Roma

by Steven Saylor

  “Magnificent!” declared Foslia. “There can be no other image of Juno to rival it. Even the statue made by the great Vulca for the Temple of Jupiter can’t compare. This one is so much larger—three times the size of any mortal! The look on the goddess’s face is truly sublime! And that giant peacock, with its wings spread—did you ever see such a riot of colors?”

  While they watched, a boy, egged on by his friends, darted from the crowd. He grabbed hold of the loincloth of a captive priest, yanked it off, and ran back into the crowd, whooping and waving the loincloth like a trophy. The priest, a middle-aged man already stumbling from exhaustion, turned red and wept from shame, unable to cover himself because his hands were shackled to the rope across his shoulder. Pinaria gasped, and Foslia raised an eyebrow, but neither looked away.

  “I wonder what the goddess thinks of that?” said Pinaria.

  “Keep watching. She might speak at any moment!”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Why not? You know the story: When Camillus sent soldiers to take the statue from her temple in Veii, one of the men, just to be funny, bowed and asked the goddess if she would like to be taken to her new home. What a shock those fellows had when the statue actually nodded—and then spoke out loud! They thought someone was pulling a prank, so they asked her again, and, as clearly as I’m speaking to you now, she said, ‘Yes, take me to Roma at once!’ They say she sounded angry; Juno Regina doesn’t like to repeat herself. Of course she wanted to come here. If she hadn’t lost affection for the Veiians, they would never have been conquered. Camillus has ordered the building of a new temple on the Aventine especially to house the statue. Veiian wealth will pay for materials. Veiian slaves will supply the labor. That naked priest can stop blushing. A slave doesn’t need clothing to dig a trench or carry bricks.”

  “Do you think the Greeks treated the Trojans this way, after they conquered them?” asked Pinaria. Among the Vestals, there had been many discussions of late comparing the fall of Veii to the fall of Troy, a tale that the Romans had learned from the Greek colonists to the south. Just as the siege of Troy had lasted for ten years, so had the siege of Veii. Just as the Greeks finally took the city by guile—using the famous Trojan horse devised by Odysseus—so too had the Romans finally triumphed by a clever stratagem, tunneling under the walls so that Roman soldiers could steal inside by night and open the gates.

  “Of course they did,” said Foslia. “The Trojan women, including Queen Hecuba and the princesses, were taken as slaves. So were the men, at least the ones who weren’t killed. No city is conquered unless its people have offended the gods; for the conquerors to kill or enslave the inhabitants is pleasing to the gods. The people of Roma have always known this. The humiliation of our enemies is one of the ways by which we please the gods, and by pleasing the gods, we continue to prosper.”

  As usual, Foslia’s religious logic was irrefutable, and Pinaria gladly deferred to her, yet the sight of the disgraced Veiian priest disturbed her. She turned her head and looked instead at the triumphal chariot, which was now receding from them in the direction of the Capitoline. Camillus, turning this way and that to wave to the crowd, happened to look over his shoulder. His gaze abruptly settled on Pinaria. He ceased waving, tilted his head at a quizzical angle, and flashed an enigmatic smile.

  Foslia grabbed her arm and squealed with delight. “Pinaria, he’s looking straight at you! And why not? You’re so lovely, even with your hair cut short. Oh, if he should look at me that way, I think I would die!”

  Pinaria’s face turned hot and she lowered her eyes. When she dared to look up again, the chariot had rounded a corner and was no longer in sight.

  She heard a sudden burst of laughter and applause from the crowd. Following the statue of Juno Regina came a flock of geese. The white birds strutted forward, stretching and flapping their wings, craning their necks and honking. These were the sacred geese of Juno, captured from the Veiians along with her statue, objects of religious veneration but also of good-natured humor. The pampered creatures seemed to understand their exalted position; they gazed back at the crowd with haughty heads held high. One of the geese suddenly raced forward, toward the priest who had been stripped naked, and bit the man on the ankle. The priest let out a plaintive howl.

  “Getting back at her former keeper for some transgression, I have no doubt,” whispered Foslia.

  The crowd roared with laughter.

