Vestal Virgin: Suspense in Ancient Rome

by Suzanne Tyrpak

  She did not return his smile.

  Flavia looked sour.

  “Tonight,” Nero said, ignoring the sisters’ reactions, “we journey into other realms. We invoke the hungry ghosts and lay wandering souls to rest.”

  “So be it,” said the priestesses.

  Except for Elissa.

  She had no intention of putting souls to rest. Quite the opposite. If Nero ordained her to play Queen of the Underworld—holder of the keys to the fields of Elysium and the fires of Tartarus—she would make sure he regretted it.

  He played the role of paterfamilias to perfection, spitting black beans around the room for the lemures to feast upon.

  “Tonight,” he proclaimed, “we seek blessings from those who’ve walked this earth before. And we make amends—”

  Amends to those he’d raped, and wronged, and murdered.

  Thunder announced more rain. It battered the temple’s roof, and wind brought moisture through the latticework. Damp seeped into Elissa’s bones, into the deepest recess of her being. She sensed lemures rising from the underworld. Tendrils of mist snaked through the temple and set the torches sputtering.

  The vestals continued the invocation—repeating after Nero, mindless litany. A form took shape within the mist. Eyes peered at Elissa. A voice spoke, so quietly it might have been a dream, “The fourteenth book.”

  She stared into a face of shifting shadows.

  “Agrippina.” She hadn’t meant to speak the name aloud.

  Nero paused mid-sentence. “What did you say?”

  “The dead have arrived.”

  Angerona snorted. “Where?”

  Marcia barked another hiccup, Cornelia clung to Mother Amelia, and Flavia’s green eyes bore into Elissa.

  Nero’s face grew pale. “My mother?”

  “Yes.”

  Agrippina’s wraith drifted toward Elissa. Plumes of mist issued from her mouth, and frozen teardrops sparkled in her eyes. The queen breathed her essence into Elissa’s heart.

  “I’m cold,” Cornelia said.

  The girl clung to Marcia, shivering. The other vestals shivered too. Their frightened eyes stared at Elissa.

  “Where is she?” Nero asked.

  “Standing beside you.”

  The dead queen breathed crystals of ice. Suspended in the air, they shimmered.

  “Mater,” Nero said, his eyes wide. “Are you really here?”

  Elissa nodded. “She wants to know why you have summoned her.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Ask.”

  “Did you bear another child? Do I have a sibling?”

  The answer coursed through Elissa’s veins, cold as newly melted snow. Her lips moved slowly as if frozen, and when she spoke the voice was Agrippina’s, “Yes, I bore another child—a child who will avenge my murder.”

  Nero’s face grew paler. “How?”

  “My child will be your nemesis.”

  “What is his name?”

  Nero’s voice echoed in Elissa’s ears. Frost clouded her vision, and when she spoke her tongue felt like an icicle. “He,” Agrippina said, “does not exist.”

  Nero’s voice grew shrill, “Tell me his name!”

  “The answer stands before you, but you’re blind to the truth.”

  “Show yourself, Mater. Show yourself to me!” Nero grabbed a torch and brandished the flames.

  Elissa drew back from the heat. The dead queen’s tendrils loosened, and Elissa breathed more easily. In the torchlight, she saw Nero watching her, as did the priestesses, none more avidly than Flavia. Who was she to disappoint her audience? She would do as Angerona had advised and play the role of Nero’s mother. Yes! She would give him Agrippina.

  Throwing back her shoulders and straightening her spine, Elissa spoke in a commanding voice, “Look at me. I am your mother. Do you see me?”

  “Yes,” his voice sounded like a child’s.

  “I know what you’ve done.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Silence!”

  Tears ran from Nero’s eyes. “Please forgive, Mater,” he said, sobbing.

  “I forgive you under one condition.”

  “I’ll do anything you—”

  “Promise me—”

  “What Mater?”

  “Do not, under any circumstance, travel to Egypt.”

  Flavia squeaked in protest.

