One Virgin Too Many Part 15

It was his turn to grin. "Same here," he confessed, and he too gave every appearance of speaking with a rare burst of honesty.

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 wh.o.r.es 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 pa.s.sersby 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 mora.s.s 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 ta.s.seled 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 b.u.m 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 He never knew if they were unwelcome manifestations of his own life and work, or some violent hangover from when I had lived here. 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.

"G.o.ds, 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. n.o.body knows where the child is."

XXVI.

IT WAS NONE of our business. At least, that was what we would be told by the Laelii. Anyway, there was little we could do at that late hour.

Petronius said he would escort Maia and her young son back home, not that Maia thought twice about the risk. Helena and I went straight to bed. All of us hoped, as you have to when a child is lost, that by morning everything would have resolved itself and Gaia would have turned up, leaving the adventure to become just one of those never-forgotten stories people retell every year around the fire at Saturnalia to embarra.s.s the victim. But when a missing person is a child who has said that her family wants her dead, it evokes a bad feeling, however calm you try to stay.

Next day, Maia went early to see her friend, the mother who had told her the news. Anxious herself, the woman had already called to see Caecilia Paeta, Gaia's mother. The child had not come home. The family were making light of it publicly.

Helena then visited the Laelius house with Maia--as matrons offering sympathy--but they were briskly rebuffed at the door.

Children lose themselves for all sorts of reasons. They forget the way home. They stay with friends without bothering to tell anyone. Occasionally, though, they have made sinister friends n.o.body knows about, and are lured to dangerous fates.

Children like to hide. Many "lost" children are found again at home: stuck in a cupboard or head-down in a giant urn. Usually they have managed not to suffocate.

Sometimes girls are abducted for brothels. Petronius Longus muttered to me in an undertone, that in the disgusting stews where anything goes there would be a very unpleasant premium on a six-year-old from a good home, who was known to be a potential Vestal Virgin. As soon as Maia reported next morning that the child was still missing, he took it upon himself to put out an immediate all-cohort alert.

"You are my star witness, Falco. Description of the child, please?"

"Jupiter, how do I know?" Suddenly I felt more patient towards all the vague witnesses I had previously yelled at for giving me incompetent statements. "Her name is Gaia Laelia, daughter of Laelius Scaurus. She is six years old; she's small. She was well dressed, with jewelry--bangles--and her hair fixed up--"

"That can be changed," Petro said grimly. If she had been s.n.a.t.c.hed by brothel-owners, disguising her was the first thing they would do. "Right. Dark hairs, dark eyes. Well spoken, confident. Pretty--"

Petro groaned.

Perhaps against his better judgment, he decided to tell Rubella, his cohort commander, what was happening. He could not ignore the possibility that Gaia had been kidnapped to order. That would mean all the other girls whose names were in the lottery might be potential targets too.

Rubella first told Petronius he was off his head. Despite that, the sceptical tribune immediately took himself to see the Prefect of the Urban Cohorts. At least the Fourth would be covered if there was any fallout later. Should the Prefect take this story seriously, his next step would probably be to ask the office of the Pontifex Maximus--the Emperor, of course--for a full list of the young girls in the lottery so all their parents could be warned. Since the Laelius family wanted to pretend this was a slight domestic problem that n.o.body need know about, I thought things were escalating dangerously. But in view of their social prominence, they would not be surprised that the story had been leaked.

Time counts. The Laelii were ignoring that. Even if little Gaia were just trapped in a store cupboard in her own home, they needed to hold a systematic search. They had to start now. Petronius and I could have instructed them how to go about it; we were frustrated by our inability even to approach those involved. But a Flamen Dialis was as close to the G.o.ds as you could get in human form, and a retired one could be just as arrogant. Laelius Numentinus had represented Jupiter on earth for thirty years. Both of us knew better than to tackle him. Petronius was too lowly a member of the vigiles, and his superiors had firmly told him to make no approach unless or until the Laelii directly requested help. As for me, I was the upstart in charge of the Capitoline geese--and Laelius Numentinus had made it plain what he thought of that.

It was now eight days before the Ides of June. Tomorrow the festival of Vesta would begin. Today had no sacred connections at all. As Procurator of Poultry, I had no demands on my time. When Helena and Maia returned, furious, from their abortive mission to offer sympathy at the Laelius residence, I was ready with a ploy to outflank that secretive family. It involved a visit to a very different house, one that was even more carefully closed to the public: the House of the Vestals at the end of the Sacred Way.

XXVII.

IT WAS NOT too far to walk, down from the Aventine via the Temple of Ceres, around the end of the Circus Maximus at the Cattle Market end, and into the Forum below the Capitol in the shadow of the Tarpeian Rock. We took the Sacred Way past the Basilica, turned under the Arch of Augustus between the Temples of Castor and Julius Caesar, and at about the midpoint of the Forum came to the Virgins' sanctuary. On our left the Regia, once the palace of Numa Pompilius, the second King of Rome, and now the office of the Pontifex; on our right the Temple of Vesta; beyond the temple, established between the Sacred Way and the Via Nova, the House of the Vestals.

