Seducing the Flame

By Timothy James Kelley

“The flame flickered, its writhing shadow cast upon a woman gasping for air. She was the hope of the empire–the flame the symbol of its strength and both were starving.” Their sanctity guarantees the growth of Imperial Rome. Unfortunately, someone is seducing the Vestal Virgins, and the fate of the empire is at stake. Ancient Rome expects its volatile emperor to solve the mystery, but Caligula, teetering between insanity and reality, has other priorities. Seducing the Flame, a historical thriller based on real events and characters, is a story of political savagery and the desperate attempt to save a fabled empire as fragile as the flame flickering in the tomb of the latest virgin buried alive…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483463612

Book preview

burning…

PROLOGUE

(Week 1, April 28)

The flame flickered, its writhing shadow cast upon a woman gasping for air. She was the hope of the empire. The flame was the symbol of its strength. Both were starving.

She sat in a glistening cave, a clammy entrapment where moisture clung to everything including the oil lamp perched up and to her left. The silence was oppressive. Amelia had remained strong through her trial. She had even remained silent during her punishment.

She believed in a different ending.

Slithering off the side of her rock, the sash of Amelia’s gown wound itself between her bruised legs to reveal scratches of violent transport. Above her, the lamp fought the dark, and she struggled to find the point from where she had been dropped into this tomb. It was the point where he would come. She was sure of it. As sure as she was that he was running out of time.

Her hand snaked out and touched the only other object that had been placed here with her; a loaf of bread. The crust had been permeated by the damp but the inside was still dry. Amelia weakly tore away a morsel and brought it hesitantly to her mouth.

The ceiling groaned.

The bread was forgotten as Amelia clambered to her feet, staring frantically beyond the glow of the lamp. But she had risen too fast and thus she fell, losing her balance in a wave of vertigo that claimed her poise. She contorted, like a cat stretching with a broken back, and strained to see beyond the light that hissed in anger, desperately sucking energy from the remains of fragrant oil. Amelia’s energy was spent as well. But her mouth parted, cracked and dry with crumbs. She needed to speak. She needed to finally utter what she had wanted to say for over a week. But now, when she did, the sound of her words only went as far as the edge of her lips. The weight of her doom had crushed the strength of her faith, and as this young symbol of hope succumbed to the darkness, the flame up above sputtered one final gasp and surrendered as well.

CHAPTER 1

Week 2, May 5

Desperation overlooks much, but even this man, half-crazed with fear, noticed the sun’s strength early in the morning. As he passed by the market in the Forum, jewels from afar twinkled at the dawn while the reflections from precious metals pounded into weapons of war swept like waves through the canopies. The riches of the empire were for sale, waiting on crude wooden tables for greedy hands to clutch. Their value determined by screaming demands. Yet even greedy eyes had been drawn to the man who frantically stumbled by. This particular prisoner had been condemned for rape. He was on his way to a stoning. His own. Rocks could be cast by anyone willing to reach down to the ground.

Avarice became secondary to a more powerful lust.

The man felt a tug on the rope bound about his waist. He tumbled down on his elbow; the pain from the impact of the marble road bursting up through his forehead. He lay there for a moment, trying to gather his strength. Then he felt his body dragging forward again, mercilessly pulled by the soldiers leading the procession. The dust of the road impregnated his skin, and the jostle of the uneven path jarred him to the bone. Even so, he had the presence to notice the Temple of the Vestals. It was a small but no-less-sacred site, and not for the first time, the hapless convict watched the sun pour around the shadow that gripped Rome’s imperial flame, no longer alight.

He struggled to his feet once again, protecting his elbow. The rope continued jerking him forward like a tortured marionette dancing against fate. The mother of a five-year-old looked on and laughed at his plight while her son spat at the puppet’s feet. They were part of a crowd sluicing through the archway that led to the marketplace. People lined the streets the way the ocean patrols the edge of a beach, their conversations undulating amidst the sounds of the city. This was a throng looking to pelt someone with a harsh lesson in destiny.

The cordon of centurions crossed a parallel street to the market, and it was then that the river of citizens eddied and swirled around an impediment. Dressed all in white, a woman carefully stepped along the cobblestones. She cut through the throng like a scepter of granite worn sharp by a river’s current. Her hair was long but tied up to reveal the gentle curve of her neck. Her eyes were a piercing emerald and her nose—delightfully imbalanced—was sharp but supple. She was a presence, even without the robe. The strength of her athletic stride matched the grace of her delicate waist.

