We went to see the Vestal. Or what was left of her, anyway.
Torquata led us down a long marble-floored corridor with doors along its right-hand side. At the far end I could see a window with a grille set high in the wall, but there were still lamps burning in the embrasures, and most of the light came from them. Also in the embrasures – bagged, so they must’ve been male – were a line of what from their shapes had to be portrait busts. Oh, yeah: Galba’s ancestor kick. I’d just bet that what we were passing was a roll of honour. It was a big place, though. These old patrician families didn’t skimp themselves.
‘She’s down here, Caecinus.’ Torquata turned sharp left down a side passage and into a small hallway with a staircase in the middle. ‘In one of the spare bedrooms.’
She pushed open the third door along. The room was bare, apart from a bed in the centre and a clothes chest against one wall with a single oil lamp perched on top of it. On the bed lay a small sheeted figure. Torquata crossed the room and picked up the lamp.
‘Watch your feet,’ she said.
I looked down. Between the door and the bed, splashed like spilled wine across the white marble flooring, was a red stain. I edged carefully round it and Arruntius followed me.
Torquata had pulled back the sheet and was gazing down at the body beneath it.
‘The silly girl,’ she said softly. ‘The silly, silly girl!’
They’d left her flame-coloured veil covering her face, but these things are light as gossamer and almost as transparent. Girl she wasn’t, although she didn’t miss by much: I’d reckon early twenties, twenty-five max. And she’d been beautiful; even the axe-blade nose jutting straight up at the ceiling added to the beauty, giving it character. Her face was all strong lines, the features clear-cut with no blurring flab. I’d guess that when she’d been alive this lady had had a mind of her own.
How she’d died was obvious at the first glance. The throat just beneath her chin was nothing but a gaping hole.
‘I took the knife out myself,’ Torquata said. She looked and sounded old, now, and not hard at all. ‘Her hands were still round the hilt.’
My stomach went cold. Dear sweet Jupiter! So that was what all the reticence had been in aid of. ‘She killed herself?’
‘That’s the question we need you to answer, Corvinus,’ Arruntius said. ‘You see how it looks, but the truth may be otherwise. We have to know, either way.’
‘She was lying beside the door. Where the blood is.’ Torquata laid her hand, very gently, on the woman’s head, above where the six tresses lay beneath the veil. ‘There was no sign of any struggle. I put her on the bed when I’d removed the knife.’
‘You’ll want to see that too, of course.’ Arruntius crossed to the clothes chest and brought back a small bloodstained bundle. I unwrapped it – they’d used a napkin from the dining-room – to reveal a cheap double-edged knife with a broad blade fitted into a wooden handle and bound in place with a strip of undyed leather: the sort of thing you could pick up anywhere in Rome with change out of a silver piece. I wiped it on the napkin and tested the edge with my thumb. It’d been ground and then carefully whetted until it was razor-sharp; you could’ve shaved with it, easy.
‘This belong to Cornelia?’ I asked Torquata.
‘I don’t know, young man. I certainly hadn’t seen it in her possession before, but that means nothing.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I wrapped the knife up again and gave it to Arruntius. Then I turned back to the corpse. Beyond the veil’s edge I could see the line of a leather thong that disappeared under the neck of the woman’s mantle. Carefully, very carefully, I lifted the veil a little and pulled at the thong. Beside me I felt Torquata stiffen, but she made no move to stop me.
At the thong’s end, threaded like the pendant of a necklace, was a man’s signet ring. Arruntius grunted but he said nothing; nor did Torquata. The silence was almost deafening. Oh, hell, no: cat’s-meat factory was right. I held the ring up as far as I could without disturbing the veil so they could see it clearly. The stone was a garnet, and it showed two clasped hands.
‘You recognise this, Junia Torquata?’ I said.
She was quiet for a long time. Then she shook her head.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I do not.’
Deliberately, I shrugged and kept my eyes away from hers and my hand steady as I laid the ring down on the dead woman’s chest. Torquata knew, we all did, what the implications were of a Vestal carrying a man’s ring in her bodice. Or at least the possible implications. I didn’t have to spell them out, nor did I want to: some things are best left unsaid, in case saying them makes them true.
