Quintus
PS: I have written to Valeria and divorced her. You have six years left in the Vestal order. When I return to Rome, I shall make arrangements for our future. We will wed and live in Tivoli.
Pomponia set the scroll on her desk and leaned back in her chair. She often felt dizzy after reading Quintus’s letters. They were invariably full of contradictory emotions and messages: warmth and affection in one sentence, haughtiness and condescension in the next. This evening, the dizziness was stronger than usual.
She reread the postscript: You have six years left in the Vestal order. When I return to Rome, I shall make arrangements for our future. We will wed and live in Tivoli.
How typical. It was not a declaration of love or a humble marriage proposal but rather an order.
She loved Quintus. That much was undeniable. Yet she had given little serious thought as to whether she would leave the order at the end of her thirty years of service. It gave her joy to know that Quintus felt such love for her, yet as always, he assumed she was his to rule over as he pleased. Her wish to rule herself didn’t just irritate him; it baffled him.
She read the postscript again before rolling the scroll back up and dipping the end into the flame of the beeswax candle on her desk. As the papyrus burned, the words flew up to the goddess and Pomponia wondered what she would make of them. What would Vesta want her to do? Become the bride of Quintus or remain a bride of Rome?
The idea of a private life with Quintus was compelling. They had shared brief intimate moments that had foreshadowed the pleasures he could give her.
Many times she had thought of the press of his full lips, the feel of his breath and strong arms, and the sound of his loving whisper in her ear. These moments had been shadows of a life that one day she might see clearly. For years she had imagined knowing him in a familiar way. The way that Valeria knew him.
Valeria. Quintina had written to Quintus about her mother’s death, but clearly the letter had not yet arrived. Pomponia had to wonder how Quintus would react. He had never shown affection for her, and it was no surprise that he had chosen to divorce her now, when both of his daughters were out of her care. But would news of her death spark some kind of guilt or regret?
Pomponia’s face reddened at the thought of Valeria: a highborn woman, the mother of a blessed priestess, and yet found with a curse tablet that threatened a Vestal’s watch over the sacred fire. Had she not cared what misery and death such a curse could bring to Rome and its people?
It was Vesta’s sacred fire that kept the barbarians out of Rome and Roman citizens out of slavery. It protected Roman wives and children from raping invaders and watched over Roman men on the battlefield. It blessed and sanctified the home. To cast such a curse was unforgivable, and Pomponia could spare no pity for the violent way Valeria had crossed Pluto’s threshold.
As if giving sound to Pomponia’s anger, distant shouts echoed from somewhere in the house. A swell of loud voices—strange at any time, never mind this late in the evening. She hastily burned Quintus’s letter and went to investigate, running down the stairs and toward the atrium, where the ruckus was coming from.
The moment she turned the corner into the atrium, she was met by the unexpected face of a man. Lepidus.
He was accompanied by two soldiers who stood uncomfortably at his side. Their heads were bowed, and they avoided making eye contact with the two priestesses—Tuccia and Lucretia—who stood in front of them, their hands on their hips in angry indignation.
“Pontifex,” said Pomponia. “Are you mad? What is the meaning of this trespass?”
Lepidus rubbed his temples and then shook his head. “I cannot believe it.”
“What is it? What has happened?”
“Priestess Pomponia,” said Lepidus, “it is my most grievous duty, but I must tell you that an accusation of incestum has been made against the Vestal order.”
The blood drained from Pomponia’s face. “Against which priestess?”
He paused and licked his lips before handing Pomponia a scroll. “Against Priestess Tuccia.”
Tuccia put her hands to her face and slumped to the floor. “Protege me, Dea! ” she breathed. Goddess, protect me!
Lepidus took a step toward Pomponia and lowered his voice. “I am sorry, it gives me no pleasure to say so, but she must come with us. She cannot remain near the sacred fire. It may be her impurity that has caused us to lose favor with the goddess. Caesar and Antony’s alliance has fallen apart, and Egypt’s power over the grain supply threatens the dole. We’ll have open panic soon.”
