Saturnalia mdf-18

by Lindsey Davis

  We all moved to a frescoed salon. Then followed a delay while slaves-who were already getting into a slapdash holiday mood for the dinner that evening-were prevailed upon to provide pre-Iunch snacks to revive their mistress. Julia only toyed with the food, so I weighed in. Nobody should make a big fuss about obtaining service, then not use what they have demanded. Slaves take against that, and who can blame them? Julia, who was a strict, good-mannered woman, even nodded her approval as I munched.

  The news was interesting. 'I saw Ganna as you asked, Marcus. She is well cared for and fairly content. The Vestals are taking the opportunity to teach her Roman ways.' This would be another side of Rome from that Ganna saw at Mother's house. 'Unfortunately-' I had to concede, my mother-in-law did have a sense of humour-'they have taught her to read and I suspect that she has read the letters my foolish son wrote to the priestess.' Julia was telling me this in a hurried undertone while Claudia made a temporary foray back to the nursery.

  'Ganna has the letters?'

  'Not any longer. I persuaded her that it was best for all concerned if we destroyed them. My first thought was to bring them away with me, but the Virgins are very much concerned with the confidentiality of documents, as you know.' Elevated citizens gave their wills to the Vestal Virgins for safe keeping. 'It is apparently improper for a mother to see love letters written by her son!'

  'Well, I think most sons would agree with that.'

  'So they were burned. And good riddance.'

  Claudia returned, so without missing a beat we made the conversation more general. 'Were the Vestals present for your interview?'

  'My friend supervised. It was a condition, Marcus.'

  'Fair enough.'

  Julia did take a small almond cake from the tray of titbits. She was allowing herself a moment of reflection.. After six or seven years, I now knew her well enough to trust her instincts and let her dictate the rhythm of conversation. For me, talking to my mother-in-law was always eerie. She and Helena were enough alike for it to feel like familiar territory-yet Helena took after her father in more ways, so Julia remained worrying.

  Claudia, who seemed even more jumpy than usual, could not wait patiently, but burst out, 'So what did this Ganna have to say? I don't know her, but I think I hate her.'

  By contrast, Julia Justa seemed increasingly rational. Unlike the night of the feast for Saturn, when her garments got the better of her, she was now stonily calm and in charge. Julia finished her cake, wiped away a few tiny crumbs, and leaned back in her basket chair. 'She is just a frightened girl, my dear. You have no need to be defensive. Marcus, with regard to your business, the person Ganna saw placing the severed head in the atrium pool was a freedwoman called Phryne.' 'What? Not the doctor, Mastarna?'

  Julia looked as surprised as I was. 'Apparently not. How could a doctor be involved?'

  'He killed his patient during an operation. Still, the freedwoman may have taken part in the cover-up, trying to protect her mistress.' I now wondered whether it was Phryne or Mastarna who actually cut off Scaeva's head. Phryne had showed enough hatred towards Veleda. She could have grabbed the doctor's knife and done the deed. 'The mistress had let the operation go ahead, even though her husband had forbidden it.'

  Julia nodded. 'Drusilla Gratiana.'

  'You know her?'

  'No, but my Vestal friend does, naturally.' The Vestal Virgins know all the senior matrons in Roman society, where 'senior' normally means rich, with powerful husbands. Julia commented coolly, 'Apparently the woman is in poor health.'

  'She drinks.'

  'Oh Marcus!' This was from Claudia.

  'True-fact of life.'

  'Please! She has just lost her brother in appalling circumstances.' Back in Baetica, Claudia had lost her own brother to murder; she had obvious reasons for sympathy.

  'Forgive me.'

  'Well, those were my commissions.' Julia thought it time to shoo me off home. 'But I am the bearer of a good suggestion. Marcus, will you put this idea to Helena, please? I know she is intending to ask the Emperor to extend clemency to Veleda. My friend suggested we make a formal, old-fashioned deputation of Roman matrons. She even volunteered to accompany us. If Helena wants to do this, I will certainly join with her.'

  'You mean, a group of respectable women in black, covering their heads, and confronting Vespasian with noble pleas to save the priestess?'

