TERENTIA FLAVOLA, who was taken as a Vestal to fill Meffia’s place, was a really beautiful girl.

Her hair was golden hair in fact, not merely in name; her eyes were an intense, bright blue; her complexion was exquisite, the delicate texture and perfect whiteness of her skin emphasized by the healthful coloring which came and went on her cheeks. Every one of the Vestals fell in love with her at once, most of all Brinnaria.

Besides her good looks Terentia had a charming disposition, a pretty unconsciousness of herself and a winning deferentialness towards her elders. The combination made her irresistible.

Also she was an interesting child, being amazingly precocious, not as Brinnaria had been, in growth and behavior, for she was a complete child in all respects, but in being what moderns call an infant prodigy. Infant prodigies in ancient times displayed their unusual powers chiefly by recitations, mostly of poems, which they learned by rote and repeated with very little understanding of what they rehearsed. More than most of her kind Terentia comprehended what she declaimed, but she knew by heart many poems entirely beyond her childish grasp. At barely eight years of age she was able to reel off without hesitation or effort anyone of an amazingly long list. With little prompting she could recite some of the longest narrative poems in Latin literature and she needed prompting only to give her the cue words at the beginning of each book and of each important episode.

Besides her amazing powers as a reciter she was already proficient in Greek, talked it easily and knew many poems in that language, which all educated Romans spoke and which was used more than Latin at Court.

But her chief distinction came from her capability as a musician. In music she was not only an infant prodigy, but very much of a born genius. Her memory for any composition she heard once was unfailingly accurate; her rendition of anything she knew was more than perfect, since to perfection of rendition she added sympathetic interpretation. She was already reputed the best female performer on the lyre, the most popular instrument in ancient times. The lyre had an effect something between that of a guitar and a harp, with some of the characteristics of the modern banjo, zither and mandolin.

Since the lyre was looked upon as frivolous and unsuited to the gravity of a Vestal, Brinnaria introduced Terentia to the organ. This instrument the child had heard, but had not learned to play, as organs were expensive in those days, whereas Terentia’s family, although of the most ancient nobility, were in very straitened circumstances.

To the organ Terentia took with great enthusiasm, and in performing on it she soon surpassed her teacher.

Brinnaria’s playing on the water-organ was similar to the piano music of a modern girl who has mostly taught herself and who plays largely by ear; Terentia played it as a born genius in our days plays her piano, with impeccable exactitude, inimitable individuality and compelling charm. Her organ recitals were soon a chief feature of the social life in the Atrium, each thronged by the most fashionable ladies in Rome, who competed for invitations. Her vogue in no way spoiled Terentia, who played with just as much zest for her co-inmates of the Atrium, or when she was entirely alone amusing herself at the organ. Teaching her, playing with her, listening to her, took up a good deal of Brinnaria’s time and came to be a great solace and comfort to her.

Even more was this abundance of good music a solace and a comfort to Causidiena, for, like Dossonia, her predecessor, like so many former Chief Vestals, Causidiena was going blind from some disorder slow, painless and obscure, altogether baffling to the best medical and surgical skill.*

*Clearly cataracts. As a matter of fact they WERE sometimes treated even this long ago, but the treatments did not meet with much success, and Causidiena probably would not have cared to take the risk.

For much of the ritual of Vesta and much of the participation of the Vestals in the public worship in general, the presence of the Chief Vestal was essential.

She was the Vestal, the others were only her assistants and in training to succeed her. But as Causidiena became less and less able to see, all matters which could be attended to by others devolved more and more upon Numisia. Among her colleagues Numisia had greatest confidence in Brinnaria, so that Brinnaria’s duties occupied her insistently.

Besides her ritual duties and her music she kept up her interest in horse-racing; in fact, she became more and more devoted to this pastime, which Lutorius countenanced, but which her detractors characterized as indelicate.

