Calpurnia’s Dream

When I first met her, my human friend and companion was a shy, reserved girl of seventeen summers. She was the youngest daughter of Lucius Calpurnius Piso, a powerful Senator of the gens Calpurnii, and he had just given her to a man she had never met before, in an arranged marriage.

In exchange, Lucius Calpurnius acquired important political connections to a still more august family, the Julii. He had struck an excellent bargain for his quiet daughter; less than a year later he was elected Senior Consul of the Roman Republic, largely due to the influence of his new son-in-law.

The girl herself was not consulted, and was informed of the impending union only a day before it took place. Love was not a factor, and her wishes, if she had any, were irrelevant to her father’s political future. Such were the lives of most girls of the Roman nobility.

Daughters might be loved, but ultimately they were commodities, kept in reserve as a means to an end. Young Calpurnia Pisona wasn’t particularly devastated by the event; she had known all her life to expect no better. Her father had always been a kind and fair parent, and like other girls of the time, she trusted him to find her a good husband.

For my part, I was born into a wealthy and privileged Palatine household, but had lost the gamble of life at the age of seven weeks. The owner having made up his mind to reduce the feline population of his home, I and my siblings were summarily dispensed with, by tossing us into the churning Tiber from the bridge at the foot of the Palatine hill.

It was not an auspicious beginning for my existence upon the earth; I had only just begun the first of my nine life-paths, and it almost ended before it had properly begun. An untimely ending is all too often the fate of my kind, when humans determine there are a greater number of us than serves their convenience.

Perhaps that is why the Spirit Above decreed that for us, the cats, there should be nine paths to walk, and nine lives to live, upon the earth and under the sun.

I am called by my kinsmen, “Speaker for the Spirits.” I am of the Folk, and of the Clan of Cat. As such, I am heir to a nobility far more august than that of the Calpurnii, or even the Julians, had the Clan of Man ever guessed the full truth about my kind.

Nobility alone cannot save; in the end, the fates cut down the noble with the common, and the great with the small. That it was not quite my end was a matter of pure chance, for the cruel act was witnessed by another human being, Calpurnia’s much older new husband.

Shouting imprecations and shaking his fist at the shameful perpetrator, he ran and scrambled down the bank of the river to a point where he might wade in and retrieve me. I was half-drowned, soaking wet, and just barely alive when he rescued me from the chilling depths.

Still muttering maledictions, he wrapped me in a fold of his great woolen military cloak and turned for home. He encountered more than a few laughs from his fellow humans as we traversed the cobbled streets, for he was fully as wet as I was, but ignored them all, not slowing his long strides until he had reached his own door.

When it was opened by his surprised steward, he inquired after his young bride. He was told she might be found in the mansion’s courtyard garden, and went there directly, plopping me unceremoniously into Calpurnia’s lap.

She squeaked in surprise, dropping her embroidery to the tiled pavement at her feet. “Great Mother!” she exclaimed, “Gaius Julius, what is this?” At that point, she must have thought I was a sodden bundle of old rags.

Then I coughed weakly, and spit up a bit more of the river’s water, and she realized I was still a living creature. “Bring towels!” she commanded her much-amused maidservant, who rushed to comply.

“How did the poor, tiny creature get into this state?”

“He was thrown into the river by some miserable villain, and I was just barely able to get him out again,” replied her husband. “I suggest you name him ‘Felix,’ for he certainly has been lucky this day. Had I been only a bit slower in reaching him, there would have been little point.”

She beamed at him. “Then Felix he shall be. The goddess Fortuna has certainly favored him. Is this wet offering meant to be my wedding present, husband?” she asked wryly, still smiling.

“If you wish it so. I have always had a great liking for his kind. Once he is dry and warmed back to some semblance of life, I think you will find him a far better gift than the traditional pearls.

He will provide endless companionship for you while I am on campaign in Gaul, and pay his own way by keeping your quarters free of rodents. In addition, a cat can see the realm of the spirits and numina, and will often provide warning of impending danger.”

“Then my answer is yes,” she answered. “Little Felix is all the marriage gift I desire.”

“Good,” said her dripping husband, plainly pleased by her acceptance. “And now, if you have the situation in hand, I must go and find dry clothing for myself.”

