by Randy Singer
She met him on the banks of the Tiber. She fell into his arms as if she hadn’t seen him in years.
“Want to know what our new emperor did today?” she asked Mansuetus.
He answered with a kiss and she leaned into it, pressing her body against his. By the time their lips separated the first time, she had forgotten all about the question.
CHAPTER 44
Caligula had a style all his own, and Flavia wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. She had never imagined an emperor could be so popular with the Roman people. And why not? He passed out money. He paid for a hundred straight days of entertainment. He traveled to the island of Capri and retrieved the remains of his mother and brother, bringing them back to Rome to be placed in the mausoleum of Augustus. There were speeches made and laurel wreaths given, and the remains of his family were laid to rest with dignity.
The Roman nobles privately criticized the young emperor’s public behavior, but the masses loved it. Caligula sat in the front row of the theater and became a vocal critic. At the conclusion of a play he would stand and cheer or shout insults at the actors if he didn’t like their performances. Many times the other spectators would follow suit, even if they sometimes disagreed.
But the theater wasn’t Caligula’s first love. That was reserved for the chariot races. At the Circus Maximus, Tiberius and Sejanus had been impartial observers. It was a serious breach of etiquette for anyone in the imperial box to favor one team over the other. Caligula changed all that. He not only cheered his team on but insisted that the riders stop by the imperial box so he could give them pointers. He cursed when his team lost and claimed the manager didn’t know what he was doing. Once he went from the races straight to the stable and lectured the trainer.
As a Vestal, Flavia had ample opportunity to see a side of the emperor the general public did not. He liked to ridicule his servants, especially a young commander of the Praetorian Guard named Chaerea. Though an experienced soldier, the commander was pudgy and light-skinned, and his voice was an octave higher than one might expect. Caligula told people that Chaerea would make a fine wife for someone. Whenever Chaerea served as Caligula’s main bodyguard, the emperor made up embarrassing passwords that Chaerea had to use when giving orders to the other soldiers.
What’s more, Caligula was full of vulgar stories that he insisted on telling in front of the Vestals. Flavia did her best to ignore them. Adrianna took the opposite approach and tried to ingratiate herself with the emperor by laughing along.
Despite Flavia’s refusal to laugh at the emperor’s lascivious humor, she became one of his favorites. He invited her to sit next to him at the theater, chariot races, and gladiator contests, and she reluctantly accepted. Occasionally Caligula would stop by the House of Vestal and ask Flavia to go for a walk. He even sought her advice on policy matters of great importance, something that Sejanus and Tiberius would never have dreamed of doing. Which was why it didn’t strike Flavia as entirely out of the ordinary when she received an invitation from Caligula, exactly six months after he became emperor, to join him for dinner.
She arrived at the palace in her usual grand style, preceded by lictors and carried in a litter by slaves. She had dressed in the traditional style of a Vestal Virgin—spotless white robe, hair braided, makeup perfectly applied. She had expected to attend an elaborate dinner in the grand dining hall of the palace with Caligula and hundreds of other honorary guests. Instead, he escorted her, followed by a few slaves, down the winding halls of the palace, through the underground tunnel, and into the imperial box of the Circus Maximus.
It was the fourth day of September, and the night air was cool and crisp. The Circus Maximus was empty, the racetrack lit by torches, and the imperial box had been transformed into a luxurious dining room.
There were two couches on which to repose—one for her and the other for Caligula. He had brought in marble statues of the Roman gods from the palace. Silver dining utensils lined the table, and he poured wine into ornately carved cups produced by the new Roman glass industry in the southern half of the city. The mythological images depicted on the cups celebrated Bacchus, the god of wine, along with maenads dancing around him.
The food arrived in well-planned courses and included pheasant, raw oysters, lobster, venison, and peacock. Musicians stood in the back of the box and played flutes. Just before the main course, Caligula stood and recited Greek poetry.
For Flavia, the entire affair was both bizarre and a bit overwhelming. She had heard about Caligula’s lavish banquets, each upstaging the last, but she had never dreamed she would be experiencing one firsthand for just her and the emperor.
This banquet was such a departure from tradition that it made her extremely uncomfortable. Flavia was a Vestal Virgin, committed to serving the people of Rome. Yes, she would sneak away to the Tiber and spend nights with Mansuetus. But nobody knew about that. Tonight, in front of a dozen or more servants, she was having a private meal with the emperor of Rome. Everything about this was wrong. It would soon be the talk of the city. But to whom could she complain?
No one. So she politely listened as Caligula talked about himself and stared at her. He was trying so hard to impress that it was painfully awkward.
When they finished the last course and Flavia thought she might escape with her dignity intact, Caligula announced his idea for the grand finale. “I know that you love the chariot races as much as I do,” he said. “So tonight, I’ve prepared something special.”
He stood and held out his hand. Flavia took it, and he escorted her to the front of the imperial box, offering her the seat he normally sat in at the chariot races. He smiled. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared out the back of the box, and Flavia sat there for several minutes. Her attention was eventually drawn to the opposite end of the oval track, where she heard a commotion. The stable doors opened, and two enormous stallions emerged, dragging a chariot that seemed unsteady as it lumbered toward her. At first it was hard to see the driver in the dim light from the torches, but then her jaw dropped as she realized it was him.