The success of her venture was notable. She became an important local dealer in racers. Her colts, sold at well-advertised auctions, were sought after, were competed for, brought fancy prices, won many races, came to have a reputation that spread beyond the city, over all Italy, even into the provinces. Her career as a stock farmer was brilliant, meteoric, phenomenal.

Between her duties, her music and her horse-breeding Brinnaria’s mind was pretty well occupied. She had no time to brood and passed six contented and almost happy years.

She had reason for happiness in the fact that reports from Almo were uniformly good. To Flexinna he wrote at intervals and his letters reached their destination without much irregularity. In those days communication with Britain was by no means so easy as with Africa. Gaul was a country well Romanized and very populous, busy and prosperous. All across it were good roads, excellent bridges and frequent post houses. But between Italy and Gaul were the Alps, where the winter snows blocked the roads for months at a time and where avalanches and floods suspended traffic at unpredictable intervals at all times of the year. The only sure road uniting Italy and Gaul was not through the Alps but past them along the sea-coast, and that was roundabout.

At the other end of Gaul the sea interposed a barrier which the Romans found annoying. In the state of seamanship in those ages a head-wind was an insuperable obstacle. As long as the wind blew the wrong way there was nothing to do but wait for the wind to change. High winds made navigation altogether impossible. Between storms and head-winds, on more than half the days in the year attempting the passage of the channel was not to be thought of. Moreover, bitter experience had taught the Romans that the weather-signs of the Mediterranean were not to be relied on when one dealt with Atlantic weather conditions. In particular they found that a clear sky, a light breeze, warm air and a calm sea in the morning not infrequently heralded a terrible storm before dusk.

Consequently their attempts to cross from Gaul to Britain or from Britain to Gaul were restricted to occasions when, at and after sunset, the sky was clear, the sea calm and the wind favorable. Only under those circumstances could they be reasonably sure of the conditions remaining unaltered until the transit was accomplished. In practice about sixty-five nights in a year promised well for traffic. With sea transit so restricted, communication with Britain was infrequent, and news of Almo irregular.

Besides his letters to Flexinna he wrote occasionally to Vocco. Vocco also had hopes of hearing from some of his comrades in arms. But as Valentia was a place of semi-exile for incompetent, illiterate, drunken and reckless officers, small reliance could be placed on any such channel of news.

Therefore, with Brinnaria’s knowledge and at her expense, Vocco had arranged to have an unremitting watch kept on Almo by skillful hirelings of the Imperial information department. These men sent messages whenever it was possible, and their reports were consistently favorable.

The frontier of Caledonia offered no such opportunities for distinction and promotion as the outskirts of the Sahara had afforded. Military duty from the Forth to the Clyde was monotonous and wearisome. But, considering his environment, Almo did very well. He was liked by his companions, loved by his subordinates and worshipped by his men. What there was to do he did capably, and in his leisure, among comrades who guzzled wine and gambled like madmen, he was always sober and never abused the dice, which were an inevitable social feature of all Roman outpost existence.

Aurelius spent the last four years of his life along the headwaters of the Danube and Rhine, where the rising tide of Germanic migrations beat incessantly at the outworks of the Empire. His death at Vienna occurred when Brinnaria was twenty-nine years old and had been nineteen years a Vestal. He was succeeded by his son Antoninus, whose obliging disposition and easy-going manners made him exceedingly popular with his cronies, the young fops, dandies and sports of Roman society, and led to his being known among them as “the good fellow,” which nickname of “Commodus” soon supplanted his given names and official titles, on the lips first of the Romans, then of the Italians, soon of all his subjects everywhere.

Commodus was not in Rome when his father died and it was therefore not possible for Brinnaria to have an audience with him. She dreaded that a change of governors in Britain might work unfavorably for Almo.

