“Are you ready, Pennatus? I can carry the vessels of wine and oil myself, but I shall need you to carry the bowls of salt and ground millet.”
Pennatus nodded. He stepped forward to relieve Dorso of the bowls.
“What’s happening?” asked Pinaria.
Dorso stood tall before her and raised his chin. “This is the day of the annual sacrifice of the Fabii on the Quirinal. Since I am the only Fabius left in Roma, I shall tend to the ritual.”
“But where will you offer this sacrifice?”
“At the ancient altar on the Quirinal, of course.”
“But how? There must be a thousand Gauls between here and there.”
“Yes, and another thousand swarming over the Quirinal like rats. Nonetheless, it is incumbent upon me to perform the ritual, and so I shall.”
“But Dorso, it isn’t possible!”
“The ritual has been performed on this day every year, without fail, for many generations. Long ago, during the very first war against Veii, an army made up entirely of Fabii-three hundred seven in all-went to fight for Roma. There was a terrible ambush, from which only a single Fabius returned. To avert the recurrence of such a disaster, each year we make an offering to Father Romulus in his divine guise as the god Quirinus. Today is the day.”
“But Dorso, to leave the Capitoline would be madness!”
“Perhaps. But to neglect the sacrifice would be a greater madness, surely. Dear Vestal, I should think that you, of all people, would understand that. I shall walk across the city, directly to the altar. I shall perform the ritual. I shall walk directly back again. If the Gauls challenge me, I shall tell them they are standing in the way of a sacred procession. These Gauls are a peculiar people. They appear to possess little knowledge of the gods, but they are very superstitious and can easily be overawed.”
“But you don’t even speak their language!”
“They will see that I carry sacred vessels. From my face they will know that my purpose is a holy one. The god Quirinus will protect me.”
Pinaria shook her head. She glanced at Pennatus, and swallowed a lump in her throat. “Must you take Pennatus with you?”
“A slave customarily accompanies the Fabius who performs the ritual, to help carry the vessels.”
“But Pennatus is not your slave.”
“No, he is not, and I am not compelling him to go with me. I asked him to go, and he agreed.”
“Pennatus, is this true?”
The slave shrugged and flashed a crooked smile. “It seemed reasonable at the time. I’m getting bored, trapped up here day after day. I think it may be a great adventure.”
Pinaria shook her head. “No, this isn’t right. Pennatus…Pennatus is impious! He can’t be part of such a ritual. He has no more respect for the gods than the Gauls do.”
“All the better!” declared Dorso. “If I fail to overawe them, perhaps the Gauls will see in Pennatus a kindred spirit, and leave us alone for his sake.” He smiled at Pennatus, who smiled back at him.
The unlikely friendship that had developed between the two young men was a great puzzlement to Pinaria. Two mortals could hardly be more different. Gaius Fabius Dorso was a pious, upright patrician warrior; he was oddly likeable, despite being more than a little vain and self-important. Pennatus was an impious slave who seemed to respect nothing and no one. And yet, thrown together atop the Capitoline, in a situation where the normal constraints of society were undone, the two men had discovered a pleasure in each other’s company that grew deeper every day. Now, to Pinaria’s amazement and dismay, they were about to set out together on a mad venture that would surely put an end to both of them.
Pinaria stepped forward and laid her hand on Dorso’s arm. “Please, I implore you, don’t do this thing! Forgo the ritual. The gods-if they still have any love for us-will understand and forgive.”
Her touch humbled Dorso. He lowered his eyes. “Please, Vestal, I need your blessing, not words of discouragement. The truth is this: I returned to the city from the battle at the River Allia and I remained here, despite the coming of the Gauls, for the express purpose of performing this ritual. I am…” He drew a deep breath and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I am all too aware of the role played by my kinsmen in drawing the wrath of the Gauls, and perhaps the wrath of the gods, upon Roma. I cannot turn back time and reverse the damage that was done by my impetuous, impious cousin, Quintus. For his crime, Quintus should have been punished-the Pontifex Maximus himself said so-but instead he was commended by the people of Roma and made a commander of the legions. Now disaster has overwhelmed us, and it falls to me to honor the gods and my ancestors by performing this ancient ritual. If…” Again he drew a deep breath. “If I should die in attempting to do so, perhaps my blood will assuage the gods. Perhaps they will accept my sacrifice in place of my cousin Quintus, and return their favor to Roma.”
