sealed, every client of Lucilla’s raised the subject during her coiffure. Most women of any standing knew Cornelia socially.
There were six Vestal Virgins, who were selected by lot between six and ten years old. Taken from their parents, they spent ten years learning their duties, ten years conducting the rituals and ten more teaching new girls. Instantly recognisable with their hair braided with white fillets, and with Hercules Knots on their girdles to symbolise chastity, every day the Vestals walked to a sacred spring and fetched water for the ritual cleansing of their beautiful round temple. Every day they were responsible for keeping alive the flame of Vesta, goddess of the hearth, which must never go out (though it did sometimes) because it had been brought from Troy by Aeneas who founded Rome (in one version). Upon the eternal flame depended Rome’s survival.
As part of their initiation, Vestals took a vow of chastity. In return they received exceptional privileges. A lictor attended each of them everywhere as a sign of their power. They could make their own wills, were not obliged to have guardians, took special seats at festivals and rode in carriages. This perhaps provided a freedom of movement that was useful for the few who erred. Not only did they attend the Games, they visited respectable homes, where it was considered a privilege to have them to dinner. As guests, they came to know not only the matrons of Rome, but over their oysters, rich meats and fine wines these revered women had a chance, if they were so inclined, to flirt with men.
Given that early in Domitian’s reign three of the four adult Vestals had been exiled for taking lovers, it was clear that their inexperience was theoretical; flighty ones could flirt most efficiently. Varronilla and the Oculata sisters had been found guilty. Domitian exercised leniency, so instead of exacting the traditional brutal punishments, he only banished their lovers and let the three guilty Virgins choose their own deaths. Cornelia had been tried too, but acquitted on that occasion. This time, it was clear she would not escape so lightly.
Interfering with a virgin was normally challenged in the courts as stuprum, the same crime that Vinius had held over Orgilius. Because of the Vestals’ special symbolic role, their purity was a religious commodity. As it ensured the continuing safety of Rome, its loss was a national calamity. Yet upon their appointment Vestals were taken from their relatives and the whole of Rome became their family, which meant anyone who slept with a Vestal was committing incest. That was the charge against Cornelia and her lovers now. Punishments had been devised in the remote past. Guilty lovers were hung from a cross in the Forum and thrashed to death with rods. A convicted Virgin must be buried alive. It had happened, although not for a very long time.
Lucilla’s customers divided: some were appalled at the obsolete penalty being meted out in a now-civilised society; others were disgusted that a woman who had enjoyed enormous privileges could not manage to keep her vows and keep her legs together. All were fiercely indignant that Domitian tried Cornelia in her absence. It had always been traditional that, with their unique legal position, unlike other women Vestals were allowed to attend a trial and to represent themselves. Charges would be heard by the college of priests, in the Regia, the pontifical offices. There, a Vestal would be like a disgraced daughter facing a family council, which in Rome carried the force of law yet was dignified and private.
This trial took place at the Emperor’s Alban villa. It was not held in secret; other emperors had been severely criticised for political hearings held behind closed doors. Domitian summoned all the priests to him there and, as Pontifex Maximus, he presided as if in open court. Cornelia remained in Rome, in the House of the Vestals — which had been newly enlarged and restored by Domitian as part of his civic building programme, though not really with the intention of providing a more luxurious place for wicked women to endure house arrest.
Ironically, there was a special sanctuary of Vesta at Alba Longa, associated with the sacred flame, which Aeneas’ son Ascanius was supposed to have first deposited there after arriving from Troy. Cornelia could have been moved to Alba and permitted to attend her trial. Domitian, who had tunnel vision when it suited him, overlooked this.
Mettius Carus prosecuted. He was an informer setting out on a career of supporting Domitian, whose examination of witnesses would become famous for its cruelty. One senator, allegedly, was so stressed by Carus’ harshness, he collapsed and died in the Curia.
Despite rigorous questioning, the case proved extremely difficult. It began to look as if the Chief Vestal would be acquitted again, leaving Domitian shamefaced. He wanted to be seen as an unflinching keeper of religious observance. To charge a guilty Vestal would be painful, but he would endure it for the welfare of Rome. However, to charge an innocent Vestal would be criminal and an offence to the gods. If she was exonerated, he would come out of this looking far worse than when he began.
