“Is the parrot still there, Julia?” Cornelia asked suddenly.
“No, I think he’s been sold.” The cage swung now with a new parrot.
“Oh dear, that one’s not nearly so pretty. Papa should have bought that one for you!”
Julia turned and looked at her sister. Cornelia could be so nice sometimes, especially when she wasn’t thinking about weddings and being the unmarried eldest daughter. But something in her had hardened after the humiliation of her broken first engagement to Gaius Horatius Fortunatus, who had run off with a slave girl. She wished that old Cornelia would return—the one who thought about parrots that caught her sister’s eye, or who had rescued a dormouse once from the cook’s cleaver just because Julia had taken a fancy to it. Stolen it right out from under cook’s nose, she had!
They passed by the horse trader and his slave, a Nubian as black as charred wood but with sea-blue eyes. The slave stood holding an old nag that a prospective buyer was haggling over with the trader, who did not look as if he would lower his price. The scent of spices from India suddenly cut through the ripe port smell. Julia pulled the curtain aside to get a better sniff. As she leaned out the window of the litter, she caught sight of a monkey turning somersaults to the delight of several small urchins.
Julia’s eyes feasted on the scene, while her mother and sister pressed perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses. But Julia didn’t mind the smell, which was a heady mixture of animal dung, bait fish, exotic spices, human sweat, and salt air. It was all over too quickly, and soon they were on the Stabiae road which led to the Sarnus. Julia sank back in her cushioned seat as the slaves jogged on with the litter. Their mother had dozed off, and Cornelia gazed out the window, unseeing of anything but her own dreams.
Julia spotted the three large rocks rising out of the sea. The water became less blue as the silt of the river swirled out into the bay. They were very near now. She sank back against the cushions. The most she could hope for at this point was that her mother would not spend too long with the sibyl and the sibyl would not come to the mouth of the cave. Julia imagined a gruesome apparition of a woman twined with garlands of fishes’ eyeballs. Fish eyeballs—what could be worse? she thought. Well there was something. Snakes. Julia didn’t like snakes. Yes, that would be worse.
Four
THE GROUND WAS DUSTY AND the only shade available was a sparsely leafed poplar tree. Cornelia chose to remain in the litter, but Julia was just too hot. She went over to the poplar and sat on a rock beneath it. If a leaf could look weary these limp and shriveled ones with their pittance of shade did. The slightly sulfurous smell that emanated from the river’s mouth seemed stronger today.
Julia saw a small fish jump. She wondered how long it had until the sibyl caught it for for her prophesies. Prophetic fish, ridiculous! Were she and Marcus the only two people in the entire Roman Empire who thought it was completely irrational to think one could tell the future through the innards of animals, let alone a fish’s eyeballs? Julia always had a terrible image of the sibyl pawing over these eyeballs, rolling them about in her palm, like dice about to be thrown. Or maybe she squished them to see what popped out. Julia couldn’t wait to get home and plunge into the pool. Soon she heard the voices of her mother and the sibyl echoing from within the cave. The voices drew closer. She sighed. The sibyl was coming with her mother!
“Julia, Julia !” her mother called. “Come dear, the sibyl would like to see you.”
“What about me?” Cornelia said, stepping from the litter.
Their mother appeared at the cave mouth. Behind her there was a shadowy figure. Julia hesitantly walked to the edge and Cornelia came up beside her. The glare of the midday sun was so fierce that they had to squint. The cave shadows looked cool, almost tempting. The sibyl stayed well within them. She never came out far enough for them to see her. For all the times they had visited, she had remained a shrouded, misty figure made of half-light and cave shadows. They had never even glimpsed her face—their mother always preferred to visit with her alone—but even so Julia worried that some strange quirk of light and shadow might reveal her. And if one chose to live in a cave with only fish for company, well, Julia could only imagine someone very strange looking.
“Greetings,” the sibyl said. It was the voice that always surprised Julia. One expected a sibyl to have the creaking voice of an old lady, but this one didn’t. She did not sound any older than Julia’s mother.
