The Unwilling Vestal | Page 7

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 rehearsed 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 gods 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, prone 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 appliqu‚s, 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.