Brides of Rome by Debra May Macleod

Author:Debra May Macleod
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2020-09-08T19:27:57+00:00

* * *

A temple slave escorted Quintus and his wide-eyed daughter Quintina through the House of the Vestals, toward the office of the Vestalis Maxima.

The girl gripped her father’s hand tightly as she absorbed the beauty of the home: colorful nature frescoes on the walls, intricate mosaics on the floors, colonnades with Ionic and Corinthian columns and strings of flowers wrapped around them, gold furnishings and painted statuary, and heavy curtains of red, green, and yellow. The smell of incense and fresh greenery. The sound of water from indoor fountains reverberating off the marble.

The new Vestalis Maxima sat at her large desk surrounded by blue frescoed walls upon which were painted all the gods and goddesses of the Roman pantheon. Her head was down as one hand busily scribbled something on a scroll and the other hand absently tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“Domina,” said the slave, “Quintus Vedius Tacitus and his daughter Quintina are here.”

Pomponia rose. She saw Quintus’s eyes move over her, and it occurred to her that he rarely saw her dressed in anything other than a stola or formal attire. Their interactions were almost always at religious or semiformal social events. Today, however, no real formality was required, and she was dressed casually in a sleeveless long white tunica gathered under her breasts by a gold rope belt. Her brown hair was pinned up in a bun. She wore no veil.

“Salve, Quintus,” she said as plainly as possible before smiling down at his daughter. “I am happy to meet you, Quintina. My name is Pomponia.”

The girl bowed deeply. “High Priestess Pomponia,” she said, “I wish to join the Vestal order. I love this house.”

Quintus gave her arm a tug. “What did I tell you? Answer the questions put to you.”

Pomponia moved from behind her desk to take Quintina’s hand from her father. She could see the resemblance: the black hair and dark eyes, the strong features that seemed almost too adult for such a pretty child, as if she were older than her years. “Speak as freely as you like,” she said to the girl, whose eyes widened even more. She had never seen anyone challenge her father’s authority, never mind a woman. Even more shocking, her father conceded.

“I will show you one of my favorite things in this house,” Pomponia said to Quintina. “Come.” She looked at Quintus. “You may stay here or accompany us. It is your choice.”

“I will come.”

Pomponia led them through the house and along the peristyle to enter the courtyard, continuing toward one of the pools. It was surrounded by white rosebushes, and in its center stood a marble statue of Vesta tipping a bowl of flames into the water. Several blue birds cleaned their feathers with the water on the pool’s edge.

It was the same scene depicted in the fresco on Caesar’s wall, the one Pomponia had been admiring in the quiet alcove when Quintus had grasped her arm and kissed her. When he had spoken of love.

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