Thus began my lifelong relationship with the quiet, demure daughter of a father who had all but sold her to a man more than twice her age. Had the august Senator but known it, he had given away a far more valuable possession in his daughter, than anything his political bargain could have brought him.

To the casual eye, Calpurnia was an unremarkable girl. She was neither plain nor of surpassing beauty, neither delicate nor fat. She kept her chestnut hair immaculately clean, brushed, and tied back with a length of ribbon. She did not paint her face.

She had no expensive tastes; when allowed her choice, she preferred to dress in linen, rather than the silks more common to a Roman noblewoman, and wore only minimal jewelry.

In a room where several people were present, her quietness allowed her to fade into near invisibility. This was agreeable to her, for she was perfectly content to listen rather than speak. Only when she smiled, did she draw attention to herself, for that smile instantly transformed her otherwise ordinary face into a thing of radiant beauty.

In short, Calpurnia was a perfect Roman wife, having been trained to that end since childhood, and neither her father nor her husband ever guessed her true worth.

Of course I, “Speaker for the Spirits,” now cognominated “Felix,” quickly recognized this young human for what she was. The knowing of secret things is, after all, what my kind do. The eyes of Cat are bright, and we see what is never suspected by humans, who are easily misled by the veil of appearances.

In the morning of the world, when all the Clans of the Folk were set upon the new earth, my kind were gifted by the Spirit Above with the power to know the hearts of others. I used my ability that day to see my new friend and protector as she really was, and I discovered an entirely different creature.

Humans, who believe themselves infinitely superior to every other living thing upon the earth, are blind in many important ways. They believe that the actuality they perceive, the world that turns beneath the sun, is the only one there is, but that is untrue.

There is also a realm of the Spirit, and that sphere, though unseen by the Clan of Man, is the more real of the two. For every living being who lives in the world men see, another walks in the realm of the Spirit, whether that being knows it or not. There, all truths are made visible. For all who possess true sight, all secrets are known, and hidden selves are revealed.

I, Speaker for the Spirits, of the Folk and of the Clan of Cat, do verily own true sight. Superimposed upon the ordinary human girl who held me in her arms, I saw an iridescent being, gossamer and glowing, a creature of magic and light, who was as familiar with the realm of the spirits as I was myself.

She was lambent with life and intelligence, and was to my eyes, beautiful beyond imagining. Her inner being transcended every limitation of the Calpurnia her fellow humans saw.

Her father had not known this, and he never would. Neither would her new husband, powerful and mighty though he might be in his own world. Though he regarded her more fondly than her father had, she was to him still a counting piece, in the game of power that human men played. These men lacked the senses to perceive anything more, or the inclination to alter their views if they’d had them.

No member of the Clan of Man would ever know her as I now did, and I saw that I had been lucky in more than just my rescue from the river Tiber. Much more indeed.

In all of my lives upon the earth, I have had no more worthy companion than Calpurnia Pisona, the quiet and reticent Senator’s daughter, who at seventeen was made the wife of Rome’s most powerful general. I was glad to become her friend, and pledged myself to her in the sight of the Spirit Above, after the way of my Clan and my kind. I now knew that my first life-walk would be, to say the very least, interesting.

Seven days later, Calpurnia’s new husband departed, to assume command of his legions in Gaul. He would not return for more than brief visits, until many years had passed, and so we began our life together without him. I honor him, for honor he most certainly deserves. Not only had he saved my life, but gave me into the care of a wonderful companion.

Calpurnia and I were not left entirely alone, but shared the house with the brooding presence of her mother-in-law, Aurelia. This rather stiff, elderly matron seemed to believe the guarding of her august son’s reputation and standing to be her primary mission in life.

As such, the behavior of his young wife came under her intense, almost minute by minute scrutiny. Calpurnia’s apparel, her manner of speaking, how she occupied her time, and especially any visitors received by her, must pass inspection and meet her mother-in-law’s rigorous standards.

Aurelia even kept a list of her female chums, and enquired into the background of each of them. No misstep or thoughtless word on Calpurnia’s part would be tolerated. In no way would she be allowed to tarnish the public image of the great man in his absence, and Aurelia made that known at every opportunity.

