CHAPTER XII

XII

During days, even nundina, Blodwynn made me go on a diet, which was rich on boiled roots, fresh vegetables, most varied fruits, scarce meat …. I’d rather say: no meat, no pastry, no sweets… Not even milk :she would periodically give me large pitchers which were full of some kind of thick whitish liquid, the outcome of grinding great amounts of almonds which would next be mixed with the water she had brought from Cumae wells. Not those at Cornelia Sulla’s villa but others nearby, like that subterranean gallery where sibyls were said to have lived, devoted to delivering their foretelling speeches since a remote age. Blodwynn had made up her mind of remaining at home all the time that the…should I call it an experience? might last. Being Cornelia’s friend, neither the High Vestals nor the girls found it strange to have her as a guest. Moreover, Blodwynn had that carefully-wrought skill to transmit an utterly spontaneous image of herself, alien to that uncanny, sombre imposing presence that is expected of a priestess or wise woman of her race. Not even would our mature experienced High Vestal be able to relate her to those messy-haired hags who used to practise black magic or the skull collectors… which you had so convincingly described in your chronicles causing all Romans to tremble with fear. In order to control my sleep, just in case my health could be threatened, she decided to share my cubiculum

. I noticed she had brought her own mattress, which happened to be a comfortable bag, woven –maybe by Blodwynn herself – with some finely-spun wool, dyed in colour shades which I only remembered having seen in stones, clay, earth, tree leaves….She had also brought her deerskin cover. I immediately noticed the effects of drinking sagebrush brewing in those dreams which began to haunt me from then on…That sibyl-like lament calling me in that voice which had got lost in my childhood, reverberating as if coming out of a well…. Or a cave….I woke up amidst my shaking wailing, embraced by Blodwynn, who immediately made me have a ready-made brewing of camomile and lime-blossom. That night the voice had acquired a clear-cut face : bright, alabaster-like, in which there shone those large , light blue eyes within that dark mass of hair which I might have inherited instead of Lucius Calpurnius’. Restraining my sobbing, the only thought that came to me was the fact that your father-in-law’s decision not to take a new wife would have make her happy. My anxiety, then, got channelled in another direction: should I speak about it with my father so that I might clear up my mind? No, perhaps he was not even aware of what had really happened. No doubt only he wise man could do it .Once again, I realised how bold all this was. Nevertheless there was no other path to follow. Calpurnia could not be bound to keep on being discreet, even submitted Calpurnia, though I should apparently play the role corresponding to the virtuous wife of the Great

Man,   the New Alexander –as Blodwynn would call him –in the deepest shadows I had to perform a task which, in the long run, might get an incredible power that nobody in Rome- not even yourself my lord – could imagine about me.

–Lady Calpurnia …You know what I told you: You may have to pay a much higher emotional price than you initially thought….

I firmly answered to her worried, even anguished expression.

–I know I must carry on, right to the end, Lady Blodwynn. I suppose my own life might even be the price…mightn’t it?

–To tell the truth, not exactly. I told you that the most troublesome aspect could be that likely mental exhaustion which would probably lead you to depression, lack of appetite… and anything that might totally damage your physical health. You know it is the only way to get what you are looking for. You can’t leave Domus Publica for a journey that may take many months if you should decide to set off for the secret site in Gades. Moreover, you would not be allowed to stay there: just remember it is a selected place restricted to the initiated ones. You haven’t been instructed on that priesthood during all the years which are necessary to achieve the lore that is wanted. I think this is easy to understand, Calpurnia. Don’t be obsessed with danger. I will stay awake all night long, veiling your sleep. No, do not worry about me : I have all the rest of the day to get some relax. Apart from this, one of the secrets in which we priestesses have been instructed is the skill to control our bodies and the need of sleep.

Night had come again. After Marcia and Portia had let us, Blodwynn decided to leave me alone for a while, so that I could remain in silence for a short time, scrutinizing my thoughts and emotions. Some sort of thorough analysis of my own self, according to the advice she had given me in order to reach my goal, spiritually strengthened, without any doubt about my purpose. Those few minutes in which I gave myself to meditation were enough to confirm what I meant. At last she came.

