One Virgin Too Many Read online

  “Full complement. Tell me, would-be novitiate, do they usually all make the effort to attend?”

  “No. They reckon to muster between three and nine. A full quorum occurred once at the end of Nero’s reign, and is still spoken of with awe.”

  “That Master must have owned a spectacular cook.”

  “I expect they were going to debate the crazy emperor.”

  “Surprise me!”

  The party had all crammed into the triclinium. We could hear mutters as they vied for the best couches, and groans as the old men among them struggled to recline their raddled bodies encumbered with the clinging folds of their robes. I could imagine their eagerness to hear salacious details of the murder and to know how bad a scandal affected their order.

  “Well, time to go, Falco.” Aelianus had the concentration of a gnat. “There’s nothing for us here.”

  “That’s what they want you to think. The Master of your admired order has turned us inside out. Now I know how a skinned rabbit feels as its fur is peeled.”

  “I stumbled across a ghastly domestic incident. Don’t you believe that?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “So the Master told us the truth.”

  “Partially—probably.”

  “He seemed perfectly open and reasonable.”

  “A lovely fellow. But I bet he cheats at draughts.”

  Four youths emerged from a side door. They wore matching white tunics, and all carried salvers.

  Aelianus, who had been on the verge of abandoning any pretense of comradeship with me, turned slightly. Despite himself, he caught my eye. Once again, curiosity had won, and he was suddenly back in the game.

  “Which was it?” I muttered.

  He signaled to the third boy. I bounded across and grabbed him, whipped the salver away from him, dragged one arm up his back, and marched him into an alcove behind a statue. Aelianus blocked escape and confirmed aloud that this was the young man who ran away from questioning at the Grove earlier.

  *

  He was about thirteen. A few spots and stubbles. A pigeon-chested young lout who reckoned he could do as he liked and we had to put up with it. Aelianus wrinkled his nose. The pristine white uniform covered a body that shunned bathing in a routine adolescent way.

  “Let me go! I have my duties at the feast—”

  “This is the camillus with the runaway legs?” I asked Aelianus. “I wonder why? What’s he hiding?”

  “Obviously something!” Aelianus leaned on the lad, squashing him up against the statue.

  “Something bad, I’d say. What’s your name, Speedy?”

  “Find out. I’ve done nothing.”

  “Can you prove that? There has been a murder, clever. So what did you see of it?”

  “Nothing!” He glared back, acting dumb. He was cocky, but I could play the official line. We were in somebody’s house, however; we might be discovered and thrown out at any minute. I had to act fast.

  “What shall we do?” I mused to Aelianus. “The vigiles would be the nearest who own a set of thumbscrews, but it’s not my favorite district cohort. Why should they get all the fun? No, leave the esparto mat boys to comb the streets for arsonists. I reckon we’ll haul this little beggar to the Palace.”

  “The Praetorians?”

  “No—they’re far too soft.” Any lad in Rome would know the Praetorian Guard were vicious. “I’ll give him to Anacrites.”

  “The Chief Spy?” Aelianus was playing along with me. “Oh, have a heart, Falco!”

  “Well, of course he’s a brute; I can’t stand his dirty methods. Still, he’s got the best equipment. Speedy won’t last long in the underground torture cell.”

  While Aelianus was shuddering dramatically, the boy squealed in panic. “I done nothing, I done nothing!”

  One thing he had done was to make too much noise. I glanced over my shoulder, but despite his cries, the household staff were all absorbed in serving the first course at the feast. The Brothers were raising quite a din too, as they fell on their ceremonial hors-d’oeuvres and gossiped with their mouths full about last night’s grim events. “Answer my questions then, son. A man was killed, rather unpleasantly. What did you see in the Sacred Grove of the Dea Dia?”

  “I didn’t see him killed.”

  “Well then? Do you know who he was?”

  “One of the Brothers. They all look alike once they get dressed up. I don’t know all their names.”

  “Did you see the corpse?”

  “No. Someone else found it; one of the temple priests, I think. He went off sick today.” The priest’s own choice, or the Master’s decision? “I only saw the Master’s attendants taking the body away on a trestle, covered up.”

  “What else?” asked Aelianus quietly. Without any training, he now fell into the role of the friendly, well-spoken interrogator—the less brutal one. I could live with that.

  “I saw her,” gasped Speedy, gratefully turning to this more sympathetic fellow. “The woman who did it. I saw her.”

  Suddenly he was less sure of himself, and looked more his age: a boy. An extremely frightened one.

  “Will you tell us about her?”

  “The men who were moving the body didn’t want people hanging about. I was having a good gawp, but they ordered me to move away. As I was going, she appeared in front of me.”

  “Can you describe her?”

  The camillus was too young to have started taking mental notes of women’s attributes. He looked helpless.

  “What was she wearing?” I suggested.

  “White. With her hair all tied up. White—but the front of her dress was covered with blood. That was how I knew she did it.”

  “Of course. You must have been terrified,” Aelianus sympathized.

  “I was all right,” he bragged, comforting himself in retrospect. He had probably had no time for real fear.

  I stuck with the job in hand: “Was she a young woman?”

  “Oh no.” To a boy his age that could mean anyone over twenty-five.

  “A gray-haired granny?”

  “Oh no.”

  “A matron? Was she high class? Did she wear jewelry?”

  “I don’t know—I was just staring at her. She had a wild look. And …” He stopped.

  “And what?” asked Aelianus patiently.

  “She was holding a bowl.” The boy’s voice had dropped. This seemed to be the source of his hidden terror. “She was holding a bowl like this—” He demonstrated, miming the action of carrying a vessel lodged on the hip, with one hand on the far rim. We were silent. He struggled. “It was full of blood. Like in a temple sacrifice.”

