Mortuus Virgo

by Kevin Ashman

  Mortuus Virgo

  Kevin Ashman

  Kevin Ashman

  Mortuus Virgo

  Chapter 1

  Rome 54 AD

  Rubria was playing with her dolly the day the soldiers came for her, completely oblivious to the muffled voices outside that would take her away for ever.

  She had been a very good girl. The bed was made, the wooden rocking horse that had been so lovingly crafted by the estate carpenter was pushed into the corner, and even her clothes were stacked neatly on the shelves. She looked at her pretty dresses, not quite sure why she couldn’t take them all but mummy said she had to wear the white one, even though the pink one with the ribbons was her favourite.

  ‘Is it time, Maria?’ she asked, her fingers playing nervously with her dolly’s hair.

  ‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ answered the servant, trying her best to hold back the tears that were building up like a dammed river behind her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be sad, Maria,’ said Rubria, ‘Mummy said that I am going somewhere nice and am going to be a very important person.’

  ‘Oh, you are, Miss,’ answered Maria, reaching out to take the child’s hands in hers, ‘You are going to have such a wonderful life. Kings will seek audience with you, the people of Rome will bow their heads as you pass by and even the Emperor himself will seek your council.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything,’ said Rubria innocently.

  Maria wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her Peplos.

  ‘That is why you are going, Miss,’ she said, ‘You are going to learn great and wondrous secrets, things that poor old Maria couldn’t even dream of.’

  ‘Will I be rich?’

  ‘Richer than you or I can ever imagine, with more money than you could spend in a lifetime. A hundred lifetimes, even.’

  ‘Do you think they will let me have a puppy?’

  ‘I’m not so sure about a puppy,’ said Maria, ‘You will be far too busy for that.’ She looked nervously over the girl’s shoulder towards the closed door that would open any second now.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Rubria, ‘I will ask daddy for one on my next birthday. I expect I will be back by then and he always said I could have a puppy when I am nine.’

  ‘Oh, Miss,’ sobbed Maria as the dam finally burst and the tears came. She pulled the girl into her arms to hug her tightly, as, though she was only a slave, she had been Rubria’s nursemaid since the girl’s birth and had built up a bond as close as any mother could ever enjoy. For eight years she had spent every day pandering to the little girl’s every whim. She tucked her in at night and was the first person the child saw when she opened her beautiful blue eyes in the morning. Maria even slept in a small room next door so to be at her bedside in a moment should the night demons come. But all that that was about to end. A delegation had arrived from Rome the previous night and an entourage the like of which she had never seen before now lined up outside, waiting to take her precious little girl away from her.

  Amy, another servant of the household, had described them from the window when they had arrived at dusk. First there were forty horsemen carrying Pilae, the iron tipped lances resting snugly in the tubular leather pouches attached to the left sides of their saddles. A Gladius hung from their belts on the right side, the ornamental hilts far more extravagant than the swords carried by the legions on active service, and every helmet was adorned with a plume of scarlet horse hair sweeping front to back along the crest. Their bronze Lorica Segmentata, the ceremonial armour, glistened regally in the fading sun as they reined in their mounts. for these were the Praetorian Guard, the legion posted permanently within the limits of Rome and tasked to protect the person of the Emperor and the officials of the city. Though despised by the regular legions of the army, they had total control of the eternal city and their commanders had the ear of the Emperor himself.

  Behind them rode another man, advanced in years and dressed in a white ceremonial toga. Though Maria or Amy didn’t know the man’s role he had an air of authority about him and the Centurion in charge of the guard addressed him as sir. He was accompanied by a covered wagon pulled by a team of four horses and driven by two black slaves. Finally, the rear was brought up by another forty riders, completing the Century of cavalry sent for this one little girl.

  Maria had not been interested; she had just sat at Rubria’s bedside watching the girl sleeping, a slight smile playing about the child’s mouth as she dreamed the dreams of children. Maria had not slept a single minute the night through as she gazed at the little girl she would never see again.

  But that had been last night and finally, the day she had been dreading for weeks had arrived. The representative in the white robes had joined the Master and Mistress to break his fast, having spent the night in the guest suite and the soldiers were being given hot cereal from the Master’s kitchens by the cooks. They had bunked down in the stables with their horses and had spent the first hour this morning wiping the dust from their armour before parading in front of the villa. It was certainly an impressive sight, eighty fully armoured Praetorian Guard lined up in silence waiting for the ceremony to begin. The cart had been reversed against the veranda and the tail was lowered, enabling anyone to see within. The inside was lined with silks and the floor was covered with the finest cow’s hides. At the far end was an ornate chair draped in luxurious animal furs and at either side of the cart, to everyone’s surprise sat two old women dressed in white, their faces covered with fine veils. A knock came on the bedroom door and Maria let out a half gasp, even though it had been expected. Amy put her head around the door.

  ‘It’s time!’ she said simply and withdrew out of sight.

  Rubria jumped of the bed and held her hand out to Maria with a sweet smile.

  ‘Come on, Maria,’ she said, ‘Let’s go.’

