We left her alone after dinner and listened to the sobs, suppressed in scratchy squeaks then coming in great coughs as it all erupted from her.
There was nothing any of us could do. As much as it ached to listen, we knew she needed it.
She left her bedroom door open as though she could not stand to be closed in, needed air, or just collapsed and couldn’t move again. We could see that she sat on the floor against the wall with her knees to her chest and knew that she did not want us.
I yearned to run to Dalmaticus and feel his arms around me. I could see light flickering over there. I imagined if I would stand before him and burst into tears he could not resist but to take me into his chest and hold me. But we are what we are. And he might not, and I would be left standing there looking ridiculous and feeling more wretched.
So I went to Ember and followed her uselessly about her kitchen as she worked at cleaning up, plonking pots in their place and scraping coals with the certainty of a thing that’s been done for a thousand years. She was constancy and confidence, the farmer with the calf, her body already shaped by the familiar twist and lift of iron ovens she moved with loving strength.
Finally, Aemilia went quiet and one by one we went to her.
‘I just wanted to feel how it felt for my life to feel like my life,’ she said.
EARTH
Fragments
Leonhard Schmitz in William Smith (ed.), A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, John Murray, London, 1901, pp. 940–941.
The college of pontiffs had the supreme superintendence of all matters of religion, and of things and persons connected with public and well as private worship. A general outline of their rights and functions was given by Livy (Liv.1.20) and Dionysius (11.73). This power is said to have been given to them by Numa; and he also entrusted to their keeping the books containing the ritual ordinances, together with the obligation to give information to any one who might consult them on matters of religion. They had to guard against any irregularity in the observance of religious rites that might arise from neglect of the ancient customs, or from the introduction of foreign rites. They had not only to determine in what manner the heavenly gods should be worshipped, but also the proper form of burials, and how the souls of the departed (manes) were to be appeased; in like manner what signs either in lightning or other phenomena were to be received and attended to. They had the judicial decision in all matters of religion, whether private persons, magistrates or priests were concerned . . .
The pontiffs themselves were not subject to any court of law or punishment and were not responsible either to the senate or the people . . .
As to the rights and duties of the pontiffs, it must first of all be borne in mind that the pontiffs were not priests of any particular divinity but a college which stood above all other priests and superintended the whole external worship of the gods (Cic. De Leg. II.8) . . .
The mode of appointing pontiffs was different at different times. It appears that after their institution by Numa, the college had the right of co-optation, that is, if a member of the college died (for all the pontiffs held their office for life), the members met and elected a successor, who after his election was inaugurated by the augurs (Dionys. II.22, 73) . . . [A]s far as we know, the first attempt to deprive the college of its right of co-optation, and to transfer the power of election to the people, was not made until the year BC 145, by the tribune C. Licinius Crassus*; but it was frustrated by the praetor C. Laelius (Cic. De Am, 25, Brut 21, de Nat. Deor. III.2).
* C. Licinius Crassus was likely the father or grandfather of the Vestal Licinia.
FIRE
Ember
December 114 BC
‘You are a coward,’ I told Dalmaticus, stepping out of the shadow just as he passed.
For once my voice didn’t fail me and it came out low and gravelly like a growl from a cave. I was a former slave scolding the most powerful priest in Rome but I couldn’t help myself. Rot this!
I pushed off the wall and followed him as though I could sear his skin with my glare. He stopped and turned on me but caught himself, spun back and walked on. I followed right at his heels, ranting at the back of his square head. I spat the words as though they were venom. I couldn’t stop. ‘Aemilia’s life is in danger because of people like you and the bloody Families and you are doing nothing. You will let this city of panicked idiots sacrifice one of their greats, for what? You know as well as I do there will be a thousand more battles and Rome cannot win them all – they are so drunk on their own arrogance they panic at the first sign of loss or the slightest imperfection and will sacrifice the most perfect thing they have! I thought you were one of the greats.’
