Caesar's Women (74 page)

By now Aurelia was scrubbing at Clodius's insanely laughing face with a part of her robe, smearing black and white and red into a streaky muddy brown.

“Witness this!” she roared in a voice she had never possessed. “I call upon all of you to bear witness that this male creature who violates the mysteries of Bona Dea is Publius Clodius!”

And suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. Clodius stopped his cackling, stared at the stony and beautiful face so close to his own, and knew a terrible fear. He was back inside that anonymous room in Antioch, only this time it wasn't his testicles he was afraid of losing; this time it was his life. Sacrilege was still punishable by death the old way, and not even an Olympus of every great advocate Rome had ever produced would get him off. Light broke on him in a paroxysm of horror: Aurelia was the Bona Dea!

He marshaled every vestige of strength he owned, tore free of the imprisoning arms, then bolted for the passageway which led between the Pontifex Maximus's suite of rooms and the triclinium. Beyond lay the private peristyle garden, freedom beckoning from the far side of a high brick wall. Like a cat he leaped for its top, scrabbled and clawed his way up, twisted his body to follow his arms, and fell over the wall onto the vacant ground below.

“Bring me Pompeia Sulla, Fulvia, Clodia and Clodilla!” snapped Aurelia. “They are suspect, and I will see them!” She bundled up the gold-tissue dress and the wig and handed them to Polyxena. “Put those away safely, they're evidence.”

The gigantic Gallic freedwoman Cardixa stood silently waiting for orders, and was instructed to see the ladies off the premises as expeditiously as possible. The rites could not continue, and Rome was plunged into a religious crisis more serious than any in living memory.

“Where is Fabia?”

Terentia appeared, wearing a look Publius Clodius would not have cared to see. “Fabia is gathering her wits, she'll be better soon. Oh, Aurelia, Aurelia, this is shocking! What can we do?”

“We try to repair the damage, if not for our own sakes, for the sake of every Roman woman. Fabia is the Chief Vestal, the Good Goddess is in her hand. Kindly tell her to go to the Books and discover what we can do to avert disaster. How can we bury Bona Dea unless we expiate this sacrilege? And if Bona Dea is not buried, she will not rise again in May. The healing herbs will not come up, no babies will be born free of blemish, every snake creature will move away or die, the seed will perish, and black dogs will eat corpses in the gutters of this accursed city!”

This time the audience didn't scream. Moans and sighs rose and whispered away into the blacknesses behind pillars, inside corners, within every heart. The city was accursed.

A hundred hands pushed Pompeia, Fulvia, Clodia and Clodilla to the front of the dwindling crowd, where they stood weeping and staring about in confusion; none of them had been anywhere near when Clodius was discovered, they knew only that Bona Dea had been violated by a man.

The mother of the Pontifex Maximus looked them over, as just as she was merciless. Had they been a part of the conspiracy? But every pair of eyes was wide, frightened, utterly bewildered. No, Aurelia decided, they had not been in on it. No woman above a silly Greek slave like Doris would consent to something so monstrous, so inconceivable. And what had Clodius promised that idiotic girl of Pompeia's to obtain her co-operation?

Doris stood between Servilia and Cornelia Sulla, weeping so hard that nose and mouth ran faster than eyes, Her turn in a moment, but first the guests.

“Ladies, all of you except the four front rows please go outside. This house is unholy, your presence here unlucky. Wait in the street for your conveyances, or walk home in groups. Those at the front I need to bear witness, for if this girl is not put to the test now, she will have to wait to be questioned by men, and men are foolish when they question young women.”

Doris's turn came.

“Wipe your face, girl!” barked Aurelia. “Go on, wipe your face and compose yourself! If you do not, I'll have you whipped right here!”

The girl's homespun gown came into play, the command obeyed because Aurelia's word was absolute law.

“Who put you up to this, Doris?”

“He promised me a bag of gold and my freedom, domina!''

“Publius Clodius?”

“Yes.”

“Was it only Publius Clodius, or was someone else involved?”

What could she say to lessen the coming punishment? How could she shrug off at least a part of the blame? Doris thought with the speed and cunning of one who had been sold into slavery after pirates had raided her Lycian fishing village; she had been twelve years old, ripe for rape and suitable for sale. Between that time and Pompeia Sulla she had endured two other mistresses, older and colder than the wife of the Pontifex Maximus. Life in service to Pompeia had turned out to be an Elysian Field, and the little chest beneath Doris's cot in her very own bedroom within Pompeia's quarters was full of presents; Pompeia was as generous as she was careless. But now nothing mattered to Doris except the prospect of the lash. If her skin was flayed off her, Astyanax would never look at her again! If men looked, they would shudder.

