It had been a stirring speech and Numerius felt a flood of emotion welding up. It was all a matter of morale now he realised. The city could be defended and the means were available for Rome to win the war but the great danger, the mortal threat, now lay not with Hannibal but with a collapse of morale. If the Roman people lost the stomach to continue the war, if they stopped enlisting in the Legions, if they stopped believing in victory, then all would be lost without a single battle having to be fought.
Before Fabius had managed to sit down Metellus, the secretary to the high priest was on his feet and demanding to be heard.
“Honourable members,” he cried, “At our last meeting I spoke to you about neglect and unfaithfulness, both of which are most un Roman virtues. Since then the number of bad omens in the city has increased to such a level that I truly fear for our existence. A wolf was seen entering through the Capena gate in broad daylight and leaving again unmolested. Fiery rain has been reported in Ostia, cold water flows from hot springs and the sacred chickens in the temple of Concord have all died. I promised you a list of men whom the high priest declares have neglected to do their religious duties to the gods and I have it here!” he shouted holding up a scroll for all to see.
From the benches there was instant uproar. A few Senators stormed towards Metellus with raised fists and clashed with Metellus’ supporters who had jumped up in his defence. Numerius ran his hand across his face in dismay as the dictator shouted for calm.
“What is this? Would you prevent me from doing my duty,” Metellus’ voice rose above the tumult. “All of you know that the high priest and the college of Augurs must interpret the will of the gods and this is what we have done, nothing more. This is the evidence that the auguries have given us. Why then do you dare to protest?”
Metellus strode across the floor; as around him his supporters fended off the verbal and physical threats of his opponents; and handed the scroll over to the dictator. “I trust that you will follow our advice,” Metellus snarled before abruptly turning on his heel and returning to his seat.
***
The small back office in the Senate house was used mainly to store the house’s administrative documents but today it served another function. In the centre of the room a table had been set up and around it sat nine men. Fabius was seated beside his old friend Pera the Dictator, a stern aristocratic white haired man of around sixty who now wielded supreme executive power for the next six months. Beside him sat his newly elected second in command Grachus, a younger military man with quick intelligent eyes. Numerius was flanked by the hard man of the group, the former lawyer Torquatus. On the other side of the table sat Metellus representing the high priest and beside him were the three leaders of the other main religious colleges, the augurs who interpreted the will of the gods, the Quindecemviri, the keepers of the Sybiline books and the Septemviri Epulones who were in charge of organising the religious festivals.
“You have read the list?” Metellus said looking at the Dictator.
“Yes we have,” Pera replied casting a cautious look at the priest.
“Well then, what are you going to do?” Metellus’ pig like eyes gleamed as he searched the faces of the men opposite him for clues to their intentions.
Fabius cleared his throat and placed his hands on the table. “We would like to propose something to you young man,” he said carefully.
“You wish to bribe me,” Metellus smiled, “But it won’t work.”
“That’s not what some say,” Torquatus interrupted.
Metellus shot him a dark withering look.
“No, it is not a bribe,” Fabius replied holding up his hand to silence his colleague, “more of an understanding with you and your supporters and the high priest…in the interests of unity and the Republic.”
“Go on,” Metellus said.
Fabius glanced at the list of names that Metellus had handed them earlier.
“We cannot agree to have these men punished,” he said looking up at Metellus. “There are too many important people on it. In particular there is mention of all the magistrates left in the city and several officials who are serving abroad. These men are doing important work in the defence of the city. There are also men on the list whom Pera wishes to appoint to army commands.” Fabius paused. “But you are right. We need to show the proper respect to the gods. I have no doubt that something has gone wrong and that the gods are angered and have reminded us of their anger.” Fabius lowered his eyes, “But perhaps it is not a matter of intentional neglect but one of clumsy execution of the sacred rituals which has left the gods confused by what we offer and desire. So…” Fabius took a deep breath, “I have asked Pera and Grachus to prepare the appropriate sacrifices with special care before they leave the city with their army. We are also going to have to elect a large number of new magistrates and senators to replace the men who have fallen at Cannae. We propose that you submit a list of candidates whom you would like to see in these positions and then…” Fabius leaned backwards, “we will have them elected.”
The room fell silent. Metellus drummed his fingers on the table. Then he looked up with a contemptuous grin. “In times of great distress we must do everything we can of course,” he replied. “My colleague here has therefore seen it necessary to consult the Sybiline books in the temple of Jupiter. Do you know what they told us? The books of destiny say this. They say that in the year of the consulship of Varro and Paullus, a Barbarian Gaul and a Greek will take up permanent residence on the Capitoline hill.”
