The Dead Virgins (The India Sommers Mysteries Book 1)

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Yes I do,’ said the soldier, ‘I have seen you in the barracks. You are a legionary but why are you dressed like a slave?’ Suddenly the soldier’s eyes widened in shock.

  ‘Centurion, Dragus,’ he exclaimed, ‘I don’t understand. I was told you were dead. Perished in the temple of Vesta along with…’ He stopped and stared back and forth between Dragus and Rubria before taking a step backwards.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,’ he said, ‘but I think you should come with me.’

  ‘Decurion,’ said Dragus, ‘there are things happening here you don’t understand, now let us pass.’

  ‘I can’t do that,’ said the soldier.

  ‘Yes you can,’ said Dragus, his tone lowering menacingly, ‘I still outrank you, now step aside before this goes too far.’

  The soldier went to draw his sword but before it had cleared the sheath Dragus threw himself forward and tackled him to the ground. Although both soldiers had undergone similar training, only one had undergone active service and there was only one possible outcome. All the stomach churning terror and self-preserving battle rage he had experienced back on the killing fields of Britannia washed over him like a waterfall. Within seconds, Dragus had overpowered the soldier and smashed his opponent’s head over and over again onto the cobbled floor. Only the fact that the soldier was wearing a helmet prevented his skull from being caved in.

  ‘Stop it.’ screamed Rubria, grabbing the back of his tunic, ‘you’re killing him.’

  Dragus came back to his senses and let the man’s head go.

  ‘Damn,’ he murmured, ‘I’m sorry, I thought…’ He stepped back and Rubria crouched down besides the unconscious soldier.

  ‘He is still breathing,’ she said, ‘but needs a Medicus.’

  Dragus turned to the group of slaves who had witnessed the scene in horror.

  ‘You there,’ he said, pointing at the nearest man, ‘go and get help.’ He turned to Rubria. ‘Priestess,’ he said, ‘leave him. We have to get out of here.’

  ‘We can’t leave him,’ she said, ‘he is bleeding.’

  ‘He will be live,’ said Dragus, ‘I have seen many such injuries on the battlefield. He will have a headache he will remember for the rest of his life but he will live.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘but we have to get out of here. As soon as he is able, he will tell the garrison we are alive and a search will be instigated. We have to make use of every minute.’

  Rubria stood up.

  ‘If you’re sure,’ she said, ‘which way?’

  ‘I’ve just realised where we are,’ he said, ‘we need to go down here.’ He pointed down a side street.

  ‘Why, what’s down there?’

  ‘The Tiber River,’ he said, ‘it’s our only hope.’

  ----

  Chapter 18

  Rome 2010

  Once again, India and Brandon were in the safe house in Rome. Helios had picked them up from Samothrace in the middle of the night in his fishing boat and they had sailed to Rome over a period of two days, hugging the coastlines of the Greek islands to avoid any searches that may be underway. Finally, they had arrived in Civitavecchia and, after rewarding Helios handsomely with a wad of notes, Brandon flagged down a taxi and they made their way to the safe house.

  ‘Who exactly is he?’ asked India in the taxi.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Helios.’

  ‘Ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,’ murmured Brandon, gazing out of the window.

  ‘Ah, grey man syndrome,’ she said.

  ‘Something like that,’ he said and remained silent for the rest of the trip.

  ----

  They each were given their own room and after taking a hot shower, India eventually joined Brandon in the lounge, refreshed and ready to eat. Shirley, the landlady was an English woman who had married an Italian many years previously and had a surprise up her sleeve.

  ‘Hello luvvie,’ she said when India entered the room, ‘you look nice. Sit down and I’ll bring you a drink. What would you like?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said India, feeling a bit awkward. It wasn’t as if this was a hotel or guest house, this was someone’s home.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Shirley, ‘while you’re having a think, I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea, shall I?’

