Laelia bustled off, probably to complain to her husband or her father. Nux sat down on the atrium floor and scratched herself.
Aelianus gingerly replaced the knife. "Somebody has given this a splendidly good clean, Falco."
"Got it to come up nicely, haven't they?" the workman agreed.
Unlike us, he did not know that what had been cleaned off was probably the blood of the murdered Ventidius Silanus.
***
We took Nux to little Gaia's bedroom. I let her sniff around, then showed her one of the child's shoes. Nux lay down with her head between her paws, as if she was waiting for me to throw it.
"This won't work," scoffed my new assistant. He had a lot to learn. To start with: knowing when to shut up.
I gave Nux the shoe, which she agreed to carry while I led her downstairs and into the peristyle garden. The workmen were now mucking about with the pool, but they happily abandoned that and came to watch me. I led the dog around the colonnade. Nux liked that. She sniffed all the columns with interest. I turned her loose. She dropped the shoe and bounded off to explore the bags where the workmen were keeping their lunch.
I called her back. She came, sauntering reluctantly. "Nux, you are hopeless. Helena is a better sniffer dog than you. I wish I had brought her."
"You want a proper hunting hound for this," Aelianus said, sneering.
"Know anybody who owns one?"
"Plenty."
"Here in Rome?"
"Of course not. People hunt in the country."
"Well then, keep quiet until you can offer something useful."
I showed Nux the clump of twigs bound together that Gaia had played with while pretending to clean out the Temple of Vesta. Puzzled, Nux shook it about in her teeth, then let it fall, waiting for a different game.
One of the workmen remarked, "The little sprat had a better mop than that. I made her one with real horsehair, like those the Vestals really use."
Where was it?
***
I left Aelianus to talk to the men about the day Gaia disappeared. I could trust him with that. Presumably if they had anything useful to say, they would have offered it when the alarm was first raised.
I led my hopeless bloodhound to the other garden. Off the leash the scruffy bundle of fur wandered about, digging potholes, sniffing leaves, and looking back at me to see what behavior I wanted. I was still holding Gaia's shoe, so I hurled it as far as I could into the undergrowth in the distance. Nux ran off and vanished. I sat on a bench, waiting for her to get bored.
No gardeners were about today. I was completely alone. Sometimes you have no idea what progress you are making with a case. Sometimes it all seems to be sorted, yet you find yourself niggled by the feeling that what looks straightforward cannot be that simple. I kept wondering what I had missed here. There were gaps in the story, gaps so well disguised that I could not even see where they existed, let alone try to fill them. I knew I was on the wrong tack. I just could not see why I felt that way.
It was still early morning, but now much warmer than when I was hauled out of the Mamertine. Blue sky was gradually deepening in color above me. Bees explored what long strands of herbage remained. A blackbird foraged among upended pots, wildly tossing aside unwanted leaves. I took one of those moments when I ought to have been busy, but hoped letting the quietness seep into my spirit might refresh me and bring me a bright idea. What could I do, anyway? I had searched yesterday as thoroughly as I knew how.
A woman came out from the house to my right. Someone I had never seen before. She was alone. A tallish, slim, middle-aged female, wearing gray in several layers, long full skirts and a graceful stole. She came straight to me and joined me on the bench. I noticed she wore a wedding ring.
"You must be Falco." I made no reply, but glanced sideways uneasily, hoping for backup.
She had a face, bare of paint but probably well tended, which had gone past youth; her skin was still firm and her movements were easy. Gray eyes watched me with a bold, challenging air. She was unafraid of men. My guess was, she had never been afraid of anything. But then, courage is a form of lunacy. And of course, the woman who had killed Ventidius Silanus must have been both courageous and completely mad.
LIII
Oddly enough, she looked perfectly sane.
Her eyes still considered me, lucid, serene, visibly intelligent. Women who have completed successful careers acquire a certain address. She was used to taking decisions, speaking out, leading the ceremonial.