  “Go to Egypt and your reward will be derision. Go to Egypt and a cobra will strangle you, eagles will pluck out your eyes, and you will become impotent.”

  Elissa feasted on Nero’s expression, and prepared to bite again.

  “I’m warning you—” Flavia said. She tried to charge Elissa, but Mother Amelia held her back.

  Elissa raised her voice, drowning out her sister, “Go to Egypt, and you will not return. The earth will quake with revulsion, a wall of water will rise from the sea, fire will rain from the heavens. Go to Egypt, and you will be destroyed!”

  Nero stood before her, trembling. Elissa thought he might faint.

  “One thing more,” she said. “If you value your life, your throne, your empire—have nothing more to do with her.” She pointed at her sister.

  “Don’t listen,” Flavia shouted. “Can’t you see she’s not your mother?”

  Nero remained mesmerized. Placing his hand over his heart, he said, “I promise, Mater. I swear to all the gods and to The Roman Empire.”

  “Good,” Elissa said. “You are forgiven.”

  Nero fell to his knees, kissed Elissa’s hem.

  Flavia broke free from Mother Amelia and threw herself onto Elissa, pummeling her with fists and feet. “I hate you!” she shrieked.

  Mother Amelia and Marcia wrenched her off and dragged her toward the door.

  Elissa remained undeterred. Ignoring her sister’s protests, she raised Nero to his feet and placed the sacramental knife into his hands, the same pearl-handled secespita he had used to slash their palms. “Seal your promise with the sacrifice.”

  “And you will reveal my rival’s identity?”

  “I will.”

  As one in a trance, Nero cut the lamb’s tether.

  Elissa sprinkled the animal with salt and flour then poured red wine over its head. She held the lamb over the altar’s granite basin. “With this sacrifice I feed the hungry ghosts,” she said, “that Rome may thrive.”

  She nodded to Nero.

  He raised the secespita, but his hand trembled.

  “Why so nervous?” Elissa said. “You found it easy to sacrifice your mother.”

  The blade fell from Nero’s hand, clattered on the stone.

  “Pick it up,” Elissa said.

  He shook his head.

  “Make the sacrifice and seal your promise,” Elissa’s voice was harsh. “As your mother, I order you!”

  The slender blade glinted in the firelight. Nero wrapped his fist around the pearl handle, raised the knife. But instead of slitting the lamb’s throat, he stabbed wildly at its gut. The shrieking animal tried to escape, but Nero threw himself on top of it, wrestling the lamb, driving the blade deep into its belly. Entrails spilled into the altar’s troth soaking both of them in gore.

  Marcia screamed. Cornelia wailed.

  Finally the lamb stopped bleating. Its dead eyes stared into Elissa’s.

  Nero stumbled to his feet, his white robe stained red.

  “Tell me the name of my rival,” he said.

  “Ahenobarbus.”

  “That’s my name.”

  “And you are your worst enemy.”

  Nero advanced toward Elissa, the secespita dripping blood. “I want the name!”

  “I know no name. I only want you to seal the promise. Swear before the gods that you won’t touch Flavia.”

  Nero aimed the knife at Elissa’s heart.

  “Would you kill me as you killed your mother?” She splashed him with sacred water.

  Nero shook his head as if waking from a dream.

  “Eliss
a,” he murmured.

  “Put down the blade,” Mother Amelia said.

  Elissa’s eyes stayed focused on the secespita as she reached into the bloody troth, scooped the lamb’s liver into her palm, and held it out to Nero. “See how it quivers? Even the gods tremble for you. They tremble for Rome’s future.”

  “The gods will do my bidding.”

  An icy blast shot through the temple’s doors, ripped around the room extinguishing the torches, and chilled Elissa to her marrow. Smoke billowed from the fire and sparks swirled toward the ceiling. The wind threw Nero forward. He clutched the cauldron, and glowing coals rained down on him.

  He staggered toward Elissa, pointing. “You’re a sorceress,” he said. “A practitioner of black magic.”