  ‘Oh, tea would be wonderful,’ said India with a smile, ‘I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘You can ask me anything you want, luvvie,’ said Shirley, ‘it may have been twenty years since his lordship swept me off my feet and brought me here but I still think you can’t beat a good old cup of British char.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Brandon and Shirley left to make the tea.

  ‘Feel better?’ asked India

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Brandon, ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You were a bit moody in the car, I just thought there may be something wrong, that’s all.’

  ‘No, nothing wrong,’ said Brandon, ‘just thoughtful.’

  ‘Penny for them,’ said India with a smile.

  ‘All this historic stuff,’ said Brandon, ‘it’s all very interesting but we don’t seem to be getting anywhere fast and until we do, that little girl back home is in danger.’

  ‘I thought we were doing well,’ said India, ‘we’ve managed to trace one of the suspects this far. Isn’t that good?’

  ‘In a sense, yes,’ said Brandon, ‘but don’t forget, everything we have uncovered so far is just conjecture. We have nothing that actually ties him to England and we have found nothing yet that may link him to the girls. All we have is the dead guy from the library and this Peter Venezelos who tried to burn down the house. There are so many different parts to this puzzle yet nothing seems to fit.’

  The door opened and Shirley brought in the tea.

  ‘Dinner won’t be long.’ she said, ‘roast beef and Yorkshires do you?’ The delight on both people’s faces was priceless and she returned to the kitchen to finish the meal.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Brandon, ‘tell me about this Vestal temple. How is it linked to this Palladium thing?’

  India sipped her tea and sat back to explain.

  ‘Like I said,’ replied India, ‘the statue of Pallas Athena finally ended up in Rome hundreds of years after its disappearance from Troy. Stories vary how it got there but when it did, it was placed in the care of the Vestal virgins.’

  ‘And who were they, exactly?’

  ‘They were extraordinary women who dedicated their lives to the worship of the Goddess Vesta, or as we now know her, the great mother. They originated sometime around the formation of Rome and there were never more than half a dozen at any one time.’

  ‘What did they do?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘Nothing much really, they cared for the sacred fire at the heart of Rome, a symbolic flame that represented the hearth as a central point of any family. They also took part in religious rituals throughout the year and looked after the various important documents and treasures of the government.’

  ‘Like the Palladium?’

  ‘Yes but that was just one of many. Some we will never know exactly as they were guarded jealously but we know they also looked after important papers of state.’

  ‘But why did they have to be virgins?’

  ‘The tradition stemmed from thousands of years earlier. The young girls of the villages used to be left behind to tend the fires when the rest of the families went out to hunt and forage. Due to their age, they were obviously virgins and over time, virginity became synonymous with tending the sacred fires. Eventually it became almost a cult and the Vestal Virgins became a very powerful entity within Rome. They were feted by many and had the power of reprieve for criminals sentenced to death. They were salaried and though they lived in a very patriarchal society, they were even allowed to own property and develop business interests of their own. Those who saw out their thirty years ended up very wealthy and powerful wom
en.’

  ‘What do you mean, thirty years?’

  ‘Oh it wasn’t a lifetime sentence,’ said India, ‘they were selected between the age of six and ten and had to serve at least thirty years in the goddess’s service, ten as a trainee, ten as an actual priestess and ten as a tutor. After that they were free to leave the order and marry if they so desired. However, so privileged was the position that most stayed within the order.’

  ‘And during those thirty years, they had to stay chaste?’

  ‘Yes and that’s the flip side. Their virginity was seen as a symbol of their divinity and a sign of their devotion to Rome. Once they had lost that link the penalty was brutal.’

  ‘Don’t tell me they were killed,’ said Brandon.

  ‘That’s exactly what happened,’ said India. ‘In the beginning they were simply flogged to death or strangled but as time went on, society demanded that no one could take the life of a Vestal Virgin so they came up with a cruel alternative. Anyone found guilty of losing their virginity, whether by choice or by rape, were sentenced to a horrific fate. They would be carried through the streets of Rome on a litter in front of the whole population. The crowds would remain deathly silent as they witnessed the soiled priestess make her way to the streets of Campus Sceleratus and descend a ladder into a pre prepared subterranean tomb. In the room would be a candle, a bed, some water and food. Once down there, the room would be sealed and covered with the soil and slabs of the road above. The crowd would disperse and the city returned to its business.’

