Roma

by Steven Saylor

  “Yes, Virgo Maxima. I understand.” Pinaria shivered and began to weep.

  Postumia embraced her, holding her tightly and stroking her closely shorn hair. “There, there! I’ve frightened you, child. But I do it for your own good. I do it for the good of us all.”

  Though the door was shut, a sudden draft passed through the chamber, as if the temple itself drew a breath. The sacred hearthfire leaped this way and that, wavered, and for an instant appeared to vanish altogether.

  390 B.C.

  “Of course, the ban on intermarriage between plebeians and patricians should never have been repealed,” said Postumia.

  Foslia laughed out loud. “But Virgo Maxima, what can that possibly have to do with the so-called Veii Question?”

  Postumia, who was about to take a bite from a stuffed grape leaf held delicately between her forefinger and thumb, put down the delicacy and cleared her throat. She was slightly flustered by Foslia’s disrespectful laughter. “All questions of right and wrong impinge on one another. In matters of religion—and there are no matters unrelated to religion—every subject is relevant to every other.”

  Foslia was skeptical. “A ban on marriage between the classes—wasn’t that in force only briefly, because it was so unpopular? And it was all so very long ago. People my age are hardly aware that such a ban ever existed!”

  The occasion was dinner in the House of the Vestals. The weather was mild. The priestesses dined in the garden under the open sky, reclining on couches. The couch of the Virgo Maxima was at the head of the group. Dining on a couch opposite the Virgo Maxima was the youngest—still Pinaria, for in the three years since the triumph of Camillus, no Vestal had retired or died, and so no new novices had been inducted.

  Female servants moved silently among them, delivering fresh dishes and taking away empty ones. “The eyes and ears of the Pontifex Maximus,” Foslia called their servants. “They watch us like hawks,” she had once remarked to Pinaria. “They listen to every word we say. If ever a Vestal should stray, the Pontifex Maximus will know about it even before the goddess does, thanks to his vigilant spies!” Foslia said such things in jest, but Pinaria was not amused.

  Nor was the Virgo Maxima amused by Foslia’s dismissal of her comment on marriage.

  “May I remind you, Foslia, that a marriage between two patricians requires a religious rite, while any marriage involving a plebeian is purely a civil matter. In the time of the Decemvirs, this fact was one of the strongest arguments against intermarriage. In any mixed union, the patrician partner is deprived of religious ceremony—a state of affairs that must surely offend the gods. A patrician should marry only another patrician, and do so in accordance with the sacred rites. Yes, the ban was rescinded—but that doesn’t mean it won’t come back.”

  Postumia took a bite of the stuffed grape leaf, then returned the remainder to a small silver plate and waved for a servant to remove it. She was finished eating and ready to pontificate for the benefit of the younger Vestals. “Times of piety and of impiety occur in cycles. I grew up in a permissive era, but we now live in an age not so very different from that of the Decemvirs. In recent years, due to the press of constant warfare, the election of consuls has been suspended, and Roma is ruled instead by six military tribunes. As for the conflict between the classes, if anything, it may be worse than in the days of the Decemvirs, because the patricians continually retreat and the plebeians continually demand more concessions—more land to settle, more debt-relief, more voting rights. If our leaders would use their power to reinstate the intermarriage ban, in that sphere at least Roma would again be in harmony with the will of the gods, and the classes might resume their rightful roles in the state. Such an idea did not originate with me; it comes from our sacred father, the Pontifex Maximus, who told me only yesterday that he intends to petition the military tribunes for a return of the intermarriage ban. And in this house, we do not contradict the Pontifex Maximus. If you have a conflicting opinion, Foslia, keep it to yourself.”

  “Of course, Virgo Maxima.” Foslia’s sardonic tone seemed to indicate that, while she might keep her opinions private, she would keep them, nonetheless. “And of course you’re right to say marriage, at least any marriage involving a patrician, is a religious matter. But we were discussing the Veii Question, and surely that is about only two things: money and politics.”

