One Virgin Too Many
ONE VIRGIN
TOO MANY
Also by Lindsey Davis
SILVER PIGS
SHADOWS IN BRONZE
VENUS IN COPPER
THE IRON HAND OF MARS
POSEIDON’S GOLD
LAST ACT IN PALMYRA
TIME TO DEPART
A DYING LIGHT IN CORDUBA
THE COURSE OF HONOR
THREE HANDS IN THE FOUNTAIN
TWO FOR THE LIONS
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ONE VIRGIN TOO MANY. Copyright © 1999 by Lindsey Davis. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For information address The Grand Central Publishing, Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017.
“The Grand Central Publishing” name and logo are registered trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-7595-2129-2
A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1999 by The Mysterious Press.
First eBook Edition: November 2000
Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
M. Didius Falco
the man they love to blame
Helena Justina
a girl with a secret: hoping for a better bathroom
Julia Junilla
a dear little treasure
Nux
a dog, not quite so dear
The Sacred Geese of Juno and the Augurs’ Sacred Chickens
}
protected species
Ma
a down-to-earth commentator
Pa (Geminus)
up to no good as usual
Maia Favonia
Falco’s sister; inconveniently widowed
Cloelia (Maia’s daughter)
hoping to become a Virgin
Marius (Maia’s son)
wanting to stay on at school (a miracle)
Uncle Fabius (the dopey one)
a chicken-fancier, safely in the country
Petronius Longus
Falco’s first partner; the one who pulled out
Rubella
awkward tribune of the Fourth Cohort of vigiles
Vespasian
Emperor of Rome; as high as you can get
Titus Caesar
a Romantic Prince
Berenice
a Queen of Hearts
Rutilius Gallicus
poet and ex-consul, on the up (getting Falco down)
Anacrites
Falco’s second partner; the one who was pushed
Laelius Numentinus
an eminent chief priest (a wicked old basket)
Laelius Scaurus
a priest by rights (inactive)
Caecilia Paeta
a devoted mother (giving up her little darling)
Gaia Laelia
the next Vestal; a willing sacrifice?
Statilia Laelia
a devoted auntie (nothing wrong with that)
Ariminius Modullus
a devoted husband (wanting a divorce, of course)
Terentia Paulla
a married Virgin; another widow (convenient?)
Meldina
a beautiful part of the scenery (dangerous)
Athene
a reluctant nursemaid (safe with children?)
Ventidius Silanus
an Arval Brother, too dead to contribute
The Master of the Arval Brethren
a gourmet, too devious to comment
D. Camillus Verus
Helena’s father; trying to do his best
Julia Justa
her mother; fearing the worst
A. Camillus Aelianus
a temporary scene-of-crime expert
Q. Camillus Justinus
Falco’s new partner (permanently off the scene)
The camillus (no relation)
an Arval acolyte; a spotty youth
Constantia
a Virgin; a thriller
Gloccus and Cotta
contractors of distinction (absolutely terrible)
Jurisdictions of the Vigiles Cohorts in Rome:
Coh I
Regions VII & VIII (Via Lata, Forum Romanum)
Coh II
Regions III & V (Isis and Serapis, Esquiline)
Coh III
Regions IV & VI (Temple of Peace, Alta Semita)
Coh IV
Regions XII & XIII (Piscina Publica, Aventine)
Coh V
Regions I & II (Porta Capena, Caelimontium)
Coh VI
Regions X & XI (Palatine, Circus Maximus)
Coh VII
Regions IX & XIV (Circus Flaminius, Transtiberina)
Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Chapter XLI
Chapter XLII
Chapter XLIII
Chapter XLIV
Chapter XLV
Chapter XLVI
Chapter XLVII
Chapter XLVIII
Chapter XLIX
Chapter L
Chapter LI
Chapter LII
Chapter LIII
Chapter LIV
Chapter LV
Chapter LVI
Chapter LVII
Rome:
27 May–7 June, A.D. 74
I
I HAD JUST come home after telling my favorite sister that her husband had been eaten by a lion. I was in no mood for greeting a new client.
Some informers might welcome any chance to flourish their schedule of charges. I wanted silence, darkness, oblivion. Not much hope, since we were on the Aventine Hill, in the noisiest hour of a warm May evening, with all Rome opening up for commerce and connivance. Well, if I couldn’t expect peace, at least I deserved a drink. But the child was waiting for me outside my apartment halfway down Fountain Court, and as soon as I spotted her on the balcony I guessed that refreshments would have to wait.