“Pontifex,” Pomponia said sternly, holding up the scroll Lepidus had given her. “Unless this scroll contains the goddess’s handwriting in solid gold condemning Tuccia, we can assume it is a false accusation. We remain in Vesta’s favor.”
“We cannot take the chance,” Lepidus replied. “I am the Pontifex Maximus, Priestess. The decision lies with me. She must come with us.”
“Pomponia, no!” cried Tuccia. “It is not so, I swear it is not true!”
Pomponia forced herself to think. What was the protocol for this?
“Stand up, Tuccia.” It was Fabiana’s voice. The elderly priestess walked past the soldiers and the Pontifex Maximus as if they weren’t there and looked down at Tuccia. “Remember what you are and stand up at once.”
Tuccia stood up. Her legs were shaking, but she faced Lepidus with sudden dignity.
“You will go with them,” said Fabiana. She looked at Lepidus. “Take her to the house of the former Vestal Perpennia on the Esquiline Hill.”
“Yes, Priestess.”
“We will see what must be done and send word to you tomorrow,” Fabiana said to Tuccia. “Mother Vesta goes with you.”
Tuccia folded her trembling arms across her chest and followed the Pontifex Maximus and the soldiers out of the House of the Vestals. As she left, she crossed paths with Nona and Caecilia, who had just come from the temple to investigate why the Pontifex Maximus—with soldiers, no less—would possibly be attending the House of the Vestals at this hour. They watched Tuccia walk by them, but her eyes were fixed on the scarlet cloak of the soldier in front of her and she did not look at them.
The Vestals stood silently together, waiting for the initial wave of astonishment and disbelief to pass. Pomponia thought about chastising Nona and Caecilia for leaving the temple to the care of novices, even for a few moments and when it was under guard, but then she thought again. Right now, a show of unity was needed. Plus, she had never felt justified in correcting the elder Nona, not even now that she was the chief Vestal. She opened the scroll in her hand and read it.
“Tuccia is accused of incestum with someone named Gallus Gratius Januarius.”
“I know him,” said Lucretia. “He’s a chariot racer for the Blues.”
Pomponia felt her head throb. A chariot racer. That was a bad sign. Tuccia’s love of the races was well known in Rome, and the pretty young priestess openly befriended popular charioteers. She kept reading the scroll. “Her accuser is Claudia Drusilla.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” asked Caecilia.
Nona clucked her tongue. “She is the sister of Caesar’s wife,” she said, “and a gossiping, maneuvering little trollop if there ever was one.”
The younger Vestals raised their eyebrows at the pious senior priestess. Every now and then, when it really mattered, Nona could spit out a spark.
Lucretia wiped a tear from her cheek, and they all fell into a sober silence until a soft clicking on the marble floor made them all glance across the room.
Perseus trotted into the atrium and up to Fabiana, gave a bored yawn, and sat at her feet. The mighty hero, come to slay the beast and save them. Caecilia picked him up and placed him in Fabiana’s arms.
“Let’s go to the temple,” Fabiana said to the priestesses. “I have a story to tell
you.”
Chapter XV
The Story of the Vestal Licinia
rome, february, 31 bce
The same night
The evening had cooled considerably as Fabiana led the other priestesses, all of them barefoot, up the marble steps of the white Temple of Vesta in the quiet Roman Forum.
As they moved through the bronze doors, the black, starry canopy of the night sky gave way to the soaring circular dome of the temple’s sanctum. The eternal fire roared and crackled in its marble-and-bronze hearth, and the sacred smoke rose upward, billowing out of the oculus at the dome’s apex and ascending to the goddess.
The temple was lit not just by the fire but by a number of oil lamps affixed to the marble columns that encircled the sanctum. They cast flickering shadows on the rounded walls. The white-and-black mosaic floor was cool below the Vestals’ bare feet.
Pomponia dismissed the novices who were tending the hearth, and they left noiselessly, their eyes full of fear and confusion. Using a pair of iron tongs, she chose two pieces of kindling from an earthenware container and carefully placed them in the sacred fire. Lucretia roused the fire with an iron stoker and it roared up anew, fresh sparks flying out and snapping in the air.
