There was no time to wonder. They all seemed to be expecting us. We had packed into the room with little formality. I was still held by the Guards. Anacrites tried to merge into the wall fresco, looking like a very dead still-life duck. Young Aelianus stepped forward. At a nod from the Flamen, he made a short prepared speech. It was much like the plea for mercy that he made to the Chief Vestal last night. With time to consider what he was doing, he had become more hesitant, but he acquitted himself decently.
Before replying, the Flamen Dialis leaned towards Numentinus as if to confirm his agreement. They exchanged a low murmur, then this time they both nodded. The Praetorians stepped aside from me. The Flamen Dialis struck a pose and affected to notice me. He started and covered his eyes theatrically. Assuming a sudden air of horror, he cried in a loud voice, "A man in chains! Strike them off in accordance with the ritual!"
***
I believe that sometimes criminals are freed formally from fetters by sending for a blacksmith who cracks open the links. That must be a satisfying form of release. But Anacrites had always been a cheapskate. (It was not his fault. Shortage of resources went with his job.) He had originally secured the fetters with a padlock, and on the Flamen's word, he undid them carefully with the proper key, so they could be kept for reuse.
The ironmongery was then carried from the room, and we all waited in silence until we heard the racket as it was hurled off the Flaminia's roof. There were metallic scuffles afterwards, as the links were gathered up frugally. Anacrites winked at the Praetorians, who gave a smart salute in unison, then removed themselves, their boots thumping scratchily on the floorboards. The Flaminica winced. Perhaps it was a ritual that she went on her knees and applied the beeswax herself. Perhaps she was just a careful housewife with a respect for antique carpentry.
"You are a free man," confirmed the Flamen Dialis.
"Thank you," I said to everyone.
As I rubbed my bruised limbs, the new Flamen spoke gravely from the curule chair. "Marcus Didius Falco, I have decided you should receive an explanation of certain matters."
He asked his attendants to leave the room. He and his wife, together with Numentinus, remained. So did I. So, at a gesture from the Flamen, did Camillus Aelianus. He came and stood alongside me. He looked pleased with himself, and I did not begrudge him that.
Out of unwilling respect for the other man who had helped save my life, I said, "I would like Anacrites to hear this too." He was allowed to stay. He kept well back, looking humble. Well, as humble as it is possible to be if you are a lousy-natured spy.
The Flamen Dialis addressed Aelianus and me. "You two have been attempting to discover the identity of the Arval Brother who was murdered in the Sacred Grove of the Dea Dia."
We said nothing.
"His name was Ventidius Silanus."
Less experienced than me, Aelianus was on the verge of bursting out that we already knew as much. I gripped his arm unobtrusively.
It was Laelius Numentinus, staring ahead fixedly, who then volunteered to tell us what I had privately guessed: "Ventidius Silanus was married to Terentia Paulla, my late wife's sister."
It seemed courteous not to comment; it would have been difficult to do so tactfully at first. I breathed slowly, then somehow ignored the scandalous aspects and said in a deferential tone, "We offer our commiserations, sir." I breathed again. "That gives us a lot to think about. However, with respect, it does not alter the urgent need to find your little granddaughter. I hope you will still accept help to search for her?" Numentinus inclined his white head stiffly. "Then I shall go home quickly now to see my wife. When I have washed off the stench of prison, I shall return to your house and continue where I left off yesterday."
Nobody said the obvious: according to what the Master of the Arval Brethren had let Aelianus and me believe, Terentia Paulla, wife to the late Ventidius, was a crazy murderess.
Did that mean that this madwoman had also killed little Gaia?
LI
Outside the Flaminia, we three pulled up to catch our breath.
I offered my hand to Anacrites. We clasped arms like military blood brothers.
"Thanks. You saved my life."
"So we are quits, Falco."
"I shall always be grateful, Anacrites."
I gazed at him. He gazed at me. We would never be quits.
