The Unwilling Vestal Part 2

"Brinnaria!" he called, imperatively. "What does this mean?"

"Mean?" she repeated. "It means that I am making the most of Almo while I can. I love Almo; I've promised to forget him, to be a good wife to Calvaster, and of course I'm going to keep my word. From the moment I'm married to Calvaster I'll never so much as look at Almo, let alone touch him. So I'm touching him all I can while I have the chance."

She paused, kissed Almo twice, lingeringly and loudly, and looked up again.

"How's that for kissing, Calvaster?" she chirped. "Don't you wish it was you?"

"Come, son!" Pulfennius spluttered, "let us be gone! This is no place for us. We are being mocked and insulted."

"Nonsense, Pulfennius!" his host exclaimed. "Can't you see that I had no part in this, that the minx devised it all by herself expressly to thwart me? Don't let her have the satisfaction of outmanoeuvering both of us. Don't let a mere prank of a child spoil all our arrangements.

She'll be a good wife as she says."

"A good wife!" Pulfennius snorted. "I much doubt whether she can now ever be a good wife to any man. I'm sure she'll never be a wife to my son. You'd never convince me that she's fit to be my son's wife.

Make her a Vestal, indeed! She a Vestal? She's much more likely to be something very different!"

"Do you mean to insinuate--" his host began.

"I mean to insinuate anything and everything appropriate to her wanton behavior," Pulfennius raged.

The two men glared at each other in a silence through which could be heard the cooing of the doves, the trickle of the two fountains, Brinnaria's low chuckle and the faint lisping sound of three distinct kisses.

"I beg your pardon!" spoke a voice behind them.

The four looked around.

"What brings you here, Segontius?" Brinnarius asked.

"One of my slaves brought me word," the intruder explained, "that my son had entered this house. I knew you had not changed your mind since you forbade him to cross your threshold, so I came here at once to disclaim any share in his intrusion and to take him home. I feared he might get into mischief."

"He has," Brinnarius replied, sententiously, "as you may see."

Brinnaria, entirely at her ease, hugged Almo rapturously and kissed him repeatedly.

"And I thought," Segontius pursued, "that you would probably smash every bone in his body if you caught him."

"I don't know why I haven't," spoke the big man reflectively.

"I know," shouted Pulfennius, "I can tell you. It is because this whole comedy has been rehea.r.s.ed between you just to make me ridiculous. I know your way, your malignity, your tenacity of a grudge, your pretence of reconciliation, your ingenuity, your well-laid traps. I'll be revenged for this yet!"

"You won't live to be revenged," Brinnarius told him, "unless you get out of here quick. I'll break every bone in your body, for certain, if you address another word to me."

"Come, son, said Pulfennius, and shambled away.

"And now," spoke Segontius, "don't you think, Marcus, that you and I had best forget our quarrels and be friends again? These young folks were plainly meant for each other by all the G.o.ds who favor lovers. Let us not stand in the way."

"Indeed, Lucius," spoke the big man, holding out his huge hand. "I am of the same mind. But both of them deserve some punishment for their presumption. They should wait four years at least before they marry. My girl is too young."

"I agree," said Segontius, "and I'll send my boy to Falerii for the present. That will keep them apart and ensure propriety of behavior."

"That is well," growled Brinnarius, "and I'll send my girl to her aunt Septima's."

Brinnaria sprang up.

"Aunt Septima's?" she cried. "Spinach and mallows and a tiny roast lark for dinner every day. I'll starve to death And prim! I'd almost as lief be a Vestal!"

CHAPTER II - SIEVES

To her luxurious but austerely managed villa, Aunt Septima welcomed Brinnaria with heartfelt, if repressed affection. Until the second sunrise Brinnaria controlled herself. Then the good lady endured her overgrown niece for some strenuous days, suffered impatiently for a few more, but finally packed off to Rome "that unspeakable child." At home again Brinnaria demanded pork and cabbage.

"My insides are as empty as the sky," she wailed. "Asparagus is all very well, but it's none too filling, even if you can eat all you want, and aunty says ten stalks is enough for any one meal. Chicken-breast is good, hot or cold, but aunty would never let me have a second helping.