In consultation with Vocco she did what she could, through the city Prefect in charge of Rome during the Emperor’s absence, and through other officials, to make sure that any new governor of Britain would be fully informed of the secret instructions which Aurelius had given Opstorius concerning Almo. She also did all that was possible to have Commodus reminded of the matter. This was difficult at a distance and a delicate undertaking at any time and in any place, no Emperor ever relishing the assumption that he need be reminded of anything, while the necessity for emphasis and secrecy at one and the same time taxed the best ingenuity. With the great influence possessed by the Vestals, they hoped that they had succeeded.

But when Commodus had been Emperor a little over a year, Brinnaria, as she descended from her carriage at Vocco’s door, felt a thrill of vague foreboding. On entering the house her premonition of something wrong intensified. At first sight Flexinna’s face confirmed her suspicions. However, she asked no questions and worked off her feelings by a series of high dives, followed by fancy-stroke swimming under water. She came up from her tenth plunge sufficiently exhausted to feel to some extent soothed.

As they composed themselves on the dining-sofas Vocco and Flexinna exchanged glances. Brinnaria did not wait for either to speak.

“I am afraid,” she said, “that my appetite is not as reliable as it was ten years ago. I think we had best eat our dinner first and discuss our bad news afterwards.” Vocco and Flexinna looked distinctly relieved.

Brinnaria’s appetite seemed excellent. She ate abundantly, and, after the dinner tray was removed and the dessert tray brought in, she relished a half a dozen of her favorite purple figs. Savoring her glass of Vocco’s exquisite Setian wine she asked:

“What has gone wrong, Quintus?”

“Just precisely what we feared has happened,” Vocco replied. “In spite of all our efforts Hostidius appears to have known nothing whatever about Almo’s peculiar past or of the special instructions Aurelius gave Opstorius.

“Almo has practically repeated the vagary he perpetrated at Hippo. He induced Hostidius to give him a full, honorable discharge from the army and later wheedled the governor into authorizing him to have himself sold as a slave.”

“What maggot can he have in his brain,” Brinnaria burst in, “that he is so fascinated with the idea of being sold as a slave? What earthly basis can there be for the enticement it holds out to him? Being sold as a slave is universally regarded as the worst fate that can befall a man in life. What makes the prospect of life as a slave so alluring to him?”

“Flexinna and I have been debating that point,” said Vocco, “but we cannot so much as think up a conjecture.

“As to the facts there can be no doubt. He was publicly sold in the marketplace of Eboracum.”

“At least,” Brinnaria breathed, “we have not lost track of him this time.”

“We have not,” Vocco answered, “and I’ll wager we shall not.”

“Is it prize-fighting again?” Brinnaria queried, “or is it really charioteering this time?”

“Neither,” said Vocco. “I must say it sounds like lunacy. But all Almo’s words and all the small details of his behavior show no signs of derangement. Up to the last report he slept well, ate well, looked well, talked sensibly, in respect to all minor matters acted like a rational being, and seemed to thrive. But what he did in the large sense appears incredible.

“He had himself advertised for sale as an expert farm overseer, was bought by a prosperous proprietor whose properties are situated in the southwestern part of Britain and there, near Ischalis, he has settled down to the management of a large estate; large at least for that part of the world. He was giving excellent satisfaction in his dealings with the slaves and by his knowledge of budding, grafting, transplanting and of all the mysteries of gardening, orchard lore, and of agriculture in general.”

“Yes,” Brinnaria reflected, “he was keen on all that sort of thing while he was at the villa near Falerii. Such knowledge, gained in boyhood, sinks in deep and is never forgotten. He is not playing a part or pretending; he is really enjoying farm life. But what kink in his head makes him fancy that he prefers to enjoy it as a slave rather than as a free man? That puzzles me. Why be sold as a slave in order to bask in rural delights when he could buy the ten largest estates in Britain and never feel the outlay? When after his honorable discharge from the army he was at liberty to remain in Britain openly and to do as he liked? Can you see through it?”

Flexinna and Vocco agreed that they saw no glimmer of light.

