A Murder on the Appian Way

by Steven Saylor

  Her lips tightened. Her eyes narrowed. After a moment she rallied and managed a semblance of her previous bland serenity, but could not quite control the quaver in her voice. “I serve the Good Goddess—”

  “Do you think that will protect you? That it will mean anything to such men, any more than your brother’s priesthood will mean something to them?”

  “Then you believe …”

  “That you are in great danger, or soon will be.”

  Her smile at last faded and her eyes for the first time seemed to truly see me. “Who are you?”

  “A man who was glad to hear the truth and wishes you no harm.”

  She stared at me for a long moment. “What would you suggest that I do?”

  “At the very least, stop telling what you know to every traveler who passes by, and tell your brother to do the same. Keep your mouths shut! Better than that, I’d suggest that both of you take a lesson from the birds.”

  “What?”

  “Fly south for the rest of the winter.” Like the innkeeper’s widow, I thought. Perhaps it wasn’t grief that had sent her to Rhegium, but common sense. “Fly south, or else go to Rome with your brother and seek the widow Fulvia’s protection. She’ll expect something in return, especially if there’s a trial, and you could be placing your fortunes with a losing side. But whatever you do, leave this place.”

  “But who would attend to the shrine? How would I make a living?”

  “I suspect you still have sufficient attributes to support yourself, one way or another.”

  Her smile flickered. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, I’ll take your advice and say no more.” Just as boldly as her brother, she held out her empty palm. When Eco looked into his purse with a parsimonious frown, I took the bag from him and pulled out one of the larger coins.

  The sight of it in her hand prompted the return of her former glassy-eyed state. “You’re generous, stranger, with your advice and with your money.”

  “Use it for lodgings when you leave.”

  “Perhaps. But you’ve paid for more than I’ve given, I think. Shall I tell you something else? Something I haven’t told to every curious traveler passing by?” She saw my reaction and laughed. “I love that expression on a man’s face—so eager and attentive. Well, then: do you remember passing the House of the Vestals on your way here from Bovillae?”

  “Yes. Your brother pointed it out.”

  “But you didn’t stop to speak to any of the Vestals?”

  “No.”

  “Since you seem so anxious to know everything that happened that day, it might profit you to speak to the Virgo Maxima. Ask her about the visitor who came to her after the battle. Ask about the offering that was made and refused.”

  “Can’t you tell me?”

  “The virgins of the goddess Vesta do not tread on my authority, and I do not tread on theirs. Ask the Virgo Maxima, if you can manage to penetrate her haughtiness. Whatever you do, don’t let her know that I sent you. Whether she confides in you or not is her affair. There, now I’ve given you full value for your coin.” She began to walk back to the shrine.

  “Felicia …”

  She turned back. “Yes?”

  “One last question. I meant to ask your brother and forgot. A name: Marc Antony. Does it mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head, turned away and resumed walking.

  “And Felicia …”

  “Yes?”

  “May the Good Goddess protect you from harm.”

  18

  Following Felicia’s advice, we turned around and made our way back to the House of the Vestals.

  From the Appian Way a narrow, winding lane led up to the forecourt and main entrance. Both the lane and the building were clearly of recent construction; broken earth and tree stumps lined the lanes and the sharp edges and stained walls of the house were not yet softened by the wear of time. It was a humble dwelling compared to the great House of the Vestals in Rome, but hardly a hovel; many a dweller on the Palatine would have been proud to claim it. Or so it appeared from the outside.

  It is not true, as many people think, that all men are forbidden at all times to enter any part of a sanctified building where Vestals dwell. I myself had once penetrated into the very sleeping cubicles of the House of the Vestals in Rome, when I was called upon to investigate the scandal that led to the trials of Catilina and Crassus for desecrating the purity of certain of the Vestals. The penalty for such a crime is death for the man, and for the Vestal something far worse: she is buried alive.

  That incident was now twenty years in the past, and the circumstances had been highly unusual. But it occurred to me, as I recalled it, that Clodius had been involved in that affair as well. It had been one of his earliest escapades. The general consensus finally held that Clodius had tried to falsely incriminate the accused parties for his own obscure motives, and the reaction against him had been so hostile that for a while he had dropped from sight. Early on, Clodius had set a pattern of attacking powerful men and revered institutions, and had occasionally paid a price for his impudence.

  I had no expectation of being allowed into the sleeping chambers of the House of the Vestals on Mount Alba, but if the rules of the dwelling followed those of the one in Rome, during daylight hours the vestibule and perhaps one or two public rooms would be open to male visitors. Vestals are not entirely shut off from the world of men, after all, and must have practical means of meeting and dealing with the tradesmen who serve their needs and the state priests who oversee their activities.

  Still, the wizened slave woman who answered the door peered at Eco and me as if she had never seen a man before, or so I thought until I realized that her squinting was due to her poor eyesight. Her hearing also seemed to be impaired. I found myself repeating my request to see the Virgo Maxima in a louder and louder voice, until at last a stout woman wearing the simple white woolen gown of a Vestal appeared behind the slave and gently told her to move aside.

