Part 25 (1/2)
In no time I was rejoined by my hostess. I took a good look, while pretending not to. She knew I was inspecting her.
Closer to twenty than thirty, she was now looking a stunner in a flowing gown of mobile ocher material and dainty gold mules which showed her toes. Gripped under one arm were a decorated hand mirror and what looked like a cosmetics box. She had discarded the diadem and, as we talked, she untied various ribbons and shook out her traditionally plaited braids until her hair flowed loose. Gleaming in the lamplight, it was a rich chestnut, the long locks probably never cut since she first came to the Vestals' House.
Bending up one small foot under her, she dropped onto the couch at the other end, with s.p.a.ce between us. She balanced the mirror on her knee. Then she proceeded to light a small brazier, using the wick in one of the lamps.
”I see you're used to handling fire!”
Despite my pang of disquiet, the brazier was for neither witchcraft nor anything religious; it was to heat her curling iron. So there I was, illegally inside the House of the Vestals, watching a very much off-duty Virgin while she dipped her comb in a basin of water and restyled her hair.
”Yes, we are allowed relaxation,” she commented, at my bemused look. Her hands twisted the hot iron with great competence. ”Our free time is entirely our own. n.o.body bothers us, so long as the Chief Vestal never notices any loud music or perfumes that have disturbingly erotic Parthian undernotes.”
”So the simple, celibate life doesn't bother you?”
Her eyes, which were midbrown and well set, glinted. ”It has a few disadvantages.”
”Not many visitors?”
”You're my first, Falco!”
”Lucky me. My friend Petronius reckons all the Virgins must be lesbians.”
”Some may be.” Not this one, I decided.
”Or that really they have secret lovers scampering in and out all night.”
”Some may do.” She gave little away, but added some more suggestions: ”Or that we are all crabby, dried-up frights who want to dispossess men--or that simplicity of life means black teeth and body smells?”
”Yes, I believe those are other popular theories.”
”From time to time I expect they all apply. Why generalize? Any group of six people would contain all kinds of characters. What do you think, Falco?”
I thought a lot that I was not prepared to say. For instance, I liked the way she had made cheeky little ringlets to hang in front of her ears. ”You sound as if you were born on the wrong side of the Sacred Way. A token plebeian, right?”
Constantia shrugged. Her ringlets bobbed. Her accent was in fact perfectly neutral, but of course she would have been trained to speak acceptably. It was her outspoken, sprightly att.i.tude that had given her away. ”You feel I don't fit in?” I nodded. ”Wrong, Falco. This is my career, and I am proud of it. Oh, I never expect to become Chief Vestal, but you won't find me skimping the duties or dishonoring the G.o.ds.”
”No doubt your salt cakes are impeccable.”
”Exactly. I am planning to open a cake stall after I retire.”
”I would have thought you would take the imperial dowry and get married?”
Constantia looked at me sideways as she twirled a lock of hair free from the iron. ”That will depend on what is on offer at the time!”
I thought not many men would feel up to taking on this lively character.
Applying her curler to the heat again, she wiped off s.m.u.ts on a soft cloth, then wound a new strand of hair around the metal bar.
”If you have the iron too hot, all your hair will snap off.” She gave me a look that made me retract. ”Well, so I have been told. I a.s.sume you have to be braided up again demurely tomorrow to attend the lottery?” Constantia paused, realizing that this was what I had come to talk about. I handed her the mirror so she could check the progress of her coiffure. ”I have been searching for the lost child.”
”But you failed to find her.” It was a blank statement, one that put me in my place.
”Ah, you know? I suppose as the virginal liaison point, you have been receiving hourly reports?”
”As well as almost hourly demands to discuss the issue with your girlfriend.” That came out as somewhat critical.
”Helena Justina is extremely persistent.”
”Now she has sent you?”
”No, she knows nothing about it. I intrude on women on my own account.”
”She will find out.”
”I shall tell her myself.”
”Will she be annoyed?”
”Why? She knows how much I desperately need to speak to you about Gaia Laelia. I climbed in the window after reasonable requests failed, not because I was looking for a cheap thrill.”
”More expensive than cheap, if you are caught, Falco.”
”Don't I know it! So why is there this obsessive secrecy about the high-flown Laelii?”
Constantia put aside her feminine dib-dabs and leaned towards me earnestly. Her gown was modestly pinned, yet I felt an odd quirk of alarm just at seeing a Virgin's pale bare neck above the gown's loose dark yellow folds. ”Never mind why, Falco.”
I was annoyed. She ignored it. ”All right; what about Gaia? I know she talked to you about becoming a Virgin--first at the reception for the Queen of Judaea. Her mother tells me she was brought back afterwards too?”
”Yes.”
”So what worries did she want to talk about?”
”Only being a Virgin. I thought the dear little thing had a wonderful enquiring att.i.tude. A most promising candidate. She consulted me about all the rituals. Naturally, I was as helpful as I could be.”
”I am consulting you now,” I growled. ”And you are not helping me.”
”Oh dear!” Her pout would not have disgraced any slightly tight tavern waitress flirting with a customer.
I restrained my annoyance. ”Gaia told me somebody in her family wanted to kill her. Jupiter, what in Olympus will it take to make anyone in authority listen and regard this as serious?”
”Nothing. She told me the same. I thought it was the truth.”
I leaned back on the couch, finally feeling that some mad nightmare might be ending. I breathed slowly. My troubles were not over, however. The Vestal in whose private apartment I was dallying reached over and stroked my forehead, then offered me wine.
She had a Syrian gla.s.s jug on a chased tray. She cannot have known I was coming to see her; it must be her regular nightcap. There was only one goblet. We agreed it would be unwise to send out for another one.
”What do you think?” she asked courteously as I sipped. ”I don't know the name, but I am promised it is good.”