One Virgin Too Many Page 21

  So far, I hated the setup, yet found it hard to believe Gaia’s story. This was a family in constant turmoil—yet with no evidence of real malice. I asked the escorting slave to find me the child’s nurse. The man went off reluctantly.

  “Not one to look for the joys in life.” I grinned at the fat woman with the sponge. “Have I finished here?”

  “One more room around the corner.” Oh? Who could that belong to?

  She waddled off ahead of me, willingly pointing out the extra bedroom. It was as large as the others, but subtly improved in decor. There were Egyptian rugs beside the high bed, instead of mere Italian wool. Female garments lay folded in a chest, though nothing was in the cupboards. A comb, with a few long gray hairs caught in its teeth, lay on a shelf beside a green glass alabastron that contained a sweeter perfume than the crocus goo that still accompanied me if I waved my hand about.

  I looked at the slave. She looked back at me. She pursed her lips. “We had people who used to stay here,” she announced, still meeting my eye rather pointedly.

  “That sounds a bit peculiar,” I observed frankly. This one was a character. She nodded, admiring her own acting. “Somebody told you to say that.”

  “They lived out of Rome,” she added, as if just remembering her rehearsal. “One of them died, and they do not come anymore.”

  “These mysterious visitors’ names wouldn’t have been Terentia and Tiberius?” She gave me a slow nod. “And you are not supposed to talk about them to me?” Another nod. I looked around the room. “You know, I think somebody has been here very recently!” Somebody who left in a hurry, departing the house in a carrying-chair only as I arrived today, I reckoned. So why were the Laelii so concerned to distract me from knowing that Terentia Paulla was a recent guest?

  Unfortunately, that was the end of the pantomime. I did hope the slave would privately expand on it, but when I asked, she shook her head. Still, I can be grateful for an anonymous tip (and believe me, clues were so skinnily arrayed here that I was more generous than usual when I dipped into my arm purse). But the trouble with oblique hints like that is you can never work out what they mean.

  “Any ideas what happened to the little girl?” I asked conspiratorially.

  “I’d tell you if I had, sir.”

  “Anyone here she is particularly friendly with?”

  “No. She never has friends, that I know of. Well,” said my new source, sneering, “not many would meet the right standards for the people here, would they?”

  The male slave was returning, with a girl who must be Gaia’s nurse.

  “I’m surprised they let you in!” scoffed the floor-mopper to me, as she toddled back to work.

  XXXIV

  GAIA’S NURSE was an eye-catcher: a short, sturdily built, swarthy, hairy slave from somewhere unsavory in the east. She probably worshipped gods with harsh, five-syllable names and cannibalistic habits. She looked as if she were descended from trousered archers who could ride horses bareback and shoot backwards sneakily. In fact, even if I were trying not to be unkind, facially she looked as if one of her own parents might have been a horse.

  The looks belied her cowed nature. As a barbarian, she was a cipher. I did not need to witness her trying to supervise little Gaia to realize that any six-year-old with spirit could push this beauty about. Locking her in a pantry was too extreme; I bet Gaia Laelia could have ordered nursey to sit motionless on a thistle for six hours, and the girl would have been too terrified to disobey.

  “I know nothing!” When she spoke, it was in an accent that the children in my family would have imitated happily for weeks, spluttering with hysterical laughter every time. Even lacking an audience, Gaia could probably imitate her cruelly. And reduce the nurse to sobs doing it.

  She had been thrashed. They were new bruises. From the picturesque array, I guessed that after Gaia went missing yesterday, several people had tried to force this girl to answer questions, then when she produced no answers each had resorted to punishment. The nurse thought she had been brought here so that I could thrash her again.

  “Sit down on that chest.”

  It took her a long time to believe I meant it. This may have been the first time she had ever sat in the presence of the freeborn. I was under no illusions; she probably despised me for not knowing my place.

  We were still in what had been described as the guestroom. I busied myself looking under the bed, even pulling it away from the wall and peering into the accumulated dust at the back of it.