She was walking west along the causeway, and the crowd found itself exchanging its gaze from criminal to innocent—one covered in the grime of the street, the other pristine and pure.

As the woman walked, her tiny but oddly powerful hands clutched a lamp she had carried from Apollo’s temple. Everyone in the street understood her destination. It was why they reverentially parted before her. It was why, as she grew closer and closer to her objective, the throng began to realize the innocent’s path would cross the criminal’s.

Most simply fingered their stones and waited for the outcome. Others clutched them tighter. But all were still, save for the procession that continued to the Forum where Julius Caesar once regaled the greatest empire in the world.

The woman came to the crossroads and stopped, only slightly aware of the crowd’s bated breath. Her name was Panthia. She was the chief of the vestal virgins, the Virgo Maxima. She was too preoccupied with her mission to notice that the crowd was unusually quiet for a stoning. Then she looked down and took note of a streak on the marble road, a path of white amidst the road’s grime. She tentatively stretched her slender, bare foot forward and placed it on the mark. It was cool and free of the soil that normally tickled the bottom of her feet. She placed her other foot on the same cool spot, and even the centurions farther down the road stopped. She stepped forward, crossing back into the soiled normality to reach her temple, stretching forward through slender pillars to open her lamp. She took a moment to inhale the gentle fragrance of the incense before lighting the wick that had been dormant for too long. It was then that she heard the odd clacking sound of rocks dropping onto the roadside.

CHAPTER 2

May 6

Rome had been quiet for weeks because the emperor had fallen ill. Not a festival had opened, and laughter had been forbidden. Even the barbershops had been closed—shaving and open discussion had been banned. Frivolity was illegal and playing in the streets could result in the execution of a child. Only the Senate met as usual, condemning a rapist the emperor himself had accused before his illness. It was the only action Roman citizens tasted in these silent times.

Few emperors had come into power with such acceptance and instant reverence. The son of general Germanicus had enjoyed a good start. He had thrown festival after festival while enjoying the good fortune of settling some dangerous political affairs in France.

Now doctors despaired for his life. Thousands of Romans silently waited for news outside his extravagant home in the Palatine. But under their breaths, men with pathetic whiskers quietly discussed the cause of the malady. Some explained that the emperor had clearly overextended himself to please the public. This was the politically expedient theory. Most subscribed to a different notion.

Jove was punishing Rome for the rape and subsequent condemnation of the virgins. The goddess Vesta had always been close to Jove, and defiling her earthly ministers did not sit well with the despotic leader of the gods.

Most believed that the only thing that would save their emperor would be the discovery and prosecution of the rapist. But now, the chief vestal herself, the Virgo Maxima, had overturned the conviction. It was the tradition that if ever a vestal virgin crossed the path of a condemned criminal, he was to be set free. In this case, the pardoned criminal was the one who had allegedly raped Amelia, a virgin who fell from grace and was executed in the traditional manner—buried alive in Campus Sceleratus, the Field of Unhappiness under Quirinal Hill.

Freeing the seducer was not a good omen for the city…or for its popular emperor.

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Vitellus hated being separated from Panthia. But he knew that, even when he was in Rome with her, she could be aloof.

It was her job. Her calling. Her vow.

Senator Vitellus was one of the most powerful men in Rome. His strength lay in the way he handled others. He was a listener with an empathetic ear, and he had once been a soldier and a revered chariot racer. In the rarified and aristocratic Senate, his ability to include a common citizen’s perspectives empowered him to a degree exceeded only by the emperor himself.

It was a dangerous privilege. It was why he needed a retreat.

He found it during his triumphant return from France, and now he sat in what would soon be the peristyle of his new home—his escape from the intrigues of Rome—Vallis Pennina.

The emperor had graciously allowed Vitellus to charter the land; about half a day’s ride from the St. Bernard Pass in the Alps. Initially, a different senator, the primary benefactor of the vast imperial highway system, suggested the location. He desired the commission to make the mountain pass accessible; more construction meant more money. The emperor was not so sure and held back the commission. Nevertheless, Vitellus, who loved the air of the Alpine region, supported the idea. It was to be the new center of Europe, he argued, and in the heart of the city would be a huge archway—an arch that would praise the virtues of the emperor.

It was not too hard to see how Vitellus got the emperor’s blessing.

In the past week, the city walls had been completed and the construction of the central gate to the market was underway. Vitellus’s dwelling was away from the center, hovering on a ledge overlooking the Rhone Valley. Vitellus had demanded the home with the most impressive view.

