THE next day Commodus, officially, in his full regalia as Emperor and Pontifex Maximus, convoyed by a magnificent retinue of gorgeously apparelled gentlemen-in-waiting, equerries, aides, orderlies and pages, and of gaudily uniformed guards, paid a formal visit to the Atrium.
He was received by Lutorius, Causidiena and Numisia, who had been in close conference most of the previous afternoon and until late at night and again most of the morning from dawn. Causidiena, on account of her failing sight, was escorted by Manlia and Gargilia.
After the exchange of ceremonious greetings Commodus asked:
“Where is Brinnaria? Why isn’t she here?”
“We thought best,” Causidiena replied, “that she should not be present at our conference.”
“As to part of it I quite agree,” said the Emperor. “Fairness to her requires that much of what we have to say should be said in her absence, as she must be free from any suspicion of participation in some of our arrangements. But part of what we have to say she must hear and some details I must talk over with her. Send for her, and meanwhile, sit down, all of you, sit down, I say.”
Manlia and Gargilia departed to summon Brinnaria.
When she came and had seated herself the Emperor said:
“I’ve been thinking over this matter ever since you left me. Precious little else did I do yesterday and mighty little sleep did I get last night. I’m not clear yet altogether, but I see daylight on several points.
“What you propose is more or less like interpreting the significance of the appearances seen in the victim’s intestines after a sacrifice for a specific object; it amounts to asking a definite question of your Goddess and getting a yes or no answer.
“That is one way to regard it and seems to me correct from the religious point of view.
“But there is another point of view and another way to regard it, not less correct, it seems to me.
“This is a sort of a sporting proposal, like a dicing contest, or any kind of match or wager.
“Now in such matters, it is important, it is of the utmost importance, that there should be no differences of opinion between the principals or among the backers or lookers-on after the contest or during its progress; particularly that no unexpected differences of opinion should crop up after starting the set of actions which determine the decision. To avoid all such untoward possibilities, every detail must be settled in advance before the matter comes to a test.
“Now, treating your appeal to Vesta not only as a solemn invocation of the Goddess, but also as a sporting chance, I intend to have a definite, unquestionable understanding beforehand on every debatable point.
“You see what I mean?
“Some of the points we others will settle without you, but we shall begin with those which you must settle or share in settling.
“I and Lutorius, Causidiena and Numisia are to be the witnesses to the stipulations and our agreement on any point is to prove that point. I propose to make it impossible for there to be any misunderstanding or disagreement among the four of us, to make it certain that we four think, speak and act unanimously on all points whatever. Nothing must be assumed, everything must be explicit.
“To begin with, is this a fair statement of your proposal?
“You maintain that you are a worthy priestess of Vesta and wholly acceptable to her. You propose to demonstrate this by asking of her the power to carry water in a sieve in the sight of the whole College of Pontiffs and of such other persons as I may see fit to have present at the test. If you fail you will expect to be tried for misconduct. If you succeed you will expect to be then and there absolved from all accusations and imputations connected with your deportment or behavior.
“Is that a fair statement of your proposal?”
“It is,” Brinnaria replied.
“What kind of water do you propose to carry?” Commodus asked. “Spring water, rain-water from a tank, aqueduct-water, or what?”
“I assumed,” said Brinnaria, “that I would carry water from the river, in accordance with the legend of my predecessor: Father Tiber being himself one of our gods, one of the sternest to evildoers, yet to the righteous most kindly and helpful.”
“Excellent!” said the Emperor. “My notion precisely. That is settled. I accordingly appoint as the place of your test the Marble Quay, since the porticoes flanking it shut out the mob and protect the Quay from intruding eyes, and since the space enclosed by them is ample for the assemblage of the College of Pontiffs, the Senate and the Court officials. Are you satisfied with that place?”
“I am,” said Brinnaria.
“In what kind of a sieve do you propose to carry water?” came the next question.
“A sieve,” said Brinnaria, “is a sieve.”
“Not at all,” Commodus objected. “There are sieves and sieves.”
“Well, of course,” Brinnaria reflected, “I do not mean a broken, worn-out or imperfect sieve, nor one incompetently made.”
