Vestal Virgin: Suspense in Ancient Rome Read online

  And her silence.

  The streets of Rome were always lively, but during Meditrinalia people from the countryside poured into the city and city residents flooded out of doors—feasting, dancing, drinking. The revelry continued through the night, until it reached a frenzied peak, and finally fizzled out by dawn.

  Whichever way Elissa turned she was met with bawdy songs and raucous dancing. Gambling was forbidden, except at festivals, and on every corner people rolled knucklebones and placed bets. Fighting her way through the mob, she crossed the Via Sacra and walked toward the Regia. The horse’s head, from that morning’s race, was mounted on the wall, proof that the aristocrats had won the competition. Flies buzzed around congealing blood. She hurried past.

  Someone tugged at her stola. Afraid she’d been recognized she prepared an explanation and turned to see a boy disappearing in the crowd. She felt for her money pouch. Gone. Wanting to avoid a scene, she hurried on. But without money to hire a litter, she’d have to walk. She massaged her forehead, felt a headache coming on.

  Smoke billowed from an alleyway, and the greasy smell of burning flesh made her stomach turn. Rome was prone to fires, and fire laws were strict, but during festivals people ignored regulations. Braziers were set out in the street and slabs of spiced mutton, beef, and pork roasted over open flames, reminding her of funeral pyres.

  The throbbing in her temples became a splitting ache.

  A band of bodyguards marched down the center of the street, forcing pedestrians into the gutter. Pressed against the wall, Elissa watched a litter pass, slaves groaning under the weight.

  Usually, she didn’t notice the disparity between rich and poor, but lacking means to ride gave her a new perspective. Head bent, as she trudged along the road leading to the Esquiline, she considered what it must be like to live in poverty, to starve while others feasted, to perform back-breaking labor for a pittance, to suffer illness until life’s drudgery became impossible. By the time she reached her father’s domus pain pressed deep into her skull.

  The day was warm for mid-October. She longed to rest beneath a cedar tree, breathe the scent of pine. Wearily, she climbed the steps, lifted the bronze knocker. Before it fell, the door opened.

  Cerberus leapt through the entryway, jumping up to lick her face.

  “Down, boy,” she scolded, but she returned the Mastiff’s kisses.

  “Thank the gods you’ve come,” Spurius said. The old slave slumped against the doorframe. “Your father is close to dead.”

  CHAPTER XII

  Elissa stood in the doorway of her father’s bedchamber. Honoratus lay on his sleeping couch, eyes closed and barely breathing. She expected him to push aside the coverlet, abandon his bed and reprimand his family for making such a fuss. “Open the shutters!” he would say. “A man needs to breathe.”

  But he didn’t stir.

  She might call her father tenacious, proud to the point of arrogance, bullheaded, but never, until now, would she have called him frail.

  Constantina sat beside him. “Come, daughter, sit with us,” she said, her voice weary. Her eyes, once green as Flavia’s, appeared clouded. Flavia knelt beside the bed. She seemed to be praying—though Elissa never knew her sister to be pious. Her hair, half loosened from the bone pins securing it in place, fell in pale gold tendrils around her shoulders.

  Elissa bent to kiss her mother.

  Constantina’s hands fluttered in her lap. She clasped them together as if preventing them from taking flight. “Did Justinus send for you?”

  “No,” Elissa answered quickly, her heart jumping at his name. “I came on my own. I need to speak with Pater.”

  Flavia looked up, her face expectant.

  “You have something to say?” Elissa asked her.

  Flavia shook her head.

  “Out of respect for your father, your sister has taken a vow of silence,” Constantina said. “She was with him when he fell ill. One minute he was fine and the next—”

  “What upset him?”

  Flavia shook her head so violently the remainder of her hair came undone. She bowed her head and escaped Elissa’s scrutiny.

  Elissa had no doubt her sister’s silence served a purpose.

  Constantina sighed. “Pray that Justinus returns soon.”

  “Justinus is coming here?” Elissa asked, trying to control her racing heart.

