The Temple of Vesta
by Susan Strict and John Savage
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Susan Strict & John Savage
Published by Strict Publishing International
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Chapter I
Reluctantly a Virgin
“You’re not listening to me!” Julia jabbed the young man standing in front of her with her finger.
“Ow!” Lucius half turned. “What? Don’t do that!”
“You’re not listening to me,” Julia repeated. “Close your mouth and stop staring at those girls. You know you can’t have them.”
“I’m watching the procession,” protested Lucius, his eyes fixed on the young women. “We’re supposed to watch the procession of the priests and priestesses. It’s bad luck to let your attention wander.”
“You didn’t seem to be so attentive when it was the priests from the Temple of Castor and Pollux,” Julia pointed out. “You, Lucius Marcellus, should be paying attention to me, not to the priestesses of Vesta. You hadn’t forgotten we’re betrothed?”
“Yes,” said Lucius absently. “They are amazing, aren’t they?”
Julia gave up. She had to admit that the procession of priestesses of the Temple of Vesta now passing them as they stood in the cheering crowds was impressive. There was something exceptional about those young women, and not only the young ones. Even those who had clearly been priestesses for many, many years had something about them that caught the attention and produced a sharp intake of breath. She was not sure what it was. Their pure white robes were neither the togas of free Romans nor the tunics worn by slaves. They were not even the tunics worn by those who either had not reached the age when it was customary to wear toga or simply those whose status did not entitle them to wear a toga. Apart from anything else, these robes were far shorter and far thinner than anything any self-respecting Roman would wear in public, and yet on these priestesses they did not look inappropriate in the slightest. The material seemed to float around them as they moved, tight enough to emphasize the curves of their bodies, but seemingly with a life of its own as it ebbed and flowed at every step they took. For a moment, Julia too was transfixed and silent, her attention held by the images of perfection before her.
The crowd around them was quiet, in contrast to the cheering and shouting of only a few moments ago. And then the Vestal Virgins had passed, and it seemed as though the entire crowd shook itself and awoke, as if nothing had happened.
Lucius turned to Julia, his eyes bright. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
She laughed. “Yes, right, and which of the priestesses of Vesta are you thinking about when you say that?”
“You shouldn’t joke,” he told her seriously. “She’s a powerful Goddess. Any one of them could change our future.”
“Do you really believe that?” Julia asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe. There’s something about them. They’re not like the other priests and priestesses, anyone can see that. I wouldn’t give a couple of denarii for an omen cast by any of the others, but I’d go for anything one of them foretold. Great Goddesses, they could probably make anything happen they wanted!”
“You’d have about as much chance of having one of them read your omens as flying,” Julia told him. “You know very well they never talk to anyone outside the Temple, and no one gets past the public area of the Temple. It’s sacrilege to try.”
“I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Lucius told her seriously. “Men go to the private chambers of the Temple of Vesta. Jupiter’s priests do for a start. There’s a tunnel…”
“Who ever told you such rubbish?” she snapped.
“Marcus.”
“Marcus who? I don’t know any Marcus. Anyway, what does he know? It’s a ridiculous story.”
“You do know Marcus. Marcus Aurelius.”
“Marcus… Aurelius? Marcus Aurelius Crassus? You have to be joking. You actually know him?”
“Of course I know him. We studied together. We had the same tutor.”
“So?” demanded Julia. “Is it true?”
“Is what true? About the tunnel? He didn’t have any reason to be making it up.”
“No,” snapped Julia, exasperated. “The other thing. You know.”
Lucius smiled. “And if it were, do you think I’d be talking about it in the middle of the forum where anyone could overhear me? That would be the fastest way to lose any chance of a career anywhere in the Roman Empire, wouldn’t it? Or, more likely, to disappear altogether. Our new Consul might not be impressed.”
“Oh come on!” said Julia. “You must know something if you studied with him. Is it true or not?”
Lucius lowered his voice. “It’s true that Caesar is a close friend of his family, and has spent a lot of time with Marcus. He’s like an uncle, so Marcus says.”
“And…?”
“And nothing. Except that Marcus looks nothing like his father and has more than a passing resemblance to Caesar. Enough said. More than enough. Come on; let’s go down to the Tiber like we did last week. I bet we can find that spot between those hills again, and if no one’s around…”
“I told you last time: no! You can wait, Lucius Marcellus. You can wait. I’m not some little slave harlot for your pleasure, you know. A bit of respect, please!”