“There was one other, domina,” she whispered.

“Speak up so you can be heard, girl! Who else is involved?''

“My mistress, domina. The lady Pompeia Sulla.”

“In what way?'' asked Aurelia, ignoring a gasp from Pompeia and a huge murmur from the witnesses.

“If there are men present, domina, you never let the lady Pompeia out of Polyxena's sight. I was to let Publius Clodius in and take him upstairs, where they could be alone together.”

“It's not true!” wailed Pompeia. “Aurelia, I swear by all our Gods that it isn't true! I swear it by Bona Dea! I swear it, I swear it, I swear it!”

But the slave girl clung stubbornly to her story of assignation; she would not be budged.

An hour later Aurelia gave up. “The witnesses may go home. Wife and sisters of Publius Clodius, you too may go. Be prepared to answer questions tomorrow when one of us will see you. This is a women's affair; you will be dealt with by women.”

Pompeia Sulla had collapsed to the ground long since, where she lay sobbing.

“Polyxena, take the wife of the Pontifex Maximus to her own rooms and do not leave her side for one instant.”

“Mama!” cried Pompeia to Cornelia Sulla as Polyxena helped her to her feet. “Mama, help me! Please help me!”

Another beautiful but stony face. “No one can help you save Bona Dea. Go with Polyxena, Pompeia.”

Cardixa had returned from her duty at the great bronze doors; she had let the tearful guests out, their creased and wilting robes whipping about their bodies in a bitter wind, unable to walk from shock yet doomed to wait a long time for vanished litters and escorts certain they wouldn't be needed until dawn. So they sat down on the verge of the Via Sacra and huddled together to keep out the cold, gazing through horrified eyes at a city accursed.

“Cardixa, lock Doris up.”

“What will happen to me?'' the girl cried as she was marched away. “Domina, what will happen to me?”

“You will answer to Bona Dea.”

The hours of the night wore down toward the thin misery of cock-crow; there were left Aurelia, Servilia and Cornelia Sulla.

“Come to Caesar's office and sit. We'll drink some wine”—a sad laugh—“but we won't call it milk.”

The wine, from Caesar's stock on a console table, helped a little; Aurelia passed a trembling hand across her eyes, pulled her shoulders back and looked at Cornelia Sulla.

“What do you think, avia?” Pompeia's mother asked.

“I think the girl Doris was lying.”

“So do I,” said Servilia.

“I've always known my poor daughter was very stupid, but I have never known her to be malicious or destructive. She just wouldn't have the courage to assist a man to violate the Bona Dea, she really wouldn't.”

“But that's not what Rome is going to think,” said Servilia.

“You're right, Rome will believe in assignations during a most holy ceremony, and gossip. Oh, it is a nightmare! Poor Caesar, poor Caesar! To have this happen in his house, with his wife! Ye gods, what a feast for his enemies!” cried Aurelia.

“The beast has two heads. The sacrilege is more terrifying, but the scandal may well prove more memorable,” from Servilia.

“I agree.” Cornelia Sulla shuddered. “Can you imagine what's being said along the Via Nova this moment, between the uproar which went on here and the servants all dying to spread the tale as they hunt for litter bearers through the taverns? Aurelia, how can we show the Good Goddess that we love her?”

“I hope Fabia and Terentia—what an excellent and sensible woman she is!—are busy finding that out right now.”

“And Caesar? Does he know yet?” asked Servilia, whose mind never strayed far from Caesar.

“Cardixa has gone to tell him. They speak Arvernian Gallic together if there's anyone else present.”

Cornelia Sulla rose to her feet, lifting her brows to Servilia in a signal that it was time to go. “Aurelia, you look so tired. There's nothing more we can do. I'm going home to bed, and I hope you intend to do the same.”

* * *

Very correctly, Caesar did not return to the Domus Publica before dawn. He went instead first to the Regia, where he prayed and sacrificed upon the altar and lit a fire in the sacred hearth. After that he set himself up in the official domain of the Pontifex Maximus just behind the Regia, lit all the lamps, sent for the Regia priestlings, and made sure there were enough chairs for the pontifices at present in Rome. Then he summoned Aurelia, knowing - she would be waiting for that summons.

