Goddess
Chapter 4

“What are you talking about?” Marta demands. “Wedon’t want any part of this. You’ve endangered our lives enough already. Comeon, Olivia.” She grabs my arm.

“Olivia asked me whether the gods are real. Ican show her they are,” Cassius says. I resist Marta’s grasp. Now he has myattention. “And I want to prove that even women can grow plants by invokingCeres.”

“You mean you think we actually could?” I ask,astonished. This opens up an entirely new world of possibilities, ways to replacemy spiritual direction. Now that my life with Vesta has so little meaning, Icling to his suggestion as a way to perhaps fill this goddess-shaped hole in myheart.

“Yes, I think you could,” says Cassius. “Intheory, women can invoke the gods. But as far as I know it has never beentested.”

“No. Absolutely not. No way. Olivia, I can’t letyou do this,” insists Marta. “The punishment for any woman who invokes the godsis death, as you well know,” she says, shooting an accusatory look at Cassius.“Even Virgins aren’t allowed to invoke Vesta. Prayer is expected, but directlycalling on the gods to change the natural world for you is completelyforbidden. Only priests are allowed to do it.”

As much as I want to say yes to Cassius, I knowshe’s right. There’s no way we can take that kind of risk. A little knowledgeis one thing. At least you could plausibly deny what you heard. But thiscrosses an even more serious line.

“I’m sorry, Cassius,” I say in a sad but firmtone. “We’re not interested.”

“Okay, sure, no problem,” he says, grinningwidely.

“What’s so funny? Aren’t you disappointed? I wasall ready for you to beg and plead so we could crush your hopes,” Marta says.

“Oh, not at all. I’m a patient guy,” Cassiussays. “And you’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” she says and yanks me out of theclearing. We’re both quiet as we walk home, still processing everything we’vejust learned. It’s a lot to take in all at once. I’m so dazed and disorientedthat what I really need is a day off to clear my head and reflect.Unfortunately, that’s not what I’ve got on my schedule.

The next day the feast preparations begin inearnest, and I devote my every waking minute to party planning. There’sentertainment to book: I’ve got referrals from the Vestalis Maxima, but I holdauditions myself, determined not to be surprised by any unexpected mediocrity.We’ll have poetry, and then music. Then there’s the rain location to select,which I take very seriously, even though Marta rolls her eyes at me. When wescout out the third possible spot, she finally insists that we’ll just plan toput up a tent. This sends me into a frenzy of re-budgeting.

The real panic hits when one of my vendors comesto tell me he can’t deliver the wheat I’ve purchased due to spoilage problemsin his warehouses.

“It’s Cerealia!” I shout at him violently asMarta and Lucia restrain me. “It’s the festival of the goddess of grain! Haveyou ever had this festival without bread? Without flour? It’s a major componentin eight of the dishes!” When I lunge for his throat, Marta tackles me anddrags me outside. Though my shouting didn’t help matters, even Lucia’s charms can’tconvince him to short somebody else instead. I know how this story goes. He’spromised wheat to almost every major event planner in this city, and we’re theleast important customers on the list.

To solve this catastrophe, Lucia recruits themost talented cook we can get our hands on, stealing him out from under someother poor sap’s festival operation with a few flirty looks and a well-timedsmile. When we finally produce a revised menu, it’s heavy on pork. Ceres has aparticular aversion to pigs, so killing a few for a feast in her honor seemsappropriate.

The day of the feast arrives, sunny and clear.We hover around the temporary kitchens erected nearby, but the cooks are allvery experienced, and things go smoothly. By the time the banquet tables andlinens are placed, my anxiety starts to subside. The servants are allappropriately dressed, the poet is here, and the dried fruits and cheeses startcirculating as guests begin to arrive. The only thing to do now is to have aglass of wine and remain vigilant for any pacing issues as the food comes outof the kitchen.

The night turns into a lovely success, althoughone guest drops a plate of food that shatters all over the floor, but I canhardly be held responsible for that. The entertainment is even more charmingthan in rehearsal. And I’m starting to feel this wine. I even eat a fewmouthfuls of the food—I couldn’t touch anything all day because of my nerves.

“Did you plan all this yourself?” asks someoneat my shoulder.

“Gaius!” I exclaim. “I didn’t know you wereinvited.”

“I wasn’t,” he says. “My father got a courtesyinvitation, but he had something much fancier and more important to attend, soI snagged it.”

