CHAPTER 78

Flavia stayed away from Rome during the week of Saturnalia, but the reports she heard were horrifying. The center of festivities was the great artificial lake known as the Stagnum Agrippae, which was fed by an aqueduct and flowed into the Tiber through an eight-hundred-foot canal.

The lake was surrounded by woodlands that Nero had stocked for the occasion with exotic birds and animals. Taverns and brothels had been built on the shores, and large torches ringed the lake, giving the water an eerie glow.

For two days, thousands of Romans gorged themselves on food and wine, supplied free of charge by the emperor. Nero, of course, took center stage, floating on a huge luxury raft covered with purple carpet and plush beds. Male and female prostitutes rowed out to the raft day and night so the emperor and his inner circle could entertain all of Rome on their floating stage.

On the third day of Saturnalia, the news was no better. Nero had moved the drunken festivities to the palace, where an elaborate wedding ceremony took place. It would be Nero’s third and most controversial marriage.

As a young man, Nero had consented to marry Claudia Octavia, the great-niece of Tiberius and Nero’s own stepsister. She was elegant, aristocratic, and loved by the populace. Nero found her boring. While married to Octavia, he fell in love with the beautiful Poppaea Sabina, the wife of one of his friends. At Nero’s suggestion, Poppaea obtained a divorce. When she subsequently became pregnant with Nero’s child, Nero divorced Octavia and married Poppaea two weeks later. Octavia was banished from Rome, accused of adultery, and forced to commit suicide. The child born to Poppaea died four months after birth.

Nero was still married to Poppaea when he decided to get married again during the Saturnalia festivities. According to eyewitness reports, Tigellinus gave the bride away. Pythagorus, a former slave and a member of Nero’s inner circle, was the groom. And the drunken emperor, dressed in a bridal gown and veil, was the glowing bride.

The palace court celebrated the marriage with great enthusiasm, not sure whether the emperor was serious or acting as Rex Saturnalia, the king of irony, confounding all of Rome with his practical joke.

For Flavia, word of Nero’s latest stunt merely increased her gratitude that she was no longer a part of Rome’s inner court. The emperor had systematically attacked every traditional pillar of Roman society. She was relieved when the orgy of Saturnalia finally ended. Perhaps now Nero would get back to governing the empire.

The day after Saturnalia, Flavia journeyed into the city and heard the news that pierced her heart. Rubria was dying. The night before, while tending the eternal flame alone in the temple, she had been assaulted. Her clothes were torn, her face bruised and bloodied. She had apparently hit her head on the marble floor.

The guard outside the temple had been ambushed from behind and rendered unconscious. A trail of blood could be traced from the inner court of the temple out the front door. There were pieces of flesh under Rubria’s fingernails. She had fought back.

Flavia was allowed into the House of Vestal, where she stood vigil with the others. Rubria was lying in her bed, attended by the best physicians in the empire, but she wasn’t moving. She had marks on her neck where the assailant had tried to choke her. Her left eye was dark and swollen nearly shut. Her lip was swollen; there was dried blood in her hair. She was breathing and her heart was beating, but there were no other signs of life.

Sacrifices were made. Prayers were offered. Omens were consulted.

Whispered suspicions focused on the emperor himself. He and Tigellinus had been overheard in their drunken stupors the night of Rubria’s attack, talking about the Vestals to other revelers. It was the one sexual barrier nobody had dared cross during the festivities. It would make a fitting capstone for the last night of Saturnalia. Tigellinus had even proposed a toast.

Nobody in the House of Vestal now felt safe. The matron of the house decided that the Vestals would tend the flame in pairs. More guards were stationed all around the property.

Later that afternoon, the Vestals breathed easier when Rubria’s attacker was identified. He turned out to be a servant in the palace, his face bloodied from Rubria’s fingernails. Though he loudly proclaimed his innocence, he was executed before dark.

Rubria still had not moved.

Flavia stayed next to Rubria’s bed for the next two days, praying to the gods that the Vestal would recover. Rubria was the closest thing Flavia would ever have to a daughter. She could still picture Rubria when the girl first came to the House of Vestal, wide-eyed and innocent, enthusiastic and anxious to please. Now she was a beautiful woman, thinner than ever, far more jaded and cynical but still possessing a great love of life.

At least that’s the way she had been a few short days ago.

Flavia watched her friend breathe, in and out, her bony chest rising and falling. A few times Flavia thought she heard Rubria mutter something. She leaned close to her friend and watched her lips. “It’s me, Rubria. Can you hear me?”

But there was no response. Flavia decided she was just imagining things and leaned back and prayed to the gods again.

Flavia slept in short stretches and refused to eat anything. At times she wept bitterly and cursed Nero under her breath. Other times she was too drained to shed even a single tear.

She held Rubria’s hand. She washed the Vestal’s hair. She dipped her finger in water and spread it on Rubria’s lips.

By the end of the second day, the doctors were not hopeful. They had drained plenty of blood, but it didn’t seem to be helping. They couldn’t use their herbal remedies because Rubria couldn’t swallow anything. They checked her pulse, watched her shallow breathing, and shook their heads.

How long could somebody go without water? Flavia wondered.

As evening approached on the second day, Flavia talked to the matron of the Vestals. The women agreed it was time to take Rubria to the temple of Aesculapius. It had worked for others. Certainly the god of healing would show mercy to a Vestal Virgin.