The Advocate

by Randy Singer

  In all of this, Flavia kept a low profile, biding her time and staying out of the emperor’s way. It was not hard. There were plenty of things to distract Caligula. But there were certain events that brought them in unavoidably close contact—public ceremonies, festival sacrifices, and the games, where they both sat in the imperial box.

  Moreover, Caligula was still Pontifex Maximus, head of the House of Vestal, and he was entitled to select the new Vestal Virgins. Just the thought of him doing so knotted and twisted Flavia’s stomach with contempt.

  CHAPTER 46

  On the appointed day, Caligula arrived at the House of Vestal and greeted Flavia and the other Vestals with cold indifference. They were surrounded by hundreds of servants and the aristocratic families of a dozen young girls who had been chosen as finalists. In addition, Caligula would appoint the new matron of the house from among Flavia and five other women who had served as Vestals for the past twenty years. Today would set the course of the house for the next decade.

  After what had happened at the Circus Maximus, Flavia was certain she would not be the new matron.

  When Flavia first awoke that day, her mind had raced back twenty years to her own selection by Tiberius Caesar. It had been a day of overwhelming emotion for a nine-year-old. Pride at being selected. Shame at having her head shaved. Fear and sadness at being pulled away from her family at such a young age. Ten years later, when a new set of Vestals were selected, Flavia’s heart had gone out to the young girls. She could see the fear in their eyes when Tiberius had placed his hand on their heads and selected them. It was impossible to watch the scene and not relive the emotions she had felt at her own selection.

  Now, as she watched the young girls milling about, exquisitely dressed with their long hair elaborately braided, soaking in everything with big eyes and fearful looks, she felt her emotions rising to the surface all over again.

  Flavia had her eye on a girl named Rubria Corvus Sergia, who seemed to be the youngest candidate of the lot. She was thin as a rail with long dark hair and big brown eyes that took everything in. Her features were delicate and tiny, and her teeth seemed a size too big for her mouth. She was shorter by a few inches than the others, and Flavia could tell she was barely old enough to qualify.

  When she talked, Rubria was full of drama, and Flavia knew right away that Caligula would like her. Every sentence carried the joy and innocence of a six-year-old. She looked around the House of Vestal, asking questions and listening with great awe as Flavia and the others explained the statues and the garden and the eternal flame.

  There were no hard rules about how an emperor would make his selection, but Tiberius had kept it simple. He had asked the girls a number of questions and then made his choice based on looks and intellect. Flavia could remember the feeling of having the emperor silently walk in front of her and the others, looking them over. She remembered the questions he had asked and her nervous responses. Most of all, she remembered his smile when he placed his hand on her shoulder and called her amata, “my beloved.”

  Not surprisingly, Caligula adopted a different approach. He lined up the twelve finalists and had their parents stand behind them. He went down the line, leaning down and getting in their faces. He gave a running commentary as he evaluated them, and Flavia shot Calpurnia a look, as if the Vestal matron could somehow chastise the emperor and tell him that he was doing it wrong.

  “Your nose is too pudgy,” Caligula said to the second girl. Big tears formed in her eyes.

  “Your ears are too big. Maybe you’ll grow into them,” he told the next girl.

  The next one had crooked teeth, and when he pointed that out, the rest of the girls stopped smiling.

  “You laugh too much,” he told the next one.

  Flavia couldn’t take it anymore. She watched the girl’s shoulders slump and her lips tremble.

  “Sometimes we need a little levity in this house,” Flavia said. All eyes turned toward her, and the room held its collective breath. “And besides, none of us is perfect.”

  Least of all you, Flavia wanted to add.

  Caligula stared at her for a moment, the veins in his neck pulsing. “Perhaps if my predecessors had been more careful, perfection would not be such a distant goal,” he said.

  Flavia’s cheeks flushed. If she hadn’t been so angry, she might have laughed at the irony of the comment. Here he was with his spindly neck, close-set and buggy eyes, and round, oversized face, critiquing the looks of others! Flavia could think of a thousand insults to hurl at the emperor. If he wanted to trade barb for barb, she could show him who had the quicker wit.

