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Pharus
Imber foriculas verberat et ventus stridens per rimas invadit, qui digitis captantibus conatur lampades extinguere. Breviter horresco cum flammae trepidant, sed in cella lychnae decem ardent — non omnes simul extinguuntur. Immo vero, illa ventos non regit — quam ridiculus mihi metus. Nihilominus dus lychnas movebo. Oportet semper cavere.
Olim nihil — tenebras omnino — timui. Confiteor me nunc tenebras ipsas non vereri, immo illa quae in eis semper obsidiatur ut omnem cellam obscuram, omnem noctem sine luna, omnem umbram nigram horrescem. Pusillissima lux eam fugat, sed hieme, cum diu in cella somniare debeo, clausis cum foriculis ne pluvia et frigore in febrim incidam, tum tenebrae minantur. Noctu autem pharum colo, quem, magnis coram flammis puto tutiorem omnibus templis deorum. At a principio historiam narrem.
Centurio eram cum legio ab Italia in Galliam profecta est. Ad septentriones iter fecimus, et haud procul oppido Gesoriaco hiemebamus. Galli, Morini praecipue et Atrebates, plerumque pacati et quieti. Adsueti militibus romanis erant ut hiemem tranquillam exspectaremus. Attamen rumores seditionis mox per castras volitabant. Galli ipsi cum quaestore mala sua questi sunt. Is denique praefecto nostro mandavit ut tremebundam seditionem exstirparet. Praefectus, ironiam quaestoris agnoscans, nihilominus me iussit manus XX adulescentulorum ex auxiliaribus colligere qui latrones eradicarent.
Faciliter latibulum deteximus, et brevi prolio omnes vel occidimus vel fugavimus, neque unus e numero nostro graviter vulneratus est. O tantam seditionem ! Fugitivos non persecuti sumus ; ignavi fugaces non iterum arma susciperent. Sed ducem non aderat. Crimen istius furcam merebat. Duos menses me evitavit donec eum rudo in tugurio silvestri deprehendi.
Dux latronum erat imberbis et perterritus, quem faciliter excepissem quin abfuisset soror. Ista virgo fratrem ad arma exhortata'st, gladium ei porrigens. At tremulus recusavit, ut virago gravi ense in me irrueret. Imperitam plagam elusi, dein humi iacet, cruor e pectore fluit. Lacrimis devictis frater mortem deprecabatur. Recusationes respuebat, nec removeri sinebat. Nil volui quin tristitiam finirem, ut tandem puerum miserum misericordiae causa occiderem. Eheu, virago etiam vivans, etsi mox ad inferos descensura. Oculi ardentes in me intuebantur. Voce gallica obstrepuit. Semone etsi ignoro, execratione horrui. Ad castra, ad salutem, effugi.
Primum noctu obdormire non potui. Pudor facinoris et memoria istorum oculorum puellae morientis infensorum me a quiete abalienabant. Denique fatigatione exsuperatum sopor me eripuit, at somnia conscientiae peiora me exspectabant. Sic consequebantur multae noctes ; vigil somnum precabar, somniens diem desiderabam. Et credebam me non solum in tabernaculo esse. Auscultabam — aut auscultare me imaginabar — mures sub lectulo huc illuc currentes. Mane rimas in tabernaculo exquisivi, quas vere sciebam non adesse. Nihilominus proxima nocte caseum venenatum humi posui, quod cottidie siccatiorem fieri conspiciebam. Caecae bestiolae noctu motus perpetuos pergebant. Duos igitur milites iussi mecum tabernaculum mutare. Iussum plane non intellexerunt. Clam videlicet me irrisi sunt, sin me mente insanire putassent, attamen oboedienter mihi tabernaculum suum mandaverunt. Eheu non necesse fuit milites rogare num bene dormivivssent, quod soni me secuti sunt. Malo enim somno me praebui.
Hiems saeviebat, dies obscuriores ferebat. Caelum nubilum raro lunam ostendebat. Strepitus in tenebris tabernaculi semper crescebant. Tandem vocem audire putavi — in primum sussuros incertos, exinde verba gallica seu latina ex ore barbaro sonabant. Mures caeci in lectulo ascenderunt, aliquando trans corpus meum saltaverunt. Sicut voces, quae et auribus clausis semper audiebam, passus murium quinque per lodices sentiabam, etsi sicut in integumento involutus. Loricatus tandem in lectulo iacui. Vox balbuteibat, ut semper, sed passus murium denque non sentivi. Victor obdormiebam. Confestim motus sub lodicibus. Corpus femineum ad me lapsum est. Mollitiam pectoris in bracchio sentivi, et dulcissimum unguentum ad nares attinuit — dein umorem callidum percepi et odorem cruoris cupreum.