Gaius’s father is an extremely wealthylandholder with an enormous property that begins a few miles west of the city.Even for Academy of Mars boys, he has quite a pedigree. I’m sure his fathermust receive invitations to every major festival event all year long.

“I think it’s going well so far, thank thegods,” I say.

“It would seem so. Although the menu’s abit…exotic.” He raises an eyebrow. “Did the harvest fail to bless us with awheat crop last year? Or does someone need a theology lesson?”

He’s being arch, but I can tell he came to me infriendship, and I feel a glow of appreciation. “A vendor had some supplyproblems and shorted us.”

“Did Marta rip him a new one?”

“No, but I almost did.”

He smiles.

This is the longest conversation, by far, thatI’ve ever been able to sustain with Gaius. And he smiled at me! I can’t thinkof anything else to contribute, but I want to keep it going, to show I’m gladhe’s come. Then my eye falls on one of the nearby tables. “There are quite afew Selanthi here tonight.”

Selanth is a country that borders us to thenorth. Its countrymen are easy to recognize because they almost all havewhite-blond hair and pale skin, probably because of their cold climate. We tryto keep a diplomatic relationship with them, so we see them around the cityfrom time to time. I used to wonder why they were always trailed by one or twomiserable-looking attendants. It took me a while to figure out that Selanthstill practices slavery.

“They’re here for peace talks,” Gaius says,frowning.

This surprises me. I’ve heard snatches ofconversations in the hallways of the College of Pontiffs, or from listening tothe academy boys, so I know that there have been border skirmishes recently.But that’s common enough. I didn’t get the impression that it was anythingserious.

Before I can reply, one of the Selanthi beginsshouting at his seatmate, who I recognize as an academy student. As he beginsshouting back, I’m afraid they’re going to come to blows. Gaius dashes theirway as some other party guests pull them apart.

“Let me apologize on behalf of my countryman,sir,” Gaius says to the Selanthian, who still looks extremely angry. “He’s hada little too much wine, but I’m sure he meant no disrespect. We are honored byyour presence at this banquet today and hope you will forgive his bad manners.”

The Selanthian doesn’t relax, but he nods toGaius. He then starts back in on his pork belly, radiating anger. Hiscompatriots begin talking heatedly.

Gaius grabs the young academy boy by the arm andmanhandles him out a side door. I bet there’s nothing good waiting for him.Disciplinary action at the academy can be unpleasant.

Marta and Lucia join me. “The Flamen Cerialis ishere,” Lucia reports. “He’s going to give the final blessing.” Since this is arather unimportant feast, he’s just stopping by for a moment.

The flamen excuses the musicians and takes thestage. “Honored guests, I hope you have enjoyed this lovely evening, theentertainment, and the excellent food we’ve partaken in today. All this wasmade possible by the generosity of our goddess Ceres. Please join me inoffering a prayer of thanks.”

As the room turns to pray with the flamen, Ifeel a flash of annoyance. Made possible by Ceres maybe, even though we didn’teat any grain. But also made possible by our days of hard work and anxiety. Notonly did we get no thanks whatsoever, he didn’t even mention Vesta. When theflamen leaves, he walks right by us Vestals without even pausing to say hello.

I turn to Marta and Lucia. “Did the flamen thankeither of you earlier?”

“No,” they say.

I breathe out heavily and put my hand on my hip.“I need a break,” I say. “Make sure the clean-up goes okay.” And before theycan object, I head to the door. I’m several paces outside when Marta catches upand grabs my wrist.

“I don’t know what’s up with you,” she says,“but you can’t go walking around this area at night. You’re not in the sacredgrove here, you’re in the city. There are plenty of drunk men in the streets.They’ve been at parties all day. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, shaking her off withenough violence that she knows to let me go.

The night is cool, and a breeze has picked up,making me slightly uncomfortable. In the tent I was overheated from wine and anger,but the wind quickly chills me. I cross my arms and walk faster, hoping togenerate some warmth. Turning down an alley, I catch the overloud, raucouslaughter of an inebriated crowd, and begin to regret venturing out into thecity. I hasten towards the next intersection so I can return to the main road,and as I turn the corner I almost collide with another woman in white.

“Olivia,” Lavinia says in disapproving surprise.“What are you doing out here alone? Is your feast over? You were supposed to gohome with one of the flamen’s assistants.”

