"Exactly. You can see the tricky elements-granddaughter of an ex-Flamen Dialis, niece of a Flamen Pomonalis. Apart from needing to find her for humanitarian reasons-"
"They do count, then?"
"Of course! But Falco, this is extremely sensitive."
"I won't suggest the lottery result is already decided, but let's say, sir: if Gaia Laelia were chosen, she would be regarded as highly suitable?"
"Her family background would certainly mean that the Pontifex would feel confident she is fully prepared for a lifetime of service."
"That sounds like an official brief." Rutilius for once grinned in sympathy. "Rutilius, there is no need to dodge. You want me to find her?"
"Well, the Palace fixers are jumpy. The Urban Prefect raised the alarm." Wrong. Lucius Petronius had done that. "Her grandfather has now admitted to Vespasian that she is lost. Somebody learned of your interest. According to Palace records, you still work as a partner with a member of the vigiles. The records are out of date, as always! We had an interesting discussion at the meeting I just attended about how you managed the vigiles' support. Then Vespasian pointed out that your last known colleague was Anacrites, his own Chief Spy."
"More shrieks of outrage ensued?"
"By that stage you had achieved some notoriety, yes."
"So then you said, sir, that my current partner is Camillus Justinus so I no longer pirate my backup from the ranks of public servants. This makes me a responsible hound who can safely be enrolled to sniff out lost Virgins?"
"I said, Falco, you had my utmost confidence as a discreet, efficient operative. You may like to know Vespasian agreed."
"Thank you, sir. If I take this on, I will need entry to the Laelius house and permission to question the family."
Rutilius groaned. "I told them you would ask that."
I gave him a straight stare. "You would do the same." He was silent. "Rutilius, you would not be discussing the matter, had you failed to persuade your colleagues-including the Emperor-that it has to be done this way."
He took a moment before answering. "The Emperor left here on his way to inform Laelius Numentinus that you must be granted access."
"Right." I relaxed. I had been prepared for unacceptable conditions. This job had my interest; I would probably have taken it anyway. "I am not being offensive. You know why I lay down these rules. The child will probably turn up at home. I need to carry out a proper search, which I admit will be intrusive. It has to be. The first place I look will be in their baskets of dirty underwear, and it will get worse from there on. Besides, if her disappearance is no accident, the most likely cause is domestic. It will be vital to question the whole family."
"This is all understood."
"I shall, as you say, be discreet."
"Thanks, Falco."
We had started to move towards one of the courtyard exits, heading for the elderly, foursquare arch of Fabius Maximus over the crossroads on the Sacred Way.
"Why," I asked bluntly, "are we being so careful with this family? Surely it is not just a matter of status?"
Rutilius paused, then shrugged. I felt he knew more than he had said. He gestured to our right as we emerged. "Do you have the current address of the Laelii? Before Numentinus became Flamen Dialis and moved to the official residence, they used to live down there, you know-in one of the great houses that perished in Nero's Great Fire."
"Jupiter! The Sacred Way-the best address in Rome? I know where their new place is, thanks; on the Aventine. A decent house-though hardly the same."
"They were once a prominent family," Rutilius reminded me.
"Obviously. This quarter was favored by famous republicans: Clodius Pulcher, Cicero. And was there not a notorious house along here that was owned by a Scaurus-with those expensive red-black marble columns that ended up on the Theatre of Marcellus? My father is a specialist salesman, and he always cites its record price: fifteen million sesterces it changed hands for once. Gaia Laelia's father has Scaurus as his cognomen; is that significant?"
Rutilius shrugged again. His noble shoulders were working hard today. "There could well be a past connection. It is a family name, no doubt."
I felt my eyes narrowing. "Do the Laelii have money nowadays?"
"They must have some."
"Will I be allowed to ask them?"
"Only if it is very obviously relevant. They may not answer, of course," Rutilius warned. "Please remember, you are not interrogating Census frauds today."
