"Oh, let’s have none of that. You may be a public official, but you are still my great-nephew.”
“You have a great many of those, Aunt,” I said, smiling.
“We are a numerous family, it is true, but I get to see so few of them, especially the males. Most especially the young males. If you only knew how your female relatives come here to gossip, though. Now come with me and tell me everything.”
To my amazement, she took my hand and all but dragged me to a small visiting room furnished with comfortable chairs and its own fire burning in a central brazier. From a woman of such great dignity I had expected the sort of hieratic behavior one sees the vestals displaying at the great festivals, when they seem to be statues of the goddesses come to life. Instead she was behaving—I could think of no better way to put it—like an aunt.
Before we could come to the business at hand, I had to bring her up to date on my own doings, my sisters’ marriages, my father’s career and so forth. My mother had died some years before, or I might have been there all day. A slave brought us little cakes and watered wine.
“Now,” she said when she was sated with family gossip, “your letter mentioned sensitive matters of state. We vestals have been committed to the service of the state since before the Republic existed. The earliest vestals were the daughters of the kings. You may be sure that I will always do what is correct for the state.” She said this simply and sincerely, a great relief from the patriotic platitudes mouthed by most of my contemporaries.
“Ten days ago,” I began, “certain state papers were brought here for safekeeping. Those papers involve a Senate investigation of a man who was murdered. The murder occurred during the night, and the papers were brought here before first light that morning, before I was even notified by the vigiles of the killing. That evidence is being deliberately withheld from me.”
She looked very confused. “I took charge of those documents myself, but except for the hour I saw no irregularity. Of course, it is commonly wills that are deposited here, but other official documents are sometimes kept by us as well: treaties and the like. But this is a sacred trust.”
“Perhaps I should explain.” I began to tell her of the many events of the past few days. I had not gone halfway through them when she said something that surprised me greatly, although it should not have.
“It’s that man Pompey, isn’t it?” I nodded, dumbfounded, and she continued. “I knew his mother, a dreadful woman. And his father, Strabo. Did you know that Strabo was killed by lightning?”
“I had heard.”
She nodded as if this were tremendously relevant, and perhaps it was. I proceeded with my narration, a list of murders and corruptions that could have stolen the light from the brightest day. By the end of the tale it seemed only fitting that it was now dark outside.
She sat silent for a while, then: “Pompey. And those awful Claudians. How can an ancient patrician family keep producing madmen and traitors generation after generation?” She shook her head. “Now, Decius, you’ve told me what you have seen and experienced. Tell me where you suspect all this is leading.” I had been expecting to find a rather naive old lady, and had seldom been more mistaken in my expectations.
"I hesitate to tell you, but because of what I am going to ask you to do—” She shut me off with an angry gesture.
“I am no fool! You are going to ask for a look at those papers. If you expect me to commit a serious breach of trust, for which I will have to endure a lengthy ritual purification, you had better show me that the danger to the state warrants it!”
Obviously, I was going to have to be frank. “I believe that Pompey and Crassus are sending Publius Claudius to Asia to suborn Lucullus’s troops. It’s a nasty business, but Lucullus can look out for himself. The rest is far worse. I think they are making an arrangement with the pirates to attack Lucullus’s supply ships, perhaps even his troop transports.”
I could see the shock spread over her face, and for a moment I felt guilty. Old Roman that she was, she had to perceive this as a direct assault by traitors against loyal soldiers of Rome. She probably did not understand that it had been a generation or more since the legions had held their first loyalty toward Rome. Their allegiance was to their generals, usually in direct proportion to the loot those generals provided them with. To Pompey and Crassus, and to most Romans, they were not attacking the Republic’s loyal soldiers; they were attacking Lucullus’s property.
“This is beyond belief,” Caecilia said. “Or it would be if it were anyone but Pompey.” Pompey had, after all, replaced her brother, a thing worse than defeat for a proud general. She looked at me sharply in the dim light. “And you, Decius? You live with this sort of evil every day. Why do you risk your career, your very life, for a general you have never met?”