“At least,” Brinnaria summed up, “he is in Britain and we can arrange to prevent his leaving the island. Certainly we can have him watched, wherever he goes.”

Vocco at once set about making the arrangements to ensure that Almo would not leave Britain. Within a half year he had to report that their efforts had been futile.

“We were too late,” he said. “He did not remain at Ischalis a year. Egnatius Probus, of Fregellae, had been in Britain more than ten years as adviser to the tax-department. His health had given way and he was taking the waters at Aquae Solis. He was an acquaintance of Almo’s owner and went down to Ischalis after his water-cure had had its effect and he felt better. While visiting and idling at Ischalis he took a fancy to Almo, offered a high price for him and bought him. He returned home by way of Marseilles and from there by ship to Puteoli. He is now on his estates near Fregellae and Almo is his head overseer, in charge of the entire place. He has been there three months already.”

Brinnaria fidgeted on her sofa, for, as on the previous occasion, Vocco had imparted his news after dinner.

“Give me another goblet of that Setian you bought from Zaelis,” she said. “I’m getting to be a confirmed wine-bibber. At every piece of bad news I need a bracer.”

After she had emptied her glass, she burst out:

“If Almo is acting as villicus of an estate near Fregellae he must be living with some slave-woman or other.”

“He is not,” Vocco informed her. “I made careful inquiries on just that point and got my information from two different sources. Almo told Egnatius that he was a woman-hater and could not endure a woman about him. Egnatius humored him and he is acting villicus without any villica. The wife of the assistant overseer does whatever is necessary in the way of prayers and sacrifices and such duties of a villica. She and her husband occupy the overseer’s house and Almo is living in the hut meant for the assistant villicus.”

“Did anybody ever hear the like!” exclaimed Brinnaria.

Vocco’s agents verified this news and made it quite certain that Almo was masquerading as a slave and as a villicus of a fine estate in lower Latium, near Fregellae, southeast of Rome on the Latin highroad, about half way between Capua and the capital.

Brinnaria found herself very much in a quandary, and discussions with Flexinna and Vocco, however lengthy and however often repeated, left her just where she started. They could not decide whether it was best to do nothing or to interfere, and whether, if they were to interfere, what form their intervention should take.

Should Vocco travel to Fregellae and force an interview with Almo and try to appeal to his better self? If so, should he do so without apprizing Egnatius of the real name and origin of his overseer? Or should they enlighten Egnatius under a pledge of secrecy and afterwards decide whether or not to make an attempt to recall Almo to his natural way of life? Should they do any of these things without appealing to the Emperor or would it be better first to inform Commodus? They debated over and over every line of conduct any one of them could suggest. After all complete inaction and entire secrecy seemed best.

This view was confirmed when Brinnaria consulted Celsianus, the most reputed physician of Rome. She had already confided in Lutorius, who informed Celsianus, arranged for an interview and was present at it.

The great man said: “Almo is not necessarily or even probably deranged. On the face of what you tell me the most unfavorable conjecture I could form would be that he has resolved to commit suicide. You will say that the idea is absurd, that suicide is easy and that the means are always at hand, which is quite true.

“But there are cases, more numerous than you could fancy, of persons who make up their minds to bring about their end in some unimaginable manner, of which nobody but themselves would ever have thought. Then they lay complicated plans and by devious ways approach their purpose. If they are thwarted or diverted, they never end their lives in any other fashion than by the special method they have devised.

“I am inclined to think that Almo’s entrance into a gang of sword-fighters was caused by some such intention, that he is alive because the circumstances he looked forward to never conspired to give him just the kind of death he preferred. I am inclined to think that he is now working towards some unthinkable exit from life.

“But I am not much disposed to think his such a case at all. It may be a mere whim of self-torment, or it may be spontaneous yielding to a genuine liking for the life he is living. What one human being likes cannot be realized by other human beings, in many cases.