I clasped hands with Aelianus too and then, since he was in effect my brother-in-law, I embraced him. He looked surprised. Not as surprised as I was to find myself doing it. "This was your idea, Aulus? You organized everything?"
"If a ploy fails once, just repeat it with more verve."
"Sounds like the wonderful nonsense that informers spout!"
Aelianus grinned. "Anacrites suggested I was doing so well at this, I ought to continue working with you. When you have taught me a few things, he says there might be an opening in the security service with him."
He could have told me this in confidence later, which is what I would have done in his shoes. Anacrites and I glared at each other. We could both see that Aelianus had deliberately said it in front of both of us. He was not the pushover we both had taken him for.
Anacrites tried to make light of it. "I'm letting you have him first, Falco."
"But you'll take advantage of the experience I give him? I train him, then you pinch him?"
"You owe me now."
"Anacrites, I owe you zilch!" I turned to Aelianus. "As for you, you reprobate, let's not pretend you want to set aside your purple stripes and go slumming." Aelianus did not really believe I had anything to teach him; if he joined me, his only desire would be to show me how to do my job by effortlessly surpassing me. "I am supposed to be in partnership with your brother-when he deigns to show his face."
Aelianus grinned. "He pinched my girl-I'll pinch his position!"
"Well, that's fair," I commented, quoting him on another subject.
After a moment we were all laughing.
***
We calmed down.
"That was a facer about Ventidius," I said. We all walked slowly towards the Circus side of the Palatine where a path wound down.
"Have you been told the whole story now, I wonder?" Anacrites mused. He was not so dumb sometimes.
"Doubt it. Just enough to keep us off their backs. It does explain a lot. The ex-Vestal married a man who turned out to be a lecher-and so shameless that he even tried it on with one of her own female relatives-Caecilia Paeta, her nephew's wife; Caecilia told me herself. The rest now fits: Terentia presumably heard about it. Perhaps Caecilia told her, or the other one-Laelia, the ex-Flamen's daughter. So Terentia runs wild and slays Ventidius in the Sacred Grove, bloodily cutting his throat and saving the drips as if he were the white beast at a religious sacrifice."
Aelianus took up the story: "To the Arval Brothers this must have been a double horror. The corpse was a terrible sight-I can vouch for that-but it must also have seemed that night as if every cult in the old religion was touched by the scandal: the Arvals themselves, the Vestals, and even the College of Flamens-"
"Right," I said. "The dead man was an Arval, and it happened in the Sacred Grove; the killer was a Vestal. Ventidius had been the lover of the previous Flaminica. That seems to have been common knowledge in Rome. Certainly most women knew. Then, to cap it all, the whole bunch is related to the child who has been picked out as the next Vestal."
"So that was why a coverup was so readily agreed upon?" suggested Anacrites. "Influence?"
We stopped, on the heights just by the carefully preserved (that is, entirely rebuilt) supposed Hut of Romulus.
"Looks like it. Numentinus was definitely nagging the Arvals about something; he was at the Master's house the next night, and they did not sound too pleased about it. They were even less pleased about us," I said. "Everything would probably have worked very smoothly, if Aelianus and I had not started to poke about. The corpse was spirited away and a funeral held very quietly. Terentia is to be looked after and
guarded, eventually no doubt at her own home, though my guess is that as a first move she has been taken in by Laelius Numentinus, perhaps out of some regard for his dead wife. She has been living in a guestroom, though when I turned up to search she had to be packed off hastily to the Vestals' House, out of the way. As she is one of their own, the Virgins would agree to tend her."
"Would her presence explain why Numentinus did not want the vigiles to come in after the child disappeared?" Anacrites asked.
"You heard about that?"
"I keep in touch," he bragged.
"The vigiles might have sniffed out the scandal. And this explains the nonsense Laelius Scaurus told me about his aunt wanting a legal guardian. As an ex-Vestal, she would not need one, but arrangements are essential now. She must have been declared furiosa-not to be prissy, a raving lunatic. Somebody has to be her custodian."
