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Authors: Rosemary Rowe
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presume?’
Some might have thought this was a compliment, but the look that Cyra gave me would have withered stone. ‘Nine years my senior. Not so very much. My mother had more children in the years between – all boys – but the women of my family are not good at sons, it seems. Only we two females survived. My father was always cursing that he had no male as heir, though to have his granddaughter accepted as Vestal Virgin was some slight consolation to him, I believe.’
‘Yet your father did not send his own girls to serve the hearth-goddess?’
She gave a bitter smile. ‘He would have liked to. There is no doubt of that. But a Vestal Virgin must be perfect in all ways – physically as well as morally of course – and my sister had poor sight, the result of a spotted fever when she was very young. They would not permit her even to enter the lottery for a place.’
‘And you?’
She gave a thin-lipped smile. ‘They would never have accepted me, even if I had been fair enough of face to qualify. My poor mother died in bearing me and a girl must have two living parents – both freeborn Roman citizens – to be accepted at the shrine. So you see, we were not good enough! That only encouraged my father in his view. He did not regard daughters as of much account in any case. Indeed – perhaps because I cost my mother’s life – he could hardly bear to have me in the house.’
‘Yet he left you property, I understand?’
‘How do you know that?’ She shot a glance at me. ‘Your wealthy patron told you, I suppose?’ I did not disabuse her, and she went swiftly on. ‘As it happens, that report is true – though I cannot see what concern it is of yours, or what this has to do with the disappearance of my niece.’
‘If Audelia was kidnapped, as her bridegroom fears,’ I said gently, ‘the wealth of her family may have much to do with it.’
That sobered her. ‘I see. I’m sorry, citizen, I concede you have a point. Forgive me if I spoke more sharply than I meant. It was my father—’
We were interrupted by a tapping at the door, and Modesta reappeared with the promised tray of fruit, and a jug of something that looked like watered wine – a Roman drink of which I am not particularly fond. She set this down before me and I waved aside the drink, but – not wishing to seem churlish – I selected a few grapes before I turned back to Cyra.
‘Your father . . . you were about to say, I think?’ I prompted, tipping back my head to bite from my grape-bunch as I’d seen Marcus do.
‘It was at his funeral that I last saw my sister and her family.’ She had begun to fidget with the items on the desk, lining up the seal-stamp and the little pots of soot, gum and vinegar, like a rank of soldiers, as though this would somehow help her to control her evident emotion. ‘And afterwards, on the steps of the basilica, when the will was read.’
‘And you two girls inherited his lands?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘This part of it, at least – the rest of his fortune went to distant male relatives in Rome. Even then, as the younger sister, I got the smaller part, and of course my inheritance was managed for me by a male cousin, till I wed. My sister was married – as I said before – and already had a child, so she got the villa and the larger piece of land, though in return she had to swear that she would offer Audelia to the Vestal temple to be trained, if there was no son to take charge of the estate.’
‘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
Some might have thought this was a compliment, but the look that Cyra gave me would have withered stone. ‘Nine years my senior. Not so very much. My mother had more children in the years between – all boys – but the women of my family are not good at sons, it seems. Only we two females survived. My father was always cursing that he had no male as heir, though to have his granddaughter accepted as Vestal Virgin was some slight consolation to him, I believe.’
‘Yet your father did not send his own girls to serve the hearth-goddess?’
She gave a bitter smile. ‘He would have liked to. There is no doubt of that. But a Vestal Virgin must be perfect in all ways – physically as well as morally of course – and my sister had poor sight, the result of a spotted fever when she was very young. They would not permit her even to enter the lottery for a place.’
‘And you?’
She gave a thin-lipped smile. ‘They would never have accepted me, even if I had been fair enough of face to qualify. My poor mother died in bearing me and a girl must have two living parents – both freeborn Roman citizens – to be accepted at the shrine. So you see, we were not good enough! That only encouraged my father in his view. He did not regard daughters as of much account in any case. Indeed – perhaps because I cost my mother’s life – he could hardly bear to have me in the house.’
‘Yet he left you property, I understand?’
‘How do you know that?’ She shot a glance at me. ‘Your wealthy patron told you, I suppose?’ I did not disabuse her, and she went swiftly on. ‘As it happens, that report is true – though I cannot see what concern it is of yours, or what this has to do with the disappearance of my niece.’
‘If Audelia was kidnapped, as her bridegroom fears,’ I said gently, ‘the wealth of her family may have much to do with it.’
That sobered her. ‘I see. I’m sorry, citizen, I concede you have a point. Forgive me if I spoke more sharply than I meant. It was my father—’
We were interrupted by a tapping at the door, and Modesta reappeared with the promised tray of fruit, and a jug of something that looked like watered wine – a Roman drink of which I am not particularly fond. She set this down before me and I waved aside the drink, but – not wishing to seem churlish – I selected a few grapes before I turned back to Cyra.
‘Your father . . . you were about to say, I think?’ I prompted, tipping back my head to bite from my grape-bunch as I’d seen Marcus do.
‘It was at his funeral that I last saw my sister and her family.’ She had begun to fidget with the items on the desk, lining up the seal-stamp and the little pots of soot, gum and vinegar, like a rank of soldiers, as though this would somehow help her to control her evident emotion. ‘And afterwards, on the steps of the basilica, when the will was read.’
‘And you two girls inherited his lands?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘This part of it, at least – the rest of his fortune went to distant male relatives in Rome. Even then, as the younger sister, I got the smaller part, and of course my inheritance was managed for me by a male cousin, till I wed. My sister was married – as I said before – and already had a child, so she got the villa and the larger piece of land, though in return she had to swear that she would offer Audelia to the Vestal temple to be trained, if there was no son to take charge of the estate.’
‘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
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