  But she bit her tongue. You didn’t humiliate the most powerful man in all of Rome and live to talk about it.

  Satisfied that he’d had the last word, Caligula returned to his examination of the trembling little girls. “You need to eat more,” he said to Rubria.

  “That’s what my father says too,” she quickly responded.

  She was the first girl who had talked back, and it seemed to catch Caligula by surprise. He had already started to move on, but he turned his head back and smiled. “Then you need to listen to your father.”

  After he concluded his inspection, Caligula posed questions to the girls, testing their knowledge of politics, drama, art, history, and languages. After that, he had everyone follow him to the Imperial Palace and his private parade grounds, where he put each of the girls on his favorite stallion, Incitatus. The horse was well trained, and even the girls who were absolutely terrified because they had never ridden a horse managed to hold on. Rubria and a few of the others looked like they had been born to ride and even spurred Incitatus into a brief trot. They all looked so tiny on the back of the huge and magnificent beast.

  After seeing the girls on the horse, Caligula had the families wait in the palace and took the candidates and the existing Vestals out to a manicured courtyard in the middle of the palace grounds. There, to Flavia’s surprise, were a number of baby lambs. They were pure white, literal balls of wool with tiny faces that regarded the intruders with suspicion. And with good reason.

  Caligula told the girls that an important part of the honor of being a Vestal was to perform sacrifices on behalf of Roman citizens. “Sometimes, it will be a pregnant heifer. Sometimes a goat. Sometimes a lamb.” He looked at the girls’ shocked faces. “You must learn to slit their throats and let their blood flow on the altar. If you cannot do that, you don’t belong here.”

  He had his servants hand long knives to each of the little girls. “I’ll show you how it’s done,” Caligula said. “Then I want you to find a lamb and show me that you can do it.”

  Flavia stepped forward. “Is this really necessary?”

  This time, before Caligula could respond, Calpurnia backed Flavia up. “Your Excellency, we have a process for instruction. With great respect for your role in selecting the Virgins, the art of sacrifice is something that must be learned over time.”

  For the second time that day, Caligula stiffened. “I have a method of teaching as well. They watch me do it and then they do as I do.”

  With that, he turned his back on Calpurnia and walked slowly toward one of the lambs. He lunged, got a handful of wool, and picked it up. He brought it over in front of the girls, cradling the lamb in his arms. The lamb was trembling and bleating. He placed it on the ground, held it there, and made the girls watch as he slit its throat.

  With blood on his hands and the lamb dead at his feet, he looked up at the Vestal candidates. “Who’s next?” he asked.

  A few of the girls were crying. Rubria turned and buried her head in Flavia’s robe. Not one of the girls stepped forward.

  But a furious Calpurnia did. “As I said, we have ways of teaching the girls the art of sacrifice. You have just set that process back several years.”

  Flavia wanted to applaud. At last, someone with the spine to stand up to the emperor!

  Enraged, Caligula looked at the bloody knife in his hand and stared at Calpurnia.
He surveyed all the Vestals as well as the twelve little traumatized girls. He threw the knife at his feet, and the blade stuck in the ground.

  “Meet me at the House of Vestal,” he snapped.

  Things were no less tense an hour later at the selection ceremony. All twelve candidates stood in a line with their parents behind them. One by one, Caligula approached the winners and held out his hand. “I take you, amata, my beloved, to be a Vestal priestess, who will carry out the sacred rites on behalf of the Roman people.”

  Because of the trauma they had experienced earlier that day, the first two girls sobbed when they were chosen. When Caligula moved in front of Rubria for his third choice and extended his hand, Flavia was not at all surprised. The child had acquitted herself well.