We got to the door of the Regia and he flung it open, letting me follow him into the courtyard. I was so triumphant in my anger it didn’t dawn on me that this man was giving me the time of day when neither my position nor my approach deserved it. I stayed on his heels.
He spun on me. ‘Don’t you think I would!?’
‘You’re not!’ I let my voice go. I could see he mustered all his strength to hold himself together, could even maybe see a hint of hurt in those eyes, but I was in it now.
He closed his eyes against me. ‘There is more to consider than Aemilia and you. There is an omen from the gods.’
‘They are using it and you know it. So you will sacrifice her?!’
‘Don’t you- . I will not be caught up in politics – yours included. This is law.’
‘Law?’
‘Without law we have no order and with that no security. What then of Rome?’
‘You can’t trust it!’
He came at me fast, angry. ‘You are the slave girl. It was lack of law that saw you on that road, and the rules of law that saved you.’
‘I am not a slave. And you think I don’t see things? They want to show they can slide the knife in, there, from the side, at just the right spot so you barely feel it, and no one else sees, then twist until even the great Dalmaticus, head of the mighty Metelli, will have to bow and keep the secret of it. This is our life! Don’t bow to them.’
I stormed out, praying that no one would see me, praying beyond hope that an angry serving girl could have any impact on one of the most powerful men in the world’s greatest city and wondering all the while what my punishment would be. Is that why Aemilia felt what I felt that very first day? Were she and I now to be executed alongside each other?
WATER
Pompeia
December 114 BC
‘Aha!’ Urgulania was bent almost double over a trail of ants across the cobblestones. ‘You are so right! Thank you, my clever sweeties!’
Terentia looked at me behind her back and we both had to stifle a giggle.
She turned to us.
‘News?’ asked Terentia, as seriously as she could muster.
‘Ants. Ants are cooperation. We must remember Dalmaticus and Elian in this. These trials are theirs as well. They may have much to offer.’
I think Terentia felt as suddenly guilty as I did.
‘Is it I who created this?’ Terentia asked, looking up at Laynie. ‘I only wanted to keep them safe. Being the perfect priestesses was meant to keep them safe. But I’ve created statues, haven’t I? Statues that no one thinks will bleed. It’s easy to sacrifice them when they don’t think they’ll bleed.’
‘This is not your doing, Terentia, of course not. The Dis-ease grows fat on the people’s fear and wants only more.’ She cocked her head as though listening to another voice. ‘Yes, agreed. We need a braiding day,’ she announced. ‘The girls must look their best for trial.’
Personally I couldn’t think of a nicer distraction than for the group of us to hole up in the house for a day and do our hair. ‘It is going to be a sunny day,’ I ventured in support. It was a red sunset. Sunny days were perfect for drying our hair quicker.
‘What has a braiding day got to do with Dalmaticus?’
‘You’ll see.’
FI
RE
Ember
December 114 BC
Aemilia knelt arched over the washbowl of warm water, with her robes bunched into her lap and her hair loose in the water ready for me to wash it.
Urgulania and me had carefully unpicked the tight braids that were the priestesses’ forever uniform, running our fingers through until all the strands were set free. I untied the cords that secured her stola and laid bare the little freckles across her shoulders, and the dip of her spine, and the little wisps of dark hair in the soft of her neck.
I’d filled the washbowl with pot after pot of water warmed over my fire. Her hair spread through it until the bowl was a mass of swirling black silk. I put my hands in and lathered soap through her silk, nursing out the marks and kinks from her bindings, stopping occasionally to wipe the drips from her neck.
When we were done and rinsed I gathered it into sections and rubbed it inside the towel and twisted it like rope to squeeze out the water.
Aemilia didn’t speak even while I padded dry her forehead and round her hairline. She tilted her head toward my touch, and she smiled just a tiny bit and I remembered that she is not meant to be touched and that she may not like it, isn’t used to it, just like me except when it’s a tiny touch, just the right one at the right time from the right person, and then it is a perfect thing that can carry me for years.
