The tales which soon spread among the public as to the reasons for the sacrilege only served to fan the flame of indignation. It was whispered that Clodius was the paramour of Pompeia, Cæsar’s wife; and that he had endeavoured, with the connivance of Abra, Pompeia’s slave, to gain an entrance into the festivities, for the purpose of an assignation with her! The sacrilege, therefore, was twofold. The rites of the _Bona Dea_ were intended to assure the prosperity of the people. It was infamous that a young aristocrat should have dared to take advantage of them to further an intrigue of gallantry. An example must be made; this was for several days the general chorus throughout Rome. The most sacred things of the Republic could not be left a prey to this corrupt and depraved youth. The cynicism of a few dissolutes must not be allowed to expose the Republic to the wrath of the gods! An example must be made—certainly! But how? The law contained no provision applying to such an act as Clodius had committed. Anyone desirous of prosecuting him would not have known what law to invoke in order to hale him before the judges. The case was unprecedented; and it had never occurred to anyone to write it down a crime, with a definite legal imprimatur attached. The ancient code was extremely formal, especially in questions of rites and religion, and so Clodius’s deed remained a wicked, impious, and shameful one, which was calculated to cover him with infamy, but which could not be punished by the law. Sensible, cautious, and prudent people, in the Senate, and out of it, lost no time in convincing themselves on this point; while Clodius, his friends, and his family, which was a most influential one, began to intercede, to pray, and to intrigue. It was true that Clodius had committed an act of unpardonable levity, which would ruin his political career for all time. But it was an act for which there was no punishment, save the reprobation of all good citizens.