CHAPTER 43

It had been years since Flavia had seen a man inside the House of Vestal. By law, the only man allowed in the Vestal dwelling was the spiritual ruler of the household, the Pontifex Maximus. For the past eleven years, that man had been ruling from the island of Capri. Though Tiberius had technically designated the functions of Pontifex Maximus to Sejanus for some of those years, Sejanus had seldom set foot in the House of Vestal.

It took Caligula less than three days to pay a visit.

He came with an hour’s notice, and Flavia had never seen her colleagues more flustered.

Calpurnia, the head of the Vestals, barked out orders to ensure the place was spotless and that the ladies themselves were ready to be seen by the Princeps.

It took Flavia nearly thirty minutes just to prepare her hair on the off chance that she would actually get to meet the young emperor. On most days, if she was not going to be seen in public, she just gathered her hair into a bun on the back of her neck or coiled it into a knot on top of her head. But today she had her hairdresser tie her hair tightly into the braided style of the Vestals, complete with ribbons on the crown of her head and a few ringlets that she allowed to fall and frame her face.

She applied her makeup and appraised herself in the mirror. She thanked her hairdresser and put on her perfumes.

Caligula had been at the house for an hour before a servant came to Flavia’s room and requested her presence. Earlier, Calpurnia had promised the women that she would try to introduce them to Caligula. Accordingly, the servant’s request wasn’t unexpected, though it still made Flavia’s palms wet with anxiety.

When she arrived at the main meeting hall and realized she was the only Vestal who had been summoned, she had a hard time catching her breath.

Flavia looked the young emperor in the eye, struck anew by how out of place Caligula looked. She had a hard time picturing him as a supreme ruler. He was tall with spindly legs and a thin neck. His eyes were round and a little buggy. He had curly red hair that was trimmed so that it sat on his head like a crown. And especially in comparison to Tiberius, he seemed so young. His face was as smooth as a young boy’s, and he was sunburned on his arms, neck, and face, bringing out his freckles. Could anyone his age really be prepared to rule the empire?

Flavia bowed, waiting for Caligula to extend the hand bearing the signet ring. “Hail, Caesar.”

“Please,” he said, reaching out his hand to take hers and pulling her upright. “I’m not one to stand on formal greetings.”

Flavia stole a glance at Calpurnia, their eyes both reflecting the same message. How refreshing.

“I just wanted to meet the Vestal brave enough to intervene in the execution of Lucius Apronius,” Caligula said.

Flavia murmured something in response, not really sure if it made sense. “I was looking forward to meeting you too,” or something like that.

He asked if they could go for a private walk in the gardens, and Flavia’s face grew hot. She looked at Calpurnia, who nodded.

And just like that, Flavia found herself taking a private stroll in the Vestal gardens with the young emperor, knowing that every other Vestal was peeking at them through the windows.

She warmed up to him quickly when he insisted that she dispense with the formalities and call him Caligula. She complimented him on his speech to the Senate and particularly his abolishment of the maiestas trials. He asked a dozen questions about life in Rome, primarily focused on the political climate and the leanings of certain senators. He seemed to be nervous and consequently talked fast. Flavia knew she had that effect on men in general but never thought that an emperor would be among them.

They found common ground when it came to Greek culture, particularly the plays. It was almost scandalous to hear a man in Caligula’s position profess a love for drama and a desire to be one of the actors. “It’s the only thing that kept me alive on Capri,” he said.

“Greek drama?”

“No, my ability to act.”

They sat under a marble statue of one of the most revered Vestal Virgins from the Republican era, and Caligula unburdened himself. Though in his inaugural speech he had urged the Senate to deal gently with Tiberius’s legacy, he now revealed the agony he had gone through living with the man who had ordered the deaths of his mother and brother. Intrigue was rampant on the island, and Tiberius had watched his grandson like a hawk. Caligula had to remind himself every day that he was just an actor in a play. The slightest sign of sorrow at the death of a family member might lead to his own execution.

Flavia had known that Caligula was trapped on Capri with Tiberius but had never really thought about the psychological torture the young man had endured. Even from a distance, Tiberius was feared for his short temper and arbitrary punishments of imagined conspirators. She couldn’t imagine living with that kind of person every day.

Sitting under the statue and listening to Caligula describe the house of horrors on Capri in such matter-of-fact tones drew out an emotion that Flavia never thought she would experience with the new emperor. She actually felt sorry for the man. He seemed like he needed a friend. He seemed overwhelmed by his new responsibilities and scarred by the past. And who wouldn’t be?

