One Virgin Too Many mdf-11

by Lindsey Davis

  "Gaia Laelia belongs to a family who have a long history of the highest religious service. Her grandfather is Publius Laelius Numentinus, the recently retired Flamen Dialis-"

  Yes, that was the fool who had been complaining about my goslings. Interesting that he had in fact retired from office; everyone on the Capitol had still seemed to regard him with active terror.

  "I thought a priesthood was for life. Some dereliction of his duties?" Helena chuckled, ignoring the speaker's pomposity. Priests who disgraced their office might be asked to resign, but it was rare. For one thing, the priests of the official cult had the power to cover up their crimes and the wherewithal to control critics. They could be absolute bastards, yet the truth would never get out. Let's be honest: they could be bastards and everybody knew it, but still no controls would be applied.

  The Flamen Pomonalis was stiff: "The Flaminica, his wife, has died. Since the Flaminica partakes officially in many ceremonies, it is necessary for a widowed Flamen Dialis to step down. Otherwise, essential rites would be incomplete."

  Helena's own voice grew cold. "Hard, I always thought, for a man to lose both his wife and his position at a stroke. Especially when the position is so significant, and its rituals are so demanding. Gaia's grandfather must now find his life rather empty. Is this part of the problem?"

  "There is no problem."

  "Well, I am relieved to hear it." She had the knack of seeming to engage in mere polite conversation, while she doggedly pursued a point. She wanted to know what had been happening in this family to make a young child take the unusual step of seeking outside help. A thwarted six-year-old would normally slam doors, scream herself into convulsions, and throw her wooden doll through a window, but then be pacified in a few seconds with just a bowl of honeyed nuts. "Even so, your young niece came here with a tale of woe and now you too are here to discuss it… What puzzled us was how Gaia chose Falco to confide in. How would she have known who he was?"

  "She may have heard his name mentioned in connection with his appointment as Procurator of the Sacred Birds." It gave me a thrill to imagine some crusty old ex-priest of Jupiter exploding with rage over his breakfast while he heard that the Emperor had given ancient responsibilities to an upstart informer-who would now be allowed to poke around with impunity among the temple enclosures. Was that why Vespasian had done it? "And I believe," conceded the Flamen Pomonalis, "Gaia Laelia met a relative of yours at the reception when certain promising young ladies were introduced to Queen Berenice."

  His significant tone seemed rather overdone. The only link I had with Berenice was my sister Maia's uncharacteristic foray to the Palace, the day I had first tried to find her. Had the function Maia attended been stuffed with female relatives of priests? I controlled a snigger, wondering what my sister had made of that.

  Helena must have decided to pursue the mystery with Maia later. "Well, I suggest," she said, so crisply that it seemed like a rebuke, "you tell me exactly what your family's concerns are."

  "Our concerns should be obvious!" the flamen snapped. Bluffing. Hoping little Gaia had never said whatever it was her precious family was hoping to keep quiet. Or, if Gaia had revealed too many secrets, trying to play down their importance.

  "Don't worry. Falco and I know how to regard the complaints of an unhappy child. So embarrassing, is it not?"

  "Children exaggerate," he declared, relieved that she seemed to understand.

  "I hope that's the case!" agreed Helena, with feeling. Then she faced him with it: "Gaia says someone in her family threatened to kill her."

  "Ridiculous!"

  "Not you, then?"

  "How dare you!"

  "So who was it?"

  "Nobody!"

  "I do want to believe that is true."

  "Whatever you were told…" He paused, hoping Helena would tell him more details. No chance.

  "You are requesting us not to interfere." Helena's tone was quiet. I knew what that meant: for her, this visit from the flamen made it look as if the child's appeal for help might be justified.

  "I am glad we understand each other."

  "Oh yes," she said. Oh yes! She understood him all right.

  "No one could possibly wish her harm. There are high hopes of Gaia Laelia," concluded the Flamen Pomonalis. "When the ballot for the new Vestal Virgin is drawn…" He trailed off.