E tabernaculo enervatus in nivem salui. Custodes taediferi ad me cucurrerunt. Dixi haesitanter aliquem intus. Faces inanitatem ostendunt. Legionis medicum propere arcessiverunt, qui dixit me febris impetu pati, ne mihi — nec legioni — dedecori esset.
Paucis diebus sub ministerio servi gessi ut convalescerem. Noctu me in tabernaculo vigilabat donec morbus decessit, id est, donec memet regere didici. In lumine lychni bene dormivi. Servus ipse nonnumquam quoque bene dormivit — attamen secretum istud nemini divulgavi. Medicus in fine me valentem dixit ut officiam repeterem. Octo fere diebus omni pavore liberatus sum. Deinde nocte sine luna iterum in tenebris lectulo circumdantibus vox acerba balbutiabat. Unaquaque nocte revenit larva. In auribus susurrabat, duris digitis me palpabat, titillabat, scabebat. In pectore aut in pedibus sedebat, umida cruore inviso. Mordebat faciem lambabat, aut per horas immota me iuxta iacebat, sine mora sermocinans. Quam grave illud corpus, quod manus meae tangere non potebant. Aderat, ubi ipsa voluit, et alias nihil inveni.
Quoniam dormire nequibam, poposci praefectum ut me in vigilias noctis disponeret. Amicitiae causa longaevae non negavit. Ita cum face ardenti moenia circumiens curas larvae meae evitabam. At silentio nocturno, nullo cum vento, profundissimis ex umbris etiam vox gallica mihi appellabat, obiurgabat, maledicebat. Mox eam fugare didici ; si tenebras cum face aggredior, larva evanescit. Lucem vere odit, fortasse timet. Remedium inveneram.
Victoria autem incerta. Magis eam lumine venabar, magis in tenebras oboriebatur, ut in fine ab una umbra ad aliam totam vigiliam properavi. Rumores per castra volabant. Abesse debui. Beneficium ultimum praefectum poposci. Nam erat pharus in scopulo super portu Gesoriaci. Illic quaesivi me disponi. Statim me dimissit, utrum familiaritatis causa an frustrationis nescio — nec curo. Summo in pharo, in flagratione nocturna sempiterna, salutem novi. Larva non audet flammis ingentibus appropinquare, neque possum vocem eius propter crepitum ligni flagrantis audire. Nemo enim vigilantius ignem colebat, nemo diligentius thesaurum lignique fomitisque implebat. Ardor ignis non solum corpus sed etiam animam refovit. Salus erat mea, et rogus istius galliae, ut credideram.
Flammis noctivigilis lentule assuefactus sum. Sonos exiguos in tenebris audiebam. Adest ! semper obsidiatur ne uno momento criminis obliviscerer. In summa turre potestatem nullam habebat, at in eius centro, in scalis quae ad thesaurum descendabant, ubique in umbris, minimis in rimis inter lateres sese celabat, susurrans, ridens, increpans.
Menses dilapsi sunt et anni. Non desiit in me e tenebris quibusvis irruere, et omnem impetum face et lychno repugnavi. Alii custodes me pro vesano habebant ; odium tenebrarum idem ac terrorem certe cognoverant, et nonnumquam me cum nemine (ut crederent) rixantem auscultaverant. Ita cum nuntius advenisset, qui mihi novum iussum ferret, suspicatus sum commilitiones eum arcessiverant. Nullius fuit momenti — praefectus Britanniae sua in provincia pharum aedificavit, et diligentia me ad custodiam commendaverat. Nuntio accepto statim ad portum profectus sum.
Infeliciter tempestatis causa brumalis tres dies in mansione demoratus sum dum procella saeviit. Tam obscurae noctes quam tenebrosa mihi cellula, et caupo mihi secundam lucernam recusavit. Haudquaquam scilicet dormivi.
Quarto die tempestatis vis omnis cecidit ut navicularius arbitraretur tempus idoneum ad navigandum esse. Mature vela dedit, et deis volentibus, ut dixit, portum Dubris ad vesperem attigeremus. Attamen paucas post horas ventus crescebat, undae assurgebant, quae navem a litore brittaniae depellerent. Valide nautae procella luctabantur, dum vesper appropinquavit et caliginosae nocti cessit. Pharum, spem ultimam, semper recedentem intuebamur, et magis flammas eius quam deos precabar.
Immanis unda navem cepit, saxis illisit. Nave confracta turbulento in fluxu imersus sum. Tabulas arripere conatus sum — frustra. Pondus saguli madidati me ad profunda traxit. Speravi me gurgitibus hauriri anteaquam corpus ad saxa aspera impelleret. Animo linquens manus sentivi me capere.
