The Death of Marcellus

by Dan Armstrong

  “Messalina is the senior sister in the College of Vestal Virgins. I’m not sure what you know about the Vestals, Timon, but as virgo vestalis maxima Messalina is the highest ranking priestess in Rome.”

  The tradition of the Vestal Virgins was as important as any institution in the Roman hierarchy. The six Vestal Virgins were responsible for keeping the sacred torch burning in the Temple of Vesta at the east end of the forum. Vesta was the goddess of the hearth. The tradition dated back to times when a fire was not so easy to start or maintain, when keeping a fire in a hearth was an essential part of survival. In a sense, the sacred torch served as a symbol for civilization. Nothing was deemed more emblematic of the strength and stability of Rome than the maintenance of this flame. Should it go out, whether by accident or intent, it was said to forecast the imminent fall of the Republic. Whoever was responsible would be stripped of clothing and publicly scourged.

  The virgins were hand-picked by the pontifex maximus for beauty and grace from Rome’s highest class. They left their families at a very young age to live in the eighty-four-room Vestal Palace under the iron hand of Messalina. Should any of these women lose their virginity, it was considered a crime against the state, punishable by death.

  Messalina’s position was as much political as it was religious. The Roman Senate was made up entirely of men. The military, similarly, was entirely male. The College of Pontiffs and the College of Augurs, also, were orders restricted to men. Legally and in routine life, women were non-voting secondary citizens, essentially the property of their fathers, given over to their husbands with a dowry at the time of marriage. Men occupied every important position, religious or political—except those of virgo vestalis maxima and the six Vestal Virgins.

  Messalina was gracious, but aloof, and seemed little impressed when Portia introduced me as her son’s tutor and a student of Archimedes. I couldn’t help watching this grand woman for the remainder of the evening. Although she was white-haired and wrinkled, the senators seemed to give Messalina as much respect as they gave attention to the younger, more attractive women at the party.

  The meal that evening was served in ten courses over a period of two hours. Along with the roasted pig, the contrary cooks served swordfish and tuna, pigeon eggs, several varieties of cheese, wine from Lucania, Greek olives, and, of course, fresh bread. I found it difficult to engage socially beyond listening, but the food was a party for my stomach—until later that night when my intestines rebelled with terrible cramps, inspiring a strange dream where I visited Sempronia and her mother in the Vestal palace.

  After the meal, when most of the men lay on couches and emptied bowls of mulsum and the women disappeared into the garden to talk among themselves, I was privy to a conversation between Fabius, Quintus Fulvius, Tiberius Sempronius, Publius, and Marcellus. While most of the other men were well into their cups, these men spoke with an urgent sobriety about Hannibal and the direction of the war.

  “I was troubled by Laelius’ comments in the Senate this week,” said Fabius. “Young Scipio seems to be planning our war strategy all on his own.”

  Fabius looked at Tiberius, a man younger than Marcellus by maybe ten years. “What do you think of this push to invade Africa?”

  Tiberius had direct experience with Hannibal. When serving as a consul during the first year of the war, he was on the losing end of a disastrous battle with Hannibal outside Trebia. Once headstrong and sure of himself, Tiberius had been tricked by Hannibal and had learned humility the hard way. He was fortunate to have survived the battle at all. “I think there’s merit to it,” he said. “With Hannibal here and Hasdrubal in Spain, who’s protecting Carthage? Should we invade Africa, Hannibal would have to leave Italy. I think Laevinus is of the same mind. He, like Scipio, sent his fleet commander to explore the African coast. Expect more senators to see it this way with each passing year of the war.” He made eye contact with Fabius then Marcellus. “I heard your arguments in the Senate. I see some room for debate on both sides, but your naming Fulvius dictator suggests you’ve both made up your minds.”

