Vestal Virgin: Suspense in Ancient Rome

by Suzanne Tyrpak

  A million lives destroyed.

  Angerona appeared over the rise, her face reflecting terror as she stared at the city’s devastation. “When will it end?”

  Justinus had no answer.

  They watched in silence as a hazy sun looked down from mid-heaven. The air felt heavy, still. Birds had ceased singing.

  “Nero has returned from Antium,” Justinus said.

  “They say, while the city burns he stands on his balcony and plays his lyre. They say he sings of Troy.”

  “His palace is destroyed. He has no balcony to stand upon.”

  “Do you think Nero’s agents set the fire?” Angerona asked. “Rumors claim he wants to clear the city so he can build his Golden House.”

  “There are easier methods,” Justinus said. “Extortion, threats, forced suicide—” He stopped mid-sentence, remembering Angerona’s father.

  “Timing is everything.” She stole a sideways glance at him. “And I can’t help noticing the fire’s timing coincided with Elissa’s funeral.”

  Justinus felt his face redden.

  Elissa moaned, seemed to be waking.

  “She’s thirsty,” he said, glad to change the subject.

  Angerona handed him the water bladder.

  He fed Elissa water, prayed that she’d recover soon. Since the death of his parents he’d become used to self reliance. He’d thrown himself into a soldier’s life and accepted the post in Britannia as far from Rome as possible. But he could not continue. Not without Elissa.

  “Are you crying, Justinus?”

  “Smoke.” He ran his hands over his face. “The smoke is getting to me.”

  Angerona settled beside him, touched his cheek and brushed away a tear. “You and I, we’re the same.”

  “How so?” Justinus gazed at the seven hills, studying the drifting smoke.

  “We’ll do anything to meet our desires. Do anything as a means to our desired end. Wouldn’t we?”

  “The fire’s traveling west toward the river.”

  “I understand your passion. I sense your longing, and I feel it too.”

  “I hope the fire doesn’t jump the wall and reach the Campus Martius.”

  “Why can’t you love me, Justinus?”

  He glanced at Elissa. She had fallen back asleep, one hand held protectively over her belly.

  “It always comes down to her.” Angerona sounded bitter. “Elissa the chaste, the pure, the perfect. No matter what I do, I’m never good enough.”

  “It’s not that—”

  “What then?” Angerona stood, brushing bits of grass from her stola.

  Justinus stood as well. Avoiding Angerona’s stare, he scanned the seven hills. “The fire hasn’t reached the Esquiline. If we walk along the ridge we should manage to reach my domus.”

  * * * * *

  Cradling Elissa in his arms, Justinus leaned against the front door of his domus. It swung open. Strange. Usually the servants kept the front door bolted.

  He stepped into the foyer, and Angerona followed.

  “Hello,” he called.

  “What’s this?” Angerona pointed to a figurine that lay broken on the floor.

  “Must have fallen from the altar.”

  Justinus kicked the pieces across the mosaic and wondered why a slave hadn’t swept up the mess. He carried Elissa through the unlit vestibule. It seemed barren. Busts of his ancestors were missing from their niches. Even the wax masks were gone.

  They entered the atrium, and he lay Elissa on a couch. The room’s sole piece of furniture. Where were the tables? The high-backed chairs and cushioned benches? Ashes covered every surface and sunlight fell in smoky rays through the open ceiling. Except for the cat, crouching by the central pool, the house seemed deserted. Upon seeing the intruders, the cat jumped down from its perch and bolted from the room.

  “Akeem,” Justinus called.

  Curtains leading to the tablinum rustled, and Akeem peered out, his eyes wide and frightened. “Are you a lemur?” he asked.

  “Where are all the servants?”

  “Gone.” Akeem waved his hand over the room. “All gone. I alone remain.”

  Touched by Akeem’s loyalty, Justinus asked, “Why haven’t you left as well?”

  Akeem shrugged. “I have nowhere to go, and the wine here is excellent.”

  “What happened to the furniture?”

  “Thieves. I couldn’t stop them, except for the couch. Too heavy.”