There’s no good excuse, so I go with the truth.“I’m taking an angry walk,” I tell her.

“I see,” she says. “What upset you?”

Although she’s not afraid to dole outpunishments when they’re warranted, I’ve always found Lavinia to be asympathetic listener. And I need to talk about this.

“The flamen didn’t thank us for putting on thefeast,” I tell her, realizing how absurd that sounds. But I don’t dare give herany further context.

Lavinia laughs aloud. “Were you expecting histhanks?”

“Well, yes,” I say sulkily. “We put in a lot ofwork for his goddess.”

“Ceres is your goddess too,” she reminds me.“You know that.”

“But why should we help them with theirfestival? Do they ever help us?” I demand.

“Olivia, Vesta is the hearth of our nation, andwe are the brides. It’s our duty to support all of the flamen, just as dutifulwives would support their husbands. In honoring Ceres, we also honor Vesta,”Lavinia says.

Vesta’s not even real, I want to retort. Instead, I just look at her,still defiant.

“Olivia, if you are expecting thanks from theflamens for simply doing your duty, you’re in for a lot of disappointment,”Lavinia says with a half-smile.

“You thank me all the time. You even thank mefor taking your letters to the Regia. Why shouldn’t the flamens?”

Lavinia gazes at me, her brow furrowed. “Theydon’t need to thank you. They don’t thank me either. Get used to it,” she says.Then her expression softens. “I think you’re overworked,” she tells me. “Youcan spend tomorrow with your friends. Try to get over whatever’s bothering you.It’s not like you to behave this way.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say, affected by herkindness.

“Good. Now let’s go home,” she guides me,putting her arm around my shoulders.

***

When I return to my room in the House ofVestals, I replace Marta and Lucia deep in conversation about me. They look up asI arrive, and the relief on their faces is obvious.

“The Vestalis Maxima says we can have the dayoff,” I announce immediately. “I ran into her outside the tent.”

Lucia beams. “Excellent!”

“So you’ve recovered from your little fit oftemper, then?” Marta asks.

I ignore this and begin getting ready for bed,and sensing that they won’t get any more out of me tonight, they follow suit.

I spend the night restlessly, and my frequenttossing wakes Marta on several occasions. “Go to sleep,” she murmurs, but withless rancor than usual. When dawn breaks, I finally give up.

“Marta,” I whisper. “I’m going to do theexperiment.”

Marta sits up, wearily rubbing her eyes. “I cantell further sleep isn’t happening. Get dressed. Walk with me.”

The walls of the House of Vestals aren’t exactlysoundproof, and I can see why Marta doesn’t want to be overheard, so I comply.We sneak down a side staircase to an exit that won’t wake anyone. Squinting inthe morning light, I follow her out of the house, past the Regia, to a clusterof laurel trees that will hide us from view.

“Olivia, you can’t do the experiment,” she says,turning to me as we arrive. “I know you’re upset now, but it will all be okay.You have a nice life here. You have friends, a home, and plenty to do. You’llbe fine.”

“I won’t be fine,” I say tiredly. “I’ll bemiserable. I’ll be a fraud. I’ll be a liar, because I’ll have to tell oursupplicants to pray to Vesta when I know she’s not real. And…”

“And what?” Marta asks.

“I won’t have any relationship with the realgods,” I say. I know this doesn’t mean anything to Marta. But I need anothergoddess in my life.

Marta sighs and sits in the grass next to one ofthe trees. “What a reversal. I never thought I would be the one urging youto be happy with your life as a Vestal.”

“I just want to feel like my life meanssomething,” I tell her. “I don’t want to be an unpaid party planner for thenext twenty years.”

“Twenty four,” she says glumly, resignation onher face. “I know, Olivia. I want to do it too.” She holds out her hand to me.I join her on the grass, and we watch the sun rise together.

“When arewe going to tell Cassius?” I ask her. “I want to start right away. I can’t stopthinking about it.”

“It’s Cerealia,” she reminds me. “I’m sure he’llbe busy for the next few days. It’s his goddess’s festival.”

But our fears are unfounded. After returning toour beds for a few more hours of sleep, Marta and I rise and walk to the templesteps in the hope that he’ll pass by. To our surprise, he’s already there.

“Ladies,” he says with his brilliant smile,“I’ve been expecting you. How did it go last night, Olivia?” he asks. “DidCeres put on a brilliant feast? Were you sure to thank her for all that hardwork?”

