The Vestal Vanishes

by Rosemary Rowe

  He stared at me. ‘I do believe you’re right. I should have thought of that.’ He opened out the veil to examine it. ‘This was underneath her all the time, but there’s hardly a sign of a bloodstain anywhere.’ But even as he spoke, something brownish-green fell out and fluttered to the ground. He bent to peer at it, pushed it with his foot, then said dismissively, ‘That isn’t anything. Just a piece of leafy twig. Caught in the hemming by the look of it.’

  ‘That might be important, all the same,’ I said reprovingly. ‘For instance, it might give us a clue as to where the girl was killed – or put into the box. Could you get it, gig-boy, and save my poor old back?’ I placed Publius’s precious letter in my toga-folds, where it would be supported by my belt, and held out my hand.

  ‘If you insist, citizen.’ The gig-boy gestured the trader to stand back, and bending down, picked up the piece of twig. But instead of handing it to me, he took one look at it and dropped it instantly as if it burnt his skin. All the colour had drained out of his face.

  ‘Well?’ I held my hand out more insistently.

  He shook his head and went on shaking it. ‘I’m not touching that. Where’s that lucky charm I saw tied on the coach? It’s not a proper deity, but it’ll have to do.’ There was a crude wooden trinket-doll tied to the raeda – the sort of talisman that travellers sometimes use to ward off evil spirits on the road. The gig-boy scooped it up and pressed his lips to it and I saw him mouthing some kind of hasty prayer. Then he let the charm go and said shakily, ‘That’s the only good-luck incantation that I know. I hope it is enough.’

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ the raedarius asked.

  ‘Oak leaves and mistletoe,’ the slave said, breathlessly. ‘That’s what the matter is. Though it explains the mystery, doesn’t it? I am sorry I accused you of taking part in it. These were not ordinary robbers and murderers – though that would be bad enough. This is the work of those accursed Druids.’ His voice was getting high and faster all the time and it was clear that he was panicking. ‘They didn’t cut her head off to put her in the box, they cut it off to hang it in their accursed grove – no doubt a Vestal Virgin was a special prize – and only their dark gods know what they wanted with the hands.’

  At the mention of the Druids, the forbidden sect, there was a frightened murmur from the onlookers and even the florid trader stepped back a little way.

  I confess that a cold shiver had run down my own spine. It was more than possible that the boy was right. Oak leaves are everywhere, of course, but mistletoe was not a common plant round here these days – and when it was found it was almost never picked because of its association with the sect. It had become an evil sign, regarded as a curse: the symbol of the forbidden cult of Druids, who – as the gig-slave said – famously cut off the heads of enemies and hung them onto trees in a grisly offering to the gods.

  But it was not only their treatment of dead enemies that made the Druids so much feared. Their priests were rumoured to disembowel living men, in order to read the message of the entrails, and there were ancient stories of huge man-shaped structures, built of wood and filled with people who were burned alive to pacify the gods. It had all served to put the cult beyond the law. The Romans frowned on human sacrifice and, besides, their own troops were often the ex-owners of the heads. To be a Druid follower these days was a capital offence.

  Despite this – or perhaps because of it – the religion flourished still, mostly in dark, secret places in the woods. I am not a follower – although I am a Celt – preferring the simpler ancestral deities of streams and woods. All the same, I have seen a sacred grove; one of the few outsiders who have done as much, and lived. It was an eerie place, its gruesome oak trees draped with mistletoe and hung with rotting skulls, displayed as a kind of ghastly sacrifice. The stuff of nightmares, just as rumour said. And there were other rumours, even more unspeakable, which spoke of what would happen to those that crossed the cult. No wonder that the gig-boy was so terrified.

  I reminded myself that there were other aspects of the Druids, too – fine artefacts and learning, poetry and healing arts. I bent down stiffly and picked up the sprig of leaves myself. As I did so, I pricked my finger on something in the leaves.