‘You’ve seen enough?’ Arruntius said. His voice was strained and very formal.
‘Yeah.’ I turned away while Torquata pulled the sheet back up. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen enough.’
I was feeling cold and sick and empty. Oh, Jupiter! Dear holy Jupiter!
I knew now why Torquata had called it simply ‘a death’. Murder was bad, sure, and a Vestal’s murder was worse; but the responsibility – and the penalty – for it would lie squarely on the killer. Suicide in itself is no crime, not even for a Vestal. The crime lay in the cause, and in the case of a young woman who carried a man’s ring next to her heart there could only be one crime that leaped immediately to mind. Vestals, like I say, are the most sacred things in Rome. They’re sacred because the whole spiritual and physical health of the state depends – literally – on their chastity. A Vestal who breaks her vows is a danger and an abomination, and there’s only one penalty, mandatory even in these enlightened days. An unchaste Vestal is buried alive.
Torquata had to know, however much it hurt; Rome had to know. And the chief Vestal was hoping against all the evidence, against the evidence of her own eyes, that Cornelia’s death had been murder.
Murder, at least, was clean.
3.
We left the room and Torquata closed the door gently behind us.
‘Okay,’ I said. Gods, I hated this. ‘You want to fill me in on the background before we rejoin the others?’
Torquata drew herself up like a battle-weary centurion getting ready to give an unpleasant report.
‘It happened after the rites were over,’ she said. ‘The ceremonial meal also, if only just. Some time during the sixth hour.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Halfway to dawn, in other words. ‘How many people are we talking about?’
‘Present in the house? Six Vestals. Thirty invited celebrants, plus the servants and the musicians. In all, sixty. All women, of course.’
‘Right.’ While she was speaking I was having a look round the far side of the staircase at the screened section of wall. Immediately behind it was a solid, no-nonsense door that looked like it’d been there since the house was built a dozen generations back. There was no keyhole but it was fitted top, bottom and middle with heavy iron bolts that would’ve kept out anything short of a battering ram. The bolts were firmly shot home. ‘This is the back door?’
‘Yes. It opens on to an alleyway.’ That was Arruntius. ‘It’s the only other way into the house apart from the front door itself. That was bolted too, naturally, while the ceremony was in progress.’
There was a lamp set into an embrasure just to the left, and its light glistened on the marble at my feet. I bent down and brushed the tip of my finger against the floor. It came away damp; not wet, just damp. It could’ve been condensation or seepage, sure, but on the other hand …
‘What’s upstairs?’ I said.
‘Mostly family rooms, with storage space above that. The slaves sleep in the attics.’
‘And the corridor we came along?’
‘A private bath suite with a latrine attached. On the atrium side there’s the kitchen and a couple of storerooms.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I pointed to the second passageway, opposite the one we’d come through. ‘Where does that lead?’
‘To the garden. There’s a door at the far end but it’s unlocked. The garden’s an enclosed one.’<
br />
‘You mind if I take a look?’
‘Go ahead, Corvinus.’ Arruntius’s lips twisted. ‘You’re in charge.’ And I don’t envy you, his tone said. Right. I didn’t envy myself: we were going through the motions here, and all of us knew it.
I went down the passage. Sure enough, there was an open door at the end. Beyond was a big walled garden, formally laid out with statues, walks and rose beds. It would’ve been beautiful in summer, I’d’ve guessed, but in December it just looked bleak. The walls, what I could see of them, were ten foot high, easy.
Arruntius was standing behind me. ‘The only other way in is from the atrium, through that covered porch there to your left.’
I nodded. This didn’t look good. Including the other staircase at the far end of the corridor off the atrium itself that’d connect with the upper floors there were plenty of access points to the bedroom where Cornelia had died, but they were all internal; and if both doors, front and back, had been bolted then sixty women – or fifty-nine, rather – was all we’d got. Scratch the disturbed burglar who’d panicked, stabbed first and asked questions later; he didn’t exist.