I would have preferred that. Give me an honest cheat. Infinitely preferable to a devious and hypocritical so-called pillar of public life. "One more thing, sir: time is of the essence. I need support. I would like to bring in my friend and ex-partner, Petronius Longus."
"I thought you would say that too," Rutilius confessed. "Sorry; it is impossible. The Emperor decided that we should not involve the vigiles in direct contact with the family. The troops are to be ordered to search the city for the child, but the old Flamen is adamant that he does not want the big boys invading his home. Remember, Falco, for most of his life, Numentinus was bound never to look on armed men or to witness fetters. Even his ring had to be made from a broken band of metal. He cannot change. The paraphernalia of law and order still affronts him. This is the situation: he refuses to let in the vigiles; you have been put forward as the acceptable alternative."
"He may not accept me."
"He will."
Worst luck.
XXX
First, the house.
It looked as dreary as when I came here first with Maia. I felt today's errand was likely to be just as abortive. Visiting for the second time, now that I knew more about the family, I viewed their unappealing home with an even more gloomy sense of mistrust.
Somebody was leaving, just as I arrived. A litter emerged, ebony colored, with heavily drawn gray curtains. It was not the one with the Medusa boss that the Laelii themselves used. A well-wisher, perhaps. Whoever it was, they appeared to be accompanied by their laundry: a short train of slaves followed, one with a bulging clothes hamper and others with smaller baggage items. I refrained from asking the escort who this was; off-putting lads with pug noses walked alongside the litter. They paid as much attention to checking that the half doors were closed and the dark curtains kept tight as they did to surveying the street for menaces. Some husband who did not want his wife leaping out to buy too much from jewelry kiosks, I joked to myself.
After they left, I walked up to the house, thoughtfully. The porter's peephole was shuttered so I stood with my back to the front door as if waiting. Passersby would suppose I had knocked and was waiting. Instead, I listened. This was a house where a young girl had gone missing. There should be panic inside. Every footfall on the front doorstep should make somebody rush to investigate.
Nothing.
***
I rang a bell which hung on its bracket so stiffly I had to wrench at it with a strength that seemed discourteous. Well, I am a delicate fellow. After an age of extra silence a thin, pale porter answered-a different man from the one who had dismissed Maia and me. I recommended a light application of low-grade olive oil to the bell.
"Don't use fish oil. It stinks. You'll be plagued with cats." He stared at me. "My name is Didius Falco. Your master is expecting me."
He was the kind of slave who only needed firm orders. Any burglar could have effected an entry just by speaking with bravado and a sweet accent. He had no idea what I wanted. I could have been any cheap confidence trickster about to offer the patrician householder a fake set of cheap Greek vases, stolen turnips, or this week's special in curses, guaranteed to rot your enemy's liver within five days or your money back.
I was wearing my toga again. It must have helped. The porter had no sartorial discernment or he would have seen that this garment had once belonged to the army's most disreputable centurion, and that the crumpled moths' delight now spent its idle time on a crude hook which had left a large poke in the wool, just where the swathe was so elegantly flung ov
er my left shoulder.
Whoever he supposed I was, he set off to lead me straight to the old man. Now I was inside at last, I could sense the presence of a large staff. There had to be a steward or chamberlain, yet the porter never thought of consulting a superior about me. It argued a lack of regular dealings with visitors. Still, this saved time.
As I followed my guide, I made rapid observations. After a standard curtained nook where the duty porter sat, we crossed a small hallway tiled in black and gray, then traversed a dark corridor. I could now hear the normal morning noises of a large house: brooms, voices giving domestic instructions. The voices were low, though not exactly hushed. I heard no laughter. No bantering old cooks or larking youths. No dog, no cat, no caged finches. The house was clean, though perhaps not spotless. No bad smells. No particularly pleasant ones either. Neither sandalwood boxes, potted white lilies, nor warm rose balsam bath oil. Either the kitchen was in another part of the house, or today's lunch must be cold.
