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But I deserve that and worse. And I'll do anything for you, Causidiena." Meffia hated Brinnaria cordially, yet she found her a deft, tactful and silent nurse. But the very sight of Brinnaria was to her an irritant tonic. She was entirely fit for duty the next day, not a trace of slackness, unwillingness or sullenness.
She is perfectly healthy, but is very easily unnerved or exhausted. You have given her such a shock that she is unfit for duty. Any Vestal is allowed to be ill for two nights and one day, if the trouble seems trifling. But, if any Vestal is ill for a longer time, she is promptly removed from the Atrium for nursing. I fear that Meffia may not recover within the permitted time.
Going to the Amphitheatre, in itself, was a soul-stirring experience. Meffia, to Brinnaria's joy, had been on duty that day, along with Numisia. This alone was enough to put Brinnaria in a good humor. Meffia's presence spoiled for her any sort of pleasure.
Meffia slouched and sagged along, a semi-boneless creature, her clothing hanging on her baggily and unbecomingly. The difference was particularly noticeable at meals. In the Roman world all well-to-do people lay down to meals luxuriously extended on broad sofas.
"But," protested Meffia, "why need either of us be flogged? I have tinder and flint and steel in my room. We could light the fire and no one ever know it." "You imbecile child! You silly baby! You wicked, horrible, sacrilegious girl!" Brinnaria stormed. "You irreligious, atheistical, blasphemous wretch!
But, with the exception of Meffia, it is quite certain that, from the Vestals themselves down to the last slave-girl, every resident of the Atrium believes that not you but Meffia let the fire go out, and that you took the blame due her. And we can all conjecture your motives, as we all applaud them. "Meffia might never have survived a scourging, might have been ailing for months.
And I've told you why I'm going to take the licking. Off to bed with you !" "But," Meffia still persisted, "what will you do?" "Do?" whispered Brinnaria. "Do? Why I'll curl up where you've left a warm spot on the floor and go to sleep and sleep till some one finds me. I can sleep any time." "But think of the scourging!" Meffia insisted. "I shan't," Brinnaria maintained.
Meffia started to speak again; Brinnaria caught her gullet in one strong, young hand, clutched her neck with the other, and craftily pressed one thumb behind one of Meffia's ears. Meffia squeaked like a snared rabbit. "There!" Brinnaria whispered fiercely. "Now you know how badly I can hurt you when I try.
"Well," snapped Brinnaria, "what's that to you? Go to bed." "But," Meffia insisted, "I let it go out. I ought to take the blame, not you. I ought to be scourged with you." "You insufferable little idiot," Brinnaria hurled at her, "you never could stand a flogging, you'd die of it most likely.
To save your hide you'd desecrate the temple, pollute the Altar, anger Vesta, make all our prayers in vain, bring down curses without count on Rome and all of us. Be silent! Don't you dare to speak another word! Off to bed with you!" "But," Meffia trembled, "you hate me; why do you take my punishment?" "I don't hate you," hissed Brinnaria. "I despise you!
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