  “With Doctor Karpos,” Constantina said. She poured water from an earthen ewer into an alabaster bowl then sprinkled in a handful of white powder.

  “Feverfew?” Elissa asked. She often used the flowers as a remedy for pain.

  “The last from my garden.”

  “May I have some?” Elissa placed the bitter herb on her tongue, and hoped it would ease her headache.

  Constantina dipped a linen cloth into the bowl and gently placed the compress on her husband’s forehead. “Your sister lacks your interest in cultivating herbs.”

  “The interests she cultivates lie elsewhere.” Flavia squirmed under Elissa’s gaze. “You’ll have to break your vow of silence soon,” Elissa said. “Doctor Karpos will want to ask you questions.”

  “About what?” Flavia clamped her hand over her mouth, then shrugged. “Pater hates physicians. He says first they drain your veins, and then they bleed your purse.”

  Honoratus moaned, restless in his sleep.

  Elissa straightened his coverlet, smoothing the soft wool. Then she saw it—a sheet of papyrus of the finest quality lay on the floor, half hidden by bed linens. She recognized the broken seal.

  Flavia snatched the letter as Elissa reached for it. “I’ll fetch fresh water,” she said and hurried from the chamber.

  Elissa followed her out into the atrium. Sun streamed through the open ceiling, and birds chirped by the fountain. A cat, startled from its nap, stretched and yawned.

  “Give me that invitation,” Elissa said.

  “What makes you think it’s an invitation?”

  Elissa held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  “It’s not yours. It’s addressed to Pater.”

  “You read it, didn’t you?”

  “What if I did?”

  “What does it say?”

  Flavia edged toward the fountain. “That’s not your concern.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m concerned about you, concerned about our family.”

  “Hah! You left this family years ago. You only care about your reputation.”

  Elissa grabbed for the papyrus, but Flavia moved faster. She ran to the fountain and tossed the missive into the water. It floated out of reach.

  Gathering her robes, Elissa hoisted herself onto the fountain’s rim, wondering what she might use to retrieve the papyrus. She was taken by surprise when her sister slammed into the back of her knees. Elissa tried to regain her balance, but her foot caught on her hem and she tumbled into the water. Gasping from cold and shock, she surfaced from the shallow pool—Flavia’s laughter ringing off the walls.

  The invitation, Elissa felt certain that’s what it was, drifted beneath the spewing fountain. Weighted by her skirts, she waded toward it. Ink ran down the page. All she could decipher was, “east of Meditri…the other words were washed away.

  east of Meditri, east of Meditri...the Meditrinalia feast!

  Water swirling at her hips, she turned to Flavia. Holding up the sodden papyrus, she said, “I was right.”

  Her sister’s eyes shone green and bright. She said, “I’ve been invited to the feast, and I intend to go.”

  “To be served as dessert?”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  Elissa studied her sister’s full lips, her budding breasts. Nero’s banquets were infamous, orgies of food where wine flowed freer than the Tiber and dining couches served as beds.

  A rush of footsteps made the sisters turn. Spurius and several other servants burst into the atrium. The old slave stopped, stared at Elissa—still standing in the fountain.

  “We heard shouting,” he said.
r />   “My sister went for a swim,” Flavia said, waving him away. “Bring towels.”

  Spurius clapped his hands, and the other servants hurried off. “I’ll ask the cook to heat mint tea,” he said, glancing from Elissa to Flavia before heading to the kitchen—no doubt to share the latest news.

  Ignoring her sister’s extended hand, Elissa climbed out of the fountain, water dripping, slippers squeaking. She wrung the hem of her robe, and rivulets ran across the mosaic floor.

  “I’ll lend you a dress,” Flavia offered.

  “Your best. You won’t need it for some time. Go to your chamber.” She pointed to the stairway. “Attempt to leave this house tonight, and by the gods, I’ll have you prosecuted for dishonoring a Priestess of Vesta.”

  “I hate you,” Flavia shouted as she ran from the atrium.

  Elissa’s shoulders sagged. She wanted to weep, but tears were not allowed a vestal virgin, not in public. And this house was no longer her home.

