Allan Massie: Augustus

Gapes wide, both night and day…" and proceeds to tell him, that in order to enter the Underworld he must first pluck the Golden Bough from the tree which is sacred to the Juno of the Lower Depths, since Proserpina has decreed that this must be presented to her as a votive offering. Now Avernus is identified by the priestly scholars as being on the shores of the Lake of Aricia or Nemi, and the sacred tree is to be found within the sanctuary of Diana there.

'And so, prompted by piety and curiosity, I made an expedition thither, being carried over the hill from Aricia.

'It was a pale autumn day, being that succeeding the October Ides and so some two months past Diana's Festival, when her groves are brilliant with a multitude of torches, and from the brow of the hill the lake gloomed stagnant-black, swallowing up the light of the sky. Our early passage was beset and disturbed by hordes of deformed beggars who infest the Arician slopes importuning pilgrims for alms. These are those Manii notorious in these parts. Their misery and the degeneracy of their features pained and disgusted me. Then we moved beyond them into the shade of the trees which had not yet parted with their leaves, and the lake was out of sight. We descended the hillside by a winding track in an intense silence. There was no bird-song and no wind rustled the branches. Even the panting and straining of my bearers seemed an offence. Oaks and chestnuts enfolded us. Once a milk-white hart bounded across the path and once the bronze-grey back of a boar crashed through the undergrowth; but there was no other sign of life in the deep forest.

'As we approached the level of the lake a wailing rose to our ears and we found ourselves in a little clearing before a rude temple. I ordered the bearers to halt and sent Maco* to summon * My personal bodyguard, the grandson of that Maco who had joined me at Brindisi. those within the temple. The wailing gave way to a snarl and a yelp and he emerged driving three women before him. Two were very old, the third a girl who had not yet attained the age of puberty. All wore black garments torn in several places, as with knife slashes. I questioned them as to which deity they served, but they replied in a babble and a dialect or antique tongue which I could not understand. I called forth the countryman who acted as our guide and he advanced with the reluctance he had shown all day.

'"Come my man," I said, "you can hardly be frightened of two crones and a little girl."

'My mockery failed to brace him. After muttering to the women, he told me that in his view they were witches. '"But what do they say themselves?" "That they worship the spirits of the dead." 'And the old women gave vent to wild laughter.

'"They say this lake is the gateway to the abode of the dead and that therefore Diana the huntress is served by a dead priest."

' "But the priest is a living man, a runaway slave and murderer, but no corpse or ghost."

' "Whoever has murdered has entered the realm of the dead and given himself in the service of the Gods of the nether world," was the reply.

'At this moment the little girl tore her rags apart and threw herself to the ground, arching her back over a fallen tree and offering herself. I told the bearers to cover her with a cloak, and give money to the old women because it seemed prudent to do so.

'The path twisted round the fringes of the lake from which emanated a foul and putrid odour. The bearers stumbled and swore and rocked my litter horribly, and I knew that they were eager to tum back, being infected with the fear of the place. But I felt a pricking of excitement which I knew betokened some revelation.

'Then the track widened, and a meadow stretched before us, covered with little white flowers that had a pungent smell. Though the afternoon sun still shone there was no joy in that place, but an uncanny stillness.

'We crossed the meadow, followed an avenue of trees and saw the grove open before us. It nestled by the lakeside under precipitous cliffs. In one corner stood a round temple, where a holy fire is maintained in honour of Diana in her vestal capacity. The sun had now dropped in the sky and gleamed redly through the trees, so that the leaves, already changing colour, were lit up as if by many thousands of fires. We halted. I disembarked from the litter, stiffly, feeling my rheumatism. The rustic directed my attention with quivering finger to the far corner of the grove where the sacred tree stood alone… Its branches shone with a deep red-gold, but I could not tell whether this was caused by the setting sun.

'Then a figure emerged from the shadows; grim, with lank grey hair, lean but big-boned, wearing a yellow shift. He carried a naked sword in his left hand. When he saw us he halted, and then backed against the tree. I advanced towards him, and he barked out a challenge. I held out my hands, spread wide, to show I was unarmed. 'I told him I came in peace.

'"Who are you?" His voice creaked as if with disuse, and he spoke in a way that suggested both fear and anger.

"They call me Augustus. I am no runaway slave, but one come to do honour to Diana, and talk to her priest."

'"Stand away," he said. "This tree is sacred, and must not be approached. Who bears its bough commands entry to the world of Death."

'"Are you a Gaul?" I said, for his accent suggested he came from that province. 'He shook his head, as if uncomprehending. '"How long have you served the Goddess?"

'"Many years. Look," he pulled at his shift, "three times I have been challenged, three times wounded, three times sent my challengers to prepare the way for me below." '"Do you accept gifts?" I asked. 'He shook his head. '"How do you live?" 'He gestured towards the temple and I concluded that the priestesses there prepared food for him and laid it out for him to snatch in the few easy moments of his restless vigil.

'When I asked him how he slept a cunning look crossed his face and again he shook his head, as if I was seeking information which could destroy him.

'I asked him why he had undertaken so cruel and dangerous a post, where every instant he must fear for his life, and in which he could find no comfort.

'"I serve the Goddess and do as she commands. She is a jealous Goddess and would punish me had I declined her call." '"But what do you hope for?" I said.

'He gestured towards the black waters across which lay a single deep-red streak. Then the moon rose behind me and lay on the lake, and it seemed as if the waters opened to disclose a staircase of rough wet stone leading into what was no longer and could never perhaps be visible. The moment passed. The sun sank out of sight and the moon surged higher. The priest rested against the tree and his hand which had been raised to fondle the Golden Bough sank to his side…' And that is all. The account breaks off there, as if my emotion was too great to allow me to continue, or perhaps as if my understanding was so dimmed that I simply did not know what to say further. I cannot now, fifteen – no nearer twenty – years later, even be certain that I did see what I then recorded and that it was not some sort of dream. Dream, vision, revelation, illusion, shadowy representation of some ultimate reality – who is to say? Why, I ask myself in my puzzled decrepitude, was I so enchanted by the cult of Diana in that sacred wood? Was it just because of that use of myth by Virgil, of those few lines in 'The Aeneid'? Was it because, sensing as I have always done, that Virgil saw realities hidden from me, I felt a compulsion to seek evidence to which my senses could afford credence of the mysteries of the Divine? Was I seeking assurance of some future life, or hoping to find its denial?

I do not know. I have been an eminently practical man. My temperament is genial and social. I have put my trust in the visible world and the working of my reason. I have achieved more than I dreamed possible. And yet, something has been lacking.