“All right,” Lucius agreed. “A bit of respect. I’ll respect your lips, and then your neck, and then your shoulders, and then…”
She aimed a playful slap at him and then took his hand, laughing. “Come on. We’ll need to find some transport. I’m not walking all that way, and I’m not riding in the back of a smelly pig cart like last time. You find me a carriage suitable to my status, and keep your hands to yourself, and I’ll spend the evening with you, Lucius Marcellus Aquilinus. But you’ll need to make sure I’m home before dark. My mother has already threatened to send me to the Temple of Vesta if I keep coming home late, and I’m most definitely not spending the next thirty years as one of those perfect virgins!”
* * * * *
It was after midnight. In fact, it was well after midnight, and Julia knew she was in trouble long before she crept around the back of the house hoping that one of the house slaves would be awake or that one of them had left the door open.
She had not intended to be late, and to be fair to Lucius he had not intended that she was late home either. It was just so comfortable lying together between the grassy hillocks overlooking the River Tiber that both of them had fallen asleep. It was not as if they had even done anything that might have incurred the disapproval of their parents. Quite the opposite, in fact. Lucius had behaved himself as a respectable Roman patrician should behave, somewhat to her disappointment. In any case, they were both old enough to make their own decisions on such matters, if you discounted the social conventions that required any such liaison to be approved by all four parents and by any high ranking politicians who happened to be in either family.
She was out of luck. For just a moment, she thought that she had got away with it, that one of the house slaves was indeed still up and that her parents had gone to bed much earlier. The light burning in the window of one of the back rooms suggested just that, but as she cautiously pushed open the door and stepped quietly inside, she found both her father and mother sitting facing the door, waiting. Her mother was crying.
“I’m sorry…” Julia started to say, but her father interrupted.
“Too late for sorry. You’ve been warned over and over again. I can’t have my daughter running wild like this. Can you imagine what would happen to me if it became public knowledge? I’d be ruined. No, Julia, it’s much too late for apologies. You’ve made it abundantly clear we cannot trust you, so, I’m sorry, but you have left us no choice.”
At that moment, Julia became aware that there were others in the room, standing in the shadows behind her parents.
“Who…?”
Her mother stood up. “It’s not so bad, Julia,” she told her daughter, tears running down her cheeks. “I’ve spoken to the High Priestess and she assures me you will have a life of luxury, more than we could ever give you.”
For a moment, Julia did not understand. As the realization of what her mother was saying came to her, she turned to run back out of the door.
The priestesses moved quickly. Julia’s arms were grabbed and forced behind her back, and cord was wrapped around her wrists, binding them tightly together.
“No! You can’t…”
“It’s the only solution.” Her father turned and walked away.
Chapter II
Storm over Rome
The skies ripped apart with a sound that shook the stone walls of the temple itself. Thunder and lightning, the symbols of an angry Jupiter, danced across the skies above the magnificent city of Rome, perhaps expressing his displeasure that the great Empire was in turmoil. Tiberius Pompeius Septimius, of that noble family whose lineage stretched back before the Republic itself, retreated from the slashing, wind-driven rain into the nearest doorway he could find.
Brushing water from his toga, he looked around and was surprised to find himself in the Temple of Vesta, the very famous Temple of Vesta, home of the most powerful group of women in Rome, the Vestal Virgins. Save for the wives of emperors and such, these women exerted more power over Rome than any other women. They were the keepers of the holy Flame of Vesta, and a lot more.
Looking over towards the center, he could see the altar upon which the holy flame was constantly kept burning. The temple here was a horseshoe shape, with Corinthian columns in the Greek style surrounding a podium forty-five feet in diameter. As befits the most holy place in Rome, the columns, walls and floor were of purest white marble. As he watched, one of the Vestals approached the podium, carrying a vase of green jade. She knelt before the altar, placed the vase down, folded her hands in front of her and began a prayer. He could not hear her voice. The pounding of the rain and rumblings of the storm would have drowned her out even if she had been shouting. Her prayer finished, she picked up the vase and poured oil into the basin that fed the sacred flame.