Obscurissima in nocte resupinus in harenis ad me redii. Aliquis mihi pectus verberabat, aquam e pulmonibus eluctans. Semianimis hic iacebam, donec potebam sine tussibus loqui.
— Quis me conservavit ?
— Vero, inquit vox gallica, nescis ? Me laedis.
— Quin me demersisti ?
Risit et iuxta me decubuit. Faciem mihi digiti molles tabo oblinabat, et labra cadaverosa aurem titillabat cum me responsisset.
— Nolo te necare. Aerumna tua me delectat.
~ finis ~
Lighthouse
Rain is pounding against the shutters and the howling wind is blowing in through the cracks, trying to extinguish the lamps with its clutching fingers. I shudder briefly as the flames waver, but in my little room there are ten lamps burning — they can’t all go out at once. And besides, she doesn’t control the winds — how ridiculous is my fear. Nevertheless, I shall move two of the lamps. One must always be careful.
Once nothing scared me, especially not darkness. And I must confess it is not the darkness itself I fear, rather it is she who ever lies in wait within it, so that every dim chamber, every moonless night, every deep shadow makes me shudder. The feeblest illumination puts her to flight, but in the winter when I must sleep by day in my chamber with the shutters closed lest the rain and the cold bring on a fever; then it is the darkness threatens. By night, though, I tend the lighthouse, which, before the great flames, I adjudge safer than all the temples of the gods. But let me tell the story from the beginning.
I was a centurion when my legion set forth from Italy into Gaul. We made our journey to the north, and set up our winter quarters not far from the town of Gesoriacum. The Gauls, mostly Morini and Atrebates, were generally peaceful and accustomed to Roman soldiers, so that we expected a tranquil winter. But then rumours of rebellion began to fly through the camp. The Gauls themselves complained of their ills to the quaestor, and in the end he ordered our commander to put down this fearsome insurrection. The commander, sensing the quaestors irony, nevertheless ordered me to collect a band of twenty troops from out of the auxiliaries and eradicate the brigands.
We easily uncovered their hiding-place, and in a brief battle all of them were either killed or fled, and not a single one of us were gravely injured. How great a rebellion! We did not pursue those who’d escaped; those cowardly runaways would not take up arms again. But their leader was not present. His crime at least merited punishment. He eluded me for two months until I caught him in a rude hut in the forest.
The leader of the bandits was nothing but a frightened young lad, whom I’d have easily taken captured were it not for his sister. The young lady exhorted her brother to arms, thrusting the sword towards him. But fearfully he refused, so that she, suddenly an amazon, wielded the heavy sword and came at me herself. I parried her clumsy stroke, and in moments she lay upon the ground, blood flowing from her chest. Overcome with tears, her brother begged me to slay him. He rejected my refusals, and did not allow me to remove him from the place. I wanted nothing so much as to be done with this sad scene, so at length I took pity on the wretched boy and slew him. Alas, the sister yet lived, though her life was ebbing. Her burning eyes stared into me, and she cried out in the Gallic tongue. Even though I am ignorant of the language, I shuddered at her imprecation. I fled back to the safety of camp.
At first it I couldn't fall asleep at night. Shame at the deed and the memory of the hate-filled eyes of the dying girl estranged me from all repose. Finally, overcome with weariness, sleep bore me away, but dreams worse than my conscience were waiting. Thus followed several more nights; awake I prayed for sleep, dreaming I longed for daybreak. And I began to believe I was not alone in my tent. I heard – or imagined I could hear – mice scurrying hither and thither beneath my cot. In the morning I looked for holes in the tent, which I knew I’d not find. Nevertheless on the following night I put a bit of poisoned cheese on the floor, and watched it growing drier by the day. The unseen vermin persisted in their nocturnal movements. I ordered two soldiers to swap tents with me. The did not understand the order. I’m sure they laughed about it in secret, if they didn’t think me entirely mad, but they did obediently hand over their tent to me. Alas, it was no need of asking them if they slept well in it, for the sounds followed me. I resigned myself to troubled sleep.
Winter was raging, and brought darker days. The moon shone but rarely in the overcast sky. The noises in the darkness of my tent grew ever greater. At length I thought I could hear a voice — at first just indistinct whispers, then words in Gallic or in barbarous Latin. The invisible mice climbed up onto the cot and jumped across my body. Like the voices, which I could hear even though I stopped up my ears, I could feel the mice’s footsteps through five blankets, though wrapped up in them like a shroud. Finally I tried lying down in my armour. The voice as always was babbling, but I couldn’t feel the mice through it. Victorious, I fell asleep. Then suddenly there was motion under the blankets. A woman’s body slid in beside me. I felt the softness of her chest on my upper arm, and the sweetest odour of perfume reached my nose — then I perceived a warm wetness and the coppery smell of blood.
