Mortuus Virgo (23 page)

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Early the following morning they took a taxi to the ancient city and made their way to the area of the palatine. As the car drove off they stood in awe looking up at the ruins. Crowds were gathering and touts were already trying to rope in the tourists to their respective tours. Brandon looked around and settled on one younger man who sat to one side rolling a cigarette.

Brandon held out two fifty Euro notes in front of the man’s eyes. The Italian paused and drew a lungful of smoke, before blowing it out slowly.

‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘I want a personal tour of the Palatine,’ he said. ‘Just us two and a local expert. Someone who knows the history of this place inside out and can tell us things that may not be in the official guide books.’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything.’

‘I know of someone,’ he said. ‘Used to work for the museum and was the best guide around here for years. Got fired for selling something he found in the undergrowth.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Brandon, ‘Where can we find him?’

‘You don’t,’ said the man, ‘I do!’ He took the hundred Euros’ from Brandon’s hand. ‘One hour he said. We will meet you back here.’

‘Sometimes you have to dig deeper beneath the surface to get to anything of quality,’ said Brandon. ‘Anything the tour guides have to say we can probably find out on the internet. What we want is someone who grew up around here.’

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An hour later they were sat on a bench in the shade of a dried olive tree. Finally the Italian reappeared with a reluctant looking old man.

‘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.

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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.

‘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 indeed 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.’