The Missing Maiden
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Has she been kidnapped? Has she run away?
Titus and his friends Maximus and Aghiles set out to solve the mystery.
They encounter puzzling evidence and lurking dangers along the way, while learning important lessons about freedom, duty, and devotion.
Read more from Sophie De Mullenheim
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The Missing Maiden - Sophie de Mullenheim
PROLOGUE
Rome, one night in A.D. 303
An iron gate opened to one side of the arena. For a brief time, a hush fell on the excited crowd. Thousands of heads turned as one toward the dark, gaping opening into the bowels of the Colosseum. Thousands of eyes searched the shadows in the hope of spotting something.
Suddenly, a roar…
A shiver ran through the stands.
In the little group in the center of the arena, a woman fainted. A man caught her before she collapsed in the sand. Another man rushed to help him. The group tightened around the woman, who bravely stood back up. Her swoon lasted only a few seconds. She squeezed the hand of the man supporting her and pressed the arm of a woman beside her, as if to say, I’m all right. I will stand my ground.
A second roar broke the silence of the Colosseum. The spectators held their breath.
At last, they could make out a shape, a movement in the shadows. And suddenly a lion surged into the light of day. A murmur of fright rose up in the stands and grew louder when a second and then a third wild beast emerged. The murmur became a dull buzz, then intensified to a real clamor. The crowd greeted the beasts with an enthusiasm mixed with terror and excitement.
Seated in the vestals’ box,¹ next to the emperor’s, Octavia could not take her eyes off the little group in the center of the arena. Four men and two women. Two of them looked hardly older than herself, eighteen at the most. On the arrival of the lions, they barely moved. From where she was seated, one of the best seats in the stadium, she could see their faces perfectly: they looked strangely serene, and their lips never stopped moving.
What are they doing?
she asked, turning to her older friend.
They’re praying,
the woman tartly replied. They must be asking their God to save them.
Octavia chose to overlook the vestal’s mocking tone of voice and watched with fascination the six Christians condemned to death. Their calmness was impressive; so impressive that the lions paid no attention to these victims offered up to them.
The beasts slowly paced up and down the arena, now and then giving a great toss of their heads, shaking their manes. The lions were huge. Their muscles rippled under reddish fur. They sniffed the odd scent in the air. It smelled human, as strong as several humans even, mingled with the smell of sweat, strong perfume, and food. The beasts weren’t used to so much stimulation. They seemed confused.
In the stands, the crowd was growing impatient. They had been promised a big show, but these wild animals seemed as harmless as kittens. A man whistled with annoyance. Soon another man joined him. Little by little, an angry rumble grew, electrifying the crowd, who began to shout and yell. In the arena, the beasts became jumpy. One of the lions, the smallest one, grew restless and bore its teeth. This was clearly the most touchy of the beasts. Delighted, the spectators redoubled their enthusiasm and made even more noise. Suddenly, a projectile flew from the stands. Was it a stone? A clay cup? A weapon? No matter. It hit the back of one of the Christians, who stiffened under the blow. Immediately, a red spot began spreading on the top of his tunic.
At the sight of blood, the crowd became more excited. A few more objects sailed through the air and fell into the sand of the arena. One hit the back of a lion, who leapt up in alarm. In the gallery, soldiers intervened to stop things from getting out of control. In the arena, the lions became more and more agitated. The noise, the shouting, and now the scent of blood tickling their nostrils—all combined to rouse them from their torpor. One of them, again the youngest, went to inspect the group of Christians standing frozen like statues. The animal sniffed, shook its head, and approached the wounded man. Then it roared and attacked.
Octavia turned her head sharply away. She didn’t want to witness this slaughter. She wished she could even cover her ears in order not to hear. But she didn’t dare. From where she was seated, she was far too exposed to the public eye. People wouldn’t understand a vestal virgin not enjoying the spectacle like everyone else. With clenched teeth, Octavia put up with the shouts of the crowd, the snapping jaws of the lions, and the sound of ripping flesh. She felt her heart pounding in her temples. She felt nauseous.
Then suddenly—nothing.
The crowd fell silent, disappointed. They hadn’t gotten their money’s worth. They had expected more of a spectacle. Everything had happened too quickly. The Christians hadn’t put up a fight. They hadn’t tried to escape, nor had they even cried out. The lions had done their worst, but without show. Quickly sated by all the blood, they soon lost interest in their prey.
It’s over,
the eldest of the vestals simply remarked. Let’s go.
With a nod of the head, she signaled to the lictors² to escort them out.
Octavia left the Colosseum, averting her eyes from the center of the arena. She couldn’t bear to look. As white as a sheet, and her heart in her throat, she wanted nothing more than to return to her room in the vestals’ house just a few yards from the big arena. This was the first time she had witnessed this kind of spectacle. And she promised herself it would be the last.
I
NIGHTTIME IN ROME
Six months later
The night was inky black.
The weather in Rome had been terrible all day long. The city seemed cloaked under low gray clouds that blocked out almost all the sunlight. A hard rain fell nonstop. The wind blew, at times in gales. The superstitious saw in this storm a sign of ill omen.
The weather only worsened as evening approached. Most Romans chose to stay in for the night. Those brave enough to venture out soon returned home and went to bed early. Rome hunkered down and laid low until the storm passed.