Unnerved, I flew from the tent out into the snow. Watchmen bearing torches ran to my aid. I haltingly told them that someone was within. Their torches revealed only emptiness. They hurriedly summoned the camp surgeon, who pronounced me ill with fever, lest he shame me — or the legion.
I spent a few days under the ministrations of a slave whilst I convalesced. He stood watch over me in my tent at night until the illness departed, that is, until I learnt to keep myself under control. I slept well in the light of his lamp. The slave also slept well on a few occasions — but I did not divulge his secret to anyone. The surgeon finally pronounced me cured so that I could resume my duties. For eight days I was freed of all fears. And then on a moonless night, in the darkness surrounding my cot, the harsh voice began babbling once again. The ghost returned each and every night. She whispered in my ears, prodded me with unyielding fingers, tickled and scratched. She sat atop my chest, or on my feet, wet with invisible blood. She bit my face and licked it, or lay beside me motionless for hours, talking without pause. How heavy was her body, which my hands could never touch. She was wherever she wanted to be, and never to be found elsewhere.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I entreated the commander to assign me to the night watch, and for long-standing friendship’s sake, he did not refuse. And so walking a circuit of the walls with a blazing torch I was able to escape the rougher ministrations of my ghost. But in the nocturnal silence, when no wind blew, from the deepest shadows I yet could hear her Gaulish voice calling me, rebuking me, cursing me. I soon learnt to put her to flight; if I rushed at the darkness with my brand, the ghost would vanish. Truly she hated the light, perhaps feared it. I had found a remedy.
But the victory was uncertain. The more I hunted her with light, the more she appeared in the darkness, so in the end I hurried from one shadow to the next for the whole of my watch. Rumours flew through the camp. I had to get away. I applied to the commander for one last favour. Now, there was a lighthouse on a cliff above the port of Gesoriacum. It was here I asked to be assigned. He sent me off at once, whether out of friendship or frustration I know not, nor do I care. At the top of the lighthouse, in the perpetual nocturnal conflagration, I knew peace. The ghost did not dare approach the enormous flames, nor could I hear her voice above the crackling of the burning wood. At last I’d found solace in this refuge. No one more vigilantly tended the fire, nor more diligently kept the storehouse filled with timber and fuel. The heat of the fire revived not only my body but my spirit. It was both my salvation, and the funeral pyre of that little Gaul, or so I believed.
I soon became used to the night-watching flames. I began to hear the softest sounds in the darkness. She was there! ever lurking lest I forget my crime for a single moment. She had no power atop the lighthouse, but in its centre, in the steps leading down to the storehouse, she was everywhere in the shadows, hiding in the smallest cracks between the bricks, whispering, laughing, screeching.
Months flew by and years. She did not cease her attacks from the shadows, and I repelled every assault with torch and lamp. The other guardians took me for a madman; my hatred and terror of the darkness they had certainly marked, and sometimes heard me quarrelling with no one (as they thought). And so when the messenger arrived bearing my new orders, I suspected that my fellows may have summoned him themselves. But it was no matter — the prefect of Britannia had a lighthouse built in his province, and my diligence recommended me for the position of keeper. Having received the message I made for the port at once.
Unfortunately, due to a winter storm, I had to spend three days in an inn whilst the tempest raged. The nights were as obscure as my little room was dark, and the innkeeper refused me a second lamp. I of course got no sleep.
On the fourth day the storm had subsided, and the ship’s captain thought the time right to leave. We set sail early, and should the gods be willing, as he said, we’d reach the port of Dubris by evening. After a few hours, however, a wind arose and the waves surged, keeping the ship from the shore of Britannia. The sailors wrestled valiantly with the storm whilst evening came and gave way to black night. The lighthouse, out ultimate hope, we watched ever receding, and I prayed more to its flames than to the gods.
An immense wave seized the ship and dashed it against the rocks. I clutched at the wreckage in vain. The weight of my sodden cloak drew me down into the depths. I hoped that the abyss would drown me ere it propelled my body into the sharp rocks. I was losing consciousness when I felt hands grabbing me.
In the darkest night I came to my senses, laying on my back in the sand. Someone was beating upon my chest to force the water from my lungs. I lay there, half-dead, until I could speak without coughing.
“Who has saved me?”
“Truly,” said a Gallic voice, you don’t know? You hurt my feelings.”
“Why didn’t you drown me?”
She laughed and lay down beside me. She smeared stinking gore over my face with soft fingers, and her cadaverous lips tickled my ear as she gave me her response.
