Beast of Caledonia (9 page)

The soldiers grabbed her by the arms and dragged her out of
the shed. They pushed her along the overgrown path of the garden toward a cart
with bars on each side. The door to the cart stood open and heavy chains
dangled from the top of the bars inside.

Before they shoved her into the cart, Sara looked back one
last time. The woman was standing there, pouring coins from a cloth pouch into
her hand as if counting them. On the ground next to her, Letitia’s body lay in
a puddle of blood.

Chapter Eight

“You are vexing me greatly,” Antoninus said, his words
clipped with anger barely held in check.

“Yes, Sire.”

They had lost no time bringing her before the emperor. Sara
stood silently with her head bowed. She did not cry, but she did not try to
hold back the tears, either. She was simply numb.

“I let you become a Vestal as a favor to your father for
building my wall in Caledonia, even though you were scarred and much too old—”

“Yes, Sire,” Sara repeated. There was nothing else to say,
for it was all true.

“And this is how I am repaid?” Antoninus roared now, giving
his anger free rein. “You have brought bad fortune on the Empire.”

“She has been trouble from the beginning, Sire,” the aging
Pontifex Maximus spoke up. He was lying, of course, probably to curry favor
with the emperor. She had never been any trouble…that is, until Annachie had
come to Rome.

She hoped Mother Sylvia would speak up for her. But the
chief Vestal remained silent. This reflects badly on her, too, Sara thought,
for I was under her supervision.

“She has let the flame go out on several occasions, and she
is lax in her other duties as well,” the priest continued.

More lies.
But Sara remained silent. It did not
matter now; her fate was sealed and no amount of arguing would change that.

The men talked over her head and around her as if she were
not even in the room.
If I have that much power, why don’t you speak to me?

And then, Antoninus did. “Who is the man? Tell us so that he
can be punished for his part in this.”

Sara shook her head and said nothing. She knew that
Annachie’s punishment would be the same as hers—death—by one method or another.

Antoninus’ voice oozed sarcasm as he asked, “Was there no
man? Are you telling me this is another virgin birth, like that Jew during the
reign of Augustus?”

Again, Sara just shook her head.

“Have there been so many that you do not know who it is?”
the Pontifex said with a sneer.

Sara gasped. “One man only,” she said slowly through gritted
teeth, staring at the priest.

“Tell us his name,” the emperor ordered.

Sara again shook her head.

“Why do you protect him?” Antoninus softened his voice, as
if that would persuade her to talk. “Why should he not suffer too for what he’s
done?”

“Because it was not his fault, it was mine.”

Antoninus asked, “Surely he knew the possible consequences
of your actions?”

Without thinking Sara answered. “No, he did not.”

“Hunh,”
the Pontifex Maximus said, “then he is either
very stupid, very naïve, or not a Roman.”

“Tell us his name,” Antoninus demanded again.

“Will it change my fate?”

“No.”

“Then what need have I to tell you?”

Antoninus signaled the guards who stood by the door of the
audience chamber. “Take her away. The trial—
huh
, a mere formality, I
should say—will be held tomorrow morning. If she is found guilty, and how could
she not be, the ceremony will take place in the afternoon.”

“Wait,” Sara said. “Sire, I know that I have no right to ask
any more favors from you, but please, please, Sire, let my baby be born first.
Then I will gladly take my punishment.”

“No.”

“Please, Sire.” The tears that she had held at bay now
flowed freely. “Do not punish an innocent babe for my wrongdoing.” She dropped
to her knees, her hands outstretched, pleading. “Please, Sire, please.”

“No.”

The guards grabbed her by her arms and dragged her from the
room, and still she begged. But the emperor was unmoved.

They put her in a cell under the
Regia
, the offices
of the Pontifex Maximus. It was dank and cold, but at least there was air. A
small barred window at ground level created a draft. This time tomorrow night,
she wondered, how much air will I have?

She sat down on the small cot in the room and hugged her
swollen belly. She did not even try to sleep. Soon she would sleep forever.

