How large was the chamber, and how deep underground? No one knew except the very few officials of the state religion who had seen it. It was said to contain a cot, a lamp with a little oil, a few scraps of food, and a pitcher with a bit of water – cruel gestures of welcome and comfort for a victim doomed to starve to death in darkness. Presumably the vault was quite small, but for all Lucius knew it extended under his feet. He might be standing over the very spot where Cornelia would breathe her last.
What became of the previous Vestals who died in this place? Were their remains ever removed, or were they left in the chamber on grisly display for each new victim to see? If that was true, the chamber would house the remains of every Vestal who had been condemned to die there. Cornelia would be made to see exactly what was to become of her and to contemplate the company she was joining, and to realize that her own remains would be there for the next condemned Vestal to see. Lucius found himself imagining the scene in horrifying detail, unable to think of anything else.
At last he heard the sound of horns and rattles, along with cries and moans of lamentation. The procession was approaching.
The crowd grew thick around him, but Lucius stayed where he was, determined to be as close to Cornelia as possible.
At last the funeral litter arrived, surrounded by a great many lictors to hold back the crowd and keep order and followed by the Vestals and numerous priests. Among them was Domitian, wearing the toga of the Pontifex Maximus with its many folds gathered and tucked in a loop just above his waist and the cowl pulled over his head, casting his face in shadow. Near him was Catullus, dressed in black and guided by a boy who held his hand.
The litter was placed on a platform near the opening. The bearers drew back. Priests opened the curtains, undid the straps that held Cornelia in place, and removed the gag from her mouth. They roughly pulled her from the litter onto her feet.
Cornelia stood before the crowd, dressed not in her linen vestments but in a simple stola made of black wool. The sight of a Vestal without her headdress was startling, even shocking. Without her suffibulum her uncommonly short hair was visible to all. To see her that way, in public, knowing all eyes were on her, made Lucius’s face turn hot. The sight of her short hair had been his exclusive privilege; now all Roma saw her that way. The indignity was as obscene as if she had been stripped naked. Some in the crowd dared to jeer at her. Without her vestments she was no longer a priestess but a mere woman, and a fallen woman at that, a wicked creature deserving a horrible death.
Domitian put an end to the jeering. Lictors with rods quickly moved into the crowd, striking anyone who failed to maintain the proper decorum.
Cornelia was expected to walk the short distance from the litter to the opening in the ground by herself. She did so with halting steps. Her body was stiff. She seemed to be in pain. Lucius knew that she had been beaten with rods and wondered what sort of wounds and bruises were concealed by her black stola.
She reached the opening and looked down at the ladder that descended to the vault. She swayed and jerked, like a reed blown by a wind. She looked upwards and stared at the sky. She raised her hands.
“Vesta!” she shouted. “You know I never betrayed you. While I served in your temple the sacred flame never wavered.”
“Silence!” cried Domitian.
Cornelia lowered her eyes and gazed at the crowd, looking from face to face. “Caesar says I am guilty of impurity, but my conduct of Vesta’s rituals was immaculate. Every one of his victories, every triumph he celebrated, is proof of the goddess’s favour.”
Domitian signalled to one of the lictors, who moved towards Cornelia. If she would not step onto the ladder and begin the descent of her own volition, she would be forced to do so. When the man reached out to grab her arm, she shrugged him off. It was only a slight movement, but the lictor recoiled violently, as if he had been struck.
“Cornelia never touched him!” cried a woman in the crowd. “It was the hand of the goddess that threw him back!”
“See how calm she is, how dignified,” said someone else.
His heart racing, Lucius dared to raise his voice. “Perhaps she’s innocent after all, if Vesta allows no man to touch her!”
It made no difference. The crowd ignored these scattered protests.
Cornelia stepped onto the ladder and took hold of it with trembling hands. She took a step down, and then another, until she was visible only from the waist up. It was all Lucius could do not to call to her. Despite his silence, she seemed to sense his presence. She paused and turned her head. She looked straight at him.
She moved her lips, mouthing silent words intended only for him: “Forgive me.”
Cornelia took another step, and another, then vanished from sight. The crowd let out a collective groan. Men shook their heads and shuddered. Women dropped to their knees and wailed.
While she descended, the ladder moved slightly, relaying the vibration of her steps. Then the ladder was still. Lictors stepped forward and pulled it from the hole. The ladder was a long one; the vault was many feet underground. A large, flat stone was placed over the opening. The mound of earth was spread over the stone and pounded with mallets until the ground was even and no sign remained of the opening.
The new Virgo Maxima, with averted eyes and a trembling voice, stood on the spot and uttered a prayer to Vesta, asking the goddess to forgive the people of Roma for allowing such a breach of piety and to restore her favour to the city. The Pontifex Maximus and his retinue began to withdraw. Catullus was the last to leave, led off by the boy. It seemed to Lucius that there was a smile on the man’s gaunt face.
The crowd gradually dispersed, until only Lucius remained. He stared at the place where the opening had been. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear. Cornelia had been swallowed by the earth. Yet he knew she must be still alive, still breathing.
Why was Lucius still alive?
Lucius knew the answer. He had been saved by a quirk of fate. The Master and God of the world, who saw enemies everywhere and executed men without reason, who watched thousands die in the arena without mercy, had been swayed by a sentimental whim. Earinus was the one human being for whom Domitian felt any semblance of love; when Earinus sang in the black room, Lucius had wept. For that reason alone, Domitian had spared him.
Lucius had been saved by a tear. The absurdity of it only deepened his despair.
He thought of Cornelia’s final words: “Forgive me.” He was alive and unscathed, a free man. For his affair with Cornelia he had suffered no consequence whatsoever. For what should he forgive Cornelia? It made no sense, yet he was certain that she had mouthed the words forgive me.
What did it mean?
AD 93
Reclining in the shade of his garden on a hot afternoon in the month of Augustus, Lucius reflected on the unexpected path his life had taken over the last two years.
The punishment of Cornelia had marked a low point in his life. Existence had lost all meaning. His taste for life had vanished. Nothing brought him pleasure. Was he in pain? If so, his pain was not a sharp agony – a reminder that he was alive – but a dull, hollow sensation, like a foretaste of death. He was stripped of all emotion. He did not loathe the world or hate the people in it; he felt nothing.