My new friend and I cared not. We simply retreated to that other, brighter world we shared together. Aurelia never suspected that the young woman she watched so closely was not truly present.

Only the merest ghost of her daughter-in-law sat in the suite of rooms which was her home, busying her hands with her embroidery or her loom. The rest of Calpurnia was far from Aurelia’s basilisk gaze, wandering with me in another world.

Entering there, her real nature shone forth, as if laughter had been given substance and a body, more like a constellation of stars than any earthbound creature. This was the being who had always lived within her, finally given release.

Calpurnia in her true form had wings, radiant and shimmering appendages, which rose from her shoulders and scattered the light like millions of tiny crystalline prisms. They freed her from the last vestiges of her earthly prison, and we flew like shooting stars across the sky.

In that realm of spirits and numina, I could converse with my beautiful companion as though we two were of one Clan and one kind. We laughed at the expense of Aurelia and all the others like her, and played like two children in a universe made just for us.

All the while, the earthbound image of Calpurnia sat quietly at her loom, as I dozed, curled about her feet. Back and forth went the shuttle and the batten, up and down bobbed the heddles, but it was the manifestation of a mere reflex, and owned none of her awareness.

Aurelia, the rigid and joyless mother-in-law, with her face sculpted from flawless marble, watched closely and detected nothing amiss. When she spoke to Calpurnia at all, it was to remark upon her diligence and industry, and for them, my companion finally received her grudging approval.

Among the dour Roman matrons of the city, it began to be said that Calpurnia Pisona, youngest daughter of the Patrician Calpurnii, was indeed a suitable and proper wife to the absent Gaius Julius.

Secretly they seethed with frustration, having hoped for more poignant gossip. Had they known any fragment of the truth, more than one of them would have been struck down by apoplexy.

But they did not know, and could not; it was beyond their limited perception, and had nothing to do with them. Slowly the attention of these staunchly proper women turned to other, more exiting topics for their conversation. The quiet young wife of a great General was simply not outrageous enough to keep their interest.

Our lives together went on, and we lived them joyously. Freedom within oneself is the greatest liberty that can ever be known, for it cannot be taken away or even touched, by any other person or circumstance.

Day followed day, and the weeks piled one upon the other until they became whole years, and we were content. Save for his brief winter visits at home, we never saw Gaius Julius at all. Like us, he had another life altogether, far away with his legions in Gaul.

Calpurnia and I were also far away, though physically we seldom left the house, and then only in the company of omnipresent, frowning Aurelia. The only scant interest we had in these outings was when she allowed us an afternoon of shopping in the open markets that adjoined the Great Forum.

My companion always insisted that I accompany her when we left the house, although Aurelia manifestly disapproved. She became a dark and rumbling storm cloud above us as we left the mansion’s door, and never ceased her glowering, all the while we walked in the public eye.

Perhaps new shoes or a scarf for Calpurnia, and a bit of fresh fish for me, and our shopping was complete. Purchases paid for by the servant who carried the family purse, we retreated once again to our quiet home, and to our own world.

Aurelia plainly considered each excursion concluded without scandal to be a personal victory. The part of me that cared, rather pitied her; I would not wish to live a life so narrow, so constricted, but it seemed to suit Aurelia’s nature. Those who look for no better way of life never attain it. They receive what they expect from their days upon the earth, nothing more.

As for me, I neither needed nor wanted anything better than to be who I was, Speaker for the Spirits, now called Felix by my companion. We of the Clan of Cat live our lives as they are given us to live, happy in our time upon the earth.

If we are very fortunate, we find a human companion who is willing and able to live as we do, upon the earth and under the sun. I was fortunate indeed, in my Calpurnia Pisona. We lived a life of wonder and joy, though no one else ever knew.

I, like all of my kind, can see a certain distance into the future. It is a power given to us by the Spirit Above, so that we are able to avoid some of the dangers that wait for those who live lives of utter freedom.

One who is aware that a large dog is standing just around a corner, is free to choose a different path for his steps, and that is but a single example. I can see not just danger lurking a few heartbeats ahead, but any other event that is imminent.

I began to demonstrate this awareness of things yet to come to Calpurnia, and we discovered that while in the realm of the spirits, she owned a prescience of the near future that was very little less acute than my own. She was startled, having never suspected that she had any such powers.

