Vestal Virgin: Suspense in Ancient Rome (21 page)

“As have I,” said Angerona.

Marcia nodded in agreement.

“I’ve seen her making potions.”

“Riding on the wind.”

“Howling at the moon.”

“Enough!” Mother Amelia’s voice rose above the accusations. “Have you forgotten where you are?”

Wind whistled through the temple. Elissa heard agonizing screams.

Nero’s eyes grew wide with terror. “Do you hear that?”

“Your mother,” Elissa said. “She’s here, and she speaks through me.”

“What does she want?”

“The truth.”

“I’ll give her the truth,” Flavia said, rushing toward Elissa. “You’re having an affair with Gallus Justinus.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I have proof.” Flavia reached into her stola withdrawing a package wrapped in silk. “Love letters addressed to you.”

Elissa stared at the strand of blue ribbon binding the papers together, the strand of love tying her to Justinus. She looked around the circle of accusing faces. Even Mother Amelia said nothing in her defense.

The fear in Nero’s eyes became a nasty light. “Is it possible the pristine priestess is not a virgin after all? Has the vestal, pure as snow, melted for a man?” He bent close to Elissa and whispered, “Yet you refuse me?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said.

“Elissa Rubria Honoria,” Nero proclaimed. “I, Pontifex Maximus, charge you with breaking your vow of chastity. An inquisition will be conducted, and you will stand trial before the Collegiate of Pontiffs. If you are found guilty, you will be entombed alive. Until then you will be held a prisoner of Rome.”

“But I am innocent.”

Flavia and Angerona held Elissa firmly by her arms.

“I am innocent,” she said again.

But only the lemures were listening.

End of Part Four

The Final Hour

Here lies your only hope. This battle you must fight—

and be victorious.

You shall prevail. You have no choice, only this—

To win.

Gods have mercy, come to the aid of the wounded,

Help them through death’s torment, life’s final hour,

Pity my suffering, be savior of the one who’s committed no evil.

Purify my essence, make me new and free

of this corruption,

this decay creeping through my blood, my bones, my body.

Spare my heart, so joy may enter me.

—Catullus

The Ides of May

Year X, reign of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus

Dear Justinus,

I write to you from the confines of the Regia, though you may never see this letter. They allow me ink, but no messenger. No contact with the outside world, except what I view through this barred window.

Today they’ll weigh the evidence, decide if I shall go to trial. Pray for me—

Elissa stopped writing. What was the point? Her letter would not be delivered.

She paced the short length of her cubicle. Bolted from the outside, the chamber might have been a prison cell. Overnight, the life she’d known had been destroyed and, like Persephone, she slipped into the underworld. Meanwhile, within these walls, priests prepared for her inquisition.

She’d mulled over the visitation from Agrippina, unsure of what was real and what she had imagined. What if Agrippina had truly borne another child—a sibling to Nero who might prefer his brother dead? Could that sibling be her ally?

Through the window’s iron bars she gazed at the forum. Earlier that morning she’d watched Nero enter the Regia’s gates, watched as he walked past the pilasters and the sacred spring.

He was here now. Lying in wait.

She glanced toward the door. It remained shut, but it might open at any moment. She told herself the physical examination would prove her innocence—prove she retained that most important virtue: her virginity.

From the window she saw the House of Vestals and, beyond the house, the Via Sacra. No matter what the season the wide artery leading to the heart of Rome pulsated with life. She watched the urban mob, pushing, shoving, eager to get somewhere. Most walked along the raised sidewalk and stayed close to the storefronts avoiding the street where they might be trampled by horses, slaves carrying litters, infantries of twenty or more bodyguards. Young men practiced less precaution, boldly strolling down the avenue, calling out to one another, chasing after pretty girls. Rome was bursting with wealth, and most passersby seemed oblivious to the ragtag children trailing after them, oblivious to elderly men with hacking coughs who huddled in the doorways, oblivious to weary women, their backs bent by grueling work. Romans considered slavery a fact of life, the natural order. But, confined in her cell, Elissa viewed the world differently.