  ‘How long would she be down there?’

  ‘That’s just it, that’s where she stayed and her name never mentioned again.’

  ‘What, forever?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘But I thought you said they couldn’t kill a priestess.’

  ‘Well, in their own way they thought that they weren’t killing her. She had food, light, water and comfort. As far as they were concerned, when they left her she was alive and what happened after that was of no concern to them.’

  ‘That’s stupid.’

  ‘But true,’ said India.

  ‘How many were killed like that?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘The figures vary but probably not more than a dozen or so.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Brandon, ‘that’s brutal.’

  ‘A severe price to pay for love,’ said India.

  ‘Or lust,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Don’t be such a Philistine,’ said India, ‘I’m sure that any that may have succumbed to their desires would have done so only because they had fallen in love.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Brandon sarcastically, ‘anyway, where is this temple?’

  ‘Near the foot of the Palatine hill,’ she said, ‘or what’s left of it. There are substantial ruins there and apparently you can still see the base of the Dias that once held the Palladium.’

  ‘And you think that’s where Venezelos would have gone?’

  ‘As good a guess as any,’ she said, ‘it was the last place the Palladium was known to be and had been for hundreds of years. If you are going to try and learn about its whereabouts, you may as well start there.’

  ‘And you think that is what these boys were after.’

  ‘If they believed it existed, I have no doubt. It would be the greatest find since Tutankhamen’s tomb. Not only would it be a political coup for Samothrace but it would make anyone finding it, instant millionaires.’

  ‘So that’s where we’ll go first, then.’ said Brandon.

  ‘We may as well,’ said India. ‘I can’t wait, I’ve always wanted to see the buildings around the Palatine.’

  ‘Roast beef first,’ said Brandon, ‘sightseeing later.’ As if on cue Shirley’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called, ‘come and get it.’

  They both stood up and walked into the dining room to enjoy a British feast in an Italian home.

  ----

  Early the following morning they took a taxi to the ancient city and made their way to the area of the Palatine. As the car drove off, they stood in awe looking down at the ruins. Crowds were gathering and touts were already trying to rope in the tourists to their respective tours. Brandon looked around and settled on one younger man who sat to one side rolling a cigarette.

  ‘This way,’ he said and walked over to the Italian.

  ‘Excuse me, do you speak English?’ he asked.

  The man glanced up briefly but returned his attention to the cigarette.

  ‘Tours over there,’ he said, ‘fifty Euros. Best tours in Roma.’

  ‘I don’t want a tour,’ interrupted Brandon.

  ‘Then I can’t help you,’ said the Italian, reaching into his inner pocket for a lighter.

  Brandon held out two fifty Euro notes in front of the man’s eyes. The Italian paused and drew a lungful of smoke, before blowing it out slowly.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I want a personal tour of the Palatine,’ he said, ‘just the two of us and a local expert, someone who knows the history of this place inside out and can tell us things that may not be in the official guide books.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘I know of someone,’ he said. ‘He used to work for the museum and was the best guide around here for years. Got fired for selling something he found in the undergrowth.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Brandon, ‘where can we find him?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said the man, ‘I do.’ He took the hundred Euros from Brandon’s hand. ‘One hour,’ he said. ‘We will meet you back here.’

  Brandon grabbed the man’s wrist.

  ‘Make sure you do,’ he said ‘and if he is good, there is another five hundred each for both of you.’

  The guy took another drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke over Brandon’s head, before pulling his hand from the man’s grip.

  ‘Don’t worry, English,’ he said, ‘for five hundred I will bring the Pope himself.’

  ‘One hour,’ said Brandon and they watched the man walk away.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked India.