The senator sighed and bent over to scratch his ankles, feeling a twinge in his back that also pricked his soul. He missed Panthia’s massages and needed one now. They had met some time ago at an artistic affair; a showing by one of the local sculptures in the home of Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus—a long name for a hobbled man with an apparently discomforting manner. Many believed he was a fool. Vitellus, knowing him closely, found the opposite to be true. Unlike many of the others in his lineage, Claudius had clearly inherited from his grandmother, Livia, the instinct for survival. She had been Tiberius’s wife and, at one time, the most powerful woman in Rome. Vitellus had always referred to her as the kingmaker and Claudius shared his view.

But at the party, neither of them talked politics. They didn’t even talk much about the older man’s favorite subject, Vitellus’s marital status. Years ago, Vitellus had been heartbroken by the death of his wife. But his rise in the Senate demanded work that erased his pain. He found he could consider life without a companion. Claudius, who never understood this notion, continually introduced Vitellus to the finest of Rome’s female citizenry. To be polite, Vitellus tried. He went out to dinners with people he met in the market. He struggled to make conversation with women from Greece or even Egypt.

Then, while admiring a sculpture during Claudius’s party, he watched the wily historian walk in with an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Vitellus immediately took note of her confidence. She was quiet and slightly underdressed for the occasion. She absorbed the art she examined, all the while taking in the festivities with calm detachment. Occasionally she would catch the lonely senator’s eye, but she wouldn’t start away as most people do. She returned his glance and then casually shifted back to the conversation she was enjoying.

Vitellus crossed over to Claudius at his soonest opportunity.

Who, he stammered, who is that? He was a little surprised that Claudius hadn’t made an introduction.

You don’t know who that is? Claudius asked astonished.

Vitellus looked again. She did look a little familiar but he couldn’t place her. Claudius was greatly amused. But he tugged at his goatee and checked his smile.

Go talk to her, he murmured softly.

Vitellus turned back to his friend. What do you know that I don’t?

Claudius smiled and firmly shook his head.

Vitellus hesitated. He had never been good at introducing himself. For all of his political acumen he was still shy with the fairer sex. But he picked up a goblet of wine, took a deep breath, and hesitantly crossed the room.

The object of Vitellus’s fascination turned to him, and the two fairly effortlessly began to discuss art and journeys. The conversation surprised Vitellus because women were usually not so well informed or as well traveled as this one. They discussed Sicily and of course Egypt. Then Vitellus found himself asking her if she would join him at one of his favorite eateries at the edge of the Tiber.

She wondered why this charming man would want to meet with her. He was a senator after all, and clearly at work. She wondered if at one time, everyone eventually met with him at his favorite restaurant. But she decided to say yes and only a few hours later, after some careful wardrobe changes, she found herself walking down a little dock to an open area where there were four empty tables and one with a candle and rushing water flowing underneath. Vitellus was there and when he saw her striding down the gangway he understood Claudius’s little grin. She was indeed a striking figure and a powerful one at that. She was the Virgo Maxima and for the senator, she was forbidden fruit.

CHAPTER 3

(May 7)

It was a handsome but cool evening. The stars were clear, conspiratorially winking at two women cozily entwined in the embrace of a beautiful pool. Heated water was an unmitigated luxury but for both, extravagance was an expectation. They were the emperor’s sisters and, as they lay together feeling the balmy liquid caress their bodies, steam whispering through the tendrils of their hair, they were crying.

Drusilla was sobbing violently. Agrippina, younger, fair haired and slender, reached over and gently stroked her sister’s shoulder even while her own eyes wept with shame.

He will be laughed out of the city. Drusilla pleaded to no one in particular. After all we have done, after all…

Agrippina nodded and continued her ministrations. There was little else to say.

The day had begun as it had for weeks. Everyone in the house carefully stepped on leather slippers to reduce the noise. Drusilla arranged a breakfast full of exotic and enticing fruits. Together with her sister, she carefully arranged the tray next to their brother who was sleeping in his palatial boudoir. Pillows were cast on the floor and his rumpled cotton sheets had been creased and shaped so that it appeared that someone else had joined him in the bed. He had tossed-and-turned a lot that evening. But then again, sleep never came easily to him. Even before his illness.