  Justinus ripped open the curtain leading to the tablinum. The strong box had been pried open, the desk overturned, and papers lay scattered on the floor. He kept important documents at the House of Vestals, but all those records had been burned.

  “Could be worse,” he said, allowing the curtain to fall. “At least we’re alive.”

  “Barely. You look terrible, Master.”

  “Is there anything to eat or drink?”

  Akeem retrieved a flagon from behind the curtain. He left the room, apparently in search of cups.

  “At least your domus is still standing,” Angerona said. She wandered around the atrium running a hand along the wall. She studied her palm then held it out to Justinus so he could see the soot. “Thank the gods, my mother and sisters are safe in the countryside. Our palace in the forum, the domus Nero confiscated, has burned. Nothing remains. Not even my mother’s garden.”

  “Sit down, Angerona. You make me nervous.”

  “There’s nowhere to sit.” She peered out of a window to the courtyard. “Your apple trees are still standing.”

  “My father planted them.”

  “You never speak of your parents.”

  “They died long ago.”

  “Don’t you get lonely?”

  “Hurry with that wine,” Justinus shouted, but Akeem didn’t answer. Justinus opened the front door and called again. He saw the slave running down the garden path away from the house. And who could blame him?

  Angerona touched his back. “You can count on me.”

  Elissa moaned.

  Glad to escape Angerona, Justinus hurried to the couch.

  “Where am I?” Elissa asked.

  “You’re safe, Elissa. Safe with me.” He helped her to sit up.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room, her gaze falling on Angerona. “What’s she doing here?”

  “You have every right to hate me,” Angerona said, “every reason—”

  “You’re dead to me.”

  Angerona’s eyes grew hard. “I should have left you in that tomb.”

  “So you wouldn’t have to face yourself?”

  “Elissa, you need to rest.” Justinus shot an angry glance at Angerona. “You’d better go.”

  Elissa touched his face. “Has Flavia returned from Antium?”

  “We’ll talk about your sister later.” He handed her the flagon of water, hoping to delay her questions.

  “Apparently, your sister never went to Antium,” Angerona said.

  “Where is she then?”

  “No one has seen her since the fire started,” Justinus said.

  The flagon fell from Elissa’s hands, and a stream ran across floor. “The fire is still burning?”

  “For three days with no end in sight.” Angerona stared at Justinus. “No one knows exactly how it started, but I can guess.”

  “Probably an accident,” Justinus said.

  “By accident or by intent, the result is criminal. In my opinion the culprit should be strung on a cross and burned alive,” said Angerona.

  Justinus flinched, but said nothing. In his heart of hearts, he agreed with Angerona.

  Elissa stood shakily, her eyes unfocused, her complexion pale. “Rome burns,” she said, “and from union unholy the sister will bring forth a son.”

  “Lie down, Elissa,” Justinus said.

  “The prophecy has come to pass.”

  “What prophecy?”

  She headed toward the vestibule.

  “Where are you going?”

&
nbsp; “I must speak to Nero.”

  “Elissa,” Justinus said, “If Nero sees you are alive—”

  “He’ll bury you again,” Angerona’s voice was sharp.

  “I don’t think so. I know him better than he knows himself.” Elissa’s face looked ashen, yet determined. “In any case, the dead protect me. After all, I’m one of them.”

  “Stay here where you’ll be safe,” Justinus pleaded.

  “You’ll find Nero at the Campus Martius,” Angerona said, “tending survivors.”

  “Shut up, Angerona!” If she had been a man, Justinus would have slugged her. “You’ve done enough damage.”

  “As have you, Justinus.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m referring to your pyrotechnics.”

  Justinus edged away from her and ran after Elissa.

  CHAPTER XLV

  Flavia closed her eyes against the water’s sting as the torrent carried her through the Cloaca Maxima. Clamping her lips, she tried not to swallow sewer water. The current became stronger as the tunnel reached its end, sucking Flavia into a whirlpool, before expelling her into the Tiber. Light pressed against her eyelids, and the rush of the river sent her under.