Being a basically altruistic young woman, she began trying to use her talent in her own world, for the betterment of others about her. She foresaw, one afternoon, that Aurelia would catch the hem of her gown on a piece of furniture and fall, and warned that dour matron well in advance.

Unfortunately for Aurelia, she scoffed and stalked on, caught her clothing on the corner of a table, and fell headlong. She wasn’t much injured, save in the loss of her pride and a certain amount of skin, but Calpurnia and I retreated quickly to her room, lest the shaken mother-in-law lash out in a fit of pique.

To say “I told you as much!” is to bring down all the wrath of the unfortunate one upon your own head. Silence is a much safer alternative.

“I am Cassandra of Troy,” she said to me sadly. “What I see is always truth, but no one ever believes me. Poor Aurelia!”

I would have much to say to my young friend, when next we were in the realm where we were able to converse with one another freely. Humans are afraid of seers and prophets. One who is correct too many times can be labelled a witch, and the end of that tale is seldom happy.

Aurelia’s joyless friends were delighted to learn of Calpurnia’s brief attempts at fortune telling. Having finally detected a flaw in the absent General’s perfect young wife, they felt justified at last.

They clucked and cackled among themselves, like so many aging hens upon a fence, and secretly I released a long sigh of relief. Becoming an object of mirth is unpleasant, but in this case it was far safer than the alternative.

Life returned to normal, or more properly, normal for us, which bore little resemblance to what Calpurnia’s fellow humans meant when they used that word. The summers and winters passed by with little to mark them, save that Aurelia grew older, and yet more saturnine.

My beloved companion and I lived our own lives in our own chosen way, as if each day were a life unto itself, new, unsullied, and bright with promise. And no one ever knew. No one at all.

Back and forth went the shuttle and batten of Calpurnia’s loom, while the heddles popped up and down, but she wasn’t there. She was with me, and we two were flying far away, lost in a poet’s land, beneath an artist’s sky.

The only interruptions came when Aurelia’s equally morose friends, Claudia and Livia, visited for cakes and sweet wine, and of course their eternal gossip. Calpurnia was required to attend these gatherings, but not to contribute to the conversation; thus we were frequently able to escape their sullen world, even then.

When, at the desiccated age of seventy summers, Aurelia finally died in her sleep, not much changed for us. She, like all who live upon the earth that turns beneath the sun, took from life only what she had put into it. As custom demanded, Calpurnia donned the black drapery of mourning for a time, and afterward we went back to being what we were.

Ours was a life of contentment, and I would have been well satisfied had nothing ever changed until the stars themselves grew cold. Sadly, such is not the lot of the mortal Clans of the Folk. Life changes, upon the earth and under the sun. The world moves beneath us, and those who would not be left behind in the void, must move with it.

It was in our fifteenth summer together, that the world of Rome quaked and veered in its course, and everything we knew changed forever.

Calpurnia’s husband came home, but not for a brief visit, as before. This time he was home for good, and he had brought his victorious legions with him. The laws of his fellow humans forbade him the act, but he brought them anyway. Perhaps he had for so long been a General, and thus a law unto himself, that he forgot he could not take that status home with him.

Many angry rumors began to circulate amongst the august and toga clad men who were his peers, and their talk soon grew hot and belligerent.

The reasons for the uproar were a mystery to me, and I sensed that my companion was not much more enlightened. It was a response completely out of proportion to anything that had actually happened.

Recognizing no rulers among us, we of the Clan of Cat do not have the sort of politics which plague human beings. We have our disputes of course, mainly involving territorial and mating customs, but they are between individuals and quickly resolved.

This was different. This was frightening. The humans were fragmenting into factions and cliques, and anger was fast giving birth to hatred among them. Incidents of uncharacteristic violence were becoming frequent in the city.

When Gaius Julius was compelled to leave the city once more for Egypt, I had hopes that the humans would forget their rage, but it was not to be. The angry, vitriolic talk continued unabated, and upon his return, began to boil over.

I knew, with the sensitivity given my kind, that something else lay beneath the turmoil, and that something was fear. They were terrified of the changes that were happening around them, and were becoming dangerously irrational. A single human who is frightened can be comforted, but when many are fearful, they are capable of anything.