My girlfriend, Helena, was always suspicious of anything too pretty that arrived in a very short tunic. Had she made the would-be customer wait outside? Or had the smart little girl taken one look at our apartment and refused to venture indoors? She was probably linked to the luxurious carrying chair with a Medusa boss on its smoothly painted half door that was parked below the balcony. Our meager ho
me might strike her as highly undesirable. I hated it myself.
On what passed for a portico, she had found herself the stool that I used for watching the world go by. As I came up the worn steps from the alley, my first acquaintance was with a pair of petite, well-manicured white feet in gold-strapped sandals, kicking disconsolately against the balcony rail. With the thought of Maia’s four children, frightened and tearful, still burning my memory, that was all the acquaintance I wanted. I had too many problems of my own.
Even so, I noticed that the little person on my stool had qualities I would once have welcomed in a client. She was female. She looked attractive, confident, clean, and well dressed. She appeared to be good for a fat fee too. A profusion of bangles was clamped on her plump arms. Green glass beads with glinting spacers tangled in the four-color braid on the neck of her finely woven tunic. Adept boudoir maids must have helped to arrange the circle of dark curls around her face and to position the gold net that pegged them in place. If she was showing a lot of leg below the tunic, that was because it was such a short tunic. She handled her smooth emerald stole with unflustered ease when it slid off her shoulders. She looked as if she assumed she could handle me as easily.
There was one problem. My ideal client, assuming Helena Justina permitted me to assist such a person nowadays, would be a pert widow aged somewhere between seventeen and twenty. I placed this little gem in a far less dangerous bracket. She was only five or six.
I leaned on the balcony newel post, a rotting timber the landlord should have replaced years ago. When I spoke my voice sounded weary even to me. “Hello, princess. Can’t you find the door porter to let you in?” She stared at me scornfully, aware that grimy plebeian apartments did not possess slaves to welcome visitors. “When your family tutor starts to teach you about rhetoric, you will discover that that was a feeble attempt at irony. Can I help you?”
“I was told an informer lives here.” Her accent said she was upper class. I had worked that out. I tried not to let it prejudice me. Well, not too much. “If you are Falco, I want to consult you.” It came out clear and surprisingly assured. Chin up and self-confident, the prospective client had the bright address of a star trapeze artiste. She knew what she wanted and expected to be listened to.
“Sorry, I am not available for hire.” Still upset by my visit to Maia, I took a sterner line than I should have done.
The client tried to win me over. She hung her head and looked down at her toes pathetically. She was accustomed to wheedling sweetmeats out of somebody. Big brown eyes begged for favors, confident of receiving what she asked. I simply gave her the hard stare of a man who had returned from imparting tragic news to people who then decided to blame him for the tragedy.
Helena appeared. She cast a frowning gaze over the cutesy wearing the bangles, then she smiled ruefully at me from behind the slatted half door that Petronius and I had built to stop my one-year-old daughter crawling outside. Julia, my athletic heir, was now pressing her face through the slats at knee level, desperate to know what was going on even if it left her with grazed cheeks, a squashed mouth, and a distorted nose. She greeted me with a wordless gurgle. Nux, my dog, leaped over the half door, showing Julia how to escape. The client was knocked from her stool by the crazy bundle of rank fur, and she shrank back while Nux performed her routine exuberant dance to celebrate my homecoming and the chance that she might now be fed.
“This is Gaia Laelia.” Helena gestured to the would-be client, like a seedy conjurer producing from a tarnished casket a rabbit who was known to kick. I could not quite tell whether the disapproval in her tone related to me or to the child. “She has some troubles regarding her family.”
I burst into bitter laughter. “Then don’t look to me for comfort! I have those troubles myself. Listen, Gaia, my family view me as a murderer, a wastrel, and a general all-around unreliable bastard—added to which, when I can get into my apartment I have to bathe the baby, cook the dinner, and catch two baby birds who keep crapping everywhere, running under people’s feet and pecking the dog.”
On cue, a tiny bright yellow fledgling with webbed feet ran out through the gaps in the half door. I managed to field it, wondering where the other was, then I grabbed Nux by her collar before she could lunge at it, and pushed her down the steps; she scrabbled against the backs of my legs, hoping to eat the birdie.
Bangles clonked angrily like goatbells as Gaia Laelia stamped her little gold-clad foot. She lost some of her previous air of maturity. “You’re horrid! I hope your duckling dies!”