  “I am looking for Gaia. Something very bad may have happened to her, and she has to be found quickly. Do you understand?” I dropped my voice. “I shall not whip you if you answer my questions quickly and truthfully.”

  The nurse glared at me with sullen eyes. Any trustworthiness in her nature had been beaten out of her long ago. She was spoiled as a witness—and spoiled as a child’s nurse too, in my opinion.

  Still, what did I know? My baby had never had one. The way we were going, I would never experience the anxiety of choosing, instructing, and no doubt eventually dismissing somebody to help with Julia. Some ill-trained, immature, uninterested foreigner for whom our baby represented a spoiled, rude Roman brat with spoiled, rude Roman parents, all of whom Fortune had spared from slavery and suffering for no obvious reason—unlike the conjectural nurse who would think herself, but for Fortune, as good as us. As, but for Fortune, she might well have been.

  “Right.” I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at this one. “Your name?”

  “Athene.”

  I sighed slowly. Who does these things? It was hard to think of anything more inappropriate.

  “You look after Gaia. Do you like doing that?” A grim look in response. “Does Gaia like you?”

  “No.”

  “Is the child allowed to beat you as the adults do?”

  “No.” Well, that was something.

  “But she locked you in a pantry the other day, I hear?” Silence. “It sounds to me as though she is treated like a little queen here. I don’t suppose that makes her very well behaved?” No reply. “Right. Well, listen, Athene. You are in serious trouble. If Gaia Laelia has come to any harm, you—being her nurse—will be the first suspect. It is the law in Rome that if anyone freeborn dies in suspicious circumstances, the entire complement of slaves in the household is put to death. You need to convince me that you meant her no harm. You had better show you want this little girl rescued from whatever trouble she is in.”

  “She’s not dead, is she?” Athene seemed genuinely horrified. “She’s only run away again.”

  “Again? Are you talking about the day you were locked up?” A nod this time. “Gaia was coming to see me that day, and I sent her home afterwards. Has she ever suggested to you that she wanted to run away permanently?”

  “No.”

  “Does she confide in you?”

  “She’s a quiet one.” The Gaia I had met had spoken out confidently; somebody must have engaged her in conversation regularly.

  I gazed at the girl, then sprang on her. “Do you think someone in the family wants to kill Gaia?”

  Her jaw dropped. Not an attractive sight. It was a new idea to Athene.

  They kept their secrets well here. It was no surprise. They dealt in ritual and mystery. In my view, religion had nothing to do with it. The fanciful rites of the ancient cults, where only the favored may communicate with the gods, are about power in the state. Easy to extend the same system to within the family. Every head of household is his own chief priest. Luckily we are not all expected to wear bonnets with olive prongs and earflaps. I’d sooner emigrate to a Cappadocian beanfield.

  Athene really did not know Gaia had been afraid of being killed. The child had confided in me, a complete stranger, yet knew she must not risk telling her own nurse. Well, I could see a reason for that: the nurse answered to the family.

  It’s a myth that the slaves always know all the dark secrets in a household. They know more than they are suppose
d to, yes—but never everything. A successful slave-owner will release confidences selectively: you have to give away the scandals that are merely embarrassing, like adultery and bankruptcy and the time your grandmother wet herself in the best dining room, but keep absolutely silent about the impending treason charge, your three bastards, and how much you are really worth.

  “Right, Athene; tell me about yesterday.”

  With much prompting, I drew out the same story Caecilia had told about Gaia’s morning: breakfast with the family; weaving; then play in a garden here at home.

  “So when did you decide that you had lost her?” Athene gave me a sly look. “Never mind when you really reported it.” I had seen that look a hundred times. Liars often give themselves away; it can be almost as if they are begging, or daring, you to find out the true story. “Don’t mess me about. When did you first notice?”

  “Near lunchtime.”

  “You mean, beforehand?”

  “Yes,” admitted the girl sullenly.