  Rubria held her head high and bravely fought back tears. She tried but couldn’t force herself to smile. As Caligula finished speaking the prescribed formula, Flavia could tell that Rubria wanted to look behind her and hug her parents one last time. But she knew she wasn’t allowed. Instead, once Caligula had finished, Rubria walked purposefully to the side of the room occupied by the Vestals and stood in front of Flavia. Flavia put her hands gently on the girl’s shoulders and whispered so that only Rubria could hear. “Everything will be fine. I will take care of you.”

  When he finished his selections, Caligula faced the Vestals and looked them over. It was time for him to select the new matron of the house. His eyes lingered on Flavia for a brief moment. He had a look of smug satisfaction, as if he was about to take great pleasure in rejecting her.

  When his gaze then turned to Adrianna, Flavia was not surprised. There were already rumors about Adrianna’s late-night escapades in the palace. She smiled at the emperor, and there was no doubt that Adrianna knew exactly what was coming next.

  “In my role as Pontifex Maximus, I select you to be the matron of the Vestals,” Caligula said to her. She held out her hand, and he took it in his palm and kissed it.

  Flavia wanted to vomit.

  Adrianna stepped forward and stood next to Caligula, facing the other Vestals. For the next ten years, this woman would be in charge. She beamed at the thought of it.

  But Caligula wasn’t done. “I have another announcement to make,” he said proudly. “An announcement that also falls under my role as Pontifex Maximus.”

  Flavia felt her heart beating in her throat. Given the look on the emperor’s face, she knew she wasn’t going to like this.

  “You are the most powerful women in the empire,” Caligula said. “And some of the most beautiful. Yet there are other women just as highly regarded, and I do not want to split our citizens into factions. Some preferring you. Others preferring them. In the interest of unity and to ensure that all Romans hold the position of Vestal Virgin in highest esteem, I am bestowing the privileges of a Vestal on my grandmother, Antonia, the daughter of Mark Antony and the faithful friend of Tiberius. I am also bestowing these same privileges on my sisters—Agrippina and Livilla. They will not be living with you, but they will have all the privileges of a Vestal.”

  It was a dagger to the gut. Every one of the Vestals had earned her position the same way. Each had endured the selection process that Rubria had just gone through. Each had dedicated her life to the task of faithfully serving Rome.

  And now Caligula, with just a word, was bestowing the same privileges on members of his own family?

  Flavia knew immediately there was no use protesting. The emperor had already beaten the Senate into submission, and Rome would do whatever he wished. But the House of Vestal would never be the same.

  “We will welcome them as Vestal priestesses on the same terms as any other Vestal,” Adrianna said.

  Speak for yourself, Flavia thought.

  That night, Rubria sneaked into Flavia’s bedroom and crawled into bed with her. Flavia hugged the young girl and rubbed her back, reassuring her that everything would be okay. Rubria’s head was shaved and she missed her family. But something else was bothering her just as much.

  She looked up at Flavia, her eyes full of tears. “Why do we have to kill the lambs?” she asked.

  There was no good answer, at least for a six-year-old. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Flavia said. “Just try to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 47

  TWO YEARS LATER IN THE THIRD YEAR OF THE REIGN OF GAIUS JULIUS CAESAR AUGUSTUS GERMANICUS

  The games were not what they used to be. There were empty seats, and the crowd was on edge. Flavia could only hope the deterioration would continue, that people would lose interest. Perhaps one day the games would be no more. Maybe Rome could become more like Greece, and sport could be celebrated without bloodshed.

  For now, it all came down to money. Caligula’s games were struggling because the imperial treasury was running dry. Exotic animals were terribly expensive, as were gladiators. Caligula had already burned through more than two billion sestertii that Tiberius had left in the state coffers. Recently, the emperor had turned desperate in an attempt to raise more public funds.

  He increased taxes. He found new things to tax, including prostitution. He set up a brothel in a wing of his palace. Any wills that named Tiberius as a benefactor were interpreted so those same bequests went to Caligula. If any rich Roman citizen died without leaving Caligula a large bequest, the will would be invalidated for lack of generosity. That way everything could go to the state.

