Hortensius seemed to accept this without demur. “I thought they might.”
“Do you want me to try and bring them round?”
“No,” replied Hortensius casually. “It won’t make any difference. They would look like the charlatans they are, just as I will look like a monster if I even attempt to cross-examine any of Cicero’s upstanding parade of paragons.” He smiled, rather ruefully, Hortensia thought. “You have to hand it to old Chickpea really. He has managed to hit on the only way to best me in rhetorical combat – namely, to stop me from talking at all.”
Hortensia was suddenly reminded that to her slight chagrin, no one had mentioned her own triumph in the courts yesterday. She had given Caepio an account of it on their return to the villa the previous day though at the last minute she had decided to edit out the part played by Rixus. Though the involvement of Pompey initially worried him, Caepio had been surprised and impressed when he learnt of the trial’s outcome, telling Hortensia how proud he was of her; but she wondered if her father would have the same reaction. Once upon a time she would not have hesitated to boast of her triumph, expectant of her father’s praise and confident of his trumpeting it to all his friends. But a small seed of doubt had planted itself and on balance, given his own recent courtroom fortunes, she decided to keep the story to herself for a little longer.
They stayed for lunch, a simple meal of cold meat, bread and fruit served in the cool of the summer dining room. Hortensius seemed his usual urbane self, devoting his entire attention to his daughter and son-in-law. Caepio made a few valiant attempts to include Quintus, who had been reluctant to come out of his room until a barked command was issued by Hortensius. Now he sat taciturn and pale-faced next to his mother who, like him, ate very little. The party broke up when Hortensius and Caepio were due to leave for court and Hortensia also decided to return home, feeling oppressed by the morose detachment of her mother and brother.
“By the way, my dear, do you know where Lucrio might be?” asked Caepio as they were standing just inside the front door preparing to depart. “Eucherius said no one had seen him since he accompanied you into town yesterday. It is really too bad that he should be so much absent like this when he’s only been with us such a short time.”
Hortensia was thrown off balance by the question but improvised as composed a response as she could.
“He may have gone to the Subura. I have been letting him go to search for news of his family. Perhaps he received word of something.”
Hortensius tutted mockingly. “I warned you against giving that Lusitanian too much freedom. You do realize he probably only wanted an invitation to Rome because he knew he could lose himself more easily in the city than at Laurentum. I shall have to take the price I paid that trainer at Capua for him out of your dowry.”
Hortensia said nothing and her father pinched her cheek. They parted in the street, Hortensius and Caepio heading off to the forum while Hortensia walked back down the hill to her own villa, shielded from the sun once more by the faithful canopy-bearer hovering at her heels. When she arrived home, she went to her room and lay down on her bed to rest, brooding deeply over her father’s embarrassment and on Lucrio’s strange behavior. An hour or so later she awoke from a restless sleep to find Elpidia patting her hand and whispering eagerly that she had a visitor. Out in the atrium, Hortensia found a slave-boy dressed in a plain white tunic sitting on a chair in the corner, being eyed curiously by Eucherius. The boy rose and bowed deeply to her. He could have been no more than fourteen, with long, soft black hair and a meek expression.
“Domina. I am Felix, from the Temple of Vesta. I bring you a message from Cornelia, the Chief Vestal. She wishes for you to wait on her at your earliest opportunity.”
Hortensia stared at him in bewilderment. “The Chief Vestal? What on earth could she want with me?”
The slave bowed respectfully again. “If you will accompany me, domina, the Chief Vestal will be able to answer your question.”