  'I do,' said Julia. It sounded historic, but the last time this classic political ploy had been used, the full trick with a Vestal Virgin to the fore, had been as recently as the civil war that brought Vespasian to power.

  Now Julia showed why she had hesitated earlier. She turned to her daughter-in-law. 'My dear Claudia Rufina, this is a lot to ask, I know. To be effective, the Vestal Virgin felt that the deputation really needs you to be a part of it with us. Veleda once saved the lives of both Marcus and Quintus, so both their wives should be seen to plead to save her.'

  I was glad I did not have to suggest that.

  Claudia took it well. That is, she refrained from hurling furniture. Her tone was acidic: 'My husband wants to leave me for this flagrant enemy of Rome-and I am to make such a selfless gesture?'

  'That would be the point.' Julia managed to sound diffident. 'The sacrifice would be too cruel!'

  'Then don't do it,' replied Julia briskly. 'I told the Vestal you could not be expected to. Marcus, we shall see you tonight, I hope?'

  I said she would, and on cue began to take my leave. When Julia rose and kissed my cheek (a formality that always chilled me) I could see Claudia behind her, biting her lip as she reviewed her dilemma. I went over and kissed her too, bending down as she remained seated. 'Veleda will never be a free woman. Just think about saving your marriage. You could demonstrate to Quintus that you trust him, while showing your own generosity of spirit. Seems to me, it would put him in a position where his love and respect for you would then take precedence-'

  Claudia jumped up, nearly knocking me over. 'And would that work with you?-Marcus Didius Falco, I don't think so!'

  I grinned. 'Oh I'm an informer. I'm famous for hating upright women. You're quite right-do as Julia says, lady. Tell them just where they can put their great idea! That could work too; Quintus did marry you because you were adventurous and forthright.'

  'He wanted my money.' That was the first time I had ever heard

  Claudia say it. She sounded wounded, wan and defeated.

  'He wanted the package,' I told her. 'The money was good, but the woman was better.'

  Claudia was not having it. She drew herself up; she was at least my height. Then she stalked from the room. Her despondency suggested she was off to pack her bags and leave for Baetica with her young child immediately.

  I made a conciliatory gesture. Julia Justa stilled me with an oddly casual little shrug, as if Claudia was better left to reach her own decisions. I thought Julia was wrong, but I told myself my mother-in-law was a wise woman. Besides, there would be other chances to plead with the young woman. We still had to get through a Satumalia feast tonight.

  LXI

  'Anacrites is back!' Had it not been so serious, Helena would have been giggling. 'He didn't go to Nemi. He rode about seven miles then he decided you had sent him on a fool's errand. He came here to search the house.'

  I gulped. 'Where's Veleda?'

  'Now,' said Helena, 'she is sleeping on a couch. At the time, she had gone out in the chair with Albia and Zosime to take some air in Caesar's Gardens.'

  'How come? I gave strict orders she was to stay in at all times.' 'Don't be pompous. If I took any notice of your orders,' Helena told me, 'you would have lost her to Anacrites.'

  'The stricter my orders are, the quicker you defy me.'

  'That's right, darling. Do you want me to describe how enraged the Spy was when he went all over our property and could not find her? He had been so sure! I just stood in the hall with my arms folded and waited for his men to finish. That should have told him I was not afraid of discovery. Th
e longer it lasted, the more he was sweating as his mistake dawned on him. All the soldiers stood to attention, with disapproval painted all over them. Julia and Favonia clung to me and cried their eyes out. We made a wonderful picture of an outraged matron and her children, offered grave offence in her own home, where she should be safe from insult-moreover, while the father of the family was absent. I asked Anacrites icily whether he had obtained your permission to enter and search our house. I swear he blushed. When he left, his apology was so sickly I could hardly bear it.'

  I had calmed down. There was no way I would ever make Helena Justina a submissive partner who followed my rules. She knew how to handle a crisis. I myself would have tied Anacrites to the filthy underside of a manhole cover and left him to hang there in the dark with rat-bait in his boots. This way, he had put himself in the wrong, he must be scared that Helena or her father would complain to the Emperor-and he had failed to find the priestess even though he guessed I had her.