–Lady Calpurnia….I have been thinking about all this. I had not noticed that, no matter how wide Domus Publica may be and how far your room is from the Vestals’ house, the smell of the perfumes and incense that I must use will certainly linger in the air for hours. I have decided that we should set off for Cornelia’s villa at Cumae where nobody would notice anything, as the place is located in the outskirts of the town.

–Lady Blodwynn … When we first stayed there, my husband had news about it. No wonder the same could happen now. What’s more, I am demanded to be as discreet as possible. Therefore, it wouldn’t be wise of me to revisit a villa

which initially belonged to someone whose memory is still awesome and frightening to many patricians and common people….In the same way as they remember all the aberrations committed there, though twenty-five years have gone by since then. Imagine the influence it might

have on my lord’s career, the fact of having two different kinds of enemy: on the one hand, someone that brandishes a large amount of economic power and can count on many Romans’ support as he represents the rise of a new man facing the old patricians. On the other, there are those whose only aim is to spread rumours about my husband being a new Sulla among common people… No Roman-either plebeian or nobleman–will never forget the consequences of Sulla’s proscriptions.

While Blodwynn was listening to my unexpected speech, she assented to each thing I said.

–Then I suggest going to my father’s villa in Pompeii as this is not so far from Cumae, as you know. Do give me enough time to send orders for getting the house ready: it has hardly ever been inhabited since Lucius Calpurnius’ house at Herculaneum was finished. Therefore, this provides us utter isolation, due to the fact that Pater and his community of philosophers and writers prefer staying in the new villa because of its larger dimensions. Consequently, my husband’s informers would think that my intention could be just to breathe some pure air at my father’s. Remember, Blodwynn… he has been Caesar’s friend and collaborator since I was a little child…or even before my birth. By the way, I think he is about to return to Macedonia one of these days.

I decided to visit my father the following day to tell him about my plans. Obviously, I made him think that I only meant to leave claustrophobic Domus Publica and anguishing Rome which was then growing infected by an untimely, unusually warm springtime which had brought about a heat wave which would constantly make me faint day after day, worsening my lassitude. Blodwynn had succeeded in slightly relieving it with those invigorating brewings she would make with specific herbs, fruits and flowers. I remember trying to keep my eyes lowered when Pater arrived at the atrium so that he would not see those tears damping my eyelashes. That pale face framed by those black locks shadowing those invading blue eyes….There it was, again among my thoughts, wandering through my mind…. “Calpurnia my little one…” My father still had a good amount of dark hair – though already grey-streaked – and kept himself slim and wiry. His eyes were still black and lively, surrounded by almost as many wrinkles as those you have around your eyelids. I had forgotten both of you are about the same age….

He didn’t need to ask about you as he was well-informed about how military operations were going on in Greece. I tried to avoid politics in our conversations since I did not want him to bring out Cicero’s issue as he would usually do, whenever the talk allowed him to. My lord, too many years of bitterness have piled up among his memories. Throughout that evening, amidst the conversation on memories from my childhood and adolescence that I decided to start in order to keep his mind away from his worries and obsessions, that motherly, veiled long-lost face remained there between us, like some sort of imperceptible ghostly vision. There were moments in which I thought he might also have seen it. I also knew this was a unique opportunity to learn about all that. Neither my brother nor I had been informed about the illness or accident that had swept Mater away from our lives. No, it would be too brutal to evoke memories that had certainly been gnawing on his heart as hard as on mine. Besides, this could be the last time we might see each other for a long time. He could not help warning me about how unsafe Rome was becoming for both Portia and Marcia in those days. Notwithstanding it all, he commanded me –that was the real word he uttered – to give a fatherly kiss to each of them in his name. He was immensely grateful to my friends for everything they were doing to help me cope with so many years’ cloistered loneliness inside Domus Publica. As for Cornelia Sulla, he sensibly remarked that ,being a lady of his age – “Or maybe a bit older”, he added with a roguish smile – he felt unable to transmit her his fatherly love … no matter how much this could have certainly flattered her.

