One Virgin Too Many (9 page)

XII

ONCE EVERYONE HAD eaten, I waited to broach the subject of Maia's visit to the Palace to meet the fabulous Queen Berenice. I suggested that the children should take Nux for a walk in Fountain Court. Obediently they let themselves be shooed off, though since they were Maia's outspoken brood, they all knew what was happening. "The grown-ups want to talk about things we are not to overhear."

I had attached a rope to Nux's collar. When I gave the end of it to Marius, the nine-year-old eldest, he asked me anxiously, "Is your dog likely to run away and get lost?"

"No, Marius. Nux won't ever get lost. We spoil her and overfeed her and pet her far too much. The rope is so that if
you
get lost, Nux will drag you safely back."

We were on the streetside landing, out of earshot of his mother. Encouraged by this shared joke, Marius suddenly tugged my arm and confided what must have been bothering him: "Uncle Marcus, if there is no money now, do you think I shall have to stop going to school?"

He wanted to be a rhetoric teacher, or so he had decided a couple of years ago. It might happen, or he might end up ranching cows. I knelt down and gave him a strong hug. "Marius, I promise you that when the next term's fees are due they will be found."

He accepted the reassurance though he still looked anxious. "I hope you didn't mind me asking."

"No. I realize your mother has probably said 'Don't go bothering Uncle Marcus.' "

The boy grinned shyly. "Oh, we don't always do what Mama says. Today her orders were 'Make sure you keep telling them how lovely their baby is--and don't complain if Uncle Marcus insists that we all have some out of his awful old amphora of Spanish fish pickle.'"

"So Ancus and you pulled faces and refused even a taste?"

"Yes, but we do think your baby is nicer than the one Aunt Junia has."

I could tell Marius believed he had to be the man of their household now. I would have to stop that. It could cripple his childhood. At the very least, Maia needed her money worries ended, even if it meant dragging assistance out of Pa.

I returned thoughtfully to the others. Helena had been making enquiries without waiting for me. "Marcus, listen to this: Cloelia's name has been entered in the Vestal Virgins' lottery."

I swore, more out of surprise than rudeness. Petronius added a lewd comment.

"Don't blame me," answered Maia, with a heavy sigh. "Famia put her forward before he left for Africa."

"Well, he never told me, or I'd have said he was an idiot. How old is she?"

"Eight. He never told me either," Maia returned wearily. "Not until it was too late and Cloelia had convinced herself it's a wonderful idea."

"She's barred," Petronius told us, shaking his head. "I went through this business with my girls; they were all crazy to be entered until I had to insist that as a father of three I could exempt them from the lottery. It's wicked," he complained. "Six Vestals; they serve for thirty years and replacements are called for, on average, every five years. That fills Rome with dreamy little lasses, all desperately wanting to be the chosen one."

"I wonder why?" retorted Helena dryly. "Can they really all think how wonderful it would be to ride in a carriage, to have even consuls give way to them, to sit in the best seats in the theaters, to be revered throughout the Empire? All in return for a few light duties carrying waterpots and blowing up the Sacred Fire . . ."

Petro turned to Maia. "Famia had the three children let out--"

"I know, I know," Maia groaned. "He only did this because he was such an awkward cuss. Even if Cloelia were chosen, it would be impossible anyway, now her father has been killed. A new Virgin must have both parents living. It's just one more upsetting consequence that I have to explain to my children--"

"Don't," said Helena. Her tone was crisp. "Tell the College of Pontiffs, so they can withdraw her. Just let Cloelia think somebody else has won the lottery by chance."

"And believe me, there was never any doubt that somebody else will!" Maia muttered, now sounding annoyed.

She settled down and told us the story.