His penetration astonishes me. “I…I thought youwould be at the festival all day,” I stammer, for lack of anything morerelevant to say.

“I skipped out,” he says. “Now let’s getstarted.”

***

Cassius leads us back through the woods to hissecret clearing. “I figure this is as safe a place as any, for right now,” hesays. “Later on maybe we’ll switch things up a bit, but we’ll start heretoday.” I see he has turned over a plot of fresh earth and set up an altar infront of some grassy space.

“Now, here I have some lovely sprouts ofanemone,” he says, holding up two small pots, “just days after poking theirheads up from the ground.” I look closely and see that there are two littleleaves on a small stem nestled into the soil in the pot.

“First, we are going to plant these. They’llneed some space after you girls work your magic,” Cassius says. So we dig holesin a plot of soil that he has already prepared for us and transfer the plants.My breathing gets shallower with my mounting excitement.

“What next?” I say eagerly.

Cassius pauses and then frowns. “Are you readyto do this?” he asks. “I mean, really ready to accept the consequences if we’refound?” Now that we’ve come to the precipice, he seems to be having a moment ofdoubt.

“You dragged us all the way out here to ask usthat question?” says Marta in disgust. “We’ve made our decision. Let’s do italready.”

“Okay,” he says decidedly. “Today you will bepraying to Flora, goddess of spring and of flowers. First, let’s make anoffering.”

Marta and I pass over some nut cakes that wetook from the kitchens this morning after breakfast. We always carry food. It’sa good idea to have some on hand in case an offering to some god or other iscalled for in the course of your day.

Cassius lays them on the altar. “Now, let’s saya prayer of praise for Flora before we ask for her aid,” he says. He speaks asimple prayer for us aloud, and we repeat it and commit it to memory. Part ofit is in Old Polonian, a language only used in religious ritual, but of coursewe’ve all studied it.

Veris laeta facies

mundo propinatur.

Hiemalis acies

victa iam fugatur.

In vestitu vario

Flora principatur,

nemorum dulcisono

que cantu celebratur.

The joyous face of spring

is presented to the world.

Winter’s army

is conquered and put to flight.

In colorful dress

Flora is arrayed,

and the woods are sweet

with birdsong in her praise.

“Now, ladies,” says Cassius, “I am about to tellyou the big secret that I’ve sworn about fifteen holy vows to protect. Readyyourselves. To ask the gods to change the natural world for you, you simplyhave to say please.” We look at him curiously, and he smiles.

“Sit on your knees in front of your plant. Relaxyour body, close your eyes, and try to be as still as possible. Clear yourmind. Recite your paean to Flora. When you’re ready, take this strip of clothand bind your wrists together. Not seriously bind them. It can be gentle,” hesays. “This symbolizes your helplessness compared to the powerful gods, and in essence,it’s to get them to pity you. ‘Oh, I’m so weak, and you’re so strong andawesome,’ is what you’re trying to say.” Cassius pauses to wait while we drapeour wrists with the cloth, helping us cross the strip of fabric under and over.“Now repeat the following words: ‘Oh, Flora, as I lack your godly power, so Iinvoke your aid. Hear my prayer and make my will your own.’”

We repeat the prayer, my heart pounding in mychest. I can barely get the words out. Thisprayer could be condemning us to death, I think, and my breath catches atthe word invoke. But I remember theflame, and the awful lie I’ve been living for the past six years as a Vestal,and I force myself to recite it.

When thepounding in my heart subsides, I give a sideways glance to Marta, who’s lookingpale. We lock eyes, and then look to Cassius for further instruction.

“Okay, well done girls,” Cassius sayscomfortably, unconcerned with our apparent distress. “The rest is prayer. Getcomfortable, and focus on your goal. Ask Flora repeatedly for exactly what youwant, which is to make this plant grow and blossom as quickly as possible.Don’t let other thoughts or feelings intrude.”

As I sit on the grass, trying to get settled,Cassius kneels besides me. “Now close your eyes,” he says softly, “and tiltyour head back a little like this. It will keep you more comfortable.” He liftsmy chin, and I stiffen at his touch. “You need to relax,” he says. He’s way tooclose.

“Well that’s not helping,” Marta snaps, andshoves him over.

“Um, we don’t really like men getting too closeto us, Cassius,” I say kindly, although it hardly matters now that we’ve brokensuch a serious law. Marta, as usual, has overreacted.