  A strand of wool had been tied around both stems to make a tiny sprig, and a small metal pin was still threaded through the stalk, showing where it had been deliberately pinned onto the veil. As I sucked my finger, I realized what this meant. The presence of this greenery was not an accident. Someone had fixed it there on purpose, as a deliberate sign of connection with the Druids. The gig-boy was quite right.

  I wondered what Lavinius and Publius would say when they heard this. It might be kinder not to tell the groom, in fact, because what might have happened to Audelia in Druid hands, before she died, was horrible to consider. I wondered if I should examine the corpse a little more to see whether my worst fears were justified, but decided I could hardly do so in this public place. In any case, I reassured myself, such an examination of this body was not appropriate. This had been a Vestal Virgin after all, and intimate inspections were likely to be cursed if carried out by any man at all who did not happen to be a pontifex. I sucked my hand again, hoping that there had not been poison on the pin.

  ‘Citizen?’ an urgent voice said in my ear.

  I turned. Most of the crowd had drifted back a little way – frightened off by the discovery of the mistletoe, no doubt – but I found the florid trader still hovering nearby with a curious companion not very far behind.

  I was about to demand a little more respect for what was clearly the body of a woman of some rank and tell them to go away, but the man forestalled me. The pock-marked face came very close to mine. ‘I formally withdraw the offer, citizen. If Druids are involved, I want no part in it.’

  ‘You quite sure?’ his companion enquired. ‘Your customer won’t know.’

  ‘You can’t take chances. There might be a curse. How do you think I got these marks?’ He was still murmuring. He turned to me and pointed to his nose. ‘Once bought a blanket that was cheap because it had been wrapped around a sickly cow. More than likely the animal was hexed. Next thing I know, I had caught a pox myself – and lucky to survive it, everybody said. So – as this man is my witness – I formally withdraw my offer for the veil.’

  I shook my head at him. ‘I did not agree to sell it,’ I said, impatiently. ‘And I would not have done, whatever price you offered. This is the body of a Vestal, as you see – and hence clearly a woman of very wealthy birth. We have come to take her back to her family for proper burial – and her vestments with her. So move away. That’s all there is to see.’

  Neither of them budged. Indeed, the larger crowd, becoming curious, was edging close again. Ascus picked up the hapless corpse and put it in the box, draped the veil around it where the head should be, then turned to face the gogglers, fingers in his belt.

  ‘Have you no fear of omens, any of you fools?’ he demanded in a roar. ‘It is a sacred feast-day – and what have we here? A murdered woman – and a Vestal too – hacked about and with Druid symbols tucked into her clothes. And for double measure, she was to be a bride. What kind of luck do you suppose that sight will bring? And yet you idiots want to stand and stare at it?’

  Even the florid trader turned bloodless at the words and there was a general murmur in the crowd.

  ‘I saw a donkey carrying hipposelinum yesterday,’ I heard someone remark, ‘I should have known there would be trouble.’ He spat on a finger and rubbed behind his ear, in the age-old gesture to keep evil thoughts and influence at bay. ‘I’m going to go and make a sacrifice at once, to ward the evil off.’

  People were already starting to disperse, though mostly in the direction of the wine-shop, I observed. I grinned at Ascus. ‘That was well expressed. Shall we move the corpse into the gig?’

  The raedarius however, motioned us to wait. He was staring at the box. ‘They can’t have done this when the raeda stopped to let the troops g
o by,’ he mused. ‘Someone would have noticed, and it would have taken far too long. And I saw Audelia get in the coach, myself. It must have happened since it’s been standing here.’

  Ascus shook his head. ‘I don’t see how it could have. The box was under guard. I saw the man myself when we arrived. I told him that he was relieved and sent him on his way. A servant from the temple.’ He turned to the gig-slave. ‘You must have seen him too? I suppose it was the same one that Publius set on watch?’

  The boy was still whiter than a piece of fullered cloth, but he nodded shakily. ‘It was the same slave, I am quite sure of that.’

  ‘Though, I suppose he might have moved in the meanwhile,’ I said. ‘You recognize the man. You go inside the gate and tell him to come here, so I can question him.’