“I don’t want to kill you. Your suffering delights me.”
finis
Imber foriculas verberat et ventus stridens per rimas invadit, qui digitis captantibus conatur lampades extinguere. Breviter horresco cum flammae trepidant, sed in cella lychnae decem ardent — non omnes simul extinguuntur. Immo vero, illa ventos non regit — quam ridiculus mihi metus. Nihilominus dus lychnas movebo. Oportet semper cavere.
Olim nihil — tenebras omnino — timui. Confiteor me nunc tenebras ipsas non vereri, immo illa quae in eis semper obsidiatur ut omnem cellam obscuram, omnem noctem sine luna, omnem umbram nigram horrescem. Pusillissima lux eam fugat, sed hieme, cum diu in cella somniare debeo, clausis cum foriculis ne pluvia et frigore in febrim incidam, tum tenebrae minantur. Noctu autem pharum colo, quem, magnis coram flammis puto tutiorem omnibus templis deorum. At a principio historiam narrem.
Centurio eram cum legio ab Italia in Galliam profecta est. Ad septentriones iter fecimus, et haud procul oppido Gesoriaco hiemebamus. Galli, Morini praecipue et Atrebates, plerumque pacati et quieti. Adsueti militibus romanis erant ut hiemem tranquillam exspectaremus. Attamen rumores seditionis mox per castras volitabant. Galli ipsi cum quaestore mala sua questi sunt. Is denique praefecto nostro mandavit ut tremebundam seditionem exstirparet. Praefectus, ironiam quaestoris agnoscans, nihilominus me iussit manus XX adulescentulorum ex auxiliaribus colligere qui latrones eradicarent.
Faciliter latibulum deteximus, et brevi prolio omnes vel occidimus vel fugavimus, neque unus e numero nostro graviter vulneratus est. O tantam seditionem ! Fugitivos non persecuti sumus ; ignavi fugaces non iterum arma susciperent. Sed ducem non aderat. Crimen istius furcam merebat. Duos menses me evitavit donec eum rudo in tugurio silvestri deprehendi.
Dux latronum erat imberbis et perterritus, quem faciliter excepissem quin abfuisset soror. Ista virgo fratrem ad arma exhortata'st, gladium ei porrigens. At tremulus recusavit, ut virago gravi ense in me irrueret. Imperitam plagam elusi, dein humi iacet, cruor e pectore fluit. Lacrimis devictis frater mortem deprecabatur. Recusationes respuebat, nec removeri sinebat. Nil volui quin tristitiam finirem, ut tandem puerum miserum misericordiae causa occiderem. Eheu, virago etiam vivans, etsi mox ad inferos descensura. Oculi ardentes in me intuebantur. Voce gallica obstrepuit. Semone etsi ignoro, execratione horrui. Ad castra, ad salutem, effugi.
Primum noctu obdormire non potui. Pudor facinoris et memoria istorum oculorum puellae morientis infensorum me a quiete abalienabant. Denique fatigatione exsuperatum sopor me eripuit, at somnia conscientiae peiora me exspectabant. Sic consequebantur multae noctes ; vigil somnum precabar, somniens diem desiderabam. Et credebam me non solum in tabernaculo esse. Auscultabam — aut auscultare me imaginabar — mures sub lectulo huc illuc currentes. Mane rimas in tabernaculo exquisivi, quas vere sciebam non adesse. Nihilominus proxima nocte caseum venenatum humi posui, quod cottidie siccatiorem fieri conspiciebam. Caecae bestiolae noctu motus perpetuos pergebant. Duos igitur milites iussi mecum tabernaculum mutare. Iussum plane non intellexerunt. Clam videlicet me irrisi sunt, sin me mente insanire putassent, attamen oboedienter mihi tabernaculum suum mandaverunt. Eheu non necesse fuit milites rogare num bene dormivivssent, quod soni me secuti sunt. Malo enim somno me praebui.
Hiems saeviebat, dies obscuriores ferebat. Caelum nubilum raro lunam ostendebat. Strepitus in tenebris tabernaculi semper crescebant. Tandem vocem audire putavi — in primum sussuros incertos, exinde verba gallica seu latina ex ore barbaro sonabant. Mures caeci in lectulo ascenderunt, aliquando trans corpus meum saltaverunt. Sicut voces, quae et auribus clausis semper audiebam, passus murium quinque per lodices sentiabam, etsi sicut in integumento involutus. Loricatus tandem in lectulo iacui. Vox balbuteibat, ut semper, sed passus murium denque non sentivi. Victor obdormiebam. Confestim motus sub lodicibus. Corpus femineum ad me lapsum est. Mollitiam pectoris in bracchio sentivi, et dulcissimum unguentum ad nares attinuit — dein umorem callidum percepi et odorem cruoris cupreum.