“Greetings,” Cornelia and Julia both replied.
“Cornelia, your mother will discuss with you my thoughts on your marriage.”
“Yes, thank you very much.” The sibyl’s name was unknown to Julia and Cornelia. Everyone simply called her The Sibyl of Sarnus, and unlike some seers or oracles she did not like being called Holy One. Thus she went entirely nameless which made her even more mysterious.
“Julia,” said the Sibyl of Sarnus.
“Yes?”
“You are quite overheated child, I can see.” Cornelia shot Julia a look as if to say Why is the attention on you? I’m to be the bride. “Well take care, my dear, and remember as hot as it is now, when snow comes in summer that is the time to leave.”
Julia was confounded, and she could see from the expression on her mother’s face that she was as well.
“Come, girls!” Julia’s mother said. “We had better get home.” But before leaving Herminia turned, stepped back into the cave briefly and leaned into the shadows. She whispered something to the sibyl, but the voices were swallowed by the void. Julia thought how strange this was. Did the cave have no echoes, or had her mother drawn her face so close to the sibyl’s as she was whispering that no sound could escape?
The instant their mother climbed into the litter Cornelia was peppering her with questions. “So what did she say, Mother? What did she say? Does she think it’s all right? Did you tell her what the haruspex said?”
“No, of course I didn’t tell her what Lucretius said. I didn’t want to influence her by repeating other augurs’ words.”
“Well what did she say?” Cornelia pressed.
Herminia Petreia inhaled deeply. “She said that it would be better for you not to marry on that day.”
“No!” Cornelia protested, and tears immediately began spilling from her eyes, making slick tracks down her flushed cheeks.
Herminia took her daughter’s hand. “Calm yourself, dear and listen to me. She said if the marriage must take place on the twenty-fourth day of the month, then by all means marry early in that day. Begin the ceremonies in the morning with the auspex on hand.” The auspex was an augur who would preside over the couple’s offering of an animal sacrifice to the gods. “It just means,” Herminia continued, “that we shall have to begin preparing you before dawn. I shall have your father cancel his audience with the clients. But you must remember that the day before is the festival of Vulcanalia. We cannot celebrate too long into the night if we must get up before dawn.”
“Oh mother!” Cornelia’s tears still stained her face but her eyes brimmed with joy. “I’ll be up before anyone. I don’t mind cutting the Vulcanalia short.”
“Well, I do!” Julia muttered.
Cornelia ignored her and continued chatting away gaily. “I’ll have Aria begin to fix my hair well before dawn.”
“You shall do no such thing. A simple slave girl to do the wedding tutulus! You know how difficult it is to part the hair just so and then wind the sections on top of the head, and all the pinning and the false hair as well! No. Only an ornatrix can do that style.
“Yes, Mother” Cornelia replied meekly, but she could hardly conceal her happiness and her excitement.
“And Julia, the ornatrix will fix your hair as well!”
“Mine?” Julia was surprised. But she wasn’t about to argue. When Flavia had been married, Sura and not an ornatrix had fixed Julia’s hair. She couldn’t imagine why it was different now.
The conversation continued. Julia was soon bored as her mother and Cornelia nattere
d on about hair styles and false hair and how the veil should be attached. The words of the sibyl came back and kept weaving through her thoughts . What in the world did they mean, and why had she said them to Julia now? Snow in summer? That would be a blessing in her mind.
They were taking a different route back through the city and passed through the Stabian Gates. She heard her mother give a sniff of disgust as they went by the Temple of Isis. Herminia considered both the patron, a former slave, and the Egyptian goddess unworthy. The worship of Isis, once popular with the lower classes, was spreading to the aristocracy. All of this added up in Herminia’s mind to a grave offense toward the patron goddess of the city and their own family. “Look at the crowds at that temple!” she exclaimed.
“But Mother,” Cornelia said. “It’s the time. It’s half-past two.”
