Rosemary Rowe - The vestal vanishes

‘I take it there was not?’ I bit into a grape.

Cyra shook her head. ‘She bore a boy infant, three years afterwards, but it did not live and afterwards my sister did not conceive again. I told you that my family was not good with sons.’

I could not answer for a moment. The fruit — like my hostess’s tone — was uncomfortably sour. ‘But you do have a daughter, I believe.’

Cyra got abruptly to her feet and turned away, as if to hide the hurt and anger on her face. ‘To the disappointment of my husband, citizen. Of course I was lucky that he agreed to marry me at all — my inheritance was hardly generous, scarcely enough to make a decent dowry. For a time, I feared I’d never wed. Fortunately my guardian found Lavinius for me. He was a widower, whose first wife had been barren and he was prepared to take me so he could have an heir. I did provide one, in the end, though even then it took me many years — and many sacrifices to the gods — to bear a child that lived. I believe that otherwise he would have cut me off in a divorce. Of course, with my ill-fortune, it turned out to be a girl and now I’ve had to hand her to the Vestal temple, too.’

‘She has gone to be a Vestal?’ I was genuinely surprised. Modesta had spoken as if the child was young, but a Vestal novice must be six years old at least and cannot be more than ten. I did a calculation in my head. If Cyra was five years older than her niece, who had just completed thirty years of service at the Vestal House, then — even if Audelia had joined the Vestals young, and Cyra’s daughter was joining very late — Cyra must have been all of thirty when the child was born. No wonder the babe had seemed a present from the gods. ‘Another provision of your father’s will?’

She shook her head. ‘This was my husband’s doing. It was the one way a daughter could bring esteem to him, he said, without the necessity of giving half our land as dowry payment to someone else’s son. Of course my father had given him the idea.’

‘So you sent her to the shrine,’ I said.

‘Not I, citizen!’ The voice was icy cold. ‘It was a shock to me. I begged Lavinius not to let her go. But he formally offered her to the pontifex, who came and ritually dragged her from my knee, and it is the priest who is accompanying her on her way, not us. So my daughter is not legally even a member of this family any more. My only living child, after years of barrenness. All my other children died in infancy — perhaps it is a family failing in some way. But she is on her way to the temple as we speak.’

‘I see. But surely her place is not yet a certainty? Did you not say something about a lottery?’

She gave a bitter laugh. ‘If a well-born citizen offers his daughter to the shrine, and she meets the criteria of perfect form and two living parents of sufficient degree, she is usually accepted without the need for drawing straws — especially if a dowry is provided with the girl. As of course it was. Lavinius saw to that. My daughter will take the same sum with her thirty years from now, when she retires, but until that time the Vestal House will have the use of it.’

‘Just as her husband would have done if she had wed,’ I murmured.

Cyra cast a furious glance at me. ‘And now she never will!’ She gestured to Modesta to fill the empty cup which was still lying used on the tray, and when it was brimming she picked it up herself. That was astonishing enough: it is not customary for a well-bred Roman matron to drink wine at all, except at a banquet — and especially not before a male guest in the mid-afternoon — but Cyra raised the cup and, far from sipping, drained it at a gulp. ‘So I’ll not see her again. I won’t survive another thirty years and my husband will never take me to the Vestal shrine. If I had borne a son, it would be a different thing.’

I could not like this woman — she was bitter and resentful — but I couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for her. I tried to turn the subject to more cheerful things while, of course, continuing to probe. ‘But when she returns she will be provided for. Not only will she have her dowry sum to spend, and of course the famous pension which the state provides for retired Vestals, but I believe that there will also be a house for her. You are building on that piece of land, I think?’

She brightened, just a little. ‘We are. It is a much finer villa than this one, too. You must have seen it, as you travelled here?’

I hadn’t. I had ridden in the litter with the curtains drawn. But I did not tell her that. All I said was, ‘It must be close to finished.’

She almost smiled. ‘There are a few rooms to plaster and a bathhouse to complete, but we could move in tomorrow if my husband chose. Indeed we might have done so earlier, except that Audelia wished to hold the wedding here. I believe that Publius intends to take her off to Rome, to meet what family he has, as soon as they are wed — and we will certainly have moved by the time that they return. Supposing that you find her. Where will you begin?’

I could not confess that I had no idea, but that was how I felt. If I had harboured any notion that there might have been a motive for this family to want Audelia gone — or even dead — it seemed that I was wrong. However, there was still one avenue that I might explore. ‘I understand that you have the carriage-driver in the house? The one who was driving when she disappeared? Perhaps it would be possible for me to speak to him?’

The violence of her answer startled me. ‘Publius sent him back here — though why I cannot think. The fellow is clearly a liar and a thief. I told my husband before we hired him that the man was dangerous — I did not like the look of him at all — but of course Lavinius took no notice of my fears.’

‘You knew the fellow, then?’ I was thinking so hard about the problem that I plucked off another grape.

‘Well, not exactly knew, but he had been here to the house. He took Lavinia to Corinium, of course.’

I could make no sense of this. ‘But I thought-’

Cyra cut me off. ‘My daughter was most anxious to see the bride before she wed, but the pontifex insisted that today — as soon as the birthday feast was over — he must take her to the shrine. So we found a compromise. She couldn’t travel in the same carriage with the pontifex anyway, of course, for the sake of decency, and Audelia was due to spend last night in Corinium. So it was arranged that Lavinia should leave here yesterday and spend Audelia’s wedding-eve with her and learn a little about Vestal life.’

‘At the official mansio, I suppose?’ I asked. A Vestal Virgin would surely merit preferential lodgings at the official inn. I knew the mansio at Corinium. I determined to call there and ask questions if I could.

‘A Vestal Virgin at a military inn? Of course not, citizen.’ Her tone of voice dismissed the fine official inns as though they might be dens of vice. ‘We chose a respectable private household known to my husband from his visits there. They let out rooms sometimes. They did have other guests last night, they said, but the wife gave up her own room and thus they managed to accommodate Lavinia — who drove there in a hired raeda yesterday.’

‘And the same driver was to bring Audelia back here? Rather than use the temple coach to bring her all the way?’

She gave a wry smile. ‘Lavinius suggested the arrangement himself. He found a driver with a raeda for hire, who was to take Lavinia to Corinium, to the lodging-house. The pontifex was to join her in the temple there today, and tomorrow my daughter was to travel on towards the shrine, using the Vestal pilentum which Audelia had used, while the raeda brought the bride the last few miles to us. It saved a double journey for both conveyances and — as my husband pointed out — the cost of hiring the raeda any further than he must.’