The serving boy took Cornelia’s hand, gently pulled her to her feet, and led her from the room.

The room became even darker. Lucius looked around and saw that all the lamps but one had been extinguished. Catullus had vanished. Except for his cup-bearer, Lucius was alone.

The boy led him though a doorway. He was hardly aware of his surroundings, though he sensed that each turning brought him to a hallway that was larger and more brightly lit than the last. Finally he arrived at the vast reception room dominated by the statue of the emperor. He looked up at the statue’s face. The sculptor had captured the terrible power of Domitian’s gaze. Lucius shut his eyes and reached for the cup-bearer, letting the boy lead him like a blind man.

He opened his eyes only when he felt fresh air on his face and realized that they were outside, under a dark and moonless sky. A flight of steps led down to the sedan that had brought him. The boy helped him step inside. Bearers lifted him aloft. Next to him on the seat were the clothes he had changed out of earlier.

The trip to his house was short. He stepped from the sedan. The bearers turned and vanished without a word.

Lucius rapped on the door. Hilarion opened it. His knowing grin vanished when he saw the look on Lucius’s face.

“What do you see, Hilarion? No, don’t speak. You see a dead man before you.”

In the days that followed, Lucius expected Praetorians to arrive at his house at any moment to arrest him. Moving sometimes in a stupor, sometimes in a frantic rush, he put his affairs in order. He wore the fascinum always, so that he would not be without it when they came for him.

Confronted by oblivion, he tried to think about the gods and his ancestors and all the other things a man was supposed to think about in the face of death, but he drew a blank. In the end, did he believe in nothing at all? This revelation was the most disturbing aspect of the ordeal. He had left the House of the Flavians shaken, uncertain, full of dread, as would any man; but more than that, he had emerged with a sense that nothing mattered. In the black room, all illusions had been stripped away. A man and a rabbit were exactly the same, two flashes of consciousness caught for a brief instant in the cycle of life and death that had no beginning, no end, no resolution, no purpose.

In such a frame of mind, he received the news that Cornelia had been arrested. Then he heard that others had been arrested – men accused of being her lovers. That these men were innocent, Lucius had no doubt, for he was certain that he was her only lover; they were simply men who had run afoul of the emperor, and this was Domitian’s way of destroying them. Not one of them confessed, though they were interrogated under torture. Nor did Cornelia’s slaves from the House of the Vestals produce any evidence against them. The verdict against Cornelia and her alleged lovers was delivered not in Roma but at the emperor’s retreat at Alba. Cornelia was not even present at the mockery of a trial. She was condemned in absentia.

There was speculation that the guilty men would be allowed to flee into exile, as had happened after the previous trials of Vestals. But because they had not cooperated with the court – in other words, confessed – it was decreed that the men must suffer the traditional penalty. In the Forum, for all to see, they were stripped naked, tied to crosses, and beaten to death. Cornelia was compelled to be present. Lucius stayed at home. He was not sure which would have been worse, to see the men killed or to see Cornelia as she was forced to watch.

He intended to avoid the spectacle of Cornelia’s punishment as well, but on the scheduled day, well publicized by heralds and placards, he found himself unable to stay away.

Starting before dawn, thousands of people began to gather outside the House of the Vestals. No living person had ever before witnessed the traditional punishment of a Vestal. The same spectators who flocked to the Flavian Amphitheatre came to see this spectacle as well. They dressed in dark colours appropriate for a funeral. The Forum was a sea of black.

Lucius found himself at the back of the crowd; he could not have pushed his way to the front if he had wanted to. There was nothing to see, at least at first. The beginning of the ceremony took place out of sight, within the House of the Vestals. That was where Cornelia would be relieved of her vitta and her suffibulum, stripped naked, and scourged with rods while the Pontifex Maximus, the other Vestals, and the assembled priests of the state religion watched. Then she would be dressed as a corpse and placed in a closed, black litter, with restraints on her limbs and a gag over her mouth, and the litter would be carried aloft, like a funeral bier, through the streets.

The crowd awaiting the appearance of the funeral litter grew restless. Some the women began to keen and tear out their hair. Some of the men muttered curses against the guilty Vestal. Some made obscene jokes, smirking and laughing. A few dared to speculate that the Vestal might be innocent, despite the judgement of the Pontifex Maximus, for it was said that she had comported herself with utmost dignity throughout her trial and that not one of the condemned men had spoken against her.

At last, preceded by musicians with rattles and pipes, the funeral litter appeared. Black curtains concealed the occupant, but the knowledge that a living woman was inside – the Virgo Maxima herself, known to everyone because of her appearances at religious rites and at the amphitheatre – caused people to shudder and gasp.

The procession passed at a stately pace through the Forum, then entered the Subura, heading for the Colline Gate. This was the very route, thought Lucius, that his father had taken with Nero on their final journey out of Roma.

The procession moved slowly down the narrow street. Oppressed by the crush of people, Lucius left the route and took other streets to arrive ahead of the procession at an open area just inside the old Servian Walls. Here the crowd had only begun to gather and Lucius was able to find a place near the front. There was not much to see – only a hole in the ground from which a ladder protruded, and next to it a pile of freshly dug earth. This was the opening, normally covered over, to the underground vault that had existed since the time of Tarquinius Priscus, in which, for centuries, condemned Vestals had been interred and left to die.

How large was the chamber, and how deep underground? No one knew except the very few officials of the state religion who had seen it. It was said to contain a cot, a lamp with a little oil, a few scraps of food, and a pitcher with a bit of water – cruel gestures of welcome and comfort for a victim doomed to starve to death in darkness. Presumably the vault was quite small, but for all Lucius knew it extended under his feet. He might be standing over the very spot where Cornelia would breathe her last.

What became of the previous Vestals who died in this place? Were their remains ever removed, or were they left in the chamber on grisly display for each new victim to see? If that was true, the chamber would house the remains of every Vestal who had been condemned to die there. Cornelia would be made to see exactly what was to become of her and to contemplate the company she was joining, and to realize that her own remains would be there for the next condemned Vestal to see. Lucius found himself imagining the scene in horrifying detail, unable to think of anything else.

At last he heard the sound of horns and rattles, along with cries and moans of lamentation. The procession was approaching.

The crowd grew thick around him, but Lucius stayed where he was, determined to be as close to Cornelia as possible.

At last the funeral litter arrived, surrounded by a great many lictors to hold back the crowd and keep order and followed by the Vestals and numerous priests. Among them was Domitian, wearing the toga of the Pontifex Maximus with its many folds gathered and tucked in a loop just above his waist and the cowl pulled over his head, casting his face in shadow. Near him was Catullus, dressed in black and guided by a boy who held his hand.