Rome was on the brink of a precipice, and with it the entire world of the Middle Sea. When the final eruption came, not even the tiniest creature in that world would remain unaffected.

Less than a month later, both Calpurnia and I saw a fearful vision, which I knew with a sinking heart to be a true representation of the future. We witnessed, with the prescience given to us, the death of her husband Gaius Julius at the blood-spattered hands of those who had called themselves his friends.

Calpurnia was shaken to the core of her being. We were in our private universe when it happened, and so I was able to speak with her about the awful things that were about to happen, but I was unable to be of much comfort to her.

“Felix,” she almost screamed. “I can’t just sit in silence while they murder him! Not when I know everything that is going to happen!”

“I fear you can do nothing to prevent it, beloved. If it is truly meant to be, it will happen no matter what,” I said, trying to remain calm myself. I was not without feeling for the man who had, after all, pulled me from a watery grave. “Remember Aurelia and the table!”

“I must at least try,” she sobbed.

“You said yourself that you are like Cassandra. No one has ever believed you, when you’ve tried to reveal the things you see. If you become involved now, you will only endanger yourself. Gaius Julius would never wish for that.”

“I must at least try,” she repeated. “He is my husband. I owe him warning, if I can give it.”

“So be it then,” I answered in resignation. “I would do it myself, were I able to use the speech of your kind, but I cannot. If he is to be warned, it must come from you. I only beg you to be careful. Rome is a dangerous place now, and you do not want cries of ‘Witch!’ piled atop everything else.”

And so, as the sun was rising on the very next day, Calpurnia Pisona spoke to her husband before he had left the house, making him aware of the ominous future she had seen. In order to avoid all mention of the fantastic world she and I shared, she told him that what she had seen had come to her in a dream.

And as I feared, he scoffed. “Calpurnia,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “What would you have me do? I cannot abdicate my position and authority simply because you have had a nightmare! The Roman Republic is at a crossroads in time, and needs me. I am the only one who can see that She chooses the most propitious path.”

“I need you too, husband,” she said, with her voice hoarse from crying. “Never forget that.”

“How could I ever forget you?” he said. “You are heart of my heart and soul of my soul. I could not have achieved any of the things I have in my life, were it not for the thought of you, waiting so patiently here.”

“Will you grant me one thing?” she asked finally. “Will you be extremely cautious today? And keep your good friend nearby, the one with all the romantic entanglements. I know he is loyal.”

“His name is Antonius,” said her husband, “And I shall keep him as close as I can. Try not to worry, my love.”

And with that he kissed her goodbye, and left for his day at the Forum, and in the Senate of Rome. We were never to see him alive again, upon the earth and under the sun.

After Calpurnia’s vision of blood and death came so horribly true, we left the great house where we had dwelled for all the years of her marriage. When the smoke of Gaius Julius’ pyre had ceased to rise into the heavens, and his ashes had cooled, there was simply nothing left for her in that echoing, empty place, not even the brooding Aurelia.

With one loyal maidservant, who refused to be parted from her mistress, Calpurnia Pisona took up residence in an apartment on the second floor of a working class insula. It was a place where common folk abode, and there she chose to begin a new life.

She took with her a meager purse of money which was all her inheritance from her departed husband, a certain necklace he had given her, and her own clothing. Other than a modest, traditional gift, Roman women do not customarily inherit the estates of their husbands.

I, of course, accompanied my lifelong companion. We of the Clan of Cat do not change our loyalties in the face of adversity. I had begun my life-path with Calpurnia fifteen summers ago, and I would finish it with her, but I knew she would need far more than I could now provide.

Age is a foe which can neither be outrun nor outfought, and it had finally caught up with me. I knew that my time with her was almost at an end. At the age of fifteen summers, I was an old cat, as my kind know life upon the earth, and just when my Calpurnia needed me the most, my mortal body betrayed me.

Soon I must make my Journey to the Sacred Isle, where my Clan and my kind rest, and heal our wounds, between our many lives.

We cats know when we are nearing our end, upon the earth and under the sun. There is a certain feeling in the bones, a sense that summer has gone and autumn is passing away, and I felt its icy touch within me, as we were settling into our new home.