  “Anything else is nonsense,” said Fabius. It seemed the entire reason he had brought this up was to confront Tiberius. Despite his defeat at Trebia, Sempronius remained an important voice in the Senate. “The manpower and time it would take to besiege Carthage would be even greater than what it took Marcellus to besiege Syracuse. Why knock our heads against the walls of Carthage when Hannibal is here in Italy. Scipio’s plan is a bad distraction.”

  Tiberius looked at Marcellus. I wondered how the arranged marriage might affect their politics, but I didn’t stay to listen. I saw Marcus Aemilius Lepidus coming out of the atrium. In the days since my experience in the Community of Miracles, I had grown increasingly skeptical of anything I might learn from Paculla Annia—including the fate of my mother. I wanted more information about the urn that I had found in the Aemilian tomb.

  I approached Lepidus and introduced myself. He was an older man with a white beard who seemed surprised that I had singled him out.

  “Sir,” I said, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re one of the Aemilii?”

  “Well, yes, that’s true, and I’ve heard you’ve been making maps for Marcellus. What’s on your mind?

  “Did you ever own a slave by the name of Arathia?”

  Lepidus thought a moment, then smiled. “Why, yes, we did. She was a lovely woman whom my wife liked very much.”

  I took a moment to gather my emotions, but my voice still trembled as I spoke. “I recently saw her name on an urn in your family’s mausoleum. She may be related to me. Can you tell me anything about her death?”

  “It was quite a while ago. I recall she came from a family of musicians and played the kithara. I don’t remember much about the circumstances of her death, but it was perhaps twenty-five years ago.”

  “Twenty-five years ago? Not twenty-five months?” I asked with my heart pounding, knowing this would explain the layers of dust.

  “Oh, no. Twenty years at the very least.”

  “Then it couldn’t have been who I thought it was. Thank you for clearing this up for me.”

  This was the best news I could imagine, but I found myself angry for having been deceived. Paculla’s readings felt like horrible jokes to me now. I had been used. Even worse, I had no more information about my mother than when I had arrived in Rome. Part of me was elated and part of me was confused. I wandered among the guests lost in thought, wondering if I should confront Portia or simply keep this discovery to myself.

  Toward the end of the evening, as people clustered in the entrance hall preparing to leave, a male slave came to the door asking to speak to Messalina. The slave was out of breath and anxious.

  Messalina was already on her way to the front of the house. She recognized the slave immediately and strode across the room sensing something was wrong. The slave leaned into Messalina and whispered his message. Messalina turned to the other guests, her eyes hard and angry. “One of the Vestals has been raped.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Word soon spread that Manius, one of the slaves in the Vestal Palace, had found a bloody sleeping gown hidden in the room of the Vestal Aemilia. When Manius asked the twenty year old about the blood, she broke down in tears and told him she had been raped. She claimed a man had broken into the Vestal Palace, entered her bedroom, and raped her in the dark. She had been asleep, and it happened so suddenly and violently that she never saw his face.

  Messalina conducted an investigation, first verifying the virginity of the other five Vestals. A second Vestal, Licinia, was found to have been violated as well. She claimed to have been raped the same night, also by a man she couldn’t identify. The search for the intruder became the central topic of gossip in the streets of Rome for the next week. The most common rumor was that one man had raped both women and that he was a Capuan set on revenge against Rome for Quintus Fulvius’ heavy hand after the siege. With nothing else to go on, the pontifex maximus initiated a city wide s
earch for the intruder, accenting the possible Capuan connection.

  That week I went with Portia and Edeco to Sempronia’s home for our second lesson. It was my first time alone with Portia since speaking to Aemilius Lepidus at the party. As we passed through the Subura, I watched her rub and sniff her amber talisman several times, but could not bring myself to confront her about Paculla. I wasn’t sure if I trusted her anymore, making the whole horrible thing even worse.

  The tutoring arrangement that day was identical to the first. I went to the peristyle with Dora, while Portia and Fulvia talked in the atrium. Amid all the politics of the ongoing war, the intrigue around the Vestals’ violation, and my recent discovery about my mother, I welcomed the opportunity to see Sempronia and teach geometry.

