One Virgin Too Many (6 page)

"After a lifetime of being protected from close contact with the real world, he can't be good with people--or birds." Decimus had a definite scorn for the flaminical caste. I had always liked him. He had no time for hypocrisy. And although he was a senator, I reckoned he was politically straight. No one could buy him. That was why he had no money, of course.

He knew few of the right people either; he admitted that Laelius Numentinus was simply a figure glimpsed at public ceremonies.

"What happened to the goslings, Marcus?" asked his wife with amusement.

"I found them a good home," I answered soberly, not mentioning that the home was ours. Helena eyed me trickily.

"And are you expecting more trouble from the man--or is there some other reason for enquiring?"

"There's a child in his family whom they expect to be chosen as the next Vestal. I gather the Laelii can mystically influence the lottery." I aimed the last comment at Decimus.

He raised an eyebrow, this time pretending to be shocked at the imputation of fixing. "Well," he scoffed. "We wouldn't want any little unscrubbed plebeian to emerge as the winner, when there are maidens with mile-long patrician pedigrees yearning to carry the water from the shrine of Egeria."

"Famous for their antique chastity?"

"Absolutely notorious for their purity and simplicity!" concluded Helena dryly.

"No, no. It cannot be," Julia Justa corrected me. "Being a daughter of a flamen counts as an exemption from the lottery."

"She is the Flamen's granddaughter, actually."

"Then the father must have opted out of the priesthood." Julia Justa laughed briefly. For a moment, she sounded like Helena. "I bet that went down well!" In explanation she went on, "That family are known for regarding the priesthood as their personal prerogative. The late Flaminica was notorious for her snobbery about it. My mother was a keen attendant at the rites of the Good Goddess--remember she took you once, Helena."

"Yes. I've told Marcus it was just a sewing circle with dainty almond cakes."

"Oh, of course!"

They were teasing Decimus and me. The festival of the Bona Dea was a famously secretive gathering of matrons, nocturnal and forbidden to men. All sorts of suspicions circulated about what went on there. Women took over the house of the senior magistrate--turfing him out--and then enjoyed letting their menfolk sweat over what kind of orgy they had organized.

"I seem to remember," I challenged Helena, "you always made out that you disliked the Bona Dea festival--why was that, beloved? Too staid for you?" I smiled, playing the tolerant type and turning back to Julia Justa. "So the Flaminica would have been a regular at the festival in her official capacity?"

"And her overbearing sister too," answered Julia Justa, with an unaccustomed smirk. "The sister, Terentia Paulla, was a Vestal Virgin."

"A Vestal presides, if rumor is correct?"

"Well, she tries!" Julia Justa laughed. "A group of women does not necessarily succumb to leadership as a group of men would--especially once the refreshments arrive." Out of control, eh? That confirmed the worst fears of our masculine citizenship. Not to mention suggestions that wine played a major part in the girls' giggling rites. "My mother, who was a shrewd woman--"

"Bound to be!" I grinned, including both Helena and Julia Justa in the compliment.

"Yes, Marcus dear."
Marcus dear?
I gulped back my disquiet. "Mama held that the Flaminica was very loose living."

"Oho! On what evidence?"

"She had a lover. Everyone knew. It was more or less open. She and her ghastly sister were always arguing about it. The affair went on for years."

"I am shocked."

"You are not," said Helena, flipping me with her dinner napkin. "You are a hard-bitten and cynical private informer; you expect adultery at every turn. Mind you,
I
am shocked, Mama."

"Of course you are, darling; I brought you up in a very sheltered way . . . Well, being Flaminica is a difficult role," Julia Justa returned. Like Helena, she could be fair. She was a sophisticated woman: nowadays she even managed to be fair to me. "The Flamen Dialis and his wife are selected from a very narrow circle--they have to fulfill strict traditional criteria. She has to be a virgin--"

"That's surely no trouble!" inserted Decimus satirically.

"They both have to be born of parents who have been married by confarreatio, the old-fashioned religious ceremony in front of ten witnesses, with the Pontifex Maximus and the Flamen Dialis present. Then, Marcus, they have to be married themselves with those ceremonies and can never divorce. The chances of them finding each other tolerable are remote to begin with, and if things go wrong they are trapped for life."

"Plus the pressure of constantly appearing in public together to carry out their official functions--" I suggested.

"Oh, anyone can go through the motions in public!" Julia Justa disagreed. "It would be back at home that the tension would show."