“Just so,” the Emperor amplified. “You propose to carry water in a sieve with a circular rim, without any hole, crevice or crack in it and with a web stretched taut on the rim, evenly woven and of the finest mesh.”
“That expresses my unformed idea,” said Brinnaria.
“Did you mean a linen sieve,” the Emperor asked, “or a horse-hair sieve, or a metal sieve?”
“That,” said Brinnaria, “can make no difference, if it fulfills the conditions you have just specified. I leave the choice of material to you.”
“That is the correct attitude for you,” said Commodus, “and does you credit.
“And now I think we four will settle the other details without you. Do you agree to that?”
“No!” Brinnaria objected. “I think I should be a party to the settling of several other details.”
“What are they?” Commodus queried.
“In the first place,” said Brinnaria, “there should be the clearest understanding as to how much water I must carry.”
“What do you mean?” the Emperor asked.
“Well,” Brinnaria expounded, “a drop of water the size of my thumb-nail would not be enough, I presume. That would not be considered as demonstrating my innocence. You would expect me to carry more water than that. On the other hand, to exact that I carry a sieve full of water to the top of the rim, as if it were a pan, would be unfair to me.”
“I see,” said Commodus. “I should lay down the condition that the water must cover the web of the sieve entirely and touch the rim all round, and that it should be a finger-breadth deep. Deeper than that it need not be, that depth would prove the favor of your Goddess as plainly as if you carried all Tiber. Is that all? If not, what next?”
“Next,” she said, “it ought to be definitely agreed how far I must carry the sieve with the water in it.”
“You do not need to carry it at all,” said Commodus. “If you stand up and hold the sieve of water as high as your chin, you will have proved the favor of your Goddess for you.”
Lutorius, tactful and bland, here spoke up.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I doubt whether that will confute Brinnaria’s enemies or even convince the majority of the Pontiffs.”
“What does it signify?” the Emperor demanded, “whether anybody else is convinced, if I am satisfied?”
“Nothing whatever, your Majesty,” said Lutorius, “if you take that view of the matter.”
“Perhaps,” Commodus admitted, “there may be something in your suggestion. Suppose we make the stipulation that she must carry the sieve of water from the brink of the river to the top of the steps.”
“The number of steps,” Lutorius reminded him, “varies at different points along the Marble Quay.”
“True,” the Emperor admitted. “Let us specify the middle stair, which has seven steps, if I mistake not. Do you agree to that?” he asked Brinnaria.
“I agree,” she concluded.
After Brinnaria had gone, Commodus resumed:
“Now we must decide,” he said, “what kind of a sieve she is to use.”
Causidiena spoke up, her all but sightless eyes strained towards the Emperor.
“Lutorius and Numisia and I have talked over that question,” she said. “It seems to me that it would be unfair to her for us to decide on a metal sieve. They are always coarse and the apertures between the wires are comparatively large. It seems to us that no one could carry water in a copper sieve, not even by a miracle.
“The meshes of linen sieves are the smallest of any made, but the linen does not seem to have much sustaining power. We feel that with a linen sieve not only Brinnaria would be, as Lutorius expressed it, severely handicapped for water-carrying, but that, as he also said, I fear irreverently, that Vesta herself would be too much handicapped in respect to miracle-working.”
“A mighty sensible remark,” Commodus cut in, “and one with which I concur. You are more of a sport than I thought you, Lutorius.”
“Considering only the construction of sieves,” Causidiena continued, “we were of the opinion that a horsehair sieve would be the fairest. The hairs are coarser than linen threads and finer than copper wires and the apertures between are similarly of medium size, as sieves go.
“Besides, we have ascertained that horse-hair sieves are by far the most usual kind. We are told that in most sieve-shops in Rome all the linen sieves and copper sieves sold do not amount to one-third the horsehair sieves.”
“That ought to settle that point,” said Commodus. “No one can cavil if we use the commonest kind of sieve, of medium fineness and of normal make.
“As to the question of procuring one we must arrange that Brinnaria may feel wholly secure that it has not been tampered with by some enemy of hers, and, on the other hand, that all persons whatever, to whomsoever hostile or friendly, or wholly indifferent, may be at once and forever certain that neither Brinnaria nor any partisan of hers has had any access to it before the test. Have you any suggestions to make?”