  “Dear gods!” Shocked himself, Aelianus set a hand on the boy’s shoulder to steady him. Aelianus had told his father and me that the dead man had a large throat wound. Now we knew why. He shot me a look, then drew breath carefully. “So what happened?”

  “She did something horrible.”

  “What?”

  “Other people had seen her. I could hear them coming towards us, and I thought I was safe.”

  “But?”

  “Maybe she heard the people coming. She began to weep, crazily. She seemed to start awake from a dream, and she saw me. Then it was strange. At an altar, when they cut the beast’s throat and catch the blood, they have a boy to hold the ritual bowl sometimes. She seemed to think I was there for that.” The camillus braced himself. “She said, ‘Oh, there you are!’—and then she gave the bowl of the dead man’s blood to me.”

  XV

  WE CROSSED THE hall in silence and were making our way from the house. A latecomer rushed up the steps towards us, a senator in full fig and to my surprise a man I recognized. “Rutilius Gallicus!”

  “Falco! What brings you here?”

  “I could ask the same, sir.”

  He paused, catching his breath. “Duty.”

  “Well, you can’t be one of the Arval Brothers, or you would be prettied up with corn tonight—This is Camillus Aelia
nus, by the way—the brother of Justinus, whom you met with me in Africa.”

  Just in time Gallicus remembered not to exclaim, Ah, the one who ought to have married that rich Spanish girl his brother pinched! “I heard a lot about you,” he uttered instead. A mistake, as usual. Aelianus looked peeved. Embarrassed, Rutilius Gallicus dashed into his excuses for being here: “I may not have told you, Falco, I am a priest of the Cult of the Deified Emperors. I took over directly after Nero, actually—”

  I whistled. This was a top-flight honor, with close imperial connections, which he would hold for life and then have carved very large on his tombstone. Even Aelianus forced himself to look impressed. “So you are attached to the Arvals after all, sir?”

  “No more than I can help!” Gallicus shuddered, still at heart the straightforward north Italian. “I hold no brief for them, Falco. But in view of their role in praying for the health of the imperial house, I am automatically invited to their festivals.”

  “A free meal never comes amiss. I have heard a theory that election to be the new Master actually depends on a kitchen inspection, rather than the man’s religious qualities.”

  “I can believe that.” Rutilius smiled. “Look, are you two going in to the feast? I am sure I can arrange it—”

  “Not tactful, I’m afraid.” Taking a chance that he belonged to the inner circle who knew all about the murder in the Grove, I added, “My young friend Camillus had the misfortune to discover a bloody corpse last night. You may have heard the story. We were just here asking some awkward questions. The Brothers are clearly sensitive about the incident; our faces won’t fit at the party.”

  Rutilius glanced about, as if making sure we were not overheard. “Yes. I just came from the Palace; we were talking about exactly that. It’s why I am late. Titus and Domitian Caesar would normally have been here—”

  “Policy decision? It’s tricky protocol,” I sympathized. “If they stay at home over a tragedy that nobody could help, it looks cold-blooded. But if this murder blows up into a scandal on the lurid page of the Daily Gazette, the princes will not want their names linked… . Let me guess: the lads in purple have been struck wth an inexplicable stomach upset, and you are bringing their sincere apologies?”

  “Domitian has a stomach upset,” Rutilius agreed. “Titus elected for suddenly remembering the birthday of a very ancient aunt.”

  “Ah well, he gets a quiet evening in the arms of the phenomenal Berenice.”

  “Wonderful for both of them! Falco, I must dash inside—”

  We bade him good evening and left the marine-style villa. After a while Aelianus asked, “So what did you make of all that?”

  “Intriguing. A woman goes mad and knifes a relative—only she dresses it up as a religious sacrifice.” I paused. “It must have taken some doing. The killing would have been difficult, even in a frenzy—but then, after that strenuous effort, she had to maneuver the corpse to drain out the blood… .” We both grimaced.

  “Is this murder just an act of sudden madness, Falco, or do you think the victim had upset her particularly?”

  “Well, something probably triggered her action. Not at the Games. A previous incident, because there was quite a lot of planning involved. She had dressed herself up as a priestess, and gone to the Grove equipped with sacrificial implements.”

  “Do you think she and the man traveled there together?”

  “Doubt it. He would have wondered about the religious accoutrements. A woman of standing would not normally travel out of Rome alone, though. She got there somehow. She must have had transport, if not a companion.”

  “For a woman of standing, discreet transport is no problem. Half the scandals in Rome rely on it. So she took herself to the Games and confronted the man, fully intending to kill him? There can be no mitigating circumstances—yet now what, Falco? The crazed killer is simply returned to her family? Sent home in the same discreet transport, presumably! And allowed to continue her normal life?”

  “Well, the Master said they are going to guard her,” I said dryly. “If it was her husband she killed, perhaps all they have to do is ensure she never remarries. Though no doubt if she does, they will issue the new chap with a warning never to turn his back when she’s slicing smoked meat.”

  “Oh, wonderful! Was that rude old man we passed earlier at the Master’s house a relative coming to beg the Arvals to sanction the coverup?”

  “Seems likely.”

  “Well, I think it’s disgraceful if they get away with it.”

  Since he had been born into the top circle where such coverups were permissible, I refrained from comment. What was to gain by publicizing this woman’s tragedy? A trial and execution would only be an added misery for her relatives. They could afford drugs to calm her and guards to restrain her. Plenty of perfectly ordinary Aventine families have batty old aunts who are kept well away from the kindling axe.

  I walked with Aelianus to the senator’s house to make sure that no muggers jumped him, then made my own way over the Aventine. Several times on the dark journey, I thought I heard footsteps following me, but I saw no one. In Rome, at night, all sorts of suspicious noises can make you nervous once you let yourself start hearing them.

  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 Templ
e 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?”