Authors: Mark Henrikson
Hastelloy made his
way down the entrance reserved for senators. The tunnel opened up at the arena’s floor level, which was already filled to capacity. He gestured for Valnor to follow and they both walked until they stood in front of a travertine marble slab with Senator Brutus carved into the back rest.
Hastelloy
looked down at the arena below. He attended the games on a regular basis, so the size and grandeur of the facility did not impress him anymore. What did hold his attention was the fact that the arena floor lay ten feet under water. The day’s games would feature a scaled down naval battle. The idea sounded interesting at first, but with the limited floor space available Hastelloy could already tell the maneuvers would be extremely clumsy. He didn’t expect much entertainment value, though the crowd certainly was anticipating a good show if the noise level was any indicator.
This being Valnor’s first visit to the arena,
the young man looked rather silly with his jaw hanging wide open. “It’s amazing what can be accomplished with such primitive construction techniques.”
“Yes, they do work wonders with what they have,” Hastelloy agreed. “Judgi
ng by the number of people turned away at the gates though, they may need to build a bigger one soon.”
Hastelloy looked down the row of seats to the sou
thern tip of the arena where a reserved box for the Vestal Virgins resided. He prompted Valnor to follow his line of sight.
“Now which
one do you play chess with on a regular basis?” Hastelloy asked.
“
Postumia is the one sitting on the edge closest to us,” Tomal answered. “She said she’d sit on the end so the three of us could talk during the games.”
“Very nicely done
,” Hastelloy commended. “Arranging a weekly chess match sets up a regular dialog between you two and it looks completely platonic from all angles.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with her,” Valnor said, “and I still can’t figure out why you’re so suspicious of the Vestals. She’s a very nice, faith
-filled woman, as are all the others I’ve had occasion to meet.”
“The power and respect they command
over this society doesn’t fit,” Hastelloy stated quietly. “There are dozens of temples for other gods with priestesses. Why are the Vestals singled out for such preferential treatment with reserved seats at the games, the power to free prisoners, the freeing of Julius Caesar a few years back and his rise to prominence, and so on. It just feels like something bigger is going on and it has piqued my curiosity.”
Valnor waived at his friend and she gestured for them to come by her side. “Now remember to be nice.”
Valnor said as they made their way over.
“I am always nice,” Hastelloy teased before
reaching their destination.
“Priestess Postumia
, may I present Senator Marcus Janius Brutus,” Valnor said in a formal voice.
She extended her hand and Hastelloy took it
with both hands and gave a polite bow. “Noble Vestal, it is a privilege.”
“The privilege is mine
, Senator, for any friend of Lucius is a friend of mine,” she said with a bright smile.
“Lucius often talks of your skilled gambits
on the chess board, though I think the young man would like to win a match one of these days,” Hastelloy responded.
The lovely young lady giggled at the compliment, “They are always closely contested affairs so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
Hastelloy took a moment to strike a somber tone, and possibly get the conversation going the direction he wanted. “I was very sorry to hear about the passing of the Vestalis Maxima. We spoke at length during a party a while back. She was a woman of great faith.”
“
Yes she was, and we mourn her still,” she said while dabbing her eyes with a cloth. The Vestal changed her posture to be a bit more formal as she continued, “I recall that conversation. The high priestess used your doubt as a lesson to address the dangers of not having faith in the Goddess, and the need to listen to her voice when she speaks to us.”
“I’m a bit embarrassed now talking with a priestess while my own lack of faith is so well known,” Hastelloy said. “I do strive to change th
at circumstance, but I still don’t hear words from any of the gods.”
The conversation was interrupted by the roar of the crowd as twenty scaled down war ships entered the flooded arena. It was almost comical watchin
g so many two man boats try and maneuver around each other in a large, yet suddenly very small, three hundred foot by one hundred foot arena space.
Boats ran into the
side and each other, dumping the crews into the water. Very little combat actually took place. Nevertheless, the crowd roared with laughter as the men who were supposed to be vicious warriors bent on killing one another continually got dunked in the water. It was certainly not the game sponsor’s intent, but the effect was the same. The masses were occupied, entertained, and therefore not out in the streets rioting or causing trouble.
The Vestal laughed and cheered with the crowd at first, but soon looked bored with the spectacle. Hastelloy used the opportunity to further their conversation.
“As I recall my discussion with your former Vestalis Maxima, she said the Goddess would speak to her while alone with the perpetual flame. Does Vesta talk to you in such a manner as well?”
“Of course,” Postumia responded while expressing a hurt look. “She speaks to all the Vestals.”
“I humbly ask, could I be granted a private audience with the flame so I may grow in my faith and hear the Goddess and her words?” Hastelloy asked.
Postumia shoo
k her head to the side. “That would be impossible since only the priestesses are allowed in the sanctuary.”
“What about
tomorrow, the first day of the Vestalia festival?” Hastelloy countered. “The sanctuary is opened to the public so everyone may relight their home hearth fires from the holy flame.”
Postumia gestured for Hastelloy to step closer. He complied and she whispered in his ear. “That is not th
e true flame. We use a fake one that particular day just in case someone tries anything foolish. The true perpetual flame is already stored away in a separate chamber.”
“Could I visit the flame there then?”
“I’m afraid not,” she said, now looking uncomfortable with the conversation. “Only the Vestals are allowed alone with the presence of Vesta.”