“The duckling’s a gosling,” I informed her coolly. “When it grows up”—if ever I managed to nurse it from egg to adulthood without Nux or Julia frightening it to death—“it will be a guardian of Rome on the Capitol. Don’t insult a creature with a lifelong sacred destiny.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” scoffed the angry little madam. “Lots of people have destinies—” She stopped.
“Well?” I enquired patiently.
“I am not allowed to say.”
Sometimes a secret persuades you to take the job. Today mysteries held no charm for me. The terrible afternoon that I had just spent at my sister’s had killed any curiosity.
“Why have you got it here, anyway?” demanded Gaia, nodding at the gosling.
Despite my depression, I tried to sound proud. “I am the Procurator of Poultry for the Senate and People of Rome.”
My new job. I had only had it a day. It was still unfamiliar—but I already knew that it was not what I would have chosen for myself.
“Flunkey for Feathers.” Helena giggled from inside the door. She thought it was hilarious.
Gaia was dismissive too: “That sounds like a title you made up.”
“No, the Emperor invented it, the clever old boy.”
Vespasian had wanted me in a position which would look like a reward but which would not cost him much in salary. He thought this up while I was in North Africa. At his summons I had sailed all the way home from Tripolitania, eagerly hoping for position and influence. Geese were what the imperial joker inflicted on me instead. And yes, I had been awarded the augurs’ Sacred Chickens too. Life stinks.
Gaia, who knew how to be persistent, still wanted me to explain why the yellow bird was living in my house. “Why have you got it here?”
“Upon receipt of my honored post, Gaia Laelia, I rushed to inspect my charges. Juno’s geese are not supposed to hatch their own eggs on the Capitol—their offspring are normally fostered under some wormy hens on a farm. Two goslings who didn’t know the system had hatched out—and on arrival at the Temple of Juno Moneta I found the duty priest about to wring their sacred little necks.”
“Why?”
“Somebody complained. The sight of scampering goslings had annoyed some ancient retired old Flamen Dialis.” The Flamen Dialis was the Chief Priest of Jupiter, top greaser to the top god in the great Olympian Triad. This menace who loathed fledglings must be a humorless traditionalist of the worst type.
Maybe he had slipped on their mess, which the goslings frequently deposited in large quantities. You can imagine the problems we now had at home.
Gaia blinked. “You must not upset the Flamen!” she commented, in a rather strange tone.
“I shall treat this Flamen as he deserves.” I had managed not to meet him face-to-face; I just heard his moans from a harassed acolyte. I meant to avoid him. Otherwise, I would end up telling some powerful bastard where he could shove his wand of office. As a state procurator, I was no longer free to do that.
“He is very important,” the girlie insisted. She seemed nervous of something. It was obvious the Flamen thought too much of himself. I hate members of ancient priesthoods, with their snobbery and ridiculous taboos. Most of all I hate their undercover influence in Rome.
“You speak as if you know him, Gaia!” I was being satirical.
That was when she floored me: “If his name is Laelius Numentinus, he’s my grandfather.”
My heart san
k. This was serious. Tangling with some hidebound king of the cult priesthoods over a couple of ill-placed goslings was a bad enough start to my new post, without him finding out his darling grandchild had approached me, wanting me to act for her. I could see Helena raising her eyebrows and wincing with alarm. Time to get out of this.
“Right. How do you come to be here, Gaia? Who told you about me?”
“I met somebody yesterday who said that you help people.”
“Olympus! Who made that wild claim?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Who knows you are here?” asked Helena in a concerned voice.
“Nobody.”
“Don’t leave home without telling people where you are going,” I rebuked the child. “Where do you live? Is it far?”
“No.”
From indoors came a sudden loud cry from Julia. She had crawled away and disappeared, but was now in some urgent trouble. Helena hesitated, then went to her quickly in case the crisis involved hot water or sharp objects.
There was nothing that a child of six could need from an informer. I dealt with divorce and financial double-dealing; art theft; political scandal; lost heirs and missing lovers; unexplained deaths.
“Look, I work for grown-ups, Gaia—and you ought to go home before your mother misses you. Is that your transport in the street?”
The child looked less sure of herself and seemed willing to descend to the elaborate conveyance that I had seen waiting below. Automatically I started wondering. A rich and richly spoiled infant, borrowing Mama’s fine litter and bearers. Did this happen often? And did Mama know that Gaia had pinched the litter today? Where was Mama? Where was the nursemaid Gaia ought to have attached to her even inside the family home, let alone when she left it? Where, thought the father in me without much hope of a serious answer, was Gaia’s anxiety-burdened papa?