Several days later, while I was trying to keep myself steady in that litter on our way to Pompeii I couldn’t forget how warmly Lucius Calpurnius had embraced me when we said goodbye. Could it be that he had also heard that silent, clear-eyed, immense-eyed voice? Was it some kind of fateful foreseeing? Might it be that he was already aware of what he had made of me through the most prosperous allegiance ever dreamt of by him in order to become a part of one of the most legendary patrician lineages and then enjoy the privileges that New Alexander would provide his father-in-law in exchange of throwing me into a lifetime’s barren seclusion? Who knows if, seeing fatality so near, scruples were beginning to spring up. Anyway all these thoughts were melting away within my silent joy for recovering my childhood and adolescence in our Pompeian villa.

I think I hadn’t returned since our wedding. No, Pompeii meant another world for me, so alien to that atmosphere surrounding the Pontifex Maximus’ wife. The sea breeze, refreshing and energizing, those wide vineyards, that smell of grove which cleanses even the most hidden parts of your body….Even the town itself, so like and unlike Rome. Being brought up in Subura, you would think they are both the same thing. All these arcades, full of small shops, outdoors schools, its crossroads taverns with its stalls of homely-made meals. But, as my father often tells me, Pompeians often blame Sulla –just like in Rome – for having erected a colony next to a volcano whose ashes smear it all over, including tongues and throats , driving you to find some relief in local wine. Despite Cornelia’s father putting the town under Venus Felix’s protection. Venus Felix …. Who unexpectedly appears to and fro, on the corners of the alleys…. Just the same I once discovered in Cumae villa.

Fortunately, we stopped to break our fast and, consequently, this relieved this trembling that had taken hold of my skin. For the first time, I felt uneasy before the fact of having to face that experience again … Would I survive? The depression that I had suffered during several days returned to my memories. This quite seemed like thinking that my mother could have begotten me in order to face this in the same way as Aurelia might have given you birth so that you would be able to improve Alexander’s work, who knows if lightened up by Aphrodite or Aeneas himself so that his lineage would show its dazzling divine face again, after centuries of darkness and silence…Sol Invictus ….Sun which has been reborn from its ashes….Caius Iulius Caesar Phoenix…Lucius Cornelius Sulla Felix.

Luckily, we reached our villa before sunset, through all these fields of vineyards and fruit trees – the same which have always provided us with oranges, lemons and figs. Even some old ones that used to stand there when my father had this villa built. They still looked as solid as long ago. I discovered some others which I remembered as tiny just-planted things. I grew startled. How on earth could a tiny stalk grow so massive? They had been growing wider and wider, thicker and thicker all through those years when I left my adolescence behind and you started unveiling yourself, showing me someone new, far beyond that kind of uncle-like acquaintance who would occasionally visit us, and, therefore, everything that had remained occult to me since my childhood began to be revealed to me: losing my self-control while being possessed by a hardened virile skin, my absolute surrender, yearning to see my belly growing with your seed inside, the frustration at my fatefully barren womb, the awareness of my own dark mediocrity, which ruthlessly tore that trusty warmth in which my father had forged the shelter that had compensated my mother’s loss. Fortunately, I still kept my veil over my face and nobody noticed my clouded eyes. We rode across that cryptoporticus under which there were the cellae that sheltered the pitchers containing the wine both my father and his dad passionately loved producing… though not reaching Sulla’s family’s output, increased by their skill to endlessly blending grapes not only from all Italian provinces but also from far beyond, as you know. The Calpurnii Pisones Caesonini would content themselves with their local Campanian variety. Apart from wine, the cellar also contained huge amounts of corn and wheat, both for trading and our private consumption. I was painfully stricken, beyond amazement and awe, by that transformation of my childhood’s world: the triclinium had been incredibly widened by adding my mother’s tablinium and cubiculum. It has also got buried among huge frescoes representing scenes which could be either ritualistic or…. ludicrous? They were utterly different form those architectural sceneries in ochre and crimson that I remembered from my adolescence. The walls now seemed to be open outwards, unsuccessfully attempting to make us see the external landscape surrounding our villa