I led the way back to the hall and opened the remaining doors. Most of them were storerooms. The two either side of where Cornelia lay were bedrooms, bare and anonymous as the one with the corpse.
So much for the floor plan. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So what about the lady herself? Who was she, exactly?’
‘As I told you, the daughter of Publius Cornelius Lentulus, currently in Asia,’ Arruntius said. ‘An only child. Her mother is the sister of my friend the ex-consul Marcus Lepidus. They divorced many years ago and both have remarried. Lepida Calvina and her new husband moved to Tarentum.’
‘Uh-huh.’ All that, I knew, was incidental: Vestals are selected by the chief priest from a list of eligible girls between the ages of six and ten, and when they’re appointed the old family ties are cut completely. Cornelia’s ‘family’ would’ve been the other five Vestals living with her in the House of the Vestals just down the road next to the temple itself. I turned to Torquata. ‘She, uh, show any signs of odd behaviour recently? Seem worried, out of sorts, that kind of thing?’
I’d kept my voice neutral, but it was clear what I was asking. Also that Torquata wasn’t happy about the answer. Her big bruiser’s face reddened. ‘Yes, young man,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact she did.’
‘Did she tell you why?’
The old girl’s lips were tight, and she was still holding herself like a soldier. ‘No. I didn’t ask. I don’t pry, Valerius Corvinus. I believe the best policy, especially with young girls, is to make oneself approachable and let them come forward themselves when they feel ready to do so. I’ve always been a great one for trust, and in an artificial environment such as ours – and it is artificial, I acknowledge that – one must be very careful not to infringe on the private space of others.’
There was a quietness to her voice, and I knew why; it’d been there since she’d touched the girl’s forehead. The chief Vestal was crucifying herself, wondering if things might’ve been different if she had interfered for once, knowing that it was too late now for anything but regret. I felt sorry as hell for Junia Torquata. Still, this had to be done.
I hadn’t missed that ‘Corvinus’, either. That was significant, too.
‘What about the other sisters?’ I said. ‘Would she talk to any of them?’
‘I doubt it. Cornelia wasn’t …’ Torquata hesitated. ‘Cornelia was a very private person, and although we get on well enough generally as a group there is still the occasional friction and the petty jealousies that exist in every family. Especially a family wholly composed of women.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘You being a man would not understand, or you would find the details trivial, so I won’t be more explicit. However you may take it from me that had Cornelia approached any of her colleagues it would have been myself. I knew her from birth, and we were always close.’
‘There’s Niobe, of course,’ Arruntius murmured.
That got him a look that would’ve skewered a rhino, and Torquata’s voice took on its old sharpness. ‘Lucius Arruntius,’ she snapped, ‘I am fully aware that we have not yet come to Niobe, and I also possess a perfectly serviceable pair of ears. Caecinus was asking about the sisterhood, not the servants. Or do you think I am prevaricating intentionally?’ Arruntius winced and said nothing. Jupiter! Well, at least the old warhorse was showing signs of pulling herself out of her slump. And I noticed that I was Caecinus again.
‘Niobe?’ I said.
‘Cornelia’s maid.’ Torquata was still glaring at Arruntius. ‘You can interview her shortly, young man. Lucius here is quite correct, they were extremely close; in fact they were brought up together.’
I nodded; yeah, that made sense. It happens all the time, especially in the old traditional families. A kid barely past the toddling stage will be matched with another of the same sex and about the same age belonging to one of the house slaves. From then on the two will be inseparable, with the slave kid naturally filling the role of personal maid or valet. ‘She was here last night?’
‘It was Niobe who found the body.’ Arruntius cleared his throat; the poor guy still looked chewed. ‘If anyone can help you with time or any other details like that she’s the most likely.’
‘Uh-huh.’ I paused, gathering my courage. Hell, we’d gone round the houses long enough. We all knew the vital question had to be asked and answered sooner or later, and however I phrased it it had to sound brutal. ‘Junia Torquata, I’m sorry, but is there any possibility that Cornelia had been seeing a man? That she committed suicide because she was pregnant?’