The government men looked at each other in horror all except Metellus who seemed to be enjoying their discomfort. The Sybiline books were hundreds of years old, written during the time of the kings and according to legend they contained the whole history of Rome, from start to end, recorded before it had even occurred.
“The Sybiline books are never wrong,” Fabius grunted respectfully and there was a sudden wisdom in his eyes, “But their prophesy does not need to be fatal. If they say that a Gaul and a Greek will take up permanent residence on the Capitoline then let it be so. We shall make it a truth even though it is a most repugnant idea. We should have a Gaul and a Greek buried beneath the temple of Jupiter. In that way the prophecy in the books will be fulfilled and the Gods satisfied.”
The men around the table were silent. Pera was the first to speak. His eyes lit up with sudden delight like a boy discovering the solution to a puzzle.
“It would be better to have two Gaul’s and two Greeks, one man and one woman buried alive,” he exclaimed, “for this will cover us from all angles if the books have made no distinction between the sexes or whether the people are to be alive or dead.”
“Very good, these are our thoughts too,” Metellus nodded looking slightly taken aback. “Yet the books have revealed more. They write that in this year the very purity of Rome has been contaminated and that to regain it, the ancient law of sacrifice must be carried out.”
Metellus’ face glowed with cruel delight. “The books say that the Vestal Virgins have been unfaithful in their vows to Vesta.”
“You have proof of this?” Pera replied looking astonished.
“Cock,” Torquatus said.
“You know my daughter is a Vestal,” Numerius said rising to his feet.
Metellus glanced at Numerius and smiled. Then he rose to feet and his fellow priests rose with him.
“It is written in the Sybiline books, whom am I to contest them,” Metellus shrugged glancing at Fabius, “but maybe the gods have decided to punish you for your failure to wait until our ambassador returned from Delphi. I will speak with our father, gentlemen but I think we will be able to agree to your offer,” he paused, “On condition that this sacrifice is made.”
Chapter Twelve – Secrets
All six vestal virgins clustered patiently around their matron in the small circular temple of Vesta as the old woman went through their individual schedules and tasks for the coming week. Pompeia stood with her hands clasped together.
What a bore she thought. She really couldn’t understand why the old matron had to stick so diligently to her weekly routine for all the girls were fully aware of what they had to do. Their routine, after all, had barely changed in over four hundred years.
At twenty four Pompeia was the second oldest. Aurinia was the oldest at thirty six, plump and strict, she liked to keep herself to herself. She only had another year to go before her vows to Vesta would be considered fulfilled and she would leave the temple. Then there were the two adolescent troublemakers, Floronia and Opimia, both seventeen and both from very wealthy families. The matron on several occasions had rebuked them for slackness in their duties. And then there was Julia, a shy twelve year old. It was Julia’s company that Pompeia enjoyed most she had taken on the task of teaching the youngster the routine and etiquette of the temple and the girl was a quick learner. Finally there was tiny Musa, a girl of seven who had joined the Vestals only that year and who still wet her bed in the night.
The matron at last fell silent and as the girls dispersed to their allotted tasks Pompeia approached her.
“My father is ill, may I go to him,” she asked.
The matron glanced at her with a stern eye. “Your father is lucky to have a daughter like you child,” she said. “This is the third time this week you have asked permission to visit him.”
Pompeia blushed. “He suffers from the bad air.”
The matron stared at her. “I am sorry to hear that child. Go to him then,” but as Pompeia turned to leave the old woman caught her by the elbow. “You do your duties with special care, I know,” she said quietly, “I knew from the first moment when you came here that you would serve our mother well. Watch yourself now child, you are my dearest.”
Pompeia strode down the temple steps. A carriage and a Lictor were waiting for her but she waved them away and proceeded into the forum on foot. The matron’s words disturbed her. There was something in the old woman’s tone, a warning. Did she know? She couldn’t possibly know. She had taken every precaution and yet...
She did not look back. In the forum men stopped to stare at her and a few called out greetings but she ignored them all. There were no women to be seen for they had been banned from the streets but the law did not apply to a Vestal who was carrying out her religious duties. At the northern end of the forum she turned in the direction of the old cattle market as if she were heading for the Tiber and her father’s house on the Janiculum.
When she was half way down the street she glanced over her shoulder. The traffic was light and seeing nothing suspicious she slipped into an alley that led to a long flight of narrow stairs. She paused and checked again to see if she was being followed but all seemed as it should. She started to climb the stairs. At the top she paused again to catch her breath. The walls that protected the great temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline towered above her and set within them was a wooden door. From a pocket she produced a key, unlocked the door and passed on through into the temple complex.
