IN recognition of Brinnaria’s complete and incontrovertible vindication Commodus decreed an unusually sumptuous state banquet at the Palace, inviting to it all the most important personages of the capital, including the more distinguished senators, every magistrate, the higher Pontiffs, the Flamens in a body and most of his personal cronies.
While old-fashioned households, such as that of Vocco and Flexinna, clung to the antique Roman habit of lying down to meals on three rectangular dining-sofas placed on three sides of a square-topped table, this arrangement had long been supplanted at Court by a newer invention. The mere fact that, from of old, it had been looked upon as the worst sort of bad manners to have more than three diners on a sofa, and as scarcely less ridiculous to have fewer than three, had made the custom vexatious in the extreme, as it constrained all entertainers to arrange for nine guests or eighteen or twenty-seven and ruled out any other more convenient intermediate numbers. In the progressive circles of society and at the Palace, the tables were circular, each supported from the center by one standard with three feet, and each table was clasped, as it were, by a single ample C-shaped sofa on which any number of guests from four to twelve could conveniently recline.
At the Palace banquet in honor of Brinnaria, three tables only were set on the Imperial dais at the head of the dining hall. On one side of the Emperor’s table was that where feasted the higher Flamens and Pontiffs, the sofa of the other was occupied by the young Empress, by the wives of the higher Flamens, and by the four Vestals present.
Brinnaria declared that her appetite was as good as on the day when she had returned home from her exile to Aunt Septima’s villa.
After two public advertisements of the Emperor’s favor and esteem she was entirely free from any sort of worry. Her enemies were few, merely Calvaster and his parasites, and they were thoroughly cowed and curbed their tongues. Not only no defamation of her but not even an innuendo gained currency in the gossip of the city during the remainder of her term of service.
Quite the other way. Her fame as a Vestal whose prayers were sure to be heard, at first a source of natural pride and gratification to her, came to be a burden, even a positive misery. There was an immemorial belief that if a Vestal could be induced to pray for the recapture of an escaped slave, such a runaway, if within the boundaries of Rome, would be overcome by a sort of inward numbness which would make it impossible for him to cross the city limits, so that the retaking of such fugitives became easy, as it was only necessary to search the wards for them. City owners of escaped slaves besieged Brinnaria for years and as it was reported that her intercessions were invariably effective, her fame increased and petitions for her assistance pestered her.
She bore the annoyance resignedly, reflecting that, while she was in such repute, no one was likely to impugn her honor.
Life in the Atrium, for the ensuing six years, altered little. Causidiena, within three years after Brinnaria’s ordeal, became totally blind. Care of her devolved particularly upon Terentia, of whom she was dotingly fond.
The routine duties of the maintenance of the sacred fire those two shared, for Causidiena, even stone blind, never required anyone’s assistance to tell her the condition of the altar-fire and could care for it and feed it even alone, judging its needs by the sensations of her outstretched hands, never burning herself, never letting brands or ashes fall on the Temple floor. But in all other matters Causidiena and Terentia were concerned only when their participation was demanded by canonical regulations, Terentia devoting herself to attendance on Causidiena, while Causidiena officiated only when the presence of the Chief Vesta was indispensable.
For Numisia, Gargilia, Manlia and Brinnaria, their main concern was to arrange that Causidiena should have as little as possible to do and that Terentia might devote as much as possible of her time to entertaining Causidiena. This was not easy to accomplish, for Causidiena’s mind was perfectly clear, her knowledge of every inch of the Atrium enabled her to move about it unhesitatingly at all hours of the day and night, her sense of duty urged her to do all that she had ever done when her sight was perfect, and, like most blind persons, she resented any reference, expressed or implied, to her infirmity. Consideration for her called for almost superhuman tact and dexterity. To the best of their ability the four strove to shield her without her being able to perceive their sedulity. To the charm of Terentia’s music she, moreover, yielded readily. Music, as never before, occupied the leisure of the Atrium.
During these years Brinnaria was almost entirely happy. Her duties, her solicitude for Causidiena, her affection for Terentia, her delight in her own and Terentia’s music filled up most of her time.
Her horse-breeding continued to interest her, but her interest was milder and far from absorbing. She kept it up largely because she regarded her outings as imperatively necessary to maintain her health, while aimless outings bored her.
As when younger, she dined out very often and regularly with Vocco and Flexinna. But since Calvaster’s accusation, she never visited Flexinna alone, always in company with another Vestal, usually Terentia, so that her dinners at Flexinna’s became restricted to evenings on which she and Terentia were both off duty. Terentia, who was passionately fond of small children, revelled in her visits to Flexinna’s house, where there were children of all ages in abundance, all ready to make friends, all diverting, all pleased at being petted, and, as Flexinna said:
“Not a stutterer among ‘em.”
From Almo news came frequently through Flexinna.
His campaign, deliberately prepared and relentlessly carried out, progressed evenly and without any reverse.
The nomads nowhere withstood his legions and their attendant cloud of allied cavalry; one after the other their strongholds were reached and stormed, methodically and unhurriedly he reduced tribe after tribe to submission, his prestige growing from season to season and from year to year.