“I see my humble request has given you offense,” Hastelloy said
showing great contrition. “Please allow me to make amends by offering the balcony of my villa overlooking the Forum for you and Lucius to use for your weekly chess match tonight.”
“Senator
, I couldn’t possibly. . .”
“Nonsense,” Hastelloy interrupted. “I insist. My servants will pick you up at
sundown.”
With that
, Postumia graciously accepted the invitation and the three then enjoyed the rest of the comedy unfolding below in the arena.
At nightfall, a
half hour before Postumia arrived, Hastelloy sat Valnor down for a difficult conversation.
“Valnor, this will not be your typical meeting with Postumia. I need her to leave this house so upset that she
immediately returns to the temple of Vesta for a session with that perpetual flame of theirs.”
“Why would I want to upset her?” Valnor asked. “She’s my friend. Why is that symbolic flame so interesting to you?”
“Something isn’t right with that flame,” Hastelloy stated. “All the Vestals claim to hear the Goddess’ voice when they sit with it. The Vestalis Maxima I spoke with said the flame warned her against people of unnatural birth trying to corrupt the faith.”
Valnor looked confused.
“Unnatural birth,” Hastelloy repeated slowly. “That Alpha commander we defeated back in Egypt used those exact words to describe us.”
“T
he two Alpha that survived the crash have been dead a long time, Captain. It must be a coincidence.”
“Maybe,” Hastelloy said, “But I need to know for sure. I need to know if the flame truly is talking to these w
omen, or if they’re just loose in the head.”
“Fine then, how do you suggest I upset her to the point she goes running straight to the temp
le to have a sit down with her goddess?” Valnor asked.
Now comes the hard part Hastelloy thought. There was no easy way to give the order, so he just clobbered the young man over the head with it. “You will get her to break her vow of chastity.”
To describe Valnor’s reaction as stunned would be a drastic understatement in line with describing a catapult as a contraption that flings pebbles. “I WILL NOT!” the young man erupted.
Valnor frantically looked around the room for so
mething to throw at his Captain. Hastelloy was not worried as he’d already swept the room clean of any potential projectiles, but Valnor’s verbal assault landed some scathing blows nonetheless.
“I’
m a married man committed to my mate. All these years we’ve spent on this planet I have never strayed. I have never even been tempted to violate my union vows.”
“The validity of your union vow end
s when your body dies,” Hastelloy countered. “If the partners chose to continue their lives together they must renew the vows when one or the other dies.”
“I hold those vows in my heart. The first thing I do when I step out of the regeneration chamber is recite the vows to continue the link with my wife. It is still valid.”
“No it isn’t,” Hastelloy insisted. “Back on Novus she thinks you died in combat two thousand years ago. She’s certainly joined with another by now. Both must renew the vows, not just one. No matter how strongly the other feels about the matter.”
“These are special circumst
ances,” Valnor insisted. “I don’t accept your interpretation.”
“You are entitled to your beliefs, but as a soldier under my command you are obligated to follow my orders. If you must, put the blame on me as your superior officer. Whatever makes it easiest for you, but you are hereby ordered to seduce that woman into breaking her vow of chastity so she can lead me to that perpetual flame.”
“No,” Valnor croaked in a weak voice while fighting back tears.
“Ensign,” Hastelloy boomed. “I have been whipped into unconsciousness in the name of duty. All you are asked
to do now is copulate with a beautiful young woman; I’d hardly put those two sacrifices in the same category.
“Every s
oldier needs to make a choice at some point. Is he the chicken laying an egg to be involved in breakfast, or is he a bull who is completely committed to the meal by giving its life to provide the steak? Are you the chicken or the bull, ensign?”
Valnor spent several silent moments searching his soul for the answer to Hastelloy’s question. He visibly straightened his spine and delivered a crisp reply
that bore pure hatred behind it, “I am a bull . . . SIR.”
********
**
Under the darkness of the midnight hour, Hastello
y silently tracked a woman in a white flowing gown running through the streets of Rome. She stopped every so often to wipe tears away from her eyes and asked herself, “What have I done?”
The woman ran up the steps t
o the Temple of Vesta. She didn’t approach the main chamber door, but instead headed to a small servant’s entrance off to the side. She frantically worked a ring of keys, dropping them several times on the ground as she fought to control her grief long enough to unlock the door.
Finally she found the right one. She turned the key, thrust open the door and ran inside
, hastily shutting the door behind her. Conveniently for Hastelloy, she neglected to remove the key from the lock.
Hastelloy calmly approached the door, turned the key and gently opened his way into forbidden territory for anyone except a Vestal
priestess. He removed the key from the door and shut it behind him. Hastelloy followed the dimly lit corridor down a narrow stone hallway with a series of doors on either side.
He followed the sobbing woman to the second to last room on the left. Inside the tiny eight foot square storage room
cut in half by a row of locked iron bars he saw Postumia on her knees. On the other side of the bars rested a waist high circular floor lamp with a shimmering red and gold flame hovering a few inches above the pedestal that flowed almost like liquid metal.
“Please forgive me great G
oddess,” she begged. “In a moment of weakness I broke my sacred vow of dedicating my chastity to you. This night I lay with a man. I now throw myself at your mercy and ask your guidance on how to make amends.”
“
Your misdeed is grave,” A whimsical voice spoke while the flowing flame brightened slightly. “But it was not of your weakness, but the designs of the demons I have warned you about. The beings of unnatural birth are trying to turn you against me. They will use your mistake to leverage information from you.”