We moved into the sun that Urgulania had promised, setting cushions on the warm paving outside the bedrooms, away from the eyes of the street, and let the hair hang loose to dry a little before braiding, which was a bit easier if the hair was damp, I was told.
Licinia did Terentia’s hair, and Terentia Licinia’s. Marcia did Pompeia’s, and Urgulania did Marcia’s (having shown me how, first) while Pompeia did Flavia and Helvi too.
At Pompeia’s encouragement, Helvi backed herself into Pompeia’s great lap, so Pompeia did her hair while Marcia did Pompeia’s. Helvi got just two braids from forehead to shoulders, but she loved every minute. I wished to the skies they might do the same for me.
We closed the public gate at the front and the gate into the house. Flavia’s hair was thinnest and could be braided before it was completely dry, so she tended fire that day with Terentia checking every now and then between braids.
We sat all together with the sun on our bare shoulders and breasts (well, except me, there was no way I way bearing more scars to mess up the perfection of the morning), and the priestesses’ hair wild and free in the little breeze, and we chatted about harmless nothings, and about how Marcia’s hair was thickest and would have to dry completely before braiding or it would take days to dry and give her a chill, and how Licinia’s hair needed a little extra almond oil to tame the curls and Flavia’s too though mostly – according to Pompeia – just because she seemed to manage to pull bits loose and get twigs and leaves stuck in no matter what she did (‘We ought to put Opimia’s Pot of wax on a strap so you can keep it round your neck!’), and how the sun made copper threads in Aemilia’s and my hair both, though hers were darker redwood than mine, because my hair is really just mouse-brown, though no one said that. They talked about my eyes instead and how much more golden than Aemilia’s and Licinia’s very dark eyes, which would both also be described as brown.
I watched Aemilia tilt her head down to let her hair fall in a curtain across her face where it caught the sun. She spread it across her hand to inspect the colour and light shining through. She tucked it behind her ear, and a moment later flicked it out again, over and over.
The braid is a very precise thing that I have not yet learned. I was only allowed to watch as Urgulania yanked the hair to restrain it as tight as she could – they ought to hold for weeks – and the strands of grey over Aemilia’s ears got twisted and pulled in out of sight.
After a long time, with her braids half done, Aemilia said, ‘Urgulania, tell us about Bear.’
Urgulania was much softer with the braids after that.
‘Oh, my Bear,’ she sighed. ‘Beautiful man. Where to begin? Everyone called him Bear on account of his size. Even the biggest of the horses we had then followed him round like cubs.’
‘And you met working together here? How long was it before, you know-?’ Aemilia asked. Licinia and Flavia giggled and Terentia shot a look at Urgulania.
‘Not long,’ Urgulania smiled to herself. ‘I don’t remember exactly. I’d been lonely a while after my boy and my husband died of the sickness, and Terentia brought me here for a change.’
‘Terentia brought you here?’ I asked.
‘I worked for her brother. Not enough money in being a haruspex alone. Bear worked the stable here, before Cor and Tristan. When he thought I couldn’t see he’d coo and ga and giggle at those horses like a little girl. He could still a bucking stallion with one hand.’ She undid a braid she’d done too loose and gently brushed the section of hair, her old hands working from memory and feel, the rhythm of the braid carrying her off once more. ‘Safest place in the world was there with my ear on his heart. All I could see and smell and hear was that big warm furry Bear chest. His chest was wide as the mattress and his hand covered my whole back.’
Aemilia closed her eyes.
‘There were parts of him that were more silky than mine but gods I loved the rough of his hands and his stubble.’ She leaned conspiratorially to Aemilia. ‘You want a man who works with his hands.’
‘Urgulania!’ Terentia’s voice was a whip crack.
‘Hiding the real world from them will not keep them from it,’ Urgulania growled to herself through clenched teeth, yanking on the last word. No one answered. ‘He was a friend to you, Terentia. You loved those horses too.’