“My advice is to let him entirely alone. If you interfere you may precipitate his suicide, if he meditates suicide. By calling in the help of the Emperor or of his owner or both, you may destroy the chances, the very good chances, of his returning to his full senses. Men in his state of mind are often sane in all respects, and, if unsettled, are deranged only in one particular. They are generally wholly reasonable on all points except as to their fad of the moment. If that wears off they are entirely rational. Let him alone. Watch him, but take no other steps.”

This advice seemed simple enough, but carrying it out proved more of a strain than Brinnaria could have foreseen. The knowledge that Almo was in Italy, near Fregellae, actually in Latium and within seventy miles of Rome, that he was living in the hut of an under-farm-bailiff, that he perhaps purposed some eccentric method of suicide proved racking to her nerves. She became irritable and fidgety, her music failed to solace or comfort her and sometimes almost bored her. She groped blindly for something to distract her mind.

First she had a brief but violent attack of solicitude for her pauper tenants. She found entertainment in visiting her slum properties and in endeavoring to alleviate the condition of their inmates. They were far from grateful. To have a Vestal, clad in the awe-inspiring dignity of her white robes, with all her badges of office, six braids, headdress, headband, tassels, ribbons, brooch and all descend from her dazzlingly upholstered carriage and invade the courtyard of their hive was thrilling but still more disconcerting to a swarm of slum spawn. They bragged of the honor for the rest of their lives and strutted over it for months, but they were unaffectedly relieved to see her depart.

Her inquiries as to their means of livelihood were excruciatingly embarrassing. The Roman populace, all freemen with their wives and children, were legally entitled to free seats at the spectacles and to cooked rations from the government cook-shops in their precinct. They throve on their free rations. Of their own efforts they had merely to clothe themselves and pay the rent of their quarters. Cash for rent and garments they obtained in whatever way happened to be easiest, often by dubious means. As to their resources they were reticent.

In particular, Brinnaria was unable to cajole any admission, by word or silence, from any dweller in one of her largest rookeries, and they were better off than any tenants she had, too. What was more, not one of their neighbors would impart any information about them..

Brinnaria’s curiosity was aroused. She bethought herself of Truttidius, the sieve-maker, and of his intimate knowledge of all the dens and lairs in the city.

She asked him. He laughed.

“On the Fagutal?” he made sure, “at the second corner beyond the end of the Subura?”

He laughed again.

Then he tactfully explained that the tenants in that particular congeries of buildings were professional secret cut-throats, good enough husbands and fathers and amicable among themselves, but earning an honest livelihood by putting out of the way any persons displeasing to anybody able to pay for their services.

Brinnaria abruptly ceased slumming.

All the more she threw herself into her horse-breeding. She visited her stud-farms oftener; and, oddly enough, as the result of her overwrought state of mind, the management of the farms themselves came to mean less to her than the means of reaching them and returning. She paid close attention to the make of her road-carriage, to the speed and pace of her roadsters. She bought picked teams of blooded mares, selecting them especially for their ability to keep up a fast walk without breaking pace. She boasted that she had six spans of mares, any one of which could, at a walk, outdistance any team in Rome owned by anybody else.

By specializing in fast-walking cattle she saved much time in passing from the Atrium to the city gates and in returning.

Outside the city her mares displayed their capacity for other paces than the walk. She saw to it that her coachman kept them at their utmost speed. The sight of her tearing along a highway became familiar everywhere throughout the suburban countryside. She made a hobby of extremely fast driving and of buying fast mares.