  The servant knelt down in front of her.

  ‘You look after yourself, Miss,’ she said through her tears, fussing with the girls ribbons, ‘Don’t you forget me mind and one day, when you are all grown up and if I have earned my freedom, perhaps I’ll come by and ask for your blessing.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what that is, Maria,’ said Rubria solemnly, ‘But if I’ve got any you can have one.’

  The servant smiled and hugged the girl one last time and, after wiping her eyes, led her out into the Atrium of the villa.

  ‘Here she is,’ said her father holding out his arms and dropping to one knee. Rubria ran forward into his embrace and he swept her up into his arms. It was not often she got to see her father as he was a very important person in Rome, though she wasn’t sure what he actually done. Something to do with a Senate, whatever that was. Rubria’s mother took the child from her husband’s arms and kissed her gently on her cheek.

  ‘Are you ready, my dear?’ she asked and received a shy nod in return.

  Maria bit her lip. She couldn’t understand how could anyone give up their daughter so easily but it was more than her life was worth to criticise the mistress. The whole family were there dressed in their finest attire, the Master and the Mistress, their two sons and their teenage daughter. Rubria was the youngest and smiled at her siblings, not quite sure of the enormity of the proceedings that were unfolding. All around the Atrium stood the servants of the household and all waited with baited breath to see the final moment that would bestow honour untold upon this household. Rubria looked at the kindly old man dressed in white and smiled as she recognised him. He was the nice old man who had picked her as his favourite when they had visited the place with the pretty ladies a few weeks ago.

  The old man smiled at the child and nodded to her mother. She placed her daughter on the floor and she stood between her parents holding a hand of each. Silence fell and the old man stepped forward. His
smile dropped and he pointed at Rubria.

  ‘Rubria Antonius of the house of Gaius Paulo Antonius,’ he announced formally, ‘I take you to be a Vestal Priestess, who will carry out sacred rites which it is the law for a Vestal Priestess to perform on behalf of the Roman people, on the same terms as her who was a Vestal on the best terms.’

  Rubria’s smile faded slightly and she glanced over to Maria for reassurance. The servant held her both hands over her mouth to stop any sound escaping and nodded in encouragement, her tears flowing down her face.

  ‘Is it time now?’ she asked.

  ‘It is,’ answered Maria.

  Rubria turned to the old man.

  ‘Can I take dolly?’ she asked innocently.

  The man knelt down to face her at her level.

  ‘The time for such things is over Rubria,’ he said gently, ‘There is much to learn and the Goddess awaits.’ He gazed into her piercing blue eyes. At the presentation there had been twelve beautiful girls but it had been these eyes that had swung his decision. He had never seen such a piercing blue.

  Rubria walked over to Maria and offered her the doll.

  ‘Will you look after dolly for me?’ she asked.

  Maria nodded, and took the child’s beloved toy, unable to speak, and, as Rubria walked into the back of the cart, the servant burst into heart wrenching sobs and ran from the Atrium. The old man turned to the family to say his goodbyes.

  ‘Look after her,’ said her father.

  ‘We will,’ he said, ‘You may visit her in the outer chambers in one year, but until then we request that you stay away. It will be easier on her.’ The old man handed over a leather pouch containing promissory notes for a hundred thousand Denarii. Though it was supposed to be compensation for the loss of a daughter, everyone present knew that the honour and social standing of the family would be greatly enhanced by the selection of one of their daughters and much greater riches would surely follow.

  Outside the sound of the cart tailgate being closed focused their attention and all left the Atrium to stand on the veranda. Paulus put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and watched the old man get on his horse. The whole century of Praetorian Guard saluted as one and wheeled left, awaiting the order to leave the estate. The old man, otherwise known as the Pontifex Maximus, high priest of the Temple of Vesta gave the order to proceed, and, without further ado, the whole procession started their journey back to Rome. At their centre rolled the cart containing its very precious cargo as Rubria, eight years old and daughter of nobility, pure of body and mind set out on the first day of her life as a Vestal Virgin.

  Chapter 2

  London 2010

  ‘Good night, India,’ came a voice, interrupting the librarian as she finished scanning the last of the bar codes on the returned books.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Thomas,’ she said looking up, ‘Find anything interesting?’

  ‘I did, actually,’ came the reply from the portly woman as she paused by the door, ‘This internet thing is quite good once you get going. I’ve just found out my great, great grandfather was a jewel thief.’

  ‘A jewel thief, how exciting,’ laughed India, ‘I wonder if he left any of his ill gotten gains hidden under your patio.’

  ‘No such luck,’ said the woman, ‘Anyway, I’ve turned the computer off, save you the trouble.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said India, ‘See you next week?’

  ‘You will, goodnight.’ The woman left the library and India checked the clock on the wall. Quarter to seven! Thirty more minutes and she could go home. She looked around the room. The last of the ancestry group had gone home and there were only three users left, two teenage boys sat giggling at a corner PC and a lone man who was browsing the history section between the aisles. She returned to the bar code reader but was interrupted once more when the man coughed gently to attract her attention.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, standing up suddenly, ‘You startled me.’