  Helena continued, still enjoying her narration: 'After he apologised, I asked him about his headaches, implying I hoped they were unbearable. He's going to that man Cleander, for some treatment. Marcus, you'll be glad to hear it involves putting cups on him, with lighted herbs against his skin, and what sounds like quite a lot of blood-letting. '

  I said it was time to get dressed for dinner. Helena told me it was too soon yet. I let her know that I was planning on getting undressed first, and staying undressed for quite some time.

  Later, in a private part of the house, at an inappropriate moment:

  'There's another thing, Marcus-we had a busy morning. Petronius popped in to discuss the flute-player. Scythax seems confused, and has left him a message, showing that he thinks he was brought in because the boy was killed on the streets like the vagrants. Petro said he has to speak to Scythax and straighten this out. He will talk to you about it when he can.'

  'Damn Petro. And damn talking…'

  Some time afterwards:

  'Sweetheart, I ought to tell you… Your mother wants to organise a formal deputation to Vespasian, headed up by her old Vestal Virgin, when you go to beg for clemency for Veleda.'

  Silence.

  Suddenly, one party sitting up abruptly:

  'Oh Juno and Minerva, you are not serious. I don't have to plead for the priestess with my mother there?'

  'The crabby Virgin too, dear one. Plus, if they can force her to be so magnanimous, poor Claudia Rufina…'

  Startled party collapses and hides her head under the pillow. Other party lies prone, recovering, and thinking about the frightening power of mothers…

  'Claudia might just do it, Marcus. She really needs to win Quintus back. I haven't told you yet why the sanctuary priests at Nemi were so unpleasant to us. We were pretending to seek fertility treatment but we were unmasked when they detected that Claudia was already pregnant. '

  I choked. 'So the authorities at Nemi would say the treatment works!'

  'It's ironic, because she was hoping to avoid this. Everyone wondered why she wouldn't try to wean little Gaius. Poor Claudia had been told she would be safe, so long as she kept breast-feeding.'

  'Your sweet-looking brother doesn't mess about. Their first is not yet a year old.'

  Slight embarrassed pause.

  'And Marcus darling, there is something I should tell you Olympus! What was this about? 'I know it is not what we planned-' Any fool could work this one out. 'You mean, the priests were upset because neither of you needed the expensive ritual baths and the votive-sellers? You are both expecting?'

  'Yes. Me too, sweetheart.'

  I kissed Helena ruefully. 'Life is getting expensive. If your deputation to the Emperor fails, I'll have to drag Veleda to the Capitol and strangle her myself We'll definitely need the mission fee.'

  Pause.

  'So are you pleased then, Marcus?'

  We already had two children. Like every father who knows what a pregnancy means in short-term and long-term trouble, I had learned from practice how to lie well. 'Helena Justina, you do me an honour. I am delighted, of course.'

  The senator sent his carriage to fetch our large group to the Camillus party. Praetorian Guards, looking nervous, did a stop and search, but only found Helena and me, our two over-excited children, and Nux, who bit a Guardsman. The Guards pretended they had a routine road block to monitor all traffic on the A ventine embankment, but I guessed that the Spy had ordered them to check anyone who left my house. Too bad they never noticed that a carrying chair with Albia and Veleda had crept out via the back exit while they were occupied with us, and sneaked the other way up the Embankment under cover of a passing high-piled empty-amphora cart. (I can't bear to think how much it had cost to bribe the driver of that cart.)

  We arrived first at the Capena Gate. We were able to witness, therefore, the moment when the priestess was greeted by Julia Justa. She looked Veleda up and down. It was a simple gesture, but killing. I don't know how Veleda felt, but I had sweat crawling all over me.

  'Welcome to our house.'

  'Thank you.'

  Claudia Rufina stood at her mother-in-law's shoulder, holding the baby in her arms. 'This is my son's wife.'

  'We have met.'

  'Welcome to our house,' repeated Claudia, making it sound like a death threat.

  As we moved to the interior, towards sounds of music and revelry, Helena squeezed my arm and whispered, 'I'm starting to wonder if it was wise to bring Veleda for food and drink here!'

  'Don't worry. Poisonings are my favourite kind of case. The descriptions of the death agony are always so colourful.'