Pinaria was so moved that for a long moment she could not speak. She fought back tears, and finally said, “If the Virgo Maxima were here, she would bless you-but the Virgo Maxima is gone, and so are the other Vestals. I’m the only one left in Roma, so I will bless you, Gaius Fabius Dorso. Go and make the sacrifice-and come back safely!”
Dorso bowed his head to her, then turned and strode toward the barricade, carrying the vessels of wine and oil.
Pennatus lingered behind for a moment. He gave Pinaria an odd look; his eyes seemed to smile even though his lips did not. He looked down at the vessels of millet and salt, frowned and furrowed his brow, then puffed out his cheeks and seemed to reach a decision. “Well, then! I told him I would go with him, and so I shall.”
“Come back safely, Pennatus!” she whispered. She very nearly touched his arm, as she had touched the arm of Dorso, but at the last moment she drew back her hand. It would hardly be pleasing to the goddess, for a Vestal to touch a slave.
Pennatus squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Of course I’ll come back. Will your gods not protect me? If the Gauls menace us, I shall simply sprout wings and come flying back to you!”
With Dorso leading and Pennatus walking behind him, the two men strode across the Capitoline. Word of Dorso’s intentions had spread, and a crowd gathered to watch them depart. Soldiers rushed forward to help the two men keep their balance as they climbed over the barricade, holding the ritual vessels aloft. Not a grain of salt or millet or a drop of wine or oil was spilled, and this was seen to be a good omen. The soldiers crowded together along the top of the barricade to watch Dorso and Pennatus descend the winding path.
Heads turned and a hush fell over the spectators as Pinaria climbed up to join the soldiers. They drew aside to make room for the Vestal. She gazed at the receding procession of two and began to move her lips without making a sound. Thinking to join her in prayer, men muttered pleas to the god Quirinus for the safekeeping of his worshippers, but the words shaped by Pinaria’s lips were not addressed to any god.
“Come back!” she begged silently. “Come back to me, Pennatus!”
The hours passed slowly. The afternoon sun suffused the smoky sky with a lurid glow, and began to descend toward the distant hills beyond the Tiber. On the barricade, sharp-eyed lookouts kept a watch on the Quirinal, but saw nothing to indicate the fate of Dorso and Pennatus.
Pinaria paced back and forth across the open spaces of the Capitoline. Reflexively, she muttered prayers to Vesta, but in her heart she felt she was speaking to empty air. The hearthfire of the goddess was gone from Roma and her temple had been desecrated by godless savages. Vesta must be far, far away, thought Pinaria, beyond the reach of even the most devoted Vestal. Even if the goddess was still present, and could hear her, would she not see into Pinaria’s heart and know that her prayer was profane? For a Vestal to pray for the safe passage of Dorso was one thing; he was a Roman citizen on a holy mission. But the prayer that came unbidden to Pinaria’s lips was not for Dorso, and had nothing to do with the fulfillment of sacred rites. What would the goddess think, to hear one of
her virgins plead so desperately for the return of a slave? It was better that the goddess was absent, unable to hear Pinaria’s prayer, than that Vesta should hear it and perceive the longing in Pinaria’s heart.
She was shaken from her gloomy reverie by a shout from one of the lookouts.
“There! At the foot of the Capitoline! I see them! Dorso and the slave-and Gauls, hundreds of Gauls…”
The words gave Pinaria a momentary flash of hope, then plunged her into despair. She imagined Dorso and Pennatus running at top speed, pursued by warriors; she pictured their severed heads borne aloft on stakes by taunting Gauls. She ran to the barricade, climbed to the top, and peered down the steep hillside.
“There!” said the lookout. “On the path, coming toward us.”