"My wonderful husband decided that if plebeians really are eligible, the honor of becoming a Vestal was just right for our eldest daughter. He did not consult me--probably because he knew what I would say." It
was
supposed to be an honor, one that brought enormous respect to the girl during the thirty years she held the office, but Maia was not the kind of mother who would hand over a young, unformed child into the control of an institution. Her family was taught to respect Rome and its traditions--but to avoid daft schemes like devoting their lives to the state. "So I am stuck with pretending it's a grand idea. I have Cloelia constantly overexcited, the others secretly jealous of her receiving so much attention, Ma furious, Famia not even in the country to help me cope wth it. . . ."

She fell silent. Petronius mused wickedly, "I know we can assume the little darlings are virgins when the Pontifex first accepts them, but how can anyone tell that the pretty things stay chaste? Do they have to submit to ritual testing once a week?"

"Lucius Petronius," Helena suggested, "don't you have work to return to this afternoon?"

Petro leaned his elbow on the table with a grin. "Helena Justina, talking about virgins is much more interesting."

"You surprise me. But we are talking about would-be Virgins--which is not the same thing."

"One virgin too many, in the case of Maia's Cloelia!" He was determined to cause trouble today. I would not have minded, but I foresaw that Helena would blame me.

I intervened. "So tell us about the luscious Berenice. She's no virgin, and that's a certainty."

"Ah well," said Maia. "She's definitely very beautiful--if you like that style." She did not say what style it was, and this time both Petronius and I kept mum. "If I had an exotic face and a small legion of hairdressers, I wouldn't care if my reputation was slightly soiled."

"It would not be," I assured her. "Berenice is carrying the slur that she married her own uncle. You would never do that with Uncles Fabius or Junius!"

My mother's two brothers were farm clods with notoriously odd habits, and, like me, Maia had no patience with their eccentricities. "I suppose if the Queen's uncle was as mad as ours are, we should feel some sympathy," she said. "Anyway, the reason I had to go to the Palace was that all the little charmers whose names are in the urn to become Vestals, and all of us suffering mothers, were invited to a reception for Titus Caesar's lady friend. This was set up as an occasion where the female population of Rome would welcome the lovely one into our midst. But I imagine something formal is always arranged by those in charge of the lottery, so the little girls can be inspected and unsuitable ones weeded out."

"Of course it is blasphemous to say this." Helena smiled.

"Wash my mouth out!" Maia breathed. "One of the Vestals was very obviously present anyway."

"Austerely observing?"

"Not too austere; it was one of the younger ones. Constantia." Maia paused, but if she had been thinking up an insult she refrained. "Anyway, if anyone wants to place bets, I soon had the form book sorted--it's so bloody obvious what the result will be, the rest of us could just have gone home straightaway. We all trooped up at the appointed time, and natural groups formed at once, according to our class. All the mothers were introduced to the ravishing royalty--yes, Marcus and Petro, you would call her ravishing, though I thought her a bit cold--"

"Nervous." Helena pretended to defend the Queen. "Probably afraid she may be shouldered out."

"I wonder why! As if by chance," Maia said, sneering, "she ended up surrounded on her dais by the mothers of patrician rank, while the rest of us talked among ourselves. And at the same time, one little girl had been selected to present the Queen with a chaplet of roses, which meant that little brat was cuddled on the silken lap of Berenice for half the afternoon, while Constantia--the Vestal Virgin--sat alongside. Those of us from less fortunate areas of life were struck by a sudden mysterious intuition as to which name will surface when the Pontifex dunks in the lottery urn."

"This name would not be Gaia Laelia?" asked Helena.

Maia rolled her eyes. "Dear gods, sweetheart! I never cease to be amazed at how you and my brother are at the forefront of the gossip! You have only been back in the city three days, and you know
everything
!"

"Just a knack."

"Actually, we know charming, self-confident, dear little patrician Gaia," I said.

"Through your family?" Maia asked Helena.

"One of my clients," I returned smoothly. Maia and Petro guffawed. "She looks ideal for the Vestal's job. All her relatives specialize in holding priestly posts. She has grown up in the house of a Flamen Dialis."

"Well, dear me, I heard all about that. The child is perfect for the role!" quipped Maia sourly. "So I don't want to be rude, Marcus, but what does she need you for?"