We all nodded sagely, while pretending to consider the concept of domestic disagreement as something remote from our own experience. As one does.

"So, what is the problem with the little girl?" asked the senator.

"Nothing at all, according to the family," I said. "The child herself told Helena she has been threatened with serious harm. She came to see us with this tale, and I confess, I failed to take it seriously. I should have asked more questions."

"If she really is earmarked as the next Vestal," Julia Justa commented, "hers are the kind of people who would glory in it. What could cause conflict? Is she playing up about being selected?"

"Overjoyed, apparently."

"I rather suspect," said Helena, "as my grandmother would say, Gaia must be glad of a chance to be taken away from her relatives."

"They do sound a grim lot."

"Fossils!" muttered Decimus.

* * *

We had insulted the Laelii for long enough. Since dinner was over Helena buzzed off with her mother to talk about what had happened in North Africa with Justinus and Claudia. Her father and I occupied the senator's study, a squashed glory hole full of scrolls that Decimus had started to read, then forgotten about. We lit lamps and threw cushions off the reading couch, trying to pretend there was room to recline in some elegance. In fact, although the Camillus house was spacious, its master had been allocated a poky nook, as he ruefully liked to acknowledge.

It was, however, roomy enough for a pair of friendly fellows to let themselves relax when left unsupervised.

VII

TO MAKE IT a manly symposium, we had brought a fine glass bottle of decanted Alban wine. Helena's mother had instructed us to look after the baby; apparently, the grim-faced slaves in her retinue had too much work of their own. We had boasted that childcare fell well within our expertise. The senator placed Julia on a rug and let her grab whatever came to hand. Allowed to play among the grown-ups, she was no trouble; she settled to playing spillikins with equipment from his stylus tray. I was a realistic father; I intended to equip her for life. Even a year and four days could not be too young for a girl to familiarize herself with men's behavior when they are let loose with a good flagon.

"So! Tell me about Aelianus singing the ancient hymn of the Arval Brothers."

His father sighed. "Time to garner a few embellishments on his social record."

"I seem to be hearing about nothing but religious cults this week. As far as I remember, the Brethren are the oldest in Rome--a lineage all the way from our agricultural forefathers. And don't they celebrate fertility by way of energetic feasting? Sounds like your son made a good choice."

Decimus grinned, though rather distractedly. He must prefer to think of this as a sober move.

"And what about selection, sir? Is it another lottery?"

"No. Co-option from within the serving Brothers."

"Ah! So Aelianus has to infiltrate the corn wreaths and impress them with his convivial nature, specifically his skill at worshipping good horticultural practice while guzzling for the love of Rome?"

I could see some problems here.

Aulus Camillus Aelianus was two years younger than Helena, so about twenty-four, maybe twenty-five already if he was heading for the senate. They must have been born pretty close. It suggested an unnerving period of passion in their parents' marriage, which I preferred not to contemplate. Aelianus had survived modest career postings in the army and in the civilian governor's office in Baetica, and was all set to stand for election. The process was expensive, which always causes family friction.

It also required Aelianus to approach those who might vote him in with conciliatory smiles, which was where I saw the difficulty; it was not his natural talent. He was of a slightly grumpy disposition, a little too self-centered and lacking the fake warmth to ingratiate him with the smelly old senators he needed to flatter. His father would shove him onto the Curia benches eventually, but at present it might be for the best that his brother's elopement with Claudia Rufina had delayed everything. Aelianus needed polish. Failing that, it might do him no harm at least to gain a reputation as a lad about town. Playboys gather clusters of votes without any need for bribes.

Everything is relative. As an apprentice in a copper shop on the Aventine, this young grouser would have seemed smooth and elegant. Perhaps not enough to fool the girls. But sufficient to become a leader of men.

"Mind you," I said, as his father and I reflectively savored our wine, "people nowadays reckon the voting in most elections takes the line approved by the Emperor."

"That was what we rather relied on!" admitted Decimus, for once alluding to his friendship with Vespasian.

"So what's Aelianus up to with these characters today?"

Decimus explained in his typically dry way: "The Arval Brothers--we have learned this as we applied ourselves in a groveling manner to winning them over--are busy in May. They hold their annual election for their leader and celebrate the rites of their special deity over a period of four days--on the second of which nothing significant happens, in fact. My theory is that after the first bout of unrestrained feasting they have to take a break; subdued by a day with a bad hangover, they proceed more carefully."

