One Virgin Too Many mdf-11

by Lindsey Davis

  "Have you told her that Gaia had gone missing?" Caecilia looked uneasy. I was crisp. "If Gaia felt close to her and has run away, she may turn up at Terentia's house."

  "Oh, we would be told!"

  "Where does Terentia live?"

  "Her husband's house is twenty miles outside Rome." Too far for a child to make the journey alone easily-though runaways have been known to cover astonishing distances. "I shall need an address."

  Caecilia seemed flustered. "There's no need for this-Gaia knew very well that Terentia is away from home at present."

  "Why? Is she in Rome?"

  "She comes sometimes."

  I could not see why Caecilia was stalling. "Look, I'm just considering people Gaia might run to."

  She still looked distressed. She had picked up a model bull from Gaia's farm and was twisting it in her fingers obsessively. I knew she must be lying about something, but I let her think I had swallowed it. "Have you informed your husband that Gaia is gone?"

  "I am not allowed to contact him."

  "Oh, come! Not only is this rather important-but I do know you wrote to him only this week saying his aunt wished to see him." Caecilia's head spun towards me. "I have met your husband. He told me himself."

  "What did he say to you?" Caecilia gasped, rather too carefully. Was she afraid he might have criticized her conduct in their marriage?

  "Nothing to alarm you. We talked mostly about a guardianship issue."

  She seemed horrified. "I cannot discuss that."

  Since I thought the ridiculous tale Scaurus spun me was all nonsense, I felt startled. Was there another guardianship issue, not involving the ex-Vestal? I started getting tough. "Laelius Scaurus came up to town this week to see his aunt and other members of the family. Now what's the truth about this?"

  Caecilia shook her head extremely vigorously. "It was just a family conference."

  "Something to do with Gaia?"

  "Nothing to do with her."

  "Is Terentia Paulla causing trouble?"

  "In fairness to her, no."

  "So what's the problem?"

  "Nothing." She was lying again. Why?

  "Did this 'nothing' make Gaia upset, do you think?"

  "It was just something that had to be arranged, a legal matter," said the mother, sighing. "Terentia wanted my husband to be consulted; his father thought Scaurus should not be involved."

  "What do you think?"

  "Scaurus was useless!" she complained, quite violently. "He always is." For a moment she sounded worn out by trying to cope. I could now understand why she might have accepted Scaurus' departure from Rome with some relief. After this brief glimpse of her frustration with him, she made an attempt to deflect me by saying, "Many of Gaia's things here were presents from Aunt Terentia and Uncle Tiberius."

  I went with it. "Uncle Tiberius? He would have been Terentia Paulla's husband? The one who died? Was that very recently?"

  Another troubled look crossed Caecilia's pale face. "Quite recent, yes."

  "That was why you needed the family conference, was it?"

  I seemed to have caught her off guard. "Well, yes. It arose from his death."

  "When my sister first came here to call on you, most of the family were at a funeral-were you cremating Terentia's husband?" Caecilia's face confirmed it, though she looked hunted; perhaps she was remembering how angry the ex-Flamen had been about Maia visiting. "Excuse me asking, but is it not unusual for a retired Vestal to marry?"

  "Yes."

  "That's a bit terse! Was it another cause of conflict here?"

  "Oh yes," answered Caecilia, with a sudden release of emotion. "Yes, Falco. It caused more conflict than you can ever realize!"

  I waited for an explanation, but the drama had been enough for her. She wore a trace of defiance, as though she were glad she had spoken out-yet now she buttoned up. I thought of something that could explain a few things: "When Vestals retire, they are often awarded large dowries by the Emperor, are they not?"

  With her composure restored, Caecilia agreed quietly. "Yes, Aunt Terentia was well endowed financially. But that was not the attraction for Uncle Tiberius. He was a very wealthy man himself."

  "So what was the attraction?" I ventured. Wrong move, Falco! Caecilia looked offended, and I backed off smartly. "Now he's dead, does Terentia inherit?"