  So a new Vestal was needed, and the little girl I met on my front doorstep had been put forward for the privilege. Could her uncle be suggesting to Helena that Gaia's name was certain to be drawn by the Pontifex Maximus in the formal lottery? Impossible! Vespasian's hand would have to dig around in an urn among a whole bunch of tablets. How could anyone know in advance which one would be gripped by the pontifical paw? I felt my face screw up in disgust, as I saw that the Vestal Virgins' lottery must be fixed.

  How could they do it? Easy as wink. Only one name written on all of the tablets. Or one tablet loaded, like a bad dice. Or quite simply, Vespasian would just announce the preselected name, without looking at the tablets at all.

  Pointy-head was still enthusing. "It would be a new departure in the family-but a great honor. We are all absolutely delighted."

  "Does that include Gaia herself?" asked Helena coolly.

  "Gaia is passionate about being entered."

  "Little girls do have such quaint ideas." The Vestals were not Helena's favorite women, apparently. I was surprised. I thought she would have approved of their honored role and status. "Well, let us hope she is successful," Helena went on. "Then she will be taken straight to the House of the Vestals and handed into the control of the Pontifex Maximus."

  "Er-quite," agreed the flamen, belatedly sensing an undercurrent. Presuming, however, that his appeals had been successful, he seemed to be about to leave. Taking a firm hold on Julia, I slid down the corridor and towards another room where I could conceal myself. I glimpsed Pomona's priest, in his cloak and birchwood prong, with his back to me as he bade Helena farewell; he hid me from her view as I crept past.

  I waited until I was sure he had left before I emerged.

  As I opened the door behind which I had been hiding, a small determined figure blocked my way. Julia was whipped from my grasp. I groaned, but only quietly.

  I was facing a tiny, frail old woman whose black eyes bored like bradawls. A bad conscience-for which I had no damned reason-pinned me to the spot.

  "I suppose you have a good explanation," announced the new arrival fiercely, "why you failed to come home for the little one's birthday?" I did have. Famia's funeral rites, such as they were, for the few scraps that had been left of him by the lion: an explanation, though not good. "And I do know what happened to Famia-though I had to hear it from dear Anacrites!"

  "Hello, Mother," I said. I made it sound meek. "We were forced to spend Julia's first birthday becalmed off Otia… Are you going to congratulate me on my new status as a pillar of the state religion?"

  "Don't give me any of your silly nonsense," scoffed Ma.

  As usual, I had done what I thought she wanted, only to find her unimpressed.

  VI

  This had turned into a tiring day. First, I had had to dance around Petronius Longus while he showed his pique; now here was Ma. She had various complaints: primarily why I had let her favorite, Anacrites, come home from Tripolitania half dead from the wounds he acquired in the arena. Playing gladiators had been his own idea, but I would get the blame for it. Luckily, it meant he was back as a lodger at Ma's house for further nursing, so she was not entirely upset.

  "Why are you letting the poor thing go back to his job at the Palace?"

  "Anacrites is grown up, Ma. His career decisions are nothing to do with me."

  "You two worked so well together."

  "We made a good pairing for the Census. That's over now."

  "You could find other work to share."

  "Neither of us wanted to remain in partnership. I showed him up."

  "You didn't like him, you mean." Ma kept ins
isting that I did not really know Anacrites; that I had missed his fine sensitivity; that I belittled his talent. My own theory was that anyone who had tried to persuade an exotic foreign potentate to murder me should be allowed to run his own life-after being sealed in a barrel and dumped a thousand feet under the sea. Somewhere rough off Britain, preferably. "You never gave him a chance. Listen, Anacrites has his sights set on running a new branch of the security services. You could help him with that, Marcus-"

  "Alternatively, I could rot in the Pontine Marshes, eaten by leeches and infected with fever. That would be a whole lot more fun."

  "And what about Petronius?" demanded Ma, changing tack to catch me out.

  "Petronius belongs in the vigiles."

  "He belongs with his wife!"

  "The wife who has decided that she now belongs with a potted-salad seller."

  "I blame you," said Ma.

