by Kevin Ashman
Brandon held out his hand.
‘Hello, Louigi,’ he said, ‘I’m Brandon and this is India.’
‘Ciao,’ said Louigi and shook Brandon’s hand.
‘I hear you were the best guide on the Palatine,’ said Brandon.
‘Still am,’ said Louigi, ‘These others are just amateurs selling their stories to the tourists that pay the best money.’
‘Surely, they’re not all bad,’ said Brandon.
‘Not all, but most. So, English, what do you want to know?’
Brandon looked at India.
‘I think this is where you step in,’ he said.
‘Hello, Louigi,’ she said. ‘We want to know about the history of the Palatine and in particular, the Temple of Vesta.’
‘Ah, the Vestals,’ said Louigi, ‘Well, Miss India, this is your lucky day. The history of the Sisters is my particular favourite. Come with me.’ He turned and walked back the way he had come.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘I may be no expert but isn’t the Forum that way?’ He pointed up the hill towards the main ruins.
The old man stopped and turned around.
‘If you want to be a sheep, join the flock,’ he said, ‘My story lies this way.’ He turned and led them down a cobbled side road away from the growing crowds.
Ten minutes later they ducked under a wire perimeter fence and walked across a rough piece of ground.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Brandon.
Louigi didn’t answer but continued up a small grassy rise. He stopped and waited for the others to catch him up. They stood alongside each other gazing at the whole of the Palatine hill rising before them, magnificent in its splendour.
‘Wow!’ said India, ‘That is beautiful.’
Louigi sat down on the grass and patted the ground beside him.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘Sit.’
Brandon looked at India and shrugged his shoulders before sitting to the left of Louigi. India sat to his right.
‘Look before you,’ said Louigi sweeping his hand across the vista to their front.’ Tell me what you see.’
‘Um, buildings,’ said Brandon, ‘Ruins of a city. Some trees, a couple of column things and tourists, lots of tourists.’
Louigi gave him a look bordering on contempt before turning his attention to India.
‘And you, Lady India?’ He asked, ‘What do you see?’
India held his gaze for a moment before turning her gaze back to the city.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘That building complex over there is the arch of Septimus Severus. I think that one over there is the Temple of Julius Caesar. I can see the Temple of Vesta and of course the Forum Romanum.’
Louigi nodded appreciatively.
‘I can see you have some knowledge,’ he said. ‘You have learned from lessons in school and from books in your libraries. This is all very well but you need to look past the bricks and mortar. Look past the photographic images and let your soul see what I see.’
‘And what is that?’ asked Brandon.
Louigi took a deep breath and half closed his eyes.
‘Oh, the sights are truly wonderful,’ he said. ‘Not archaeology or sightseers but a living breathing city. Imagine these buildings glistening in the sunlight, soaring skyward in the morning sun, the colours vibrant and powerful. The main street running through the centre of the Forum, flanked by a row of stunning marble Colonnades stretching as far as the city walls in the distance. The street is full of people bustling back and fore, going about their business. Slaves in simple tunics carrying their Master’s wares to the markets or pulling hand carts piled high with bales of cloth and amphorae of wine. Ladies dressed in swathes of beautiful coloured cloth making their way to buy the day’s food, and the business men in their Toga’s heading to the Forum for a day’s debate on the politics of the day. And then there’s the smells,’ he continued, ‘Can you imagine? Hundreds of ovens in this area alone, making the bread for the city. Roasting hops from the breweries. Stalls piled high with fish from the Mediterranean and spices from the eastern borders of the empire.’
‘You see, English, when I walk these streets I breathe the history. Rome is more than just a tourist attraction. She is, and always has been a living breathing entity. Millions of people visit every year yet only a tiny proportion care about her history. Her traumatic birth, her violent youth and glorious adulthood, yet, though she is old, she has not yet died. Yes she is changing but these ruins in front of you are nothing but an outfit she is discarding in favour of a more modern image.’