Hortensia was impressed and not a little intimidated. Ever since she was old enough to remember, the Vestal Virgins had seemed to her almost mythical creatures with their plain white robes and their aura of sacred inviolability. She had glimpsed them on a number of occasions, traveling around the city in their specially built two-wheeled carriage, or seated all six of them together in their exclusive row at the front of the theater. When she was little, she used to watch in awe as her mother arrayed herself in special clothing and wrapped up offerings in preparation for the festival of the Bona Dea. She had begged her mother to tell her the secret of what actually went on during the sacred rites, which even her father wasn’t allowed to know about, but Lutatia had only put her finger to her lips and shaken her head mysteriously. Irrationally, Hortensia wondered if somehow word of her exploits in the family court had been brought to the Vestals’ attention and she was going to be reprimanded for her behavior. But she knew that to refuse a request from the Chief Vestal was unthinkable and, having indicated her willingness to accompany the boy, instructed Eucherius to inform Caepio of her whereabouts should he return home before her, and warn him that she might be late for dinner.
XIV
THE FORUM WAS LESS CROWDED THAN IT HAD BEEN THE PREVIOUS afternoon and Hortensia’s litter-bearers were able to find a way through to the Temple of Vesta, drawing up alongside the white marble steps which ascended toward the wide-open doors of the main chamber above. Though small compared to other temples, it was a strikingly beautiful edifice, circular in shape, symmetrical in its proportions and ringed with twenty fluted columns of marble. The doors were flanked with two slaves dressed in the white livery worn by all the Temple servants, standing guard impassively. Nervously, Hortensia put her hands up to her rose-colored mantle and made sure it was draped neatly over her dark hair before following the slave-boy Felix up another staircase leading to the upper story of the grand residence just behind the temple where the six Vestals lived. As she ascended, Hortensia glanced to her left and could just make out the plume of smoke rising from the skylight at the temple peak.
At the top of the stairs, Felix led Hortensia through an archway and along a long colonnaded corridor. Through the travertine pillars, she could look down on to the courtyard at the lower level of the house, whose inner walls were decorated with a garden landscape of trees and flowers. Statues of former Vestals lined the square, their tranquil gazes trained on the rectangular pools at its center. Hortensia glimpsed the veiled heads of two priestesses, carrying baskets of grain across the courtyard toward one of the storerooms leading off it. It seemed extraordinary that such an oasis of peace could exist so close to the seething heart of the forum and Hortensia mused that perhaps the life of a Vestal would not be such a bad one.
They reached the end of the upper corridor where Felix enthusiastically beckoned to Hortensia to follow him into a large, simply-furnished room. Standing by a latticed window was a tall woman clothed in the white veil and robes worn by all the Vestals.
“Hortensia? Daughter of Hortensius Hortalus?” Hortensia nodded. The priestess came forward and nodded dismissal to Felix. She had a high, unlined forehead and clear, wide-set grey eyes which reminded Hortensia of the sphinx in her father’s study at Laurentum. “I am Cornelia, the Chief Vestal. Thank you for coming to see me. I hope I have not inconvenienced you?” What a wonderful, solemn voice, thought Hortensia.
“Of … course not,” she stammered. “It is a great honor to visit you.”
“Even so, I am sure you are wondering why I have asked you here.” The priestess indicated a small, carved chair onto which Hortensia sank, fiddling nervously with the folds of her gown. Cornelia poured out two cups of scented water from an earthenware pitcher and handed one to her young guest.
“I was told of your triumph in the law court yesterday.” Cornelia sat down on a chair opposite Hortensia and smiled primly. “We priestesses may devote ourselves to sacred matters but we do hear much of what goes on in the world outside. What I heard
made me want to meet you very much.”
Hortensia assumed her fears of censure were well-founded.
“You must think I acted inappropriately.”
“Not at all,” came the surprising answer. “I think you showed great bravery and moral courage. Even if your methods were perhaps a little shocking,” she added with a note of severity.
“Which makes me all the more surprised that you wanted to meet me.”
Cornelia did not answer immediately, subjecting Hortensia to long, searching scrutiny before speaking again in a slow, thoughtful tone. “The truth is, I am in some difficulty. And I think … I am almost certain that you may be the only person able to help me.”
“Me?” gasped Hortensia.
