One Virgin Too Many (27 page)

XLIV

I FOLDED MY arms and stretched out my boots, crossing my ankles. I was now feeling desperately tired.

What would this have meant to Gaia? Yet more explosions in the family, that was certain. I now understood all too clearly what had been meant when I was told that "Uncle Tiberius" had been an "old friend" of the family.

I knew that Terentia Paulla had retired as a Vestal about eighteen months ago. She had been married for just under a year. This was June. Her sister, the ex-Flamen had said, had died in July last year. "The Vestal's wedding and the Flaminica's death must have virtually coincided."

"Probably so." I sensed that Constantia now wanted to close up. Her bright eyes were watching me. I could live with that, if she liked the novelty of gazing at a handsome dog with tousled curls and an endearing grin--not to mention, of course, the faintly etched brow crease that hinted at my thoughtful, sensitive side.

She made a decent picture herself. She might look severe when she was attired in her religious robes, but she had regular features lit with obvious intelligence; off duty, she was a very pretty girl. As a centurion's daughter or a tribune's wife, she would have been the toast of any legion, and an inevitable source of problems among the men.

Thankfully, pretty girls present no problem to me.

"The Flaminica--Statilia Paulla, wasn't that her name?--died very suddenly, I heard. Do you happen to know what caused it?"

"Apart from fury at her sister's announcement of her marriage?" Constantia bit her lip. "I do know, actually. She had a tumor. She had confided in the Chief Vestal--probably not just to share the tragedy, but to annoy her sister, who was not being made a confidante."

"Had everyone in the family known about the Flaminica's long affair?"

"I should think so. Not little Gaia."

"Does that mean even the Flamen knew?"

"It had always been accepted tacitly. Theirs was a marriage in form only."

"He must have had feelings on the subject. When he talked about his wife was the only time I saw any signs of animation."

"That," said Constantia coldly, "is simply because he blames his wife for dying and robbing him of his position."

"You are very hard." She made no reply. "Was Gaia fond of her grandmother?"

"You mean, did the Flaminica's death upset her? I think the child was closer to Terentia. Terentia has made a big pet of Gaia. I gather she has even talked of making Gaia her heir."

"What about Laelius Scaurus? I thought he was Terentia's favorite?"

"Yes," said Constantia, playing with one of her ringlets. "But he remains in his father's paternal control, so he cannot hold property."

"What's the difference?"

"None, as things are. Gaia is also in the guardianship of her grandfather. But if Gaia were to become a Vestal Virgin, once she came to the House of the Vestals she--unlike her other relations--would be entitled to her own property. She could also make a will."

This was intriguing. "So then if Terentia died, and Gaia inherited, the loot would belong to her immediately and might eventually be left by her outside the family--whereas if Gaia
fails
to become a Vestal, anything Terentia leaves either to Gaia or her father will be controlled by Laelius Numentinus from the moment of probate."

"While he lives. Then the position of head of household moves down to Laelius Scaurus."

"Whom even his loving aunt may regard as a rather unworldly fellow to be put in control. . . . But if he upsets his father too much, Numentinus could disinherit him."

"You seem very excited by this, Falco."

I gave Constantia my best grin. "Well, it might explain many things. In their huge mansion stuffed full of slaves on the Aventine, the Laelii consider themselves to be living in genteel poverty."

Constantia, a girl with a nature that I could take to, raised her eyebrows. "Poor them!" she said scathingly.

"I am wondering now," I pondered, "whether somebody in her family has hidden Gaia away deliberately, to ensure she should
not
be selected in the lottery and made financially independent."

"Drastic."

"Money makes people lose their sense of reality."

"Other things can do that."

"Like what?" I asked--and this time when I gave her a grin, it was rather nicely returned.

"Love," suggested Constantia. "Or what passes for it in bed."

* * *

Who knows what line of questioning might have developed next? Instead, just at that moment we heard steps tramping the corridor outside.