E tabernaculo enervatus in nivem salui. Custodes taediferi ad me cucurrerunt. Dixi haesitanter aliquem intus. Faces inanitatem ostendunt. Legionis medicum propere arcessiverunt, qui dixit me febris impetu pati, ne mihi — nec legioni — dedecori esset.
Paucis diebus sub ministerio servi gessi ut convalescerem. Noctu me in tabernaculo vigilabat donec morbus decessit, id est, donec memet regere didici. In lumine lychni bene dormivi. Servus ipse nonnumquam quoque bene dormivit — attamen secretum istud nemini divulgavi. Medicus in fine me valentem dixit ut officiam repeterem. Octo fere diebus omni pavore liberatus sum. Deinde nocte sine luna iterum in tenebris lectulo circumdantibus vox acerba balbutiabat. Unaquaque nocte revenit larva. In auribus susurrabat, duris digitis me palpabat, titillabat, scabebat. In pectore aut in pedibus sedebat, umida cruore inviso. Mordebat faciem lambabat, aut per horas immota me iuxta iacebat, sine mora sermocinans. Quam grave illud corpus, quod manus meae tangere non potebant. Aderat, ubi ipsa voluit, et alias nihil inveni.
Quoniam dormire nequibam, poposci praefectum ut me in vigilias noctis disponeret. Amicitiae causa longaevae non negavit. Ita cum face ardenti moenia circumiens curas larvae meae evitabam. At silentio nocturno, nullo cum vento, profundissimis ex umbris etiam vox gallica mihi appellabat, obiurgabat, maledicebat. Mox eam fugare didici ; si tenebras cum face aggredior, larva evanescit. Lucem vere odit, fortasse timet. Remedium inveneram.
Victoria autem incerta. Magis eam lumine venabar, magis in tenebras oboriebatur, ut in fine ab una umbra ad aliam totam vigiliam properavi. Rumores per castra volabant. Abesse debui. Beneficium ultimum praefectum poposci. Nam erat pharus in scopulo super portu Gesoriaci. Illic quaesivi me disponi. Statim me dimissit, utrum familiaritatis causa an frustrationis nescio — nec curo. Summo in pharo, in flagratione nocturna sempiterna, salutem novi. Larva non audet flammis ingentibus appropinquare, neque possum vocem eius propter crepitum ligni flagrantis audire. Nemo enim vigilantius ignem colebat, nemo diligentius thesaurum lignique fomitisque implebat. Ardor ignis non solum corpus sed etiam animam refovit. Salus erat mea, et rogus istius galliae, ut credideram.
Flammis noctivigilis lentule assuefactus sum. Sonos exiguos in tenebris audiebam. Adest ! semper obsidiatur ne uno momento criminis obliviscerer. In summa turre potestatem nullam habebat, at in eius centro, in scalis quae ad thesaurum descendabant, ubique in umbris, minimis in rimis inter lateres sese celabat, susurrans, ridens, increpans.
Menses dilapsi sunt et anni. Non desiit in me e tenebris quibusvis irruere, et omnem impetum face et lychno repugnavi. Alii custodes me pro vesano habebant ; odium tenebrarum idem ac terrorem certe cognoverant, et nonnumquam me cum nemine (ut crederent) rixantem auscultaverant. Ita cum nuntius advenisset, qui mihi novum iussum ferret, suspicatus sum commilitiones eum arcessiverant. Nullius fuit momenti — praefectus Britanniae sua in provincia pharum aedificavit, et diligentia me ad custodiam commendaverat. Nuntio accepto statim ad portum profectus sum.
Infeliciter tempestatis causa brumalis tres dies in mansione demoratus sum dum procella saeviit. Tam obscurae noctes quam tenebrosa mihi cellula, et caupo mihi secundam lucernam recusavit. Haudquaquam scilicet dormivi.
Quarto die tempestatis vis omnis cecidit ut navicularius arbitraretur tempus idoneum ad navigandum esse. Mature vela dedit, et deis volentibus, ut dixit, portum Dubris ad vesperem attigeremus. Attamen paucas post horas ventus crescebat, undae assurgebant, quae navem a litore brittaniae depellerent. Valide nautae procella luctabantur, dum vesper appropinquavit et caliginosae nocti cessit. Pharum, spem ultimam, semper recedentem intuebamur, et magis flammas eius quam deos precabar.
Immanis unda navem cepit, saxis illisit. Nave confracta turbulento in fluxu imersus sum. Tabulas arripere conatus sum — frustra. Pondus saguli madidati me ad profunda traxit. Speravi me gurgitibus hauriri anteaquam corpus ad saxa aspera impelleret. Animo linquens manus sentivi me capere.