When Brinnaria’s term of service was drawing to an end and only about eleven months of it remained, all Roman society was convulsed by what was variously referred to as the Calvaster scandal, the great poisoning trial or the murder of Pulfennia.
Pulfennia Ulubrana, one of Calvaster’s great-aunts, was a dwarfish creature, humpbacked and clubfooted.
She was an only child and her parents, in spite of her deformities, were devoted to her. They lavished on her everything that fondness could suggest, and, as they were very wealthy, she not only lived but enjoyed life in her way and to a very considerable extent.
To begin with she never had an ill hour or an ache or a pain from her earliest years. Then, like many cripples, she had great vitality and a wonderfully alert mind. Amid the small army of maids, governesses, tutors, pages, litter-bearers, and so on, with which her parents surrounded her she did not become merely peevish, exacting and overbearing, as might have been expected. Even the services of her personal physician, of three expert readers to read aloud to her and of a half dozen musicians to divert her whenever she pleased, did not spoil her. She was imperious enough, self-willed and obstinately resolute to have her own way in all matters, but she had a great deal of common-sense, realized what was possible and what impossible and was considerate of her entire retinue, even of such unimportant slave-girls as her three masseuses.
She was greedy of all sorts of knowledge and acquired an education altogether unusual for a Roman woman.
Withal she was feminine in her tastes, spent much time on embroidery and was justly proud of her complex and beautiful productions in this womanly art. She overcame her disabilities to a great extent and, with no lack of conveyances, became a figure almost as well-known in oman society as Nemestronia herself.
As she had an accommodating disposition, an excellent appetite and a witty tongue, she was a welcome guest at banquets and went about a great deal. Also she entertained lavishly.
She survived the pestilence and, like so many of the remnants of the nobility, found herself solitary and enormously wealthy.
Her vast estates she managed herself and she knew to a sesterce the value of every piece of property, the justifiable expenses of maintaining each, and the income each should yield. Self-indulgent as she was and moreover an inveterate gambler, she grew richer every year.
Like all childless Romans of independent means she was the object of unblushing and overwhelming attentions from countless legacy cadgers. She enjoyed the game, accepted everything offered in the way of gifts, services or invitations, and, moreover, played up to it, for she was forever destroying her last will and making a new one. Each was read aloud to a concourse of expectant and envious legatees. Each specified scores of legacies of no despicable amount, and yet more numerous sops to numerous acquaintances. In every will Calvaster, her nearest relative and favorite grandnephew, was named as chief legatee.
She kept on making wills, and, what was more, she kept on living. Naturally her wealth, her eccentricities, her amazing healthiness and her obstinate vitality were subjects of general remark by all the gossips of the capital.
One night, an hour or two after midnight, she was seized with violent internal pains, and, in spite of the ministrations of her private physician, died before dawn.
In Rome any sudden death was likely to be attributed to poison. In her case the indications, from the Roman point of view, all converged on the inference that she had been poisoned. No-one questioned the conclusion.
Calvaster was immediately suspected. The evidence against him would not suffice to put in jeopardy any one in our days. To the Romans it seemed sufficient to justify his incarceration and trial. He had more to gain by the old lady’s death than anybody else. He had been chronically in need of money and there had been much friction between him and Pulfennia on this point. She had always provided for his necessities, but had always insisted on scrutinizing every item in his accounts, and on being convinced of his need for every sesterce she gave him. She had supported him, but by an irritating dole of small sums. He had joked with his cronies about her hold on life. He had been heard to say that he would be glad when she was gone. He had bought various drugs from various apothecaries, though none within a year of her death and none used merely as a poison. Under torture some of her slaves and some of his slaves told of his having tried to induce them to put poison in her food.
Roman society promptly divided into two camps on the question of his guilt or innocence. The subject was debated with vehemence, even with acrimony. He had been a disagreeable creature from childhood and had made many enemies. On the other hand, great numbers of fair-minded people asserted that no man, however distasteful to themselves, should be convicted on such flimsy evidence.
His trial was watched with great interest, and when he was convicted and an appeal was successful and a retrial ordered, upper class Rome seethed with altercations. The case, by common consent, was tabooed as a subject of conversation at all social gatherings; feeling ran so high that it was possible to mention the matter only between intimate friends.
Naturally Flexinna and Brinnaria, Terentia and Vocco discussed the case frequently. To her friends’ amazement Brinnaria maintained that she did not feel convinced of Calvaster’s guilt.
“I always despised him and hated him,” she said, “and I despise and hate him as much as ever, if not more. He certainly has been my worst enemy and he came very near to ruining me. But I see no reason why hate should blind me in judging his case. I should be glad to have him plainly convicted and put to death. It would please me. But I am not pleased at his present plight. I am not convinced of his guilt. I don’t believe any slave evidence given under torture. A tortured slave will say anything he thinks likely to relax his sufferings or please his questioners. And I see no proof of Calvaster’s guilt in the other evidence. Everybody buys such drugs as he bought. And suppose he did joke about Pulfennia’s tenacity to life, who wouldn’t? I don’t believe it is proved that she died of poison anyway. People who have never been ill are reckless eaters. Look at me, I am. She may have died of indigestion or stomach-ache or what not. I’d do anything I could to save him, now.”