Tiberius stepped closer. This woman was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She wore a palla, a simple mantle of purest white, draped over her left shoulder and held in place by a silver brooch. A headdress fell over her shoulders, matching the palla in purity of color. The hair that he saw beneath the headdress was the black of midnight. The form filling out the thin, almost transparent material of the palla looked to be full and yet slender at the same time. He remembered watching the Vestal Virgins during the Festival of Vestalia only a week before. They had a procession from the Temple of Vesta down to the Tiber and back. While there, they threw puppets in the shape of men into the river. It was an ancient custom designed to purge the city of evil, unclean spirits that roam about doing mischief and worse. The clothing she wore was different from the very short and rather tight gown they had worn then. But it was hard to hide such a fine body behind any clothing, and he knew she would be magnificent without clothes.
As she turned to leave, she happened to look up and their eyes caught. Hers were of a vivid green. She did not smile, and after a few seconds, turned and went into the portions of the temple where men were never allowed.
Amazement was what he felt. Never had a woman so caught his attention since he was an awkward teenager first discovering what women were good for. It was as if one of those lightning bolts from above had struck him. He could not take his eyes off her form as she walked slowly away, and he knew that she was aware of his gaze. Women do sense when a man is looking at them.
Tiberius was a man of the world. He had fought with the legions in distant lands, shed blood and had his shed in return. He had bedded down many a willing wench, and ravished more than a few when they conquered a town. He was married to a proper Roman wife and even had two small children by her. But this woman was like no other he had ever met. Even from a dozen paces away, she had exuded a pure, intense sexual attraction he could not ignore. He stood there like a fool, dripping water on the temple floor and trying to regain his senses.
There were two other women present, standing guard over the eternal flame. He approached one of them. “Tell me,” he said in his best senatorial voice, “What is the name of that priestess who poured the oil?”
The Vestal looked at him with distain. “Her name is Serena, if you must know. And I don’t like the way you were looking at her.”
Tiberius smiled. He knew these Vestals were powerful women, but then, as a senator, so was he. Powerful enough to not worry about a little chastisement from one. He nodded and walked back to the door. The rain, one of those vicious summer storms that came on quickly and left as quickly, was departing. The thunder rumbled in the distance. He left, ignoring the last few drops of water and the wind that swirled about him. His mind was filled with ideas and strange notions.
As he made his way towards his home, he looked over to the hillside next to the Temple of Vesta. There stood a three-story building that he had never really noticed before. It came to him that this was the House of Vesta, the place where the Vestals lived. How many virgins were there within those walls, he wondered. Like most Roman men, he had heard stories and rumors of bizarre rituals and sexual excesses going on. But they were only rumors. None of the priestesses ever admitted to anything beyond the training of new Vestals and the worship of Vesta, the Goddess of hearth and home.
Still, one had to wonder. All those virgins together with no men around. Of course there were rumors about that as well. Some said there was secret ways into the Temple of Vesta and even that there was a tunnel from the palace to the temple. Some even went so far as to say that very few of them were really virgins, and that all of them followed the ways of Lesbo, a Greek woman poet who well known for her love of other women. In fact…
He broke off that speculation. A different form of speculation was pushing itself into his mind. And it concerned the woman he had seen in the temple. Serena, her name was, and he could not get her out of this mind.
Tiberius was a strong willed man who took what he wanted. He also had a mean streak in him, as his slaves and wife could well testify. The infliction of pain upon a woman was not just a sport with him, it was an obsession. And now he was thinking of the beautiful Serena before him, hands tied well above her head, slender form stretched out on her toes and those wonderfully large breasts sticking out, just begging for the kiss of a whip.
He turned aside from the path to his house and went instead to the apartment of Theophanes, an old acquaintance of his from the army days and a man he often used for those kinds of things a Roman senator should not dirty his hands doing himself. Such as the elimination of a political opponent or the breaking of the legs of a man who owned him money and could not pay.
Theophanes was at home, sprawled on his couch, snoring loudly. Tiberius kicked him but gained only a grunt for that effort. Then he threw a bowl of water on the man’s face. Theo came awake and was reaching for his sword when he saw who it was.
“Damn you!” he cursed. “You’re lucky I didn’t run you through! Oh, by Jupiter, does my head hurt!”
“A little too much wine last night?” asked Tiberius.
“A little too much wine every night,” came the reply.
“I have a job I would like you to do.”
“A job. And I’ll bet it’s illegal and dangerous.”
“To the max,” agreed Tiberius. Then he told Theo what he wanted.
“You’re mad!” Theo cried, then held his head between his hands. “Don’t make me yell, it hurts too much.”