Cornelia bent forward to set her cup down gently on a low table before leaning back into her chair, her posture perfectly upright as she refocused her gaze on Hortensia.
“You will have heard no doubt that the body of a member of our order was pulled from the river Tiber some ten days ago.”
In the upheaval caused by Drusilla’s visit and her subsequent obsession with her own court debut, Hortensia had to admit that the story of the errant Vestal had completely slipped her mind.
“Yes. I did hear of that.” She did not know how to continue. The circumstances of the Vestal’s drowning could not but be embarrassing to the woman in front of her who must regard such a transgression by one of her priestesses as deeply shaming. After another long pause, Cornelia stood up once more.
“If you have had enough time to refresh yourself, perhaps you will accompany me?”
She led Hortensia out into the corridor once more and down a narrow set of stairs. They emerged into the courtyard, which was now partially in shadow as the afternoon sun waned, and proceeded around its colonnaded perimeter until they came to a small door, partially concealed behind the statue of a Vestal. Glancing around with what appeared to Hortensia to be a look of fear, Cornelia ushered her through the door and closed it quickly behind them. They were now in a narrow candlelit corridor. The priestess picked up one of the candles on its holder and held it up, illuminating her face like a death mask.
“You must promise me now that you will never reveal what I am about to show you. If the Pontifex discovered I had taken a woman who was not a member of the order along this way, he would have me whipped. If not worse …”
Hortensia nodded in alarm and bewilderment. She followed Cornelia along the corridor and down another set of steep stairs, feeling carefully with her feet as she went. The passage was narrow, just wide enough for one person to walk along, and the light from the candle barely enough to see by. Hortensia tried to focus on its reassuring glow but the closeness of their environment and the thick must in the air was making her feel panicky and faint. Finally, just as she was about to ask in desperation how much further they had to go, they arrived at another set of stairs, at the top of which Hortensia was thankful to see a door. Climbing up, they emerged into a small circular room, its green marble floor faintly illuminated by a strange light flickering through the slats of a wooden door on the opposite wall. There was a large ornate chest in the middle of the room, flanked by a statue of Minerva and several giant vessels that appeared to be storage containers for grain. But what caught Hortensia’s eye at once were the wooden shelves set all around the curved walls, reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling. Each shelf was segmented into niches with a plaque fixed beneath each opening. Some appeared to contain bundles of wax tablets, their hard frames bound together by leather thongs. But most were full of papyrus rolls, their slim coils packed together like the cells of a honeycomb.
“Do you know where we are?” the Chief Vestal asked Hortensia, who shook her head wonderingly. “We are inside the Temple, in the sanctuary at its heart. A number of sacred treasures are kept here, but they do not concern us for the moment. As you may know, one of a Vestal’s responsibilities is to guard the personal papers of our more prominent citizens. Wills, treaties, papers of state – all are kept here in this room and it is a treasonable offense for anyone other than a Vestal to attempt to remove them.”
Hortensia continued to gaze around her in wonder. What her father wouldn’t give to see this room! Several of the rolls had obviously been there for decades, their edges gently darkening like autumn leaves. Flaring her nostrils, she detected the faint scent of cedar oil, which her father had once told her was used to protect the papyrus from moths and worms. Her attention was recalled by Cornelia’s next words.
“I mentioned the death of one of our sisters to you a moment ago. You have perhaps also heard the reason for her death?”
Hortensia nodded awkwardly.
“What you will not have heard is that the day before her body was recovered, an intruder somehow gained access to this room.”
Hortensia looked around her in surprise, as if half expecting someone to be lurking still in a dark corner. “Was something stolen?” she asked tentatively.
“We do not know,” replied the priestess bluntly.
“Haven’t you checked?” asked Hortensia incredulously.
Cornelia made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “Nothing has been taken from this room as far as we can tell. A full inventory was conducted, secretly, and at my request. Every document that should be here is here. There is no sign that anything has been disturbed.”
Hortensia wrinkled her brow. “Then … forgive me, but how do you know that someone has been in here?”