since it could not be compared to that real sight from the outdoors gallery at the exedra, at the rear of this vast garden which used to be a simple peristylium like that in our Domus Publica or any other house on Palatine Hill. It had grown invaded by a cluster of small groves of pines, rosebushes, myrtle, apple and orange trees. The old faun-shaped fountain on the cornel had been enlarged into a huge pond, quite like a lake, in whose centre Neptune was striving to control a dolphin-drawn chariot, shadowed by a subtle wall of sundry-shaded rosebushes and myrtle, behind which you could make out several peacocks of whose existence I had never heard, displaying their iridescent or white-laced fans in the shadows. At last, I got to the exedra that my father had erected where the stables and serfs’ rooms had used to be, before they all moved into the new villa at Herculaneum. The slaves’ space had been reduced to a small angle near the kitchen and the new baths, which, though far different from Lucius Calpurnius’ termae at Herculaneum, made me think about the reason why all these new things had sprung during the years after my departure, including the peacocks and the transformation of the peristylium, so alien to that sort of circus of his new house, suitable for containing that swimming-pool where naumachiae could be held. I never really understood why my father had been so interested in buying that villa. Was it either in order to make a good investment or to have enough room so that he could shelter his increasing library, which would inexorably grow larger and larger each day…. Or might it be that he could no longer bear the presence of that subtle invisible shadow that had been haunting both him and me since… who knows when? Maybe this intention to make our old home more beautiful, to enliven it despite having been uninhabited for a long time, was a last attempt to reconcile himself with her memory, making her understand that leaving our Pompeian house did not mean the refusal of his own past… All this kept wandering through my mind while, in front of us, that hill, covered with olive trees and vineyard, was descending towards that sunset-tinged sea, watching over threatening Vesuvius and the bay with a golden-crimson veil, like Blodwynn’s hair, Cornelia’s and also….

We were immediately served dinner: cheese, olives and warm, crusty, golden, freshly-baked bread, which we dipped into that garum

my father always chose so carefully. And also those grilled red mullets and boiled octopus, dressed with oil, spices and scented herbs, something that I would never have the chance of tasting in Rome. Due to that exhausting trip and the subsequent need of a big meal, Blodwynn obviously thought that we should start our work the following day, which I had to get through by means of some severe fast that I was allowed to break with orange juice, some figs and Blodwynn’s brewings, prepared with those herbs she had brought within that bizarrely carved trunk, which could be driven around thanks to its little wheels and she had covered with a delicate, purple cotton cloth in order to hide it away from non-initiated eyes….

–Should it have been summertime, lady Calpurnia, we could have done it in the garden looking over the exedra, beholding all that landscape, the mountain and that jet-like sea over there….