Helena had escorted me, acting as a chaperon. We had brought Julia, though we left Nux with Maia, who reluctantly agreed to safeguard her from the attentions of lecherous dogs. With us came Maia's daughter Cloelia, on condition that she never left our sight in case she had been marked by Gaia's abductors, should they exist. My plan was to consult the Virgin Constantia; Cloelia would be able to identify Constantia if I had to beard her when she was among the other respected ones solemnly engaged in their duties for the day.

I was wearing my toga. My late brother's toga, I should say. It had had a long life. Helena had wrapped it around me with much muttering that now I was respectable I must buy a new one. Being respectable would be expensive, apparently. But you do not approach a Virgin in a stained tunic with its neck braid hanging loose.

You may wonder why I did not simply call at the House of the Vestals and enquire if the lady would see me. There was no point trying. I knew she would not. Vestal Virgins are allowed to speak to people of rank in the course of their respected work. They will take in a consul's will for safekeeping, or appeal to the Prefect of the City in a crisis--but they have the same prejudices as anyone. Informers are way off their acceptable visitors' list.

Maia had looked at me very suspiciously when I suggested taking Cloelia. She suspected I wanted to pump her daughter for information. As we walked down to the Forum, I did tackle the child.

Helena gripped her hand. Clopping along in her rather large sandals (Maia expected her to grow into them), Cloelia looked up at me, expecting trouble. She had the Didius curls and something of our stocky build, but facially she resembled Famia most. The high cheekbones that had given her father's features a tipsy slant could, in Cloelia's finer physiognomy, make her strikingly beautiful one day. Maia had probably foreseen trouble. She could handle it, or at least make a fierce attempt. Whether her daughter would agree to be steered on a safe course was yet to be seen.

"Well, Cloelia; you have become a celebrity since I last saw you. How did you enjoy being taken to the Palace of the Caesars to meet Queen Berenice?"

"Uncle Marcus, Mother told me not to let you ask me a lot of questions, unless she was there." Cloelia was eight, far more mature than Gaia had been, less obviously self-a.s.sured with strangers, but in my view probably more intelligent. I was no stranger, of course; I was just crazy Uncle Marcus, a man with a ridiculous occupation and new social pretensions, whom her female relations had taught her to scoff at.

"That's all right. You just may be able to help me with something important."

"Well, I'm sure I don't know anything," said Cloelia, smirking. She was a typical witness. Anything she did know would have to be screwed out of her. If Helena had not been watching with a disapproving glare, I might have tried the normal inducement (offering money). Instead, I could only grin gamely. Cloelia fixed her eyes ahead, satisfied that I was in my place.

"Suppose I ask the questions," suggested Helena. "What did you think of the Queen then, Cloelia?"

"I didn't like the scent she smelled of. And she only wanted to talk to the right people."

"Who were they? "

"Well, not us, obviously. We stood out a bit. My mother's dress was much brighter than all the others; I had told her it would be. She did it on purpose, I suppose. And then I had to keep telling everyone my father works among the charioteers. Well, Helena Justina, you can imagine what they thought of that!" She paused. "Used to work," she corrected herself in a quieter voice.

I took her other hand.

After a moment, she looked up at me again. "I can't be a Vestal now, you know. We had to be examined to ensure we were all sound in every limb--and they told us the other particular was that you have to have both parents alive. So you see, I don't qualify any longer. Neither Rhea nor I ever will. Anyway, it's probably better if I stay at home and help Mother."

"True," I said, feeling nonplussed as I often did. Maia's children were more grown up in some ways than our own generation. "Tell me, Cloelia, did you meet the little girl called Gaia Laelia?"

"You know I did."

"Just testing."

"She was the one who might be selected."

"By the Fates?"

"Oh Uncle Marcus, don't be so silly!"

"Cloelia, I don't mind if you believe state lotteries are fixed, but please don't tell anyone that I said so."

"Don't worry. Marius and I have decided we won't ever tell anyone we even know you."

"You think Uncle Marcus is a scamp?" asked Helena, pretending to be shocked. Cloelia looked prim. "You and Gaia Laelia became quite friendly, didn't you?"

A scornful expression crossed my niece's face. "Not really. She is only six!"

An easy one to miscalculate. For adults the little girls were a single group. But they ranged in age between six and ten, and within the hierarchies of childhood rolled enormous gulfs.

"But you did talk to her?" Helena asked.

"She was lonely. Once we could all see she had been singled out, none of the other girls would speak to her. Of course," said Cloelia, "after they thought about it, there were some who would have swarmed all over her. She could have been very popular. But then their mothers got sniffy and grabbed their precious darlings close to them."

"Not your mother?"

"I dodged her."

Helena and I exchanged a quick glance. We had slowed our pace through the Forum Boarium, but we were now pa.s.sing the Basilica Julia, fighting our way through the crowds that always milled on the steps in a haze of overused hair pomade.

I decided to be frank. "Cloelia, as your mother has probably told you, something bad may have happened to little Gaia, and what she talked about to you may help me help her."

"We just played at being Vestal Virgins." Cloelia had been ready for me. "All she wanted to do was pretend to be fetching water from the Spring of Egeria and sprinkling it in the temple like the Virgins have to do. She just kept on playing the same game. I got really bored."

"Before that, didn't she throw a little tantrum when she was sitting on the Queen's lap?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't hear what it was about?"

"No."

"Did you think Gaia was happy to be put forward as a Virgin?"