CHAPTER 69

“If you wish to be loved, love.”

That was Seneca. And it became my mantra for the next six months as I pursued Flavia with renewed zeal. We would meet at night, our locations varied. The banks of the Tiber. Lying on our backs, gazing up at the stars in a meadow on the Esquiline Hill. Huddled next to each other, leaning against the Servian Wall. Staying warm by the fire at my family’s estate.

We talked about Mansuetus —his heroism and bravery, his love for the arena, the way we had honored his memory. We shared our own dreams and hopes and frustrations. We talked about religion and our families. I told Flavia about my time in Judea. My regrets at the trial of the Nazarene. She regaled me with stories about the intrigue in the House of Vestal. She admitted that she didn’t really remember me from that first meeting —the scared young equestrian anxious to impress one of Rome’s famous Vestals. “I am sure you were charming,” she offered.

During those months, we both developed a grudging admiration for Claudius as emperor. He was more concerned with running the empire than with his own comfort or popularity. “It’s refreshing not to worry about somebody looking down on us from the Palatine Hill when we’re in the baths,” Flavia said.

Every hour we spent together seemed like seconds to me. My life was divided into segments of days —countdowns until my next evening with Flavia. I lived for those moments, and I relived them for days afterward.

There were times —some of my favorite times —when she leaned into me and I pulled her close and we both said nothing. I had learned to relax with her and forget that she was a Vestal. We parted each time with a kiss.

On one of those nights, when I sensed the mood was just right, I asked the question again. This time I told Flavia that I couldn’t imagine living without her. Six years of waiting would be a single day if she said yes. But I only wanted her to be happy. And I would understand if she didn’t have the same feelings toward me. I held my breath and waited for a response.

She took my hand and looked me in the eye. “What took you so long?” she asked.

I smiled, and she gave me a long kiss. It reminded me of the kiss we had shared six months earlier, but this time it was more relaxed, and neither of us wanted it to end.

“Is that a yes?” I asked.

“It’s a yes that I love you, Theophilus. But on a matter as important as marriage, I’ll need to check with the gods.”

The gods? Who cared about the gods?

“What if the omens are bad?” I asked.

“If we are meant to be together, the omens won’t be bad.”

Unless the gods are asleep or the entrails are ambiguous or a thousand other things go wrong, I thought. But how could I argue with a priestess who wanted to check with the gods?

“Just remember, the heart should triumph over the entrails.”

“Seneca again?” she asked.

“You should know by now that my quotes are better than Seneca’s.”

The next day, Flavia sacrificed a fully grown bull. She slit its throat and carved it open. She spread the liver, intestines, and kidneys on the altar. She poured out the incense and the wine and prayed that the gods would be pleased with her sacrifice.

But the gods were not pleased. The liver was damaged. The intestines scarred. She spread them gently with her fingers, flipped them over. She tried to separate them, but the scar tissue held them together. The kidneys and heart were the only organs not damaged.

What did it all mean? Certainly there would be no children. The scarring promised heartache, but the liver was the most disturbing omen of all. She stared at it, trying to reconcile her feelings for Theophilus with this foreboding message.

Until now, she had not realized how much she wanted the gods’ approval. She had stayed awake at night thinking about her relationship with Theophilus. It was certainly different from what she had shared with Mansuetus, but that no longer bothered her. Was it better? That was impossible to say.

Theophilus was a kindred spirit. He had a keen mind and a good heart, and she felt her own heart race when he was around. Her love for Mansuetus had been the kind that made her risk everything, putting her life on the line to make love with him. These feelings she had toward Theophilus, this new love, was very different. Not as reckless, but just as real. It felt so natural to be around him, as though they were created for each other. He was tender and focused on her. He believed in her. He was the kind of man who would make twenty years of marriage seem too short a time.

Yet it seemed the gods were having none of it. She could break his heart now and tell him the truth about the omens. Or they could marry, and his heart would someday be broken just the same, his death painful and anguished.

Perhaps the gods were wrong. But could she take that chance?

Maybe this was their punishment for conspiring against Caligula, a man who claimed to be a god himself. She and Theophilus were both strong. But were they strong enough to defy the will of the gods?

She pondered these things as the flames flickered up and charred the entrails. She watched the flames grow and engulf the organs, disintegrating each of her offerings.

Who can allay the wrath of the gods? she wondered. The gods were angry, and the entrails of a bull were not enough to satisfy them.

Well, she had her answer. The gods had spoken.

She wished she had never inquired.