Pomponia looked into the fire. Only yesterday, she and Tuccia had debated whether divine law would permit longer-burning coal to be used in the hearth instead of just wood. Nona had resisted the idea but, to their surprise, Fabiana had spoken in favor of it.
“Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis,” she had told them. Times change, and we change with them.
Fabiana had been a natural Vestalis Maxima. She had always been able to balance ancient custom with new ideas. She had always been able to withstand any crisis, political or religious, with grace and competence. Pomponia silently thanked the goddess that despite Fabiana’s age, she was still strong enough to help navigate the wicked storm that had descended upon them.
The priestesses sat on simple wooden chairs beside the hearth. Fabiana stroked the old little dog that slept on her lap, and everyone sat quietly waiting for her to speak. When she finally did, her words mixed with the snapping fire and reverberated against the marble walls. Pomponia had the sense that the goddess herself was listening.
“When I was a novice Vestal of only eight years old,” began Fabiana, “my favorite priestess was a young woman named Licinia. Everyone loved her. Her father owned a large apiary in the country, and he used to ship giant crates of candied honey to her for the Vestalia. She would hand these out to the novices and the children of Rome. Oh, I remember it well. The honey was sticky and so delicious. Sometimes you could taste just a little thyme or rosemary. Children would swarm the temple like bees during Vesta’s festival and wait for hours for a single piece.
“Licinia was a bit of a trickster. This endeared her to the novices and the public but often found her out of favor with the Vestalis Maxima, who at that time was Tullia. You all know of Tullia. Her statue has stood in the peristyle for decades. Tullia was a diligent chief Vestal and a true servant of the goddess. She felt her most important duty was to uphold the dignity of our order, and she could be quite severe when faced with any deviation from sacred custom, no matter how small.
“Licinia was of the wealthy and noble family Licinius, which in those days was much richer and grander than it is today. The Licinii owned some of the finest land in Italy, and Licinia added to her own wealth by purchasing an expansive villa at Frascati and another on Capri. I remember she once took all the novices to her house in Frascati and we had the most delicious sweetened ice you could imagine.
“In those days, Cisalpine Gaul was a torment. There were some good-sized Roman settlements there, but these were always under attack. The worst of the barbarians was a tribe called the Cimbri, who threatened to invade Italy itself. Now, you all know your history—the consul Gaius Marius and his legate Sulla ultimately defeated the Cimbri and stopped the invasion—but for a while, victory was not assured. It was a frightening time, with the constant worry of invasion, and the high priestess Tullia was forever offering to Vesta for Rome’s safety.
“Even though the war was won in the end, there were some early losses. One of the worst military defeats happened to the legions of Gnaeus Carbo. Were I not on consecrated ground right now, I would spit on the floor at his name. Carbo was an incompetent fool who marched nearly one thousand Roman soldiers straight to their deaths at the hands of barbarians.
“Upon his return to Rome, Carbo was expelled from the army and reviled for his spectacular stupidity and loss. It was expected he would commit suicide, but he retreated from public life for a few months and went to holiday at a friend’s villa on Capri. This friend was named Calidus, and his villa was adjacent to Licinia’s.
“I never saw Licinia’s villa on Capri, but everyone said it was much nicer than the one owned by Calidus. It was on the coast and grew the finest grapes. It had a huge olive press, and Licinia often had the oil sent to the temple for use in sacred rites. There were rumors that the Sirens rested on rocks that could be seen from Licinia’s shore, and that on the hottest of summer nights they could be heard singing of the fall of Troy. This would cause the house slaves to rush around and close all the windows in fear.
“Ah, where was I? . . . Oh yes, now I remember. When Carbo returned to Rome, he wasn’t alone. His friend Calidus was with him. They went straight to the Senate and asked for the floor. Of course they were at first denied, but Carbo’s family was still important in Rome, so he had standing. He assured the senators that Rome’s very existence hinged on what he and Calidus had to say, and such were their dramatics and portents of doom that they were heard.