Maybe it depends on your starting point. Maybe we are all mad in our own ways. Mind you, not many of us could slash the throat of another human. Not off the battlefield; not in cold blood.
"I understand you took a considerable risk last night, Falco, in order to speak to me." I moved my head in assent. She was definitely the ex-Vestal, Terentia. "Some informer! You never found me, never came near me."
"No, I apologize."
"I suppose you saw the other chit instead." I looked mystified. "Constantia. You know who I mean."
"Yes, I saw her."
"What did you think?"
"A talented young woman. She should go far."
"Or to the bad!" humphed Terentia. "A latter-day Postumia!"
"Postumia?"
"Don't you know your history? She was tried for unchastity; she had dressed too elegantly, and spoken too freely and wittily. The Pontifex Maximus acquitted her of the sexual charge, but Postumia was warned to behave more becomingly, to stop making jokes and to dress less smartly."
"I am shocked."
"You are a clown, Falco. Someone else came badgering me this morning," Terentia grumbled. "That dreadful man Anacrites."
"Did you see him?"
"Certainly not. I left by the other door and came straight here. I do not communicate with spies."
So much for Anacrites' self-confidence! "He will follow you here."
"Probably."
She looked less mad than my own aunts, most of whom are contentious harridans with a tendency to throw burning-hot skillets around. All the same-well, perhaps because of my dear aunties-I did not relax.
"May I talk to you?" I asked meekly. "I am not a spy, merely a Procurator of the Sacred Geese, ma'am."
"My name is Terentia Paulla, as you well know." I thought to myself that proper lunatics were supposed to believe themselves to be Julius Caesar. Mind you, this one issued orders like a dictator, right enough. "As for you," she said, "I imagine that after your escapade at the Vestals' House, you will find it expedient to resign from your curation of the poultry."
"No, no; I'll stand my ground. I have learned to enjoy the post."
"Vespasian will sacrifice your sinecure in the next round of public spending cuts."
"I agree that's a possibility."
"I shall suggest it to him myself," said Terentia, in the full hauteur of an ex-Virgin. Well, that would save me bestirring myself. I was starting to feel very glad Maia's daughter would not become a Virgin. We would not want Cloelia coming back to us in thirty years' time as rude and provocative as this.
With my bright new credentials under attack, I decided to turn tough. "If it is not impolite to ask, why did you marry Ventidius?"
"It is impolite. Because he asked me. He was an attractive, urbane, amusing man, with a great deal of money too. He had been, as I am sure you know, my sister's lover for a very long time."
"You were not afraid of upsetting your sister?"
"I daresay I intended it." I tried not to look shocked. I could see why Helena's mother, Julia Justa, that most rational and socially restrained of women, had spoken of Terentia with dislike. The ex-Virgin was not just awkward; she actively enjoyed being unlikeable. "My sister paraded her conquest shamefully and laid rather too much emphasis on telling me the details, pointing out how her bedroom activities contrasted with my own chaste life. She forgot that my vowed thirty years would end one day. Statilia Paulla was ill. She was not aware that I knew it, but when our betrothal was
announced I realized I would not be depriving her of her lover for long." Terentia paused. "Still, it should have been longer than it was."
"Her illness advanced very rapidly?"
"No, Falco. She opened her veins in her bath. My sister killed herself."
She was quite matter-of-fact. Was this the unfeeling outspokenness of a crazy woman, or simply that, like an extremely sane one, Terentia saw no purpose in messing me about? At any rate, it meant there had been yet another crisis, yet another tragedy, disrupting this terrible family. I began to understand why the ex-Flamen spoke as he did of his wife's death; she would presumably have died anyway, but she had deprived him of his own position before time, and deliberately.
"So then," Terentia continued softly, "I married Ventidius. I had no choice."
"Why? "
"Well, don't you see? I thought I could control him. My sister had managed it before she became ill."
"I don't follow."
"He was a very old friend of the family-"
"The very friendly 'Uncle Tiberius'-so I heard," I said dryly. Terentia shot me a look of distaste. I survived.