“D-D-Do you mean to say,” spoke Flexinna, “that if you encountered him being led out to execution, you’d reprieve him?”
“A Vestal can’t use her prerogative of reprieving criminals,” said Brinnaria, “unless she encounters by accident a criminal being led to execution. She can’t lay in wait for one. Any suspicion of collusion vitiates her privilege. The encounter must be unforeseen.”
“Suppose,” said Flexinna, “you did meet C-C-Calvaster on his way to execution, wouldn’t you g-g-gloat over him and watch him on his way and not interfere?”
“No, I should not, I should interfere,” said Brinnaria, “and anyhow, what is the use of supposing? Suppose the moon fell on your front teeth, would you stop stuttering?”
In June of 191 Almo returned from Syria, completely victorious and much acclaimed. He brought with him his veteran legions and was received with every mark of the Emperor’s favor. After his official reception he at once left Rome for Falerii, where he was to remain until the last day of Brinnaria’s service.
Meanwhile his house on the Carinae was opened and put in order under Flexinna’s supervision.
On August 14th, Lutorius, Causidiena, Numisia and Brinnaria had a long conference as to the details of her wedding, which was to take place on August 16th.
The subject needed not a little discussion, as the circumstances were unusual. Having no parents, nor indeed any near connections, it was inevitable that the wedding should vary a great deal from what was customary.
It was decided that on leaving the Atrium after her exauguration, she should spend one night as the guest of Nemestronia; that on the next day she should go to Vocco’s house and be married from there; but that in the ceremonies, Lutorius, who had been her spiritual father for many years, should take the part which her own father would have taken had he been alive. It was also decided that the wedding feast should be at Almo’s house, after the wedding-procession, instead of at Vocco’s before, as it would have been if she had living parents and was being married from her home.
Lutorius, who had a warm personal affection for Brinnaria, had been hovering about her, as it were, for some days, and on this last full day of her service he kept, so to speak, fluttering in and out of the Atrium, repeatedly returning to confer about some trifle or other which he had forgotten.
So it happened that he was approaching the portal as she came out for her afternoon airing.
“You have your light carriage, to-day, I see,” he said. “Yesterday you had out your state coach. Why the difference?”
Brinnaria, settling herself among her cushions, leaned out towards him as he stood beside the vehicle, holding on to the tires, his arms stiff, a hand on each wheel.
“This,” she said, “is merely a constitutional. Yesterday I took my last outing with all my special privileges as a Vestal, drove all over Rome in my state coach, drove up to the Capitol, and, in a fashion, said farewell to the advantages of my office.”
“How do you feel about it all?” he asked.
Brinnaria pulled a wry face and laughed a forced laugh.
“I am finding out,” she said, “why so few Vestals ever leave the order. When I realize that, after to-day, I shall have no lictor to clear the streets for me, that I may go out in my litter daily, but even so without a runner ahead, that I may never again drive through Rome, that I have been driven up to the Capitol for the last time and may go there hereafter only afoot or in my litter, I am almost ready to change my mind, give up freedom and matrimony and Almo and all and cling to my privileges. When it comes over me that, as I go out to-day, the lictors of any magistrate will salute me, even the lictors of the Emperor, whereas after to-morrow noon there will be no salutes for me, I understand why most Vestals live out their lives in the order.”
“There is time still to change your mind and stay with us,” he said, smiling.
Brinnaria laughed a perfectly natural laugh.
“No danger,” she said; “my heart is Almo’s as always.”
“And now, if you have nothing urgent to discuss, I’m off!”
“Where to?” asked Lutorius.
“I don’t care,” said Brinnaria, “I don’t even want to know. Give the coachman any orders that come into your head, sketch a round-about drive for me. I’m in the humor to have nothing on my mind.”
Lutorius, with a comprehending smile, whispered to the coachman, who mounted his tiny seat.
Almost at once Brinnaria was lost in thought and jolted through the streets oblivious to her surroundings, not even seeing what was before her eyes.
From her muse she was roused by the halting of the carriage.
Amazed, she looked up.
Still more amazed, she recognized, standing near the head of the off-horse, the state-executioner.
This repulsive public character, tolerated but despised and loathed, was the last living creature in or about Rome who would dare to approach a Vestal.
At sight of him she was inundated with a hot flood of wrath. She was about to call to her lictor, to demand why the carriage had stopped and rebuke him for being so negligent as to allow so unsavory a being to come so near her.
Then she saw between her and the executioner, just in front of that official, a kneeling figure.
She recognized Calvaster.
Also she saw the guards and executioner’s assistants grouped about the two.
It came over her that she had encountered, wholly by accident, this gloomy convoy, and that before her, beseeching her for a reprieve, begging for a mere day and night more of life, knelt her inveterate, furtive enemy.
She raised her hand and looked the executioner full in the eyes.
“Send him back,” she commanded. “He is reprieved until this hour to-morrow.” The guards dragged off Calvaster, babbling his pitiful gratitude.
“Drive home,” said Brinnaria to her coachman.
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