"That, I admit, is a puzzle. Did she talk at all to Cloelia?"

"Afraid so. I may lack social climbing skills, but my strange ambitious baby goes straight to make friends with the people who matter."

"Cloelia cannot be yours," said Helena. "Famia must have found her under an arch. Tell us about Gaia Laelia; did she look happy being favored by Berenice and the Vestal?"

Maia paused. "Mostly. She was one of the youngest, and after a long time in the royal embrace I thought she probably got bored--anyway, there was a little flurry. It was handled very smoothly, and most people never noticed."

"What kind of flurry?" I asked.

"How should I know? It seemed as if she said something embarrassing, the way children do. Berenice looked startled. Gaia was whisked off the Queen's lap, her mother grabbed her, looking as if she wanted to be swallowed by a chasm opening up, and you could see everyone nearby laughing and pretending nothing had happened. Next time I saw Gaia, she was playing with my Cloelia, and they both gave me a glare that said nobody should interrupt."

"Playing?" Helena demanded.

"Yes, they spent over an hour carrying imaginary water vessels from one of the fountains."

"What did you think of Gaia?"

"Too good mannered. Too nice natured. Too pretty and well favored. Don't say it: I know I'm just a rude grouse."

"We love you for it," I assured my sister affectionately. I now explained how Gaia had come to see me, and what she had said about her family. "I don't know what it's all about, but she was asking me for help. So what did you think of Gaia's mother? If someone in the family has it in for the child, could it be her?"

"Doubt it," said Maia. "She was far too proud of her little mite."

"We only met an uncle," Helena contributed. "Is the mother downtrodden?"

"Not noticeably, at least not when she is out in female company."

"But at home, who knows? . . . Did Cloelia tell Gaia she has an uncle who is an informer?"

"No idea. She could well have done."

"And on the other side, I suppose you don't know if Gaia told Cloelia anything about her family?"

"Helena, when Julia is older you will learn about this: I," said Maia, "was merely the chaperon who enabled my daughter to mingle with elevated people and dream that she herself was ludicrously important. I hired the litter that took us to the Palatine. I caused embarrassment by wearing too bright a gown and by making jokes about the occasion in a rather loud undertone. Other than that, I was superfluous. I was not allowed to know anything that Cloelia got up to when the girls were let loose together. My only other role was later at home, mopping her brow and holding the bowl when the excitement made her throw up all night."

"You are a wonderful mother," Helena assured her.

"Do mention it to my children sometime."

"They know," I said.

"Well, Cloelia won't think so when I have to break the news that she won't be chosen."

"Mothers all over Rome will have the same problem," Petro reminded her.

"All except the self-satisfied piece with the squint who produced Gaia Laelia." The child's mother had really offended Maia. But I reckoned it was merely by existing.

"It may not be so simple. Something is definitely amiss there. The child came to ask for help for a reason."

"She came to see you because she had a wild imagination and no sense of judgment," said Maia. "Not to mention a family who allow her to steal the litter and to traipse around town without her nurse."

"I feel there may be more to it," Helena demurred. "It's no use. We cannot just forget it--Marcus, one of us will have to look into this further."

However, we had to stop there because of a commotion at the street door when the children returned. The little ones were whimpering, and even Marius looked white.

"Oh, Uncle Marcus, a big dog jumped on Nux and would not get off again." He was curling up with embarrassment, knowing what the beast had been up to, yet not wanting to say.

"Well, that's wonderful." I beamed, as Nux shot under the table with a sheepish and disheveled appearance. "If we end up having dear little scruffy puppies, Marius, you can have first pick!"

As my sister shuddered with horror, Petronius murmured in a hollow aside, "It's very appropriate, Maia. Their father was a horse vet; you have to allow your dear children to develop their inherited affinity with animals."

But Maia had decided she had to save them from the bad influence of Petro and me, so she jumped up and bustled them all off home.

XIII

"WELL, THAT WAS a waste of time!"