Drusilla climbed in the bed and pushed the sheets aside. She cupped her body against the tense but sleeping man. He groaned but did not resist as she tenderly laid her arm across his waist. In the meantime, Agrippina had knelt at the other side, a cup of fresh juice in her hand to wipe away the early morning taste. Gently, ever so gently, Drusilla leaned her lips up against her brother’s ears and whispered,

Wake up brother. Awake our ‘little boots’…

The suffering lord felt her warmth against his back. He carefully inched his waist backwards, rubbing his buttocks against her groin. He felt a small gasp against his ear and he grinned wickedly, slowly opening his eyes to the beauty of Agrippina. She smiled, her eyes inviting him to drink. It was a delightful way to awake but as he reached for the silver goblet, he saw his reflection in its polished surface. It startled but then filled him with unutterable joy.

With a loud shriek he leapt up from the bed. Agrippina fell backwards, the contents of the goblet flying all over her silken pajamas. Drusilla’s arm was flung in the opposite direction. She found herself spinning from the force of his rise to the edge of the bed. She subsequently fell, hitting the hard marble floor with her shoulder and head. There was a crack and a flash in her eyes before she blacked out completely.

Agrippina, hearing the thud, immediately leapt to her feet and rushed to her stricken sister. The emperor was oblivious. He was dancing around in his silken robe repeatedly shouting something about revelation. Drusilla moaned and softly awoke in her sister’s arms. Her head was throbbing and every brotherly exhortation buried into a nerve on her neck. She was in agony and he was in ecstasy. Agrippina was in a state of confusion.

Surprising them both, the emperor suddenly thrust himself down upon his sisters. He demanded they look at his face—to look into his eyes.

I’m cured! he shouted, screaming against his sister’s grimaces that he had ‘metamorphosed’. His sisters only dimly followed the gibberish as he prattled on and on about Augustus, the father of the empire, and Germanicus, their father. It was only after the emperor had slobbered them with kisses and raised his battered older sister gently to his bed that he calmed down enough to explain, to their horror, exactly what the shouting was about.

Now they lay in the pool, cursing their riches and cursing the gods for the torment of their fate. These two women had everything in life. Now it would all be taken away.

What should we do? Agrippina asked Drusilla.

Drusilla, carefully massaging her temples, grimaced in pain. I don’t know. I really don’t know. He still loves us. That is some consolation…

But no protection, Agrippina interjected.

Maybe, but maybe it is…oh, my head is killing me! Drusilla exclaimed

It won’t be the only killing I’m afraid.

Drusilla turned to her sister in amazement. What do you mean?

Agrippina raised her hand and caressed Drusilla’s damaged cheek.

I mean that unless we figure out a way to change his mind, the Senate will reject him as emperor. All will be lost. Including lives, maybe ours…

Drusilla shook her head and regretted it instantly. Agrippina made clucking sounds and gently resumed her soft massage.

Relax, it was a nasty fall.

Against his nasty rise! Drusilla snorted in disgust.

Maybe we should contact someone. Should we tell the consul?

Drusilla turned to her sister, a look of scorn replacing her mask of pain.

Are you crazy? The consul desperately covets the throne and this is all he needs. Everyone wants imperial power. The Senate will salivate at this opportunity.

Not everyone…what about…?

Drusilla snorted and turned away. The point is that no one can know about this because anyone who has a shred of ambition, or is anyway in line for the throne, would destroy him. Then us.

Agrippina leaned back and rolled her slightly chilled shoulders under the surface of the warm waters. Not everyone wants the throne Drusilla.

What are you talking about? The consul even let our brother sleep with his wife in order to stay second in command.

I know, but I do not speak of Macro.

Who then?

Claudius.

Drusilla suddenly looked thoughtful, taking her time to digest her sister’s suggestion. Yes. You may be right.

It wouldn’t be the first time… Agrippina grinned.

The sisters lay again, this time, in repose. Then Drusilla clapped her hands and commanded the presence of the only man in their family they could trust.

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Three senators were terrified and Seneca, the leading dramatist of the age, was curious. It was late. All those present had been hastily summoned to the Palatine. For Seneca, who had been dismissed from the imperial household five years ago, it was the first time he had returned since his former student’s ascent to the throne. The old man looked forward to seeing the changes both in the home and his former pupil.

When they arrived, Seneca had been startled to see the emperor’s half-witted brother who was rarely seen at night.

What is going on Claudius? Out at night to visit your nephew?

I…I was s…summoned, Claudius stuttered. I h…had to come.

Perhaps he needed your advice on the theatre, Seneca responded bitterly. He had not forgotten that Claudius never failed to reveal any historical liberties or fictions Seneca created in his plays.