She wouldn't even let me have as much bread as I wanted and only one little dish of strawberries. I filled up on raw eggs, all I could find in the nests. But, my six days of raw eggs was five days too many for me. I'm wild for cabbage, all I want, and pork, big hunks of it."

She got it and slept a sound night's sleep.

The next day she craved an outing on foot. Her mother, p.r.o.ne to the shortest cut to peace on all occasions, acquiesced at once and let her go out with her one-eyed maid, Utta.

Utta, born somewhere beyond the Rhine, had been brought to Rome when a small child and had no memories except memories of Italy. She was the most placid and acquiescent creature imaginable. Her little mistress led her first of all to the nearest pastry-cook's shop where the two ate till they could not swallow another crumb.

Brinnaria, like many eccentric children born to wealth and position, had special favorites, almost cronies, among the lowly. Chief among them was the old sieve-maker of the Via Sacra. To his shop she made Utta lead her. Utta interposed no objection. Utta never objected to anything.

But in this case she was especially complaisant, since opposite the sieve-maker's was a fascinating embroidery shop, the keeper of which was entirely willing, when he had no customers, to let Utta lounge on one of his sofas and inspect embroideries to her heart's content. So lounging, rapt in the contemplation of Egyptian appliques, Syrian gold-thread borders, Spanish linen-work, silk flower patterns from Cos, Parthian animal designs and Celtic cord-labyrinths after originals in leather thongs, Utta could glance up from time to time and make sure that her charge was safe with the sieve-maker.

Safe she would have been without any maid to watch her, for old Truttidius adored her. He was a small, hale, merry, wizened man, his seamed and wrinkled face brown as berry in spite of his lifelong habit of indoor labor and comparative inertia. He had more than a little tact and was an excellent listener. Brinnaria was entirely at ease with him.

His shop was rather large for those days, nearly fifteen feet wide and fully twenty deep. It faced directly on the street, from which it was separated only by the stone counter which occupied all the front except a narrow entrance at one side. Above the counter projected the heavy shutters which closed the shop at night and which, being hinged at the top, were by day pushed upward and outward so as to form a sort of pent like a wooden subst.i.tute for an awning. The entrance by the end of the counter was closed by a solid little gate. Behind the counter was the low stool from which Truttidius rose to chaffer with customers, and on which, when not occupied in trading, he sat at work, his bench and brazier by his side, his tools hanging on the wall by his hand, orderly in their neat racks or on their neat rows of hooks. Except for the trifling wall-s.p.a.ce which they occupied, the walls were hidden under sieves hanging close together; bronze sieves, copper sieves, rush sieves with rims of white willow wood, white horse-hair sieves whose hoops were stout ash, sieves of black horse-hair stretched in rims of clean steamed oak and linen sieves hooped about with birch. Sieves were piled on the counter, mostly fancy sieves with hoops of carved wood strung with black and white horse-hair interlaced in bold patterns, or copper sieves, polished till they shone, they being most likely to catch the eyes of the pa.s.sing throng.

Brinnaria, sprawled on the sofa against the wall behind the work-bench, surveyed her surroundings and sighed happily, entirely at home.

Truttidius was beating copper wire, a process always fascinating to watch.

"I've had an awful time in the country with Aunt Septima," Brinnaria chatted, "and I had an awful scare before they sent me to the country.

Daddy threatened to make me a Vestal."

"In place of Rabulla?" Truttidius queried, glancing up.

"Yes," Brinnaria answered, "but I got off; my, but I was scared though."

"You didn't want to be a Vestal?" Truttidius asked, eyeing her over his work.

"Not I!" Brinnaria declared. "I can't think of anything worse except being killed."

"Well," mused Truttidius, "there is no accounting for tastes. Most girls would be wild with delight at the idea. But there would be no sense in being a Vestal unless you wanted to be one."

"I don't," Brinnaria proclaimed emphatically, "but I have been thinking about Vestals ever since Daddy threatened me and scared me so; I've been thinking about Vestals and sieves. Did anybody ever really carry water in a sieve, Truttidius?"

"Water in a sieve?" the old man exclaimed. "Not anybody that ever I saw.

What do you mean?"