She looked old! His mother, old?

“Oh, Mater, I am so sorry,” he said, helping her into the most comfortable chair.

“Don't be sorry for me, Caesar. Be sorry for Rome. It is a terrible curse.”

“Rome will mend, all her religious colleges will see to that. More importantly, you must mend. I know how much holding the Bona Dea meant to you. What a wretched, idiotic, bizarre business!”

“One might expect some rude fellow from the Subura to climb a wall out of drunken curiosity during the Bona Dea, but I cannot understand Publius Clodius! Oh yes, I know he was brought up by that doting fool Appius Claudius—and I am aware Clodius is a mischief-maker. But to disguise himself as a woman to violate Bona Dea? Consciously to commit sacrilege? He must be mad!”

Caesar shrugged. “Perhaps he is, Mater. It's an old family, and much intermarried. The Claudii Pulchri do have their quirks! They've always been irreverent—look at the Claudius Pulcher who drowned the sacred chickens and then lost the battle of Drepana during our first war against Carthage—not to mention putting your daughter the Vestal in your illegal triumphal chariot! An odd lot, brilliant but unstable. As is Clodius, I think.”

“To violate Bona Dea is far worse than violating a Vestal.”

“Well, according to Fabia he tried to do that too. Then when he didn't succeed he accused Catilina.” Caesar sighed, shrugged. “Unfortunately Clodius's lunacy is of the sane kind. We can't brand him a maniac and shut him up.”

“He will be tried at law?”

“Since you unmasked him in front of the wives and daughters of consulars, Mater, he will have to be tried.”

“And Pompeia?”

“Cardixa said you believed her innocent of complicity.”

“I do. So do Servilia and her mother.”

“Therefore it boils down to Pompeia's word against a slave girl's—unless, of course, Clodius too implicates her.”

“He won't do that,” said Aurelia grimly.

“Why?”

“He would then have no choice but to admit that he committed sacrilege. Clodius will deny everything.”

“Too many of you saw him.”

“Caked in face paint. I rubbed at it, and revealed Clodius. But I think a parcel of Rome's best advocates could make most of the witnesses doubt their eyes.”

“What you are actually saying, I think, is that it would be better for Rome if Clodius were acquitted.”

“Oh, yes. The Bona Dea belongs to women. She won't thank Rome's men for exacting punishment in her name.”

“He can't be allowed to escape, Mater. Sacrilege is public.”

“He will never escape, Caesar. Bona Dea will find him and take him in her own good time.” Aurelia got up. “The pontifices will be arriving soon, I'll go. When you need me, send for me.”

Catulus and Vatia Isauricus came in not long after, and Mamercus so quickly behind them that Caesar said nothing until all three were seated.

“I never cease to be amazed, Pontifex Maximus, at how much information you can fit into one sheet of paper,” said Catulus, “and always so logically expressed, so easy to assimilate.”

“But not,” said Caesar, “a pleasure to read.”

“No, not that, this time.”

Others were stepping through the door: Silanus, Acilius Glabrio, Varro Lucullus, next year's consul Marcus Valerius Messala Niger, Metellus Scipio, and Lucius Claudius the Rex Sacrorum.

“There are no others at present in Rome. Do you agree we may start, Quintus Lutatius?'' Caesar asked.

“We may start, Pontifex Maximus.”

“You already have an outline of the crisis in my note, but I will have my mother tell you exactly what happened. I am aware it ought to be Fabia, but at the moment she and the other adult Vestals are searching the Books for the proper rituals of expiation.”

“Aurelia will be satisfactory, Pontifex Maximus.”

So Aurelia came and told her story, crisply, succinctly, with eminent good sense and great composure. Such a relief! Caesar, men like Catulus were suddenly realizing, took after his mother.

“You will be prepared to testify in court that the man was Publius Clodius?” asked Catulus.

“Yes, but under protest. Let Bona Dea have him.”

They thanked her uneasily; Caesar dismissed her.

“Rex Sacrorum, I ask for your verdict first,” said Caesar then.

“Publius Clodius nefas esse.”

“Quintus Lutatius?”

“Nefas esse.''

And so it went, every man declaring that Publius Clodius was guilty of sacrilege.

Today there were no undercurrents arising out of personal feuds or grudges. All the priests were absolutely united, and grateful for a firm hand like Caesar's. Politics demanded enmity, but a religious crisis did not. It affected everyone equally, needed union.