The Raven and the Rose (30 page)

She had not looked at Julia once.

Julia picked up her palla and folded it carefully. She had expected nothing different.

She had broken the rules and must now pay the price. It was
justitia
.

Justice.

* * *

When Larthia arrived at the Atrium the next morning she found that her sister was missing from her suite. She took one look at Margo, her eyes red rimmed and sunken, and knew what had happened.

“Where is she?” Larthia asked, as Junia Distania melted into the distance of the hallway, not wanting to witness the upcoming scene.

“In the fanum, under the supervision of the pontifex maximus and his wife. They have two Spanish guards stationed outside her door.”

“Why didn’t Junia tell me?” Larthis demanded, looking after the greeter, who had already disappeared around a corner.

“Livia has ordered all of us not to speak of it to anyone,” Margo replied, and broke into fresh sobs.

“Am I forbidden to come in?” Larthia asked, and Margo shook her head, opening the door into the anteroom of Julia’s suite.

“She said nothing about it, and she knew you were visiting today, so I suppose it’s all right,” Margo said, showing Larthia to a chair.
 

Larthia sat and the two women looked at one another, equally wretched.

“Did you know she was pregnant?” Margo asked.

Larthia glanced away from her, unresponsive.

“Couldn’t you have helped her?”

“I was trying, I just didn’t have enough time! Caesar was murdered, the streets were impassable...”

“It doesn’t matter, there’s nothing to do,” Margo said resignedly. “She’ll go on trial, they’ll find her guilty of sacriligeum, and she’ll be buried alive.” She put her face in her hands and bowed her head.

“Maybe not,” Larthia said softly, thinking of Marcus. She had to get word to him.

“How could I have missed it?” Margo asked rhetorically, not listening to Larthia. “I live here with her. I saw she was tired, nauseated... late for her issue of blood...” She threw up her hands. “I just didn’t think.”

“It’s not the first condition one usually connects with a Vestal Virgin,” Larthia said ruefully. “Is Julia’s confinement common knowledge?”

“A notice will be posted in the forum tomorrow morning,” Margo replied. “The hearings will be public.”

“Public?” Larthia echoed. “Oh, no.” Julia would particularly hate that.

“It’s the law,” Margo said. “Though hardly anyone remembers what the law is, it’s been seventy years since the last trial of a Vestal for breaking her vows.”

“Seventy years!”

Margo nodded. “Livia has been studying the Lex Papia, determining what to do.”
 

“She must be incensed.”

Margo knit her fingers together in her lap. “She’s taking it very personally. That such a thing should happen during HER tenure is a stain on her unblemished record. She’ll offer Julia up on a plate to salve her reputation.”

Larthia sighed.

“You know who the father is, don’t you?” Margo said, watching Larthia’s face.

Again, Larthia said nothing.

“She had to be meeting him at your house, it’s the only time it could have happened.”

“Have you said anything about that to Livia?” Larthia asked quickly.

“No, of course not. But it was very foolish of you to help her, you had to know it would end this way.”

“I really thought they might get away together,” Larthia said softly.

“You may be questioned and possibly implicated,” Margo said. “The only way to avoid your involvement is if Julia names the father herself.”

“She’ll never do that.”

“Old Paris has already been arrested.”

“The doctor?” Larthia said alertly.

“Yes.”

“Does Livia really think Paris was having an affair with my sister?”

“Probably not, but he was with Julia when she was away from the Atrium. Perhaps he saw or heard something then, and knows something now.”

He knows something, Larthia thought worriedly, but not about Julia. She rose slowly, letting her skirt fall in graceful folds to her ankles.

“Do you know if I will be permitted to see her?” Larthia asked Margo.

“No, the pontifex said she would be allowed no visitors before the trial.”

Another ancient ordinance invoked, Larthia supposed. Each religious sect dedicated to a god or goddess had its own chief priest or priestess, like Livia Versalia for the Vestals, but the pontifex maximus was the overlord of them all, consulted when the interests of religion and state coincided. He lived with his wife in the fanum, or residence, on the other side of the Temple of Vesta from the Atrium, and he would doubtless be presiding at Julia’s trial.

“I must go,” Larthia said. “Do you know when the hearing will be held?”

“Sometime tomorrow.”
 

“So soon?”

“I don’t think Livia wants to waste any time disposing of the offending member of our little family,” Margo said bitterly, her throat working.

Larthia bent to embrace the other woman, the closest thing to a mother Julia had known since the age of ten.

“Don’t give up hope,” Larthia said to her warmly. “I have a plan.”

“Work quickly, then. There isn’t much time.”

“I will.”

Larthia left, almost running down the hall.

She had to get word to Marcus.

* * *

The Campus Martius was finally quiet; the riots were over and Marcus was satisfied that Antony’s faction had won. The Consul had incited the people to behave exactly as he wished, but the victory was not without cost. The Senate chamber was destroyed, the campus was littered with rubble, and Tiberius Germanicus was dead. He had gone off from his companions after the reading of Caesar’s will and was caught in the melee at Brutus’ house. Brutus’ pride of paid gladiators, in trying to defend their master’s house as the mob torched it, had beaten Tiberius to death.

And little Appius, the camp boy, had been killed when he was trampled by the crazed herd running from Caesar’s funeral to the Senate.

All in all, it was not a bright chapter in the history of Italy’s first republic.
 

 
Marcus glanced up at the setting sun; his watch was almost over.

He had to find a way to see Julia tonight.

A soldier approached and Marcus recognized the tribune, Drusus Vinicius.