Caligula was wearing the green sash of his favorite team and holding the reins of the chariot in a death grip. He looked unsure and awkward, stiff as a rod, with none of the fluidity she was used to seeing from the real chariot racers. He managed to bring the giant stallions to a stop in front of the box and peered up at Flavia, making no effort to conceal his pride.
He held out a hand. “Join me,” he said.
Flavia stood and moved to the edge of the box. The horses pawed at the ground, anxious and skittish. Caligula looked like a man who had no idea what he was doing.
“Hurry up!” he said. “I can’t hold them forever.”
She knew she should just say no, but this was uncharted water. How do you tell the emperor of Rome that you don’t trust him to drive a chariot?
She hitched up her robe and walked down the steps onto the arena floor. Caligula impatiently waved her over, and she kept an eye on the horses. Their enormous back and leg muscles rippled and looked twice as big up close as they did from the imperial box. When she got next to the chariot, Caligula told her to jump on behind him and put her arms around his waist.
“Why don’t I just watch from here?”
“We’re just going to take a few laps.”
“I’d really rather not.”
His face turned red. “One lap,” he insisted.
She started shaking her head. One of the horses reared up, almost knocking Caligula out of the chariot. He pulled on the reins. “Get on!”
Flavia took a deep breath and climbed up behind him, putting her arms around his waist. Her face was at the nape of his neck, and there was barely room for her feet in the small chariot.
Caligula wasted no time snapping the reins, and the well-trained horses took off, jerking the chariot forward. Flavia nearly fell out the back.
“Hold on!”
Flavia had watched the races for years, but she had
never been in the back of a chariot before. The arena floor was hard-packed sand that looked smooth from the imperial box but in reality contained a thousand bumps and ruts. The chariot bounced and swerved, and Flavia held on in desperation. Why had she ever agreed to climb on board?
Of course, the young emperor couldn’t resist showing off a little. At the opposite end of the track from where they had started, just as he prepared to round the obelisk and take the sharp corner, he snapped the reins again, and the horses picked up speed. Flavia knew they would never make it around the turn upright.
Sure enough, the angle was too sharp, and the horses pivoted at breakneck speed, whipping the chariot behind them. Before she could even think, the chariot was on its side, sending Caligula and her sprawling across the sand.
Like the real chariot racers, Caligula had wrapped the reins around his waist and was now entangled in them as the horses continued to run, dragging both him and the chariot halfway down the track before they finally came to a stop.
Flavia scrambled to her feet and ran to where Caligula was lying. She reached him at the same time as a couple of his slaves. She crouched over him while the slaves cut the reins loose and shooed the horses away.
His arm, shoulder, and knee were scraped and bleeding. He seemed stunned and a little out of it.
“Are you hurt?” Flavia asked, gasping for air. She ignored the pain in her own shoulder and knee.
Caligula moved his arm and right leg. He brushed some of the sand off and stood with the help of his slaves. “Did we win?”
Flavia laughed, and her mothering instincts took over. She told him to sit down and wait until more slaves arrived with water and herbs to rinse out his wounds. When they did, she played the physician and gently washed away the sand and grit from the cuts while he winced and complained.
“Maybe you should remain focused on being emperor,” she said.
“Maybe you should remain focused on being a Vestal Virgin.”
They eventually made it back to the imperial box, where he insisted on one more glass of wine. He made the slaves leave when the wine was poured, and he offered a toast to himself as the world’s greatest chariot racer.
Flavia touched his wineglass with her own. She liked the man’s spirit but felt uneasy as he watched her drink.
When she placed her cup down, he rose and held out his hand. She took it and stood in front of him. He was looking at her, eyes half-closed, and she felt chills down her spine. He put a hand behind her shoulder and leaned in to give her a kiss.
She let him, only for a moment, and then pulled abruptly back.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice had gone from playful to threatening, his face darkening. He took a half step closer.
She placed her palms on his chest. “This has been a wonderful night,” she said, her own voice steely. “Let’s not ruin it.”
She saw the flash of anger in his eyes, and he pushed her hands to the side. He pulled her against him, but she wrestled free and stepped back. “Get your hands off me.”
He stood there for a long second, looking sideways at her. She thought for a minute that he might try to grab her and overpower her. She had heard the stories.
And she was ready to fight.
But he just looked her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. Then he stepped back and picked up his glass of wine. He took another sip and placed it carefully on the table. He dipped his finger in the cup and traced that finger along Flavia’s lips while she stiffened and gave him a hard stare.
“You know what I love?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I love the Festival of Fordicidia,” Caligula said. “The sacrifice of the pregnant heifer. You sitting under that platform waiting to be soaked in the blood of the sacrifice.”
