One Virgin Too Many

XXV

Rome was at her best. Warm stone, limpid fountains, swifts screaming at roof height; a resonance in the evening light that no other city I have ever visited seems to possess.

We had returned the mule cart to the hiring stable, so we were now on foot. As Helena and I walked home from Ma's house, both thinking in silence about our new Janiculan property, the streets on the Aventine remained lively without yet becoming dangerous. It was still light enough and hot enough for the day's commercial and domestic activities to be continuing, while the nighttime whores and housebreakers had hardly begun to swarm. Even narrow alleyways were almost safe.

Julia Junilla lay asleep on my shoulder with a dead weight that reminded me of carrying cut turfs for temporary ramparts in my army days. Ma always managed to tire the baby out. Nux trotted beside Helena, looking coy. Seven dogs of various shapes and sizes but all with one intent relentlessly trailed Nux.

"Our girl's definitely in season," I commented glumly.

"Oh good-pups!" Helena sighed.

We lost a few followers outside a butcher's shop where scraps had been piled in the gutter. We would have lost Nux too, once she noticed what the curs were at, but Helena grabbed her as she nosed a particularly foul piece of discarded entrail. We dragged her off, paws scrabbling furiously on the lava slabs, then I picked her up and clamped her under my free arm. The dog howled for help from her sleazy admirers, but they preferred slavering over bits of bloody bone and sweetbread.

"Forget them, Nux; men are never worth it," commiserated Helena. I ignored the seditious girl talk. I was carrying the family treasure, and likely to lose my grip if I forgot to concentrate. Once again I remembered the army: anyone who had humped his quota of military equipment on a Marian Fork halfway around Britain-javelins, pickaxe, toolbag and contents, earth-moving basket, mess tins and three days' rations-could manage a baby and a dog for a few strides without raising a sweat. On the other hand, a military kettle does not thump you in the rib cage or try to slide off your shoulder; well, not if properly stowed.

In Fountain Court someone was having grilled scallops for dinner-more charred than grilled, by the smell of them. Dusk had fallen now. Shadows of the looming tenements made the way treacherous. A solitary lamp burned on a hook outside the funeral parlor, not so much for the benefit of passersby as to allow the unshaven staff to continue playing a game of Soldiers they had scratched in the dust. That tiny circle of light only served to make the narrow corridor of our street more dim and dangerous. Broken curbstones harbored slithery vegetation on which it was easy to skid to a bone-breaking fall. We trod cautiously, knowing that every stride took our sandals into a morass of dung and amphora shards.

Helena said that she would take charge of bathing the baby; we normally did this at the laundry, using any unwanted warm water after Lenia closed up. I decided to go upstairs and see Petronius. I had to tell him about the Janiculan house before he heard of it elsewhere.

His boots were lying askew under the table in the outer room; he was outside the folding doors, lazing in the last rays of sunlight on the balcony. This always gave me a jar. It was too reminiscent of my own bachelor life. I half expected to find some tasseled dancing girl sprawled in his lap.

He was having a drink. I could cope with that. He let me find myself a beaker and pour my own tipple.

"Been to your new house?" So much for telling him.

"Everyone in Rome seems to have known about it, except me!"

He grinned. He had reached the benevolent phase of dreaming on a bench after dinner. Remembering how easy it was not to bother preparing a platter for one, I guessed he had not had much dinner, in fact, but that just brought the dreamy phase forwards. "So long as the rest of us liked the idea, why trouble you, my son?"

"Well, the plan is a dud. Helena now thinks we cannot live so far out of town."

"Why did she buy the place then?"

"Probably the rest of you, who were in on the secret, forgot to point out the disadvantages."

"Well, is it a nice property?"

"Wonderful."

We swallowed our drinks in silence for a while. I heard familiar women's voices down below at street level, but supposed it was Helena talking to Lenia. Lenia was probably sounding off about the latest horrors imposed on her by her ex-husband, Smaractus, the landlord who owned this block. I cradled my cup, thinking what an evil, unsanitary, money-grubbing, tenant-cheating insult to humanity he was. Petronius had his head lolling far back against the apartment wall behind us, no doubt pondering hatreds of his own. His cohort tribune, probably. Rubella: an ambitious, unscrupulous, discipline-mad, tyrannical hard man who-according to Petro-could never wipe his bum with a latrine sponge without consulting the rules to see if a ranker was supposed to do it for him.

Footsteps scuffled outside. Petro and I both sat quite still, both suddenly tensed. You never knew here whether visitors were bringing you bad news or just a battering. He never knew if they were unwelcome manifestations of his own life and work, or some violent hangover from when I had lived here.

Someone came through the door into the room behind us. The steps were light and quick, even after mounting six flights of stairs. The person emerged through the folding doors. I was nearest; I stayed motionless, though ready to jump.

"Gods, you two are still a disreputable pair!" We relaxed.

"Evening, Maia." We were not drunk, or even lightly disheveled. Still, all my family liked to be unfair.

I wondered why my sister would be visiting Petronius. I knew him well enough to tell when he was nervous; he was wondering the same.

Petro raised the flagon, offering. Maia seemed tempted, but then shook her head. She looked tired. Almost certainly she needed solace, but she had four children relying on her at home.

"Helena said you were up here slumming, Marcus. I can't stop; Marius is downstairs, inspecting that terrible dog of yours. He wants to know if there's a puppy yet. I'll murder you for this-"

"I am doing my utmost to keep Nux chaste."

"Well, speaking of chaste maidens, I heard something today that I thought you would be intrigued to know," said Maia. "I was talking to one of the other mothers whose daughter is in the Vestal Virgins' lottery like my Cloelia. This woman happens to know Caecilia Paeta socially and had visited their house this afternoon. She's more welcome there than I am-but then her husband is some sort of Temple of Concord priest-well, I may be unfair to the man; perhaps he's a decent step-washer… Anyway she told me she found all the Laelii running about in a fine tizz, and though they want to pretend publicly that there's nothing amiss, she knows why. Something has happened to Gaia Laelia."

I sat up. "Are you going to tell us?"

Maia had relished the tale up to this point. Now her voice stilled with genuine concern. "They have lost her, Marcus. She has absolutely vanished. Nobody knows where the child is."