"These are grown-up boys! Who is the deity?"

"Dea Dia, the lady otherwise known as Ops."

"In charge of crops since time began?"

"Since Romulus ploughed the city boundary."

I glanced down at Julia, but she was contentedly examining one of her own tiny sandals. She had gripped her little fat ankle and pulled up her toes, with an interested expression that meant she was thinking about eating her own foot. I decided to let her learn from empirical research.

Decimus continued his tale: "The first day of the rites takes place in Rome at the house of the Master of the Arvals--the chief Brother for that year. They offer fruits, wine, and incense at sunrise to the Dea Dia, anoint her statue, then hold a formal feast at which further offerings are made and the Brothers receive gifts in return for attending."

Travel and subsistence, eh? A nice clique to join.

"The most important rites--today's--see the election of the next Master in the Sacred Grove of the Dea Dia. I am hoping this will be the cue for them to hint at whether Aulus has been successful. I expect that the newly elected Master has some say in who will be taken on under his leadership."

"I wish you well. It would be a great coup. Being an Arval Brother is one of the honors given to the highest in society."

I did not exaggerate. Young males in the imperial family, for instance, would expect automatic co-option to the Arvals as super-numeraries. Probably our current princes, Titus and Domitian, had joined already. Normal membership totaled twelve only. Vacancies must be keenly sought after. I reckoned the Camilli were probably overstretching when they put up Aelianus for this, but it was not the moment to criticize.

Mildly affected by the wine, even the senator seemed ready to admit the real situation. "We don't stand much chance, Marcus. Bloody snobs!"

"Have they actually voted?" I asked carefully.

"No. That takes place in the Temple of Concord in the Forum and seems to be kept separate."

We perused our cups and thought about the inequalities of life.

* * *

It was at this point that, against expectations, the young man under discussion appeared in the study doorway. His white festival outfit was badly crumpled, and he looked flushed. He was probably tipsy, but his face never gave away much.

Aelianus was more sturdily built and less fine featured than his sister and younger brother. A good chunk of Roman manhood, in his way: athletic and possessing good reflexes. He left his sister to be the reader in the family, while his brother was the linguist. Straight sprouting hair, cut rather longer than suited him; dark eyes; a sallow complexion at present: too many nights out with the boys. I would have envied him his lifestyle, but even though he was given too much freedom, he was plainly not happy.

"Yes, I'm here! Still, cheer up, Aulus." He hated his sister living with an informer. Now Helena and I had made it permanent, I enjoyed teasing him.

Aelianus just stood there, neither coming in to join us nor storming off in annoyance. His father demanded to know any news about his co-option.

"I didn't get in." He could hardly bear to say it.

Decimus asked who was elected. His son forced out a name I did not know; Decimus exclaimed in disgust.

"Oh, he's a good fellow," Aelianus managed to mutter, surprisingly mildly.

I murmured sympathy. "Helena will be very sorry to hear this." She would realize that it was one more slapdown for a brother who might be spoiled for good unless he soon bagged some public achievements.

More than his failure with the Arvals was bothering him. Both his father and I belatedly stared harder at Aelianus. He looked as if he was going to throw up. "Buried your face in too many goblets?" He shook his head. I grabbed a tasteful ceramic from a shelf with a vase collection and proffered it anyway. Just in time.

It was an Athenian cup, featuring a boy with his tutor, a nice didactic subject for one who seemed to have overindulged himself. The vessel had decent proportions for a sick bowl, and two handles to grip. Wonderful antique art.

After he stopped retching, Aelianus made an effort to apologize.

"Don't worry; we've all done it."

"I'm not drunk."

His father hauled him to a couch. "And we have all produced that finely honed poetic line as well!"

Aelianus stayed lost in a heavy silence. While Decimus fielded the Athenianware and shunted it elsewhere for some poor slave to find tomorrow, his son sat, oddly hunched. Experience told me he had passed the risk of being ill again.

"What's up, Aulus?"

His voice was strained. "Something you know all about, Marcus Didius." Decimus moved abruptly. I lifted an eyebrow, signaling that we should let the lad take his time. "I found something." Aelianus now looked up and wanted to talk. "I stumbled over something horrible."

He closed his eyes. His face told me the worst. In the grim business of informing, I had seen more than enough people wearing this expression. "There has been an accident?" I was being optimistic.

Aelianus braced himself. "Not exactly. I fell over a corpse. But whoever it is, it's very clear he did not die by accident."