Free Vestal Virgin: Suspense in Ancient Rome by Suzanne Tyrpak Page A

a small creature, probably a mouse, as it scurried to the colonnaded walkway. Crickets chirred halfheartedly, bidding their short lives farewell. She breathed in the scent of moldering leaves and fallen apples. Music drifted on a breeze from the twisting lanes of the Subura far below, and she caught the smell of frying onions.
    The doorway’s curtain rustled. She hurried back to bed, drew the coverlet over her head, and pretended to sleep.
    “Still awake?” her mother said.
    Flavia burrowed deeper. Her nose tingled, and she fought the urge to sneeze. She yawned, but the sneeze erupted—not just once, but three loud bursts.
    The coverlet was drawn away, and Flavia stared at her mother’s face—worry lines tugged at Constantina’s mouth. She placed an icy palm against Flavia’s forehead. “You feel feverish.”
    “I’m fine, Mater.”
    “Why is the window open?”
    “This room is stuffy.”
    Constantina pulled the shutters closed. “You’ll catch your death.”
    “We all die. What difference does it make if it’s now or later?” Flavia kicked aside the coverlet. “Was Marcus really a traitor?”
    “Go to sleep, child.”
    Constantina alighted on the edge of the sleeping couch, her face pinched and tired. Usually, she kept her hair pulled back, every plait neatly secured, but now a silvery strand fell across her forehead.
    “Tell me,” Flavia said. “Did Nero really murder Marcus? Elissa told Pater—”
    “Eavesdropping is unbecoming in a girl.”
    “Is it becoming in a man?”
    “Don’t twist my words.” Constantina stood, drew the coverlet around Flavia’s chin. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
    “If I don’t listen to what others say, how will I learn the truth? No one tells me anything. Was my brother murdered or did he commit suicide?”
    Doubt flickered over Constantina’s face, and for a moment Flavia thought her mother’s barricade of platitudes might crack. But taking a deep breath, Constantina fortified herself. “Things will appear different in the morning,” she said, tucking in the coverlet. “You’re too young to concern yourself with the world of men.”
    “I’m old enough to wed.”
    “And some day soon you will.”
    “Who?”
    “We’ll leave that for your father to determine.”
    “Not Egnatius!”
    Constantina picked up a cushion from the floor. “Why is your chamber such a mess?”
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    Constantina sighed. “Your cousin is quite suitable.”
    “He’s a pompous idiot. And he’s done worse than eavesdropping. One night he sneaked into my room.”
    The cushion fell from Constantina’s hands.
    “He what?”
    “When Marcus gave that dinner party, Egnatius thought I was asleep, but—”
    “He must have lost his way.”
    “No, Mater. He knew exactly where he was. He slid his hands beneath my bedcovers— ”
    “You must have been dreaming.”
    “—pushed up my tunica, and forced his fingers between my thighs, insisting, as my future husband, it’s his right. He said if I told anyone, he’d claim he’d ruined me.”
    Constantina sank onto the bed. “If this is true—”
    “It’s true, Mater. I swear on Venus.”
    Constantina touched Flavia’s cheek, gazed at her with frightened eyes. “Say nothing of this to your father.”
    “Now do you understand why I despise Egnatius?”
    “Say nothing to anyone,” Constantina rubbed her temples as if hoping to erase what Flavia had told her. “Reputations are so easily destroyed.”
    “Why should I care about his reputation?”
    “Not his, yours.”
    “Mine? I didn’t do anything. That isn’t fair!”
    “Lower your voice, Flavia. It’s time you learned life isn’t always fair, and you must make the best of it.”
    “The best of it?”
    With lips as cool as melted snow, Constantina kissed Flavia’s forehead. Straightening her robe, she headed for the door.
    “Did you marry for love, Mater?”
    Constantina paused, her expression troubled. “Your father is a good