She had taken off her finely-spun woollen tunic, which had been dyed in different shades: ashy, leaf-like green, mossy green, clay, autumn-leafed ochre…. The breast-holding sash and breeches had also fallen on the floor. In the dark, her ivory-looking skin shone like a spectre. She produced something from her trunk and let it fall onto her body. It was some kind of mantle, made with feathers of different colours and sizes, which Blodwynn fastened around her rounded hips. She also took out a scented wooden box that gave off a blast of odorous wooden fragrance mixed up with resins and herbs I could not recognize. She also brought out a tiara, made with large, bright, transparent amethysts, which she set around her temples, a gold chain with a big , deep-blue beryl she hung over her brow, a lapis lazuli necklace suspending a sapphire which would later surround her neck, some strange sort of mail of contrived malachite and jades among which a huge dazzling emerald sparkled between Blodwynn’s big breasts, girdled by that green-gemmed net. Around her naked waist, she had fastened a golden-amber girdle with a topaz covering her navel. Finally she took out an orange-coloured carnelian garland and another one made of pomegranate and coral with an impressive ruby that hid her sex. Blodwynn also hung a pair of long sapphire earrings on her ears and also put some bracelets of pomegranate and coral around her wrists and ankles. To finish with, she covered her back with what could have been the skin of an ageing stag, possibly ritually sacrificed, whose head was crowned by a pair of large antlers. She fixed that head behind her tiara, letting those forelegs fall on her pomegranate-and-coral-girdled forearms. I did not venture to look at her for some time. Her grey, deep blue eyes seemed aloof, merged into that force, alien to time or anything human, which was flowing out of those trembling feathers, that massive, dazzling sparkle around Blodwynn’s body, that ashy, ghost-like aged blast coming out of the tarnished hide and head, whose traits time had blurred away and still seemed to be the only thing that kept some life force. Those strong whitish antlers, whose branches made me think of an arcane oak tree, alien to centuries coming and going….A soft melody started to flow through the triclinium. That

many-shaded, well-modulated voice was playing melismae of such an unknown purity and intensity… I realized she was starting to sing, maybe in her native language or perhaps it might be a much more remote one, reserved to this people’s priesthood. Fear of emptiness and the unknown began to invade my bones and heart, making it beat wildly. No, it

must not be like this. I should remain firmly calmed. All my training during that day and the previous ones had been addressed to this aim. That voice getting hold of my self-control was merging into the smoke that was flowing out of those onyx and agate containers where Blodwynn had burnt incense, myrrh, oriental spices like clove and cinnamon, verbena, mint, laurel… spreading into the garden-like peristylium, merging into the hills and the sea. Through my sleepy eyelids I made out Blodwynn brandishing what could be a long wand, maybe a young hazel or ash-tree branch, topped with a dry pinecone still containing its nuts. Was that a living being, made up of unconceivable force, dragging away that flow of ochre, blue, red, black, white feathers… merging into that crimson, golden, purple, blue green sparkle which Blodwynn was at that moment, attempting to draw an almost tangible power circle around the two of us? That deep voice which could be either a lark’s or a nightingale’s went on, rhythmically singing those words in a remote, strange tongue, being repeated over and over again, growing embodied around me, almost touching my naked skin, shaping me, even possessing the deepest paths within myself, taking hold of me, carrying me away…. I felt my limbs airy and weightless, suspended within that flow which made me sail onwards, all sign of fear and insecurity being wiped away. It flowed, flowed….

They might be the same ones I had seen that day. Those temples…I had guessed they were sacred sites: that thick incense wave and the rites that had been constantly repeated since ancient times would confirm that. They were standing on both sides of that black-waving stream, pierced by a trembling moonbeam… On the right hand side, I could recognize those buildings, made of porous ochre stone and flanked by marble columns, so similar to our Palatine houses, the archways of a theatre, that odour of salt and seaweed, much more intense than the air in Pompeii… Maybe there was more Rome than Pompeii at the top of those cliffs. On the left, among wide vineyards, there were buildings which had been built with the same kind of rock –porous, ochre, salty - wrecked and imposing at the same time, revealing some kind of long-dead glory, silence, solitude…Such a striking contrast if you compared it with a place nearby which was encircled by grooved, acanthus-crowned marble columns, so similar to that temple that Sulla had once erected to glorify Venus. Its stairs, which had been carved on the cliff, were being lapped by beating high-tide foam.

–Calpurnia, daughter to Lucius Calpurnius….

That voice, deep and calm, almost an echo of the tide, was, however, considerably more human that the reverberating sound which I remembered from the past. No, this was no mask with golden-crimson braided hair and beard… That uncanny piercing coldness still remained in those blue-grey eyes. I found myself beholding who could well have been a perfect model for any Roman bust: a face of well-chiselled angles

which defied those deep wrinkles between his eyebrows and across the space defined by that nobly carved nose and those fleshy, well drawn lips on that incredibly moon-like skin, something you could never imagine in a place where dazzling sunlight and sea breeze would inevitably darken anyone’s complexion. Again that ghostly look which could alternatively be either silvery grey or transparent blue, amidst that subtle net of wrinkles which would remind me of yours. He has got your eyes… and even that short hair where grey prevails over golden and crimson… Why on earth must all of this be so clear, so touchable?