Obscurissima in nocte resupinus in harenis ad me redii. Aliquis mihi pectus verberabat, aquam e pulmonibus eluctans. Semianimis hic iacebam, donec potebam sine tussibus loqui.
— Quis me conservavit ?
— Vero, inquit vox gallica, nescis ? Me laedis.
— Quin me demersisti ?
Risit et iuxta me decubuit. Faciem mihi digiti molles tabo oblinabat, et labra cadaverosa aurem titillabat cum me responsisset.
— Nolo te necare. Aerumna tua me delectat.
Lighthouse
Rain is pounding against the shutters and the howling wind is blowing in through the cracks, trying to extinguish the lamps with its clutching fingers. I shudder briefly as the flames waver, but in my little room there are ten lamps burning — they can’t all go out at once. And besides, she doesn’t control the winds — how ridiculous is my fear. Nevertheless, I shall move two of the lamps. One must always be careful.
Once nothing scared me, especially not darkness. And I must confess it is not the darkness itself I fear, rather it is she who ever lies in wait within it, so that every dim chamber, every moonless night, every deep shadow makes me shudder. The feeblest illumination puts her to flight, but in the winter when I must sleep by day in my chamber with the shutters closed lest the rain and the cold bring on a fever; then it is the darkness threatens. By night, though, I tend the lighthouse, which, before the great flames, I adjudge safer than all the temples of the gods. But let me tell the story from the beginning.
I was a centurion when my legion set forth from Italy into Gaul. We made our journey to the north, and set up our winter quarters not far from the town of Gesoriacum. The Gauls, mostly Morini and Atrebates, were generally peaceful and accustomed to Roman soldiers, so that we expected a tranquil winter. But then rumours of rebellion began to fly through the camp. The Gauls themselves complained of their ills to the quaestor, and in the end he ordered our commander to put down this fearsome insurrection. The commander, sensing the quaestors irony, nevertheless ordered me to collect a band of twenty troops from out of the auxiliaries and eradicate the brigands.
We easily uncovered their hiding-place, and in a brief battle all of them were either killed or fled, and not a single one of us were gravely injured. How great a rebellion! We did not pursue those who’d escaped; those cowardly runaways would not take up arms again. But their leader was not present. His crime at least merited punishment. He eluded me for two months until I caught him in a rude hut in the forest.
The leader of the bandits was nothing but a frightened young lad, whom I’d have easily taken captured were it not for his sister. The young lady exhorted her brother to arms, thrusting the sword towards him. But fearfully he refused, so that she, suddenly an amazon, wielded the heavy sword and came at me herself. I parried her clumsy stroke, and in moments she lay upon the ground, blood flowing from her chest. Overcome with tears, her brother begged me to slay him. He rejected my refusals, and did not allow me to remove him from the place. I wanted nothing so much as to be done with this sad scene, so at length I took pity on the wretched boy and slew him. Alas, the sister yet lived, though her life was ebbing. Her burning eyes stared into me, and she cried out in the Gallic tongue. Even though I am ignorant of the language, I shuddered at her imprecation. I fled back to the safety of camp.
At first it I couldn't fall asleep at night. Shame at the deed and the memory of the hate-filled eyes of the dying girl estranged me from all repose. Finally, overcome with weariness, sleep bore me away, but dreams worse than my conscience were waiting. Thus followed several more nights; awake I prayed for sleep, dreaming I longed for daybreak. And I began to believe I was not alone in my tent. I heard – or imagined I could hear – mice scurrying hither and thither beneath my cot. In the morning I looked for holes in the tent, which I knew I’d not find. Nevertheless on the following night I put a bit of poisoned cheese on the floor, and watched it growing drier by the day. The unseen vermin persisted in their nocturnal movements. I ordered two soldiers to swap tents with me. The did not understand the order. I’m sure they laughed about it in secret, if they didn’t think me entirely mad, but they did obediently hand over their tent to me. Alas, it was no need of asking them if they slept well in it, for the sounds followed me. I resigned myself to troubled sleep.
Winter was raging, and brought darker days. The moon shone but rarely in the overcast sky. The noises in the darkness of my tent grew ever greater. At length I thought I could hear a voice — at first just indistinct whispers, then words in Gallic or in barbarous Latin. The invisible mice climbed up onto the cot and jumped across my body. Like the voices, which I could hear even though I stopped up my ears, I could feel the mice’s footsteps through five blankets, though wrapped up in them like a shroud. Finally I tried lying down in my armour. The voice as always was babbling, but I couldn’t feel the mice through it. Victorious, I fell asleep. Then suddenly there was motion under the blankets. A woman’s body slid in beside me. I felt the softness of her chest on my upper arm, and the sweetest odour of perfume reached my nose — then I perceived a warm wetness and the coppery smell of blood.