“There’s a slave looking for you,” Vinicius said. “From the Sejanus estate. I told him you would be getting off watch soon...oh, here he is.”

Marcus saw from a distance that it was Verrix; the big Gaul was recognizable for his height and yellow hair, a gilded helmet in the gathering dusk.
 

Marcus waited, watching his approach, and finally Verrix stood before him.

“You know who I am,” Verrix said quietly.

Marcus folded his arms and stared at him balefully, then nodded.

“I have this for you from Lady Sejana,” he said, and handed Marcus a rolled note. It was sealed with the Sejanus crest imprinted in the wax.

“She would have come herself, but there are some who would still not like to see her abroad in the streets,” Verrix added. He was referring to those few rabble rousers who had seized on Caesar’s murder as an excuse to do random violence and now refused to go home and stay there.

Marcus broke the seal on the note and read, “Julia is pregnant. She’s being held at the fanum for trial on charges of unchastity tomorrow noon in the forum. Do what you can. Larthia.”

Marcus felt as if he had been dealt a heavy blow in the chest. His breath came short and he stood staring at the piece of parchment in his hand, re-reading it several times, before he looked up at Verrix slowly.

“Do you know the contents of this?” he asked, his voice congested.

“Yes.”

Marcus closed his eyes, crumpling the note in his hand, his fingers curling viciously. “They’ll be sorry they ever put their hands on her,” he said hoarsely.

“Don’t storm the fanum,” Verrix said warningly.

Marcus looked at him, taken aback that this slave should be giving him direction.

“They have her very closely guarded, in a confined space. Neither one of you will survive,” Verrix said.

“How do you know?”

“Larthia has gotten all the details. Her house has been full of lawyers all afternoon, discussing the situation and offering advice,” Verrix said.

“And that is?”

Verrix was silent.

“Well?” Marcus demanded impatiently.

“There is nothing to be done.”

“There is something to be done!” Marcus exploded, pushing past the slave. “I’ll cut them to ribbons before I...”

“Then you’ll both die.”

“I’ll have the satisfaction of taking some of them with me, then!” Marcus replied. “And Antony or Septimus will...”

“Mark Antony signed the order for Julia’s arrest,” Verrix said, causing Marcus to halt in his tracks. He turned and looked back at the Gaul.

“Antony is Consul, he reviews all the state warrants, doesn’t he?”

“How is it that I didn’t know?” Marcus whispered, his expression bleak.

“Only a few people know, the notice won’t be posted until the morning. Antony would have no reason to tell you, he doesn’t know that you’re...”

“The instrument of her destruction,” Marcus said, his voice a dry whisper. “I pursued her, I seduced her, I delayed taking her away because of loyalty to Caesar, who is dead now and cannot help me or her. What a fool I was! It was all for nothing. Her blood will be on my hands. My fault, all my fault.”

Verrix was silent, surprised that he felt compassion for this man who had almost been the instrument of HIS destruction. And Marcus, in his turn, was conscious of a burning resentment. The only person he could discuss Julia with was this presumptuous slave who had killed his friend Antoninus, and was now sleeping with Julia’s sister.

“What will you do?” Verrix asked.

A look of steely resolve came over Marcus’ face and Verrix suddenly remembered Gaul, and what had happened to him and his people there.

“Tell Larthia that there is a long night ahead, and I will be busy,” Marcus said.

They both looked up as Marcus’ relief arrived and Marcus added, “Go. Tell Lady Sejana she can send a message to the barracks if she needs me.”

Verrix trotted into the gathering dark and Marcus set off in the other direction, his hands clenched into fists.

* * *

Paris was terrorized. He sat in the chair, his hands and feet bound tightly. His eyes moved back and forth from Livia, to the pontifex, to the gladiator trained in torture methods who had been assigned to this interrogation. The pontifex, whose name was Paetus Virgilius Sura, gestured to the gladiator.
 

The man slipped a thin sliver of Indian bamboo under the already torn and bleeding nail of Paris’ little finger.

Paris screamed.

“Who is the man?” Sura said.

Paris continued to whimper and blubber for a while. His audience waited patiently until he had subsided enough to hear the questions directed to him.

“Who is the man responsible for Julia Rosalba Casca’s condition?” Sura said again. “You?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I’ve told you I don’t know! I never touched her except to examine her and I never saw anyone else with her. That’s the truth, I swear it.”

Sura looked at Livia, who shrugged. They had been listening to this for some time. If Paris knew who Julia’s lover was he would have given up the information by now.

Sura sighed. If the law permitted him to torture the woman he would have the warrant for her lover signed already, but the Lex Papia specified that Vestals were
personas sacras ,
untouchable. Evidence against them had to be obtained by other means.

“You were meeting with Julia Rosalba in the home of Lady Sejana. Did you ever suspect that any illegal activity was taking place there?” Sura said in a bored tone, phrasing the inquiry differently, trying a new tack.

Paris shot him a look, and Sura sat up alertly.
 

Maybe now they were getting somewhere.

Livia gestured for the gladiator to move in closer. Paris eyed him warily, drawing back in his chair.

“Doctor?” Sura said.

Paris closed his eyes; he was sweating so profusely that they were stinging from the salt in his perspiration. He liked Lady Sejana. She had been very generous with him and he didn’t want to cause her trouble.

Livia nodded to the gladiator, who picked up Paris’ hand immediately.

“I’ll tell you!” the doctor said.

Livia and Sura waited.

“I think that Lady Sejana is sleeping with one of her slaves,” Paris said wearily.

Sura looked at Livia, amazed, then passed a hand over his eyes. This was not what they wanted or expected, but if true it could not be ignored.