–Welcome back, my lady, to the temple which was once erected in the name of Fruitful Sensuousness by the ancient inhabitants of this land, the offspring of those who arrived here in their purple-stuffed ships one thousand years ago. The same ones, plain down-to-earth businessmen, whose practical common sense advised them to submit themselves to Rome after Punic defeat…

There was nothing cryptic or evanescent in that voice which was growing clearer and clearer. My own presence, nevertheless, was far from being solid.

–It’s here where I have dwelt for…maybe more than twenty years… almost thirty… No, I can’t consider myself a priest, mainly when this temple is officially dedicated to Venus Marina, though in the past I used to serve her and offer important gifts to her shrine. I simply perform some kind of task … based on reciprocity, trying to learn about and serve that force of which we are all a part: human beings, animals, trees, flowers, lakes… Why should New Alexander’s wife be interested in meeting me since her life is not meant to go my way or a priestess’? You know there is nothing here that might enliven your barren womb….

I felt I could not utter any answer. Was this absence of body what was preventing me of finding a coherent response? What was the use of all this journeying? Couldn’t I be the mistress of my own capacity to express myself? Should I submit myself to.... what this sort of wise man might mean to entrust me? I sought for my breathing … or, at least, what could be in its place right then. I tried to concentrate all the energy that was flowing through myself within… my look? Yes, I could see that slender, wiry figure within a tunic which covered his ankles, so similar to that our priests or the Jewish ones usually wear, dyed in the colour shades of forest and damp earth. I tried to cast all my force into those hypnotic eyes so that my presence could grow more intense and, therefore, I would not be perceived so armless … I knew it was such an exhausting effort. He seemed to realize that.

–Well, Calpurnia, you are starting to react as I wanted you to…. You well know that this visit of yours is not only meant to satisfy your motherly instinct or guarantee your lord’s lineage. Calpurnia, I can’t offer you any well-defined solution to make you become someone else. I can only make you see what I am allowed to disclose to you. You are not even a budding initiated one, my little Calpurnia. I just could help you to grasp that basic intuitive wisdom that beats inside each living particle. This is not a bangor where druids and priestesses are trained … In fact, we are only three or four people living there below, sheltered by Venus’ priests, who do not allow anyone to come down into that cave. I tried to make Blodwynn understand this when she let me know about her intention to perform this rite that has made you come here. I am sure you must have promised her such a substantial barter; otherwise, I know she would not have consented on it. This is something that no priestess would ever grant….so generously as it could mean a serious physical cost.

I did my best to prevent him from reading what had really convinced her within my thoughts. Thirst for power, even hidden in the name of a whole people’s lore, might be fatefully dangerous if it happened to be yielded by a single priestess alone. Perhaps this was one of that race’s taboos. But I had promised that to Blodwynn and I could not take it back. How could I manage to persuade this one I had in front?

–Calpurnia, my girl… you are such a delicious honest woman who wants to break out with this cobweb of old loneliness, mediocrity and inertia that your father and you’re your divinized husband have woven, not only to keep you safe but also to guarantee the protection of their own interests as well. Nevertheless, I know that there is some different kind of heartbeat within you, which you might have inherited from that being beyond any other common man or woman who was…or still is –as you might prefer to see it – your mother Rutilia.

I silently cursed him. Why, why should it spring up again here, that bodiless look?

