Hapred, the old Temple keeper, entered the atrium with a loud clatter of his wooden sandals. Immediately the 27 men that were gathered turned around to face him. Hapred had a fleshy, pleasant face with twinkling eyes and a catchy smile, which he now spent generously upon the group of adepts. "Well!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with the typical accent of the capital, Rome. "I gather that you have all been cleansed - in body and in mind." He looked around for the expected nods that duly came. "Then please follow me now" - he underlined his invitation with a courteous bow - "Vesuvia, She be praised, wants to make her selection."
The history of "The Selection" dates back to the days when the city of Pompey was founded. The daring men and women who decided to erect their dwellings at the foot of the towering Vesuvius had made a pact with the heathen Goddess that resided in the mountain and controlled its fire. Once every ten years Vesuvia would be allowed to take possession of a priestesses body and select one of Pompey's bachelors as her lover for one night. In return, she would spare the people of Pompey her mortal fire. The sensual Goddess agreed readily enough, and by now it had even become a habit for a few males to stay unmarried in order to be picked more than once.
The actual group, however, consisted only of men new to the ceremony, although three of them were older than thirty and could therefore have been in the last crowd as well. During the preceding rituals, these three had become acquainted with each other and, not surprisingly, walked together to the heart of the Temple, bringing up the rear.
Stephanus was a mischievous-looking imp of a man who gave the impression of never actually having grown up. He was small and stout with a rapidly balding head and a jester's face that betrayed a gentle character and a genuine goodness of heart. He had already made a name for himself in the group for playing wicked practical jokes on the others. The reason why he hadn't been on the pick-list last time was that he actually had been married, but his wife couldn't really see the humour in his joker's antics and had run off with a handsome but dumb worker from the vineyard some years ago.
Patricius was a tall, pretty-looking foreigner who had settled down in Pompey just this summer. He originated from a rural country northeast of the Roman Empire whose name nobody in Pompey had ever heard. He had long, flowing black hair, dark eyes and a face that every Greek sculpturer would die for to depict. As soon as the group had gathered at the Temple, rumours had been spreading among the men that he looked like the obvious pick for Vesuvia.
The third - and oldest, at 37 - of the three "veterans" was called Tyras. He had been born in Rome, but had travelled the Empire to quite some extent before finally buying a small villa in Pompey. Actually, knowing about the legend of "The Selection", he had been to Pompey ten years ago and had very ardently tried to enter the group of contestants. Unfortunately for him Vesuvia ignored mere visitors to the town. Ten years on Tyras had hardly spent a thought on the ritual, simply believing that he would be too old, and had therefore been unpleasantly surprised when Hapred had shown up at his doorstep to invite him into the Temple. Tyras had been hurt and disappointed by a good deal of women in his life, considering with some bitterness that the last one had been that one too many and he'd rather not have anything to do with women altogether, not anymore. But to refuse Vesuvia's invitation was out of the question, there was no way he could risk to call her scourn upon the city. So, muttering curses under his breath, he had joined the group. His heart had lightened a bit when he saw the other men; surely Vesuvia would choose Patricius or one of the young, muscular athletes.
Siona was nervously pacing the luxurious room where Hapred had left her with some maidservants that were to look after her hair and clothes. She still couldn't believe that Vesuvia had chosen her for her sexual antics. Her, of all priestesses in Pompey! Not only was Siona already 27 years olds and �really' starting to look like it but, more importantly, she actually WAS still a virgin - a virtue that hardly any of the priestesses over twenty held. Siona had been proud of her purity and if things had gone her way she would have liked to one day being buried as a virgin. But no, that frivolous, drooling Goddess had other plans.
"Quite right, little peach!" Siona moaned and flinched at the acid voice, she had still not gotten used to Vesuvia's presence in her mind. "Come on, I'm only doing it for your own good - so you won't have to feel left out anymore when the other priestesses boast about the efforts of their countless lovers!" Vesuvia's dirty laughter echoed in Siona's mind; even when she pressed her hands to her ears she could still hear the blood-curdling sound. Siona started to cry, destroying her carefully applied make-up. A group of maidservants immediately fluttered around her, and the woman lost herself in their busy hands.
