The Raven and the Rose (3 page)

“Madame, you must come quickly!” Margo said, appearing around a corner, whispering urgently. “Imperator Caesar is coming to the Aedes to make an alteration to his will and Livia Versalia has requested you to attend and take notes.”

Margo was Julia’s Helvetian maid, captured when her tribe was conquered in Switzerland. She’d been brought back to Rome and sold into service at the temple. Assigned to Julia shortly after Julia’s arrival, Margo was ten years older than Julia and had attended the young Vestal since Julia left home. The two women were close, their bond not exactly friendship, not really that of mistress and slave either, but the unique relationship that existed between a child of privilege and the servant who had raised her.

“You must change clothes immediately,” Margo added, hurrying alongside Julia as she scurried through the passage which connected the temple to the home of the Vestals immediately next to it. “This is a great honor, to be asked to attend such a conference. You should look your best.”

Julia had seen Caesar before, from a distance when he marched in triumphs after his military victories, and just once close up the previous autumn when he first came to the temple to file his will. He was always changing that document, however; he’d been married several times, had many dependents, and his personal fortune fluctuated wildly.

“I wonder what this summons means,” Julia said, as they turned into the hall leading to the private chambers of the Vestals. Like many Roman structures, the building had no windows facing the street, so the passage was illuminated by flickering torches even during the day.

“It means the Chief Vestal knows that you will take the best notes for the transcribers. Augusta Gellia made such a mess of the last will she did that Livia knew she would have to give someone else a chance. I’m just surprised that she would use you, since your second term doesn’t begin for three years. You must have impressed her. I’m so proud of you.”
 

“Don’t draw conclusions yet, Margo. If Livia isn’t happy with my performance today it’s the last time I’ll be assigned this particular function.” Julia removed her
palla,
the outer garment which wrapped around the body in many folds, and handed it to Margo as they entered her suite. Several lesser servants, already summoned by Margo, hurried in behind them to help Julia change her clothes and dress her hair in the elaborate, formal style the occasion demanded.

A short time later Julia was ready. She was wearing an ivory sleeveless tunic, or
stola
, girdled below her breasts by a
zona
, a belt woven of gold thread. A sky blue, gold trimmed
diploidion
, a wide scarf draped over one shoulder, was fastened at her waist by a circular gold pin imprinted with the image of Vesta. Julia’s long red gold hair, uncut for the seven years since her initiation, was pinned up and intricately dressed, the crown of her head encircled by
vittae
, braided strips of cloth of gold which fell in loops over each shoulder.

Margo nodded approval and then handed Julia a stylus and a pile of wax tablets. Julia would take notes on the tablets and then the tablets would be given to an official transcriber, a Greek slave who transferred documents to parchment.
 

“Go,” Margo said, urging Julia toward the door. “Livia Versalia will want to speak to you first.”

Margo was right. The Chief Vestal was already seated in the recording room of the Aedes, surrounded by labeled scrolls inserted into niches reaching from the floor to the ceiling. She was composed and alert, her eyes sweeping over Julia in measured fashion as the younger woman entered.

“Do you feel equal to this task, Julia Rosalba?” Livia Versalia asked, her expression inquiring. “You know from your training that I take the place of the goddess and bear witness under oath, therefore I may not record what takes place here. That task is left to you. Drucilla Pontifica, my first choice to replace Augusta, is ill today and the Imperator did not give us advance word of his desire to change his will again. You are young and inexperienced, but your tutors tell me that you are the quickest with languages of any of the novices and that you write a clear Latin hand which is easily read. Is that so?”

“I hope that I may acquit myself admirably, madame,” Julia said quietly.

“You did not answer my question,” Livia said dryly.

“I write well and take excellent notes,” Julia said flatly, meeting the older woman’s gaze.

Livia nodded. “I know you have received instruction in this procedure, but let me review for a moment. You are an
umbra
, a shadow, in this proceeding. You will record what is said but you will not speak unless spoken to and you will pass the tablets immediately into my hands as soon as Caesar is finished talking. Is that perfectly clear?”

Julia nodded.

Livia permitted herself a small smile. “Sit down, child. I’m sure you will do well.”

Julia sat, glancing covertly at the Chief Vestal as both women waited for Caesar’s arrival. Livia Versalia was thirty-eight, two years away from her retirement as a Vestal. She was a tall and handsome woman, her dark hair lightly threaded with gray, her face unmarked by the cares of the outside world during her decades of service to Vesta. When she left the Vestals in two years she would have, among many other privileges, lifelong accommodations in the Atrium Vestae, the right to travel through the city by carriage and to be buried at state expense (both royal prerogatives), freedom from taxes and from the stricture of most Roman laws, the best seats reserved at theaters and athletic contests, and the power to pardon any criminal she met in the street on the way to execution. She had risen to her current position through dedication and attention to the most minute of details, and she was not about to jeopardize her standing when she was near to concluding her duties in a blaze of glory.
 

Julia knew that she would be observed during this meeting by a very watchful eye.

Livia noticed Julia stirring and said, “It won’t be long now. The Imperator is always prompt.”

Julia nodded and arranged her long skirt carefully over her knees.

Busy men usually were.

* * *

Caesar swept into the Aedes Vestae with Marcus at his side, both men intent on accomplishing this mission and then moving on to other things. In the absence of Caesar’s usual bodyguard, Marcus was exceptionally alert, but there was no one in the torchlit entrance hall of the temple except Junia Distania, the second oldest of the Vestals and their official greeter. She bowed her head when she saw Caesar and then gestured for the men to follow her to the recording chamber, the first door on the right past the marble statue of Flavia Publica, a retired Chief Vestal.