Claudius overlooked the jibe. I don’t know w…what to think really. He’s changed, he’s…

Still the emperor, Claudius. What do you mean he’s changed?

Claudius suddenly looked sharply into Seneca’s eyes. Be careful tonight Seneca. Be very careful. Before the playwright could ask for clarification, the senators had come back and were pulling him into the palatial home while Claudius shrunk away into the darkness.

For all of its ostentatious display, this fantastic dwelling, inherited from Tiberius, the emperor’s grandfather, had been expanded even further. Particular attention had been paid to security. However, when the visitors arrived at the entrance, no one was there. The senators paced while they waited. The hollow clicking of their sandals on the Egyptian marble echoed through the vast porticos. Seneca sat back against one of the ionic columns and watched their silhouettes dance against the bright summer stars. Human eclipses, individual voids against the hope of the sparkling universe. Seneca felt like a nocturnal voyeur.

Deep inside one of the corridors a different light appeared and swayed against the archways. It was a lantern held by one of the emperor’s private guards. It was coming their way. The eclipses stopped shifting and, for a moment, it appeared as if the stars had stopped their twinkle.

The emperor was apparently ready to see them now. It had been some time since he had seen anyone. His sickness had restricted appearances from everyone except his family. Until now.

Seneca followed his frantically whispering colleagues, nervously tugging at their togas. Seneca had to admit to being somewhat nervous himself. As popular as he was, this was an unpredictable emperor who was dangerous when upset. This leader actually enjoyed losing his temper. He particularly enjoyed upsetting politicians because their reactions, in his mind, revealed the extent of their loyalty. But Seneca knew that this man loved an audience. He craved the attention and he needed the focus. He needed eyewitnesses to confirm the outrage of his actions and that, Seneca opined, was the real reason the visitors were here at the Palatine so late at night.

The group reached the end of the hall and turned into a smaller but exquisitely decorated chamber. The impervium, normally a small pool of water, had been filled with a pile of beautiful white sand. The center of the artificial motu was adorned with two jeweled replicas of the pyramids. Candles had been placed on each the four corners and the light glistened throughout the room. A spindly woman slowly gyrated on a makeshift stage that jutted out from the far wall. Her silken garments swayed gently to the music of a piper sitting behind the stage. Incense burned and the smoke drifted throughout the room, the scent softening the macabre sight before them.

The woman was Caligula, the emperor of Rome.

Seneca bit back a laugh. It wasn’t the first time he had seen Caligula dressed in women’s clothing. Even so, Seneca had to admit that the emperor moved pretty well. Clearly he had been spending time with Mnester, Rome’s favorite pantomime artist. One of the senators looked back in astonishment and Seneca nodded affirmatively. Now all four of the guests where aware of the dancer’s true identity and when the dancing stopped, the applause was vigorous and prolonged.

Caligula clambered down from the stage and quickly plopped himself on a hastily provided cushion. He stared at them for nearly five minutes. He seemed to be waiting for something. But just as the excruciating silence built to an almost unbearable crescendo, the emperor finally spoke.

What do you think gentlemen? he said, waving his hand. Was she wonderful?

Naturally, all in the room responded affirmatively.

What say you, Seneca? Caligula continued, stretching his neck upwards toward his old teacher in the back row.

I say that her career lies best in leading Rome, Seneca replied warily.

Caligula guffawed gently. He seemed disappointed by something but even so, turned to see the reaction of the senators. Then he broke into an even louder laugh.

What, pray Jove, is the joke? one senator asked bravely.

Caligula stopped laughing immediately. He leaned forward.

I was chortling over the fact that my old teacher has lost none of his tact. Then I realized that it doesn’t matter. If I wanted to, I could easily have all of you beheaded for being less witty. None of you could stop me. So, given that all of you are so concerned about the quality of my dancing, I found this notion to be particularly hilarious.

The hilarity was not shared. In the uncomfortable silence, Caligula continued to chuckle, leaning back and rearranging the luxurious cushions under his dress.

Senators, I asked you to come tonight to discover… He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands and then continued, I mean…to discuss today’s events.

The senators exchanged glances.

I have been particularly disturbed by the plight of our vestals.

One of the visitors, a servile and insidious senator named Gemellus hastily replied, The entire Senate is concerned as well…

Not the entire Senate, Caligula growled. The three politicians quaked. I thought I had solved the problem but apparently the Virgo Maxima thought otherwise.