"Can she choose her own?" Aelianus asked.
"If she has moments of lucidity, why not?"
"But is she still dangerous?"
"After the way Ventidius was killed, she must be. That was not just an angry wife, lashing out with the nearest cooking knife. You cannot say it was a sudden act that she will never repeat. She planned it; she took the implements to the Grove; she dressed up in religious style; she murdered the man, and then carried out an extraordinary sequence of actions with his blood…"
Aelianus shuddered. "Remember the cloth I saw covering the dead man's face? Now I know about the rituals involved, I think it must have been one of those veils priestesses wear when they attend a sacrifice."
"And Vestals," I said.
"Vestals," said Anacrites, picking holes as usual, "never actually cut throats."
"Looks like this one learned to do it, once she got herself a husband."
"A warning to all of us?"
"Oh?" I asked coldly, thinking about Maia. "Are you considering marriage then, Anacrites?"
He just laughed, the way spies love to do, and looked mysterious.
***
Anacrites left us when we reached the Aventine. For one thing, he was going to ingratiate himself with Ma, pretending that the rescue of her bonny boy had been all his own idea. I could set her straight. Not that my mother would listen to me when she could choose to believe Anacrites instead.
He had another plan too: "While you go back to the Laelius house, Falco, I'll trot along to the House of the Vestals and see whether any sense can be extracted from Terentia Paulla."
"The Virgins won't let you in."
"Yes they will," he replied, gloating. "I'm the Chief Spy!"
I took Aelianus with me, but when we came to Fountain Court I asked him to join the early morning queue at the stall Cassius the baker ran, to buy some breakfast rolls. I wanted to go up ahead of him and see Helena on my own. He understood.
Helena must have stayed up all night. She was sitting in her wicker chair, beside the baby's cradle, holding Julia as if she had been feeding her. They were both fast asleep.
Very gently, I lifted the baby from Helena's arms. Julia awoke, wondering whether to cry or chortle, then greeted me with a loud cry of "Dog!"
"Olympus, her first word! She thinks I'm Nux."
Startled by the baby's exclamation, Helena roused herself. "She knows the dog. Her father is a stranger. I am disappointed, though. I have been trying so hard to teach her to say 'Aristotelian Philosophy'-Where have you been, Marcus?"
"Long story. Starts in the House of the Vestals and ends in the death cell at the Mamertine."
"Oh, nothing to worry about then…"
I sat Julia in her cradle. Helena was on her feet and clasping me to her with relief. I clung back, as if she was the only floating spar in the ocean, and I was a drowning man.
"I thought I would never see you again!"
"Me too, fruit."
After a long time she leaned back, sniffing. For a moment I thought she was crying, but it was straight detective work.
"Sorry. I just stink of jail."
"You do," she said, using a special voice. "And of something else. I know you like to try out promising skin lotions, my darling, but since when have you dabbed iris oil behind your ears?"
I must have been still rather tired. "That would be what the Virgin Constantia wears off duty, I fear."
"Really."
"Cloying, but persistent. Survives even a night's incarceration in the filthiest jail. Don't be annoyed. I don't chase after women."
"You don't need to. I gather they chase after you! And they catch you, I can tell."
How fortunate that Helena's dear brother arrived at that moment, releasing me from this awkwardness. He seemed to know what was wanted. As an assistant, Camillus Aelianus was shaping up in superb style.
I washed. We took in food and water. I kissed Helena good-bye; she turned her head away, though she just about let me near her. Nux, who had no qualms about my loyalty, ran up barking and hopefully brought me the rope that I used as her lead sometimes. I accepted the plea, in order to show Helena that I responded to love.
As we descended the stairs to the street, I saw Maia approaching. She was dressed demurely in white, with her curls fairly well taped down. She was holding hands with Cloelia, also kitted out like a religious offering.
