One Virgin Too Many

XVI

The next day was the last in May. I looked it up in my calendar of festivals, an abomination that I now had to consult on a regular basis like a dutiful procurator. Today I could have voted or been a juror in a criminal case-had anybody wanted me. No one did, and so the last day of the month just seemed to slip away quite pleasantly. Anyone can be a responsible citizen when most of the world thinks he is still abroad.

I watched the day go. I was suffering belated weariness after sailing home. And I was uneasy. Acting as Procurator of Poultry had taken over my life. A major festival of Juno Moneta fell tomorrow (nagged the calendar). My place would be there. Even attending this junket would be a first for me, let alone serving as nursemaid to a set of geese. The geese were to exhibit their annual tasteless triumphalism over a sample of supposedly guilty watchdogs, poor stray curs who would be rounded up and ritually crucified. It was not my idea of a genteel nod to history.

Today, however, I was loafing at home, left in charge of young Julia while Helena dodged off somewhere. When, like a pompous head of household checking up on his wife's social life, I asked for details, she just looked at me with a guileless expression that meant she was being devious. Whatever it was, she took Nux as a chaperon, plus enough bread rolls for a good lunch, her private note-tablet and stylus, and several sponges; then I spotted her hiding my best hammer under her cloak. I doubted she was visiting a girlfriend to discuss embroidery designs.

"Helena, is it possible, companion of my heart, that you are hiding something from me?"

"You do not want to know, darling!" Helena assured me. "Enjoy your day." Her parting tone was kindly and brave, like that of a farmer who has delivered his favorite horse to the butcher with a full nosebag.

I would have spent my time in men's activities-Forum, baths, shops, tracing Petronius to whichever wine bar he had chosen that day for his break. Having Julia with me hampered that. But I did visit Pa's warehouse at the Saepta Julia in order to broach Maia's money problems; he was out. Even Petro had made himself invisible, though his comrades at the patrol house reckoned he was working.

"Sounds too diligent."

"Maturity comes to everyone, Falco."

"If that's happened to Lucius Petronius, he needs a surgeon right away!"

"No, somebody just happened to mention lettuce in his hearing-not thinking about his wife's lover, of course."

"Oh no! He went off in a sulk?"

"Touchy tyke."

Still carrying the baby, I went to the Forum anyway. Julia loved the crowds. The sleazier they were, the more she gurgled appreciatively. My family would say, at least there were no doubts about her fatherhood.

At the back of the Temple of Castor was the bathhouse I frequented. I took a risk. Glaucus, the austere proprietor, had a strict entrance policy. His establishment was intended to be a haunt for serious professional men. He banned women. Nor did he tolerate pretty boys or the pederasts who lusted after them. To my knowledge, nobody had ever been mad enough to turn up with a one-year-old baby before. We got past the doorkeeper on the wings of sheer novelty. Brazen daring carried me through the changing room, and I was heading for the gymnasium when I heard the rasp of Glaucus being sarcastic to some unfortunate he was training with weights; I chickened out and decided to keep fit another day.

I slunk through the baths as fast as I could, then looked in on the masseur, a gigantic bully from Tarsus with legendary manipulative powers. He was slapping about Helena Justina's father. I took Julia in and we sat on the side bench where the next customer was supposed to wait in terror. The masseur glared at the baby, but was too nonplussed to comment.

I grinned as I inspected Decimus. "Thanks for dinner the other night. You managed to scrub off the ink, I see!"

"The child developed a lot while you were away. You might have warned me."

"She learned to stand on the ship. She was beside the rail in brisk weather when she first tried it. I could have saved myself years of trouble by letting her tumble over the side-but I knew she was your favorite grandchild." She was also his only one.

"So you made a quick grab?" Losing Julia would truly have broken his heart. I made another quick move, as Julia picked up a water scoop and prepared to hurl it at the huge, sweating masseur. The senator chortled, good going since he was already contorted in a hideous grimace under a barrage of slaps between the shoulders. I decided that the masseur believed in tribal individualism rather than senate-led democracy. He was certainly taking out his personal aggression on the Camillus physique.

Decimus and I were cronies here, exchanging secrets. "Has Helena Justina said anything to you about some venture into property?"

"Nobody tells me anything," her noble father complained. "They just keep me to lie on one of the eating couches to prevent the dining room looking empty. What's she buying?" he asked nervously.

"Could be a house."

"She may allow me to hear about it, once she has a whole row of them." He paused while the man from Tarsus casually attempted to wrench his left arm from its socket. "I told Aulus to see you today."

"About his corn-ear friends again? I thought he had accepted their story-that the man he found dead was just an unlucky victim of a wife in a bad mood?"

"Wouldn't you like to know who the couple were-and what drove her to do it?"

"Yes, I would. Aulus seemed less curious when I left him last night."

"Well, I told him he ought to find out."

I grinned through the steam. "I never had you down as a schemer, senator! Is he to acquire the facts in order to show the Brothers he is scrupulously keeping quiet-with the aim of securing votes?"