  Postumia shook her head. “To the contrary, Foslia, can you not see that the Veii Question is very much a religious matter? Pinaria, you’re very quiet this evening. You may still be the youngest, but you’re no longer a novice. Speak up.”

  Pinaria swallowed an olive stuffed with goat cheese. “Very well, Virgo Maxima. It seems to me, more than ever, that Roma’s conquest of Veii is a mirror of the Greeks’ conquest of Troy. First, it took ten years. Second, it came about by a clever stratagem rather than by brute strength. Third, while it seemed to solve all our problems at the time, instead, like the Greeks after Troy, we discovered that the conquest merely led to more dissention at home.”

  Postumia nodded thoughtfully. “Continue.”

  “Veii was so rich, people thought the capture of so much booty would relieve the tensions between the classes. Surely, they thought, there would be enough, and more than enough, for everyone in Roma. But when the time came for the division of the spoils, no one was pleased. The temple to Juno Regina, and the ceremonies to dedicate the temple, cost a great deal more than anyone expected. Added to that was the tenth portion promised by Camillus to Apollo and his priesthood. The plebeians said they were being robbed of booty for which they had spilled their blood. In reply to that, the patricians said it was sacrilegious of the plebeians to try to claim booty that had been promised to the gods.”

  “And the result?”

  “Bitter accusations of unfairness and greed from both sides.”

  “Which is certainly nothing new,” said Foslia, who could never stay out of any discussion for long. “For generations patricians have argued, quite reasonably, that everyone must pull together for the common good. We must be united under our leaders, all willing to sacrifice in the face of so many threats from so many enemies. And for just as long, selfish, shortsighted plebeians have done nothing but complain. At times, they’ve even refused military service!”

  “Of course…” Pinaria said, then hesitated. Certain ideas which she overheard outside the House of the Vestals were not always welcomed by her fellow Vestals, especially the Virgo Maxima.

  “Go on,” said Postumia.

  “Yes, go on,” said Foslia, with a mischievous glint in her eye, hoping to see the Virgo Maxima provoked.

  Pinaria spoke slowly and carefully. “These are not my ideas, you understand; but one does hear things. For instance, there are some who argue that, while the temple itself honors Juno Regina, the money to build the temple actually goes into the pockets of the contractors chosen by the state. Most of those contractors are patricians and are already quite rich. And because those contractors tend to use slaves—men captured in war and sold to them cheaply by the state—plebeian workers see no profit at all from such a project.”

  “Their profit is the good will of the goddess, who is pleased by her temple!” declared the Virgo Maxima. “To reduce the building of a temple, a sacred act, to a squabble over money is nothing less than sacrilege, of the sort spewed by the worst rabble-rousers. Really, Pinaria, you must learn to allow such talk to go in one ear and out the other. Think about it: Simple reason dictates that the gods must always be given the first and greatest portion of the spoils. Otherwise, we might lose their favor, and then where would we be? Veii would have conquered us, instead of the other way around! After the gods, our responsible, hard-working leaders, the men who ensure the proper worship of the gods, must be given their rightful share. And after that, the plebeian rabble should be satisfied with whatever spoils may remain—just as they should be satisfied to marry within their own class! Instead of nurturing wild notions that they themselves are fit to rule t
he state, they should submit to those whose families have proved themselves best able to guide the destiny of Roma. This is a dangerous world, full of enemies. Only proven leadership that is pleasing to the gods can preserve us from catastrophe.”

  Pinaria bowed her head. “The Virgo Maxima speaks wisely.”

  The other Vestals, including Foslia, nodded and echoed her words: “The Virgo Maxima speaks wisely!”

  “And yet…” Postumia’s voice trembled with emotion. “And yet it sometimes seems that our worst enemies are inside the city, not outside. The rabble may be unfit to rule, but they still have their tribunes and other powerful men who cater to them, as we have seen demonstrated only too well in recent days.”

  The other Vestals put aside their food. The Virgo Maxima was alluding to a topic painful to them all.