  In the last hour of daylight, after the sacrifice of a white ox upon an altar before the Temple of Jupiter and the ritual strangulation of high-born captives in the Tullianum, as the feasting and dancing in the streets began to die down, the Vestals convened at the Temple of Vesta.

  While the others had watched the triumph, one of their number, as always, had been left to tend to the sacred hearthfire within the round temple. Now her five sister virgins rejoined her for the recitation of evening prayers, led by the eldest of them, Postumia, the Virgo Maxima. The keeping of the sacred hearthfire was the primary obligation of their order. Should the fire ever go out, catastrophe and misfortune for Roma would surely follow.

  The keeping of their vows of chastity was an equally important obligation. Should a Vestal ever break that vow, she might conceal the crime from other mortals but never from the goddess. Vesta would know, and in consequence the hearthfire would sputter and dwindle. Only a pure virgin could maintain a steady flame in Vesta’s hearth.

  The Vestals linked hands and stood in a circle around the flame. While the others swayed gently and hummed in harmony, the Virgo Maxima intoned the evening prayer. “Goddess Vesta, hear us. We have kept your flame for another day, and now another night descends, its darkness illuminated, as always, by your undying light. You warm us. You light our way. The same unwavering fire that comforted the baby Romulus at his birth comforts us here in your temple.”

  Postumia was the eldest, but her short gray hair still had strands of black in it, and her voice was strong, without a quaver. She hummed and swayed with the other virgins for a moment, gazing at the flame, then recommenced the prayer. “For thirty years, each of us vows to serve you, goddess Vesta. We come to you before the age of ten; for ten years we learn; for ten years we perform the public rites; for ten years we teach the newcomers. Then we are free to go—or stay.

  “Bless me, goddess Vesta! My thirty years passed years ago, but I chose to remain in your service. Permit me to stay, goddess, as long as I have eyes to witness the holy flame and strength to tend it, as long as I have words and wisdom sufficient to teach the younger virgins.

  “Bless us all, goddess Vesta, but especially open your embrace to the youngest of us, Pinaria. Seven years she has been among us. Now that Foslia has entered her tenth year, Pinaria is the only novice. She still has much to learn. Give her special guidance, goddess Vesta.”

  Pinaria, who had entered a kind of trance while humming and watching the flame, gave a tiny start at the mention of her name. It was not often that the Virgo Maxima mentioned the Vestals by name in her prayers. Why was she doing so now, and why for Pinaria? What she said next unsettled Pinaria even more.

  “We pray, goddess, that you will remember all the Vestals who have come before us, going back to the days of King Romulus, who named the first four Vestals in Roma, and King Tarquinius the Elder, who raised our number to six, and who, in his wisdom, imposed a punishment far more terrible than simple death for any Vestal who should break her vows—the punishment that remains in force to this day.”

  Pinaria drew a sharp breath, as did all the Vestals, their serene thoughts suddenly invaded by images of that most dreadful of all deaths. The humming and swaying stopped. The little temple became utterly silent except for the crackling of the hearthfire. Pinaria’s heart was beating so hard that she thought the others must be able to hear it. Why had the Virgo Maxima mentioned her in the prayer, and in the very next breath spoken of the terrible punishment for those who strayed?

  “Give all of us strength, goddess Vesta,”
whispered Postumia. “The way of the Vestal is not always easy, and harder for some than for others. Only the presence of your hearthfire within our hearts can keep us pure.”

  The prayer ended. The Vestals released each other’s hands. Beyond the open doorway of the temple, twilight had turned to darkness.

  “You may each ignite a taper from the sacred flame, to light your way safely back to the House of the Vestals. It’s Pinaria’s turn to tend the flame for the next four hours. Since she’s a novice, I’ll stay with her for a while.”

  “But Virgo Maxima, I’ve tended the flame plenty of times before, all by myself. I know how to—” Pinaria saw Postumia’s withering gaze, and lowered her eyes. “Of course, Virgo Maxima. I’m honored that you’ll stay with me.”

  The others filed out, carrying their tapers. Foslia, the last to leave, glanced back at Pinaria with a guilty look on her face before she shut the door behind her.