What she saw was the last thing she expected. Walking proudly erect, bearing in their upturned hands the now empty sacrificial vessels, Dorso and Pennatus were ascending the winding path at a steady, unhurried pace. A huge crowd of Gauls followed them, bearing swords and spears but keeping at a distance and doing nothing to impede their progress.
The officer in charge of the barricade shook his head. “These Gauls and their cruel games! They’ll wait until Dorso is almost to the barricade, then strike him down while we watch. Vile creatures! We should fire upon them now, while Dorso still has a chance to break and run. Archers! Raise your bows!”
“No!” cried Pinaria. “Can’t you see their faces? It’s just as Dorso predicted. The Gauls are in awe of him. See how they hang back? See how they whisper among themselves and jostle one another, trying to get a better look at him? He’s put a kind of spell on them. If you fire on them, you’ll break the spell. Lower your bows! Do nothing! Say nothing!”
The men on the barricade unnotched their arrows and fell silent.
Following the winding path, Dorso and Pennatus drew closer and closer. The Gauls followed doggedly behind them. Pinaria’s heart pounded in her chest. The wait was excruciating. Why did they walk so slowly? She caught a glimpse of Dorso’s face as he rounded the final bend; she saw the serene expression of a man at peace with himself and his fate, ready to live or die, as the gods saw fit. Then she saw Pennatus. Her heart leaped as his eyes met hers. He smiled-and then winked at her!
The two men reached the barricade. Hands stretched down to take the vessels and help them climb up. Dorso clambered atop the barricade and looked over his shoulder. “Stupid Gauls,” he muttered. “Archers! Here’s your chance to kill a few of those fools. Take aim and fire at once, before they can run!”
Arrows whistled though the air, followed by screams and the chaotic sounds of the Gauls retreating in a sudden panic.
Dorso quickly escorted Pinaria away from the barricade, out of harm’s way. “It was your blessing, Vestal, that did the trick,” he whispered. “I felt the goddess of the hearth looking over us every step of the way.”
“Did you? Did you truly feel Vesta’s presence?” Pinaria looked from Dorso to Pennatus.
“Something must have protected us,” said Pennatus. “It was amazing! The Gauls were dumbfounded. They fell back on all sides, like grain cut by a scythe. Not one of them dared to approach us. Not one of them even raised his voice.”
Dorso and Pennatus looked at each other and spontaneously embraced, laughing like two boys after a great adventure. Pinaria longed to join their embrace. Especially she longed to hold Pennatus and to be held by him, to reassure herself that he still lived and breathed, to feel the warmth of his body, to touch his hairy chest, where the black pendant hung between the firm muscles. Such thoughts made her feel weak and flushed, but she could not control them.
Could it be as Dorso said? Could it be that Vesta had watched over and protected both men, despite Pinaria’s impure feelings? Or had Pennatus survived only because-or precisely because-the goddess was absent, no longer present to punish an erring Vestal and the object of her desire?
Either Vesta knew of Pinaria’s passion for the slave, and approved of it-mad thought! — or Vesta was gone, perhaps forever, and no longer held sway over her devoted virgin-another mad thought! In either case, Pinaria knew, in a blinding flash, that no impediment remained to hold her feelings in check. The realization dazzled her. The ground gave way beneath her and the sky cracked open.
She looked at Pennatus. He looked back at her. Their eyes spoke a secret language. She knew he felt the same.
In that moment, Pinaria was lost, and she knew it. She burst into tears. Those who had gathered to welcome Dorso assumed they were tears of joy and relief, and men bowed their heads at the sight of a sacred virgin so deeply moved by the evidence of the gods’ continuing favor for the people of Roma.
There was little privacy to be had among the defenders atop the Capitoline, but such privacy as could be arranged was given to the Vestal who dwelled among them. While others slept in the open, or crowded together inside the temples and public buildings, a small chamber in the foundations of the Temple of Jupiter was given to Pinaria for her sole use.
The entrance to Pinaria’s room was at the back of the temple, out of sight. It was Pennatus who suggested to Dorso that it would be proper to install a simple lock on the inside of the door, so that no one could possibly walk in on the Vestal unannounced or by accident. As Pennatus knew how to fashion such a lock, he was given the job of making it himself. “What a clever fellow you are!” remarked Dorso, after the lock was installed.