  The man had approached without her noticing and stood in front of the counter.

  ‘Sorry,’ he smiled, ‘You seemed to be somewhere else there for a while.’

  ‘I wish,’ she laughed, ‘Bahamas would be nice, I could do with a holiday.’

  ‘Me too,’ said the man, ‘Weather’s been awful.’

  ‘That’s Britain for you, how can I help?’

  ‘I was wondering if you could help me identify a coin,’ he asked.

  ‘What sort of coin?’ responded India, her interest suddenly rising.

  ‘Well, it’s a necklace really but the pendant is definitely a coin. I’ve searched the internet but can’t find anything quite like it.’

  ‘Do you have it with you?’ she asked.

  He looked around the library but the only two other users were too engrossed in whatever illicit site they had managed to access past the council’s fire wall. He reached into his inner jacket pocket to retrieve a neatly folded paper towel and placed it on the counter.

  ‘May I?’ she asked and, after unwrapping the package, lifted the necklace up to the light, her experienced eyes taking in the detail as it revolved slowly.

  The first thing she noticed was the chain and the coin were of two different eras. The chain was fairly contemporary, probably Silver and no more than ten or twenty years old. The coin itself, however, was of a completely different age altogether, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, bore the image of Phillip the Second of Macedonia.

  ‘Interesting,’ she said, ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘Well, I found it, but I’m not sure what the legal position is with treasure trove. What do you think?’

  India didn’t know how to let him down gently. She was known within numismatic circles as a bit of an expert and was often approached by amateur collectors hoping she would make their dreams come true and confirm the rusty farthing they had found in some farmer’s field was one off Roman coin worth a fortune.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Jones,’ he said a bit too quickly, ‘Mr Jones.’

  ‘Well, Mr Jones,’ said India, ‘I recognise the image but it doesn’t seem to be any coinage I recognise so I can’t really put a value on it.’

  ‘I’m not worried about value,’ he answered, ‘More the history, if you know what I mean. Is there anything you can tell me about its provenance?’

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. Five to seven.

  ‘Well, we are about to close,’ she said, ‘But I am a bit of an enthusiast when it comes to coins and I have a whole bookshelf full of reference books at home. I’ll bring them in tomorrow and see what I can find out. Why don’t you leave it with me and come back then? I should be able to tell you more about it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ she said, ‘I’ll put it in the safe.’ She paused. ‘Oh I am so sorry, how presumptuous of me, I don’t even know you and I’m asking you to part with something.’

  ‘It’s okay, Miss Sommers,’ he laughed, ‘If I can’t trust the local librarian who can I trust?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’ she asked, a slight frown forming on her brow.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ he asked, ‘I posted a picture of the coin on the web page of the local numismatic society asking for any information.’

  ‘And were they any help?’

  ‘No, not really, though several recommended I came to you. Sorry, I should have said.’

  ‘No problem. I suppose I should be flattered really, anyway, I promise I won’t run away with your necklace.’

  ‘I trust you,’ he said, ‘I’ll come back tomorrow night about six’. He pointed at the two lads nudging each other at the PC. ‘Do you need any help?’

  ‘No, they’re harmless enough,’ she said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said and left the library. A few minutes later, the doors opened again and the two lads were ushered out into the night, disappointed that their first foray into murky websit
es had just been cut abruptly short by the librarian.

  ‘Banned for a week!’ shouted India as they ran laughing into the darkness. She smiled as she locked the library doors behind them and turned the PC’s off before finishing off tidying the shelves. She placed the necklace in the safe and set the burglar alarm before running quickly through the drizzle with a magazine held over her head.

  India was looking forward to getting home. A quick stop at the local supermarket for a bottle of red and a microwave lasagne and she would be set for the night. She rounded the car to access the driver’s door, her concentration focussed on finding her keys somewhere at the bottom of her bag and almost went flying when she tripped over something on the car park floor.

  ‘Oh my god!’ she gasped staring at the body at her feet. Within a few seconds she came to her senses and dropped to her knees to try to help.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘Are you okay?’

  The man groaned and turned slightly, forcing himself onto his side. Despite the state of his severely smashed face which had been the subject of a terrible beating, she recognised him as the man she had been talking to only half an hour or so earlier, Mr Jones. Her hand frantically searched for the phone she knew was in her coat pocket and she dialled 999, her eyes never leaving the injured man.

  ‘Hello, yes, ambulance please, there’s a man who needs help, I think he has been stabbed!’

  A few minutes later having given all the details to the emergency services, she knelt in the rain trying to reassure the injured man lying in the growing pool of his own diluted blood. Her coat was now over him in a feeble attempt to keep him warm.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Jones,’ she said gently, her voice quivering in fright, ‘There’s an ambulance on the way.’

  His hand crawled forward through the blood to touch her leg her leg and she heard him mumble something unintelligible.

  ‘Shhh!’ she said, ‘Try to keep your strength, they wont be long.’