I had allowed myself to forget temporarily that Camillus Aelianus had somehow lost a corpse. He pounded up our steps and burst into the apartment, scowling with annoyance. I hid a smile. The aristocratic young hero would normally despise everything connected with the role of an informer, yet he had fallen straight into the old trap: faced with an enigma, he felt compelled to pursue it. He would carry on even after he made himself exhausted and furious.

He was both. "Oh Hades, Falco! You packed me off on a wild errand. Everyone I questioned responded with suspicion, most were rude, some tried to bully me, and one even ran away."

I would have given him a drink, the traditional restorative, but we had consumed my whole stock that day at lunch. As Helena nudged him to a bench, his mid-brown eyes wandered vaguely as if he were looking for a jug and beaker. All the right instincts were working, though he lacked the sheer cheek to ask for a goblet openly.

"Did you chase him?"

"Who? "

"The one who ran away. This was, almost certainly, the person you needed to speak to."

He thought about it. Then he saw what I meant. He banged a clenched fist on his forehead. "Oh rats, Falco!"

"Would you know him again?"

"A lad. The Brothers have youngsters assigned to them as attendants at their feasts--called camilli, coincidentally. There are only four. I could pick him out."

"You'll have to get into a feast first," I pointed out, perhaps unnecessarily.

He dropped his head onto the table and covered his face, groaning. "Another day. I cannot face any more. I'm whacked."

"Pity." I grinned, dragging him upright. The crass, snooty article had behaved abominably in the past over Helena and me; I loved paying him back. "Because if you really want to get anywhere, you and I have to make ourselves presentable and take a stroll to the house of the Master of the Arval Brothers--
now
, Aulus!"

It was the final day of the festival. This would be his last chance. My youthful apprentice had to accept that his mission was governed by a time constraint. Like me, he was astute enough to see that if we were to tackle the slippery intendant of a cult that was hiding something, we would need all our wits and energy--and we had to act fast. His day's work had hardly begun.

"Men's games," I apologized to Helena.

"Boys!" she commented. "Be careful, both."

I kissed her. After a momentary hesitation, her brother showed he was learning, and forced himself to do the same.

* * *

Aelianus knew how to find the Master's house; he had been invited to the feasting as an observer on the first day of the festival. It was a substantial mock-seaside villa on its own property island, somewhere off the Via Tusculana. A profusion of stone dolphins provided salty character and looked cheerful and unpretentious, though in the urban center of Rome the rows of open-sided balconies on every wing gave a twee effect. On the Bay of Neapolis the owners could have gone fishing off their boarded verandas, but here their nostalgia for long-gone August holidays was way out of place. Nobody fishes in the gutters in Rome. Well, not if they know what I do about things that float in the city water supply.

As we arrived, it was clear from the disgorging palanquins that the elite members of the college were just assembling for that night's feast. There was a special buzz. I wondered if these men in corn-ear wreaths were greeting each other with extra excitement, knowing of the death the night before.

One man was leaving, however. Tall, gaunt, elderly, haughty as Hades. Eyes that were careful never to alight on anyone. Flyaway white hair around a bald pate.

He had paused at the top of the entrance steps, as if waiting for some flunky to clear a free path. When Aelianus leaped up the steps athletically, his cloak brushed very slightly against this old man, who flinched as if he had been touched by a leprous beggar. Sensing a patrician who might own a senate election vote, Aelianus apologized briefly. The only answer was an impatient humph.

The man seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps he held some position of honor, or I might have seen him lounging in the good seats at the theater. Jove knew who he was.

We marched boldly inside the main porch. I found a chamberlain. Our manner had warned him we were trouble, but we proved quiet enough to win him over. "I apologize; this is very urgent. Before the fun begins this evening, we need to see the Master on a confidential matter. Didius Falco and Camillus Aelianus. It concerns an unfortunate occurrence yesterday."

The chamberlain was suave, expressionless--and without doubt apprised of the scandal in the Grove. To the disbelief of my companion, we got straight in.