"Ventidius needed to be closely watched," she explained. "He would have been around all the time-"
"On the prowl?"
"Precisely. I knew Numentinus would certainly not break with Ventidius after Statilia's death, not after he had tolerated the man's behavior before. He refused to see there was now a danger to the girls. What a fool. He could not see how necessary it had become for him to act."
"Necessary, why?"
"You know that."
"Because Ventidius started to eye Caecilia?"
"Caecilia and, to a far greater extent, Laelia."
"Caecilia admits that she had to rebuff Ventidius. Laelia denies he ever touched her."
"Then," said Terentia crisply, "Laelia lied to you."
"Modesty, no doubt," I murmured, thinking that a Vestal would approve of that.
"Don't be ridiculous! Statilia Laelia has good reasons for everything she does."
"She needs to lie?"
"Oh, we all need to do that!" For a moment, Terentia looked tired.
"So," I mused, "you knew about Ventidius moving in on the other two? Who told you, may I ask?"
"Laelia told me that Caecilia had confided in her. She took more pleasure in the telling than she should have done. Before that, I had myself already warned him to leave Laelia alone. He had been playing about with her for some time; she is very immature-and she took it very seriously. Scaurus, her brother, had found out and told me in the end. Ventidius enjoyed thinking he had the privilege of bedding more than one generation."
"So he made a long-term play for Laelia-successfully? I find it hard to believe."
"You misjudge everyone, Falco." After crushing me to her own satisfaction, she settled to explanations again. "Laelia probably allowed it quite readily, I am afraid. She was always difficult. But I stopped it, once I knew."
"So Laelia was promiscuous?"
"Not widely; she never had much opportunity. The children of a Flamen Dialis are brought up in isolation."
"I can see that would have made her easy meat for an ever-present family friend. Why was she always difficult?"
"Why?" Terentia seemed astonished that I had asked. "How should I know why? That was just how it was. Children are born with inherent, strong-willed streaks of character." Strong-willed was the last word I would have used for the ex-Flamen's pasty daughter. Again, I reminded myself that I was hearing all this from a supposed madwoman. "Her mother was too busy spoiling Scaurus to notice-unless perhaps Statilia simply felt powerless to deal with Laelia. The boy and girl were a strange, secretive couple, too often left in their own company. Sometimes they squabbled violently, sometimes they were dangerously quiet, heads together like little conspirators."
"Being the offspring of a Flamen, they were kept from other children-and to some extent, I suppose, from adult company too?"
"It was fatal, in my opinion," said Terentia cryptically.
"They never learned normal behavior?"
"No. They seemed to buckle down to their religious duties well as infants, but they developed a ridiculous sense of their own importance which could do neither any good."
"They both seem rather vague now," I commented.
"They both have uncontrollable tempers when thwarted. They brood. They lash out. They lack tolerance and restraint. Some children never need companionship to make them sweet natured. Look at Gaia; yet she is an only child, brought up utterly solitary too."
"A little spoiled materially?" I suggested.
"Blame Laelia," Terentia said, in a clipped tone. "No sense of decency. She constantly buys presents without reference to Caecilia, and sneaks them to Gaia. Once Laelia has given clothes or toys to the child, it is hard to remove them again."
"So Laelia loves her little niece Gaia?" Laelia, it struck me, was the real aunt here; Terentia a great-aunt. "Is it consistent, or might she turn on the child?"
"Laelia's love is a volatile emotion," Terentia commented. Still, she was mad. How could she evaluate emotion?
"Would she threaten Gaia with violence just as easily as spoiling her?"
Terentia made a slight gesture of assent-as if congratulating me on at last seeing the truth. "As for Laelia, we did our best. When she reached marriageable age, I suggested Ariminius-a complete change, fresh blood. He was flattered to be asked to join a family of such standing. It has to be said, he is very good with Laelia."