  "Probably. I don't think she has even considered it. She has been far too taken up with other concerns."

  "Everything I hear about Terentia suggests she will have her financial situation well in hand… What concerns?"

  "Just family business… What has this to do with finding Gaia, please?"

  Caecilia was more intelligent than first impressions implied. She was learning how to dodge the questions. I could handle that. Noting which ones she ducked could prove useful.

  An unplanned question came to me helpfully: "Did you like Uncle Tiberius?"

  "No." It was swift and decisive.

  I stared at her. "Why was that?" I used a neutral tone first. Then, when she did not answer, I asked more dryly, "Did he jump you?"

  "He made advances, yes." Her voice was tight. This was an unexpected development.

  "Advances you rebuffed?"

  "Of course I did!" She was angry now.

  "Was this after he married?"

  "Yes. He had been married to Aunt Terentia little more than a year. He was a loathsome man. He thought every woman was at his disposal-and unfortunately, he had the knack of persuading too many to believe it."

  When she fell silent, I saw she was trembling slightly. My thoughts were racing. Was the deceased just a regular sex pest fingering married women-or was he even worse? "Caecilia Paeta, please don't distress yourself. I have to ask you a very unpleasant question. If that was the situation-is there any possibility the ghastly Tiberius ever tried to make advances to little Gaia?"

  Caecilia took a long time answering, though she received the question more calmly than I had feared. She was a mother, fluttery in some ways, but she did not flinch from protecting her child. "I was nervous about that. I did consider it. But no," she said slowly. "I know it happens, especially with young slaves. But when I thought about it, I was sure Uncle Tiberius had no interest in children." She paused, then forced out with difficulty, "I was afraid, in my heart, that it might become awkward later, when Gaia grew up-but he is dead, so there is no need to worry any longer, is there?" she concluded with relief.

  "So Gaia certainly has not had to run away because of Uncle Tiberius?"

  "No. She knows he is dead, of course. Falco, is that all you want from me?"

  I reckoned I had tried her far enough. I had made more progress than I had expected, even if I did not yet understand the full significance of some of her answers. I felt the conversation had been especially harrowing for Caecilia. She must be under great pressure from Numentinus to keep family issues from me. We had been skirting more secrets than the old man would like.

  "Yes, thank you. May I make a suggestion: Scaurus deserves to hear about Gaia. Send word to him today. And regarding Uncle Tiberius groping you, don't carry that alone either. Tell someone."

  She allowed herself to look grateful. As she fled the room, she gasped out, "That's all right. I did."

  She was gone before I could ask her who her confidant was.

  XXXIII

  While I was in the vicinity, I searched the rest of the bedrooms on that corridor. A slave was sponging a floor, and since my escort had been deliberately chosen by the old man to be useless, this woman left her bucket and told me who used each place; all were members of the family. It is always entertaining to explore other people's closets and sleeping quarters, especially when they have been given little warning that you will be popping along to do it. Burglars must have quite a few laughs. But of course, my lips are sealed. I had promised the ex-Flamen confidentiality, and he was not a man to cross.

  Caecilia and the couple had large, decently equipped rooms. Caecilia had set hers out extrem
ely neatly, as if she spent a lot of time alone there. Hiding from the family? Well, maybe she just had a very well-organized lady's maid. The Pomonalis and his wife owned more clutter; judging from the boxes piled along one wall, it looked as if they had still not finished unpacking fully after the family's enforced house move. Ariminius used an unfortunate variety of hair pomade. I spread some on my hand and had great trouble removing the strong stink afterwards. It was crocus, but from its staying power could have been garlic.

  I had to send for a crowbar to force open all the sealed boxes, if only to show I had been thorough. Since I had been told by Gaia that her family wanted to kill her, it was a nerve-racking task. I could be about to discover a hidden corpse.

  So far, I hated the setup, yet found it hard to believe Gaia's story. This was a family in constant turmoil-yet with no evidence of real malice. I asked the escorting slave to find me the child's nurse. The man went off reluctantly.