Dalmaticus’ voice broke us up, calling from outside the closed gate.
‘Terentia?’ he called.
‘He’s here,’ said Urgulania, as though she expected it.
I was sure I was done for. He’d come to exact my punishment for such horrid and ridiculous behaviour yesterday. What on earth had I been thinking? He was Pontifex Maximus and now I’d made everything worse for all of us.
‘Terentia?’
Terentia touched her hair and looked fearfully at Urgulania. We weren’t even dressed!
But Urgulania smiled. ‘Aemilia and Pompeia, come. As you are.’
‘My breast wrap!’ Pompeia said, panicked.
‘Cover yourselves.’ Terentia yanked their clothes up over their breasts.
‘Less!’ Urgulania yanked the fabric back down. ‘You too.’ She twisted Terentia’s unbraided hair into a luxurious snake of half-wet curls draping her neck and shoulder. Pompeia and Aemilia were only half braided and Urgulania gave their untied hair the same treatment, guiding it in a line down to into their cleavage, leaving Aemilia looking more glorious than I’d ever seen her.
‘What are you doing?’
Urgulania stopped Terentia with a look. ‘Trust me.’
To my surprise the old woman complied. I guess she’d tried just about everything else. ‘Remember you are priestesses,’ Terentia hissed as they bundled out into the sacred square to meet Dalmaticus.
WATER
Pompeia
December 114 BC
Terentia stood fierce and fantastic with her robes round her waist, hands on hips to display breasts wrapped in just a strip of fabric and the story lines of a lifetime at the fire. She stared at Lucius.
Aemilia and me stood beside her, tunics round our waists, holding our untied stolas over our breasts with one hand. I must admit I quite liked watching Lucius, poor darling, fight to keep his eyes from the white globe of my breast, too large to be fully contained. Oh I did love to be admired by that man.
Lucius Caecilius Metellus Dalmaticus was a military man. He expected his men to stand in line and his foe to attack in formation. He is familiar with every strategy of men. He expected to be met with Terentia-the-Leader, Terentia-the-Straight-Backed, who would charge at him like a true opponent. Not this.
Brilliantly done, Laynie. She wanted us
to soften to each other. Dalmaticus was as betrayed as we were.
We needed to drop all illusion and reach for him at his deepest part.
We needed him to see that we were flesh, and we would bleed.
And we needed it to be strong enough that he could not help but remember it, in some way, to the College of Priests at trial.
For all his striding in, the bluster deserted our dear general. ‘I, ah, my lady.’ He swallowed. ‘Priestess . . . es.’
I had to suck in a giggle.
We let him flounder.
Lucius tore his eyes from where they’d retreated at our feet and forced himself to look at Terentia. ‘I thought you had requested –,’ he trailed off, realising Laynie’s trick, and that Terentia had caught it a fraction earlier and was going to play along.
‘We should discuss our defence,’ Terentia said.
Dalmaticus’s eyes flickered amusement. ‘Preparation; yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Come the trial, I will call you each to speak for yourselves.’
Staying still, Terentia let her body speak for her. Poor man.
He swallowed hard. ‘Lucius Licinius Crassus will advise you.’
We knew that already. The great orator was Licinia’s cousin.
‘Thank you,’ Terentia said. The slightest shimmy.
He nodded half-heartedly, eyes dark with all the knowledge of the night.
Softening, Terentia dropped her arms, took mine and Ameilia’s hands in hers, either side.
‘We have always been there for the men, and this city.’ I slid forward like honey off a warm spoon. ‘We were the campfire there in the field camp when your soldiers couldn’t yet come home. We were the fire that warmed you as you slept in the mountains and cooked your breakfast and dried your boots. We were the fire that lighted the way home and welcomed the men into her warmth when they stepped off their ships, and there in their homes when they laid with their wives.’
Fire and Sacrifice Page 19