The silence was total. I expected a glare like the one that had frozen Lucius Arruntius’s balls for him, but all I got was the sort of look a doctor might expect when he told a patient she had only a month to live. Arruntius, too, said nothing, but his lips tightened and he looked away.
Finally, Torquata drew in her breath and let it out. When she did speak, her voice was low and careful, with more than a touch of steel to it. ‘I have told you, Valerius Corvinus, that I knew Cornelia from the moment she was born to the day of her death. She was a lovely girl, full of life, but she was a true Vestal. I would as soon suspect myself of breaking the vow of chastity as I would her. Your answer is no. Categorically no. Suicide or not, Cornelia lived and died a virgin, and I would swear to that by Vesta’s fire itself. Whatever proofs or indications to the contrary there might be.’
‘I agree,’ Arruntius said quietly.
Well, that was that. I sighed. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and join the others.’
When we got back to the atrium we found that the gaggle had lost one and gained one. Camillus had left and in his place was a smart-looking guy in his mid-thirties with a broad purple stripe to his mantle and the go-getting air of the professional politician. He came over and held out his hand.
‘Gaius Sextius Nomentanus,’ he said as I took it. ‘City judge.’
Uh-oh; the top legal brass had arrived. Yeah, well, I supposed that was inevitable: not just because of the death but because the city judges, as a corporate group, foot the bill for the December rite. Nomentanus, or if not him one of his colleagues, would have a vested interest in the proceedings.
‘You’ve seen everything you need to, Valerius Corvinus?’ That was the consul, Galba. The guy had a jaw like a pike’s, and his skin had a pasty, sweaty sheen.
I nodded.
His eyes slid away from me. ‘It’s a bad business,’ he said. ‘A very bad business.’
‘Yeah.’ I had the distinct impression that he meant it was bad for business: sure, he hadn’t been around when the girl had died but a Vestal’s death in your back bedroom under suspicious circumstances wasn’t exactly a plus where a political career was concerned. I hadn’t expected to like Galba, and first-hand experience confirmed it. ‘I’ll want to talk to whoever was in charge of the servants last night, of course. The dea
d woman’s maid as well.’ I looked at Nomentanus. ‘If that’s okay with you, sir.’
Nomentanus had sat back down on one of the couches. He was a good-looking guy, and I noticed Aemilia was giving him sidelong glances from her own couch next door. ‘Don’t mind me, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’m not here in any official capacity, at any rate not in these terms. I think Arruntius explained that to you.’
Well, he couldn’t say fairer than that. Since we’d come back in I’d been letting my eyes wander round the room. There was a long wooden screen across part of the opposite wall, with a low platform in front of it, and I could feel cold air blowing from that direction. Arruntius had said you could get into the garden from the atrium via the covered porch. No doubt that was how. ‘Uh, why the platform? I said.
‘Oh, that was for the musicians.’ I’d thought Aemilia would have a mousey voice, but she sounded brassy if anything, and she drawled her vowels like some of these top-class patricians do.
‘Musicians?’
Bat-bat, flutter-flutter. Jupiter! ‘The rite needs music. Flutes mostly. Especially at the point when –’ Aemilia stopped, and her eyes slid nervously towards Junia Torquata, who frowned and pursed her lips.
‘Euphemeite,’ she murmured.
Keep holy silence: a rap over the knuckles because of the men present; only women are allowed to know the details of the Good Goddess’s rites. Aemilia coloured up and looked away. Yeah, well. I turned to Torquata.
‘I told you about the musicians myself, young man,’ she snapped. ‘We ordered a dozen from the guildhouse near the Temple of Juno Lucina.’
‘They’ve gone?’
‘Naturally they’ve gone. Their contract was only until dawn. They left with the other celebrants.’
‘Guild policy, Valerius Corvinus.’ Nomentanus was smiling. ‘You pay extra for overtime.’ There spoke the guy who held the purse-strings: the state gave a grant for official ceremonies, but it never went all the way towards covering costs and the balance would have to come out of the appropriate magistrates’ own pockets. Meaning, in this case, Nomentanus’s. ‘Besides, they’re working girls, they have other engagements.’
Last Rites (Marcus Corvinus Book 6) Page 2