That was bad. The Master must be playing this the clever way.

* * *

At first it was not the Master himself we met, but his vice--a flustered barnacle covered with warts from whom, had he been a commoner instead of a pedigreed noble, I would not have bought a fresh fish in case it gave me bellyache. He was accompanied by the college's vice-flamen--a pallid cheese with a drip on his nose who must be the main source of this month's summer cold in Rome. These two stand-ins greeted us nervously, explained who they were, and mumbled a lot about having to officiate at that day's rites in the temple because the real Master and flamen had been called away. They were spared embarrassment when their principals turned up in traveling clothes.

I stood to attention deferentially. So, at this cue, did Helena's brother.

"Camillus Aelianus!" Washing his hands in a bowl held by a slave, the Master nodded congenially to show that he recognized him. "And you are--?"

"Didius Falco." It was probably convention in such company to name your own association with religion, but I was not prepared to admit being the guardian of the geese. "I have worked for the Emperor." They could guess how. "I am here as a friend to this young man. Aelianus had a rather unpleasant experience in the late hours of yesterday. We do feel that he should report it formally, should you be unaware of what occurred."

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting; we had extra business at the Sacred Grove." The Master was a huge-bellied man whose size must have been enormous long before he took office in a post with compulsory feasting. Dogging him, the cult's sacrificing flamen had neither girth nor height, but made his presence felt by a harsh laugh at inappropriate moments.

"A purification rite?" I asked quietly.

The efficient chamberlain must have warned his head of household what we had said we wanted. "Exactly. The Grove has been polluted by an iron blade, but due solemnities have now been offered--a suovetaurilia."

Major expiation by swine, ram, and bull. Sorted. Three perfect animals rounded up and their throats cut, the very next day.

Would a bloody corpse be dealt with just as briskly? In this cult, yes.

The three subsidiary officers had found seats. The ears of grain in their headdresses nodded gently in the light from a bank of suspended oil lamps; shadows passed across their faces. They were used to the effect. Aelianus, who had hoped to join them, must have trained himself to accept the sight. I managed to contain a smirk. Just.

"So, young man! Tell me what happened to you," offered the Master, so graciously that my teeth set. He was now changing into a flowing white dinner gown, like those the others already wore. Over one shoulder was placed a folded vestment. The feast must have been delayed; still assisted by the discreet slave, he dressed hurriedly. The pressure on us rose. Well, nobody wanted the Arval cook to start bewailing a burned roast.

Aelianus exhibited his least attractive scowl and said bluntly, "I fell over a corpse at the back of your pavilion, sir."

"Ah." The big man revealed no surprise, only delicate concern. Garbed for the feast now, he gestured to the slave to leave us. "That must have been a terrible experience."

"You saw the body?" I slipped in.

"I did." He was making no attempt at subterfuge. Normally in my job you meet head-on resistance, but this was a familiar scenario too; I knew it was far worse. To deal with complete openness is like falling into a grain storage pit. It can very quickly suffocate.

"The body subsequently disappeared." Still upset, Aelianus spoke too harshly. If I let him continue in this style, we would lose any grip on the conversation that we still possessed.

The Master looked from one to the other of us. It was a fine display of gentle reproach. "Oh dear. You are suspecting dark deeds!" I felt my cheek twitch. We could have been discussing a few missing denarii from their petty cash, instead of a man who had been honoring the old religion, hacked to death in a tent.

"You tidied up?" I posed the question without exaggerated disapproval. These people were intelligent. They knew that I knew they wished that their secret had remained within the cult.

The Master immediately increased his air of deep apology. "I am afraid we did. It was, after all, the main night of our annual festival and we hoped to avoid panic among the attendant staff and members of the public who were visiting the Games. The Sacred Grove of the Dea Dia had been polluted too, so there were considerations of how to reconsecrate it as swiftly as possible. . . . Well, this is a most dreadful business, but there is no untoward secrecy. I am grateful that you have come to me with your concerns. Let me explain what has happened, as far as we know it--"

"The dead man was one of the Brethren?" I asked.