“Yes,” Causidiena replied. “Lutorius and Numisia and I have debated that point and have come to a conclusion which we think you might approve. The best sieve-maker in Rome is Caius Truttidius Falcifer, a tenant of one of our shops on the Holy Street. Not only are his wares reputed the best-made sieves produced in Rome, but he sells more than anyone else and carries a larger stock than can be found in the possession of any other dealer. He is sieve-maker to the Atrium, like his father before him. His horse-hair sieves are the closest and finest of their kind. We use them to sift the flour for our ceremonial cakes. I had some brought to show you. Where are they, Numisia?”
Numisia rose and took from an onyx console a flattish dish-like basket of gilt wicker, containing a number of square cakes. In size and on account of the ridges on them, each looked much like the joined four fingers of a man’s hand.
Commodus took one, broke it and munched a piece.
“Very good,” he said. “If the excellence of the pastry demonstrates the virtue of the sieve let us consider it proved. I do not see, however, what the cakes have to do with it. But I am entirely willing to agree that Brinnaria is to use a horse-hair sieve made by Truttidius.
“Now, how are we to select the particular sieve so as to convince all concerned that it is a normal sieve chosen at random and not one doctored for the occasion?”
“Our idea,” said Lutorius, “was to arrange that Truttidius be present with a number of horse-hair sieves, practically with his whole stock of his best, and that one of those be chosen before the whole College of Pontiffs, perhaps by your Majesty, perhaps by some one of the altar-boys, blindfolded, if you like that idea, or in any other manner which seems good to you.”
“That,” said the Emperor, “is an excellent suggestion. But would not there be some difficulty in carrying to the Marble Quay so large a number of sieves at once, particularly just when it will be crowded with notables and the neighboring squares and streets choked, even jammed, with their equipages? We should not want to present a numerous gang of sieve-carrying slaves. But if more than two sieves are trusted to each slave, there will be danger of the sieves being damaged in transit. We might find it difficult to select one sufficiently perfect.”
“We have thought of that,” said Lutorius, “and have devised a solution which we think you might accept. I have arranged to have Truttidius convey some eighty horse-hair sieves to the water-front of the Marble Quay in a flat-bottomed row-boat, such as are used for bringing vegetables to the quays of the Forum Olitorium. The oarsmen can keep the boat nearly stationary off any point of the Quay indicated, and the selection can be made in sight of the official assemblage of all the Senators and Pontiffs.”
“That,” said Commodus, “is an excellent suggestion. Have it carried out and see to it that only we four know of it and that no one but the sieve-maker and his assistants have anything to do with conveying the sieves from his shop to the boat and that only the boatmen, the sieve-maker and his assistants are in the boat, that no one else has been in the boat. I’ll detail any number of men you ask for to escort the sieve-maker and his convoy.
“I’ll have the river policed and all possible traffic suspended. Any craft that are let through the cordons of police-boats will be made to follow the other side of the river. We’ll have nothing off the Marble Quay except the boat-load of sieves and the patrol-boats.” He sighed.
“I believe,” he said, “that that is all except fixing the day and the hour.”
“I suggest,” said Lutorius, “the day after to-morrow, the eighteenth day before the Kalends of September, the twenty-third anniversary of Brinnaria’s entrance into the order of Vestals, and, I regret to say, the second anniversary of her night expedition to Aricia.”
“That suits me,” said Commodus.
“And the hour?” Numisia queried.
“Noon,” said the Emperor.
Accordingly it was settled that Brinnaria was to face her ordeal at midday on August fifteenth of the nine hundred and thirty-seventh year after the founding of Rome, 184 of our era.
That night Numisia, conferring with Brinnaria, concluded by saying:
“Truttidius enjoined me to remind you to be very careful not to touch the web of the sieve with your fingers. Also he says that, if anybody’s finger touches the web of the sieve as it is being handed to you, you are to decline to accept it and to demand another.”
“I understand that already,” said Brinnaria.