  Voices echoed through the foyer. A moment later, Justinus and Doctor Karpos appeared, heads bowed together in conversation. Upon seeing Elissa, their talking ceased. The wet robe clung to her body, making her feel naked.

  She clapped her hands, and called for the slaves.

  They came running with towels, hot drinks and honey.

  But not before Justinus had stripped her with his eyes.

  And she had done the same to him.

  * * * * *

  Doctor Karpos had attended the Roman Medical Academy and, though he was Greek and had once been a slave, he was now a well respected freedman.

  “Domina,” he addressed Constantina, “you must make a sacrifice to appease the gods. Something substantial.”

  Honoratus grunted, seemed to be waking.

  Lowering his voice, Doctor Karpos said, “Not just the usual fowls or pig, but three ewes for Jupiter and a bullock for Mars.”

  That woke Honoratus. “A bullock for Mars?” Through slits of eyes, he glared at the physician.

  “The gods are pleased at the suggestion.” Doctor Karpos said cheerfully. “Already, the patient is improving.”

  Elissa smiled. Her father’s frugality would rouse him from the dead.

  Honoratus struggled to sit, his breath ragged gasps.

  Elissa rearranged the cushions at his back. “Relax, Pater,” she coaxed him.

  “Relax?” He shot an angry look at the physician. “Who brought this charlatan into my house?”

  “Pater, calm yourself.”

  “A bullock for Mars!”

  “Perhaps a goat will do,” Constantina offered.

  “For the gods’ sake, Pater,” Elissa touched her father’s hand. “I’ll provide the bullock, two bullocks if necessary.”

  “Waste. Women shouldn’t handle money.”

  “Two bullocks will ensure complete recovery,” Dr. Karpos said.

  “Then it’s settled.” Elissa squeezed her father’s hand. Unlike most women, vestals controlled their own finances and Honoratus held no sway. Defeated, he shook his head.

  “I must speak with you, Pater”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Doctor Karpos said. “Right now your father requires rest.”

  “But this is important. It concerns Flavia—”

  “Not now,” said Constantina.

  Elissa had no desire to defy her mother, but she felt compelled to speak. If not now, then when? An invitation to the imperial palace would turn the head of any girl, especially a girl as foolish and naive as Flavia. Had she already forgotten her brother’s death?

  Honoratus spat into a cup and Doctor Karpos peered at the resulting phlegm. He measured the patient’s pulse. Muttering in Greek, he prepared a tincture of fennel root, mustard seed and leaves of rosemary. He presented the physic to Constantina.

  “To be dissolved in water and administered three times a day,” he instructed her.

  “This so-called physician poisons me,” Honoratus grumbled.

  Constantina escorted Doctor Karpos from the room.

  “Pater,” Elissa glanced toward the doorway, making sure they were gone. “We must discuss Flavia.”

  “I’m tired,” Honoratus said. And, with that, he closed his eyes.

  * * * * *

  Justinus had been waiting in the atrium for over an hour. The drip of the water-clock told him time was passing, but he would wait till nightfall, if necessary, to see Elissa. He glanced toward the tablinum hoping she’d appear.

  The water-clock continued dripping.

  He threw a pebble into the fountain, watched it sink. He lost the stone among the mosaic at the bottom of the pool, and then found it—at rest on Neptune’s nose. Carp flashed across the sea-god’s beard, darted past his trident and disappeared among a mermaid’s tresses.

  “You must deliver this message in person,” Elissa’s voice issued from the library. “I can’t chance writing. Do you understand?”

  The curtain opened, revealing a heavy desk and a wall of cubbyholes crammed with scrolls. Honoratus was an educated man, and he housed an impressive library. He’d taught not only his son, but his daughters, to read and write. Elissa appeared in the doorway, followed by Spurius.

  She carried the clothing she had been wearing earlier and now wore a fine stola, a deep rose color that complemented her jet hair.

  “Answer me, Spurius. Do you understand?”

  The old slave seemed disgruntled. Frowning, he said, “Your father won’t approve of lying to the princeps.”