  “An adulteress,” Flavia shouted. Escaping Mother Amelia and Marcia, she ran to Nero. “I’ve seen her with Gallus Justinus.”

  “As have I,” said Angerona.

  Marcia nodded in agreement.

  “I’ve seen her making potions.”

  “Riding on the wind.”

  “Howling at the moon.”

  “Enough!” Mother Amelia’s voice rose above the accusations. “Have you forgotten where you are?”

  Wind whistled through the temple. Elissa heard agonizing screams.

  Nero’s eyes grew wide with terror. “Do you hear that?”

  “Your mother,” Elissa said. “She’s here, and she speaks through me.”

  “What does she want?”

  “The truth.”

  “I’ll give her the truth,” Flavia said, rushing toward Elissa. “You’re having an affair with Gallus Justinus.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “I have proof.” Flavia reached into her stola withdrawing a package wrapped in silk. “Love letters addressed to you.”

  Elissa stared at the strand of blue ribbon binding the papers together, the strand of love tying her to Justinus. She looked around the circle of accusing faces. Even Mother Amelia said nothing in her defense.

  The fear in Nero’s eyes became a nasty light. “Is it possible the pristine priestess is not a virgin after all? Has the vestal, pure as snow, melted for a man?” He bent close to Elissa and whispered, “Yet you refuse me?”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said.

  “Elissa Rubria Honoria,” Nero proclaimed. “I, Pontifex Maximus, charge you with breaking your vow of chastity. An inquisition will be conducted, and you will stand trial before the Collegiate of Pontiffs. If you are found guilty, you will be entombed alive. Until then you will be held a prisoner of Rome.”

  “But I am innocent.”

  Flavia and Angerona held Elissa firmly by her arms.

  “I am innocent,” she said again.

  But only the lemures were listening.

  End of Part Four

  PART FIVE

  The Final Hour

  Here lies your only hope. This battle you must fight—

  and be victorious.

  You shall prevail. You have no choice, only this—

  To win.

  Gods have mercy, come to the aid of the wounded,

  Help them through death’s torment, life’s final hour,

  Pity my suffering, be savior of the one who’s committed no evil.

  Purify my essence, make me new and free

  of this corruption,

  this decay creeping through my blood, my bones, my body.

  Spare my heart, so joy may enter me.

  —Catullus

  CHAPTER XXXI

  The Ides of May

  Year X, reign of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus

  Dear Justinus,

  I write to you from the confines of the Regia, though you may never see this letter. They allow me ink, but no messenger. No contact with the outside world, except what I view through this barred window.

  Today they’ll weigh the evidence, decide if I shall go to trial. Pray for me—

  Elissa stopped writing. What was the point? Her letter would not be delivered.

  She paced the short length of her cubicle. Bolted from the outside, the chamber might have been a prison cell. Overnight, the life she’d known had been destroyed and, like Persephone, she slipped into the underworld. Meanwhile, within these walls, priests prepared for her inquisition.

  She’d mulled over the visitation from Agrippina, unsure of what was real and what she had imagined. What if Agrippina had truly borne another child—a sibling to Nero who might prefer his brother dead? Could that sibling be her ally?

  Through the window’s iron bars she gazed at the forum. Earlier that morning she’d watched Nero enter the Regia’s gates, watched as he walked past the pilasters and the sacred spring.

  He was here now. Lying in wait.

  She glanced toward the door. It remained shut, but it might open at any moment. She told herself the physical examination would prove her innocence—prove she retained that most important virtue: her virginity.

  From the window she saw the House of Vestals and, beyond the house, the Via Sacra. No matter what the season the wide artery leading to the heart of Rome pulsated with life. She watched the urban mob, pushing, shoving, eager to get somewhere. Most walked along the raised sidewalk and stayed close to the storefronts avoiding the street where they might be trampled by horses, slaves carrying litters, infantries of twenty or more bodyguards. Young men practiced less precaution, boldly strolling down the avenue, calling out to one another, chasing after pretty girls. Rome was bursting with wealth, and most passersby seemed oblivious to the ragtag children trailing after them, oblivious to elderly men with hacking coughs who huddled in the doorways, oblivious to weary women, their backs bent by grueling work. Romans considered slavery a fact of life, the natural order. But, confined in her cell, Elissa viewed the world differently.