Thankfully, the cell was not completely dark. A faint light
came in from the lamps of the city, illuminating all but the corners of her
room. Occasionally, footsteps passed by and a torch, perhaps carried by a
servant on some errand, would cast a fleeting beam of light into her cell. In
that moment, she would glance around. Water trickled down the stone wall in
several places, creating small streams that pooled on the dirt floor. The scurrying
sounds she heard were indeed rats, just as she had feared. She pulled her feet
up onto the cot and tucked them under her. The wall behind her was dry,
thankfully, and she leaned against it.

For the first time she listened, really listened, to the sounds
of the city. A wagon rumbled by, its metal rim scraping against the paving
stones of the street. Footsteps pounded away as a man cursed the thief who
stole his money pouch. Whores shouted bawdy invitations; occasionally men
answered, some accepting, others rejecting the women’s solicitations.

Tomorrow night, she would hear no sounds at all. Tomorrow
night, her world might be dark. She would have a lamp and a supply of oil, but
she did not know how long it would last. From her experience in Letitia’s shed,
she estimated it would only be a day or so before she was left in total
darkness.

No Vestal had suffered this punishment in all the years she
had been in the Temple and no one ever discussed it—they were too afraid.

She forced herself to think of Annachie—how it felt to lie
in his arms, the fullness of his flesh inside her. She would never experience
those sensations again, but at least they had been together for a short time.
She could go to her death knowing what it was like to love him, and to have him
love her in return.

The baby kicked, bringing her back to the present. “I am
sorry, little one. If I could save you I would. I am sorry you have to die with
me. You will never know your father. He is a wonderful man. He looks big and
fearsome but he is not. Oh, my baby, forgive me for taking your life.”

She lay down on the cot and despite her resolve, cried
herself to sleep.

* * * * *

In the morning, Mother Sylvia came down the ladder to Sara’s
tiny cell. “Won’t you tell me the man’s name, child? He will want to know what
happened to you.”

Sara knew that was not the real reason the Chief Vestal was
asking. If they learned he was the father, Annachie would die too, and in a
much more painful way than Sara would. “I will not tell you, Mother, I am
sorry.”

“I am sorry, too, Sara.” Mother Sylvia laid a black
stola,
fillet
and veil
upon the cot. She started to leave, but then turned
back. “I am told that the air in the chamber will last longer if you do not use
the lamp.”

“Thank you,” Sara said. She knew that from her time spent in
the shed. She wondered which she would fear more—the darkness in the
underground room or death.

Sara removed the clothes that Letitia had given her and
donned the black dress. Then she wound the black
fillet
around her head
and attached the veil. She was struck by the appropriateness of the
costume—wearing a black veil to go to meet her lover put her in this
predicament, and she would wear one now to go to meet her death.

No sooner had she finished dressing than the soldiers came
for her. They brought her up, roughly, out of the cell, tied her hands and
feet, and shoved her onto a litter. When one of them tried to put a gag in her
mouth, Sara resisted.

“The people must not hear your cries, girl,” he said.

“They will not,” Sara replied, “for I will not cry out.”

“All right, then, I will let it go. But one peep out of you,
and I will bind you so tightly, you will scarcely be able to breathe.”

Sara marveled at the anger from the soldiers. How could one
small, insignificant woman bring bad luck upon the mighty Roman Empire by the
simple act of loving a man? Surely, the goddess Vesta had known love? Else why
would she be the goddess of hearth and home?

Sara swayed, then braced herself as the litter began to
move. Through the gauzy black curtains surrounding the cart, she could see the
crowd gathered to watch her funeral—a funeral in which the deceased
participates. The people lining the streets parted like a rip in a length of
fabric as her pathetic entourage went by. Then, they all fell into step behind
her. Women wailed, and men beat their chests in sorrow.

She did not see her father in the crowd and wondered if he
was back yet from his trip. If not, how long before he learned of her fate.
When he heard what she had done, would he even care that she was dead, or
simply be glad to be rid of such a troublesome daughter. Could a father’s love
survive such a disgrace as this?