  "Not guilty. I wouldn't shove even Silvia into a life of pressed tripe and lettuce leaves. Petronius looks respectable, but he's a wandering dog who never saw where his best interests lay until it was too late. Of course the mere fact that I told him all along that he was stupid need not prevent people placing the blame on me!"

  "I don't dare ask what you did to poor Famia," Ma muttered darkly.

  "He did it to himself. I brought home the remains, I'll be a good uncle to the children, and I'll try to look after Maia."

  "She won't thank you."

  "No, Ma."

  My mother's eyes narrowed, and we shared one of our rare moments of sense: "So how is she, son?"

  "Too quiet. When I told her the news, she showed almost no emotion."

  "That won't last."

  "I'm keeping an eye out for when she breaks down."

  "Just don't you go upsetting her!"

  Helena Justina, who had observed this conversation in silence from her wicker chair, holding the dog on her lap while allowing Julia Junilla to sit on her feet, smiled at me tenderly.

  She was no help. What was more, I faced dinner with her parents that evening, where I would have to stand up to further inquisition about their family problems.

  "You ought to be around at your sister's instead of loafing here," ordered my mother. I intended it; I wanted to ask Maia about the reception for Queen Berenice and how would-be little Vestal Virgins fitted into it. "Oh, don't bother-I'll go!"

  Ma had forestalled me. The Virgins would have to wait. Petronius Longus would say virgins never do that. Still, the kind of virgins Petro joked about were never just six years old.

  ***

  After Ma had gone, I waited for Helena to tell me about the Flamen Pomonalis visit. I had to pretend that I had come home right at the end of it, not that I overheard the whole interview. Helena could play up to me as a hidden accomplice if a conspiracy had been agreed on beforehand, but she hated to be spied on secretly. For one thing, she resented being supervised.

  Obviously now deeply troubled, she gave me a succinct report.

  "What exactly was Gaia's story yesterday when you saw her alone before I came home, Helena?"

  "She said, 'One of my relations threatened to kill me.' And that it had frightened her," Helena told me, looking thoughtful. "She had got it into her head that she needed to see an informer, so I left it for you to deal with."

  "I'm starting to regret sending her away without asking more questions. I know you thought I should have gone into it more thoroughly."

  "You had your own troubles, Marcus."

  "This little girl may have worse."

  "She has grown up in a most peculiar home, that's for certain," said Helena with some force. "Her grandparents will have been married by a strange old formal ceremony, and as they were the Flamen Dialis and the Flaminica, even their house itself had ritual significance. No child in such a home knows a normal upbringing. The daily life of the priest and priestess is proscribed by ridiculous taboos and rituals at every turn. It leaves little time for family matters. Even the children formally take part in religious ceremonies-presumably, Gaia's father went through all that. And now Gaia, the poor mite, is being pushed into becoming a Vestal Virgin-"

  "An escape, by the sound of it!" I grinned.

  "She is six," growled Helena. She was right. That was no age to be removed from home and subjected to thirty years of sanctity.

  "Do I take it, Helena, you intend to investigate?"

  "I want to." She felt wretched, which always unsettled me. "I just don't see how to go about it yet."

  She was broody all day, not ready yet to share her further thoughts. I applied myself to clearing up goose droppings. Helena had made it clear that this was a daily rite which ancient traditions decreed could only be carried out by the Procurator of Poultry.

  ***

  Dinner that evening came as a relief. The one thing to say for the noble Camilli was that, despite their financial problems, they dined well. In that, they far excelled most Roman millionaires.

  Their money was tied up in land (in order to protect their right to remain on the senatorial list), but a delicately poised tier of mortgages allowed them to live in a tolerable style. For instance, when they had invited us to dinner, they sent their carrying chair for Helena and the baby. We stuffed it full of presents and Julia's toys. I carried the baby. Helena was bringing letters from her brother, a bright sprig called Quintus Camillus Justinus whom I knew fairly well.