‘Such is my city, English. So ask your questions and I will tell you my stories. But complain not if my answers do not match the history books. My tales are from the mouth of my grandmother and a hundred grandmothers before her.’ He stopped and lit a cigarette, breathing in the smoke deeply as he looked over the city he so obviously loved.
A short silence followed before India spoke.
‘You are obviously very passionate about your home, Louigi,’ she said, ‘But we were wondering whether you could let us know anything about the Vestal Virgins.’
‘Aaah, the Sisters,’ he said, ‘The most purest and misunderstood citizens of Rome. Well, I suppose you already know the basics. The recruitment process, the training and their lifetime of devotion to the Goddess Vesta. Over the millennia, their purity and devotion became the focus for poets and writers alike and legends have arisen around them. The very mention of their name conjures up stories of drama and beauty. Some true, many false but all passionate.’
‘It must have been a very holy existence,’ said India.
‘And boring,’ said Brandon.
‘Oh don’t believe everything you have heard,’ said Louigi. ‘Yes, most of them were chaste but don’t forget, they were recruited between the age of six and ten, and were closely guarded over the next ten years while they were trained. This meant that when they were finally allowed out into the wider world they would have been in their late teens and early twenties. An age when their hormones would have been rampant. In a city where sex and debauchery were not only freely available but celebrated, they would have been exposed to temptation all around. Many fell foul of their own desires and broke the vows of chastity.’
‘Hang on,’ said Brandon, turning to India, ‘I thought you said that anyone caught having sex were buried alive.’
‘Oh many were,’ interrupted Louigi, Throughout Rome’s history, twenty two Vestals were found guilty of breaking their chastity. Eighteen of those were buried alive.
‘What about the other four?’ asked Brandon
‘Two killed themselves, one was forced to marry the madman Emperor Heliogabalus, but there is no record of what happened to the last one, apart from the fact she was murdered by Nero.’
‘Really?’ asked India
‘Absolutely!’ said Louigi. ‘Though many historians say that Nero married the Vestal Rubria in 64 AD, the fact is he raped her and then got rid of her body.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Brandon.
‘We know Rubria was a particularly beautiful woman with long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. We also know Nero wanted her for his wife, for it is recorded in the diaries of Suetonius Tranquillus, the Roman historian who lived at the time. He also recorded the rape, and we can only guess, that the reason he raped her was that she rejected him. That was probably the worst thing she could have done for as we know, nobody ever said no to Nero.’
‘How did he kill her?’
‘Well, we don’t know for certain but out of all the Vestals her fate is the only one not recorded but everyone agrees that after raping her Nero probably murdered her.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said India.
‘Their history is filled with anomalies,’ said Louigi.’ Let’s not forget the order lasted over fourteen hundred years and during that time thousands of girls would have worn the stola of Vesta. By implication it is obvious some would have fallen by the wayside. Some were tempted by the flesh, some were inde
ed executed. There are even stories of some betraying Rome to her enemies.’
‘How?’ asked Brandon
‘Well, they were often used as go-betweens during times of tension as they were seen as incorruptible. Unfortunately that wasn’t always the case. On one occasion a Priestess called Tarpeia was sent as an ambassador to the besieging Sabine army but sold out in return for what she thought would be a fortune in gold. Unfortunately the Sabine king tricked her and he had her crushed beneath the shields of his army. When the battle was over, he had her body thrown from a cliff on the Capitoline hill.’
‘The Tarpeian Rock?’ said India.
‘It subsequently became known as that,’ said Louigi, ‘And was a place of execution for traitors for hundreds of years after that.’
For the next hour, Louigi regaled Brandon and India about the lives and deaths of the people of Rome. The triumphs, disasters, achievements and tragedies. In particular he recounted the stories of the Vestals and their roles in the daily life of Rome. India was transfixed and sat in silence as she listened to Louigi bringing history to life, but Brandon was getting impatient. Eventually he took advantage of a break in the conversation.