“We know how to pray,” Marta says, glaring athim.

“Sorry,”he says. “Point taken.”

I silently recite and pray until my knees beginto ache. Judging by the sun, it’s been over an hour. Despite my best effort, mymind begins to wander.

“That’s probably enough for now,” Cassius sayswhen he notices our fatigue.

“What do we do next?” I say.

“That’s it. It’s that simple,” says Cassius.“The actions you need to take are simple, I should say. But you won’t seeresults unless you’ve put in the spiritual effort, and that involves focus andmental discipline. And ‘purity of heart,’ whatever that means. That’s somethingthe priests say, but I suspect it’s just to guilt us into being good boys andgirls. But for now, we wait. Meet me back here in about six hours so we cancheck in with these little plants before sundown.”

Since we have nothing else to occupy our time,Marta and I return to the House of Vestals.

“So all it takes is prayer,” Marta ponders in alow voice as we walk. “We do plenty of that every day. Although granted it’s toa fake goddess.”

I glance around immediately to make sure wewon’t be overheard. “I know. And it was over so fast. Can you believe it was sosimple?”

“Yes,” says Marta. “Most of those academy boysare so dumb that it had to be something easy. But I don’t understand whythey’re allowed to do it at all. Aren’t only priests supposed to be able toinvoke the gods?”

“You are right, only priests can.” I say. “Buttechnically all the boys in the academies are priests. They’re inducted intothe order after the first few weeks of their studies.” I’ve been guilty ofpaying a little more attention to the academy doings than Marta has.

I suppose I should take a moment to reflect onthe danger of our actions, but instead I’m buzzing with energy, stillexhilarated by our rule-breaking. I’m desperate for the hours to pass so I cansee the results of my efforts. Maybe it’s unworthy of me, but I’m secretlycurious to see how much progress my plant makes compared with Marta’s. I am achampion prayer, and I am far more sincere in all of my religious duties thanMarta ever is. In any case, I’m absolutely sure that my plant would look likeHercules next to any effort Lucia ever made.

I suggest we go down to have some lunch, just tokeep ourselves busy. We both take our meals outside and eat in the shade of anolive tree, well-guarded from any eavesdroppers.

“Have you ever prayed to Flora before?” Martaasks.

“No,” I admit. Flora doesn’t have a largefollowing, or her own temple, as far as I know. There is a Flamen Floralis, buthe’s a lesser priest. “We would have prayed to her, if we had ever stayed inthe city for Floralia.”

“Which is something I always wanted to do,”Marta says, smiling. “What a show that must be. I’m desperately curious. Iwould rove around the city until I caught a pontiff misbehaving.”

Floralia is a festival with a particularlyplebian flavor. It is frequently celebrated by plays and performances where themain point is to be completely sexually dissipated. Prostitutes claim thisfestival as their own, and the revelry lasts far into the night.

I laugh at Marta. “I would like to see it too,”I admit. “It’s a shame the Vestalis Maxima would never let us anywhere near thecity.” We have never attended a Floralia, for obvious reasons. Those in chargeof the Vestals would prefer to see every Virgin as far away from this holiday aspossible.

“I don’t mind missing Floralia, but this is thefirst year I’m not looking forward to our trip to the shore.” I say. “We’vejust started our training with Cassius. I don’t want to leave.”

“Are you telling me that you replace praying morefun than the beach?” Marta smiles, shaking her head. “Olivia, you are soweird.”

Since we can’t stay in the city, Lucia, Marta,and I always go to the seashore, a tradition we’ve kept up since Flavia and theolder girls used to take us. Now that they’ve all been transferred to variousother temples around the country, they can’t join us. But we remember them whenwe play in the sand and walk in the surf. And we always stay with an innkeeperthe Vestalis Maxima trusts, so it’s a real vacation, with no elder Vestalslurking around corners to lecture us.

The hours drag by, but finally it’s time to meetCassius. As we head for the sacred grove, our excitement mounts. On our walkthrough the woods, we’re not particularly cautious about the sound we’remaking, or of our clothes and shoes, until I point out that it would seem oddfor us to return to the house later tonight covered in mud.

Finally we’re there, and he’s waiting for us,grinning. My eyes replace the ground, and I almost weep with happiness. There, inthe place where we settled my plant, stands a young but flourishing anemone. Ikneel on the ground and bend over it, run the delicate leaves through my hands.It’s the picture of health. Marta’s plant has also grown well, but I spot atiny bud on mine about to open, and hers doesn’t have any. I’m secretlypleased.