I leaped up and jumped over to the window on light feet. Constantia laid a finger on her lips. The footsteps went by, apparently only one person; Constantia, who seemed unfazed, may have recognized the heavy tread of one of her fellow inmates. Vestals tend to be solid women; to compensate for their lonely lives, they must be well fed.

The experience reminded me I should not linger. On her feet too, Constantia herself now whispered conspiratorially. "I have enjoyed talking to you, but you ought to go. There is always a chance one of the others will come along for a hot toddy, or to borrow a novel and share a session of girl talk."

"Very nice! Thanks for your help, anyway. I'll be off down my ladder."

She was scornful. "Don't be ridiculous. Nasty splintery things--" However did she know that? "Men should not go clambering around at high level after drinking wine. Come with me, and I can let you out properly through the gate."

When she opened her door onto the corridor, there was nobody about, and it did seem sensible to walk softly in the shadows rather than climbing about like a thief. Rolling on the balls of my feet for quietness, I let myself be led through dimly lit corridors to ground level. There I went back to the ladder that was still at Constantia's window, and tidied it away on its side under the colonnade as if the workmen had just lazily left it there.

We crept down the dark cloister towards the exit gate. Suddenly there was a noise, and a door opened. I never saw who came out. Constantia grabbed my hand. Then, with great presence of mind, she dragged me to a litter that was standing unattended in the vestibule; we both piled inside, pulling the curtains down.

I do realize that crude people will now be speculating wildly about what a keen Roman male might get up to while squashed very tightly in a litter with a Vestal Virgin. Just calm down. She had a religious calling; I was faithfully devoted to my girlfriend; and anyway, the need for silence overrode everything else.

XLV

NO; HONEST, PRAETOR. I never laid a finger on the girl.

XLVI

MIND YOU, I hope nobody ever asks me what that rude madam did to me!

XLVII

JUPITER. SHE WAS a disgrace.

XLVIII

STIFLING MY SHOCK and readjusting my dignity, I looked out to check if the coast was clear.

I scrambled free, then turned back to examine the litter we had been hiding in. It was a dull black color, with silver handholds on the poles and long charcoal-gray curtains. I had seen it before, when I first approached the house of the Laelii.

"I know the Vestals possess the right to ride in a carriage, but is this yours too, for when you travel incognito to buy knickknacks and fashionwear?"

"No, it belongs to a visitor."

"Now who would that be?"

"An ex-Vestal. Some stay here on retirement, well cared for in the tranquillity of the home they know. Others who decide to leave are always welcome back."

Her grapple with me had left her unruffled, but she knew we were in danger here. She was trying to move me on. I stood my ground. "Your visitor is a complete stranger to tranquillity! I know she left the Laelius house earlier today. This is Terentia Paulla, returning to the sisterhood?"

"The Chief Virgin is comforting her; she is desolate about the disappearance of little Gaia."

"Is that so? I need to speak to her."

"Do not intrude, Falco."

"Don't balk me! Will I have to climb in through her window too?"

"No. You are going to walk out of the gate now."

I knew I had pushed it far enough tonight. I let Constantia lead me to the door in the wall that led to the Temple of Vesta enclosure. My hair-raising adventure was reaching its end, quite successfully. Or so I thought, until my companion unlocked the gate for me.

Outside, near the temple, a group of lictors and other heavy types were clustered around a young man; I could see it was Aelianus. They must have only just apprehended him. He was responding with spirit: "Officers!" he cried in his reassuringly patrician tones. "I am so glad I ran into you. I just noticed that there is a ladder leaning up against the Vestals' House. It may have something to do with a rough-looking fellow I just saw running off. He went that way . . ." He gestured towards the Regia.

"Show us!" The watch guards were not completely convinced. More practical than I had hoped, they had the sense to keep him with them while they went to investigate. Still, he was a senator's son and had every right to stroll around Rome at night looking for a rumpus he could join in.

Constantia had pulled the door closed hastily before we were seen by anyone. Again, she used that word a Virgin should not know. Pulling a face, she gestured for me to follow her, whispering that she would show me the Via Nova exit.