"Good gods, that would be blackmail!" exclaimed Decimus in mock shock.

"I can't wait for your election-night party."

At that moment, in prowled Glaucus. He swelled with indignation at the sight of little Julia. She waved both her arms at him eagerly.

"Hey, Glaucus! This one wants a session with the dumbbells."

"I've told you already about that dog of yours, Falco! Now you try this-"

I was on my feet. "Just bringing your most excellent client a glimpse of his only grandchild, Glaucus-"

"No children!" Glaucus stabbed his finger into my chest. It was almost as effective as a spear point in the breastbone. "This is your last warning!"

I had reached the doorway. "We're going."

Glaucus glared at Julia, appalled. "Is this a girl baby?"

"Boy!" Decimus assured him urgently. "Julius, isn't it, Falco?"

Glaucus moved. He knew us. It looked as if he was intending to check. I grappled Julia to me protectively. She was fighting to break free as strongly as Hercules. "Anybody looks up my son's tunic, I kill him, Glaucus-no argument. It probably goes for a daughter as well, of course, though I may find out if the fellow is wealthy first, for her sake-"

"Out!" roared Glaucus.

We left.

I popped my head back. "By the way, Glaucus, next time you allow in that bastard Anacrites, ask him to tell you how he made use of your Trainer's Cheat move when we were on our holidays!"

Even when you're fleeing in defeat, remember to place a few stakes in pits to trap your enemy.

I went to see Maia.

Ma was there. They had both been out together to make arrangements for the memorial stone for Famia. For some reason the visit to the mason had entailed wearing heavy veils, which were now pushed back on their necks. They were sitting together in a pair of women's armchairs, with their hands folded over their girdles, looking thoughtful.

They were not much alike in facial features; Maia took after Pa's side of the family, as I did. Their bolt-upright stance and frowning expressions nonetheless marked them as close relatives. Somebody or something had affected both of them the same way.

"What's happened? If it's to do with money, I've told you-don't worry."

"Oh, it's money," Maia snapped briskly. "Famia usually forgot to pay his funeral club dues, I gather."

"He never forgot!" Ma commented. "He drank it all."

"That was after I was visited by the landlord, who took it upon himself to warn me-for my own good-of the perils of falling behind with the rent."

"Watch him!" muttered Ma.

"Mother and I were just talking about me paying a social call on my sweet friend Caecilia Paeta, to take my mind off it."

"You need to get out," I replied warily. Both my sister and my mother were watching me with a special glint. It might be friendly, but I doubted it. Ma pinched her mouth. She had a way of saying nothing which was worth three scrolls of rhetoric. "Don't string me along-who's Caecilia and why are you after her?"

"Caecilia is a crab-faced snoot," said Maia, now dragging her veil from around her neck and flinging it aside. "She is one of the women I met at the Palace the other afternoon. Your little Gaia's mother, specifically."

I handed the baby to Ma, who was always good at keeping Julia quiet. "So why the planned expedition?"

"Nosiness," said Ma, laughing.

Maia looked more prim. "I keep thinking about what you and Helena said, about the girl being scared of her family. Since Gaia and my Cloelia made friends, I did exchange words with the mother at the time. She obviously wanted to avoid contact, but that's enough for me-being brass-necked. I can follow this up for you, Marcus."

"Well, thanks, but I thought Helena was intending to visit her-"

"Helena's doing something else."

"Oh, you know about that?" It was worth a try.

"Sworn to secrecy," said Maia, with an evil flash of teeth.

"I heard," said my mother severely, "that Helena has involved herself with Gloccus and Cotta!" Who in Hades were they? They sounded like cheap erotic poets.

"Anyway, Marcus, it's lucky you've come," Maia rushed on. "I'll let you share my little adventure. It's not far to go. These folks of Gaia's are living on the Aventine now-it was one thing the snooty mother allowed herself to discuss with me. Because the grandfather used to be Flamen Dialis, hogged the role for years apparently, they had always had possession of the official house called the Flaminia."

"That's on the Palatine?"

"Yes. Horribly isolated place to bring up a family. It's all temple compounds and imperial suites up there."

"Must have driven them mad," was Ma's opinion.

Maia grinned. "Caecilia Paeta told me that her husband and his sister lived there from childhood; they could remember no other home. Apparently it's a sore subject that everyone had to pick up and move house unexpectedly when the Flaminica died."

"Was her death recent?"

"I got that impression. Anyway, they have now taken a house on the Ostia Gate side of the hill. Caecilia was complaining to me that it was run-down and unsatisfactory."

I pulled a silly face. "And will Caecilia be delighted to see you, Maia darling, if you track her down?"

Maia smiled at me. "We'll have to ask her, won't we?"

Ma and I exchanged glances, willing to go along with any plan that made my sister behave like her old self, at least temporarily. My mother took charge of Julia for me. In no time I found myself marching over the Aventine with Maia, and after a few wrong turns while we found the address, we were surveying the house of the family Laelius. I was not impressed. Maia and I immediately agreed that as prospective buyers or tenants, even if we were desperate, we would never even have given it a once-over.