“Can you do it?” asked Tiberius.
Theo looked up at him with a pained frown. “What you want is not only against all Roman laws, it will also anger the gods.”
“I’ll worry about the gods,” he was told. “You worry about how you are going to do this for me.”
“Tiberius, you’re a bastard.”
“That’s been said before.”
Theo groaned and was silent for a while. Finally: “It might be possible. Probably not. I’ll have to hire some men.”
“Don’t make it a big raid,” cautioned Tiberius. “Be sneaky. You’re good at that.”
“I’ll have to do some looking around. Ask some questions. Then maybe… You sure that you really want a Vestal Virgin? Oh, great Jupiter! Are you going to get Vesta mad at you. No one messes with her virgins.”
“That’s not what I hear. But never mind that. Just get that particular virgin for me. I’ll pay you well.”
“How well?”
“Enough so you can get the hell out of this crap of a hovel and into a nice place to live.” He named a price that made Theo’s eyebrows lift.
Theo groaned. “Get out of here. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.”
“Good. Do that.”
“Go to hell!”
* * * * *
Deep within the House of Vestals, lit by only a flickering oil lamp, a young girl was being tortured. The girl was hanging by her wrists from a beam in the ceiling. Her naked body was slender, yet obviously a woman. Her breasts were only a handful but stood out nicely. Her hair was a soft auburn that hung down her back to hide some of the whipmarks there. There were three on her back, and another four on her tender ass. She was crying softly, head hanging downward, faced turned to the floor.
The woman who was doing the flogging, Severina, was one of the high priestesses and the head trainer for new Vestal Virgins. Under her strict hand, the young girls who came into the temple were taught not only the religious duties but also the rigid way of life of a Vestal; obedience to orders and submission to higher Vestals being foremost among the rules.
She had removed her tunic to better swing the flogger. This was not one of the harsher whips, more of a strap really, but it hurt and left a vivid red mark where it struck. She pulled back her arm and let go another stroke upon those already red globes of the girl’s ass. The young woman cried out sharply and her body jerked at the end of her rope.
“Please… Oh, please, no more! You’re killing me!” she pleaded.
“Not hardly,” said Severina. “This is mild compared to what you’ll get if you every disobey me again.”
“Oh, mistress, please… I’ll be good.”
“I know you will be. It’s just a question of how long it will take to whip the rebellion out of you.”
“My father…”
“Was the one who sent you to us. It is a great honor to his family to have his daughter become a Vestal Virgin. And a good way to get rid of a troublesome girl!”
Another blow landed on her rear.
“Oh, please! I can’t believe that the Goddess Vesta wants me whipped.”
“Oh, yes she does, honey,” Severina told the weeping girl. “Yes, she does. Now turn this way, and I’ll put a couple more across your breasts before we lock you in your cell.”
“No, not my breasts! No!”
There followed the sound of leather hitting soft flesh and a cry of anguish.
Chapter III
The Temple of Vesta
The streets were dark. From inside the round building surrounded by fluted columns, there was just the faintest flickering of light. Of course, the sacred fire within the Temple always burned, tended constantly by the priestesses, the Vestal Virgins.
No doubt the design of the Temple was intentional, to allow the fire within to be visible from outside throughout the night. As everyone knew, for the flames to be extinguished would be unthinkable, a portent of disaster of such proportions that it would undoubtedly mean the end of the City of Rome, if not of the entire world.
It was not the Temple that interested Lucius, but the much larger building, the House of Vesta, behind it on the hillside. If he were to find Julia, it would be there that he needed to look. All the same, he paused by the steps of the Temple. Someone would be in there, by the flames, someone who might well know what had happened to Julia and how he could find her. He had no particular desire to commit the crime of sacrilege against the Goddess Vesta. Quite apart from the certainty that he would be put to death if he were caught, to perpetrate such a crime against the one deity he had always regarded, as did most citizens of Rome, as the foundation of everything that was safe, solid and secure in their way of life, was almost unthinkable. And yet…
Lucius paused, for a moment undecided. Everything he had ever been taught and everything he had ever believed told him this was wrong, and yet something more powerful was telling him he must go on. He would rescue Julia, and then…
And then? What would they do? He had no idea. They would have to leave Rome, of that he was sure. Somehow, he would work it out. All that mattered was to rescue Julia from a lifetime as a Vestal Virgin. His love for her, and hers for him, was the overriding priority.