"Unhappily, yes." I noticed he made no attempt to give a name. "A sad domestic incident. The woman responsible was found wandering in the Grove immediately afterwards, covered with blood and weeping hysterically, totally deranged."

"You call it a 'domestic incident'; do you mean she is a relative of her victim?"

"Sadly, yes. Is it not true, Falco, that people are most likely to be murdered by members of their families?"

I acknowledged it. "Men get killed by their wives, usually. You saw the woman yourself?"

For the first time he did appear to be overcome by the grim story. "Yes. Yes, I did." He was silent for a second, then went on. "She became calmer, seeming bemused. I spoke to her gently, and she admitted what had happened."

"Was she capable of giving any rational explanation?"

"No."

"Difficult!" I said dryly.

"These things happen. It was quite unexpected, or the ghastly consequences might have been averted. Our member, it now transpires, had been troubled by the woman's bouts of mental stress but was attempting to protect her by concealing them. People do that, you know." I made a face that said I knew. "I have made further enquiries, and I am satisfied that this is the truth. Her mind went. Whether it was under some great burden that cannot now be discovered or some unfortunate natural illness, we may never know."

"Official action?"

"No, Falco. I have consulted the Emperor today, but there is nothing to gain by a court case. It would only add to the immense distress of those involved. Nothing remained for us to do but arrange for the body to be given reverently into the care of his relatives for burial. The poor woman has been assigned to her own close family, on the promise she will be nursed and constantly guarded."

At this, the two deputy officials we had first met seemed to shift slightly in their seats. Glances passed between them and the Master, then the vice-Master told him, "We were just discussing the arrangements before you returned."

"Good, good!"

I thought that exchange contained more meaning than the mere words implied. Was some sort of warning being given?

The Master was gazing at me, as if waiting to see if I pressed the issue. I decided to oblige. "Of course there will be no publicity?"

He assented in silence.

"What was the name of the Brother who died?" Aelianus put in.

The Master gave him a narrow look from under his eyebrows. "I am afraid I cannot tell you. It has been agreed--" He spoke heavily, and his tone implied the agreement had been granted by Vespasian, at the consultation which the Master had claimed to have had. "The name of the family involved in this terrible tragedy will not be released."

The three other Brothers shifted in their seats. I was now in no doubt that they knew the whole story. They were rapt by the way their chief romanced us with the official version.

I pursed my lips, drawing in a long, slow breath. Once, I would have made myself unpleasant, insisting on further information--and I would have got nowhere. When the Establishment closes ranks, the personnel know just how to do it. Aelianus was hopping and eager to pursue it, but I shook my head slightly, warning him not to make a fuss.

"Young man," sympathized the Master, "I am most perturbed that you should have been drawn into this sad episode while attending on our rites. It must have been an appalling shock. I will speak to your father, but do pass on to him my sincere regrets--and you, Didius Falco, thank you--thank you most heartily for your help and support."

"Rely on our discretion." I smiled, trying not to make it grim. The big man in the dinner robe had not asked us to keep quiet; still, it was understood that we would be thoughtful towards the distraught family involved. "I am a trusted imperial agent, and Aelianus, as you know, regards the Arval Brethren with the greatest respect."

To ask who was in line for the unexpected new vacancy would have been crass. I tipped Aelianus the wink, and we saluted all around, then left.

Almost before we were out of the room, there was a murmur of conversation behind us. The Master's deputy began saying, as if he could hardly contain himself, "We had a visitation from himself just before all that--" Then the door closed firmly.

I gazed at young Camillus, searching to see how he interpreted our interview. He was Helena's brother all right. He was angry at how we had been led along and finessed with stonewall courtesy. In view of the antipathy he had already harbored, he was blaming me for the lack of results.

His mouth tightened in distaste. "Well, as I said at the start of this evening, Falco--
that was a waste of time!"