–Calpurnia, my little one…you have come here and must face this which, like a spear, could painfully pierce through your feelings. Calpurnia, my beautiful Calpurnia… You are beautiful because your spirit, your anima, is like hers. Do not get upset, you cannot cry so it is useless to feel embarrassed. Haven’t you ever imagined that she might have wished that something eerie could have vibrated inside you with all its bright force, the same as Lug’s, the God of wisdom, music and arts, which is the same as Apollo’s…something far beyond simply being a barren wife to the Great Man of Rome?

I couldn’t let go… Otherwise, I would fatally reveal that thing which underlay beyond my thoughts. However, I had to find out the way to give him an answer. Then, I made a great effort to concentrate my attention on my thoughts and tried to imagine that I was writing each idea within myself so that I could cast them outside by means of my look.

“So it is YOU who must take the first step to encourage, channel yourself into knowledge….. instead of me”

I saw his well-defined lips smile, not showing his teeth. His icy eyes were becoming roguish.

–You may understand it so, Calpurnia. You know this is not for free. But do not worry right now. It is not my task to let you know about it right now, immediately. But I can already tell you that the price you will have to pay will not endanger either your own honour or the reputation and safety of anyone around you.

Why should the image of that man be taking such a shape within my thoughts? Why was he fashioned like that, in that toga praetexta? I saw myself wondering what he would look like in a purple laticlavia. I was angry to realize how much nonsense could take hold of my thoughts even in that situation. That blue, silver-streaked look was petrifying me again. I saw how it was piercing that place where my eyes were supposed to be. What might he be really watching? I absurdly blushed: I had realized that no clothes were on my physical body and that he was aware of that. Nevertheless, I soon got relieved by his own frozen expression.

–Do not fear anything regarding yourself or your people, Calpurnia. The payment that is to be paid will be according to the importance of what is to be bestowed on you.... and also proportional to the amount of lore and wisdom you eventually achieve.

I saw that I was inevitably at his mercy. Yes, this idea of mine had been really nonsensical. Perhaps it has been wise of my father to protect me that much and consider his daughter an instrument with which he could improve his cursus honorum.

–Calpurnia, my little one….

Some kind of imperceptible, untouchable ice got hold of that flow of energy which was my own being at that moment… No, it was true. This time it was a real manly voice, not that previous motherly lament.

–You are no stupid girl in the hands of that descendant from plebeians, upholders and boorish go-getters who happens to be your father. No, you can’t get furious as you know it is true. As true as that fraud which led him to confront Cicero. Yes, you should not be amazed at it, that I am so well-informed. Just remember I live in the second or third city of Roman world, despite my apparent isolation. Rutilia… Yes, she came from a respectable gens. Didn´t noble Lady Aurelia tell you….that she was a relative of hers? Try to remember.

Yes, it is something that they all knew but I cannot remember your mother speaking about mine, my husband. No wonder since any memory of Rutilia remained hidden after her ….parting away? Once again there came that grief which I could not express through tears.

–Rutilia …. –That dense piercing voice went on… -Surely she wasn’t like Calpurnii at all. Neither like any other patrician woman…. Are you sure you never realized that? Your mother, Calpurnia, was like mine. Both of them lost in the middle of our childhoods. They both belonged to lineages that had nothing in common with being Cornelii, Iulii or Metelli. Our mothers’ kin was alien to what is considered simply, vulgarly human. They were subtle, exquisite creatures, alien to the Rome we know, specially that Rome in which I lived and your husband was brought up…. Except that I did not enjoy the fact of having the owner of a whole insula as my mother. Isn’t it surprising, Calpurnia, that the woman who bore your lord and made him become what he is now could even be so close to me in terms of friendship? Both of them , our mothers, might have grown gradually annihilated by such a…. how could I say that … pitiless society whereas their place is bound to where there is enough room for loving music, knowledge, healing and the capacity to thoroughly pluck out rottenness from everybody in order to teach them how to become enlightening beings. I fully belonged to that society which your father and husband know so well, where uncontrolled scheming ambition makes it possible that you can never take your own survival for granted…. Calpurnia, Calpurnia….

Did I see his look tremble? It grew as transparent as his eyelashes, which he furiously blinked.