“Oh of course, I forgot.”
Twice a day the worshipers at the Temple of Isis celebrated their goddess in a ceremony called the ritual of the lustral waters in which the sacred water of the Nile, the river of the goddess’s origins, was venerated.
“Imagine,” Herminia continued. “To think that a former slave restored that temple and not only restored it—he installed his six year old son as priest!”
“Was Popidius Celsinus only six? “ Julia exclaimed.
“Yes, and now he’s a member of the ordo. You can buy your way into anything in this town!” Herminia huffed.
“Mother,” Cornelia said suddenly. “For the wedding could we have the doves like Valeria had, the ones with the rose-scented wings?”
Julia yawned and leaned her head back against the pillow.
Five
JULIA WOKE UP AS THE LITTER WAS set down. She had drifted off into a thin nap as her mother and Cornelia had begun one of their ceaseless conversations about wedding details. The last thing Julia remembered was something about doves with rose scented wings being released at Valeria Octavia’s wedding.
“Home? Already?”
“No dear the baths,” her mother replied
“Mother!”
Julia hated going to the women’s baths, which occupied an entire block near the Via Stabiana. Because of the deformity of her arm it was sheer torture for Julia to get undressed in front of other women and girls. Usually her mother was sensitive to this and they bathed in the private baths of their home, but because of the extreme heat of the last several days her mother had directed that the bath fires not be lit, as they made the house too hot.
Since the earthquake of seventeen years ago only the women’s section of the Stabian Baths had been rebuilt. Her father went to the Forum Baths closer to the house but they had only a small women’s section.
“We won’t linger,” Herminia said. “But I feel absolutely caked with grime.”
Cornelia, of course, was terribly excited. The baths were a great place for gossip, and now she could announce her wedding date with complete confidence.
Julia pressed herself close to her mother as they entered the building and followed a winding corridor to the changing room. A large lady with skin the color of cinnamon and one bright white tooth that protruded like a fang from her mouth handed them towels. Julia’s mother slid six asses toward her, the price of admission. The Petreia women then proceeded through an arch into the changing room.
“Valeria!” Cornelia squealed, and ran across the tiled floor to where a naked girl was just placing her folded tunic in a niche above the red stone bench. “It’s August twenty-fourth for certain.”
“Wonderful! And the doves, are you doing the doves?”
“I don’t know.” Cornelia turned to her mother with beseeching eyes. “Mother are we doing the doves?”
“Oh you should, Madame Petreia,” Valeria said eagerly, and turned toward Herminia. She patted the small mound that rose on her stomach.
“Oh my!” Herminia exclaimed. “I did not know. How far along are you?”
“Three months. And it’s the doves. They say the doves insure fertility, you know.”
Another woman snorted. “I am sure it was not just the doves Valeria Octavia. Your dear Octavius had something to do with it. I’ve heard from my son, who sees him at the gymnasium, that he is quite well suited to the task.”
There was a ripple of laughter through the changing room.
This was another thing that Julia hated about coming to the baths—the constant joking about everyone’s private parts. It was one thing when she and Sura told bawdy jokes to one another. But they never did it in public. And Julia felt so left out here. It was unlikely that she would even marry, or share a bed with a husband, or have a baby grow inside her.
She hurriedly undressed and then hiding her arm beneath the towel walked quickly to the other side of the changing room and stepped down into the cold pool. The chilly water felt wonderful as she sank down up to her shoulders and tipped her head back against the edge. The pillars of the room were painted with large boats with their sails unfurled. Julia imagined herself on one of those boats, sailing straight out across the bay to a distant horizon, away from weddings, away from chicken-gut-reading augurs. . . just away on a boundless blue sea.
Within a short time she was thoroughly chilled. She climbed from the pool and took her towel.
“Leaving already, Julia?” Valeria asked.
“I’m cold.”
“Skin and bones!” Cornelia added. “Not much to snuggle up to.” She giggled and poked her own ample breasts from the water.