  “It’s not a lie. Flavia is to be betrothed. In the meantime, I want her watched. Under no circumstance may she leave this house tonight.” Elissa came to a halt, her cheeks turning the color of her robe, when she saw Justinus. “I thought you’d left,” she said.

  “Your sister is betrothed?” Justinus watched with fascination as Elissa’s face flushed redder.

  “Not really, but—she will be soon.”

  “Will you be staying for the midday meal?” Spurious asked.

  “No,” Elissa answered, before Justinus could say yes.

  “In that case,” Justinus said, “allow me to escort you back to the House of Vestals.”

  “As you wish.” She withdrew a ragged palla from her bundle, threw the shawl over her head and wrapped it around her shoulders, destroying the lovely robe’s effect. “All right,” she said, “I’m ready.”

  They followed Spurius, keys jangling at his waist, through the vestibule and into the foyer.

  Elissa turned to the slave and said, “Don’t forget.”

  Spurius nodded, half-heartedly. “Flavia Rubria Honoratus has been betrothed,” he recited, his nose turning crimson at the lie.

  “That’s right,” Elissa said. “Consequently, she is unable to attend the feast. Remember?”

  “Yes, mistress.” The slave looked as if he’d swallowed rotten fish.

  He peered through the peephole, before opening the front door.

  Cerberus lay at the bottom of the steps soaking up the heat. He raised his head, hoping to be petted. Spurius called the dog inside and closed the door on Elissa, with unnecessary force.

  Justinus squinted at the sun, just past its zenith. He wandered toward the garden. The flowers had begun to fade. Roses lined the path, their petals open to the point of dropping, and yet they retained their fragrance.

  Elissa seemed preoccupied.

  “It’s a fine day,” Justinus said. “Let’s walk along the riverbank and enjoy the Meditrinalia festivities.”

  “I’ve had a change of plans.” Elissa drew her palla tight around her shoulders. Despite the afternoon’s warmth, she shivered. “I want to pay a visit to the Domus Transitoria. I can’t rely on Spurius.”

  “To inform the princeps that your sister intends to marry? Even if that weren’t a lie, why would Nero care?”

  Lines formed between Elissa’s eyebrows. “He’s invited Flavia to the feast tonight.”

  “Surely your parents won’t allow her—”

  “Of course not. But, my parents
are preoccupied and, on my family’s behalf, I must speak to him.”

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know!”

  They stood closer than they had for years. Justinus breathed in her scent, a crisp perfume of rosemary and olive soap. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with her in this garden. She’d been nine, and he fourteen. He’d found her cowering behind a statue of Venus, tears running down her face. When he asked her what was wrong, she only shook her head. Soon after that day, the family announced she’d been chosen as a vestal virgin.

  “We’re still playing hide and seek,” he said.

  “Are we?”

  “Have you read the book of poetry I gave you?”

  “A little.” She bent to smell a rose.

  “ ‘Once suns of gold shone bright for you’,” he quoted Catullus, “ ‘and you wandered only where you pleased, more beloved than any girl—’ ”

  “Don’t.”

  Justinus studied her face, the face he adored—powerful and strangely beautiful—her eyes, dark and intense, the high forehead denoting intelligence. Her lips, usually set in a determined line, quivered.

  “I feel his death as much as you, Elissa.”

  “Marcus loved roses.” She snapped off the head of a flower and one-by-one plucked off the petals. “Nero wants me to play Cleopatra to his Antony.”

  “What?”

  “He wants to bed me.”

  Justinus grabbed her wrists, squeezing so hard she dropped the savaged flower.

  “You forget yourself,” she said. “No one is allowed to touch a vestal virgin—except Nero, apparently.”

  “Is that why you want to see him?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Then why?”

  “I’d like to stab him in the heart, hold a pillow to his face, feed him tainted mushrooms as his mother did Claudius.”

  “Elissa, don’t—”

  “I’d like to see him dead.”

  Justinus released her wrists. The years had changed not only him, but her. Perhaps not for the better. “Take care, Elissa. You sound as cruel as Nero.”