CHAPTER 49

The day after my meeting with Flavia, her predictions came true. She and Mansuetus were both arrested and charged with the capital offense of violating Flavia’s vows as a Vestal. If convicted, Flavia would be buried alive in an underground chamber in the Campus Sceleratus with a few days’ supply of food and water. Mansuetus would be flogged in the Forum until he died.

I heard from reliable sources that Mansuetus did not go down without a fight. It took six Praetorian Guards to arrest him. Two were seriously injured.

According to those same sources, Flavia was roused from her sleep by Lucian and a dozen other members of the Praetorian Guard. They read the charges against her, bound her hands, and led her away to the dungeon at the top of the Gemonian Stairs.

I was not allowed to see either of my clients, but I was told the guards had cut Flavia’s hair —butchered it, really —so that it was cropped close to her head and scissored off in uneven chunks. She was given a long black tunic and stripped of her jewelry. I would not be allowed to see her or Mansuetus until six days from now, on the eve of the trial.

Word traveled quickly about my role as advocate for both the gladiator and the Vestal, and I suddenly became an incredibly popular man. I went to the market to buy some produce and listen to the gossip. The shopkeepers wouldn’t let me pay. “Put up a good fight,” they said under their breath.

For the next few days, I ignored my other clients and devoted every minute of my waking hours to Flavia’s case. At night, I went to the baths so I could work out my frustrations in the gymnasium and then strategize with Seneca in a corner of the laconicum, discussing trial tactics while filling our lungs with steam.

Lucian Aurelius would be the main witness. He claimed he had followed Flavia the night in question and watched her and Mansuetus having sex on the banks of the Tiber. Caligula had assigned my old nemesis, Caepio Crispinus, to prosecute the case. Crispinus was bragging all over town that his case was unassailable.

Even if my clients denied the charges, which Seneca and I both presumed they would do, it would be their word against Lucian’s.

“Do you know how Caligula will determine who is telling the truth?” Seneca asked.

I shrugged. “He will obviously accept the word of Lucian. He’ll claim my clients are lying just to protect themselves.”

“No, he’s far too clever for that,” Seneca said. “There’s a legend about a Vestal named Tuccia who was also accused of violating her vows —must have been more than a hundred years ago. The testimony was unclear, and she was ordered to prove her virginity by carrying water to the Tiber in a sieve. The water didn’t spill, and Tuccia was found not guilty. My sources tell me that Caligula will follow that precedent and use the same test if the testimony is contradictory.”

“Thank you for the encouragement,” I said.

By the fourth day after my clients’ arrest, it became obvious that Caligula had miscalculated the popularity of Mansuetus. Though I was not in attendance myself, I heard that when Caligula and Caesonia were introduced at the Circus Maximus that day, there was a chorus of jeers and whistles from the crowd. The emperor looked angrily about and surely would have ordered the perpetrators killed, but he couldn’t pinpoint where the noises were coming from. Then, as if on cue, a low and rumbling chant of “Free Mansuetus!” erupted from all sections of the great stadium. Caligula shouted at the crowd, called off the games, turned on his heel, and stalked back to his palace.

But that night at the baths, Seneca was not encouraged. “We are not dealing with a rational man,” he said. “He will now be more determined than ever.”

On Wednesday, two days before the trial, I was so nervous I couldn’t eat. I sat in my study for hours trying to think of a plausible defense. I went on long walks. I tried to practice my arguments, but I had a hard time focusing. I kept thinking about Caligula’s exquisite cruelty, the many creative ways he had humiliated and tortured his enemies. The day he hung me on the cross flashed before me. I had this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that if I did my job well, I would become just as much a focus of Caligula’s wrath as Mansuetus and Flavia already were.

If it had been any other client, that fear would have paralyzed me. But this was Flavia. Thoughts for my own safety were eventually overcome by the prospect of saving her. It didn’t make sense; I hardly knew her. Yet she was all I could think about in the days leading up to the greatest challenge of my life. Raging love casts out fear, even if that love might never be reciprocated.

My first break came as I was walking home from the baths late Wednesday night after another long meeting with Seneca. I heard the footsteps behind me turn from a walk to a run. I pivoted quickly, my paranoia triggering all kinds of thoughts.

My pursuer was a thin young girl dressed in a long black robe. A hood shadowed most of her face.

“May I walk with you?” she asked, her voice high and frightened.

She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. The streets of Rome were dangerous for someone like her this late at night.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

She fell into stride and we both kept walking. “No. My name is Rubria. I am one of the newest Vestals.”

I stopped in my tracks and looked at her.

“Let’s keep walking,” she suggested. “It will look more natural.”

I did as she said, amazed at how mature this young girl seemed, and we turned down a side street. I glanced around to see if anybody followed.

“I need to talk to you about Flavia’s case,” Rubria said. “She did not do what they have accused her of. I am willing to testify for her.”

In the next ten minutes, she told me her story. We walked slowly, crossing the street once at my urging to make sure the two men half a block behind us weren’t following us.

Rubria said that she had been in attendance at the games honoring Drusilla. She had watched Mansuetus snap the neck of his opponent. She had seen the crucifixions at lunch. She had seen men —and this time, two women —torn apart by wild animals. She hated being a Vestal Virgin, she told me. And that night, like many other nights, she had slipped down the hall and crawled into bed with the woman who was like a mother to her.

I held my breath as I waited for her to say the name. This was powerful. A young and innocent Vestal who could be our star witness.

“Flavia helped me go to sleep,” young Rubria said. “She rubbed my back and sang a song to me and we slept together in her bed that night.”

“All night?” I asked. “How do you know she was there all night?”

“I sleep lightly. If she left, I would have known. She was there when I woke up in the morning.”

I was immediately in lawyer mode. Crispinus might be able to poke a few holes in Rubria’s story, but only if he knew she was going to testify. If not, perhaps I could nail down Lucian with a precise time for when he watched Mansuetus and Flavia by the Tiber. He wouldn’t know that Rubria would be testifying in my case.

“This next question is very important to our case,” I said. “So I want you to think about it carefully. At what precise time did you first go to Flavia’s room?”

Rubria didn’t hesitate. It was as if she knew the question was coming. “I was with her all night. She stayed with me after dinner in my room until the end of the first watch, about the third hour of darkness, because she knew it had been a hard day for me. She kissed me on the forehead and told me to try to sleep. I was awake for another thirty minutes before I went down to her room. I spent the rest of the night there.”

Perfect! My blood was pumping harder, and I picked up the pace. At last, something to work with. But this poor little girl had no idea what was coming. She was about to make some very powerful enemies. In my heart, I knew I should tell her that. Yet I couldn’t take the chance of running her off.

“Are you sure you’re ready to testify about this at Flavia’s trial?”

“Of course.”

“Caepio Crispinus will ask you a lot of questions. He’ll try to make you look like a liar.”

“I do not care.”

I was proud of her. She had more courage than most of the politicians in Rome, men who were old enough to be her grandfather.

“If Flavia were here, she would tell you how much this means to her,” I said. “You might just save her life.”

The young Vestal did not respond for a long time. When she did, her voice was frail and barely audible.

“I could not survive without her,” Rubria said. “Please, sir, don’t let anything happen to her.”