The Marble Quay was that part of the embankment along the left bank of the Tiber which was used by the Emperors of Rome for embarking on their state barges and for landing from them whenever they took part in one of the gorgeous river processions. Also it was used by all members of the Imperial household for starting on excursions by water or when returning from them. It was situated below the north corner of the Aventine Hill, not far from the square end of the Circus Maximus, close to the round Temple of Hercules and near the meat market. Every trace of it has long since vanished, its precious marbles having offered most tempting plunder for builders of every century since the fall of Rome.
In its glory it was a space about two hundred feet long and nearly a hundred feet wide, bounded by a gentle hollow curve along the river, and enclosed on the other three sides by magnificent colonnaded porticoes.
The shafts of the columns were of black Lucullean marble and fully forty feet high. Their capitals and bases were of green porphyry, the entablature they carried of red porphyry and the wall behind them of yellow Numidian marble. The area was paved with slabs of pinkish and light greenish marble while the copings of the Quay and the steps leading down to the water were of coral red marble, a building material extremely rare and very costly.
At noon on the fifteenth of August the area, lined all round just before the colonnade by a double rank of Pretorian guards, gorgeous in their trappings of red gloss leather, gilded metal and scarlet cloth, was thronged with Senators, Pontiffs and officials of the Imperial Court, to the number of nearly a thousand.
Midway of the crowd, near the head of the middle water-stair, a part of the pavement, ringed about by the lucky dignitaries in the front row of spectators, was left free. In it, by the water-steps, were grouped a selection of Pontiffs, all the Flamens, four Vestals and the Emperor. The yellow river was almost free of craft; along the other bank some barges were being warped up-stream; nearby only patrol boats were visible.
Brinnaria, standing alert and springily erect, her white habit dazzlingly fresh, fresh as the white flowers clasped at her bosom by her big pearl brooch, looked like a care-free young matron who had had a long night’s sleep and a good breakfast. Commodus, looking her up nd down, mentally contrasted her easy pose and the rosiness of her smiling face with the tense statuesqueness and austere, almost grim countenances of her three colleagues. He noticed that her three-strand pearl necklace seemed to become her more than theirs became the other three and that she wore her square, white headdress with an indefinable difference, that there was a difference in the very hang of her headband and in the way its tassels lay on her bosom. He noted two unusual adjuncts to her attire; a long, rough towel through her girdle and a gold sacrificial dipper thrust in beside it.
“Are you ready?” he asked her.
She looked him full in the face and slowly raised her left arm, stiffly straight, hand extended, palm down, until her finger-tips were almost level with his face and not a foot from it. Holding it so at full stretch she asked:
“What do you think of that? Am I ready?”
Commodus regarded her finger-tips, her face, and again her finger-tips:
“Hercules be good to me!” he exclaimed. “Not a tremble, not a waver, not a quiver. You are mighty cool. You’ve plenty of confidence. I take it you are ready.”
“I am,” said Brinnaria. “Where is that sieve?”
From behind her spoke Calvaster. “I have a sieve here.”
Commodus rounded on him like an angry mastiff.
“Who authorized you to speak?” he demanded. “You act as if you were Emperor. You are merely a minor Pontiff. Remember that and speak when you are spoken to.”
Calvaster, abashed but persistent, stammered:
“I merely offered a sieve.”
“None of your concern to offer a sieve,” Commodus growled. “You insult all of us and me most of all. Do you take me to be so unfair as to subject this lady to her test with a sieve brought and offered by her accuser?”
Calvaster was dumb.
“Show me that sieve,” the Emperor commanded.
Calvaster produced from under his robes a copper-hooped sieve strung with linen.
Commodus handed it to Brinnaria.
“What do you think of that sieve?” he inquired.
Brinnaria held it up to the light and looked through the web; held it level, upside down, and looked along the web.
“It is very irregularly woven,” she pronounced; “some of the meshes are three times the size of others. It is very unevenly strung, it bags in two places.” She held it up to her face a moment.
“Also,” she concluded, “it has been scrubbed with wood-ashes and fuller’s-earth. Vesta herself could not carry water in that sieve.”
“Give it back to me!” the Emperor ordered.
He eyed it as she had, sniffed at it like a dog at a mouse-hole, and glared over it at Calvaster.
