CHAPTER 52

Caepio Crispinus rose from his seat and glared at the prisoners. “Becoming a Vestal Virgin is the highest honor we bestow on women,” he said, his voice gravely serious. “They are the keepers of the eternal flame, the sacred guardians of the hearth for all of Rome. In exchange, they take a sacred vow.”

He turned to Caligula. “Your Excellency, this woman swore on the name of the divine Caesar that she would remain chaste while she performed her duties.

“In our history, the Vestals have understood that thirty years of chastity is a small price to pay for the exalted position they hold. The best seats at the games. A central role in our sacrifices. They are the keepers of our most important documents, including your will, Most Excellent Caesar. And they even hold, as this woman has so vividly demonstrated, the power over life and death.”

Crispinus stalked the prisoners as he talked, circling them as he made his argument. This would be Crispinus at his narcissistic best, the courtroom as theater, the prosecutor serving as Rome’s star actor. No rhetorical flourish would go untapped. The air would be jabbed by his finger; his right arm would sweep in a broad, flamboyant arc; his voice would go from a whisper to the sound of thunder in an instant.

“When Apronius was scheduled to die because of scandalous remarks he made about your grandfather, the shadow of Flavia fell on him, and he was immediately freed. That is an incredible amount of power for one person to have.” I could see the resentment still smoldering in Crispinus’s eyes. All of Apronius’s fortune had been snatched away from him in an instant by Flavia’s actions.

“In light of what we know today, does anybody really believe that meeting was accidental —the Virgin’s crossing of paths with Apronius? If she is acquitted today, how many more traitors will she pardon by the same type of unconscionable action?”

I noticed that Crispinus was spewing most of his venom at Flavia, and the freedmen lining the back walls were already beginning to grumble. Like me, they probably sensed that the attacks were having their intended effect. Caligula sat still as a statue, his eyes following the pacing Crispinus, though occasionally he cast a disdainful look at the prisoners.

“As Your Excellency well knows, because a Vestal is married to the state, sexual relations with any citizen of the state is the same as incest. And incest has always been punishable by execution.

“Now the word of a Vestal is sacrosanct,” Crispinus admitted. “But there are exceptions. When Flavia testifies in her own defense —if she testifies in her own defense —her words must be viewed with the greatest suspicion. Especially when Your Excellency will hear the sworn testimony of another Vestal, the matron of the Vestals, who will tell us that Flavia was not at the House of Vestal on the night in question. Instead, she was with this man, breaking her vows on the banks of the Tiber River.”

As I watched, I worried about Mansuetus’s smoldering rage. His muscles flexed each time Crispinus moved closer. The enormous trapezius muscles would go taut, the fists would clench, the calves tighten. I prayed he wouldn’t strike. I knew that Crispinus would like nothing better.

“We know that Your Excellency saw something in the eyes of Mansuetus the day of Drusilla’s games when his gaze lingered on Flavia. Something told Your Excellency that there was more to his look than simply admiring the beauty of the Vestal. And so you asked Lucian Aurelius, a commander in the Praetorian Guard, to wait outside the House of Vestal that night and follow Flavia if she left. Under oath, he will describe what he saw when he did so.

“Mansuetus has fought with incredible valor in the arena. He is rightly adored by much of Rome. But like all men, he has a weakness.”

At this, Crispinus stopped talking and walked directly in front of Flavia, halting inches from her face. I noticed Mansuetus, standing next to her, raise his shackled wrists to his waist. The back of his neck turned dark.

“Shamelessly, this woman took advantage of that weakness. Flaunting her beauty, seducing her prey, beckoning Mansuetus into her web. She was supposed to be a mother for Rome, but instead, she became Rome’s whore!”

The words were still on Crispinus’s lips when Mansuetus lunged at him, driving Crispinus to the floor. Mansuetus tried to loop his arms over Crispinus’s head so he could strangle the man with the chains binding his own wrists. But Crispinus curled into a ball, tucking his head. In a flash, a dozen guards jumped on Mansuetus as if Crispinus had told them in advance that this moment might happen.

I leaped to my feet and tried to join the melee but was pushed back by some of the guards. Others pulled the two men apart, and I noticed that a gash had opened on Crispinus’s forehead where he had struck the marble floor.

The crowd surged forward but was held in check by the shields and spears of the Praetorian Guards.

In the chaos, Caligula shouted, demanding that the judgment hall come to order.

When things eventually settled down, Mansuetus was surrounded by six guards, one with a knife at the gladiator’s neck. His chest was heaving, his muscles straining. His eyes were still fixed on Crispinus, a murderous stare that sent chills down my spine.

“For the rest of the proceedings, the prisoner will kneel,” Caligula ordered.

Mansuetus didn’t budge.

Caligula nodded at a guard located on the platform. He walked down, carrying a large wooden club. “Break his knees,” the emperor said.

There were shouts of protest from the crowd, and I thought the entire place would erupt in a riot. I looked behind me and saw people pressing forward, raising their fists, ready to make a mad rush to save their hero. They would die at the hands of the soldiers if they tried.

But just as the guard prepared to take a swing with the club, Mansuetus dropped to his knees and hung his head. One of the guards looped a rope around the gladiator’s neck. Two other guards, one on each side of Mansuetus, more than an arm’s length away, held the ends of the rope. Another guard stood behind Mansuetus, his sword drawn.

The commander gave a simple order to all three. “If he tries to move, kill him.”

Crispinus straightened his toga, dabbed at the blood on his forehead with a cloth that had been handed to him, and returned to his seat. The crowd began to chant the name of Mansuetus, and Caligula demanded silence. The soldiers roughed up a few of the men who had started the chant, and the noise died down.

Finally Caligula turned to me. “You may begin your defense.”