We had first traversed the atrium. It was old-fashioned and open-roofed, with a small rectangular pool, dry at present. That was because-their first sign of humanity-the Laelii had builders in. Perhaps this was where Gloccus and Cotta bunked off to whenever Helena needed them. If so, here too they were conspicuously absent today, though they could have been sent away because of the trouble over Gaia.
The atrium surrounds had had their walls stripped for repainting, and on one side a small shrine was under construction, the kind of niche where families with well-tended pedigrees keep not just their Lares but ugly busts of their most elevated forebears.
I was taken to a side room. There the porter unceremoniously left me. I began to smell incense: unusual in a private house. The porter had forgotten my name so I had to introduce myself. Luckily, I can do that. I could even name the person I was addressing. It had to be old man Laelius. He might be retired, but he found it impossible to let go. Even now, he wore the robes of his past office: the thick woollen toga praetexta, purple bordered and, according to ritual, woven by the hands of his late wife; and his apex, the conical cap with its earflaps and surmounting olive twig intertwined with white wool.
I took him in quickly. Late sixties, thin-fleshed, wrinkled neck, slightly shaky hands, chin up, a haughty beaked nose to look down and a sneer that went back through five centuries of arrogant ancestors. I had seen him before somewhere; presumably I recognized him from his role in past festivals. It surprised me that I remembered. Until I was landed with the Sacred Geese, I normally stayed in bed during such occurrences.
"Marcus Didius Falco, sir. You must be Publius Laelius Numentinus." He gave me a hard stare, as if he had been the Flamen Dialis for so long it seemed an insult to be addressed by name. But whatever indulgence others granted him, I intended to stick to form. He had retired. The real Flamen Dialis was another man now. He could not complain. I had used his full three names. I used mine too, of course. At one level, we were equal: a democratic joke.
He was enthroned on an ivory stool with arms, like a magistrate. He had been sitting alone in that posture before I entered. Other people might have been reading or writing, but he preferred the brooding stillness of a stone god.
The room was furnished with side tables and lamps, and a small rug lay at his feet, which occupied a footstool. It could have been comfortable, but for the frosty atmosphere.
Helena Justina had brought me up to scratch on flamens when she and I had first talked about Gaia. Jove's priest lived a life so hedged around with restrictive duties he had no time to stray; that was the idea, no doubt. Representing the god, he was untouchable in the strictest sense. When he went out, adding a double cloak to his woolly uniform, he carried a sacrificial knife in one hand (which must have deterred unwelcome contacts) and in the other a long wand with which he kept the populace at a distance. He was preceded by a lictor, but also by criers at whose approach everyone had to lay aside their tasks, for not only was every day a holiday for the Flamen himself (nice life!), but he must never see others working.
There was more. He could not mount, or even touch, a horse. He might not leave the city (except in recent enlightened times, for a maximum of two nights, to carry out unavoidable family duties, if directly sanctioned by the Pontifex Maximus). He could wear no knots (his clothes were fixed with clasps); his rings were split; he was forbidden to name ivy because of its binding properties, or to walk under any pergola that was canopied with vines. If someone in bonds was brought to his house, the fetters were at once struck off and hurled down from the roof; if he encountered a criminal, that person could neither be scourged nor executed. Only a free man could barber a Flamen's beard; it must be cut with a bronze knife; the clippings and his nail trimmings were collected and buried beneath a sacred tree. The Flamen could not remove his tunic or headdress during daylight, lest Jove glimpse his person.
He must avoid dogs (which explained why they had no guard dogs here), she-goats, beans, raw flesh, or fermented dough.
There was probably more, but Helena had seen my eyes glaze over and had spared me. The restrictions seemed outrageous; they were designed to ensure the Flamen never let his mind wander, though he looked to me as if he had retained full control of his thoughts-and his rigid opinions too.