  She resurfaced, gasping for air, arms flailing, struggling to stay afloat. A world of smoke and cinders swirled around her. Debris littered the water: remnants of boats, loose papers, orange peels, clothing, broken furniture. Flavia grabbed onto a charred beam. Clinging to the wood, she let the river carry her. Bobbing amongst the wreckage, she passed through an archway of the Pons Sublicus and narrowly avoided crashing into the stone bridge.

  Her stomach cramped and her teeth chattered, but the cold water numbed her wounds. Or perhaps her pain was numbed by her sheer will. Having escaped Popaea’s torture chamber, she was determined to survive.

  The river’s current carried her beyond the Servian Walls, beyond the scorched city. Tents of refugees lined the riverbanks. A row of brightly painted caravans displayed a sign advertising pantomimes.

  Flavia let go of the beam and found the strength to swim.

  * * * * *

  “Coming here is madness,” Justinus said.

  “Not madness, necessity.” Elissa held out her hand to him and their fingers interlocked.

  “You aren’t supposed to touch a man.”

  “That was before I died.”

  The floodplain of the Campus Martius lay outside the Servian Wall and ran along the river. Tents crammed every patch of earth and a mob of displaced people trampled the field, churning the grass into mud. To appease rising panic in the city Nero had opened storehouses of corn and set up tents providing meals and shelter.

  “Flavia must be here somewhere,” Elissa said.

  Through the crowd Elissa saw Mother Amelia doling out food to the hungry. The high vestal looked up from a steaming pot, her mouth dropping in surprise. Wiping greasy hands on her apron, she hurried to Elissa.

  “How can it be?” Fingers trembling she touched Elissa’s face.

  Elissa glanced at Justinus, thought of all her prayers. “I had a lot of help.”

  Mother Amelia turned to Justinus. “Why did you bring her here, young man? If Nero learns she is alive—”

  “Exactly who I want to see,” Elissa said. “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Let’s go where we can talk, my dears.”

  Mother Amelia led them across the crowded field to a tent. “Come in,” she said. “It’s not much, but it serves.” She motioned to cushions strewn on the tent’s floor. “Sit. Make yourselves comfortable.” Settling herself beside Elissa she asked, “What are your intentions now?”

  “First, I must speak to Nero.”

  The furrows in Mother Amelia’s brow deepened. “My dear, perhaps it’s best to let him think you’re dead.”

  Justinus placed his arm around Elissa’s shoulders. “Let’s leave Rome,” he said. “Start a new life.”

  “Not until I see him.”

  Mother Amelia shook her head. “What’s past is past, Elissa. You can’t change fate. The gods have given you a gift. A future. Officially you don’t exist, and your sacred vows have been annulled. This is your chance for a new beginning—as if you’d been reborn.”

  Justinus lifted Elissa’s chin. “Marry me,” he said.

  Love shone in his eyes, and hope. Could it be possible that something good could be born of misery? Elissa thought of Marcus burning on the pyre, of Flavia’s stolen innocence. She rubbed her scarred palm, remembering.

  “I can’t marry you,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  Finally she faced the truth. The nausea. The absence of her monthly flow.

  “I just can’t.”

  “For the gods’ sake, Elissa,” Mother Amelia sounded exasperated. “This is your chance for happiness.”

  “There’s the matter of,” Elissa hesitated, “a child.”

  “What child?” Justinus asked.

  “Mine.”

  Justinus stared at her, and so did Mother Amelia.

  “Now you understand why I have to see Nero, and why I can’t marry you, Justinus.”

  His face darkened, but Elissa wasn’t sure if she saw rage or sorrow in his eyes. “You think,” his voice broke. “Do you really think I’d blame you for what Nero did? Marry me, Elissa. We’ll move to the countryside, far away from here, and raise the baby as our own.”

  She stared at him in wonder. She’d always known he was good, but he was better than she’d dreamed. She trusted him as she trusted no one else. She knew she could rely on him. And he could rely on her. Might happiness be possible?

  “Will we grow apples out in the country?”