‘What about the Temple of Vesta?’ he said, ‘I understand they contained the treasures of Rome.’
‘Aaah the treasures,’ said Louigi, ‘Always the treasures. As soon as the word is mentioned the tourists eyes light up with images of Gold and Silver, But Rome’s true treasures were not of reformed elements but of history and tradition. You see, just as we look back on Rome’s past, they looked back on the stories of their ancestors, and the greatest of these became central to their view of the world. Where we hope for gold, the Romans gathered documents. Where we imagine Silver, they revered artefacts. Such were the true treasures of the Temple, English, parchments from long dead empires, statues from annihilated cities, stories from kings and confessions from Emperors. These are real treasures, and I would gladly give my life for one day alone with such things, but alas fate decreed they would be lost forever.’
‘But were they, Louigi?’ asked Brandon, ‘Is it possible that any may have survived to the present day?’
‘Probably not,’ said the Italian, ‘Though some people think that history may have been altered to hide mistakes.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You already know what I mean,’ said Louigi, ‘Your line of questioning tells me you probably seek the Palladium. Personally I think you waste your time. Many have already taken this path, both scholars and treasure hunters, with no luck.’
‘Humour us,’ said Brandon, somewhat bluntly, ‘What do you mean altered history?’
‘There is an emerging school of thought,’ said Louigi, ‘That the Palladium exists and is in the hands of a private collector.’
‘But how can that be?’ asked India, ‘Everyone knows the Palladium was taken to Constantinople by Emperor Constantine. It is buried beneath the Constantine tower with all the other treasures.’
‘But was it?’ said Louigi, ‘For centuries, that is what has been believed, but, as more and more evidence is revealed, some historians believe that the statue taken by Emperor Constantine was a fake and the real one actually disappeared hundreds of years earlier, during the rein of Nero.’
‘Why?’ asked India.
‘Because the last time anyone actually saw it, was just before the great fire in 64 AD. After that, it was withdrawn from view for safe keeping. Apparently it was kept in a wicker basket and never seen by anyone except the Vestal Priestesses. However, it is now thought that either it was burnt in the fire or was stolen in the confusion. Apart from the shame that would have brought on the order, imagine the effect on the population if it was known that the image of their protector had been destroyed.’
‘There would have been widespread panic,’ said India.
‘Exactly,’ said Louigi, ‘It has been suggested that it was withdrawn from view, simply because it was missing. After the devastation of the fire, Nero could not risk the backlash from the people and would have needed a cover story while a copy was made. Eventually it was placed on display again, but what we don’t know is, was it the original or a fake? We will never know for sure.’
‘So was the Temple destroyed in the fire?’ asked Brandon
‘Oh yes,’ said Louigi. ‘It was destroyed several times over the centuries, either by fire or by her enemies but it was always rebuilt.’
‘So do you have any idea where the Palladium may be now?’ asked India.
‘No.’
‘Even if you knew, you wouldn’t tell us, would you?’ asked Brandon.
‘Not really,’ said Louigi.
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ said Brandon. He stood up and stretched his legs, walking around the nearby ancient rubble.
‘So what happened to the Vestals themselves?’ asked India.
‘They carried on for a few hundred years after the fire but not even they could hold back the tide of Christianity sweeping the known world. They were finally disbanded by Emperor Gratian in 382 AD and the last Vestal Priestess died twelve years later.’
‘So that’s it then,’ said Brandon coming back to the group. ‘The Palladium disappeared and all the Vestals eventually died out, carrying their secrets with them forever.’
‘Well, not entirely true,’ said Louigi, ‘The Vestals in Rome died out but the cult continued in temples around Europe for a few hundred years after that.’
‘There were Vestals elsewhere?’ asked Rubria in surprise.
‘Oh yes,’ answered Louigi.’ The Goddess’s influence reached right across Europe, even as far as your England.’