  “Why did you tell Gaia’s mother the child had chosen to eat lunch by herself?”

  “She does that!”

  “Yes, but this time you knew you could not find her. You should have told the truth. Why did you lie? Were you frightened?”

  Athene said nothing. I sympathized, but her behavior had been illogical and dangerous.

  “Why do you think Gaia likes to eat lunch alone?”

  “To get away from them,” growled the nurse. It was her first sign of honesty. “I just thought she had hidden herself somewhere. I thought she would turn up.”

  “Might she hide to get you into trouble?”

  “She never has done,” admitted the nurse grudgingly.

  “I know she was unhappy,” I said. “Was anybody cruel to Gaia? Tell me the truth. I won’t tell them you said it.”

  “Not cruel.” Perhaps not kind either.

  “Did they punish her for wrongdoing?”

  “If she had asked for it.”

  “Like that day she locked you up and took the litter?”

  “She should never have done that. She must have known it would cause a hurricane.”

  “What happened when she came home?”

  “The old man was waiting, and he gave her an earful.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She had to stay in her room and miss dinner. Afterwards, I was always supposed to stick with her all day and sleep in her room at night. She yelled at me too much when I tried that, so I made a bed outside the door.”

  “They didn’t beat her?”

  Athene looked surprised. “Nobody ever so much as smacked the child.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. I would be beaten for it.”

  “So did you find her troublesome to control?”

  Once again, the girl reluctantly admitted that things were not as bad as I might have supposed. “Not normally.” She smiled grimly. “People here do what they are told. If she had played me up too much, the old one would have told her it was not what their type do. ‘Better is expected of us, Gaia!’ he would say.”

  “So Numentinus rules by sheer force of personality?” She did not understand me. “If you were meant to stick with Gaia all the time, why was she playing in the garden by herself yesterday morning?”

  “I had to do something else. Her mother came by and said, ‘Oh, you can leave her to enjoy herself for a while!’ Then I had to help one of the other girls with a job she was doing.”

  “What job?”

  Athene looked vague. “Can’t remember.”

  “Hmm. When you did go back to look for Gaia, there was no sign of her? But you kept quiet at first.”

  “Not for long. I thought Gaia would be hungry. I went and lurked by the kitchen so when she came looking for a bite I could pounce on her.”

  “Could she have been to the kitchen before you got there?”

  “No. I asked them. They had kicked her out earlier when she kept bothering them for water to put in the jar she was playing with. I got shooed off too in the end, so then I had to go and own up to her mother.”

  “A search was carried out?”

  “Oh yes. They never stopped looking—well, not until you came. The Emperor descended on the old man, and then we all had orders to stop rushing around. We were told you were coming, and everything had to look calm.”

  “I don’t see why. They have nothing to be ashamed of in panicking over a lost child of that age. If it was my daughter and Vespasian dropped in, I would ask him to join the search party.”

  “You’ve got some nerve!”

  Briefly, I grinned. “That’s what he says.”

  *

  I felt there was not much more I could screw out of this bundle, so next I made her take me outside to the courtyard garden where Gaia liked to play.

  XXXV

  TWENTY OR SO sparrows took off as we emerged. It suggested a lack of human presence previously.

  We were in an interior peristyle, with slender columns on four sides forming shady colonnades; water canals added to the cool effect. I now knew from the plan that, by chance, I had first entered the house by a lesser door, one of three approaches (two doors and a short staircase) on different streets of the block. As I would expect in a house of this quality, used by people who thought they were superior, the property occupied its own insula.

  The main entrance was out of action currently, due to the building work. The hod-carriers were not remodeling it, but had used the small rooms either side of the door as stores for their tools and materials, spilling over into the corridor, which they had completely blocked with spare ladders and trestles. I was amazed Numentinus stood for it; it just showed that the power of the construction industry eclipses anything organized religion has ever managed to devise. He had once been Jupiter’s representative, but now a few cheap laborers could run rings around him, quite unafraid of his verbal thunderbolts.