Suddenly, from behind us, we hear a rustling inthe trees, and look around, alarmed. Then there’s something crashing toward us.It sounds huge. Based on its size, I think it’s a bear. A big, blond bear. Lucia.Damn.

“What are you guys doingin here, and why are you always leaving me behind?” she whines,wrestling with a tree branch. “You think you’re so cool in your little club,don’t you? Sure, just leave Lucia behind, she doesn’t matter, she doesn’t liketo have secret fun times in the forest.” She makes a growling noise at thebranch. It seems to be snagged in her braid.

“Here,” I say, helping to get her untangled.“And now you’re going to turn around immediately. Lucia, you can’t be here. Youdon’t want to get involved in this,” I say urgently.

“Bull,” she says. “I am not leaving. What areyou doing, and why am I not a part of it? And why is he here?” she says,noticing Cassius for the first time.

Marta and I look at each other. I have no ideahow to handle this in a way that doesn’t leave her curious enough to spy on usfor the rest of our lives.

“Lucia,” Marta says, “we don’t want to tell youwhy we’re here. Because what we’re doing here is utterly illegal, and we couldall be killed for it. Believe me when I say that we didn’t try to exclude you.We didn’t invite you here for your own good.” The sincerity in Marta’s tonegives Lucia pause. This degree of respectfulness from Marta definitely signalssomething highly irregular.

“Okay,” Lucia says uncertainly. “Say that Ibelieve you. Why would you think that you, my two closest friends in the world,don’t have a responsibility to at least give me an opportunity to join you? I’mnot as dumb as you think, you know,” she says angrily, jabbing her finger atMarta. “If you ever gave me half a chance, I might surprise you.”

“Lucia,” I say, “we prayed to Flora. We grewthese plants. And if you tell anyone about this, or lead them here, or let thisslip in any way at all, we are all going to die.”

“You grew the wheat?” she says, shocked, lookingat Cassius’s trough.

“No, these little anemones,” says Marta.

“Oh, they are so cute!” says Lucia, clasping herhands. “Look at you! Look at you girls! You can do the most amazing thing! Howdid you replace out you were so special?”

“That’s the thing, Lucia,” says Cassius.“They’re not. Anybody can do this. You can do it too, only the priests andpontiffs don’t want you to use your natural ability.”

“No way!” she says, open-mouthed. “I want totry,” she demands. “I want an anemone too.”

“Well, I don’t have any more anemones,” Cassiussays. “In fact I don’t have anything at all that you could practice on at themoment. But if you wanted to try to come back tomorrow I might be able to meetyou here again.”

“No!” Lucia says forcefully.

“Here we go,” says Marta. Lucia’s wealth andextraordinary beauty have caused her to be petted and spoiled all her life, andshe’s accustomed to always getting her way. Marta and I have vivid memories ofher epic meltdowns at ten years old.

“I have to try, and I am going to try today. Ican’t just look at this happening and not try for myself. What can we do? Whatcan I grow?” Lucia asks.

“Uh,” says Cassius, “I have a dried fig. This isthe best I can do. I doubt you’ll be able to germinate it on your first try,but if you really want to give it a shot…”

Lucia does, so Cassius talks her through theprocess. When she produces a nut cake for the offering, he almost places it onthe altar, and then he stops.

“Wait,” he says. “I don’t think Flora’s going towork for us here. We want a tree, not a flower.”

“Whom do I pray to then?” Lucia asks.

“Um,” he says, “I’m kind of a grain guy, but Ithink it would be Pomona.”

“Yes,” I confirm. “Pomona, goddess of fruit andorchards. Unless you’d rather try Insitor.”

Everybody looks at me.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,” I say. “Allthree of you have studied religion almost your whole lives. Insitor. Minor helper god to Ceres.Germinator of seeds.”

“Well,” says Cassius, the corner of his mouthrising, “I think Insitor could possibly be…er…very busy right now with all ofthe people praying to him and all, so let’s maybe give Pomona a shot firstbefore we consult a specialist.” He can’t stifle his smile now.

“Ass,” I say to him, eyes narrowed. “Fine. Lether try Pomona, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Marta and I kneel and start a second round ofprayer. Cassius begins teaching Lucia a paean to Pomona, and it’s a bit longerand more complicated than the one we had for Flora.

