Part 7 (1/2)
”I pa.s.sed Quartilla's travelling carriage at Varia last night. Quartilla was alive and well. I pa.s.sed Brinnarius this morning at dawn, this side of Tibur. He was alive then and puffing.”
”How did you get here ahead of him?” Brinnaria interjected.
”I am light built,” Calvaster explained with obvious relish, ”and I rode the best horse in Italy. His mount labored heavily under his load.”
”Both parents are then alive,” spoke Faltonius. ”I hereupon and hereby p.r.o.nounce you in all respects fit to be taken as a Vestal. Are you willing?”
”Not I!” Brinnaria fairly shouted.
”Not willing!” Faltonius cried, incredulous.
”Not a fibre of me!” she proclaimed emphatically.
”Wretched girl!” expostulated the Pontiff. ”Have you no sense of patriotism? Do you not realize your duty to your country, to the Roman people, to Rome, to the Emperor, to all of us, to the commonwealth? Do you not realize Rome's need of you? Shall it be said that Rome has need of one of her daughters and that her unnatural child refuses?”
”I have not refused,” said Brinnaria. ”I only said I was unwilling.”
”It is the same thing,” declared the bewildered ecclesiastic.
”Not a bit the same thing,” Brinnaria disclaimed. ”I know my duty in this matter perfectly. Castor be good to me, I know it too well. I know that a refusal would avail me nothing, if I did refuse. I have not refused. I would not, even if I could escape by refusal I realize my duty. If I am taken I shall be all that a Vestal is expected to be, all that she must be to ensure the glory and prosperity and safety of the city and the Empire. I shall not fail the Emperor nor the Roman people, nor Rome. But I am unwilling, and I said so. Little good it will do me.
But I am no liar, not even in the tightest place.”
”Stand up, my daughter,” said Faltonius, rising himself, suddenly clothed in dignity, a really impressive figure, in spite of his globular proportions.
Brinnaria stood, her eyes on the door to the vestibule, her face very pale, trembling a little, but controlled.
The Pontifex took her hand and spoke:
”As priestess of Vesta, to perform those rites which it is fitting that a priestess of Vesta perform for the Roman People and the citizens, as a girl who has been chosen properly, so I take you, Beloved.”
At the word ”Beloved,” which made her irretrievably a Vestal, Brinnaria could not repress a little gasp. Her eyes no longer watched the vestibule door. She looked at the Pontiff. He let go her hand.
”You will now go with your servitor to be clothed as befits your calling.”
He indicated one of Causidiena's attendants, a solidly built woman, like a Tuscan villager, who carried over her arm a ma.s.s of fresh white garments and robes.
With her and Causidiena Brinnaria left the atrium; with them she presently returned, a slim white figure, her hair braided and the six braids wound round her forehead like a coronet, above them the folds of the plain square headdress of the Vestals.
”I thought,” she said, ”that my hair would be cut off.”
”That will be after you are made at home in the Atrium of Vesta,” spoke the Pontiff.
”And remember,” he continued sternly, ”that you are now a Vestal and that young Vestals may not speak unless spoken to.”
Brinnaria bit her lip.
At that moment they heard hoofs and voices outside, the door burst open and Brinnarius entered.
”Too late, Daddy!” cried Brinnaria. ”You can't help me now. I'm not your little girl any more; I don't count as your daughter; you don't count as my father; I'm daughter to the Pontifex from now on. I'm a Vestal.”
She was trembling, but she kept her countenance. Brinnarius uttered no sound, the whole gathering was still and mute, the noises of the street outside were plainly audible. They heard horse-hoofs again, again the door flew open wide. In burst Almo, wide-eyed and panting.