He almost laughed when he thought about Julia’s father that morning when he went to her house and was refused entry. “No one of that name lives here.” They had already disowned her, but he did not believe it. He thought they were hiding her, preventing him seeing her. Not all the house slaves in the world would have kept him out, and the Cohors Urbanea were, as usual, even worse than they were at their primary task of trying to keep carts, carriages, chariots and miscellaneous other traffic flowing freely through the streets of the city. It was only when the red-faced, sword-brandishing Tacitus, Julia’s father, loudly ordered one of his nervous house slaves to run and fetch the Praetorian Guard, that Lucius backed off. He knew it was unlikely the Guard would actually turn up. Although charged with a duty to protect any nobleman of Rome whose life was threatened, it was rare that they would respond to any but the highest-ranking citizens. Tacitus would be so far down the list that it was unlikely anyone in authority would have ever heard of him, let alone rush out to protect him. By that time, however, Lucius was beginning to calm down. In any case, he knew he would be able to get the truth from one of Tacitus’ house slaves. They could not all stay in the house forever. In fact, he caught the slave coming back from unsuccessfully trying to fetch the Guard and learned from him what had happened.
He made his decision. To enter the Temple, even the public area, and try to extract the information he needed from one of the priestesses would be a mistake. The darkness around the House of Vesta looked far more attractive and, if nothing else for now, he would be able to establish the layout of the building and plan further. He knew it would be guarded. There were always armed soldiers around the building, but at this time of night the chances were that they would be in their guardhouse or, at the very least, not particularly alert. There was no sign of anyone. Julia had to be in there somewhere.
Lucius crept nervously toward the dark building, ready to turn and run at the first sound or sign of movement. There was nothing. The door at the front was partly open, but he quickly went around the side. He knew that priestesses would go between the House of Vesta and the Temple regularly during the night. To have entered the building through the main entrance would almost inevitably mean running into one of them, and no doubt it would only take a shout or a scream for the guards to come running, weapons in their hands.
Still there was no one, but equally he came to no windows or openings down this side of the building. Lucius was confident enough that here, in the darkness made even darker by the shadow of the building itself, he would see anyone long before he was seen, but creeping along by the solid stone wall was achieving nothing.
As he neared the rear of the House of Vesta, the furthest point from the Temple that the building faced, his progress was obstructed by dense undergrowth. It would be difficult, or impossible, to go any further down that side. He turned, intending to go back the way he had come, and immediately caught sight of two figures twenty or thirty yards away from the wall of the building but both heading in his direction. He froze, terrified. He had no doubt they were soldiers on guard, the outline of their helmets was clearly visible, and by the way they were strolling towards him it was obvious that had not yet seen him. It was a routine patrol, nothing more, but if they continued in the same direction they would inevitably see him in a minute or two. Frantic, and at the same time desperate not to make any noise that might attract their attention, Lucius dropped to his knees and pushed his way into the bushes.
It seemed to Lucius that they must hear him as he burrowed into the undergrowth. Thorns and sharp twigs tore at his clothes and scratched his arms and legs, and, as he feared, he heard their voices.
“Something in there.”
“Probably a sheep or a pig. They’re always getting loose. Or a dog maybe.”
“You think we ought to get it out?”
“Rather you than me. The High Priestess isn’t going to thank you for creating a disturbance this time of night. Wait until tomorrow. If it’s still in there, whatever it is, the day shift can sort it out.”
Lucius breathed a sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived. There was the sound of a door being opened and light from flickering lamps spilled out across the bushes where he lay hidden.
“What’s going on out here?”
The soldiers backed away. “An animal in the undergrowth, Priestess.”
“Leave it. We’ll deal with it. Return to your posts.”
“As you say, Priestess.”
Lucius held his breath as the priestess called to others inside the building. He hoped he was deeply enough under the thorny bushes that he would not be seen. If they searched, then surely they would quickly give up when it was obvious that whatever had made the noise was not still making it.
“Is it a lost lamb again?” a girl’s voice rang out. “Poor little things. Why can’t they stay with their mothers instead of wandering off?”
“I can’t hear anything now. Bring some lamps out.”
“Nothing.”
“What’s that down there?”
“Where?”
“Under that bush. See? Can you get to it?”
“Not quite. Yes, I can see it. Tita, have you got the… Ah, that’s it. Let me have it. Yes, I’m sure. Hold on a moment.”