Cornelia’s supposed lovers ranged from an equestrian called Celer to the highest, Valerius Licinianus, a senatorial ex-praetor, just one rank down from consul. No one of that status could be tortured, nor even have arresting hands laid on him. The lovers all had legal training; Licinianus was considered one of the best advocates in Rome. As praetor, he had been the city’s senior magistrate, presiding over the legal code. The prosecutor, Carus, carried much less weight and for a long time could make no progress in trying to extract confessions. The only evidence against Licinianus appeared to be that he had given refuge to one of Cornelia’s freedwomen, though that did argue for friendship between him and the Virgin beforehand.
Seeing the case slip away without witnesses, Domitian began to ferment with anxiety. Then, at the last gasp, friends of Licinianus persuaded him he was doomed either way. Domitian was intent on pushing through the charges. To escape dying under the rods, Licinianus needed to admit guilt and beg the Emperor for mercy. He suddenly confessed — or, as Herrenius Senecio described it dryly, speaking for him in court: Valerius Licinianus ‘withdrew his defence’.
Ecstatic and relieved, Domitian bounded through the villa at Alba, crowing that Licinianus had exonerated the prosecution. The ex-praetor’s life was spared. He was exiled, but first allowed to take as many of his possessions as he could carry away before they were officially confiscated. Licinianus was never asked to give details of his admitted affair, even though in the absence of formal evidence the question of Cornelia’s guilt or innocence would remain permanently clouded.
The other purported lovers continued to deny the charges. They were condemned by association and beaten to death as tradition demanded. Celer, for one, died under the rods still protesting his innocence.
The Chief Vestal herself was condemned to the old punishment of interment underground, an example of Domitian’s rigid adherence to the law. The punishment would be supervised by the college of pontiffs, fifteen fusty priests of the state religion; if he decided to join in, Domitian would be there as Pontifex Maximus. However much Domitian longed to enhance his reputation, the whole affair was extremely unpopular. There were, therefore, concerns about law and order on the day. The college of pontiffs would take responsibility for the woman’s burial. Otherwise, oversight of security on this unpleasant state occasion was assigned to the Guards: an ideal test for their new chief-of-staff, Clodianus. He found himself lumbered with ensuring there were no disturbances.
Vinius Clodianus happened to be good at logistics and in his odd way even enjoyed practical arrangements. The more unusual, the more he rose to the challenge. That was why he had this job. He had been sidekick to not just one but two of the army’s best scamming, bluffing, fiddle-fixing senior officers: Decius Gracilis and the previous cornicularius, a pair of tough old soldiers who had consistently escaped from hairy moments as if going for a stroll on a beach. He had learned much from them. He knew he must prepare in meticulous detail, on the basis that if the worst could happen, it would. He was unfazed. He could plan the unplannable — as this was, given that no one could remember the last Vestal Virgin interment. There was no entry in the manual for ensuring a live burial went off quietly.
He conducted research. He pored over historical records. He familiarised himself with the traditional order of events. Much was shrouded in secrecy but he made an intelligent guess at the protocol.
He organised a runner to liaise with the college of pontiffs, so even though the snooty priests were ritually intent on not telling him anything, with luck he would at least know when the party was about to start. The Praetorians would arrive on time. If Domitian suddenly sailed down from Alba to watch, Clodianus would make sure the tribune of the day supplied an appropriate honour guard. Once the target had been dropped tidily inside her tomb, the only requirement was for a very discreet detail to conduct observation at the site. A small daily presence. With perhaps tighter precautions nightly. Just in case any subversive idiots — stoics, Christians, sons of senators out on a drunken spree, do-gooding women who should be at home weaving — scuttled up under cover of darkness to start removing earth.
A couple of rotas would do it. That, and maniacal supervision, which he would undertake himself. Clodianus would take no chances. He would be on duty throughout.
It was sorted. He ought to be confident. However, it was his first major exercise, when he had yet to get his