  For a long time, Postumia stared at the flame and said nothing. At last she took a deep breath. “You may find this hard to imagine, Pinaria, but once upon a time, I was your age. I was not as beautiful as you—oh, no, not nearly as beautiful! For better or worse, Pinaria, with your auburn hair and your bright green eyes, you are an exceptionally lovely girl. But I was young, and passably pretty, and very, very vain, as only a young girl can be. I took my vow of chastity very seriously, but nonetheless, I saw no harm in adorning myself. I wore bracelets made of silver, and sometimes a necklace of carnelian that had belonged to my grandmother; I told people that I thought the red stone went very well with the red and white fillet we wear around our heads, but in fact, I thought it set off the pink glow of my cheeks. I anointed my hands and face with a scented oil that came all the way from Egypt—or so claimed the merchant who came once a month to the House of the Vestals to offer us such things.”

  “The Virgo Maxima allowed this?” said Pinaria. Postumia never permitted any of the Vestals to wear jewelry or to use any sort of perfume or unguent, and while men were allowed to enter the House of the Vestals during daylight hours—never after dark—they could do so only if they had official or family business with one of the virgins. A seller of scented oils would never be permitted inside!

  “The Virgo Maxima in those days was very permissive. She doted on the younger Vestals. She doted particularly on me; I was her favorite. She encouraged me. ‘How pretty that necklace looks on you, Postumia,’ she would say, or, ‘My, what lovely skin you have, so flawless and smooth!’ I can’t blame her for my vanity, but she certainly did nothing to discourage it. Nor did she discourage my flirtatious nature. Vanity leads to flirtation, you see. What good is being pretty if no one notices? And how can a girl know that she’s noticed unless she looks others in the eye? First, she accepts their admiring gazes, and after that, she accepts their spoken compliments, and after that…” Postumia shook her head. “Such behavior is dangerous for a Vestal. Very dangerous! And it all begins with the eyes. A man gazes at us, and we accept his gaze with pleasure, and that pleasure, which seems so innocent, leads us to desire other pleasures.”

  Pinaria frowned. “Virgo Maxima, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. I never wear jewelry; you don’t allow it, and even if you did, I have no desire—”

  “Camillus looked at you today.”

  Pinaria blinked. “Perhaps.”

  “He looked at you with pleasure.”

  Pinaria shrugged. “Did he? I couldn’t say whether—”

  “And it gave you pleasure, did it not? That such a great man, the hero of the hour, so strong and handsome, should desire to look at you.”

  Pinaria’s face grew hot. “I did nothing wrong, Virgo Maxima.”

  “You returned his gaze.”

  “Perhaps, but only for an instant!” Pinaria furrowed her brow. For a brief, irreverent moment, she imagined that the Virgo Maxima was jealous of the look Camillus had given her. “Virgo Maxima, surely Camillus is a pious man. No Roman is more respectful of the gods, or more beloved by them. Before the final siege of Veii, he pledged to build a grand new temple for Juno Regina, and in return, the goddess allowed him to capture the city. As well, he pledged a tenth portion of all the booty to the god Apollo—”

  “I don’t question the piety of Camillus. But a pious man is a man, nonetheless. Pinaria, Pinaria! I don’t mean that Camillus himself poses a threat to you—unless you were to lead him on. The threat comes from within yourself.”

  “But, Virgo Maxima—”

  “Silence!” Postumia’s bosom rose and fell in a sudden access of emotion. She watched the flames until she grew calmer. “Listen to me, Pinaria. As I told you, when I was your age, I was very vain. I adorned myself. I accepted the gazes of men—and returned them. I laughed when they said amusing things. I tried to be witty in return, and when men laughed, I felt a flush of excitement. I did nothing wrong—certainly nothing that betrayed my vow to Vesta. But my behavior attracted attention.