  The gig-slave was only too anxious to obey – anything to distance himself from Druid signs and corpses, obviously – but the pock-marked trader had overheard our talk.

  ‘I can save you the trouble. I’ve been here all day – that’s my stall over there. I had the raeda in my sight since it first came. I watched this raedarius draw up at the gates and saw him send a messenger inside – obviously to tell somebody that he had arrived.’

  I had a sudden memory. ‘There was a slave-girl sitting on the seat with him,’ I said. ‘Did you see her depart?’

  He frowned. ‘I think I might have done,’ he said. ‘But I was far too busy watching him.’ He gestured at the raedarius as he spoke. ‘It was obvious that something was amiss – the way he kept on looking in the carriage as if he could not believe his eyes. And then a moment afterwards, a citizen came out and this fellow was carried off in bonds – everyone was naturally staring by that time. So I noticed when the temple slave was put on guard. It isn’t a normal thing for them to do. I wondered why, but he wouldn’t tell me, though I came across and asked. But I did discover that there was a box – I managed to get a look inside the coach.’

  ‘And since he’d placed a temple guard on it, you reasoned that there was something very valuable inside? Which is why you made your offer for the veil?’ I suggested. I had been surprised by the amount of money offered, at the time.

  Colour came flooding back into his cheeks and he gave me a wry nod. ‘It did occur to me. A man must take what chances he can get. Of course I didn’t know about the body at that time – but neither did the patrician, obviously enough – so I reasoned that if it merited a temple slave as guard, there must be something very special in the box.’ He essayed a little grin. ‘That’s why afterwards I kept an eye on it. Well, naturally I did! And I can tell you this: whoever put that body in the box there must have done it somewhere else. Nobody else came near the raeda all the afternoon. And the guard did not leave it. I’d stake my life on that. If that slave had gone anywhere I’d have had a better look myself, but he didn’t give me a moment’s opportunity. But here’s the slave in question, just coming through the gate. You can go and ask him, but he’ll tell you just the same.’

  TWELVE

  I glanced in the direction that he was indicating and saw the pudgy slave in temple livery hurrying back out through the gate. I stepped towards him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said politely. ‘I believe you are the slave who was asked by Publius to keep watch on the—’

  He brushed my words aside as though I were a slave myself. ‘Indeed I am, and I sincerely wish that I were not. I might have been excused this irksome duty otherwise. I am off to the household where he is staying now, so please excuse me, I have work to do. It’s miles to the villa, and I don’t know where it is.’

  It was impolite of course. From any other servant such rudeness to a citizen would be a flogging crime, but temple slaves are prone to see themselves as servants of the gods and therefore not subject to merely mortal rules. Besides, I wanted to gain his confidence.

  ‘You are going to the household of Lavinius?’ I gestured to my companions who were by this time loading the box into the gig. ‘In that case, friend, we may be of help to you. We have his gig-man with us, and he is driving back. He has that large box to carry, so there won’t be room for you, but he could travel slowly to guide you to the house.’

  I did not point out that it was effectively a funeral-carriage now. It would make no difference to Audelia, I thought, whether she travelled swiftly home or not – and personally I would prefer that the journey took as long as possible. It would give me time to set off for Corinium, before Publius could change his mind and call me back. After all, I had been commissioned to bring back his bride for him, and once that was achieved I had no formal contract with him any more. In fact, once he discovered her mutilated body in the box and found out that Druids were apparently involved, I was sure that he would fear a curse and want to distance himself from the whole family as soon as possible. But I’m a stubborn man and the presence of the mistletoe intrigued me very much; I was more anxious than ever to discover the truth.

  And this self-important pudgy slave might help me. ‘Let me take you to the gig-boy,’ I suggested, with a smile.

  My attempts to woo his friendship were ineffectual. He made an impatient noise. ‘There is no time for that. I have a message from the pontifex which must get there as soon as possible. I have been told to find a hiring-carriage which will take me there, my master is using the temple coach himself. He still intends to go to Corinium tonight, it seems – though it is long past noon and he will barely get there before dark.’ He looked around. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a carriage for hire anywhere,’ he fumed. ‘I would expect to find several hereabouts at this time of the day.’ He nodded in the direction of the hiring-stable close nearby, where they customarily let out carriages and drivers for payment by the mile.