  A priest of Saturn, preceded by a lictor, walked through the Regia’s iron gates and onto the street. He strolled along the Via Sacra and plebs parted like a frightened school of fish. The priest paid them no attention. Deference was expected. Elissa had often experienced that same power, but today she would have given anything to be lost in the teeming crowd.

  The priest entered a door inscribed with an erect phallus. A brothel. If chastity were such a cherished virtue why were men exempt?

  Her mother often said a woman’s most precious asset was not her dowry, but her purity. Like all exemplary matrons, Constantina upheld the motto: honor, self control, and reverence for the gods. Meanwhile, her husband saw nothing hypocritical in visiting his concubines. Elissa felt sure there had been plenty. Yet Constantina said not a word against her husband.

  No wonder the world lacked harmony. True love between a man and a woman required they be equals. Instruments, finely tuned but different, producing complimentary chords. Only then could music be achieved.

  By her mother’s standards, Elissa knew her thoughts were blasphemous. But given a second chance she would go to Justinus, lie with him. What union could be more sacred than love between two souls? Purity lay within the mind, within the heart, not within a hollow vow of chastity.

  When all hope has fled, and the empty heart meets its desire, fulfillment of the heart—that—that is the greatest joy.

  Catullus had understood.

  Elissa’s eyes clouded with tears. Bowing her head she prayed to Jesus, the loving Son of God, a radiant light in this dark world. Her prayers were interrupted by tapping on the door.

  The lock shifted and the door creaked open.

  Mother Amelia entered. “Ready for the consulate, my dear?” The high vestal, usually immaculate, appeared disheveled. She offered Elissa a weak smile of encouragement.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Your hair is shorn?”

  “Marcia has seen to every detail.” At dawn Marcia had bathed and anointed Elissa as if she were a bride. She’d cut Elissa’s long dark curls and shaved her head as if she were a novice. “Have you seen my sister?”

  �
�Flavia has moved into the palace.”

  “You said you would protect her.”

  “She went under order of the Pontifex Maximus.”

  “And that makes it all right.”

  Mother Amelia said nothing. What could she say?

  “My sister’s accusation stands?” Elissa asked.

  “Be brave, my dear.” Mother Amelia offered another tepid smile.

  Elissa leaned against the windowsill and stared at the unflinching sun. Though it was morning, already the day was sweltering. “Angerona’s accusation stands as well?”

  Mother Amelia touched Elissa’s shoulder. “The truth will prove your innocence.”

  Opening the door, she ushered Elissa out into the hostile world.

  * * * * *

  The Major Flamine greeted them with a curt nod of his head and led them to the tablinum. “Wait here,” the high priest said before leaving the room.

  This time they were offered no refreshment. Mother Amelia settled on a high-backed chair and Elissa stood by the window.

  “What if I’m found guilty?” she asked.

  “According to the law, you’re assumed innocent until proven otherwise.”

  Mother Amelia sank into the cushions.

  Elissa studied her. What if Nero used his power to sway the Collegiate of Pontiffs? Sway the Vestal Maxima? Would the high vestal risk her position, her authority? Elissa doubted it.

  She trusted no one. Only Justinus.

  If Marcus were alive, things would be different. If Marcus were alive, at the suggestion of Flavia’s nomination, the first whiff of Nero’s foul intentions, he would have rallied Rome’s intellectuals and caused a public outcry. Elissa longed for her brother’s strength, his courage, his conviction.

  The Major Flamine returned. “The Pontifex Maximus will see Priestess Elissa Rubria Honoria alone,” he said.

  Every muscle in Elissa’s body tensed.