  Had the main entrance been in use, there would have been a fine view from the door, right through the atrium, to a glimpse of this garden’s greenery—letting callers know what excellent taste and what an excellent amount of money (or what huge debts), the occupants possessed.

  The peristyle had a formal layout. The surrounding columns were gray stone, carved with fine spiral decorations. The space within contained box trees clipped into obelisks and empty statue bases, which I was told were awaiting family busts. A central circular hedge surrounded a pool, drained so it showed the blue lining, in the center of which reclined a metal ocean god with shaggy seaweed hair, forming a fountain, silent because of the drained works. Not much scope for a would-be Vestal Virgin to play in this drained basin.

  “Where are the builders?” I asked Athene. “They don’t seem keen to finish. Have you got Gloccus and Cotta in?”

  “Who? They were told to go today, because you were coming.”

  “That was stupid. They could have helped me search. Builders like an excuse to do something that is not in their contract. Were they here yesterday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anybody think to ask them if they saw anything?”

  “The Pomonalis did.” So somebody had shown initiative. He would be next on my list for interview.

  “Did they say anything?”

  “No,” returned the nurse, looking slightly shifty, I thought. Dear gods, she probably eyed up the laborers.

  I walked out into the garden. There were signs it had been neglected but recently revived with emergency treatment. The clipped trees were bare in places, where they had been shaved too hard after growing lanky. I saw evidence that paths had been repaired. A low pierced wall had patches of new concrete and marks where ivy had been torn off it. I remembered that a Flamen Dialis is forbidden to see ivy. Foolish old man; he could have enjoyed it winding through his latticework and statuary now. Still, it had damaged the stonework, so perhaps the prohibition had some sense.

  A gardener who cared had bothered to plant flowers. Gillyflowe
rs and verbena scented the air. Statuesque acanthus and laurel made more formal contributions. Newly planted pots of ferns and violets were dotted about, dripping.

  “Where does your water come from?” The nurse looked vague. Having no time to mess about, I worked it out for myself. “Off the roof into the long containers …” In summer that would not produce enough. I poked around the pool and fountain. I found a lead pipe, leading to a raised cistern: crude. Though the trickling sound produced would be pleasant, it would provide a very weak head in the fountain, and the cistern would need refilling constantly. It was currently empty; I hauled myself up a wall to inspect the contents and glimpsed the bottom before I lost my handhold and landed in a heap. Refills must be tipped in from off a ladder. “How do they bring water here?”

  “In buckets out of the kitchen.” I looked up the route on the chart. A narrow dogleg corridor led from one corner to the service area. That must drive the kitchen staff mad (I could see why they became irritable when Gaia’s pleas to fill her Vestal’s play equipment were added to their annoyances). Replenishing the garden tank would also be a deadly job for the carriers. It looked to me as though the builders had been brought in to connect water to the pool in some direct way. Once they had emptied it, they stopped making progress. Typical.

  “And how does water reach the house? What’s your source of supply?”

  The nurse had no idea, but the slave who was tailing me finally spoke up and told me the house was linked to an aqueduct. The Aqua Appia or Aqua Marcia, that would be.

  “Parts of the house look very old. Anyone know how they obtained water before the aqueduct was built?”

  The escort slave helped me out again: “The builders found an old well near the kitchen, but it had been filled in.”

  “Completely? Wells make me nervous—can you get to it?”

  “No, it’s quite safe—all solid to floor level.”

  “And is that the only one?” He shrugged. “Right. Now, yesterday—where would Gaia have been playing?”

  “By the pool here.”

  It struck me that the dry basin did not make a very attractive alternative for the Spring of Egeria. Besides, the builders were supposed to have been here. Solitary little girls do not normally amuse themselves in imaginary games while muscular men in short tunics, with loud voices and raucous opinions, are moving to and fro with cement hods. Come to that, the louts do not enjoy constantly having to step around six-year-olds either.