– ….From her I inherited this marble-like complexion which you can see, these dazzling eyes that can become grey or blue and this hair which used to be crimson and golden, something unique in Rome and that Romans could find either fascinating or frightening….I was always considered someone enigmatic, so out-of-scheme. No doubt, I have always thought, the ruinous situation in which my father fell must well have been a curse she might have cast on him for having destroyed her life , lavishing and wasting their family’s riches on things that should not be mentioned in front of a virtuous young woman as you are. I can understand the reason why both your father and mine married these women. As for the ladies….What could they do? Just the same thing my own daughter did when I forced her to a marriage that was convenient for me. At least they both finally attained what they had been bound to from the beginning, though neither they nor their families could imagine it.

I think he understood my perplexity. Bound to….getting reduced to a fitful of ashes which would remain buried who knows where? No, something enlightening had started to vibrate among my thoughts, through that silvery blue look, a caressing whisper calling my name… “Calpurnia, my little one….”I understood that echo was lying far beyond what is virile or female, something belonging to another ….life? Maybe there below, reverberating in the rock and the salt…. I desperately searched for an answer in those eyes I was beholding.

-Now, both of them are where their ancestors have been sheltered since a remote

age, beyond ashes and putrefaction. They all veil their sleep and nourish both of their lethargic bodies. Their thoughts watch both the past and what is still to come and go, trying to apprehend that basic primeval wisdom that beats in each bit of life. They were …. They are from the sibyls’ race. Born out of couplings between patrician Romans and the ladies of the lakes, woods, rivers and caves…No, my lady Calpurnia, it is not my task to let you know more about this race of ladies. You will learn about them in its due time provided that it may be your lot.

Instead of relieving my anxiety, uneasiness stated to twist around that force sprout which was still myself…Calpurnia? Which link could there be between my person and this presence? How could I attain the lore of this race of ladies of the woods and fountain-heads….the ladies of the Earth? All this veiled world which, paradoxically, happened to be the unveiling of so many realities that I had been unable to guess so far? And there he was, arousing my restlessness again? What might he be insinuating? What was Lucius Calpurnius Piso’s daughter really bound to? There he stood, in his tunic, which was being shaken by intense sea breeze… His silent steady look…. Suddenly this intense anxiety had got concentrated inside a most violent force, almost burning my absence of physical body.

“ No, you have impelled me to search for it, against my will… You’ve driven me to learn all that you are determined to urge me to grasp. No, my lord… Why should I be calling you this name?”

“Calpurnia, my little Calpurnia…. Listen to him… He comes from my own lineage. The kin of so many ones who were born out of that fascination and enchantment that were woven by our remote mothers and infatuated many Romans. All of it had a purest meaning, a purpose… even though many of us had to fly away in order that things would come that way and, therefore, we were bound to cast light on our abandoned children in order to supply that missing motherly care …. Everything had been intentionally planned since the beginning. Keeping both worlds apart has no sense, my little one….”

That voice, echoing my childhood, reverberating throughout the rocky cave, was becoming weaker and weaker… until it could no longer be perceived.

– Must I go on, then, my lady Calpurnia…This Sending will come to you when it should be needed in order to light up your path, one way or another, either in your dreams or through those thoughts that may unexpectedly come to you in broad daylight. Keep yourself alert…. Devote some time to watching your thoughts, willing to be guided. No, you don´t belong here. Not now… but in its due time.

He stood there, under that colonnade, caressed by salty sea breeze. No, I was not able to go beyond. That translucent, blue sharpened look was digging my being, melting it into a warm, silvery blue breeze that brightly started to blow through those voids where my veins and bones should have been , taking hold of them, carrying me away from my anxiety…but not down within the wailing secret of those caves…. Wasn’t I lying in that place where some kind of heavy cold was starting to shape my limbs again, under that glossy fur cover which my father has given me as a wedding present?

–Calpurnia, lady Calpurnia….

It was a female voice….but dense, whispering, controlled, almost priestly.