'Purely by cioncidence,' I said, 'I happened to be in the vicinity of the Temple of Vesta that day. I, too, heard Cassandra. I had never seen her before. I wasn't sure how to react. While I hesitated, I saw Fabia emerge from the temple with two other Vestals. I saw them take Cassandra inside. What happened next?'
Terentia gave me a long, hard look. 'My husband calls you an honest man, Gordianus, 'the last honest man in Rome,' in fact.'
'Cicero honors me.'
'And don't think, just because I never had occasion to formally thank you, that I've ever forgotten the great favor you did for my sister all those years ago when you sniffed out the truth when some of the Vestals were accused of breaking their vows. Fabia would have been buried alive if her accusers had succeeded in convincing the court that she conducted an improper liaison with Catilina. Buried alive! It still pains my heart, just to think of it. My darling half-sister was so young back then. So beautiful. There were those who actually believed she might have committed such a foul crime, but you saved her life. Cicero called on you to investigate the matter, and you proved that Fabia was innocent.'
This was not quite how I remembered the affair. At the time, it had seemed to me that Catilina-a dissolute and charming upstart not unlike Terentia's son-in-law Dolabella-might or might not have managed to seduce the tremulous young virgin Fabia within the very confines of the House of the Vestals. But that was twenty-five years ago, and a great deal had happened since; and if Terentia remembered one reality while I remembered another, only the gods-or Fabia herself-could have said which of us remembered the truth.
Terentia gave me a long, appraising look, then seemed to come to some decision. She clapped her hands. A slave came running. Terentia gave the girl a whispered instruction, and the slave ran off. A few moments later I heard the rustling sound made by the folds of a voluminous stola, and a moment later Fabia herself appeared in the doorway.
She was magnificently attired in the full costume of a Vestal. Her hair, shot through with gray now, was cut quite short. Around her forehead she wore a broad white band, like a diadem, decorated with ribbons. Her stola was white and plain, but cut to hang from her body with many folds. About her shoulders she wore the white linen mantle of a Vestal.
'Sister, I think you may recall Gordianus,' said Terentia.
Fabia had grown older, but she was a striking woman. What had changed most was her manner. I had met her at a time of crisis, when she was young and confused and in terrible danger-and quite possibly guilty of the unspeakable crime of which she had been accused. She had survived that episode, and the travail had made her stronger. Presumably she had maintained her vow of chastity, whether she had briefly interrupted it with Catilina or not; and that sort of discipline, year in and year out, and the state of childlessness it ensured, was said to give a woman a special kind of strength. Fabia certainly looked imposing enough, standing there in the doorway, taking stock of her sister's two visitors. Her eyes swept over Davus with hardly a pause and settled on me. In her steady gaze I saw little to remind me of the frail girl I had once assisted at Cicero's behest.
'I remember you, Gordianus,' she said, without emotion.
'Gordianus is here to ask questions about Cassandra,' said Terentia.
'Why?' said Fabia.
'I believe she was murdered,' I said.
Fabia drew in a breath. 'We thought-because her mind was frail-that perhaps her body was frail as well. We thought perhaps she died of some… natural cause.'
'She was poisoned,' I said, trying to make my face as rigid as Fabia's to hide the pain the words caused me.
'Poisoned,' whispered Fabia. 'I see. But why have you come here? What do you want from me?'
'You were one of the first women in Rome to befriend her,' I said.
'Befriend? Not exactly. I saw a woman in distress. When I approached her, when I heard the nature of her ranting, I sensed the truth-that she was a woman possessed of the gift of prophecy. I took her into the Temple of Vesta, where the goddess could keep her safe while the gift possessed her. I acted as a priestess, not a friend. I acted out of piety, not pity.'
'Who was she? Where did she come from?'
'Of her earthly origins, I know nothing. She herself had forgotten.'
'But how could you tell that she possessed this gift you speak of? How could you tell that she wasn't simply mad?'
Fabia smiled faintly. 'You may be wise in the ways of the world, Gordianus, especially in the ways of men. But this was a divine matter-and a matter for women.'
'Are you saying that men have no access to divine knowledge? The augurs-'
'Yes, the College of Augurs is made up of men, and for centuries they've passed down their own methods for reading omens-studying the flights of birds, listening to thunder, watching the play of lightning across the heavens. The sky is Jupiter's realm, and such signs come directly from the King of Gods himself. And the men elected to the College of Fifteen likewise look for signs of the future by consulting the oracles in the ancient Sibylline Books. But there are other, more subtle ways in which the gods make their will known to us, and by which they show us the paths to the future. Many of those methods fall outside the ken of men. Only women know. Only women understand.'
'And it was your understanding that Cassandra possessed a true gift of prophecy?'
'When she was possessed, she saw beyond this world.'
'The Trojan Cassandra heard messages from the other world.'
'Our Cassandra's gift came to her mostly in the form of visions. What she saw, she didn't always understand and couldn't always put into words. She herself made no interpretation of her visions; she only related them as they occurred. Often she had no recollection of them afterward.'
'I should think such a gift would be rather unreliable, producing more riddles than answers.'
'Her visions required interpretation, if that's what you mean. Not a suitable job for your College of Augurs! But if a person listened to her closely, and if that person already possessed a genuine sympathy for the divine world-'
'A person like yourself,' I said.
'Yes, I was able to make sense of Cassandra's visions. That was why I arranged for her to come here, to Terentia's house, on more than one occasion.'
'And did she always prophesy?'
'Almost always. There was a method that helped to induce her visions.'
'What was that?'
'If she sat in a still, darkroom and gazed at a flame, almost always the visions would come to her.'
'And before or after, you would give her food and drink?'
'Of course we would,' said Terentia. 'She was treated as kindly in my house as any other guest.'
'Even though you had no idea of who she really was or where she came from?'
'It was her gift that interested us,' said Fabia, 'not her family history or the name she was born with.'
'And when Cassandra delivered these prophecies, what did you make of them?'
The two sisters exchanged a searching look, silently debating how much they should tell me.
Fabia finally spoke. 'Cassandra had many visions, but there was one in particular-a recurring vision of two lions battling one another over the carcass of a she-wolf.'
'How did you interpret this vision?'
'The she-wolf was Rome, of course. The lions were Pompey and Caesar.'
'And which of them killed the other and ate the carcass?'
'Neither.'
'I don't understand. Did they split the she-wolf between them?' I imagined the Roman world split permanently between two factions, Caesar ruling the West, Pompey ruling the East. 'One world split between two Roman empires-could such an arrangement ever last?'
'No, no, no!' said Terentia. 'You misunderstand. Tell him, Fabia!'
'The vision ended with a miracle,' said Fabia. 'The she-wolf sprang back to life, and grew until she towered over the lions, who gave up fighting and meekly lay down together, licking at each other's wounds.'
'What did the vision mean?'