‘What?’ said Brandon spinning round in shock.
‘Didn’t you know?’ asked Louigi, ‘The cult was established in England for hundreds of years.’
Brandon stared at India.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said quietly. She turned back to Louigi. ‘Where was it centred?’
‘I don’t know much about your England,’ he said ‘But I do know it was near London and was built not long after General Paullinus wiped out the armies of Boudica. It would have caused quite a stir in Rome as Britannia had only just been conquered and was still a hotbed of violence.’
‘That’s amazing.’ said India
‘I wouldn’t get too carried away,’ said Louigi, ‘There were hundreds of similar temples throughout the empire.’
Brandon looked at his watch.
‘Look, thanks very much,’ said Brandon, ‘You have been a great help but we have to be somewhere else in an hour.’
India looked at him quizzically but stood up anyway. Louigi rolled another cigarette as Brandon counted out two rolls of Euros. He gave the first to the younger Italian before holding out the second roll to Louigi. The man moved his hand to accept the money but moved his hand suddenly and grabbed Brandon’s wrist. Brandon tried to pull his hand away but the old man’s grip was like iron.
‘What do you think your doing?’ he asked.
‘Who are you?’ snarled the man.
‘What?’ asked Brandon, perplexed.
‘You have been lying to me.’
‘What are you on about?’ snapped Brandon.
‘The ring,’ growled the man. ‘You wear the ring of Nike.’
Brandon looked down at the ring India had taken from the body of Peter Venezelos back in England.
‘I bought it,’ he lied and yanked his hand free.
‘You are a liar, English,’ said Louigi. ‘There are only a few of these rings in existence and the owners would protect them with their lives.’
‘Why, what do you know about the owners?’
Louigi stared at him and took a step backwards.
‘I don’t know who you are, English,’ he said, ‘But I want no more to do with you. Now go.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ started Brandon and took a step forward.
The younger Italian stepped forward and aimed a previously concealed gun at Brandon’s head.<
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‘You heard him,’ English he said. ‘You have what you came for; now leave before it is too late for all of us.’
‘This is stupid,’ said Brandon. ‘Why are you so scared?’
‘You are the stupid one, English,’ he said, ‘Now go, before I do something we will both regret.’
‘Okay, said Brandon, ‘Calm down. We are going.’
‘Not just from here,’ said Louigi, ‘You must leave Rome before someone else sees the ring.’
Brandon and India walked slowly backwards to the path before turning and hurrying down to the road. Brandon waved down a taxi and they sat in silence, stunned at the close shave they had just experienced.
‘What was that all about?’ asked Brandon eventually in disbelief.
India turned and looked at him. He expected to see a look of horror on her face but was surprised to see a slight smile playing about her lips.
‘India,’ he said, ‘Are you alright. You’ve been quiet for ages.’
‘Oh I’m alright,’ she said, ‘In fact, better than alright. I’ve think I’ve just worked out where the Palladium is!’
‘You have?’ he stated in shock, ‘Where?’
‘Littlewick Green,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Come, on, we need to book a flight. I’ll explain as we go.’
Chapter Nineteen
Rome 64 AD
Rubria and Dragus followed the riverbank downstream as fast as they could. Behind them the population fought to save their city from the flames and the two fugitives passed many human chains passing water from the Tiber to some nearby burning street. Occasionally they heard the metallic rhythm of running soldiers as squads ran to unknown tasks in the darkness. Dragus knew that it was only a matter of time before one or more of those squads were given the task of finding them.
‘Dragus, please, I can’t go on much further,’ pleaded Rubria.
‘We can’t afford to slow down, Rubria,’ said Dragus, ‘As soon as they find that Decurion they will send squads after us. We have to get out of the city.’
Rubria collapsed to the floor and her head hung low.
‘I can’t, Dragus,’ she said. ‘I have no more strength.’