Lucius started to turn as there was a crashing in the bush above him, despairingly trying to work out something he could say, anything he could say that would be a justifiable reason for lying in the bushes outside the House of Vesta in the middle of the night.
He never had the chance to say anything. Something heavy hit him on the back of his head, and everything went black.
* * * * *
His head hurt.
His arms ached.
There was a cold draft blowing on his chest, and for some reason he could not move his arms or his legs.
Lucius groaned, and then opened his eyes.
“Ah, I’m so glad you are with us.”
“What?” He stared uncomprehendingly at the girl in front of him. She was naked. At least, she was almost naked. She wore a very short, white piece of flimsy cloth around her waist, and two diagonal leather straps across her back and her chest, separating her ample breasts. She wore nothing else.
“I…” He still had no idea where he was or what he was doing there. It took him several seconds more to realize that his arms were restrained high over his head, held by strips of leather around each of his wrists. His ankles were similarly bound, his legs wide apart and held that way by straps tied round them and to metal rings set in the stone floor.
It was nearly another minute before Lucius realized he was naked, and the girl was holding a short whip.
“What’s going on? Where am I? Why…?”
Realization of what had happened was just dawning on him when another woman entered the stone chamber. This was no young Vestal Virgin like the beauty in front of him holding the whip. This was a mature woman, fully clothed in long white robes, her hair up in an intricate creation on top of her head held in place by a thin gold band with a single flame fashioned in gold at the front.
“I am Galeria, High Priestess of the Goddess Vesta,” she announced. “You, Lucius Marcellus Aquilinus, are now my guest.”
Lucius’ eyes opened wide in surprise. “How to you know my name?” he stuttered, “And what…”
“My dear boy,” Galeria said, “I am the High Priestess. It is my job to know. You realize, of course, that your violation of the House of Vesta is punishable by death? The guards outside would execute you on the spot.”
“Please…” Lucius had no idea what to say.
Galeria laughed. “We are not going to kill you. At least, not yet, but before long you may well be wishing that we had. You only have yourself to blame. There is no one in Rome who could claim they do not understand the Laws of the Goddess Vesta, and yet you deliberately flout them. Think yourself lucky that I am feeling lenient, and that I was already considering what sort of diversion I could devise to provide my girls with some entertainment.”
“Entertainment? Please, just let me down from here and let me put some clothes on.”
Galeria moved closer to him, reached down, and clasped his penis in her hand. Lucius closed his eyes in fear.
“You are a man.”
He said nothing, his eyes still closed, terrified of what she might do.
“You have defiled the House of Vesta. You will suffer.”
“Please. If you let me go, then I swear on the gods that I will never come near here again.”
“Of course you will not go. You will be the entertainment for my girls. We will start with a whipping. Don’t look so frightened. That little whip you see in the hands of young Flava won’t take the skin from your body. Not at all. It may redden the skin, and bruise, and perhaps cause a little bleeding when wielded by one of our stronger girls. It will, naturally, be very, very painful, which, after all, is what you deserve, but it won’t kill you. Probably.”
“No, please!”
Galeria ignored him. “Flava will start,” she said, “And when her arm becomes tired, one of the others will take over. When everyone has had her turn, I will decide another way in which you can provide us with suitable entertainment. Feel free to scream all you like. This room is well below ground level, and I doubt that anyone will hear you. Carry on, Flava. Enjoy yourself.”
Chapter IV
A New Virgin
It was two days later that Theo knocked on the door of Tiberius’ grand home in the Pines section of Rome. It was midmorning on what promised to be a hot, muggy day so typical of Rome in the summer. He was admitted by a male slave who looked over his somewhat soiled tunic and sniffed. But he did let the man in, as per Tiberius’ orders, and led him to an atrium.
“Well, what have you to tell me?”
Theo turned to find Tiberius standing there, clad in a simple tunic but of fine material in deep blue and trimmed in gold.
“Sir, did you know that the House of Vestals is guarded by soldiers? It would be easier to get into the imperial palace than there.”
“But you found a way?”
“Well, sort of. It’s kind of a hot day…” Theo licked his lips, implying that he thirsted. Tiberius clapped his hands and a servant immediately appeared with a flagon of wine and a cup. Theo took a deep drink, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and continued. “The guards, of course, are not allowed inside the house or temple, but they guard well the outside. A man trying to get inside would have a sword shoved into his gut before he even set eyes upon a single virgin.