They started walking again, this time more slowly, and Caligula sought her counsel.

“It’s been two days since I spoke to the Senate,” he said. “My advisers tell me the Senate is ready to issue a decree of damnatio memoriae, damning the memory of Tiberius and expunging him from all public records. They say the Senate will also grant me whatever additional powers I request. That the people will revolt if the Senate offers any resistance.”

They took a few steps in silence. “Is that what you want?” Flavia asked. “The same kind of power that your grandfather had?”

The question seemed to catch Caligula off guard. He looked at Flavia for a moment and then turned his attention back to the path in front of them. “That’s the problem. I’m not entirely sure how to navigate this.”

You’ve come to the right place, Flavia wanted to tell him. She had a few opinions on how the empire should be run. And now here, as if served to her on a golden platter, was an opportunity to influence the most powerful man alive.

“Would you like my advice?”

“Absolutely.”

Something deep in her spirit told her not to trust the man, but she decided to take a risk. What if this was her one opportunity, brought to her by the gods themselves, to help set things right?

“Follow through on your promise to end the maiestas trials,” she said. “They turn senators into cannibals, eating each other alive and redistributing fortune and power to the most greedy and deceptive among them. Those trials have turned perjury and conspiracy into an art form.”

She waited for a reaction, but Caligula just kept walking. “Okay, what else?”

Flavia glanced over the shoulder of Caligula and saw a head pull away from a window. This was fun! Every other Vestal would be asking her later to recount the conversation word for word.

For the next thirty minutes, she discussed politics and policies with the new emperor. Caligula had clearly given these matters a lot of thought, and he impressed Flavia with his desire to usher in a new era in Rome.

But just when she started to drop her guard, Caligula stopped walking and stared at her for a moment, an awkward gaze from head to toe like he was sizing her up. She felt more than a little uncomfortable, though she quickly reminded herself that the young man had been bottled up on Capri and shouldn’t be expected to possess normal social graces.

“We didn’t have women like you on Capri,” Caligula eventually said.

Flavia blushed and didn’t know how to respond. Men didn’t speak to the Vestal Virgins that way. But this was the emperor. Who knew what the rules were with him? “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.

“As you should.” The statement itself was innocent enough, but his tone was foreboding.

When he left the house later that morning, Flavia had mixed emotions. On the one hand, she hoped he would follow her advice and become the kind of emperor Rome needed. On the other, she couldn’t help but worry about a man like Caligula when he possessed such unfettered power.

That night, a full moon shone in a clear sky over the city, a sure sign that the gods were smiling on the new reign of the popular son of Germanicus.

Flavia was enjoying a night in the Vestals’ private baths with three of the other Virgins. Adrianna was talking about what a breath of fresh air it was to have a new emperor. A young emperor. A man of the people.

Flavia kept her thoughts to herself. She too was hopeful that Caligula would restore some of the decency and glory of Rome. But it was easy to make speeches. There was still a lot of work to be done.

It was nearly midnight when Flavia saw a figure on the cliff of the Palatine Hill, on the grounds of the emperor’s palace overlooking the House of Vestal. She could see the outline of somebody squatting there, staring down at them.

“Don’t everyone look at the same time,” Flavia said, “but there’s a man watching us from the cliffs of the Palatine Hill.”

The other two Vestals stole a glance and said they didn’t see anything. By the time Flavia looked up again, the figure was gone.

“I’m going inside,” Flavia said.

There were strict rules about honoring the privacy of the Vestals. During the entire reign of Tiberius, nobody had been allowed on the palace grounds that overlooked the bath complex. Yet now, during the first few days of Caligula’s reign, that barrier had been breached.

Perhaps it was just coincidence. Flavia certainly hoped so. But her instincts, and her interaction earlier that day with Caligula, told her otherwise.

She lay awake for a long time that night, staring at the ceiling. She waited until the house was perfectly silent and the only Vestal awake would be the one assigned to the eternal flame in the temple of Vesta. She waited until she knew the public baths in Rome had shut down for the night and most of the city would be sound asleep.

It was perhaps four hours before dawn when she rose and quietly dressed. She made sure no one was following as she left the house, her sandals in her hand, careful to make as little noise as possible. She stayed in the shadows and made her way across the Forum and down the hill. She stopped in an alley and put on her sandals.

She met him on the banks of the Tiber. She fell into his arms as if she hadn’t seen him in years.

“Want to know what our new emperor did today?” she asked Mansuetus.

He answered with a kiss and she leaned into it, pressing her body against his. By the time their lips separated the first time, she had forgotten all about the question.