"Marcus! We are just going to watch the lottery. We decided we may as well witness the flummery. There may be fascinating refreshments, we think, don't we, Cloelia?"
"Did you find Gaia?" Cloelia asked me, frowning at her mother's frivolity.
"Not yet. I am going back to search again."
"Cloelia wants to tell you something," Maia said, graver now.
"What's this, Cloelia?"
"Uncle Marcus, has something bad happened to Gaia?"
"I hope not. But I am very worried. Do you know anything that might help?"
"She told me not to tell. But I think I ought to mention it now. Gaia has an aunt she thinks is mad. The aunt said she would kill Gaia. Gaia told her mother and her grandfather, but nobody seemed to believe her. Does that help you?"
"Yes. Thank you, Cloelia; it helps a lot. Was there anything else?"
"No, Uncle Marcus."
Petronius Longus had come out of the laundry, on his way to work, and had walked across. "Maia! Want somebody to come with you today? I know you can't expect support from this unreliable brother of yours."
"No thanks," Maia told him coolly. "I was married for years. I am quite used to dealing with family business on my own."
She left. Petro scowled.
"Rubella has sent some of our lads to fetch that Scaurus," said Petro in a level tone. "He should be with you later this morning, Falco."
"Usual story," I told him. "Mad aunt. Case solved-but unfortunately, no body."
"If it's a case with a body, there's no hurry." The vigiles have to have a brutal outlook. "So it's a mad aunt? I'm not surprised. With their snobbery and strict marriage requirements, the priestly colleges are inbred to the point of utter lunacy. It's well known." Petro looked Aelianus up and down. He did not even bother to be rude to him. He just said to me, "Let me know when you are ready to call in the specialists."
"It's all right," I said, sneering back. "We are not expecting any fires." He hated being regarded as just part of the fire brigade.
Taking Aelianus and the dog, I set off for the final time to the house of the Laelii.
LII
The scent of incense seemed stale today, like so many of the occupants' relationships.
Drawn magically by the hint of trouble to gawp at, the builders had returned, bringing even their project manager, that mythical figure who normally just fails to order materials on time and who can never be contacted because he is always at some other, more important site.
In order to justify watching and listening to everything, the men were busily finishing the shrine in the atrium. The lower two-thirds of the shrine took the form of a cupboard with double doors, which were now receiving their final polish; the top section represented a te
mple, with ornately carved Corinthian columns at each side. Already someone had placed there the dancing Lares and Penates, poor little bronze gods who would have their work cut out bringing good fortune to this miserable household. On the shelves of the cupboard below were kept lamps and vases, and a selection of religious implements: spare flaminical hats, sacrificial vessels, jugs and bowls. Together on one side were items which must have been kept as a memorial of the late Flaminica: her conical purple hat and her sacrificial knife.
I lifted out the knife. It had a thick handle, in the form of an eagle's head, and that special design, with a broad stumpy blade made of bronze, both sides of which were slightly curved, almost trowel-shaped.
"There is no sheath," commented Aelianus. I knew what he meant.
"Lost it," said one of the workmen. "Must have happened when they moved house. Terrible stink when they couldn't find it. Of course," he said, self-righteously, "we got the blame."
"But you had nothing to do with it?" I knew they had not.
Aelianus handled the knife, being extremely cautious. It was finely sharpened, as it had to be in use. "You would think cutting animals' throats was no job for a woman."
"Oh, you soon get used to it." We turned, startled, to see Statilia Laelia watching us. "My mother told me. She used to joke that you could tell a sacrificing priestess anywhere; they develop strong forearms."
"I had always assumed that an assistant actually slew the beasts for the Flaminica," I said.
Laelia smiled. "Women are far less squeamish than you think, Falco."
She turned away. Then she spun back. "Juno! Is that a dog?" Nux wagged her tail. "We cannot have that here, Falco!"
"I have brought this dog to conduct a further search for Gaia. Anyone who has a ritual objection can go out for the day. The dog stays."
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