A priest of Saturn, preceded by a lictor, walked through the Regia’s iron gates and onto the street. He strolled along the Via Sacra and plebs parted like a frightened school of fish. The priest paid them no attention. Deference was expected. Elissa had often experienced that same power, but today she would have given anything to be lost in the teeming crowd.

The priest entered a door inscribed with an erect phallus. A brothel. If chastity were such a cherished virtue why were men exempt?

Her mother often said a woman’s most precious asset was not her dowry, but her purity. Like all exemplary matrons, Constantina upheld the motto: honor, self control, and reverence for the gods. Meanwhile, her husband saw nothing hypocritical in visiting his concubines. Elissa felt sure there had been plenty. Yet Constantina said not a word against her husband.

No wonder the world lacked harmony. True love between a man and a woman required they be equals. Instruments, finely tuned but different, producing complimentary chords. Only then could music be achieved.

By her mother’s standards, Elissa knew her thoughts were blasphemous. But given a second chance she would go to Justinus, lie with him. What union could be more sacred than love between two souls? Purity lay within the mind, within the heart, not within a hollow vow of chastity.

When all hope has fled, and the empty heart meets its desire, fulfillment of the heart—that—that is the greatest joy.

Catullus had understood.

Elissa’s eyes clouded with tears. Bowing her head she prayed to Jesus, the loving Son of God, a radiant light in this dark world. Her prayers were interrupted by tapping on the door.

The lock shifted and the door creaked open.

Mother Amelia entered. “Ready for the consulate, my dear?” The high vestal, usually immaculate, appeared disheveled. She offered Elissa a weak smile of encouragement.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Your hair is shorn?”

“Marcia has seen to every detail.” At dawn Marcia had bathed and anointed Elissa as if she were a bride. She’d cut Elissa’s long dark curls and shaved her head as if she were a novice. “Have you seen my sister?”

“Flavia has moved into the palace.”

“You said you would protect her.”

“She went under order of the Pontifex Maximus.”

“And that makes it all right.”

Mother Amelia said nothing. What could she say?

“My sister’s accusation stands?” Elissa asked.

“Be brave, my dear.” Mother Amelia offered another tepid smile.

Elissa leaned against the windowsill and stared at the unflinching sun. Though it was morning, already the day was sweltering. “Angerona’s accusation stands as well?”

Mother Amelia touched Elissa’s shoulder. “The truth will prove your innocence.”

Opening the door, she ushered Elissa out into the hostile world.

* * * * *

The Major Flamine greeted them with a curt nod of his head and led them to the tablinum. “Wait here,” the high priest said before leaving the room.

This time they were offered no refreshment. Mother Amelia settled on a high-backed chair and Elissa stood by the window.

“What if I’m found guilty?” she asked.

“According to the law, you’re assumed innocent until proven otherwise.”

Mother Amelia sank into the cushions.

Elissa studied her. What if Nero used his power to sway the Collegiate of Pontiffs? Sway the Vestal Maxima? Would the high vestal risk her position, her authority? Elissa doubted it.

She trusted no one. Only Justinus.

If Marcus were alive, things would be different. If Marcus were alive, at the suggestion of Flavia’s nomination, the first whiff of Nero’s foul intentions, he would have rallied Rome’s intellectuals and caused a public outcry. Elissa longed for her brother’s strength, his courage, his conviction.

The Major Flamine returned. “The Pontifex Maximus will see Priestess Elissa Rubria Honoria alone,” he said.

Every muscle in Elissa’s body tensed.

“That doesn’t follow protocol.” Mother Amelia shifted on her cushions. “Elissa is to have a physical examination performed by me, while the Pontifex Maximus stands behind a screen. Only then, if just cause is found, will there be a hearing before the Collegiate of Pontiffs.”

“But first a private interview with the Pontifex Maximus,” the priest said.

“Then I will act as witness.” Mother Amelia stood, preparing to escort Elissa.

“You will not.” The Major Flamine snapped his fingers, and two guards stepped into the room.

They blocked the high vestal from the door.

“But this is unacceptable—” Mother Amelia said.

“Come.” The priest guided Elissa out of the tablinum and along the white marble vestibule leading to Nero’s chamber. As they passed the library, she slowed. The sibyls seemed to call to her. The prophecy screamed in her ears.