  Foslia broke the uncomfortable silence. “Is there no hope for Camillus, Virgo Maxima?”

  Postumia sighed. “The situation remains unchanged. Even as we speak, Marcus Furius Camillus is making ready to leave Roma. Rather than face trial, he will go into exile. We all know how this lamentable state of affairs came about: In their fury over the spoils of Veii, the rabble decided to vent their spite on the man most responsible for dispensing those spoils. They accused Camillus of breaking the law. They claim he wrongfully enriched his friends and family members.”

  “But surely he isn’t guilty,” said one of the Vestals.

  The Virgo Maxima shook her head. “Alas, men wise in the ways of the courts tell me otherwise. By the strict letter of the law, Camillus did indeed commit improprieties. He is unable to account for all the wealth that was dispensed. The courts take such matters very seriously and cannot look the other way. Really, these laws are written as if they were intentionally fashioned to give a weapon to the enemies of any man in public life. The higher a man rises, and the more far-ranging his decisions, the more vulnerable he becomes to charges of corruption. And so, Camillus—our beloved Camillus!—is being driven from Roma. Only three years ago, every man, woman, and child was shouting his name in the streets, praising him as our savior. And now, this! Vesta forgive me for saying such a thing, but if Camillus were to raise arms against us, as Coriolanus did, I should hardly be able to deny that the city deserved it! But of course, he will never do that. Camillus is too great a man, and too loyal a Roman, no matter that his enemies have made him an outcast. Tonight, when we gather at the temple, we must all remember him in our prayers. May Camillus be comforted and kept warm by Vesta’s fire, however far he may journey from the hearth.”

  “May Vesta’s fire keep him warm!” echoed the other Vestals, and some quietly began to weep; many tears had been shed in the House of the Vestals over the misfortunes of Camillus in recent days. In the years since his triumph, all the Vestals, including the Virgo Maxima, had come to regard the conqueror of Veii with a certain awe. In reverent tones they spoke of his military triumphs and his grandiose public works; in whispers they spoke of his chiseled features and brawny bearing, the exemplar of Roman manliness. The Vestals had built a veritable cult around Camillus, and his fall had devastated them.

  Pinaria did not weep. She was remembering the day of Camillus’s triumph, and the shock she had felt at seeing the four white horses that pulled his chariot. Surely Jupiter, who saw everything from the clouds, had seen those white horses as well. Had the god believed that a mortal was mocking him? The Virgo Maxima saw the will of the gods in all things, so why not in the downfall of Camillus? But Pinaria had already provoked the Virgo Maxima once this evening; she did not care to do so again by imputing any fault to a man whom the Vestals held in such esteem.

  It occurred to Pinaria that, in the course of the evening’s digressions, the topic that had originally been brought up was the very topic no one had discussed: the Veii Question.

  The spoils of Veii had been claimed; the people had been sold into slavery and the conquered city had been stripped of every ornament, as vultures strip a carcass of its flesh. But even the most ravenous vultures leave bones behind, and the bones of Veii remained: its houses, walls, wells, fountains, assembly halls, streets, gardens, and temples. The houses of Veii stood empty. Veii was a city without citizens.

  What was to be done with Veii?

  One faction, led by a tribune of the plebs named Sicinius, argued that half the population of Roma should leave their homes and move to Veii, taking up residence in the empty houses there. Renters could become owners; men mired in debt could make a fresh start. Farmers who had been promised small homesteads in distant, conquered Volscian territory could instead receive lots outside Veii, enjoying the amenities of a city already built and living close to their family and friends in Roma. With two complete cities to accommodate the population of one, much of the disparity between the haves and have-nots of Roma could be eliminated overnight.

