These desperate thoughts consumed her. She grew distant from Pennatus. They ceased to make love. The act that had given her such delight she now saw to be a treacherous thing, a trap into which she had foolishly fallen. For a while, they still met in secret, and instead of making love, they conversed-but what was there to talk about except the suffering inflicted on them by the siege, and the even greater suffering that awaited them? Eventually she forbade Pennatus to come to her private chamber again, saying she did so for his own safety, when in fact she simply could not bear to be alone with him.
She grew closer to Dorso, who treated her always with deference and respect. Pennatus, as Dorso’s friend, was often present in their company, but he knew better than to treat her with too much familiarity. He hid his pain and confusion by making wry comments and bitter jokes, and no one noticed that his behavior was any different than before. People did notice a change in Pinaria, and commented on it. Men called her the melancholy Vestal, but they thought her suffering was for their sake and they honored her sadness as a sign of her piety.
For seven months the Gauls occupied Roma, from midsummer to midwinter. It was on the Ides of Februarius that Pinaria, crossing the Capitoline, her head clouded by dark thoughts, was given the news by Dorso.
He ran up to her. He said something. She was so distracted that she did not hear his words, but from his animated expression she realized that something of great importance had happened. From the corner of her eye she perceived movement. She looked around and saw that all of the Capitoline was in a great commotion. People hurried this way and that, gripped one another, spoke in whispers and shouts, laughed, wept.
“What’s happening, Dorso?”
“A messenger has come-a Roman! The Gauls allowed him to pass. He came right up the pathway.”
“A messenger? Who sent him?”
“Camillus, of course! Come, let’s hear what the man has to say.” He led her to the Temple of Jupiter, where a soldier, dressed in armor but carrying no weapons, stood on the top step to address the crowd. People shuffled aside to allow Pinaria to move to the front of the crowd.
Men were shouting questions at the messenger, who raised his hand. “Be patient!” he said. “Wait until everyone has gathered. Otherwise, I shall have to repeat myself a hundred times.”
“But look here!” shouted Marcus Manlius. “Gaius Fabius Dorso has arrived with the melancholy Vestal. That’s everyone who counts! Say what you have to say!”
People in the crowd laughed. The mood was cheerful, for everyone could see by the messenger’s face that he came with good news.
“Very well. Over the last few months, our armies have regrouped under the leadership of the dictator Marcus Furius Camillus-”
There was a great cheer.
“-who has met with the Gauls in a number of minor engagements. We cannot claim to have defeated the enemy, but we have stung them repeatedly, and the Gauls have had enough. They’re ready to leave Roma.”
The cheer was deafening. The messenger motioned for quiet.
“But the Gauls will not leave without a ransom.”
“A ransom?” shouted Manlius. “Haven’t they looted everything that was of any value in Roma?”
“They have, but they demand still more. There is to be a payment of jewels and precious metals. Camillus has gathered everything he can from the Romans in exile, and appealed to our friends for contributions-”
“The people of Clusium should pay the ransom!” shouted Manlius. “Did we not sacrifice ourselves to save them from being sacked by the Gauls?”
“The Clusians have contributed, very generously, and so have many others,” said the messenger, “but there is still not enough. Camillus looks to you here on the Capitoline, who never left Roma, to help make up the final measure of the ransom.”
There were shouts of protest. “Us?” said Manlius. “For months we’ve eaten fly-blown flour and drunk nothing but rainwater! These people have nothing left to give!”
“Are you sure? Perhaps some of you know where treasure was buried, to hide it from the Gauls. Perhaps some of the women still have a few pieces of jewelry. All the Roman women in exile have already contributed every piece of jewelry they possessed.”
“This is wrong!” shouted Manlius. “Our women should not be stripped of every ornament, simply to satisfy the greed of Brennus.”
“There is no other way,” said the messenger. “The Gauls must be paid. Once they leave, the city will be ours again, and we can begin to rebuild.”
Dorso looked over his shoulder at Pennatus and grinned. “Perhaps you should donate that little talisman you wear so proudly.”
Pennatus gripped the image of Fascinus. He scowled and clutched it so hard that his knuckles grew pale.
Dorso laughed. “Relax, Pennatus! I was only joking. Not even a Gaul would want that worthless piece of lead!”
The ransom was paid in the Forum.
Brennus insisted on a formal ceremony at which Camillus himself was present. Those on the Capitoline watched the transaction with mingled dismay and relief. The Gauls produced a huge set of scales, large enough to weigh a whole ox. Lead weights were placed on one tray. The Roman emissaries piled the ransom onto the other. The treasure of ingots, coins, and jewels rose higher and higher, until at last the lead weights began to rise.
The two sides of the scale reached equilibrium. A sigh passed through the crowd watching from the Capitoline, to see such a fortune paid to recover the city that was theirs by birthright.
Down in the Forum, Brennus strutted before the scales and laughed. “Not quite enough!” he shouted.
Camillus looked at him darkly. “What are you saying? The scales are balanced.”
“I forgot to include
Groans of anger and disgust rose from the Roman delegation. Some of the officers reached for their swords, but Camillus held up his hand to stay them. “We have yet a little more treasure in reserve. Place it on the scales.”
More was added to the ransom, until the two sides were balanced again. Brennus let out a roar of triumph and clapped his hands. The Gauls broke into raucous cheering and laughter. Even from the Capitoline, the watchers could see Camillus’s face turn dark red from fury and chagrin.
Pinaria, watching with the rest, suddenly felt the presence of Pennatus beside her. His hand sought hers. She submitted to linking her fingers with his. “Whatever may happen, Pinaria, I love you!” he whispered.
“And I…” She could not bring herself to say the words. She let out a gasp, drew back her hand, and placed it on her belly. The baby was kicking inside her. She sensed that the time was drawing very near.
Like a ruinous floodtide receding, the Gauls withdrew from Roma. The process took several days; there were a great many of them, and they were not in a hurry. They continued to rummage for loot and set fires until the final hour of their occupation.
The Romans on the Capitoline, despite their impatience, waited until the last Gaul had departed before they began to climb over the barricades and descend the winding path. Elated to be free at last, but horrified at the wreckage of their beloved city, they dispersed across the Seven Hills, each seeking a remnant of home, and awaited the return of Camillus and the exiles.
Dorso, with Pennatus at his side, accompanied Pinaria to the doorway of the House of the Vestals. The structure appeared to be intact, though the doors had been broken open and hung crookedly from their hinges.
Trembling, Pinaria stepped inside. Dorso moved to follow her, but Pinaria shook her head. “No, stay back. What I must do here, I must do alone.”
“But we can’t be sure it’s safe. I can’t leave you, Vestal.”
“Of course you can! Do you think the goddess has protected me this long, only to allow some misfortune to befall me in the House of the Vestals? Go, Dorso. Leave me, so that I can set about purifying the house before the other Vestals return. Aren’t you eager to see what’s become of your own house?”
Dorso frowned. “And you, Pennatus? Where will you go?”