The senators all exchanged glances. Gemellus bravely ventured forward again.

The Senate was extremely surprised by the Virgo’s clemency emperor.

She is too entitled. And too careless. The Senate should be careful.

But she is not a part of the Senate, Lord, Gemellus continued, You know that…

I know at least one member of the Senate who could control her better. If Vitellus cannot keep Panthia in line, perhaps he should never leave Rome. Whenever he is in his palatial getaway in the Alps, it leaves us all in too much danger.

Seneca was confused. But Gemellus was not, turning smugly towards the other senators.

I am sure that Vitellus had little to do with Panthia’s decision, Caligula. Seneca offered, a little astonished that he was the only one defending the absent leader. He hardly knew the man but what he had heard was encouraging.

That’s emperor, Seneca. Be wary of your privilege.

But, uh emperor, is it not proper for the senator to be checking on the city that will bring the glory of your reign closer to the heavens?

Of course it is, Caligula bit back, but it infuriates me that while he is away, Panthia deliberately destroys a plan we all agreed upon.

We?

My lord, Gemellus interrupted smoothly, I understand your annoyance but perhaps you shouldn’t let it ruin your rest?

I no longer have need of rest Gemellus. Can’t you see I am cured?

Of course. Gemellus recovered quickly. We all are ecstatic with the news. Let me be the first to congratulate you on your strong constitution.

Caligula waved away the platitude. What is particularly annoying is that just yesterday, I had the most astounding dream.

But don’t you usually rely on Thracyllus to interpret your dreams? Gemellus asked insistently.

I do. But he too is away with Vitellus in Vallis Pennina. I have just sent for them.

I am sure they will be as overjoyed as we are to learn of your recent recovery lord.

I am not overly fond of fawning Gemellus, the emperor intoned dryly.

Seneca saved the moment by interjecting. Tell us about the dream, highness. Did you dream of the Virgo?

Caligula turned warily to his teacher. Then he leaned back on his litter, a servant instantly placing another pillow beneath his head.

No. He muttered. But I was dreaming of beautiful women. I lay in the middle as if I was one of them. We were all naked, but no one seemed to notice that I was a man or that I was even the emperor.

Caligula reached below him for a morsel of fruit. He ate it delicately as if savoring the moment as much as the juice.

The women were all lovely, and lay upon one another. Their hands caressed their bodies; soft fingers stroking even softer waists while my eyes drunk in the festival of flesh. All of a sudden my erection sprung forth like a king cobra striking from under a chariot. It swung its way through the group, its forked tongue licking the nectar of the writhing females. Their gasps of pleasure however, turned to pleas for protection. We cannot, they cried. We are…

Caligula stopped and theatrically arranged his robe to uncover one of his legs.

It was then that the room faded into darkness and I found myself in the middle of the temple of Isis. She was plowing the earth with her giant oxen. Underneath the blades of her mighty plow were many different corpses. I rushed forward to stop the machine as it cut through the bodies only to realize that I recognized the faces that lay under the sheaths of corn. They were the same girls. As I wept, the sun rose higher until it hovered over the shoulders of Isis who looked benevolently down on me.

Your harvest has been spoiled, she whispered. You must toil in another field or the poison of this corn will infect your people.

It was then that I awoke and composed this dance for you to see. I wanted you to understand the depths of my night-time adventure.

There was a long silence and then Seneca spoke.

The dream seems clearly interpreted to me sire.

Gemellus nodded vigorously and the other two senators simply stared at the both of them.

You were dreaming of the vestals, Gemellus began. And in your recently refreshed state, your body was seeking a pleasure it has not enjoyed in these past weeks.

The fact that the person who has raped them, Seneca added hastily, remains at large, uh, they are therefore still in danger of being…well…

Harvested. Gemellus interjected hurriedly. Is this not what this miscreant is doing? Harvesting forbidden fruit, so to speak?

Caligula turned to Gemellus. And the snake?

Simply the worm that is eating into the strength of Rome, sire. The same worm, most likely, that caused your recent suffering.

And the appearance of Isis, Seneca interposed, I think, speaks to the length and breadth of the empire.

What do you mean? Caligula demanded.

I mean that Isis is a god of a conquered land. We Romans have only adapted her precepts as our own. She is not one of the gods of Olympus.

Does the dream foreshadow any action on my part? Caligula asked.

I think so, said Gemellus. Isis has instructed you to protect the harvest.

"Protect the virgins, in