Julia tucked her chin down and walked rapidly to the next room, the tepidarium, where the water was warmer. No sooner had she slipped into the pool than her mother arrived. “I’m going to have a talk with Cornelia. This beastly behavior of hers must stop.”
“It won’t,” Julia said glumly. “She enjoys it.”
“Julia, you must realize that Cornelia is weak.”
“Weak?”
“Well not weak exactly but insecure. She’ll never get over. . .” Herminia hesitated. “Well you know that business with Gaius Horatius Fortunatus.” The business Herminia Petreia was referring to was the broken engagement.
“But that was years ago.” And besides, Julia thought as she had so often before, it wasn’t weakness at all but quite the reverse. Something had hardened in her sister after that.
“It doesn’t matter. And then when her younger sister was married before her, if only by weeks. . .” Herminia glanced over her shoulder. “Shush, here she comes.”
Cornelia and Valeria had now been joined by two more of their friends. There were gales of giggles as the mosaics on the pool floor, which depicted both male and female nudes, gave rise to many more bawdy jokes. The girls became quite raucous as they began a game which involved stepping on the genitals of nude depictions of Mercury. Some older women in the pool frowned, and one called out to stop all the splashing. Herminia moved over to Cornelia and rapped her on the shoulder sharply.
“You are about to become a married woman! Behave!”
Cornelia, already flushed from the warmth of the baths, turned redder.
“Sorry, Mother.”
Herminia was stepping out of the pool. Cornelia followed her and Julia to the last of the three baths, the hottest one, the caldarium. Of all the rooms, this one was the prettiest. The floor was covered with white mosaic tiles framed with a black strip. The walls were red and decorated with garlands and marsh landscapes showing water plants and geese. On the east side was a marble pool with hot water and on the opposite side one with cool water. Back and forth the bathers crossed the room, and then finally Herminia motioned to her daughters that it was time to go. But before they returned to the dressing room from the baths they wrapped themselves in their large towels and strolled under the porticoes in the gardens, sipping drinks to restore lost fluids.
Returning to their litter they felt refreshed and scrubbed of every grain of dirt.
“Hurry!” Herminia ordered the litter bearers. She drew closed the curtains. It was as if every second in the street w
as a threat of contamination to their newly scoured skin.
They were, thought Julia, like flowers out of water, every petal at risk of turning brown at the edges.
Julia looked at her mother. She glowed a soft peachy pink. Her eyes were like the blue mist of the Bay of Naples, and her long dark-blonde lashes cast a filigree of shadows across her fine cheek bones. Was there ever a more beautiful woman? Venus blessed she is, thought Julia. Yes, blessed by the goddess of love and beauty.
Six
“MIGHT JULIA ACCOMPANY ME, Mistress?” Sura asked after Herminia Petreia had given her the list of morning errands to perform, most of which related to the upcoming wedding. Herminia pursed her lips as she contemplated the request. “Well I suppose if you are to go to the fuller with all this linen you will need a litter. So Julia could go with you.” She gestured toward the neatly stacked folded fabric, newly woven, from which Cornelia’s wedding clothes would be made. “Just make sure she doesn’t get overheated. And as long as Julia will be with you you might as well go to the shop of Fabulla and see if she has any false locks to match her hair. Two will be sufficient.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And don’t dally, Sura. There is so much to be done and so little time before the wedding.”
“Don’t worry, Mistress.”
“Yes, I know I can count on you, Sura.” Her eyes lingered on Sura’s face. They clouded for just a moment. Sura swallowed nervously and wondered why there seemed to be this tinge of regret in Herminia Petreia’s eyes. Mostly however Sura was flooded with relief that her mistress had agreed to let Julia come with her. She hated going to the fullery of Stephanus, where their clothes were laundered and newly woven fabric finished and made pliable. In the past the fuller had made unwanted advances toward Sura, but surely the swinish man would not try anything lewd in front of her master’s daughter.