The temple of Jupiter, with its massive white pillars and three inner sanctuaries dedicated to Jupiter, Juno his wife and Minerva his daughter rose up before her surrounded by an open paved space. A few priests were around but no one paid her any attention. Pompeia followed the outer walls until she came to a smaller building in the extreme south western corner of the complex. She slipped up the steps, through the tall stone pillars and into the darkness of the shrine. The air inside was cool in contrast to the burning sun outside. She checked again to see if she was being followed but there was nobody about. She turned quickly, feeling her heart thumping in her chest, and examined the room. A large altar stone stood in the middle of the room and beyond it was an inner sanctuary with a heavy curtain drawn across the entrance. She grasped the curtain and opened it slightly. Then she sighed with relief, she was alone.
She had been waiting for only a short while before he showed up. Lucius Cantilius was a handsome young man, with a wolfish charm and a strong well built body. He entered the shrine without paying her the slightest attention and knelt before the altar stone in prayer. Then when he was finished he rose to his feet and came over to her and they embraced.
“They have sent me to buy some more sacred chickens,” he whispered running his hand fondly through her curls, “So I can’t stay long.”
Pompeia pressed her face into his chest.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
He sighed and held her close and did not speak.
“We must not meet in these places Lucius,” she said breaking apart, “It’s too dangerous. Someone may see us.”
He smiled showing a mouth of fine white teeth, “Don’t worry; there is only an old priest who comes here in February.”
He ran his finger down her cheeks until it came to a stop on her mouth.
“Once we are far away from Rome,” he said, “We will be able to be together all the time. I nearly have all the money I need in order to support us. It won’t be long now, I promise you.”
She looked away.
“What is it?” he said running his finger down to her neck.
“Nothing,” she said taking his hand in hers. “Let’s talk about something else.”
He leaned back against the walls of the shrine.
“Floronia and Opimia visit this shrine too, did you know that?” he said.
“No,” she shook her head and felt the warmth of his body as she pressed herself against him. “Why do they come?”
“Probably because people pay them to ask Terminus to settle their land disputes in their favour, I don’t know.”
“That’s horrible,” she muttered, “They nearly allowed the fire to die out a few days ago.”
Cantilius chuckled and was silent for a moment.
“You do still want to run away with me don’t you?” he asked.
Pompeia closed her eyes and didn’t answer and she heard Cantilius sigh.
“Talk to me,” he whispered.
“I don’t know what to do,” she replied, “It’s horrible for me to say this but it’s like I have two loves, Cantilius, one is you and the other is my position as a Vestal and the promise I made to serve the goddess.”
She felt him wrap his arms around her.
“You must choose,” he said, “I know it’s difficult, but you must choose Pompeia, you must decide what life you shall live. Come away with me and I will make you a happy woman, I promise.”
Gently she broke free from his embrace. “I know you will,” she said firmly.
He stepped towards her and kissed her neck and she felt the kiss tingle all the way down her spine.
***
Pompeia hurried back to the house of the Vestals. Her mind seemed weighed down by a heavy burden. She wondered what advice her mother would have given her, but nothing came to mind, her mother and her would in all likelihood never have discussed the matter. Her mother had never been the type of person she had felt she could approach. It was dangerous what she was doing and deep down she felt guilty. She had not broken her vows of chastity but she was dangerously close. She just wished there was someone with whom she could talk to but there was no one. She could not say a word to anyone and it made her feel desperately lonely.
The house of the Vestals stood at the foot of the Palatine hill in the forum. It was here that all the Vestals lived whilst in the service. In front of the house was the small circular temple of Vesta where the eternal and sacred fire was tended day and night. Pompeia was in her quarters washing her hands when a slave came to tell her that she had a visitor. She quickly cleaned herself up and went downstairs into the long rectangular colonnaded garden of the house of vestals. It was Publius. He stood awkwardly at the main entrance to the house kicking the heels of his feet on the dry paving stones. He was carrying an old barbarian spear and wore a faded army uniform with dents in the armour. When he saw her he straightened up.
“Lady, it is so kind of you to s…see me,” he stuttered. “I will not take up much of your time, I p
romise, but I must sp…speak with you about an urgent matter.”
“Of course,” she nodded gracefully, “I see that they have called you up for military service.”
“Yes”, he nodded, “That is w…why the matter is urgent.”
She examined his equipment with a critical eye. “Well I am sure that we can provide you with better arms than these,” she said. “If you are to take my fathers name then you must look the part. My father was a Tribune in the last war. I will see that you are provided for with a horse and new armour.”
The Shield of Rome Page 10