“Not all of it. Maurizio has good taste in art, but he only values it as an investment.” She sharpened a pencil then touched the point of it with her finger. “Anyway I guess it hurt my feelings enough that it was the last time I painted someone I knew. Last year I went on an Italian antico kick and I painted some historical figures like Marcus Aurelius, St. Francis, Caesar, people like that. I just did them in acrylics. My models were pictures from GQ, so they’re pretty sexy for historical figures. They’re stacked over in the corner if you want to see what you’re in for.”

“GQ, huh?” Ross looked to the shadowed section of the room. “Back there?”

“I’ll get the light.” She flipped another switch, turning on the lights on the other side of the studio. Ross walked over to a stack of canvases leaning against the wall. He squatted down and one by one lifted them forward, examining each in turn. He stopped halfway through the pile at a picture of a young woman in a dark scarlet robe tied at one shoulder then secured at her waist with a golden sash. In one hand she held an oil lamp. In the other hand she held a loaf of bread.

He stood, lifting the portrait from the others. “This is interesting.”

Eliana had just put on her painting smock and looked up. “That’s my Vestal.”

Ross looked back. “Vestal?”

“One of the Vestal Virgins.”

“I don’t know much about them, but this fall there’s an exhibit coming to the Uffizi called The Vestals.” His eyes traversed the picture. “Mostly sculptures though, I think.”

“Well, then you should know something about them,” she said. She walked over to his side. “In ancient Rome, the Vestals were the keepers of the temple of Vesta—the goddess of home and family. The ancient Romans believed that their empire was founded on the family, so these women were very powerful. They were given large dowries, saluted in public places, even given the best seats at the Colosseum, all the nice perks.” She looked at Ross. “They were the only women in Rome allowed to own property.”

“The Old World’s first liberated women.”

“Not exactly.” She glanced from Ross to the painting. “They had three requirements, each with serious consequences should they fail them. First, they were to commit themselves completely to the goddess Vesta. Second, they were to keep the flame of the temple burning at all times. The last promise was that they were to forswear love for themselves by taking sacred vows of chastity.”

She paused. “The last vow carried the most serious punishment if broken. It was horrible. Their lovers would be whipped to death before their eyes. Then they would be taken to the field of the damned, where they were placed in a small stone room beneath the ground. They would be given a loaf of bread and an oil lamp; then they would be buried alive.” As she gazed at the picture, she spoke with a faraway look, as if she had witnessed it herself. “Their own families weren’t even allowed to mourn them. They died alone, forsaken by everyone.”