  “The year that I was elevated from novice to full-fledged priestess, a series of bad omens occurred. A goat was born with two heads. A summer hailstorm rained tiny frogs. Worst of all, one augury after another indicated misfortune on the battlefield. The people were alarmed. They wanted to know the cause. Had the military commanders failed to make proper sacrifices to the gods? Was the Pontifex Maximus at fault—had the highest authority of the state religion been derelict in his duties? Or had the priests who keep the Sibylline Books misread the prophecies and led the people astray? All these possibilities were investigated, yet no fault could be found with the performance of any of the sacred rites, and no impurity was detected in those charged with carrying out those rites. And then…the investigation turned to me.”

  Again, Postumia fell silent for a long time, staring at the flame. “Do you know the penalty imposed on a Vestal who is found to have lost her virginity?”

  Pinaria was barely able to speak about a whisper. “Of course I do, Virgo Maxima.”

  “Then tell me.”

  Pinaria swallowed hard. “If a Vestal is charged with breaking her vow of chastity, the Pontifex Maximus himself investigates the matter. A board of priests renders judgment. If they find her guilty…”

  “Go on.”

  “The priests strip her of her vestments. The man with whom she broke her vows is brought before her in chains, and beaten to death before her eyes. Then the priests turn their fury on the Vestal. They scourge her with whips until she can no longer stand. They dress her like a corpse, all in black, and tie her with leather straps to a funeral bier, so tightly that she can’t cry out. They place the bier upon a funeral wagon, draped in black, and the wagon is paraded through the city for all to see, just as if the Vestal were already dead and being taken to her funeral…”

  “Go on.”

  “They take her to a place where a crypt has been dug beneath the city wall. They remove her from the wagon, and lower her into the crypt. They seal the entrance and cover it with a mound of earth. No funeral rites are conducted for her. She is never spoken of again.” Pinaria’s mouth was so dry that she could hardly speak. “No man kills her. No man sees her die. What happens to her in the tomb is known only to Vesta.”

  Postumia nodded gravely. “Who was the last Vestal to receive this punishment?”

  Pinaria furrowed her brow.

  “Come, come, Pinaria! Foslia would answer in a heartbeat.”

  “I remember now. It was almost a hundred years ago—”

  “It was exactly seventy-nine years ago,” said Postumia harshly, “in the days of my grandmother.”

  “As you say, Virgo Maxima.”

  “What were the circumstances? What was the Vestal’s name?”

  “She was called Urbinia. The women of Roma had fallen prey to a pestilence, especially women who were pregnant; there was one miscarriage after another. The Pontifex Maximus suspected impurity. It was found that Urbinia had given herself not to one man, but two, and yet she still dared to tend the sacred flame. Urbinia was tried
and found guilty. After she was punished, the pestilence ceased, and the women once again bore healthy babies.”

  Postumia nodded. “Urbinia was the most recent Vestal to be found guilty of impurity and punished. But she was not the first. You come from a very old family, do you not, Pinaria?”

  “Yes, Virgo Maxima.”

  “A family older than the republic, older than the kings; a family that has given Roma many consuls and magistrates, many warriors and priests, and not a few Vestals. But even the most respectable families have stains on their history. It was King Tarquinius the Elder who initiated the method by which Vestals are punished. And what was the name of the very first Vestal to be punished according to that practice?”

  “Her name…” Pinaria’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Come, child! You know the answer.”

  “Her name was the same as my own: Pinaria. An ancestress of mine was the first Vestal to be…”

  “Buried alive!” whispered Postumia. She drew a deep breath. “Buried alive—that’s what they did to Pinaria, and to Urbinia. That’s what they wanted to do to me. Even now, I can’t speak of it with a steady voice.”

  “But surely you were innocent.”

  “Of course I was, you stupid girl! Had I been less than innocent, I wouldn’t be here today! In the end, thank the goddess, I was able to convince the Pontifex Maximus of that fact. But the investigation itself…the fear I felt…the humiliation…the terror…the nightmares I still experience, after all these years!” Postumia cleared her throat. “When I became Virgo Maxima, I promised myself that no Vestal in my charge would ever suffer such an ordeal. To keep your vow is not enough. Innocence is not enough! A Vestal must be above temptation, yes—but she must also be above suspicion. Do you understand, Pinaria?”