Only bandits and thieves rejoiced in this foreboding weather. For them, it was a good night to roam the streets doing their dirty work. The wind masked the noise of their break-ins, and the darkness hid their evil deeds. They could act with impunity, without much fear of the Roman police. It looked to be a long and dangerous night for the occupants of the city.
The Roman Forum was deserted. Though there were usually a few people hanging around between the temples at all hours, there was no one about this night. The monuments were closed and empty. There wasn’t a sound to break the silence, except for the wind howling between the colonnades and sweeping the squares. Even the door to the Temple of Vesta had been closed to keep the wind from blowing out the flame maintained by the vestal virgins. These maidens consecrated to the goddess of the hearth ensured that the sacred fire never stopped burning. If anyone’s hearth went cold, he could come here for a flame to relight his fire at home. The Temple of Vesta in the heart of Rome was a sign that the goddess was watching over the families of the city and protecting the Roman Empire. If her flame should ever go out, by accident or through the carelessness of one of the vestals, great misfortune could befall the city, or so many people believed.
Evacuated by the storm, Rome looked like a ghost town. And yet, two shadows moved at a rapid pace along the Via Nova, which ran beside the house of the vestals. Suddenly, a howling gust of wind swept the wide avenue. It blew the heavy cape covering the head of a young woman, revealing the immaculate whiteness of her vestal veil. The other shadowy figure immediately covered the maiden with a fold of his dark cloak and pulled her close, hiding her from view as they hurried past the house. After a long moment, the figure cautiously withdrew the cloak and re-covered the young woman’s head with her own cape. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the night.
II
TERRIBLE NEWS
Come in…,
Titus mumbled in his sleep.
The knocking grew louder, and Titus tossed about, annoyed that no one had entered. He opened his eyes and realized that the knocking wasn’t in his dream but was coming from the front door of the villa. He shook his head, sat up on one elbow, and strained his ear. He could hear the sound of men talking in the entry hall. Titus recognized his father’s voice.
The boy glanced at the Persian blinds. There was hardly any light filtering through. What time could it be? He had no idea. But he sensed it was pretty late. Titus had slept badly because of the storm. Gripped by a deep sense of foreboding, he had tossed and turned in his bed for ages before managing to fall asleep. He had never liked the wind. For him, it was always the harbinger of bad news. The last time the wind had blown like that in Rome, the next day he had learned that his grandmother had died.
As soon as he saw his master was at last awake, Dux jumped onto his blanket. The little monkey was in a playful mood. He pulled on Titus’ brown curls to hurry him out of bed.
Dux, leave me alone! I’m sleepy!
But Dux refused to obey. He went on tugging at his master’s hair.
Titus’s father, Flavius Octavius, a wild-animal trader, had given him this little monkey for his thirteenth birthday present. That was two years ago, and yet Titus still couldn’t get his monkey to obey him. Dux was mischievous, a prankster, and thoroughly disrespectful. His name perfectly suited him. In Latin, dux means general.
And, in the odd couple he formed with his master, it was decidedly Dux who called the shots.
Dux! Stop it!
Amused and annoyed at the same time, Titus brushed the little animal off his bed with a sweep of his arm. But before its feet hit the ground, with a comical mid-air twist, Dux caught hold of the bedstead.
Oh, you dratted little thing!
Titus grumbled under his breath. His monkey had almost made him get out of bed left foot first. More superstitious than anyone, Titus would never start the day on his left foot. As far as bad omens went, he had already had his fair share after the day and the night before. He didn’t want to make things worse now.
When Titus finally emerged from his bedroom and went down to the atrium, his father was just showing a visitor out the front door.
Uncle?
Titus exclaimed, as he recognized Justus Scipio, his aunt’s husband. How are you?
Good morning, Titus,
his uncle greeted him with a troubled look on his face. I came to see your father. He’ll explain… I have to go.
With these words, Justus embraced his brother-in-law, who gave him a reassuring squeeze of the shoulders.
We’ll do everything we can on our side,
Flavius Octavius whispered to him. Don’t worry; we’ll find her.
Justus Scipio nodded his head without a word, then went out the door and disappeared down the street. Titus turned to his father, who shut the door with a somber look.
Is something wrong?
Titus asked, suddenly worried.
It’s Octavia.
What about Octavia?
It had been years since Titus had seen his cousin, except from a distance and only on very rare occasions. Since she had become a vestal, he had never spoken to her. But the mere mention of her name brought back a flood of memories.
Octavia’s disappeared!
said his father.
Titus’ jaw dropped in surprise. Octavia? Disappeared? This was such enormous news that he could hardly believe it.
But how?
Her disappearance was discovered this morning.
But… but… What…?
Titus’ mind was in a jumble. He knew that his cousin had to consecrate thirty years of her life to the goddess Vesta. It was the same for all the vestals. He also knew that she was forbidden to meet any man and must remain chaste throughout that entire time. Any vestal who broke her vows did so on pain of death. And what a terrible death: the young woman would be buried alive. How could Octavia have run such a risk?
There’s talk of a kidnapping,
his father then explained, as though reading his mind. Her abductor, or abductors, would have taken advantage of the storm last night.
But who?
asked Titus.
His father shrugged his shoulders. Anything’s possible. Perhaps it’s the act of a madman, or a man in love.
"Which would