They traveled only a few miles, but to Sara it seemed much
longer…yet, at the same time, they arrived too soon. The same soldier as before
reached in, cut the ropes that bound her feet together, and pulled her from the
litter. She almost tripped when her feet hit the ground, but managed to recover
her footing without falling to her knees. She was determined to go to her death
with as much dignity as possible, considering what she had done to cause it.

As the guard pulled her forward by the ropes binding her
hands in front of her, she saw, to the right of the Colline Gate, the
Scelerato
Campo
—the Field of Sin. The gaping hole in the ground that was to be her
grave had been dug only a few feet from the gate. The slab of concrete that
would be the ceiling of her tomb covered all but a small opening. The top rung
of a ladder protruded out of the hole. Soldiers with iron bars stood at the
opposite end, ready to push the concrete in place after she descended into the
chamber. Sara’s legs began to tremble, and she wondered how she would ever be
able to climb down into that pit.

The people crowded closer, as if to watch her disappear into
her grave. The soldier cut the ropes binding her hands together. Sara kept her
hands on her belly, all the while silently apologizing again to her unborn
infant for killing it by her behavior. Her only other regret was that Annachie
would never know his son or daughter, nor indeed that she was going to have a
child, before the two of them were killed.

“Citizens of Rome,” the Pontifex Maximus proclaimed, “today
we gather to administer the punishment ordained for this woman for the
crimen
incesti
, the loss of her virginity during the period of her priestly
service to the goddess Vesta. By this action, the order of the Vestal Virgins
is once more clean and pure. Let it be done.”

At a nod from the man, Sara began to climb down the ladder.
She saw the priests, the other Vestals and all the spectators turn their backs
to her.

I am already dead.

When she reached the floor of the chamber, Sara turned and
saw the lamp, the flask of oil, the milk and the bread on a table next to a
narrow cot. She knew the milk and bread would sustain her for a short while
longer. She wished they hadn’t bothered; it would only make the situation worse
when this sustenance was gone and her hunger and thirst grew, and she waited
for the light to flicker.

The ladder was pulled out of the pit. Sara looked up as the
slab slid across the top of the hole. When only a small opening was left, she
heard the crowd erupt in a cheer. Then the only light came from the lamp on the
table. She could not bring herself to blow it out. Tightness gripped her chest,
and her breath came in short gasps. It was as if she was back in the shed,
waiting for Letitia. But she knew that this time, no one would come to rescue
her. She would never see the stars or the sun again.

She would never see Annachie again.

Sara knew that loving him for a short time was more than she
had ever hoped for and she had thought it would be enough.

But it wasn’t.

“
Annachie
,” she cried. She tried to fight her panic,
but in only a short time, it overwhelmed her. She scratched at the dirt walls
until she had footholds, then she reached up and pushed against the roof of her
tomb.

Her mind would not let her acknowledge that it had taken
four soldiers with iron tools to move the slab over the hole.

* * * * *

It was almost midnight when Bato’s gladiators returned to
Rome. The Dalmatian’s gladiators had not been much of a challenge and for that
Annachie was grateful. But he was almost dead on his feet from traveling the
rough roads of the provinces, so for once, he was glad to see the gladiator compound
ahead of him.

He would talk to Micah in the morning, then tell Sara of the
plans the next time he saw her. Soon, hopefully, they could get away from this
cursed city and find somewhere to live in peace.

Rolf was the first one to greet him. “Ho, Annachie, you are
three days too late, my friend.”

“For what?” Annachie asked.

“You should have been here on
dies Saturni
for all
the excitement. Some little Vestal got herself pregnant and they held the
ceremony on Saturday afternoon.”

The words seemed to bounce around in Annachie’s head—Vestal,
pregnant, ceremony. But the odds were too great that it could be Sara…weren’t
they? There had been other women in that seating area of the arena, wearing the
same white clothing as Sara. “What ceremony?”