“You advertise yourself to all the world,” he snarled, “as an unworthy Pontiff and a contemptible caitiff. You attempt to entrap me into the meanest unfairness! You pose as a public-spirited citizen solicitous about the sanctity of the worship of Vesta and I find you a pettifogging wretch actuated by spite and malice. You desire not a fair test, but the ruin of a woman you are low-minded enough to hate. Eugh!” With one of his excesses of unconventional energy he flung the sieve far out over the river. It sailed whirling through the air, splashed in the water and sank out of sight.
“For the price of one dried bean, I’d order you thrown after it,” said Commodus to Calvaster.
He beckoned one of his aides.
“Signal that boat!” he commanded.
A broad blunt-ended cargo-boat, rather guided than propelled by its four heavy oars, came drifting down with the current. Its gunwale was hung with horsehair sieves. Up from the thwarts stood many poles, each with cross-pieces, every cross-piece hung with sieves. Its oarsmen edged it nearer and nearer to the Quay and slowed its motion until it was almost stationary opposite the stair, scarcely an arm’s-length from the lowest step.
When it was close the Emperor spoke to Numisia:
“Choose any sieve you see.”
Numisia indicated the sieve on the forward arm of the second cross-piece of the fourth pole from the bow.
Lutorius, at the Emperor’s bidding, called the directions to Truttidius, who, bowed and bent with age until he looked almost like a clothed ape, wizened so that his leathery, wrinkled face was like a dried apple, was standing near the middle of the boat.
“Go down the steps,” said Commodus to Brinnaria, “and yourself take the sieve from him.” Brinnaria, on the lower step, reached over the water, and grasped the rim of the sieve which Truttidius held out to her. She held it up to the light. Its web was of black and white horse-hair, each thread alternately of a different color. It was made for bolting the finest flour and the tiny apertures between the hairs were all of a size and scarcely broader than the hairs themselves.
She scrutinized the sieve from several angles and then looked back at the Emperor.
“Are you satisfied with that sieve?” he queried.
“I am satisfied with this sieve,” spoke Brinnaria, loud and clear.
“I want to see close,” said Commodus, coming down the steps.
Brinnaria, holding the sieve in both hands, lifted it towards the blue sky. “O Vesta!” she prayed aloud, “O my dear Goddess, manifest your divinity, succor your votary! To prove me pleasing and acceptable in your eyes, grant me the miraculous power to carry up these stairs water from this river in the sieve which I hold!” She lowered her arms and holding the sieve in her left hand knelt on one knee on the lowest step, spread her towel over the other knee and took from her belt the sacrificial dipper. With that she scooped up half a ladleful of Tiber water. On the towel spread over her knee she carefully dried the bottom of the dipper.
Holding it just outside the rim of the sieve she glanced up at Commodus.
“Go on,” he said.
She smiled.
“If you want to see me fail,” she said, “talk to me. If you want to see me carry water in this sieve, let me alone.”
“I’m dumb*,” said he.
*"Dumb” at this time meant unable to speak. —PG editor
She eyed the sieve to make sure that it was level and steady. Commodus, also eyeing it, judged it both steady and level.
She brought the ladle over the rim of the sieve and lowered it until it all but touched the middle of the web.
She tilted the ladle slowly, slowly she poured its contents over its lip.
She lifted it clear:
On the web of the sieve lay a silver disk, as it were, of water, round-edged and shining.
“Hercules be good to me!” cried Commodus.
“Keep quiet!” she admonished him. “You’ll put me off.” She dipped up a ladleful of water, flirted half the water out, wiped the bottom of the ladle on her knee and brought it cautiously over the sieve, cautiously she lowered it until it nearly touched the shining disk of water, cautiously she tilted it, cautiously she let its contents flow over its lip.
The disk of water spread. She repeated the process. The disk of water spread.
Again and again she repeated the process.
The disk of water became a film hiding nearly all the web of the sieve.
Commodus noticed that, as she dipped up each ladleful of water, she watched the dipper out of the corner of her eye, as it were, with a sort of partial, sidelong glance, but that all the while her gaze was intent on the sieve.
He noticed other details of her procedure.
“You never pour twice in the same place,” he commented.
Rigid as a statue, the sieve in her hand as unmoving as if clamped in a vise, Brinnaria spoke:
“If I take my eyes off the sieve,” she rebuked him, “it will tilt in my hand and the water will run through. If you make me look round you’ll destroy me. You are not fair.”