Unnerved, I flew from the tent out into the snow. Watchmen bearing torches ran to my aid. I haltingly told them that someone was within. Their torches revealed only emptiness. They hurriedly summoned the camp surgeon, who pronounced me ill with fever, lest he shame me — or the legion.
I spent a few days under the ministrations of a slave whilst I convalesced. He stood watch over me in my tent at night until the illness departed, that is, until I learnt to keep myself under control. I slept well in the light of his lamp. The slave also slept well on a few occasions — but I did not divulge his secret to anyone. The surgeon finally pronounced me cured so that I could resume my duties. For eight days I was freed of all fears. And then on a moonless night, in the darkness surrounding my cot, the harsh voice began babbling once again. The ghost returned each and every night. She whispered in my ears, prodded me with unyielding fingers, tickled and scratched. She sat atop my chest, or on my feet, wet with invisible blood. She bit my face and licked it, or lay beside me motionless for hours, talking without pause. How heavy was her body, which my hands could never touch. She was wherever she wanted to be, and never to be found elsewhere.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I entreated the commander to assign me to the night watch, and for long-standing friendship’s sake, he did not refuse. And so walking a circuit of the walls with a blazing torch I was able to escape the rougher ministrations of my ghost. But in the nocturnal silence, when no wind blew, from the deepest shadows I yet could hear her Gaulish voice calling me, rebuking me, cursing me. I soon learnt to put her to flight; if I rushed at the darkness with my brand, the ghost would vanish. Truly she hated the light, perhaps feared it. I had found a remedy.
But the victory was uncertain. The more I hunted her with light, the more she appeared in the darkness, so in the end I hurried from one shadow to the next for the whole of my watch. Rumours flew through the camp. I had to get away. I applied to the commander for one last favour. Now, there was a lighthouse on a cliff above the port of Gesoriacum. It was here I asked to be assigned. He sent me off at once, whether out of friendship or frustration I know not, nor do I care. At the top of the lighthouse, in the perpetual nocturnal conflagration, I knew peace. The ghost did not dare approach the enormous flames, nor could I hear her voice above the crackling of the burning wood. At last I’d found solace in this refuge. No one more vigilantly tended the fire, nor more diligently kept the storehouse filled with timber and fuel. The heat of the fire revived not only my body but my spirit. It was both my salvation, and the funeral pyre of that little Gaul, or so I believed.
I soon became used to the night-watching flames. I began to hear the softest sounds in the darkness. She was there! ever lurking lest I forget my crime for a single moment. She had no power atop the lighthouse, but in its centre, in the steps leading down to the storehouse, she was everywhere in the shadows, hiding in the smallest cracks between the bricks, whispering, laughing, screeching.
Months flew by and years. She did not cease her attacks from the shadows, and I repelled every assault with torch and lamp. The other guardians took me for a madman; my hatred and terror of the darkness they had certainly marked, and sometimes heard me quarrelling with no one (as they thought). And so when the messenger arrived bearing my new orders, I suspected that my fellows may have summoned him themselves. But it was no matter — the prefect of Britannia had a lighthouse built in his province, and my diligence recommended me for the position of keeper. Having received the message I made for the port at once.
Unfortunately, due to a winter storm, I had to spend three days in an inn whilst the tempest raged. The nights were as obscure as my little room was dark, and the innkeeper refused me a second lamp. I of course got no sleep.
On the fourth day the storm had subsided, and the ship’s captain thought the time right to leave. We set sail early, and should the gods be willing, as he said, we’d reach the port of Dubris by evening. After a few hours, however, a wind arose and the waves surged, keeping the ship from the shore of Britannia. The sailors wrestled valiantly with the storm whilst evening came and gave way to black night. The lighthouse, out ultimate hope, we watched ever receding, and I prayed more to its flames than to the gods.
An immense wave seized the ship and dashed it against the rocks. I clutched at the wreckage in vain. The weight of my sodden cloak drew me down into the depths. I hoped that the abyss would drown me ere it propelled my body into the sharp rocks. I was losing consciousness when I felt hands grabbing me.
In the darkest night I came to my senses, laying on my back in the sand. Someone was beating upon my chest to force the water from my lungs. I lay there, half-dead, until I could speak without coughing.
“Who has saved me?”
“Truly,” said a Gallic voice, you don’t know? You hurt my feelings.”
“Why didn’t you drown me?”
She laughed and lay down beside me. She smeared stinking gore over my face with soft fingers, and her cadaverous lips tickled my ear as she gave me her response.
“I don’t want to kill you. Your suffering delights me.”