  “Timon!” squawked Ajax as soon as I entered the peristyle.

  Sempronia sat on one of the stone benches, surrounded by flowers. We both laughed at the parrot’s greeting, which he repeated one more time before Dora crossed the room and covered his cage. “If we’re not careful, that bird will start speaking in geometry,” she said without the slightest smile.

  The second lesson went even better than the first. Sempronia was a magnificent student who could leap from concept to concept with such ease that I wondered if she had a second tutor prompting her between lessons. She also had a curious mind and more than once diverted our focus from the lesson to talk about other things.

  “My mother told me you were a student of the Greek Archimedes,” she said after completing a proof on the similarity of equilateral triangles. It wasn’t a difficult proof, but the eloquence of her method had me wondering who was teaching whom. “I’ve heard that he was a sorcerer. Is that true?”

  “No,” I said. “He was simply a profound scientist and an engineer. Nothing that he did was magic, though it appeared that way to those who didn’t understand.”

  “My father told me about machines that could pick boats out of the water as though it were nothing. How could that not be magic?”

  “All of it’s in the geometry,” I said. “That’s why these lessons, which can seem so simple, are really very important.”

  “And do the numbers play a part?”

  “Absolutely. As my father used to say, the numbers tell us everything.”

  “Can you teach me about the numbers as well?”

  “Yes, have you any knowledge of them?”

  “I can count as high as anyone I know. I can add and subtract.”

  “I’m impressed, Sempronia. I can teach you all you want to know. But there’s a lot of material to cover and we only have so much time.”

  “I have time,” she said putting her chin in the air. “I want to learn it all.”

  I was in awe. If Sempronia’s blonde hair and sky blue eyes weren’t distracting enough, her agile mind threatened to throw my life into turmoil forever. I knew I would never find such a woman again and this one was destined to marry my closest friend.

  “My mother reads with a group of women,” she continued. “Portia, I believe, organizes the readings. I want to be included when I get older.”

  I thought of my two experiences with Paculla and the group of women. Despite my distaste for what had transpired, I couldn’t help imagining Sempronia there in a transparent gown.

  “Keep to your lessons, Timon,” called out Dora from the corner of the garden.

  “Yes, yes, of course, Dora. Let’s look at triangles with two equal sides, Sempronia. We call them isosceles.” I used my stylus to draw one on the wax pad. “Do you remember the sum of the three interior angles of a triangle?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “One hundred and eighty degrees.”

  “If this angle is eighty degrees.” I pointed to the triangle’s widest interior angle. “And the adjacent sides are of equal length, what can you tell me about the other two angles?” I handed her the wax pad so that she could look more closely.

  After a moment, she said, “Well, I’m thinking those angles should be equal, but your drawing doesn’t seem to show it that way.”

  “True enough. Imagine that my drawing is more accurate. If those two angles are equal, what are they? You’ll need to use the numbers.”

  Sempronia closed one eye as though thinking, then used the stylus to make some scratches in the wax. After a moment, she looked up. “Fifty degrees.”

  After Moira I had wondered if I would ever fall for a woman again. Now as I felt myself dropping through thin air, my heart in my throat, it was too late to catch myself. I was in love and the circumstances could hardly have been worse.

  I hid my feelings as best I could through the remainder of the lesson. When Portia came back to the garden to announce the end of the session, we scheduled another lesson for the following week. As I left the house with Portia, I knew I would be counting the days until I saw Sempronia again—and that such strong feelings on my part could only lead to heartbreak in the end.

  Edeco waited for us outside in the street. He trailed behind Portia and me as we walked across the city. On the way, I returned to looking into the faces of the people in the street, on the off chance I might see my mother. It seemed futile, but after learning she had not died, I had become hopeful and for the time being had no other way to find her.