My muscles had lost their vibrant power, and my joints had begun to creak and ache. My sight no longer had its old acuity. Though my task was far from complete, I knew without a doubt that the time of my Journey was near.

Some of us find a hidden place in which meet death, for it is a very personal time, not meant for the eyes of others.

I could not do that. I owed my friend much more than to spend the rest of her days wondering why I had left her, and what had become of me. How would she live? Her dead husband had not even left her with his child.

I knew what I must do, and I made my plans carefully. I began to leave her for short periods of time to hunt, though Calpurnia had never failed to provide me with all the food I required. What I caught, I brought to her each morning and laid it out as a gift, after the manner of my kind with a beloved human companion. When she had become well accustomed to my new practice, I knew she would not be as worried, when I remained absent for a somewhat longer interval.

One clear evening at sunset, I left my companion’s side, and as I had learned to do, caught at the latch-string of our door with my fore-claws to open it. I trotted down the stairs and out into the street, just as lamps and torches were being lit in the city.

I knew Calpurnia would not begin to search for me in earnest until the afternoon of the next day, and I fervently hoped what I planned to accomplish would not take much more time than that.

I set out, and began to seek out and consult others of my kind. With their guidance, I visited every cat mother whose lair lay within a reasonable distance.

I was now slower than I had been in my prime, and tired quickly, and it was unavoidable that my quest consumed more time than I had expected.

Two full days passed, and I was beginning to fear I would have to return without what I sought, but in the end I found a young she-cat who was called “Snow-Paw,” by our kind. Her family of five kits was almost weaned, nearly ready to begin lives of their own, on the night I found her lair.

I called softly and waited in utter stillness, for a mother of my kind will not normally allow strange toms near her young. Soon she appeared at the entrance, and gazed at me with jade-green eyes that glowed in the darkness.

“I greet you, honored mother among my Clan,” I said, after a few heartbeats had passed.

“And I you, Speaker for the Spirits,” she returned in a quiet voice. “I have heard much of you. Your name, and that of the human you protect, are well known. You have brought great honor to our Clan and our kind.”

“I but do as any of us would, Snow-Paw of the Clan of Cat. Calpurnia Pisona stands worthy of all I have done, and much more.”

“Yes, I see it in your heart, Speaker. It is truth. I see also the purpose of your visit. The deed you would do is good, and its light within you cannot be hidden.”

“Then you would not refuse me what I seek?”

“I would not, Speaker for the Spirits. No mother among us could ask better for her young, than what you intend. Wait here.”

I sat on the grass, waiting there beneath the brilliant stars. Then Snow-Paw appeared again in the entrance of her lair, this time carrying a kitten of perhaps seven weeks’ age. She laid him at my feet, and he immediately stood up. I saw a handsome little orange tom, with the same jade eyes as his mother.

“This is my strongest son. He is called ‘Quick-Claw,’ by those of our kind. I give him into your care with a good heart. Take him and return to your human companion.

“May the Spirit Above go with you always, upon the earth and under the sun,” she said softly, and returned to her other young.

Gently I picked up the little one, in the manner of a she-cat with her kits, and began my journey home. I was weary to the marrow of my bones, but elated by the success of my mission.

The sun was rising as I entered the insula and climbed the steps to the apartment where Calpurnia Pisona dwelled. I set the young one down and called, and within a heartbeat our door flew open. A weeping Calpurnia scooped me up and held me to her bosom. She wet my fur with her tears as she cried, but they were tears of joy.

“Felix, my only friend, I thought you were gone or dead! Never leave me again! Never!”

“Never again in this life,” I agreed, and I knew in my weary old bones that it was true.

Then for the first time Calpurnia noticed the gift I had brought her, and her eyes widened.

“Who is this?” she laughed. “Felix, what have you done? Where on earth did you find such a saucy little fellow?” And now her tears fell even harder, but they were tears of gladness, as she set me at her feet and took up the baby Quick-Claw in her arms.

I left them there to become acquainted, and padded silently to my bed, beneath the apartment’s window. With a full heart, I lay my worn and weary body down to rest. Whatever happened now, I knew my beloved companion would not be alone. She and little Quick-Claw would carry on together.

Sometimes life is very, very good, upon the earth and under the sun.

END