  Helena had two brothers, both younger than her and both heavily bossed by her when they strayed too close. The elder, Aelianus, had been betrothed to an heiress from Baetica in southern Spain. The younger, Justinus, ran off with her. I had gone to Tripolitania, funded by the senator, with a brief to find the eloping pair. I knew it was thought to be my fault that Claudia Rufina had decided to swap brothers. Untrue, of course: she fell for the one with better looks and a more attractive character. But I had been involved in first bringing her to Rome as a prospective bride for Aelianus, and the senator's wife had long held the opinion that anything touched by M. Didius Falco was bound to go wrong. In that, Julia Justa was following the views of my own family, so I made no attempt to disprove her theory. May as well live with the grief you know.

  Helena and I had found that under the stress of desert conditions the young lovers had fallen out, but we ignored their finer feelings and cobbled them back together. We persuaded Justinus to cut his losses and marry Claudia (and her money), first sending the couple on a visit to Spain in order to reconcile her wealthy grandparents.

  Justinus had been searching for silphium, the extinct luxury condiment. He had hoped to rediscover it and make millions. Once that mad plan had failed, the only way I could prevent him running off to be a hermit was to lure him into replacing Anacrites as my partner. He had no qualifications, and since he had now gone off to Spain indefinitely, at my third attempt to find a partner I had stuck myself with one who knew absolutely nothing-and who was not even available.

  Helena had decided we could all share a house (which might explain why she had told the Flamen Pomonalis that we lived on the Janiculan). Knowing her, she had probably bought a place already. Watching her work around to telling me would give me hours of secret fun.

  You might think that securing a Baetican olive oil fortune and a pleasant wife for their talented boy would earn me laurel wreaths from Justinus' parents. Unfortunately, it still left them with the problem of their disgruntled elder son. Aelianus had lost the money, lost his bride, and had to stand down from the senate elections for a year, all because his brother had made him look a fool. Whatever his parents felt about the resolution to his brother's life, Aelianus was the one they now had sulking at home. A young man in his twenties, with no occupation and very few manners, can dominate a household even if he spends most of his time out on the town.

  "It seems best to let him alarm the neighbors with his rowdy friends," murmured the senator on our arrival. "So far he has not actually been arrested or brought home on a trestle covered in blood."

  "Is Aulus join
ing us for dinner?" asked Helena, using Aelianus' family name yet trying to disguise the fact that she hoped not. The dutiful elder sister, she always wanted to be fair, but of the two boys, Justinus was much more like her in temperament and attitude.

  "Probably not," Camillus Verus, her father, replied. He was a tall, shrewd, humorous man with sprouting gray-tinged hair that his barber had still not successfully tamed. I noticed a hunted air when he spoke of his sons.

  "At a party?" I asked.

  "This may sound hard to believe, but I have been trying to get him into one of the priesthoods-give him some honors to his name. If he is where he is supposed to be, it's the Sacred Grove of the Arval Brothers. This is the main day of their annual ceremonial."

  I whistled approvingly. It seemed the polite thing to do. The chosen clique presided over festivals and religious holidays, with an additional remit to pray for the good fortune of the imperial family. The Arval Brothers' activities derived from the dawn of history, when they had prayed for the health and fruitfulness of crops-in token of which, they all wore chaplets of corn tied on with white ribbons. The thought of the rather gruff Aelianus bedecked with a corn-ear crown made a hilarious climax to a good dinner. But frankly, if a son of mine wanted to join the corn-dolly brethren, I would lock him in the broom cupboard until the fantasy sweated out of him.

  "So-tell us your news, Marcus."

  I announced my elevation and brushed aside congratulations like a good modest Roman. "I warn you, sir, my conversation is limited nowadays to ways of worming poultry. My life is now fixed by the ritual events of the goddess Juno's calendar."

  "What-no more informing?" I caught his eye briefly. Decimus, as I was sometimes emboldened to call him, was a close friend of Vespasian, and I never knew quite how much he knew about my official work.

  "Stuck with the birds."

  He grinned frankly. "You deserve the status, but can't you ditch the aviary?"

  "I am supposed to feel honored."