For all that, by virtue of his priesthood, this oddity would have sat in the senate. Still, he probably fitted in among the other eccentrics and crazy men.
Here in his house, everything was arranged to suit his wishes. That did not include me. He looked at me as though I had scuttled out of a drain.
"I understand, sir, that the Emperor has cleared my path with you. Your granddaughter is missing, and I possess experience that may help find her. It is particularly important that you work with me, since you have expressed a wish not to have contact with the vigiles. I regret that. They could have helped save time-and time is vital in a case like this."
"You were recommended as a specialist. Are you saying you are not up to the job?" His voice was thin, his tone edged with malice. I knew what I had here: a wicked old bastard. In families like mine, they wield no power and so can do no harm. This was nothing like my family.
"I shall do my best, sir. You will find it better than average. But success will depend on how much cooperation I receive."
"And what do you offer?"
"A fast, discreet service-on my terms. The most likely solution is that Gaia has imprisoned herself accidentally somewhere in her own home. I have to search your house for hiding places that might attract a child. I have to look everywhere, though you have my assurance that what I see will be immediately forgotten if it is not relevant."
"I understand." His hauteur was chilly.
"I shall knock and wait before entering rooms. I shall give any occupants a chance to remove themselves. I shall work as quickly as I can."
"That is good."
"I do have to be allowed to speak to your family."
"It is acceptable."
"They need not answer any questions they regard as improper, sir." I gave him a level stare. He was intelligent. He knew that refusing fair questions would be informative in itself. "I should also like permission to talk to your staff. It is my intention to limit such interviews. But, for example, Gaia Laelia presumably was entrusted to a nursemaid?"
"There is a girl who looks after her. You may speak to the nurse."
"Thank you." I must be going soft. He did not deserve the restraint I was showing. Still, I could see he expected aggression. I was happy to surprise him.
"And what," asked the ex-Flamen in a tense voice, "are the questions that you wish to put to me?"
XXXI
I took out my note-tablet. I would make jottings occasionally, to look competent. Mostly I just held the stylus still and listened, to show my impeccable tact.
"The investigation must begin with the facts of your granddaughter's disappearance. You have expressed a reluctance to raise the alarm or to involve the authorities. Please tell me why."
; "There is no need. I recently gave instructions that Gaia Laelia is never to go out alone." After she came to see me, presumably. "The door porter would have stopped her-had she tried." I already knew that the door porter still cheerfully left his station unattended.
"You first noticed her missing yesterday?"
"Ask her mother these details."
"Very well." I refused to be thrown. "My sister is acquainted with Caecilia Paeta." I remembered not to land Caecilia in trouble by admitting that I had met her when she came secretly to Maia's house. "I understand her to be sensible." Numentinus looked annoyed at me for commenting. His eyes narrowed; like most people he encountered, I felt that his daughter-in-law aroused mild contempt in him. I was glad I had spoken. I wanted him to know I would evaluate witnesses on my terms. "Let us consider more general issues. The vigiles have been asked to search the city in case Gaia has been abducted. It is a complex task, but they will do as decent a job as they can." I was telling him it would be near impossible to find her, unless the cohorts had some clues. "My own search starts here. If the child is deliberately hiding, or if she has run away, what would make her do that? Was she unhappy, sir?"
"She had no reason to be."
"Her parents live apart. Did their separation distress her?"
"At first." I was surprised he answered, but I suppose he had already realized this would be asked. "My son left home three years ago. Gaia Laelia was an infant. She has accepted the situation." More readily than the old man himself, probably.
"A parental separation might cause arguments that could have frightened her? But later she must have realized she remained in a secure and loving home." Numentinus looked suspicious, as though he thought I was being ironic. "Are you willing to answer questions about why your son, Laelius Scaurus, left?"
"No. Keep to the subject." After that, I did not dare ask about the possibility of Gaia's parents divorcing, let alone the relationship between Scaurus and his aunt. I would have to tackle that with somebody, though. Somebody else.
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