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Vulcan's City - Pompeii
May A.D. 75
Chapter 1
The humid warmth filled the small room; yet, nothing melted the chill in Faustina’s veins as she stared into the warm water in the bathing pool. Quintus…home in less than a month. She remembered Pliny telling her the news the night before as they dined. The food lay still like pebbles in her stomach. She swept a hand through the quiet water as Aneksi moved the jars of the lemon and rose scented oil to the massage table.
For the past two years, Pliny had tried every form of persuasion to end the betrothal with Quintus that she would never forgive her brother for arranging. The tepid water slid through her fingers as that horrid night returned. She saw Lucius standing there in the triclinium, telling her he had arranged the betrothal because he didn’t want to leave her with no one to turn to. He had lied. The truth was she had become his payment for his gambling debts to Quintus—a thousand sesterces. She was only worth a thousand sesterces to him. Her hand coiled and hit the surface of the water. Water and yellow rose petals lapped at the pool edges, sending a lemony fragrance swirling in the enclosure.
Quintus and Cossus—Lucius’s so-called friends…friends she hated—had arrived shortly after the announcement with the marriage contract signed. With Lucius the head of the household, it left her no choice in the matter. Then he left the next day for Judea and Quintus to Africa, leaving her to deal with Quintus’s pesky father.
Now Quintus had written to his father that he wanted her properly initiated in this strange marriage ritual that neither she nor Pliny had heard of before. His family now expected her to comply with something she wanted nothing to do. Nothing.
The sound of Pliny’s voice played in Faustina’s mind as she swiped her hand again through the warm scented water, stirring the yellow petals. He had begged her to placate Quintus’s demand until he heard from another lawyer in Rome.
Another lawyer…
Faustina stood, bursting from the waters, accepting the soft towel from her slave girl, and walked to the massage table. Time was running out. Quintus was returning home. Something had to be done soon, she thought as she lay down on the massage table. Aneksi’s strong hands began working her shoulders.
“Relax, mi dearma,” Aneksi cooed. “This ritual will be over soon.”
“I don’t want any part of this…any of this.”
“I know this, mi dearma, but it is a ritual,” Aneksi said softly. “Trust the gods. They will care for you, mi dearma.”
***
This strange marriage ritual was to take place at a secluded villa just outside city and now Quintus’s family litter was leading the way through the city gate to the Avenue of Tombs. Faustina gazed through her sedan chair’s window at her family’s tomb. If Pliny didn’t find a way to break the betrothal soon, she had no choice, but to join them. Therefore, who would place her ashes with the others, she wondered as the large stone vault passed. Certainly not her father, mother, nor anyone else. They were all waiting for her…all but her brother and he was still in Judea with the legion.
Her bearers lowered her chair at the villa’s entrance overlooking the glistening bay that sparkled with captured diamonds in a field of azure blue. She turned to study the old farming site that was surrounded by thick plants. Swaying Cyprus trees and umbrella pines cooled with their shadows and breezes sifting through them.
She noted that a summer triclinium was closed off with thick winter draperies. The maroon wool was sun-bleached and tired from holding back heated rays of Sol. How strange to have the dining area closed to such a glorious day?
Faustina forced her legs out of the sedan chair, scurrying chickens away. Two slaves appeared by the front doors the instant she stood. She stepped back, tightening her blue palla around her cream-colored tunic as Quintus’s mother hurried toward her from the family litter.
“I’m sure this won’t take long, my dear. So come along. Come along.”
Faustina felt rooted to the ground as she stared at the somber slaves holding the doors open. Suddenly she was being herded into the vestibule by Quintus’s father who seemed ready to pluck her from the spot and carry her forward.
“Trust the gods. They will care for you, mi dearma.” Aneksi’s remembered voice seemed to whisper in her mind. The prayers and offerings had been made. May Venus see her through this.
Trembling, Faustina walked through the old, dusty vestibule into the shadows of the cool atrium. A dark eyed Egyptian priest waited for them by the dining couches. A red tunic covered his long lean body as stiff as any statue. His long fingered hand rose from his side as he smiled. “Greetings to the family of Quintus Tortanni Rufus. The gods have blessed us with a glorious day for this celebrated occasion.”
His voice was well modulated and smooth. Too much so, Faustina thought as the priest reached as if to pull her closer toward the two matching couches. Both embroidered couches faced the other behind the impluvium sparkling with afternoon sunlight.
“Welcome, young daughter,” he said as he swept his hand toward the couches. She noticed the ring on the third finger of his left hand, gold, filled with a blood-red garnet. She’d seen such a ring before. Where? “Rufus and your lovely wife Clara enjoy reclining there while the lovely Faustina joins me on this couch,” the priest said, smiling down on her. “As you will recline with your husband one day, very soon.”
No part of her could move. Nothing. Pliny’s voice rang in her ears. “Faustina, all I ask is that you placate them until I can find someone Rufus hasn’t bribed. Believe me, my dear, I’ll find him if I have to go to Vespasian himself. Trust me, please.”
Everyone remained standing, staring at her with chilling gazes. Somehow, she forced herself down onto the most distant edge of the wide couch. The priest sighed next to her and nodded, releasing slaves to appear with honeyed cakes and trays of wine goblets.
The priest took one, handing it to her. Faustina studied his face, chiseled and tanned. His black eyes were colder than Quintus’s if that were possible. He motioned for her to take the proffered goblet. She looked at the gold chalice, old and antique. It was different from the other three that were plain. The moment she accept the goblet, the air seemed to release and move about.
“I propose a toast to marriage.” The priest said lifting a toast. Goblet rose and waited for her to raise hers. “Drink to your future, Faustina.”
To death. It was her only escape at least for now. Faustina lifted the goblet and sipped the strangely sweet wine while everyone downed theirs. The priest motioned for her to do likewise. “Honor the toast, Faustina. Drink it all.” The dark gaze darkened. Even the room chilled and seemed to wait until she complied.
The priest snapped his fingers for the slave to refill the goblets. They scurried in on command as Faustina watched Clara attack the honey cakes as if she were starved. Rufus began chatting with the priest, ignoring her as if she were absent. Slowly, the conversations seemed to bleed together into a din and everyone blurred, became distorted. She blinked to focus better. Could Quintus’s parents be floating? Impossible.
She stroked the dining pillow beneath her elbow. The threads were like dull knives beneath her fingertips. As she studied the yellow fabric for its intricate stitching, the red drape over the side doorway was drawn aside. A tall woman wearing a flaming orange veil stepped into the room. She waited dutifully like an icon to be recognized.
“It is time to begin, Faustina,” the priest said, nudging her to rise. “Go with the priestess. She will prepare you.” The nudge seemed to toss her from the edge of a cliff yet the woman’s hand stopped the fall and lifted Faustina to her feet before the orange veil.
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