As he talked, he picked up his cup of wine. He held it over her head and slowly poured it out. The wine soaked her hair and poured down her face. She wanted to lash out and slap him, but she held back. Why give him the satisfaction of any reaction? Instead, she wiped the wine away from her eyes and stared at him, her jaw fixed in defiance. If he touched her, if he tried to rape her, she would resist him with every ounce of her being.
But Caligula just laughed. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I think you know the way home.”
The next morning, Flavia heard the rumors from one of the other Vestals. Two of the best stallions on the green chariot-racing team had died during the night. It was believed they had been poisoned. Caligula himself had ordered a thorough investigation.
She shuddered when she heard the news. She looked up at the Palatine Hill and tried to convince herself that last night had never happened. For years she had prayed to the gods that the tyranny of Tiberius would end. That the maiestas trials would cease and this new ruler, the son of Germanicus, would take his place.
Yet now, only six months into the reign of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, Flavia longed for the days of Tiberius.
CHAPTER 45
The gods struck back with a vengeance, just as Flavia prayed they would. Less than a month later, the emperor fell sick. Rome’s best physicians were called to the palace. Sacrifices were offered to the gods day and night. The freedmen of Rome surrounded the Palatine Hill each night waiting for news, observing a solemn candlelight vigil.
The entire palace seemed to be under quarantine. There were no details given on Caligula’s condition. Some believed the emperor was already dead. Flavia followed the intrigue closely as senators schemed and Macro decided to take matters into his own hands.
Gemellus, the other grandson of Tiberius Caesar, was the logical choice to follow Caligula. Macro let the senators know he would support the accession of Gemellus.
A day later, news leaked from the Palatine Hill and fluttered around the temple of Vesta. On his sickbed, Caligula had named his favorite sister, Drusilla, to inherit the imperial property and throne. When the people heard this, they rallied to the side of their fallen emperor. Whatever Caligula wanted, the people wanted as well.
Flavia watched from a distance as the senators tried to read the winds. Would the emperor recover? Did they dare cross Macro and the Praetorian Guards? Which way should they jump?
Flavia had already made up her mind. Every night she prayed to Tellus, god of earth, and Apollo, god of both disease and healing, that Caligula might die. Perhaps Gemellus was not fit to be emperor, but anybody was better than Caligula and his arrogant sister Drusilla.
But it was not to be. One night Flavia heard Adrianna burst through the door and announce that Caligula had recovered.
“He came out to the balcony and spoke to the people!” she shouted. “He threw coins into the crowd and watched them scramble for the money. The emperor is back!”
Caligula wasted no time putting things in order. He dispatched a military tribune to the island of Capri and forced Gemellus to commit suicide. He appointed Macro as prefect of Egypt and sent him away.
In the days after the sickness, when Flavia was with the emperor at public ceremonies, she detected a look of madness in his eyes. His actions became even more impulsive and obsessive.
He fell in love with a woman named Livia Orestilla. But there was a small problem. She was already engaged to a senator named Gaius Calpurnius Piso. This didn’t stop Caligula. He abducted her from her own wedding ceremony and forced her to marry him that same day. A few months later, he obtained a divorce.
When his sister Drusilla died unexpectedly, Caligula retreated to the country and let his beard and hair grow in grief. He required the Senate to pass a resolution making Drusilla a goddess so that she could join the ranks of Julius Caesar and Augustus.
After a month of mourning, Caligula shaved, returned to Rome, and scheduled a speech in the Senate. In a thirty-minute diatribe, he criticized the senators for the way they had treated Tiberius after his death.
The great Senate hall fell silent as the emperor dressed them down. He pulled out documents from the mai
estas trials—documents he had supposedly destroyed—and quoted statements the senators had made. He reminded them of their votes to condemn their colleagues for saying anything against Tiberius and then contrasted those votes with their votes to condemn Tiberius after he died. He told the senators that no emperor could trust them and that the treason trials would be resumed immediately. He walked out of the stunned hall, and the consul in charge declared a recess.
The next day, the Senate reconvened and passed resolutions bestowing lavish praise on Caligula as a sincere and pious ruler. They voted to offer annual sacrifices on the anniversary of his speech. They did exactly what Caligula had accused them of doing—flattered a man they would rather see dead.
But the emperor was not done humiliating the Senate. He held a grand banquet at his house and invited all of the high-ranking senators. When they had finished dining, Caligula said that he had an honored guest he wanted them to meet. He had his stable hand bring in his favorite racehorse, and he toasted the horse with golden goblets. He told the senators that he planned to appoint the horse as one of the two consuls in charge of the Senate and asked if there were any objections.
The hall was silent. “Are there any objections?” Caligula asked a second time.
None of the senators said a word.
Caligula laughed.
A few months later, he ended the preferred seating at the theater and at the games so the aristocrats would have to fight with everyone else for the open seats. He invited senators to lavish banquets so he could humiliate them. Instead of the traditional kiss on both cheeks, he offered them his foot and made them bow down to kiss it.
He declared himself a god and constructed a temple in his own honor. Real and imagined conspiracies against Caligula were harshly punished. The maiestas trials took on new life as the senators turned on each other with a viciousness not seen since the last days of Tiberius Caesar.