“Carbo told the Senate that the battle he lost was not his fault. Rather, it was the fault of an unchaste Vestal—Licinia. She had been seen consorting with one of his legionary soldiers, a man named Marcus Sergius Rufus. With shaking hands and moist eyes, Carbo swore that the priestess’s incestum had caused Vesta to turn her back on Rome.
“He cried that her betrayal had broken the Pax Deorum and angered the gods, and warned that his military loss would be only the beginning if the priestess was not made to atone for her broken vows. For without the protection of Vesta, the invasion of Rome and the enslavement of her people would surely follow.
“Of course, no one believed him. They had known Licinia since she was a novice of only six years old. Yet Carbo said that he had quality witnesses and Calidus, a wealthy landowner, was one of them. Calidus testified that on more than one occasion he had visited the Vestal’s villa at Capri on neighborly business and had seen her in the embrace of the same legionary soldier, Rufus. The two men also had a Greek priest provide a Sibylline prophecy that supported their accusation.
“At last the rotten seed sprouted, and some people began to wonder. It was true that Licinia was a favorite of this particular soldier’s legion, and had been since she was a child. Many of the soldiers gifted her with spoils from their campaigns in exchange for the goddess’s blessing. Yet other legions did the same with their favorite Vestals. Such had been the custom for as long as anyone could remember.
“However, the timing of the accusation was fatalistic. It came just before another defeat by the Cimbri in Gaul, and the threat of invasion seemed imminent. A wave of panic began to spread throughout Rome. The people needed a sacrifice. And that sacrifice was Licinia.
“I remember the men bursting into the sanctity of our home in the middle of the night . . .” At the memory of it, Fabiana’s voice cracked and trailed off. She wiped away a tear with her palla and scratched Perseus’s ear.
“The Pontifex Maximus was with them. Tullia threw a statuette at him. I remember because I thought the Pontifex would be angry, but he wasn’t. He apologized and told her that Licinia had to come with them. Licinia came out of her room to see what all the noise was about. She was holding a cup of water, and when they told her what was ha
ppening, she dropped it onto the floor and it shattered. I was such a child. I remember thinking, They’re going to make me clean that up.
“Poor Licinia, that lovely young woman . . . They took her to the ancient Temple of Jupiter, when it still stood on the Capitoline, before fire destroyed it and it was rebuilt. That temple had several underground chambers, and it was there, in those dark caverns, that she was scourged. They had to bring in a man from Judea to do it. No Roman man would do it, not even those who condemned her.
“The high priestess Tullia had all of us, even some of the novices, wait outside the Temple of Jupiter. We had an oil lamp lit with the living flame, and we all prayed over it. I saw Licinia when they brought her out. Her white dress was torn to strips, and rivers of red blood ran down her legs. She could not walk but was dragged along by two priests.
“They had a cart and horses ready to take her to the Campus Sceleratus. She looked at us—oh, I will never forget her face—as they put fabric around her mouth to stifle her sobs. They bound her wrists and put her in a box. That was the last time I saw her. The high priestess and Priestess Flavia refused to ride in their carriage and instead climbed up into the cart with the box. Flavia sat on her knees and put her mouth to the box. She must have been speaking to Licinia through it.
“Then the cart left, and we all stood there for a long while, just watching it disappear down the street. Cassia, do you remember what you said? You said—” Fabiana caught herself. “Oh, what am I thinking? Priestess Cassia is dead, of course.” She stroked Perseus as the Vestals exchanged heartsick glances.
Pomponia took one of Fabiana’s hands and held it tightly. “Tell us the rest. What of the soldier?”
Fabiana nodded sadly. “Rufus had been a legionary soldier for fifteen years. He was a large man, even for a legionary. His wife had died in childbirth, and his son lived with Rufus’s sister and her family. He was a proud man too. When the Pontifex Maximus asked if he wanted to beg the goddess’s forgiveness for his crime, he asked the Pontifex if he wanted to beg his wife’s forgiveness for having such a small cock.
Brides of Rome Page 22