Also she fell into another fad, at the time all the rage, invented since the accession of Commodus and made fashionable by the young Emperor. Some popinjay had conceived a whim for travelling by litter instead of in his carriage. It was far less expeditious and far more expensive. But the notion took. All at once every fop in Roman society must needs take his country outings, go to his villa and come back from it, not in his carriage but in his litter. The plea was that a carriage jolted and that riding in a litter was less tiring. There was something in that, for carriage springs had not been invented in those days. But mostly it was just a craze among the very wealthy, as distinguishing them from people who could afford but one set of litter-bearers. An ordinary four-man litter could be used only for going about the city—longer distances were impossible, and excursions into the country soon tired out eight bearers. For road travelling one must have sixteen bearers, two sets relieving each other in turn. Brinnaria bought sixteen gigantic negroes and tested them on her inspections of her stock-farms. She tried German bearers, Goths and Cilicians. Her bearers became famous for their speed and endurance. If she heard of any squad reputed better than hers, she bought it at any price, until, not counting the teams of bearers belonging to the Palace, there was only one gang in Rome which she envied. She tried to purchase them but could not. They belonged to her mother’s friend Nemestronia.

Nemestronia always had been a wonder and was a marvel. She was one of the wealthiest women in Rome and had never been ill a moment in her life. A very beautiful girl, she had kept her looks and a wonderful singing voice, still clear and sweet when she was over sixty. She had been, since within a year after her first marriage, one of the social leaders of Rome. She had become the social leader of Rome, her influence almost equal to that of the Empress. She had outlived three empresses and had reigned unquestioned in the social world for over fifty years, yet had not an enemy in Rome. Everybody loved Nemestronia. At the time of the litter craze she had already celebrated her eighty-first birthday, was plump, rosy, merry and spry, always ready for any amusement, and was living happily with her fifth husband.

She prided herself on her litter-bearers and with her unerring social instinct anticipated the caprice of her world and provided herself with three sets of carriers, sixteen to a set. One gang, of brawny Cappadocians, outclassed any but the Emperor’s own.

These Brinnaria tried to buy, tried in vain. Nemestronia was willing to exchange, if she could do so to her advantage. But sell she would not. Amid her opulence no sum could tempt her.

Brinnaria fumed and drove her horses almost to death, urged her litter-men almost to exhaustion. But, with all her haste, care outpaced her steeds or carriers. She gnawed her heart out.

Only at Vocco’s house, amid Flexinna’s bevy of youngsters, did she find peace of mind.

Even there, at last, care followed her.

When Alma had been more than a year at Fregellae, Brinnaria, visiting Flexinna about the middle of May, scented more trouble. As they lay down to dinner she said:

“The occasion, I perceive, calls for an extra supply of wine. Let it be the old Falernian this time and have the mixture strong.” After they had eaten, none any too heartily, Vocco told his news.

Almo had left his master’s estate without a permit, in plain words had gone off like any runaway slave and had thereby exposed himself to the penalties incurred by a fugitive. Egnatius had taken the usual steps to recapture him, but neither he nor the authorities had any clue to Almo’s whereabouts. As far as they were concerned he had vanished.

He had not, however, eluded the vigilance of Brinnaria’s agents, of the men Vocco had employed to keep him in view. They understood that Egnatius was to be kept in ignorance of their activity, and gave no aid to the police of the neighborhood in their efforts to retake him. They had reported only to Vocco.

Almo had money with him and at Arpinum had garbed himself decently for the road. He avoided the main highway and wandered along by-roads, zigzagging and circling about. He idled at inns, sometime for days in one place, often in small towns, oftener at road-houses between.

He was then near Atina.

At intervals during June and July Vocco gave Brinnaria reports about Almo. He seemed to enjoy the society of the casual travellers he met at small inns and of the local frequenters of them. He got on famously with everybody. Nowhere was he suspected of being a runaway slave and naturally, for he had the unmistakable carriage and bearing of a born freeman. The hue and cry Egnatius had set loose after him was active wherever he went, but he sat under placards offering rewards for his capture and no one applied the description to him.

Early in June he was at Casinum and Interamna, before it ended at Fundi and Privernum. In July he passed through Setia, Ulubrae, Norba and Cora. Early in August he was idling at Velitrae, playing quoits in the inn-yard morning after morning.

He seemed to like Velitrae. He stayed there longer than anywhere else.