  "Not one to look for the joys in life." I grinned at the fat woman with the sponge. "Have I finished here?"

  "One more room around the corner." Oh? Who could that belong to?

  She waddled off ahead of me, willingly pointing out the extra bedroom. It was as large as the others, but subtly improved in decor. There were Egyptian rugs beside the high bed, instead of mere Italian wool. Female garments lay folded in a chest, though nothing was in the cupboards. A comb, with a few long gray hairs caught in its teeth, lay on a shelf beside a green glass alabastron that contained a sweeter perfume than the crocus goo that still accompanied me if I waved my hand about.

  I looked at the slave. She looked back at me. She pursed her lips. "We had people who used to stay here," she announced, still meeting my eye rather pointedly.

  "That sounds a bit peculiar," I observed frankly. This one was a character. She nodded, admiring her own acting. "Somebody told you to say that."

  "They lived out of Rome," she added, as if just remembering her rehearsal. "One of them died, and they do not come anymore."

  "These mysterious visitors' names wouldn't have been Terentia and Tiberius?" She gave me a slow nod. "And you are not supposed to talk about them to me?" Another nod. I looked around the room. "You know, I think somebody has been here very recently!" Somebody who left in a hurry, departing the house in a carrying-chair only as I arrived today, I reckoned. So why were the Laelii so concerned to distract me from knowing that Terentia Paulla was a recent guest?

  Unfortunately, that was the end of the pantomime. I did hope the slave would privately expand on it, but when I asked, she shook her head. Still, I can be grateful for an anonymous tip (and believe me, clues were so skinnily arrayed here that I was more generous than usual when I dipped into my arm purse). But the trouble with oblique hints like that is you can never work out what they mean.

  "Any ideas what happened to the little girl?" I asked conspiratorially.

  "I'd tell you if I had, sir."

  "Anyone here she is particularly friendly with?"

  "No. She never has friends, that I know of. Well," said my new source, sneering, "not many would meet the right standards for the people here, would they?"

  The male slave was returning, with a girl who must be Gaia's nurse.

  "I'm surprised they let you in!" scoffed the floor-mopper to me, as she toddled back to work.

  XXXIV

  Gaia's nurse was an eye-catcher: a short, sturdily built, swarthy, hairy slave from somewhere unsavory in the east. She probably worshipped gods with harsh, five-syllable names and cannibalistic habits. She looked as if she were descended from trousered archers who could ride horses bareback and shoot backwards sneakily. In fact, even if I were trying not to be unkind, facially she looked as if one of her own parents might have been a horse.

  The looks belied her cowed nature. As a barbarian, she was a cipher. I did not need to witness her trying to supervise little Gaia to realize that any six-year-old with spirit could push this beauty about. Locking her in a pantry was too extreme; I bet Gaia Laelia could have ordered nursey to sit motionless on a thistle for six hours, and the girl would have been too terrified to disobey.

  "I know nothing!" When she spoke, it was in an accent that the children in my family would have imitated happily for weeks, spluttering with hysterical laughter every time. Even lacking an audience, Gaia could probably imitate her cruelly. And reduce the nurse to sobs doing it.

  She had been thrashed. They were new bruises. From the picturesque array, I guessed that after Gaia went missing yesterday, several people had tried to force this girl to answer questions, then when she produced no answers each had resorted to punishment. The nurse thought she had been brought here so that I could thrash her again.

  "Sit down on that chest."

  It took her a long time to believe I meant it. This may have been the first time she had ever sat in the presence of the freeborn. I was under no illusions; she probably despised me for not knowing my place.

  We were still in what had been described as the guestroom. I busied myself looking under the bed, even pulling it away from the wall and peering into the accumulated dust at the back of it.

  "I am looking for Gaia. Something very bad may have happened to her, and she has to be found quickly. Do you understand?" I dropped my voice. "I shall not whip you if you answer my questions quickly and truthfully."

  The nurse glared at me with sullen eyes. Any trustworthiness in her nature had been beaten out of her long ago. She was spoiled as a witness-and spoiled as a child's nurse too, in my opinion.