  As before, when we passed through the Subura, Portia rubbed her amulet and lifted it to her nose. When we reached the house, I asked Portia about the amber. “I’ve noticed during our walks across town that you often rub your amulet. Why do you do that?”

  Portia looked at me as though she were surprised I didn’t already know. “It’s for the smell, of course. Parts of the city stink so badly I take a breath of the warmed amber for relief from the odor.”

  CHAPTER 56

  I stayed out at the farm the next three days. Portia remained in Rome. Marcellus focused on farm work. I saw him off and on through the day and during the evening when he and I ate together.

  Marcellus said very little the first two nights. He asked about my progress on the maps, but never spoke of anything personal. The third night, after the plates had been removed, Marcellus asked Meda to refill his cup of mulsum.

  “Timon, will you join me?”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “We’re going back to Venusia, Timon.” Marcellus lifted his cup to me. “I have raised another cohort and acquired two hundred more equestrians. We leave in five days.”

  I took a sip from my cup. “I have one more tutoring session with Marcus’ future wife. That leaves just enough time.”

  Marcellus tilted his head, then surprised me by asking, “What do you think of Tiberius’ daughter?”

  I hoped the dim light of the oil lamps hid the color rushing to my face. “She’s very clever, sir. And a good student.”

  Marcellus smiled. “What about as a wife for Marcus?”

  “He should be pleased. She’s a pretty young woman.”

  Marcellus seemed to ponder what I had said, then became serious. “You heard them in the Senate, Timon. It’s time this war was over. I want to take Hannibal this summer.”

  I agreed with a nod.

  “Everything will be reduced to logistics and troop movement. That’s all Hannibal has left until his brother arrives. I believe your maps are a critical part of it. I have reviewed the ones you made during the last campaign, particularly those tracking his path through the summer. I’m beginning to see reason behind what appears to be spontaneous misdirection. When we return to camp, this will be your highest priority, finding a pattern in his movements. Can you do that?”

  “Possibly, sir. I can only track his position as accurately as our scouts report it. That improved as the summer went along. If there’s a pattern to be revealed, it should show.”

  “And as our tracking gets better,” pressed Marcellus, “and we gather more information, can we then predict where he will go? Anticipate his movements?”

  “To some extent, yes. As educated guesses.”

  I had wanted to say most
assuredly, yes. I had wanted to give Marcellus a decisive answer. Instead I thought of the lenses. They would certainly be of help in the pursuit of Hannibal. I had considered revealing them to Marcellus before, but always with a firm negative. Now that I no longer had them in my possession, I found myself rethinking this. My stomach sank. What did it matter? My trip to the Community of Miracles had been as big a waste of time as my visits to the tomb of the Aemilii. I had no real clue where the lenses or my mother were—and wondered if I would see either of them again.

  CHAPTER 57

  I went into Rome three days later for my third tutoring session with Sempronia. I met Portia at the Claudian residence. Edeco accompanied us across town and waited outside when we reached Sempronia’s home. Dora greeted us at the door. Fulvia heard us enter and came hurrying through the house from the atrium.

  “Did you hear?” she exclaimed on entering the room. “Messalina has submitted a report to the pontifex maximus claiming that both the Vestals are lying!’

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t believe that they were raped. There’s going to be a trial in the forum this afternoon. Messalina will make her accusation public then.” Fulvia glanced at me. “Dora, please take Timon back to the peristyle.”

  As Dora led me away, I heard Fulvia say in a hushed voice, “She saw no bruises or abrasions on their bodies when she inspected them. She wants them to admit to having lovers.”

  Sempronia sat on one of the stone benches in the garden. The sunlight from overhead gave her the appearance of a fairy creature made of sunbeams. She smiled upon seeing me.

  I sat beside her with the wax tablet on my lap. “I leave Rome in two days,” I said, finally allowing myself to look into her eyes. “This will be the last lesson until the fall.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said. “I look forward to these lessons.”

  “You do?”