"Is it locked?"

"I hope not."

"Dear gods!" I was deeply apprehensive. I could cope with the mere fact of gliding about a residence that was strictly closed to men. I did not want to find myself in another dark corner where Constantia might jump me.

Somebody else was coming. Even Constantia was losing her nerve. I asked her for directions, then instructed her to hasten back to the security of her own suite. "If I get arrested, you never saw me, and you know nothing about me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Falco!" She was incorrigible.

"That's right. Be sensible."

I had some trouble with the directions. Nobody is perfect. Constantia had seemed a thoroughly delightful character, no doubt absolutely packed with talent. She could probably have driven a chariot around and around the Circus, but as a navigator she was useless; she could not distinguish between left and right. Still, eventually I found the door she had described. Unfortunately, it was locked.

This was a door in the interior of the residential block, so there was no climbing out. Increasingly apprehensive now, I worked my way once more to the central garden area. Here too, the gate had now been secured by somebody. Keeping deep in the shadows, I sidled back for my ladder. All went well. I was extremely tired, but I took care how I lifted and carried it. More or less in silence, I made it back to where I first climbed over and set the ladder gingerly against the wall. Up I went, once again within sight of freedom.

Needless to say, when I reached the top, the ladder I had left beside the shrine on the other side was no longer there. No use hoping for help from Aelianus. He would have removed himself from this dangerous scene.

I could lower myself onto the shrine's roof, then drop carefully. I had done worse. Alternatively, I could sit astride the wall, and try to raise the inner ladder up enough to heave it over. I was still debating when I heard troops marching outside, coming towards the temple enclosure. I stepped down a few rungs again, keeping out of sight. Then somebody below on the ground behind me grabbed the back of my left calf.

Thinking it was Constantia about to grope me again, I turned to protest, only to find myself looking down into the ferocious scowls of three lictors. Normally they have nothing much to do; today was now their best day ever. For perhaps the first time in history they had caught an intruder. They were thrilled.

The man who had hold of me jerked my foot outwards. I fell off the ladder, luckily on top of him. It gave me a soft landing, though it seemed to annoy him.

My captors did then courteously allow me to put on my toga. I would be formally attired for my interview with the Chief Vestal. That's the interview I was now compelled to have, where she would sentence me to death.

XLIX

WHAT A HORRENDOUS woman.

She looked as if she had been boiled in milk for too long. She was in full garb, with the white, purple-bordered veil that they wear at sacrifices, its two cords pinned under her double chin with her special Vestal's brooch. I recognized her outline and deportment from seeing her at the theater and at festivals. One of the well-built, statuesque variety. One with truly Gorgonesque features. Religious devotion oozing from her. This time the sacrificial beast was a captured informer; that did seem to give her pleasure.

"A man! And what are you doing here?" she enunciated sarcastically.

I left Constantia out of it. She was watching. All of the four lesser Virgins had appeared and were jostling behind their leader excitedly, owl-eyed; Constantia was conspicuous by the yellow hem hanging down under the white robe that she must have flung on top of her lounging wear.

"I merely wanted to ask some vital questions of Terentia Paulla," I decided to say. Nobody present looked identifiable as Terentia. She had retired from her duties, so she was allowed to see men; anyway, she could say that I had never found her. Would that let me off?

Also present at my humiliation was a full set of lictors, and their other prize: Camillus Aelianus. "This man, a respectable senator's heir, saw somebody lurking suspiciously, ma'am."

"Is this the felon you saw?"

"Oh no. That was a tall, handsome, fair-haired man." Good try.

"Thanks for exonerating me, young sir, but if you don't regard me as handsome, let me give you the name of a competent oculist."

"You have defiled the House of Vesta." Something about the slow, deliberate way the Chief Vestal made her pronouncements was beginning to draw my attention.