  The Vestal wore the traditional headdress of her order, an oblong, purple-bordered scarf wound around her close-cropped hair and secured with a metal clasp at her forehead. Her plain, round face was untouched by cosmetics, but her skin had the smooth creaminess of women who have spent their lives indoors and have never had to labor. I judged her to be well into her sixties, which meant that she had long ago completed her original thirty-year term of service to the goddess and had voluntarily elected to stay on as a virgin for life.

  “You’ll have to excuse the slave,” she said. “She’s a little deaf.”

  “So I noticed, except that she didn’t seem to have any trouble understanding you, even though her back was turned to you.”

  “She only has difficulty hearing a lower range of tones—men’s voices. She can understand most of the women here with no trouble. Her deafness is not a disability under this roof. Now, you say you wish to see the Virgo Maxima. What is your business?”

  “It’s a matter of some delicacy. I would rather speak of it only to the Virgo Maxima.”

  She gave me a brittle smile at odds with the softness of her face. “You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid. To begin with, who are you and where do you come from?”

  “My name is Gordianus. This is my son Eco. There’s also a slave with us, looking after our horses in the court. We come from Rome.”

  “What business brought you here?”

  “Once again, I’d rather speak of that only to—”

  “You must understand, Gordianus of Rome, that there recently has been a great deal of violence and disruption in these parts. Men have been killed in broad daylight only a few steps from our door. The local innkeeper was horribly murdered, his young wife made a widow. And the troubles of this house started well before the recent violence. Driven from our home, forced to look on helplessly while sacred groves were desecrated—I won’t go into those matters, except to say that at the best of times the women of this house are accustomed to being suspicious of m
en from the outside world, if only for the sake of preserving their purity. Given our recent experiences, we have even greater reason to be cautious. And I must say, just to look at you, Gordianus of Rome, I can’t imagine what possible business you could have with the Virgo Maxima.”

  It is unusual to encounter a woman used to dealing with men strictly on her own terms. The Vestal clearly had no intention of admitting me to the Virgo Maxima’s presence without good cause, and just as clearly she was not the sort to let slip any confidences behind her superior’s back. How, then, to gain her trust? It was Felicia who had pointed me here, but she had also forbidden me to invoke her name. There was another name I could invoke, and though I was wary of revealing my commission from Pompey even within these walls, it began to seem the only way. Then the Vestal spoke my name again, under her breath.

  “Gordianus …” She wrinkled her fleshy brow and gazed pensively into space. “Gordianus of Rome … the name is unusual.”

  “There are not a great many of us.”

  “I suppose not. And even fewer who would be about your age.” She eyed me carefully. “Was it you who came to Licinia’s assistance those many years ago?”

  “If you mean, am I the Gordianus who assisted the Virgo Maxima in Rome to get to the truth of a certain impropriety, the answer is yes.”

  “A ‘certain impropriety’? I would call the discovery of a dead man in the sleeping chamber of a young Vestal something more than that.”

  “I didn’t wish to mention the details myself.”

  “Good; you are discreet. And modest, perhaps. Not a typical man at all.”

  “How is it that you know of that incident? The trials of Catiline and Crassus and the Vestals were public knowledge, of course, but the dead body was kept secret.”

  “Not from me. I know everything, including the fact that it was Clodius who arranged the murder, in a vain attempt to implicate Catilina. That odious scoundrel was making trouble for us even then, and getting away with it.”

  “Were you there at the time, serving the goddess in Rome?”

  “No. I have always served here, at Vesta’s temple on Mount Alba.”

  “And yet you know the most intimate secrets of the mother house in Rome?”

  “The mother house?” She flared her nostrils.

  “The headquarters of your order, I mean—”

  “Headquarters? If you are implying that the House of the Vestals in Rome is somehow the superior of this House, you are sorely mistaken, even if you are Gordianus the so-called Finder. The order of the Vestal Virgins was founded here, on Mount Alba, in the most ancient of days; Silvia the mother of Romulus was a member of the local sisterhood and helped preserve the eternal flame in Vesta’s temple. The order in Rome was not established until much later, in the days of King Numa, and the eternal flame in the Temple of Vesta in Rome was lit from the original flame here on Mount Alba. Oh, yes, Rome takes preeminence nowadays; great men leave their wills in the keeping of the Roman Vestals, and the Roman Vestals have the honor of protecting the sacred relics that Aeneas brought from Troy. But we of Mount Alba are the original sisterhood. ‘Mother house,’ indeed!”

  “I meant no offense, Virgo Maxima.”

  She looked at me shrewdly. “Why do you call me that?”

  “Because you are the Virgo Maxima here, are you not?”

  She tilted her head back, and though she was too short to look down her nose at me, she did her best. “Of course I am.” She smiled faintly. “Which is why I know certain secrets of the Virgo Maxima in Rome, and why I honor the name of Gordianus the Finder, who once helped in secret to save the honor of the sisterhood, not to mention the life of an innocent young Vestal. So, you wished to speak with me in private? Come, and bring your son. We can talk in the room outside my chamber. The door slave will act as chaperone. If I pitch my voice low enough, she won’t hear a word that either of us says.”