  Still, what did I know? My baby had never had one. The way we were going, I would never experience the anxiety of choosing, instructing, and no doubt eventually dismissing somebody to help with Julia. Some ill-trained, immature, uninterested foreigner for whom our baby represented a spoiled, rude Roman brat with spoiled, rude Roman parents, all of whom Fortune had spared from slavery and suffering for no obvious reason-unlike the conjectural nurse who would think herself, but for Fortune, as good as us. As, but for Fortune, she might well have been.

  "Right." I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at this one. "Your name?"

  "Athene."

  I sighed slowly. Who does these things? It was hard to think of anything more inappropriate.

  "You look after Gaia. Do you like doing that?" A grim look in response. "Does Gaia like you?"

  "No."

  "Is the child allowed to beat you as the adults do?"

  "No." Well, that was something.

  "But she locked you in a pantry the other day, I hear?" Silence. "It sounds to me as though she is treated like a little queen here. I don't suppose that makes her very well behaved?" No reply. "Right. Well, listen, Athene. You are in serious trouble. If Gaia Laelia has come to any harm, you-being her nurse-will be the first suspect. It is the law in Rome that if anyone freeborn dies in suspicious circumstances, the entire complement of slaves in the household is put to death. You need to convince me that you meant her no harm. You had better show you want this little girl rescued from whatever trouble she is in."

  "She's not dead, is she?" Athene seemed genuinely horrified. "She's only run away again."

  "Again? Are you talking about the day you were locked up?" A nod this time. "Gaia was coming to see me that day, and I sent her home afterwards. Has she ever suggested to you that she wanted to run away permanently?"

  "No."

  "Does she confide in you?"

  "She's a quiet one." The Gaia I had met had spoken out confidently; somebody must have engaged her in conversation regularly.

  I gazed at the girl, then sprang on her. "Do you think someone in the family wants to kill Gaia?"

  Her jaw dropped. Not an attractive sight. It was a new idea to Athene.

  They kept their secrets well here. It was no surprise. They dealt in ritual and mystery. In my view, religion had nothing to do with it. The fanciful rites of the ancient cults, where only the favored may communicate with the gods, are about power in the state. Easy to extend the sam
e system to within the family. Every head of household is his own chief priest. Luckily we are not all expected to wear bonnets with olive prongs and earflaps. I'd sooner emigrate to a Cappadocian beanfield.

  Athene really did not know Gaia had been afraid of being killed. The child had confided in me, a complete stranger, yet knew she must not risk telling her own nurse. Well, I could see a reason for that: the nurse answered to the family.

  It's a myth that the slaves always know all the dark secrets in a household. They know more than they are supposed to, yes-but never everything. A successful slave-owner will release confidences selectively: you have to give away the scandals that are merely embarrassing, like adultery and bankruptcy and the time your grandmother wet herself in the best dining room, but keep absolutely silent about the impending treason charge, your three bastards, and how much you are really worth.

  "Right, Athene; tell me about yesterday."

  With much prompting, I drew out the same story Caecilia had told about Gaia's morning: breakfast with the family; weaving; then play in a garden here at home.

  "So when did you decide that you had lost her?" Athene gave me a sly look. "Never mind when you really reported it." I had seen that look a hundred times. Liars often give themselves away; it can be almost as if they are begging, or daring, you to find out the true story. "Don't mess me about. When did you first notice?"

  "Near lunchtime."

  "You mean, beforehand?"

  "Yes," admitted the girl sullenly.

  "Why did you tell Gaia's mother the child had chosen to eat lunch by herself?"

  "She does that!"

  "Yes, but this time you knew you could not find her. You should have told the truth. Why did you lie? Were you frightened?"

  Athene said nothing. I sympathized, but her behavior had been illogical and dangerous.

  "Why do you think Gaia likes to eat lunch alone?"

  "To get away from them," growled the nurse. It was her first sign of honesty. "I just thought she had hidden herself somewhere. I thought she would turn up."