I had interviewed Ariminius and his wife together, at their choice-his, maybe? He must have been deliberately guarding against indiscretions by the woman. I had certainly missed any suggestion that Laelia had been willingly playing about with "Uncle Tiberius."
"They seem to have a good marriage," I interposed in defense of the Pomonalis, not revealing that I realized he wanted to move on.
"You are easy to bluff!" sneered Terentia. "From a man who comes with a seal of approval from a more than usually efficient emperor, I expect better. Ariminius has reached his limit. He has had enough. He is asking for a divorce."
Yes, that fitted his remarks yesterday afternoon when he was searching for Gaia with me. "He has spoken of a yen for independence." In fact he spoke of "desertion," I now recalled. That would fit leaving an unstable wife. So just how unstable was Laelia? "I thought a flamen had to stay married for life? You can't mean Ariminius will give up being a member of the priestly college?"
"I do mean that. Now you see why I have been trying to arrange formal guardianship. If there is a divorce, Laelia comes back into her own family. Numentinus is growing old and cannot be relied on indefinitely."
"Scaurus told me you wanted him to act for you!"
She stared at me. "Me? Why should I need that?" It seemed wise not to answer. "Oh, really! The boy is an imbecile."
"I understood that you were very fond of him, Terentia Paulla."
"Fond? Fond is not the word. Both those children were brought up ignorant and in need of control. Scaurus is irredeemably foolish, and I try to protect him from public shame."
Now this was the kind of madness I could understand: a woman who had apparently been declared furiosa convincing herself, and trying to convince me, that her very protectors were in need of care! Yes, it was time for a serious rethink.
"Terentia Paulla, your nephew looks like the only one here who has shown some initiative-I mean, by refusing to be drawn into the family traditions, and by leaving home."
His loving aunt beat the side of her hand against her other fist impatiently. "Nonsense. The evidence is right in front of you, Falco. Whatever has he told you about this question of guardianship? Why spin you such a stupid story? All he had to say was the truth: that he came to Rome on legal business. He knew the whole matter has to be confidential, and by the time he saw you, his father and I had decided he was incapable of taking on the burden of his sister. He had also been clearly told to keep quiet. Instead, he dreams up some complic
ated fantasy that even you will soon see through-"
"So Scaurus is a bit dim?"
"Dim? My poor nephew really needs a guardian himself. When I had talked to him about his sister, I realized he was useless and I packed him off home. It leaves us with no solution, but there are hopes of Ariminius."
I thought for a moment. "Why not help Ariminius to a divorce, with a very large settlement if possible, and ask him to be Laelia's guardian? He could still do it. And he can be capable in a crisis. I'm sorry," I added. "I realize it might have to be your money in the settlement, and you might not enjoy giving it over to Laelia."
"My idea," said Terentia, with relish, "is to use my husband's money after I inherit! Ventidius caused this. He owes some return to the family. His wealth can make Ariminius Modullus happy, and provide for Laelia's future care."
"And what about Scaurus? Is his lack of brainpower why he never became a flamen?"
"Of course. The highest posts were open to him in theory. Appointing him would have been a shambles. Even his father had to admit that. Scaurus would never remember the rituals-even if he could summon the will to try. Caecilia Paeta thought, when they were first married, that she could help him through it, but in the end even she lost heart. Rituals have to be carried out exactly."
"Ah, the old religion!" I groaned. "Appeasing the gods by the mindless repetition of meaningless words and actions, until the divine ones send good crops just to win themselves some peace from the mumblings and the smell of burning wheatcake crumbs!"
"You blaspheme, Falco."
"I do indeed." And I was proud of it.
Terentia decided to ignore my outburst. "My nephew's wife, like my niece's husband, could only endure so much. Ariminius will look after himself when he is ready; he has reason enough to leave, after all." I wanted to ask what she meant, but she was in full flow, unused to interruptions. "Three years ago, Caecilia was breaking down; she had to be relieved of the burden of her marriage, but Numentinus would not face the problem. I put Scaurus on the farm to keep him out of harm's way, and a sensible girl of mine looks after him."
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