  Justinus laughed. “We’ll grow orchards of them. Whatever you want, Elissa.”

  “Yes,” she said, tears of joy filling her eyes. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”

  “Good.” Mother Amelia clapped her hands. “Then it’s settled. Somewhere in here, I have wine. This calls for celebration.”

  As Justinus bent to kiss her, Elissa said, “Now I must go.”

  “Go where?” Justinus asked.

  Elissa knew she could disappear and leave no trace. But she wanted retribution. She wanted to see Nero’s face when she told him—everything. She owed that much to Marcus, owed it to herself.

  She turned to Mother Amelia. “Please take me to the princeps now.”

  * * * * *

  Mother Amelia pushed open the heavy doors of the basilica dedicated to Agrippina, and Elissa followed. Nero had opened public buildings to victims of the fire, and survivors lay on pallets strewn across the marble floor. Overworked physicians ran back and forth between their patients, applying cold compresses to their burns, dabbing wounds with honey to ease the pain and stay infection.

  “This way,” Mother Amelia said.

  They walked along a hallway lined with patients. Some called out for blessings, some were crying, others slept.

  “By the power vested in me,” Mother Amelia said softly. “Vulcan, god of fire, may Rome’s suffering end.”

  Elissa called on Jesus, prayed for strength to face Nero, prayed for courage to speak the truth. From the corner of her eye, she saw Marcus watching. Others lurked behind him.

  Two sentries stood before a doorway.

  “Young men,” Mother Amelia said, although the older of the two rivaled the age of Elissa’s father. “We’ve come to see the princeps.”

  “No visitors,” the older sentry said. His eyes focused on a greasy stain smeared down the front of Mother Amelia’s apron.

  “I’m not a visitor.” She revealed her medallion. “I am the Vestal Maxima.” Straightening her spine, Mother Amelia seemed to grow as the guards diminished.

  They bowed, allowing her to pass.

  Mother Amelia knocked on the door.

  “I said no visitors!” Nero’s voice pierced Elissa like a knife.

  She could leave now, run. Like all of Rome, Nero would assume her dead. Her vision cloud
ed, and she resisted fainting. The air stirred and she shivered. They crept in at the edges, slipping through the shadows. Pleading, crying, begging to be heard. Marcus, Agrippina, countless lemures. She moved through the dead, toward Nero’s voice.

  “I said—”

  His face blanched when he saw her.

  Nero sat on a folding stool, behind a makeshift desk covered with scrolls and sheets of papyrus. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and his cheeks were sunken. Instead of a toga or flowing robes of silk, he wore a simple tunic. He set down his stylus, pushed away the wax tablet on which he’d been writing, and stood.

  “As you see,” Elissa said, “I have risen from the dead.”

  He ran his tongue over his lips, riffled through a stack of papyrus, his hands trembling. “Official documents,” he muttered, “the history of Rome, all lost.”

  “Where is Flavia?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She gazed into his frightened eyes, and she believed him.

  “I bring you a message,” she said, “from Agrippina.”

  Papers fluttered to the floor, and Nero stooped to gather them. “How is my mother?”

  “Our mother.”

  Nero looked up, papers flying from his hands. He stood slowly, leaned toward Elissa, his hands pressing into the desk. “You?”

  “Me.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  Mother Amelia stepped forward. “I am a witness,” she said, “and the Vestal Maxima’s word is still sacrosanct, even in Rome. I promised Agrippina I would keep her daughter’s birth a secret, but now that Elissa is officially dead, the vow of secrecy has been annulled.”

  Nero swallowed. “Go on.”

  “Twenty-two years ago, after Agrippina’s exile from Rome and the death of your father, your mother married Passienus Crispus.”

  “My mother had been banished by her brother, Caligula.” Nero looked distant, as if trying to remember. “We didn’t live in Rome. She and Crispus were married for three years. I must have been about four years old.”

  “They quarreled,” Mother Amelia said. “And Crispus began to travel, leaving Agrippina alone for months. To amuse herself, she took lovers—some of them aristocrats. When Crispus returned from Asia he found your mother—”