“I got to thinking. The Vestal Virgins rarely leave the temple and house grounds, so grabbing the right one outside their territory would be damned hard. Then I remembered that plot we pulled on the Gauls in Marsella. You remember, a few of our men snuck into the city dressed as women. They overpowered the gate guards and let the rest of us in.”
He paused to refill the wine cup. “Well, you know how damned thin are those clothes that the virgins wear. Watch them during the holy days and you can damned near see everything, right down to the good parts. So men dressed as woman wouldn’t get too far.” He laughed. “Even if you shaved your legs.
“But… What if a couple women were to sneak in, prowl around and find this Serena, then march her out at knifepoint? Well, I know this woman…”
Tiberius interrupted him. “Would she pass as a Vestal Virgin?”
“Well… If they have large, muscular virgins who could kick most men’s asses, then yes. At least she is a real woman. Those knockers on her are…” He made a cupping motion with both hands as if weighing heavy melons.
“Would she be willing to do it? You’ve heard some of the stories about what they did to men who tried to sneak in.”
“Offer her enough money and she would slit her mother’s throat.”
Tiberius smiled, remembering those green eyes and the marvelous curves of the virgin he had seen in the temple that raining afternoon. An overpowering longing overcame him. He had to have her; to punish and ravish that lovely body; to own that woman even more than he owned the slaves in his household. And she was more than just a woman; she was a Vestal Virgin, the very symbol of Roman religion.
“Then do it,” he told Theo, who was finishing up the last of the wine. “When you have her, take her to the cloth warehouse by the river. You know the one I mean.”
“Sure. Might take a day or two.”
“Just so long as you get her to me.”
Theo could see the longing in his friend’s eyes and was trying to calculate how much higher a price he could ask. He well knew the determination Tiberius could show when he really wanted something. And it was obvious that he wanted this Vestal Virgin – and badly.
“Is your woman friend good?”
“Zenobia could kick most gladiator’s asses,” Theo assured him. “She’s big and strong.”
“And not too stupid, I hope. It will take a clever person to sneak into that place and pass herself as belonging there.”
“She’s smart. If she wasn’t a woman, she would be a general by now.”
Tiberius smiled at the ludicrous thought of a woman general. Or of a woman in the army to begin with. He had heard stories from the Greeks about a tribe of women warriors who could match any male warrior. Amazons, they were called. But he did not believe there really was such a thing.
Tiberius tossed Theo a bag of coins. “A down payment. When you need more to pay this Zenobia, let me know. Now get going.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * * * *
Rome in those days was ruled by two men: Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus and Gaius Julius Caesar, the latter being from a wealthy family claiming descent from Iulus, son of the legendary Trojan prince Aeneas, supposedly the son of the goddess Venus. These two men had recently been elected as co-consuls for a year in what had been one of the dirtiest elections in Senate history. Backstabbing, bribery, and false accusations abounded. It was Roman politics as usual, and it was an uneasy co-leadership between two men who hated each other intensely.
At the exact moment Theo was exiting Tiberius’ home, Caesar, feeling the need for some entertainment, was entering the Temple of Jupiter. Having been elected to the post of Pontifex Maximus, chief priest of the state religion, four years earlier, he knew well the inner workings of the Temple and all its secrets. What was of particular interest to him was the best kept secret of all: a tunnel that ran from the Temple of Jupiter to the nearby House of Vesta.
The ceremonies in honor of Jupiter were not the kind of entertainment Caesar was looking for. Bypassing the priests, who were busy reading the movement of birds in the sky for omens, he descended to the lower level and to a room hidden in one corner of the large building. Inside, he moved aside a large wooden box to reveal a tunnel entrance. He knew that tunnel well and did not bother to carry a torch to light his way. There was only one place the tunnel led, and all he needed do was lightly touch the wall and walk along until he found a faint light ahead.
He emerged in a room in the lowest level of the House of Vestals, a sacred place no man was allowed to enter. Only a small handful of men in all of Rome knew of that tunnel. And a handful of women within the Temple of Vesta. Foremost among the latter was the High Priestess Galeria, a woman of shrewd political savvy whose influence extended far beyond the walls of her temple. Normally, Caesar would have paid her a visit, but his business was not really with the middle aged but still handsome woman who ruled this empire within an empire with an iron fist. Instead he made his way down a corridor to a series of rooms he knew well.