  Veleda already sported a spine taut as a bow and a rictus, though it had nothing to do with anything fatal in her food bowl. Claudia, who had been wearing her legendary emerald parure, disappeared and rejoined us after adding extra gold bangles.

  Julia Justa ran a Saturnalia feast on surprisingly traditional lines. Her slaves were in charge. King for the Day was a terrified boot-boy with sticky-out ears and a regal display of pimples, who waved his mock sceptre bravely but never uttered a word. A battalion of slaves were lounging in the various dining rooms, including a few brave souls outside on the garden couches, where they were ceremonially served by the noblewomen of the family. The senator and I were deputed to be wine-waiters, with muttered instructions to make sure anything consumed was well watered. I joked with Decimus that more slaves were here than I realised they owned; he said he had never seen half of them before either. As soon as he could do it surreptitiously, he was planning the male householder's traditional role at this festival: hiding by himself in his study, while the merrymakers got on with it. I said I might join him; he said I was welcome, but only if I helped him barricade the door. We set about choosing which wine to take with us.

  After a certain amount of enforced obedience to the slaves, who gave us impossible orders with a fine imperial manner, things relaxed (the slaves were now too busy eating their unaccustomed banquet to do much, and some were suffering biliousness because of the rich food). We managed to fill our own bowls from the laden comports. Julia and Favonia had learned their roles as inferiors and were scampering to and fro, delightedly trying to clean everybody's shoes for them. Claudia was showing what a wonderful maternal type she was by allowing my insistent daughters to keep running back with squeals of laughter to buff her gold sandals. Veleda watched snootily. 'I suppose even the girls among your tribes are so busy learning to be warriors, they have no childhood,' sneered Claudia. 'In Rome we would regard warmongering as a little unfeminine.'

  'Your women sound rather feeble!' countered Veleda, venomously. 'Oh we Baeticans know how to fight back.'

  'Surprising then, that you allowed your country to be overrun!' Helena and Julia separated them.

  Great bowls of nuts were carried in by the senator. Then, as the almonds and hazelnuts began to fly, we were joined by an unintended visitor. The jollity was at its height, which made the sudden silence more dramatic. The happy slaves all settled back
, thinking 'Wey-hey! This is where the real party starts!'

  In a doorway stood Quintus Camillus Justinus. He looked like any family's dopy son who had just come home and was slowly remembering that his mother had informed him three times that the Satumalia dinner was tonight. He lived here: the no-good son of the house-vague eyes, rumpled tunic that had not been changed for days, bristling chin left unshaven for even longer, floppy hair uncombed, slouching and relaxed.

  From his expression I guessed that nobody had yet told him that Veleda would be here.

  Surprisingly, he appeared to be sober. Sadly, both Claudia and Veleda had drunk quite a lot of wine.

  LXII

  For a moment they all stood, in a stricken triangle. Justinus was horrified; the women took it better, naturally.

  Justinus straightened up. Veleda had last seen him dressed in a keenly-buffed tribune's uniform, five years younger, and fresher in every way. Now she looked stunned by his casual domesticity. He addressed the priestess formally, as he had done once before, in the depths of her forest. Whatever he said was again lost on the rest of us, because he used her Celtic tongue.

  'I speak your language!' Veleda inevitably rebuked him, with the same pride and the same contempt that she had used to our party then: the cosmopolitan barbarian, showing up the inglorious imperialists who could not even bother to communicate with those whose terrain they invaded. It was a good trick, but I was tired of this.

  He was staring at her, taking in that she looked so much more worn by time and life, and the despair of capture. Veleda's eyes were hard. Pity was the last thing any woman needed from a handsome lover. Quintus must already have struggled to cope mentally with the fact that the love of his young life was doomed to ritual killing on the Capitol. Would he turn his back on the Roman world-and if so, would he do something really stupid? We could see it was a hard shock to find the priestess here in his home, swaying very slightly from Roman wine in the cup that she still gripped unknowingly-a small silver beaker that Justinus must have known since his childhood, from which he may have drunk numerous times himself. He had found her being entertained among his parents, his sister, his wife and young child. He was not to know-or not yet-just how strained relationships had been.