“You are an odd one,” said Flavia. “If you’re not leaving us, I’ll keep an eye on the vines myself. I’m staying here all year, instead of going back to Rome. Rome doesn’t need me.”

“And the Emperor?”

“He’s well,” she said calmly. “Restless, I think, since the wars in Germania are over and he’s always preferred army life. But well.”

“I’ll take my leave, Domina.” He bowed, snapping for the dog.

“Good night.”

Twenty-two

ROME

PAULINUS tucked his helmet under his arm, raking his fingers through his sweat-matted curls. Spring had bloomed early and hot this year; after the heat of the midday sun outside, the House of the Vestal Virgins was pale and cool and still.

A middle-aged woman approached in a silent flutter of white robes. “Yes, Prefect? Have you come to pray?”

“Official business, madam.” Paulinus handed over a scroll with the Imperial seal. “You are requested and required to assist me in all my inquiries.”

“I see.” The Vestal’s eyes ran over his armor, the sword at his side, and the four Praetorians at his back. He felt very large and male and clumsy. “I will assist you myself. No man is permitted to walk un-escorted on Vesta’s ground.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Paulinus caught sight of another Vestal, pausing curiously to look across the long atrium. “She can escort us instead.” Always better to choose an unprepared guide. “Madam, please come with me.”

The younger Vestal came, meeting his eyes straight on. “Is there trouble?”

“No. I just have a few questions.” The last time this girl had seen a Praetorian, Paulinus remembered, was probably when the guards had appeared to drag away the Chief Vestal in chains, to be buried alive for breaking her vows. He smiled reassuringly. “No arrests. Just an informal inquiry.”

She looked to the older Vestal, who nodded. “I will be pleased to answer your questions, Prefect.”

“I’d like to see the House of the Vestals.” Get a feel for the place, the Emperor had told him. “I’ve never seen the inside before.”

“Then it wasn’t you who conducted the arrest of our former Chief Vestal?”

“No. That affair was handled directly by the Emperor.”

“And this?” She tilted her head. “A follow-up? To see if the rest of us have become corrupted?”

“Are you?”

She looked back at him. “How much do you know about the Vestal Virgins, Prefect?”

“Enough.”

“I wonder.” She turned, white veil fluttering, and led him down the long pillared atrium. Tranquil pools in the middle reflected rows of white marble statues, and Paulinus gestured his Praetorians back as he caught up to his guide. Her head reached his shoulder, covered by a white veil, and the white robes draped a slight body. She walked swiftly and quietly, hands folded at her waist, and her sandals made no sound on the marble floor. She led him away from the sunlight of the atrium, through a maze of marble corridors. “Our sleeping chambers.”

She eased open one narrow door after another. The cells were bare, white-marbled, identical. One was occupied: a middle-aged woman sitting upright and staring at the opposite wall, barely breathing.