I suppose after my visit to Constantia I should have been prepared for anything. The Chief Vestal was a forty-year-old, iron-hard, prudish, dictatorial image of moral purity. And something else: Jupiter! She had the slack eyelids of a drear toper who had really been hitting the amphora. The rich evidence hung on her breath. On close inspection, anyone could detect that she was a hesitant, sozzled, soused, fuzzled, bung-licking, dreg-draining, secret Bacchanalian.

Why mince words? The Chief Vestal was a lush.

* * *

In the time it was taking for the woman's thoughts to broach the grape-clogged path from brain to speech, I managed to invent and try out various sickly protests about the official nature of my mission, the high level of support I could command, and the urgency of finding Gaia Laelia, through whatever unorthodox means it took. I made myself out to be, in this search, actually a servant of the Vestals. Reduced to the lowest depths, I even muttered that old sad plea about no harm having been done.

Indubitably, a waste of breath.

Then Aelianus came up with a winner.

"Ma'am . . ." His tone was meek and respectful. He knew how to playact, apparently. I would never have thought it; he had always seemed so bad-tempered and prim. "I am a mere observer brought to this scene by chance"--Overdoing it, Aulus!--"but the man does appear to have an official mission; his need to collect information was urgent and desperate. His efforts on behalf of the small child are completely benign. If his motives were well meant, can I appeal to you? Am I not correct that if a Virgin meets a criminal she has, by ancient tradition, the power of interceding for his reprieve?"

"You are correct, young man." The Chief Vestal surveyed Aelianus through those heavy lids. "There is a condition, however, or the Vestals would be subject to constant harassment by convicts. It has to be proved that the meeting between the criminal and the Virgin was a complete coincidence." She turned back to me, triumphant with spite. "Breaking into the House of the Vestals with ladders makes this meeting far from coincidental. Take him to the Mamertine Jail--the condemned cell!"

It had been a good try by Aelianus, but I could see her point. Without more ado the lictors and their henchmen massed around me, and I was marched out.

"What an absolutely terrible woman!" Always be friendly to your guards. Sometimes they find you a better cell.

Her personal lictor leered at me. "Lovely, isn't she?"

I barked my shin on a builder's trestle. "Having some work done? Progress seems slow. Don't tell me Vespasian is reluctant to pay for it?"

"The Chief Vestal has a full set of working drawings for complete remodeling. She'll wait. She'll get exactly what she wants one day."

"I'd like to see that."

"What a shame!" They guffawed as they dragged me along the Sacred Way, knowing that I only had about one day's life left to me.

When we arrived under the Gemonian Stairs in the shadow of the Capitol, it took them hours to find and fetch the custodian, who was not expecting customers. All too soon, though, I was being installed in the dungeon which normally houses foreigners who have rebelled against Roman authority, that bare, stinking hole near the Tabularium from which the public strangler extracts his victims when they pay the final, fatal price for being enemies of Rome. My arrival dismayed the jailer, who normally makes a small fortune from showing tourists the cells where barbarians are so briefly dumped at the end of a Triumph. He would still admit the gamblers, but he realized that for the short time I was in occupation before I was exterminated, I would expect to share the fees. He went off gloomily, back to wherever he had been enjoying himself.

The Mamertine is a crude prison. Strong stone walls enclose irregular cells that used to form part of a quarry. Water runs through it. At least the jailer's lack of interest meant he just left me in the upper cell, not shoved down through the hole in the floor into the fearsome lower depths. It was pitch dark. It was chilly. It was solitary and depressing.

This was still, just about, the eighth day before the Ides of June. Behind me lay the longest day I could ever remember, and now I was facing death. I toyed with a few none-too-serious plans for escaping. Once I would have had a go. The problem with being the well-known equestrian Procurator of the Sacred Geese and Chickens was that I could never again merge into anonymity. If I did escape, either I would have no life, even on the Aventine, or I would be recognized by the public and thrown straight back in here.

In the absence of anything optimistic to contemplate, I rolled myself up in my toga and went to sleep.