Who chose this place? The ex-Flamen himself, grief-stricken for his newly dead wife-or at least for the loss of his position on her death? His son, Gaia's father? His errand-running son-in-law, the Flamen Pomonalis? Accepting that his household might be as liberal as my own, was it his womenfolk? Daughter? Daughter-in-law?

No. It had to be a realtor. Wincing at the gloomy place from down the street, I knew this was some housing market hack's idea of a residence for a retired high priest. A massive gray portico that must be causing street subsidence. High, narrow windows and mean roofs. A pair of tall urns either side of the forbidding doorcase, both empty. A property with no attractive features, situated in a dull area, overlooking nothing much. A large, cold building on the dank side of the street, it must have lodged like a permanent fixture on the agent's list for a decade. Few people with enough money to afford such an edifice would have such poor taste as to accept it. But a Flamen Dialis, turfed out of his state residence, fresh from a funeral, unworldly and desperate to be rehoused, must have seemed to the agent like a gift from the Olympian gods. The proverbial soft touch. A gambler in a hurry, with absolutely no idea… and too sure of himself to take real expert advice.

"I hope he's not there," muttered Maia. "I deduce I will not care for him."

"Right. Judging by his attitude to my goslings, he's what Ma would call a nasty old basket."

We were not given a chance to test this theory. When we managed to persuade a door porter to answer our knocking, he told us there was nobody home at all. The man kept us out on the porch; he agreed to go and make enquiries for us, though I wondered how, because he had assured us the entire family had gone to a funeral. Even the Flamen Dialis (as the porter still called him despite his retirement) was attending the ceremony.

Maia raised her eyebrows. "The Flamen Dialis is never allowed to see a body, but he can go to funerals," I whispered, showing off my arcane knowledge, as we stood nervously alone on the threshold like untrustworthy trinket-sellers who were about to be sent packing. "Just as well he has gone. He would never have liked hearing that you had palled up with Caecilia."

"He won't like hearing we were here today at all then," Maia said. She made no attempt to keep her voice down. "I fancy Caecilia will receive a lecture about mingling with unsuitable company. Encouraging rough callers. Allowing common connections for the dear special little girl."

"Caecilia sounds all right after all."

Maia laughed ruefully. "Don't believe it, Marcus. But the Flamen won't know it was no choice of hers that I sought her out at home."

"Are you saying he mistreats her?"

"Oh no. I just reckon his word is law and his opinions are the only ones ever allowed to be voiced."

"Sounds like our house, when Pa lived there," I joked. Maia and I were both silent for a moment, remembering our childhood. "So the Flamen is bound to be rude, autocratic, and unfriendly-but do we believe he wants his precious little Gaia dead?"

"If he shows his face I'll ask him that."

"You'll what?"

"Nothing to lose," said Maia. "I'll tell him as one mother to another, I want to ask Caecilia Paeta what has caused her sweet little girl-the dear new friend of mine-to be so unhappy and to take such a curious step as to approach my brother the informer with such a ridiculous tale."

Perhaps it was fortunate after all that the porter then returned to confirm there was no one at home to speak to us. He was now accompanied by a couple of reinforcements. It was clear they were intended to persuade us to leave quietly. I would like to say that was what we did, but I had Maia with me. She hung around, insisting on leaving a message for Caecilia Paeta to say that she had called.

While she was still harassing the porter, a woman appeared in the rather dark atrium that we could just glimpse over his shoulder. She looked about the right age to be Gaia's mother, so I asked, "That your friend?"

As Maia peered in and shook her head, the young woman was surrounded by a group of females who must be her attendants; they all moved as one out of view again. It seemed a strangely choreographed little scene, as though the maids had swept up their mistress and she succumbed to being whisked away.

"Who was that?" Maia demanded bluntly, but the porter looked vague and pretended he had seen no one.

After we left, the odd glimpse stayed with me. The woman had had the air of a member of the family, not a slave. She had walked towards us as if she was entitled to come and speak to us-yet she seemed to let the maids change her mind for her. Well, I was probably making too much of it.

Maia allowed me to escort her home again, and I collected Julia. When we left my sister's house, outside in the street a group of little girls was playing a Vestal Virgins game. These were not pampered babies in some careful patrician residence. The tough Aventine tots not only had a stolen water jug to carry on their heads, but had obtained some embers and had lit themselves a Sacred Fire on their own little Sacred Hearth. Unfortunately, they had chosen to re-create the Temple of Vesta rather close to a house with a very attractive set of wooden balconies, some of which were now on fire. As it was not on Maia's side of the street, I carried on walking in the traditional manner. I don't like getting young girls into trouble. Anyway, they had looked as if they would bash my head in if I interfered.

Around the corner, I did pass a group of vigiles sniffing for the smoke. My guess was they had had to endure rather a lot of tiny female arsonists since the Vestals' lottery was announced. The sooner the Pontifex Maximus pulled out a name, the better for everyone.