‘What do you mean, thirty years?’
‘Oh it wasn’t a lifetime sentence,’ said India, ‘They were selected between the age of six and ten and had to serve at least thirty years in the Goddess’s service, ten as a trainee, ten as an actual Priestess and ten as a tutor. After that they were free to leave the order and marry if they so desired. Mind you, so privileged was the position that most stayed within the order.’
‘And during those thirty years, they had to stay chaste?’
‘Yes, and that’s the flip side. Their virginity was seen as a symbol of their divinity and a sign of their devotion to Rome. Once they had lost that link the penalty was brutal.’
‘Don’t tell me they were killed,’ said Brandon.
‘That’s exactly what happened,’ said India. ‘In the beginning they were simply flogged to death or strangled, but, as time went on, society demanded that no-one could take the life of a Vestal Virgin so they came up with a cruel alternative. Anyone found guilty of losing their virginity, whether by choice or by rape, were sentenced to a horrific fate. They would be carried through the streets of Rome on a litter in front of the whole population. The crowds would remain deathly silent as they witnessed the soiled Priestesses make her way to the streets of Campus Sceleratus where a subterranean tomb had been prepared. She would then be forced to climb down a ladder, and, in the room would be a candle, a bed, some water and food. Once down there, the room would be sealed and covered with the soil and slabs of the road above. The crowd would disperse and the city returned to its business.’
‘How long would she be down there?’
‘That’s just it. That’s where she stayed and her name never mentioned again.’
‘What, forever?’
‘Yup!’
‘But I thought you said they couldn’t kill a priestess.’
‘Well, in their own way they thought that they weren’t killing her. She had food, light, water and comfort. As far as they were concerned when they left her she was alive and what happened after that was of no concern to them.’
‘That’s stupid.’
‘But true,’ said India.
‘How many were killed like that?’ asked Brandon.
‘The figures vary but probably not more than a dozen or so.’
‘Wow,’ said Brandon. ‘That’s brutal.’
‘A severe price to pay for love,’ said India.
‘Or lust,’ said Brandon.
‘Don’t be such a philistine,’ said India. ‘I’m sure that any that may have succumbed to their desires would have done so only because they had fallen in love.’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Brandon sarcastically. ‘Anyway, where is this Temple?’
‘Near the foot of the Palatine hill,’ she said, ‘Or what’s left of it. There are substantial ruins there and apparently you can still see the base of the Dias that once held the Palladium.’
‘And you think that’s where Venezelos would have gone?’
‘As good a guess as any,’ she said.’ It was the last place the Palladium was known to be, and had been for hundreds of years. If you are going to try and learn about its whereabouts you may as well start there.’
‘And you think that is what these boys were after.’
‘If they believed it existed, I have no doubt. It would be the greatest find since Tutankhamen’s tomb. Not only would it be a political coup for Samothrace but would make anyone finding it, instant millionaires.’
‘So that’s where we’ll go first, then.’ said Brandon.
‘May as well,’ said India. ‘I can’t wait, I’ve always wanted to see the buildings around the Palatine.’
‘Roast beef first,’ said Brandon, ‘Sightseeing later.’ As if on cue Stella’s voice rang out from the kitchen.
‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called. ‘Come and get it.’
They both stood up and walked into the dining room to enjoy a British feast in an Italian home.
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.
‘This way,’ he said and walked over to the Italian.
‘Excuse me, do you speak English?’ he asked.
The man glanced up briefly but returned his attention to the cigarette.
‘Tours over there,’ he said, ‘Fifty Euro’s, best tours in Roma.’
‘I don’t want a tour,’ interrupted Brandon.
‘Then I can’t help you,’ said the Italian, reaching into his inner pocket for a lighter.
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.’
Brandon grabbed the man’s wrist.
‘Make sure you do,’ he said ‘And if he is good, there is another five hundred each for both of you.’
The guy took another drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke over Brandon’s head, before pulling his hand from the man’s grip.
‘Don’t worry, English,’ he said, ‘For five hundred I will bring the Pope himself.’
‘One hour,’ said Brandon and they watched the man walk away.
‘What was all that about?’ asked India.
‘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.’
‘Do you think he will come back?’ she asked
‘He will come back,’ said Brandon, holding out another note. ‘Be a love and get us a coke,’
India snatched the note with a snarl, but as she walked towards the ice cream stand, a slight smile played around her mouth.
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.
‘Is this him?’ asked Brandon.
‘This is Louigi,’ said the younger man.
Brandon held out his hand.
‘Hello, Louigi,’ he said, ‘I’m Brandon and this is India.’
‘Ciao,’ said Louigi and shook Brandon’s hand.
‘I hear you were the best guide on the Palatine,’ said Brandon.
‘Still am,’ said Louigi, ‘These others are just amateurs selling their stories to the tourists that pay the best money.’
‘Surely, they’re not all bad,’ said Brandon.
‘Not all, but most. So, English, what do you want to know?’
Brandon looked at India.
‘I think this is where you step in,’ he said.
‘Hello, Louigi,’ she said. ‘We want to know about the history of the Palatine and in particular, the Temple of Vesta.’
‘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.