Mortuus Virgo

India snatched the note with a snarl, but as she walked towards the ice cream stand, a slight smile played around her mouth.

An hour later they were sat on a bench in the shade of a dried olive tree. Finally the Italian reappeared with a reluctant looking old man.

‘Is this him?’ asked Brandon.

‘This is Louigi,’ said the younger man.

Brandon held out his hand.

‘Hello, Louigi,’ he said, ‘I’m Brandon and this is India.’

‘Ciao,’ said Louigi and shook Brandon’s hand.

‘I hear you were the best guide on the Palatine,’ said Brandon.

‘Still am,’ said Louigi, ‘These others are just amateurs selling their stories to the tourists that pay the best money.’

‘Surely, they’re not all bad,’ said Brandon.

‘Not all, but most. So, English, what do you want to know?’

Brandon looked at India.

‘I think this is where you step in,’ he said.

‘Hello, Louigi,’ she said. ‘We want to know about the history of the Palatine and in particular, the Temple of Vesta.’

‘Ah, the Vestals,’ said Louigi, ‘Well, Miss India, this is your lucky day. The history of the Sisters is my particular favourite. Come with me.’ He turned and walked back the way he had come.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Brandon, ‘I may be no expert but isn’t the Forum that way?’ He pointed up the hill towards the main ruins.

The old man stopped and turned around.

‘If you want to be a sheep, join the flock,’ he said, ‘My story lies this way.’ He turned and led them down a cobbled side road away from the growing crowds.

Ten minutes later they ducked under a wire perimeter fence and walked across a rough piece of ground.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Brandon.

Louigi didn’t answer but continued up a small grassy rise. He stopped and waited for the others to catch him up. They stood alongside each other gazing at the whole of the Palatine hill rising before them, magnificent in its splendour.

‘Wow!’ said India, ‘That is beautiful.’

Louigi sat down on the grass and patted the ground beside him.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘Sit.’

Brandon looked at India and shrugged his shoulders before sitting to the left of Louigi. India sat to his right.

‘Look before you,’ said Louigi sweeping his hand across the vista to their front.’ Tell me what you see.’

‘Um, buildings,’ said Brandon, ‘Ruins of a city. Some trees, a couple of column things and tourists, lots of tourists.’

Louigi gave him a look bordering on contempt before turning his attention to India.

‘And you, Lady India?’ He asked, ‘What do you see?’

India held his gaze for a moment before turning her gaze back to the city.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘That building complex over there is the arch of Septimus Severus. I think that one over there is the Temple of Julius Caesar. I can see the Temple of Vesta and of course the Forum Romanum.’

Louigi nodded appreciatively.

‘I can see you have some knowledge,’ he said. ‘You have learned from lessons in school and from books in your libraries. This is all very well but you need to look past the bricks and mortar. Look past the photographic images and let your soul see what I see.’

‘And what is that?’ asked Brandon.

Louigi took a deep breath and half closed his eyes.

‘Oh, the sights are truly wonderful,’ he said. ‘Not archaeology or sightseers but a living breathing city. Imagine these buildings glistening in the sunlight, soaring skyward in the morning sun, the colours vibrant and powerful. The main street running through the centre of the Forum, flanked by a row of stunning marble Colonnades stretching as far as the city walls in the distance. The street is full of people bustling back and fore, going about their business. Slaves in simple tunics carrying their Master’s wares to the markets or pulling hand carts piled high with bales of cloth and amphorae of wine. Ladies dressed in swathes of beautiful coloured cloth making their way to buy the day’s food, and the business men in their Toga’s heading to the Forum for a day’s debate on the politics of the day. And then there’s the smells,’ he continued, ‘Can you imagine? Hundreds of ovens in this area alone, making the bread for the city. Roasting hops from the breweries. Stalls piled high with fish from the Mediterranean and spices from the eastern borders of the empire.’

‘You see, English, when I walk these streets I breathe the history. Rome is more than just a tourist attraction. She is, and always has been a living breathing entity. Millions of people visit every year yet only a tiny proportion care about her history. Her traumatic birth, her violent youth and glorious adulthood, yet, though she is old, she has not yet died. Yes she is changing but these ruins in front of you are nothing but an outfit she is discarding in favour of a more modern image.’

‘Such is my city, English. So ask your questions and I will tell you my stories. But complain not if my answers do not match the history books. My tales are from the mouth of my grandmother and a hundred grandmothers before her.’ He stopped and lit a cigarette, breathing in the smoke deeply as he looked over the city he so obviously loved.

A short silence followed before India spoke.

‘You are obviously very passionate about your home, Louigi,’ she said, ‘But we were wondering whether you could let us know anything about the Vestal Virgins.’

‘Aaah, the Sisters,’ he said, ‘The most purest and misunderstood citizens of Rome. Well, I suppose you already know the basics. The recruitment process, the training and their lifetime of devotion to the Goddess Vesta. Over the millennia, their purity and devotion became the focus for poets and writers alike and legends have arisen around them. The very mention of their name conjures up stories of drama and beauty. Some true, many false but all passionate.’

‘It must have been a very holy existence,’ said India.

‘And boring,’ said Brandon.

‘Oh don’t believe everything you have heard,’ said Louigi. ‘Yes, most of them were chaste but don’t forget, they were recruited between the age of six and ten, and were closely guarded over the next ten years while they were trained. This meant that when they were finally allowed out into the wider world they would have been in their late teens and early twenties. An age when their hormones would have been rampant. In a city where sex and debauchery were not only freely available but celebrated, they would have been exposed to temptation all around. Many fell foul of their own desires and broke the vows of chastity.’

‘Hang on,’ said Brandon, turning to India, ‘I thought you said that anyone caught having sex were buried alive.’

‘Oh many were,’ interrupted Louigi, Throughout Rome’s history, twenty two Vestals were found guilty of breaking their chastity. Eighteen of those were buried alive.

‘What about the other four?’ asked Brandon

‘Two killed themselves, one was forced to marry the madman Emperor Heliogabalus, but there is no record of what happened to the last one, apart from the fact she was murdered by Nero.’

‘Really?’ asked India

‘Absolutely!’ said Louigi. ‘Though many historians say that Nero married the Vestal Rubria in 64 AD, the fact is he raped her and then got rid of her body.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Brandon.

‘We know Rubria was a particularly beautiful woman with long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. We also