“I’m dumb,” said Commodus again, apologetically.
As she poured in the next dipper-load, the film of water touched the rim of the sieve at one point.
Commodus heard a sharp intake of Brinnaria’s breath.
The next half-ladleful she poured near the spot where the water touched the sieve-rim.
Round near the hoop she dribbled in half-ladleful after half-ladleful until the web of the sieve was entirely covered.
She had moved slowly from the first dip into the river. But now, since she could not see any part of the web of the sieve, she moved yet more slowly.
Commodus began to be impatient.
“That is plenty of water,” he said.
“Do you, as Pontifex Maximus,” she uttered, “certify that the water now in this sieve is as deep as you stipulated?”
“I,” said Commodus in a loud voice, “as Emperor and as Pontifex Maximus, here certify before all men that the water now supported by the web of that sieve is enough to demonstrate the favor of Vesta towards you and your impeccable integrity.”
“Back away,” said Brinnaria, “I’m going to stand up.” She thrust the handle of the ladle through her belt, brushed the towel from her knee and with her right hand also she grasped the sieve. Holding it now in both hands, her eyes on it, she very slowly, inch by inch, rose to her feet. When she was erect, she very slowly drew back her left foot until her two feet were close together.
“Back away,” she repeated. “I’m going to turn round.” Slowly she pivoted on her firm feet until she was standing with her back to the river.
Commodus at the top of the steps stared down at her.
“Back away,” she reiterated, “I’m coming up the steps.” Up the steps she came, very slowly. Planted on her right foot she would almost imperceptibly raise and advance her left foot. When it was firm on the step, she would gradually shift her weight to that foot, would very deliberately straighten up and very carefully draw up her right foot until both feet were together. So standing she would breathe several times before she repeated the process.
When she was standing firm on the top step on the level of the Quay platform, she raised both hands until the sieve was level with her chin.
“You have won,” Commodus exclaimed. “You have demonstrated your Goddess’s favor. The test is over.”
An arm’s length away stood Calvaster.
“It’s a trick!” he cried. “That is not water.”
“Not water!” cried Brinnaria.
All the forgotten tomboy of her childish girlhood surged up within her. The obsolete hoydenishness inside her exploded.
“Not water!” she cried, and smashed the sieve over his head.
The rim on his shoulders, his head protruding from the torn eb, frayed ends of broken horse-hair sticking up round his neck, the water trickling down his clothing and dripping from his thin locks, from his big flaring ears, from the end of his long nose, his face rueful and stultified, he presented a sufficiently absurd appearance.
Commodus, like the overgrown boy he was, burst into roars of laughter. The Pontiffs laughed, the Senators laughed, even Manlia and Gargilia laughed.
“It’s a trick!” Calvaster repeated.
On the face of Commodus mirth gave place to wrath.
“Isn’t that enough water for you?” he roared. “Anybody would think, the way you behave, that I am the minor Pontiff and you the Emperor. I’ll teach you!” He turned and beckoned a centurion of the guard.
With his file of men he came on the double quick.
“Seize that man!” the Emperor commanded.
Two of the Pretorians gripped Calvaster by the elbows.
“March him out there to the edge,” came the next order, the Emperor gesturing towards the quay-front on his right.
At the brink of the platform the Pretorians paused.
“Grab him with both your hands,” the Emperor commanded, “and pitch him into the river.” Over went Calvaster with a mighty splash.
As all Romans were excellent swimmers he came to the surface almost at once. A few strokes in front of him was the boat with the sieves. To it he swam and Truttidius hauled him aboard and located him on a thwart.
After the general merriment had waned and the laughter had abated Commodus faced the assemblage and raised his hand.
Into the ensuing silence he spoke not as a blundering lad nor as a sportsman, but as a ruler. For the moment, in fact, he looked all the Emperor.
“We have all beheld,” he said, “a miracle marvellous and convincing. As Prince of the Republic, as Chief Pontiff of Rome, I proclaim this Priestess cleared of all imputations whatever. Manifestly she is dear to Vesta, and worthy of the favor she has shown her. Henceforward let no man dare to smirch her with any slur or slander.”
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.