  ‘Sometimes you have to dig deeper beneath the surface to get to anything of quality,’ said Brandon. ‘Anything the tour guides have to say, we can probably find out on the internet. What we want is someone who grew up around here.’

  ‘Do you think he will come back?’ she asked

  ‘He will come back,’ said Brandon, holding out another note, ‘be a love and get us a coke.’

  India snatched the note with a snarl but as she walked toward the ice cream stand, a slight smile played around her mouth.

  ----

  An hour later, they sat on a bench in the shade of a dried olive tree. Finally, the Italian reappeared with a reluctant looking old man.

  ‘Is this him?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘This is Louigi,’ said the younger man.

  Brandon held out his hand.

  ‘Hello, Louigi,’ he said, ‘I’m Brandon and this is India.’

  ‘Ciao,’ said Louigi and shook Brandon’s hand.

  ‘I hear you were the best guide on the Palatine,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Still am,’ said Louigi, ‘these others are just amateurs selling their stories to the tourists paying the best money.’

  ‘Surely, they’re not all bad,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Not all but most. So, English, what do you want to know?’

  Brandon looked at India.

  ‘I think this is where you step in,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Louigi,’ she said, ‘we want to know about the history of the Palatine and in particular, the temple of Vesta.’

  ‘Ah, the Vestals,’ said Louigi, ‘well, miss India, this is your lucky day. The history of the holy sisters is my particular favourite. Come with me.’ He turned and walked back the way he had come.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘I may be no expert but isn’t the forum that way?’ He pointed toward
the main ruins.

  The old man stopped and turned around.

  ‘If you want to be a sheep, join the flock,’ he said, ‘my story lays this way.’ He turned and led them down a cobbled side road away from the growing crowds.

  ----

  Ten minutes later, they emerged from an alleyway looking down upon the ruins of the Forum, magnificent in its splendour.

  ‘Wow.’ said India. ‘That is beautiful.’

  Louigi sat down on the bench and called them over.

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘sit.’

  Brandon looked at India and shrugged his shoulders before sitting to the left of Louigi. India sat to his right.

  ‘Look before you,’ said Louigi sweeping his hand across the vista to their front, ‘tell me what you see.’

  ‘Um, buildings,’ said Brandon, ‘ruins of a city. Some trees, a couple of column things and tourists, lots of tourists.’

  Louigi gave him a look bordering on contempt before turning his attention to India.

  ‘And you, Lady India?’ He asked, ‘what do you see?’

  India held his gaze for a moment before turning her gaze back to the city.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘that building complex over there is the arch of Septimus Severus. I think that one over there is the temple of Julius Caesar. I can see the temple of Vesta and of course the Forum Romanum.’

  Louigi nodded appreciatively.

  ‘You have some knowledge,’ he said. ‘You have learned from lessons in school and from books in your libraries. This is all very well but you need to look past the bricks and mortar. Look past the photographic images and let your soul see what I see.’

  ‘And what is that?’ asked Brandon.

  Louigi took a deep breath and half closed his eyes.

  ‘Oh, the sights are truly wonderful,’ he said, ‘not archaeology or sightseers but a living breathing city. Imagine these buildings glistening in the sunlight, soaring skyward in the morning sun, the colours vibrant and powerful. The main street, running through the centre of the forum, flanked by a row of stunning marble colonnades, stretching as far as the city walls in the distance. The street is full of people bustling back and fore, going about their business. Slaves in simple tunics carrying their master’s wares to the markets or pulling hand carts piled high with bales of cloth and amphorae of wine. Ladies dressed in swathes of beautiful coloured cloth making their way to buy the day’s food and the businessmen in their toga’s heading to the forum for a day’s debate on the politics of the day. And then there are the smells,’ he continued, ‘can you imagine? Hundreds of ovens in this area alone, making the bread for the city. Roasting hops from the breweries, stalls piled high with fish from the Mediterranean and spices from the eastern borders of the empire.’