Stone did."
"I don't know, Miss Wakefield! I don't _know_!" Angela sobbed loudly
and became smaller than ever.
"I'm afraid," said Miss Wakefield, who looked quite otherwise,
"that unless your _friend_ here can explain this curious--this odd
coincidence by admitting she copied _your_ answers, I shall have to ask
your parents to remove you from St. Agatha's at once."
Sarah's face was bright red, but it had the look of fever. "How simply
rotten of you! You're just trying to get me to confess to something I
didn't do, to save Angela!"
The headmistress felt her heart beat with excitement and pleasure. Why,
the child was positively crimson with temper! "You are not helping her
by behaving like a common guttersnipe. At this school, we try to behave
like ladies. Perhaps at Mr. Russell's--"
"At Mr. Russell's school," Sarah interrupted, "I'm sure nobody would
think it was worthwhile to cheat."
"Then you admit you cheated?"