Rome burns and from union unholy the sister will bring forth a son.

What had Marcus said? Interpret the prophecy, save yourself from fate? She had to find Book Fourteen.

She slumped against the wall, her breathing rapid and shallow.

“Is something wrong?” the priest asked.

“I need to collect myself.”

“The Pontifex Maximus is waiting.”

“Tell him I’ll be there momentarily.”

The priest hesitated.

“Please, go. I’m right behind you.”

She watched the priest, purple robes billowing, as he walked along the vestibule. He knocked on Nero’s door then entered, disappearing from her sight.

The hallway stood empty. Elissa pushed against the library’s ornate doors, but they refused to budge. She tried to turn the bolt, but it required a key. Frantically, she glanced down the hallway, expecting the priest to return. The vestibule was starkly furnished, and no artwork graced the walls. A vase sat on a table, and it seemed out of place. Elissa touched the vase and something rattled. A key fell into her hand.

It fit the lock.

Shutting the double doors behind her, Elissa was met by darkness. She took a step, tripped over a stool and fell. She sat still, listening. Heard distant voices, but the door remained shut. Flexing her foot, she winced. Her ankle wasn’t broken, but it hurt. She managed to stand, took several limping steps, and bumped into a shelf of scrolls. A flurry of dust tickled her nostrils and she sneezed. She bumped into another shelf. The room was crammed with bookcases. Steadying herself, she touched the shelves on either side and walked gingerly along the row. Her eyes grew accustomed to the dark and seeing became easier. Inching along a wall, she found a window. She fumbled with the latch and the shutters opened. Sunlight poured into the room.

She blinked, blinked again as she surveyed the library. Rows of shelves and cubbyholes filled the room from floor to ceiling. Never had she seen so many books. How could she hope to find the Sibylline Oracles before the priest discovered her?

She limped along honeycombs of scrolls reading the contents of each cubbyhole. Euclid’s
The Elements. Commentaries on Metaphysics
by Eudorus. The plays of Euripides—the title
Hercules
jumped out.

“Jesus, help me,” she whispered.

Somewhere within this sprawling collection lay the
Books of Fate
. She sought the letter S. A top shelf had been devoted to the oracles. Although most of the original scrolls had been damaged, scholars had rewritten them. Fourteen in all. Following Agrippina’s instructions, she sought the final book.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

Book Fourteen was missing.

She dragged a stool over to the shelf, stood on it favoring her good ankle, and peered into the cubbyhole.

Empty.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway. She stood frozen.

A voice called out, “Have you seen Priestess Elissa?”

She didn’t have much time. She gazed through the cubbyhole. Saw a table on the other side. And on that table she saw an open scroll.

“Dear Jesus, please.”

She jumped from the stool and nearly screamed with pain. Dragging her wounded foot, she hobbled toward the table.

The fourteenth book.

She scanned the page.

May curses rain on you with flames of fire

Time draws near, for you to meet inferno

Day in, day out for all eternity,

Your false and useless gods—shamed and destroyed

A prophecy of doom referring to the final days of Rome. She glanced toward the door then continued reading.

Those who know the one eternal god of truth

Live forever in the light of beauty

A verdant paradise of fertile fields,

Feasting on starry heaven’s honeyed bread

Could the eternal god the oracle referred to be Jesus?

She unrolled the scroll a little more and saw the words she knew so well, the prophecy emblazoned in her memory. Another phrase followed, written in a different hand, not careful lettering, but scrawl:

Darkness cannot prevail within the light of a happy soul.

Below those words she saw a drawing—a large black dot within a circle of light, the symbol of the sun.

To what did it refer? The sun as god? Apollo? Re? The womb of the Great Mother? The longer she stared, the more the symbol appeared to be an eye. A bright eye peering from the darkness. Watching her.

The door burst open, and the Major Flamine rushed in followed by the guards. They stood aside as Nero, dressed in the robes of the Pontifex Maximus, sauntered past them.

“Apparently you’re feeling better,” he said. “It would be a pity for you to fall ill on this momentous occasion.”

Elissa met his mocking gaze. “I do feel better, thank you.”

He nodded to the scroll. “Have you deciphered the prophecy?”

“Not yet, but I will.”