  The supporters of Sicinius’s proposal were wildly enthusiastic, but the opposition was fierce. The landlords and moneylenders of Roma had everything to lose and nothing to gain. Those who ran the city foresaw a dilution of their authority; what if Veii became not an annex of Roma but a rival city, with its own magistrates and priesthoods? Opponents accused Sicinius of scheming to make himself rich by controlling the distribution of properties in Veii; perhaps he even intended to become king of Veii. To the opposition, the proposed migration was nothing less than another secession of the plebs—only this time, the secession would be permanent. The gods had shown favor to one city, Roma, and Roma should remain as it was. Veii should be utterly destroyed, it walls pulled down and its buildings burned to the ground.

  Camillus had been among those who spoke most vehemently against the move to occupy Veii. In a speech to the Senate, he had uttered a phrase which became the rallying cry of the opposition: “Any city abandoned by the gods must never be inhabited by men!” Some said his exile was the price he paid for opposing Sicinius and his faction. They had brought charges of corruption against which Camillus had been unable to defend himself, but the real issue had been Camillus’s stand on the Veii Question.

  Should Roma be one city or two? Should Veii be inhabited or destroyed? The unresolved issue overshadowed every other concern facing the city. The debate was fierce and unrelenting, and often descended to open violence in the Forum. There seemed to be no middle ground; migration either promised the solution to all problems, or threatened the annihilation of Roma. The stakes were incredibly high. No wonder Foslia had laughed at the Virgo Maxima’s quaint digression on intermarriage when the Veii Question was raised!

  And yet, as Postumia had argued, all such questions were at some level related to one another. Politics split each question into many different questions, all of them vexed and insoluble: Every man asserted his own will, and whoever was strongest at a given moment prevailed. Religion unified all questions into one, to which there was a single answer: the will of the gods.

  It often seemed to Pinaria that the world outside the House of the Vestals was a swirling chaos of violence and uncertainty. The enemies of Roma sought her destruction, as she sought theirs. The citizens of Roma endlessly struggled against one another for wealth and power; even within families, sons contested against one another and sometimes disobeyed their paterfamilias, and wives rebelled against their husbands. But these struggles were mere shadows of something far greater, and yet hard to see, as a temple by its vastness must be hard for an ant to discern: the will of the gods. Wisdom came not from within, or from other mortals; wisdom came from determining the desire of the gods. But how was this to be done? Even after her many years of study, the path often seemed obscure to Pinaria.

  She was glad the dinner was over, and conversation had ceased; now the Vestals would make their way to the temple of the goddess for the evening’s thanksgiving. No matter how much delight the play of words gave to clever people like Foslia, or to teachers like the Virgo Maxima, talking never resolved anything. Peace came only in the performance of ritual, and the greatest peace came in those precious mom
ents when Pinaria could gaze, uninterrupted and free from all extraneous thoughts, into the hearth-fire of Vesta, knowing it to be the one thing in all the world that was pure and everlasting.

  “They are on their way! They are on their way! I must warn everyone! They are on their way!”

  The madman had forced his way past the servants at the entrance of the House of the Vestals. He had rushed though the vestibule and into the atrium, where he now stood in the center of the impluvium. It was high noon and the sun shone directly down on him. When he stamped his feet in the ankle-deep water, like a child throwing a tantrum, the sunlight sparkled and lit rainbows amid the splashing water.

  “They are on their way!” he cried, clenching his fists at his sides and drawing his eyebrows to a point. “Why will no one listen?”

  The Vestals and their huddled servants kept their distance and watched him, fascinated. Foslia, who had just arrived, whispered in Pinaria’s ear. “Who is this creature?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ve seen him before, in the street between here and the Temple of Vesta.”

  “He looks like a beggar, to judge by those rags. And that awful unkempt hair and beard! Has he threatened anyone?”

  “No. He seems to be trying to warn us about something. The Virgo Maxima has gone to find the Pontifex Maximus—”

  “You must be joking! I should think she’d fetch some armed lictors to take the man away in chains.”

  “She seemed to take him rather seriously.”

  There was a commotion at the entrance. Postumia and the Pontifex Maximus appeared in the vestibule and strode into the atrium, followed by a retinue of priests and augurs.