  But still, the revenues could not keep up with Caligula’s lavish spending, and the games suffered. On this day, the crowd had jeered during the halfhearted animal hunts in the morning. The arena didn’t begin filling until the gladiator battles after lunch. Halfway through them, Caligula made his noisy entrance.

  Flavia was already in the imperial box when the trumpets and flutes announced the emperor’s arrival. There were scattered catcalls throughout the arena, though most people stood and applauded. Flavia could still vividly recall the games six months earlier when a section of freedmen had booed the emperor and been immediately arrested. Caligula had ordered that their tongues be cut out. They were fed to the wild animals the next day in front of the entire arena. His entrances after that event had been met with nearly unanimous, albeit perfunctory, applause.

  Caligula arrived at these games, held in honor of his late sister Drusilla, dressed like the god he claimed to be. He wore a long blue silk robe covered in jewels. A large seashell hung from a gold chain around his neck, reminding the Romans that a year earlier he had marched an army north to Britannia, stopping at the very shores of Gaul, where he had ordered his soldiers to collect seashells before coming home.

  Over his robe, Caligula wore the breastplate of Alexander the Great, which he had purloined from the man’s tomb and brought out for special occasions. The smooth skin of Caligula’s round face had been transformed by a fake beard decorated with gold. He held a trident in his right hand, a sign of his deity.

  He walked deliberately to the front of the imperial box and stood there for a long time, enjoying the applause. He smiled disdainfully at his subjects, the benevolent grin of a god with limitless power. Finally, long after the people had tired of cheering, he stepped back and took his seat.

  Flavia returned to her own seat two rows behind him. Even being that close to the man nauseated her. He had made a mockery of everything she stood for. She detested every leader in Rome who enabled the emperor and his boorish conduct. But right now, Flavia was less concerned with the emperor than she was with a certain gladiator match.

  Mansuetus would be fighting for the first time in six months, and it had her emotions on edge. Typically, certain types of gladiators were paired against other types. Mansuetus was a Thracian and fought with a small shield and a curved sica. His speed and quickness was typically matched against a heavily armed gladiator such as the hoplomachus.

  But Caligula loved to defy tradition, and so today he had cast Mansuetus against a type of gladiator he had never fought before—a retiarius. Those fight
ers were Caligula’s intriguing favorite, the most lightly armed of all. The retiarius had a ribbed metal guard protecting his left shoulder and leather on his arm, but his only weapons were a large net and a trident. His tactics were simple: ensnare his opponent in the net and spear him with the trident.

  Flavia had seen it numerous times before. A gladiator fighting a retiarius would make a single wrong move, and with a flick of the wrist the retiarius would cast his broad net and cover his opponent. He would pull the net tight, leaving his opponent thrashing on the ground to be finished off by the three-pronged tip of the trident.

  Mansuetus should win. But the fight would be unpredictable. And if he lost and found himself thrashing on the ground, caught up in the net, Flavia felt certain that Caligula would turn his thumb down.

  By the time Mansuetus and his opponent entered the arena late in the day, Flavia felt like she might explode from the nerves. She refused to join the lusty cheer of the crowd when the gladiators were introduced.

  Though he was supposed to be the villain, wearing the armor of the ancient Greek Thracian tribe, Mansuetus was a crowd favorite due to his cheery demeanor and curly blond hair. He walked to the middle of the arena and waved, turning in a circle so that he could be adored by everyone. He had won thirteen straight fights. If he won three more, he would earn his freedom.

  He and Flavia had discussed that very possibility the prior night on the banks of the Tiber. She knew how much Mansuetus loved the arena. Like most champions, he considered himself invincible. He had always maintained that even after he earned his freedom, he wanted to keep fighting, that it was in his blood, that the gods would protect him. But last night he had finally said the words Flavia had been aching to hear.

  “I love the arena, Flavia. But I will give it up for you. When I win my freedom, that fight will be my last.”

  They had spent most of the night together and talked about the future. He would become a lanista, training other gladiators. When she completed her service as a Vestal, they would marry. Three more fights and it would all be possible.