One night, there came a soft knocking on Pinaria’s door.
The hour was late, but Pinaria was not asleep. She rose from her bed and went to the door at once. She did not bother to ask who was knocking.
She opened the door and saw his head and shoulders silhouetted by moonlight. Her first thought was that he was mad to come to her on a night when the moon was so bright and might cast such a glaring light on his movements. What if he had been observed?
In the next instant he was inside, shutting the door behind him. Then his arms were around her and his body was pressed against hers. It was Pinaria who initiated the kiss, pressing her mouth to his. She had never kissed a man before. It seemed to her that they drew the same breath and shared the same heartbeat.
She was not accustomed to being naked, even among the other Vestals, but that was the way he wanted her. She allowed him to disrobe her, then helped him to take off his own tunic; she wanted no pretense that anything was being done solely at his behest, or against her will. Whatever might happen, it would not occur because she merely allowed it, but because she made it happen.
She knew a little about the basic act of sex, but she could not have imagined the sensations that accompanied it. The touch of his flesh against her own was thrilling, but nothing compared to the feeling when a part of his body actually entered her own and began to move inside her. There was a sharp pain at first, but it seemed a small thing to bear, compared to the pleasure that followed. The rhythm of the act was like a complicated dance, or a song of unearthly beauty, sometimes slow and languid, sometimes rushed and breathless. His rhythm inspired her to find a rhythm inside herself; she struggled to match his movements, cried out in frustration at the sudden awkwardness of it, and then, laughing breathlessly, clutching his hips, she demanded that his rhythm match her own. He submitted, resisted, submitted again. They seemed to be in competition for a while, and then almost at odds, and then, without warning, in perfect, ecstatic harmony.
They reached the pinnacle in the same instant. She felt him shudder and convulse inside her, and at the same time a wave of exquisite pleasure washed over her entire body.
The thing was done. There could be no turning back.
The occupation of the Gauls continued throughout the hot summer and into the autumn. Cooler days brought some relief to the defenders atop the Capitoline, but their hunger increased. Rations were reduced to a handful of bread and a cup of wine a day.
House by house, the Gauls continued to pillage and burn the city below, poisoning the air with smoke. After the failure of their ini
tial attempts, the Gauls stopped laying siege to the Capitoline, but sentries still kept constant watch around the perimeter.
On an autumn night when the air was cool but acrid with smoke, Pinaria and Pennatus lay naked upon her bed. A shaft of moonlight from a high, small window illuminated their sweat-glazed bodies. The hour was midnight, but neither of the lovers slept; there was still too much pleasure to be had from each other’s bodies to think of sleep.
Pinaria had been delighted but not surprised to discover that Pennatus was such an insatiable lover. What had surprised her was the depth of her own craving, which was as great as his, if not greater. The devotion she had once given to tending the sacred hearthfire she now gave to the tending the fire that flared up inside them each time their bodies met. When she joined with Pennatus, it seemed to her that she was taken to a place beyond the mortal world, to a mystical realm such as that where the gods must dwell. She worshiped his body, the vehicle that transported her to that divine place; she adored his sex, that part of him, so potent yet so exposed and vulnerable, which he eagerly placed into her safekeeping. Such thoughts were blasphemous, surely; but the gods were gone, and the Vestal was no longer a virgin, and a slave had become her master. The world was a mad, broken place, but Pinaria had never before felt so alive and complete.
Through the little window, very faintly, they heard the cry of “All clear!” from the nearest sentry. The cry was echoed from various points around the perimeter of the barricades and cliffs. In the silence that followed, a goose let out a single, plaintive honk. To save them from the Gauls, the sacred geese of Juno had been brought from the goddess’s new temple on the Aventine and were being kept in an enclosure beside the Temple of Jupiter.
“We shall have to eat them soon,” said Pennatus.
“The geese? They’re sacred to Juno,” said Pinaria.
“But what good are geese to a goddess if all her worshipers die of starvation?”
Roma.The novel of ancient Rome r-1 Page 29