Deep within the walls of the House of Vestals there were special rooms. No windows allowed light upon these rooms, no religious ceremonies transpired there, save the worship of pain. These chambers comprised a dungeon worthy of the mightiest king’s castle. Instruments of torture littered the rooms and the stone walls absorbed the anguished cries of maidens. Not unexpectedly, Caesar found one of the rooms being used.
By the light to two oil lamps and a few candles, he saw that it was Galeria herself holding forth against a trembling young woman who cowered in a dark corner.
“A new one?” asked Caesar.
Galeria turned suddenly at the sound of a male voice, tensed up. But she relaxed when she saw who it was. “Yes, just came in yesterday. I was just looking her over. Her name is Julia. Just like your two sisters.” Caesar looked up sharply at that comment. He did not like having his family mentioned.
He stepped forward, picked up a lamp and held it so he could see the girl. She was beautiful young woman. His eyes roved down her body as she huddled in the corner. Apparently the girl’s hands were bound behind her back, and her tunic was torn almost off to reveal all of one fine breast and most of the other. Very nice legs, he noted. Caesar liked women with shapely legs. And a full, curved bottom. Especially the smooth skin of a young woman’s ass. It was such a delight to whip.
She was crying and, judging by the redness in her eyes, had been for awhile. Yet she was not marked up; no one had whipped her yet. Those teary eyes were wide with fear.
“You’re a man!” she sobbed.
“Silence!” commanded Galeria. She cracked a whip, the sound loud in the stone walled room.
“She’s just a little surprised to see a man in the House of Vestal Virgins,” Caesar said. “I take it you have not yet begun her training?”
“It will start soon.”
“How about right now?”
Galeria smiled. She knew this Caesar to be very politically ambitious and maybe one of the great powers in Rome of the future. She wanted to please him, and knew how to do it.
“Stand, girl!” she commanded. The whip cracked again. It was a short whip of braided black leather that Galeria knew how to crack smartly and only a few inches in front of the girl’s face. The girl tried to push her body into the cold stone wall behind her.
“Girl you will do as you are ordered or your punishment will be much worse for it.”
“Please, I don’t belong here…”
Her protest was cut short by the tip of the whip just touching her bare breast. She cried out at the sudden pain.
“That is only a taste of what you will get if you do not obey.”
The girl sniffed and struggled to rise to her feet without the aid of hands. She stood before them, trembling with tears crawling down her cheeks.
“Would you do the honors?” Galeria asked the man.
Caesar stepped forward and easily ripped the remains of the girl’s tunic from her body so that she was standing there completely naked. She tried to cross her legs to cover her pubic patch.
“Take a step towards me. Now turn around.” The girl obeyed reluctantly. “Bend over.”
It was a few long seconds before girl obeyed. She feared what was going to happen but also was glad to be turning her breasts and pussy away from the view of a strange man. Bending over did not please her, but the lingering pain on her breast reminded her that she had no choice. Not really.
“Farther!”
She bent more until her head was at the level of her hips. Her crossed and bound hands were clenched into fists above that delightful young ass. She kept her legs tightly together, but the sweet little pussy peeked through behind her.
Caesar felt himself growing hard. Such a delightful young ass, unmarked as of right now but just asking for a good lashing.
The first stroke took the girl by surprise. She cried out loudly and fell forward, barely missing hitting her head on the stone wall. Her body curled up into a ball on the floor and she whimpered in pain. A very nice red line was forming on one ass cheek. The flesh there was an angry red and beginning to swell up.
“Get back on your feet!” commanded Galeria.
The girl just lay there and sobbed.
Caesar smiled and went to the girl. Gently he helped her to her feet. Then, with gentle hands, he turned her so that her back was again to Galeria. Taking her head in both hands, he pushed it downward. She had no choice but allow him to bend her over. He spread wide the folds of his toga and then his legs. His pushed her head in between his legs, then clamped them down on either side, holding her head firmly between them. He nodded to Galeria that she should continue.
The next stroke was harder than the first and the girl gave forth with a muffled howl and tried to jerk her head back. But Caesar held firm with his legs and she was unable to move. Her legs did a little dance of pain as the fresh welt formed on the other cheek.
The whipping continued. It was slowly paced, carefully applied with enough strength to cause pain but do no serious damage. The welts on her ass would heal in a few days. In the meantime she would find it most uncomfortable to sit.