One Virgin Too Many

by Lindsey Davis

  “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 midbrown 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 standins 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 sp
ared 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 r
espect.”

  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!”

  XIV

  WE TOOK THREE strides. Between the exit and us, the Brethren were processing into the Master’s dining room. We stopped.

  Behind us, the Master and his cronies came out from the room we had left. The big man paused, clapped Aelianus on the shoulder, then apologized that since the feast was to take place in his private house, where couches were limited, he could not invite us. The ordinary members had slowed, so the Master and other officers could now join the head of their group and lead the way. Aelianus and I stayed where we were to watch the corn dollies all process to their last formal meal of the festival.

  “Aulus, I thought on the first day they squeezed you in to watch?”

  “Yes.”

  “But today the Master reckons they are pushed for space! Dining room must have shrunk.”

  “You see conspiracies everywhere, Falco.”

  “No. Just two unwanted enquirers who have been fed a very sticky porridge of half-truths.”

  Probably all the Master was doing was covering up a tragic incident that would hurt those involved if it became a public scandal. I sympathized with the stricken family; after all, my own had troubles we preferred to veil. But I hated to be patronized.

  Tripping over the hems of their white robes, the Brothers jostled past us. They were the pride of the patrician ranks, so half were tipsy and some senile. I counted them under my breath. There were one or two extras, but the corn wreaths stood out. All twelve. Wrong; eleven. One had been carved up last night by a mad wife. At least, I supposed it was a wife, though on reflection the Master had not specifically said so. (I was doubting him on every aspect now.)