Cornelia did not answer her immediately. The light from the slatted door cast her face into stony relief, like one of the statues of the goddess she served.
“I was called to the college of Vestals on my ninth birthday,” she finally said, meditatively. “We are a closed order, and no male except for the slaves who serve us and the Pontifex himself is permitted to set foot within this sacred space. In the twenty-seven years that I have served the goddess since leaving my parents and my family home, I have come to know every stone and every tile of this temple, every sound that echoes through its corridors, every shade of light that falls through its windows.” Her gaze wandered around the room with no apparent fixed object. “The day after Helena’s disappearance I walked into this room and I knew that a man had been in here.”
“How?”
Cornelia brought her limpid grey eyes to rest on Hortensia, peering at her with strangely fervent intensity.
“Because I could smell him.”
She let the impact of her announcement settle, before beginning to stroll slowly around the room. “A bitter, green scent – galbanum, I think.” Cornelia gazed up at the shelves as though still trying to discover the source of any theft. “Very distinctive. I remember my father used to wear it.” She paused in a corner near the doorway. “It was strongest just here. Its wearer obviously stood here for a time, perhaps waiting his chance to escape without being noticed.”
She turned to observe Hortensia’s reaction.
“But, surely if the accusation against the girl was true, it is not surprising that a man should have been here? Forgive me but perhaps the person whose scent you detected was … her seducer?”
Cornelia was silent for a moment.
“That is what the Pontifex –Metellus Pius – concluded when I conveyed my concerns to him, and consuls Crassus and Pompey supported his decision. But I do not believe it.” The priestess set her jaw and shook her head stubbornly. “Helena was a shy, pious girl. She took her duties very seriously. She was not the sort to forget herself in that way.” She saw that Hortensia was still looking doubtful and nodded. “I can see you need further proof. It is understandable. There was – is – something else.”
She peered out through the gaps in the slatted door before opening it and at once Hortensia understood the source of the strange light. They were looking into the heart of the temple itself, at the center of which was a hearth in which a bronze basin of fire was blazing. A Vestal was seated impassively beside it, her white mantle drawn up over her head
so that her profile could not be seen. But then she turned at the sound of the door and Hortensia could see that she was young, only a few years older than herself, with pale, pointed features and a heart-shaped face. As they drew near to her, something about her expression made Hortensia think for a moment she had met her before but it was an elusive feeling. The younger priestess glanced around and whispered excitedly to Cornelia. “It is still there, domina. None of the others have noticed it.”
“Thank you, Fabia. Please stand up. I would like to show our discovery to our young guest here.”
The Vestal got to her feet eagerly and without being asked, began tugging at the arms of the heavy wooden chair on which she had been seated, dragging it over the mosaic tiles.
“Careful,” admonished the Chief Vestal. “Do not disturb it.”
Hortensia suddenly realized that the marble floor all around the blazing hearth was coated in a thin film of soot and ash. It became obvious as soon as the chair was moved because thick white lines appeared on its mottled surface as the legs were dragged across it. The young Vestal beckoned conspiratorially to Hortensia, and pointed to a patch of the floor previously covered by the chair. Squinting in the direction of her finger, Hortensia could not at first make out what was being pointed out to her. But then she saw it, one word followed by the beginning of another, faintly and crookedly daubed on the blackened floor by an anonymous, solitary finger.
P O M P E Y M
Cornelia began to speak quickly, in a low voice as though she was fearful of being overheard.
“Helena was guarding the hearth on the night of her disappearance. I think she may have disturbed the intruder and was attacked. There were marks around her neck when she was found. But somehow she had enough life in her to scrawl that on the floor underneath the chair before her body was moved from the temple …”
Cornelia’s voice became constricted. Hortensia could not quite believe what she was hearing. The import behind Cornelia’s revelation was sensational. What did the Vestals think the message meant? Surely they couldn’t be suggesting that Pompey himself …
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