  What struck me most about what little I saw of the interior of the House of the Vestals that day was how shoddy the construction appeared to be. From a distance, the facade of brick and wood appeared to be at least sound if not distinguished, but all the craftsmanship that had gone into the building had been put on the outside, for show. The vestibule, the hallway down which the Virgo Maxima led me, and the anteroom where she allowed me an audience were all marked by a carelessness on the part of the carpenters that was painfully obvious. Corners met at the wrong angles with crude patchwork to make up the difference, the floors were uneven, and gobs of plaster seemed to have been laid on with all the skill of a bored child. The Virgo Maxima followed my gaze and read my thoughts.

  “It’s nothing at all like our old house. What a grand place that was, so full of memories. It wasn’t the original house where Silvia served, of course, not nearly that old. But a very old house, nonetheless, full of history. Generations of Vestals had lived and died there. The place had a sacred character such as only accrues with time. Ah, but how could the ancient sisters who chose the location of that house have known that one day long after they were dead, along would come a fellow like Clodius who couldn’t be satisfied until he’d gotten his greedy hands on the land and the house itself.”

  “I’ve heard a bit about this from some of the local people,” I said.

  “Everyone on Mount Alba knows what Clodius did—driving us from our home, cutting down forests that had been sacred to Jupiter since the beginning of time. The shameful thing is that so many of the local people enthusiastically supported him, not just rich and powerful men from Rome who have country homes along the road, but even some of the local farmers who serve in the municipal senates. The religious objections meant nothing to them; it was all a matter of politics and greed. Clodius handed out money and promises to the right people, and in the end there was nothing we could do about it. Even our sisters in Rome, from the ‘mother house’ as you call it, were unable to help us. Or unwilling! Who knows what sort of influence Clodius’s wife and mother-in-law exercise over the Vestals in the city. Ah, but I’m talking more than I should. It fills me with such anger and shame to have a visitor see the situation in which we find ourselves.”

  “Clodius built this house for you, as a replacement for the property he seized?”

  “Yes, and after all his smooth words of reassurance I almost came to trust him. We had no choice in the matter, so why not look to the future with hope and try to be optimistic? ‘The old house is hardly livable anymore, it’s falling down around your ears,’ he told me. ‘Full of character and charm, to be sure, but just an old, dingy house if you look at it in the sunlight—stains on the floors, nicks in the walls, creaky old stairs. Think how much more comfortable you’ll be in a new house, with everything clean and bright. And all at my expense, to make up for the inconvenience.’ He didn’t mention that the place would be built by slaves more used to shoveling dung than troweling mortar, and designed by an architect who wouldn’t know a plinth from a portico. This place is a disaster! And our old house …” She sighed. “Our old house, for all its shabby quaintness, was built of solid stone and had a roof that never leaked once in all the years since I became a Vestal. Stained or not, some of the floors had the most beautiful black and white mosaic tiles, pictures and patterns that would take your breath away—now I suppose they’re decorating the lavatories in that sprawling villa of his up on the hill.”

  “I still can’t imagine how he ever got the legal right to seize the property.”

  “It all went back to documents from the time the Appian Way was built. Appius Claudius Caecus managed to obtain a great deal of property for himself and his family all along the road. Clodius’s villa, or the core of it, had been in his family for generations, going back to the time the road was built. Because the old House of the Vestals was within a certain distance of that property he was able to declare a special necessity when he decided to expand his villa and to make a claim on our house as well as parts of the grove of Jupiter. Clodius was quite expert at producing documents out
of thin air. In the end he got his way, legally and without violence, and there was nothing we could do about it.”

  “But there were hard feelings?”

  She gave me a withering look. “Gordianus, do not insult me with polite understatement, and I will endeavor to treat you with the same courtesy. But I’ve gone on about matters which are no doubt of more interest to myself than to you. Forgive me if I don’t offer you food or wine; it would not be proper for me to entertain two male visitors in such a fashion. We shall also remain standing, of course, except for our chaperone.” She nodded to the old slave, who sat on a backless chair in the corner. “You said you had some business with me, Gordianus.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Virgo Maxima, for favoring me—”

  “Let us deal with the matter quickly. The briefer your stay under this roof, the better. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I’ll be as forthright as I can. I understand that a visitor came to this house, shortly after Clodius was killed down in Bovillae.”

  She looked at me intently but did not answer.

  “I understand that this visitor made some sort of offering.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “I have been asked not to say.”

  “You keep a secret, yet you think that I should reveal to you the business of this house?”

  “Virgo Maxima, I would never ask you to betray a confidence. If what I ask is improper, forgive me.”

  She regarded me for a long moment. “Because you once helped the Vestals in Rome, I shall tell you what you want to know. Yes, a woman came here that day.”