  He was so full of outraged self-importance that I almost smiled. ‘There may not be one available today,’ I pointed out. ‘With the Emperor’s birthday and this evening’s feasts, perhaps they have all been previously engaged.’ He frowned. ‘Then it will have to be a carrying-litter, I suppose . . .’ he began.

  Suddenly it struck me. I had been so busy trying to win his confidence that I had missed the real significance of what was being said. ‘But why would the pontifex change his mind about going to Corinium tonight? You said he was “still going there”. What did you mean by that?’

  The puffy face turned pink. ‘It is a matter of the utmost delicacy, citizen. A temple matter, I think that you could say.’ He gave me a bland smile. ‘Now if you will pardon me . . .’ He moved as if to leave.

  ‘It wouldn’t be about that missing Vestal Virgin, I suppose?’

  That stopped him in his tracks. Pink turned to scarlet. ‘How do you know that?’

  I ignored the question and asked one of my own. ‘Has the temple had some kind of message from the Druids?’

  His plump brow puckered into puzzled folds. ‘What have Druids got to do with it?’ He gazed into my face, then said as though he read the answer there, ‘You don’t mean that they have taken her away? Great Jupiter! I’d better go and let the high priest know at once. He’s just had the message that she’d disappeared, but if he knows they’ve captured her, it may be that he won’t go to Corinium at all. Then he can go and give this message to her family himself.’

  He was already turning to go back through the gate but I caught him by the dark red fabric of his sleeve. ‘Wait just a moment. What do you mean by that? Surely the high priest has known this news for hours? And wasn’t he going to Corinium to link up with Lavinia . . . ?’ I trailed off, seeing the expression on his face. ‘Lavinia is missing?’ I said disbelievingly. ‘Is that what you are saying? She’s disappeared as well?’

  He pulled his tunic roughly from my grasp. ‘I can’t discuss the matter, citizen.’

  ‘Oh, but you can!’ I said. I pulled out Publius’s letter and waved it at the slave. ‘I have been charged by the family to find out what I can – as this letter would tell you, if you want to break the seal and check?’

  He shook his head as
I had known he would. Breaking the seal on a fastened writing-tablet was a serious affair, especially when the writer was a citizen of note. But Publius’s insignia was unmistakeable.

  ‘I believe you, citizen. I recognize the seal and you obviously know much about the matter anyway,’ he said with a great deal more respect than he had shown me up to now. ‘So I’ll tell you what I know.’

  I waited.

  He ran a nervous tongue around his lips. ‘The pontifex was to set off for Corinium, as you seem to be aware, to link up with the girl Lavinia and escort her on the rest of her journey to the Vestal House. It is highly inconvenient at this time of day, but her parents were generous and it had been specially arranged. He was ritually preparing for the journey when a messenger arrived with a missive from the guest house where she had stayed last night.’

  I nodded. ‘With her attendant, as I understand?’

  ‘An aging nursemaid who had served her all her life. She was the one who first raised the alarm. It seems that once her cousin left the house, Lavinia went and shut herself away, resting and fasting in an upper room, preparing herself quietly for her new life at the shrine. But at shortly after noon she called out to the nurse – who had been set to sit all morning just outside the door – and sent down for a simple meal of bread and milk. The nurse went down to get it instantly, of course, and she and the lodging-keeper’s wife went straight up with the tray. But when they tapped the door there was no answer from within. The boarding-house woman pushed the door ajar . . .’

  ‘And found that Lavinia wasn’t there?’ I finished, almost unable to believe the words myself.

  He nodded. ‘They thought at first the girl was in her bed – there was a lump underneath the covers, it appears – but when they went to shake her, they found it was just clothes, piled up to give the impression of a human form. And there was a rope of twisted bedding dangling from the window-space down into the court, which in turn, gave out onto the road. They searched, of course, but no one had seen or heard the girl.’