Rege sub hoc Pomona fuit, qua nulla Latinas

inter hamadryadas coluit sollertius hortos

nec fuit arborei studiosior altera fetus;

unde tenet nomen: non silvas illa nec amnes,

rus amat et ramos felicia poma ferentes;

nec iaculo gravis est, sed adunca dextera falce

qua modo luxuriem premit et spatiantia passim

bracchia conpescit, fisso modo cortice virgam

inserit et sucos alieno praestat alumno,

nec sentire sitim patitur bibulaeque recurvas

radicis fibras labentibus inrigat undis.

Hic amor, hoc studium, Veneris quoque nulla cupido est.

Vim tamen agrestum metuens pomaria claudit

intus et accessus prohibet refugitque viriles.

Under this reign Pomona lived.

No other of the wood nymphs of Latium

cared for the gardens more skillfully

or was more devoted to the orchards;

this is how she made her name:

neither woods nor rivers did she love,

rather fields and branches laden with ripeapples;

not with a javelin, but with a pruning knife

she cut back the spreading branches,

splitting the bark and inserting a graft,

and giving a fosterling the sap of others.

She would not allow them to suffer thirst;

watering the twining roots in trickling streams.

This was her love, her passion, and she had nolonging

for the desires of Venus.

“Rege subhoc Pomona fuis…?” Lucia recites.

“Fuit,”Cassius says softly. “It’s in past tense. That’s okay, try again.”

“…interdryadahamys coluit sollertius hortos?” she attempts.

“Hamadrydas,”Cassius corrects her.

“What does that mean again?” says Luciauncertainly.

“Idiot,” mutters Marta.

“It means wood nymphs,” Cassius explains, with awarning glance to Marta. “You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks,” Lucia says, feigning deafness toMarta’s comment. “Rege sub hoc Pomonafuit, qua nulla Latinas inter drydahamys. I mean…”

“Idiot,” Marta speaks aloud with a snicker.

“I’ve had enough!” Lucia says to her furiously.

I jab Marta in the ribs. Really, sometimes shecrosses the line. She never gives Lucia a chance.

“So the point is, just grow!” Lucia demands thefig. “Okay,” she whips back around to Cassius, “this is never going to happenwith herhere.” She glares at Marta.“Can you just teach me the Flora one and you can bring me an anemone nexttime?”

“Sure,” Cassius says, hiding a smile. “Let’spractice.” And he quietly recites the Ode to Flora with Lucia while we pray.

If I could, I’d stay for hours. But the sun dipstoward the horizon, and Cassius says it’s time to go. “I’m impressed with yourdedication,” he says. We’re all flushed with happiness, grateful to be doingsomething rewarding. As we head back to the house, I want to offer a prayer ofthanks, but I can’t think who to address it to. So I thank Cassius instead.

“Don’tmention it.” He smiles.

We say good-bye to Cassius and take a circuitousroute back home, conscious that Lucia followed us easily today and we need tobe more careful. As we pass the temple steps in the dusk, I see someone tallmoving toward us.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi, Gaius!” Lucia says cheerily.

But Gaius ignores her. “Are you going to the Ludi Cereales tomorrow?” he asks,addressing me directly.

“Yes, that’s the plan,” I say, surprised.Tomorrow, on the last day of Cerealia, there will be games held in the city’shuge stadium, the Circus Maximus. As important state personages, the Virginsalways attend, and we get very nice seats up in the front with other prominentpeople and various heads of state. Virginhood does have its perks.

“You don’t want to go, though,” he says. “It’sgoing to be hot. With that sun glaring down…I hate those things.”

“It’s late April!” I protest.

“All the dust…all the crowds, it’s such ahassle,” he says. “And you can never see what’s going on in the ring.”

“We have very nice seats,” I assert, “and it’s aVestal tradition. We always manage to have a nice time. We like the food. Luciaalways has lamb kebabs. Right, Lucia?” I say nervously, unsure where ourconversation is going.

“Then suppose I go with you,” he says, withoutwaiting for Lucia’s answer. “I’ll meet you at eleven in the market square.” Andhe walks away.

“Well, I’ll see if I can get you a seat…” Itrail off. Once again, I’m unsure whether I’ve been asked or told.

“Now what was that about?” Marta puzzles.

“He must love lamb!” says Lucia brightly.