Both women in the room rose when Caesar and his companion appeared in the doorway; Junia Distania vanished promptly, her task at an end.

Julia looked at Caesar, who commanded first attention in any setting. The dictator was fifty-eight, his face heavily seamed from the sun of a hundred campaigns, his hawk nose dominating it. He had been balding since youth and was vain about it; his graying dark hair was combed forward onto his forehead to disguise a receded hairline. He was dressed in his heavily decorated general’s uniform, the coins on a gold chain about his neck signifying the wealth of the territories he had conquered. His deep set brown eyes scanned the two Vestals, missing nothing.

“Greetings, beloved daughters of Vesta,” he said, giving them the traditional salutation.

Both women bowed their heads.

“I have brought along my most trusted centurion, Marcus Corvus Demeter of the first cohort, to witness my words today, as our law requires at least two witnesses and Livia Versalia will of course serve as one.”

Livia bowed again, and Julia looked at Caesar’s companion. When her eyes met his she froze.

The man was taller than Caesar by a head, and much younger, not more than thirty. His cropped hair was thick and black, his clean shaven face tanned, his figure slim and erect, the limbs exposed by his soldier’s tunic muscular and strong. His eyes were a curious color, a light golden brown, almost amber, and Julia felt herself flush deeply as they studied her.

Livia coughed, and Julia realized that she was standing rooted with her arms folded inside her diploidion, staring at the centurion. She turned away immediately and gazed at the floor, trying to disguise her confusion.

“Shall we begin?” Caesar said briskly, and Livia gestured toward the marble footed table where he would give his deposition. Caesar and the soldier with him sat, and Julia took her place at the smaller recording table to their left.
 

Julia listened to Livia taking her oath and then administering a similar oath to Caesar’s companion. Julia stole glances at the younger man periodically, her stylus at the ready in her hand, and twice she caught him looking back at her intently and she quickly glanced away. Her heart was beating fast in her chest and her fingers around the inscribing tool were damp. She ducked it into her lap and wiped her hand on her gown, then brought the stylus up again.
 

By that time Caesar was ready to talk, and Julia kept her head down, scribbling in an effort to keep up with his direct, well modulated speech. He spoke from his own notes and had obviously given much thought to the changes he wanted to make; everything was laid out very carefully and it took him only a short time to convey the alterations to his previous will. When he was done he looked at Julia expectantly and Livia said, “Please read the deposition back to the Imperator, Julia Rosalba.”

Julia obeyed, and Caesar nodded in agreement when she was finished.

“Fine,” he said, and rose, leaning forward to place the signet of his general’s ring against the soft wax on Julia’s tablet. The centurion did the same with his legionary’s ring, giving Julia an excellent view of the top of his dark head. Livia said in conclusion, “The transcriptions will be ready for your review and formal signature in two days’ time, Imperator.”

“Excellent,” Caesar replied. He smiled at Livia, and then at Julia.

“What is your name, young lady?” he asked.
 

“Julia Rosalba Casca,” Julia replied quietly, with downcast eyes.

“Casca! Not the daughter of my longtime rival,” Caesar exclaimed in surprise.

“Granddaughter,” Livia supplied.

“Ah, I see. Well, you may look up at me, little Casca,” Caesar said.

Julia obeyed, noting that the centurion was also watching her fixedly.
 

“White rose. Your name suits you. Pale skin and eyes the color of an Alpine spring,” Caesar said. “Well, you can tell Casca from me that his politics are anathema but his son has made a beautiful woman.” Caesar swept from the room and the centurion followed him, glancing once over his shoulder at Julia before he left.

Livia patted Julia on the shoulder. “You did very well,” she said, accepting the tablets Julia handed her.

Julia didn’t trust herself to reply.

“Nothing to say?” Livia asked.

“I was very nervous,” Julia replied hastily.

“Yes, I saw that, but it’s to be expected. Caesar is a very great man.”

Julia knew that her nervousness had had little to do with Caesar. She’d been much more disturbed by the handsome centurion with the compelling amber eyes.

“What is this marking here?” Livia asked, pointing to the second tablet.

Julia started, as if Livia could read her thoughts, then answered a few questions about her shorthand as Livia examined her work.
 

“You may go,” Livia finally said to Julia, already deciding which transcriber to assign to the job. “Aren’t you due to sacrifice tomorrow?”

Julia nodded.

“Then rest tonight and purify your thoughts. You must have a clear mind and a calm spirit to address the goddess.”

“Good day, Livia Versalia.”

“Good day, daughter.”
 

Julia left the recording room and returned to her chamber. Margo was waiting to help Julia change back into less ceremonial clothes and undo her hair.

“I heard that you more than satisfied expectations,” Margo said to Julia, draping her diploidion over a gilt chair.
 

Julia looked at her in amazement. “Have you had a message from the gods? I just left Livia myself.”

“Junia Distania was in the hall waiting to escort Caesar out of the temple and heard the end of the interview. She came straight to me after the men left.”

Julia shook her head in disgust. “You should be a spy for the Spanish, Margo.”

“It reflects badly on me if you fail in your duties,” Margo replied, unoffended.

Julia shook out her loosened hair and asked casually, “Do you know the man who came along with Caesar, the centurion of the first cohort?”

Margo stared at her. “Are you joking? You don’t know who that was?”

“Caesar said his name when they entered and I thought it sounded familiar.”
 

“That was the hero of the Cordoba campaign, Marcus Corvus Demeter.”
 

Julia nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, now I remember.”

“I should think you would. Didn’t you see the triumphal procession on Caesar’s return from Iberia? Demeter rode in the back of the Imperator’s chariot, along with Mark Antony. Demeter is a most decorated and famous soldier, Caesar’s favorite. Why don’t you know this, Julia? Everyone else does.”