“To the very noble Vestal, the Lady Fabia, greeting:—­

Though I am now so unfortunate as to be barred from the doors of all law-abiding men, do not imagine this will forever continue.  In the confusion and readjustments of war, and the calamities of many, the affairs of some, one time enemies of Fortune, come to a happy issue.  Do not say that Mars may not lead Amor and Hymen in his train.  All things come to them who wait.  I wait.  Remember the life you spend in the Temple is no longer obligatory.  Be no cage bird who will not fly out into the sunlight when the door is opened freely.  Be surprised and angry at nothing. Vale.”

There was no date, no signature.  The hand was distorted, evidently for disguise.  Fabia was in a dilemma.  She did not need to be told that in all probability—­though she had no proof—­the writer was Gabinius.  She was extremely reluctant to tell any one of her escape from his clutches in the villa by the Appian Way.  However, some confidant seemed necessary.  She knew that Fonteia, the senior Vestal, the Maxima, would never treat her other than as a sister, and to her she read the letter and imparted her story and fears.  Fonteia did not regard the matter in a very serious light.  She was herself an old woman, grown grey in the service of Vesta.  She said that Fabia had been most fortunate to remain in the Temple service so long as she had and not be harassed by more than one impious and overbold suitor.  The only thing to do was to be careful and avoid anything that would give false appearances.  As for Fabia’s fears that Gabinius would attempt to carry her away perforce, as he had perhaps treated earlier sweethearts, Fonteia scoffed at the suggestion.  The Atrium Vestae was in the heart of the city; there was a constant patrol on duty.  For a man to enter the Building at night meant the death penalty.  Whosoever did violence to a Vestal fell under a religious curse; he was a homo sacer, a “sacred man,” a victim devoted to the gods, whom it was a pious deed to slay.  And thus comforted, with the assurance that the whole power of the Republic would rise for her personal defence, Fabia was fain to put the disquieting letter from her heart.

Then followed the night of panic, and the succeeding day.  There were no longer any magistrates in Rome.  The great palaces of the patricians stood deserted, exposed to the unfaithful guardianship of freedmen and slaves.  The bankers’ booths were closed, the shops did not raise their shutters.  On the streets swarmed the irresponsible and the vicious.  Men of property who had not fled barred their doors and stood guard with their servants to beat back would-be plunderers.  There were no watchmen at the gates, no courts sitting in the basilicas.  After the great flight of the early morning, Rome was a city without warders, police, or government.