One Virgin Too Many mdf-11 Read online

  "I am aware of how hard you have tried." From him that was gratitude. Rather to my surprise he came and placed himself at the table where the workmen's crumbs had once been squabbled over by the sparrows. "Do not think us harsh, Falco. She is a beguiling, sweet-natured little girl, my only grandchild. I prayed with all my heart that you would have found her today."

  I was too weary to react. But I did believe him.

  I stood up. "I'll find out whether the vigiles have discovered anything." If so, it could only be bad news now. The old man looked as if he knew that. "If she still fails to turn up, may I come back here tomorrow and see what else can be done?"

  He pursed his lips. He did not want me here. Yet he inclined his head, allowing it. Maybe he really did love Gaia. Or maybe he sensed that this loss of the small child could be the incident that split apart his family when all else had failed to break his dominance.

  "I know what you feel about the vigiles, sir, but I would like to bring in one officer, my friend Petronius Longus. He has vast experience-and is the father of young girls. I want to walk the ground with him, and see if he turns up anything I missed."

  "I would prefer to avoid that." It was not quite a refusal, and I kept it in reserve. "A woman is here to speak to you," he then told me. "You are wanted elsewhere."

  Nothing much seemed to matter to me at the moment, but I still had it in me to be curious. As I dragged myself to my feet and turned to leave the garden to find my personal visitor, the other curiosity prevailed.

  "It had seemed to me," I told Numentinus somberly, "the best hope of finding Gaia would be if she had mischievously crept into some hole from which she could not escape. But we seem to have disproved that." Numentinus was walking slowly alongside me. "The most likely alternative," I commented, determined not to spare him now, "is that she has run away because of family problems."

  I had expected the ex-Flamen to be furious. His reaction turned everything I assumed on its head. He laughed. "Well, we would all like to run away from those!" While I was getting over that, he tossed the suggestion aside with a sneer of contempt. "Now you have lost my confidence, Falco, after all."

  "Oh, I don't think I deserve that, sir! It's fairly plain something came to a head here after the death of Terentia Paulla's husband. Well, look at it-a man who was not even a blood relative, a family friend, yes-but one who had been abusive towards your womenfolk-" Although they had told me Numentinus did not know, I reckoned he was well aware of it; at any rate, he showed no surprise now. "Next minute, you are consulting everyone, including the widow-again, only a relative of your late wife's, and a woman with whom you yourself have been at odds regularly. Even your estranged son was in on the debate. He spun me a wild story about that! So tell me," I insisted heatedly, "for whom is the legal guardian really needed? And why, exactly?"

  Shocked by my vehemence, Numentinus stayed silent. And he was not intending to answer me: he dodged it all. "I cannot imagine what my son has said to make you think this way. It simply shows how unworldly he is, and proves me right to continue to hold him in my patriarchal power."

  "He wants to help his aunt. That seems commendable."

  "Terentia Paulla needs no help from anyone," Numentinus uttered crushingly. "Anybody who has told you otherwise is a fool!" He paused. "Or completely mad," he added, in a baleful voice.

  ***

  I was too disheartened to protest or make further enquiries. What he said had a ghastly ring of truth.

  I walked to the entrance hall they were using, and there at last my spirits rose slightly: the person who had asked for me was Helena. She was holding my toga, which somebody must have found and given to her, and she smiled gently. Obviously she had heard I had failed. There was no need to waste effort explaining.

  I noticed she was rather well dressed, in a gleamingly clean white gown and a modest stole over hair which looked suspiciously fanciful to arouse new dreads. She was wearing a gold necklace her father had given her when Julia was born. She was scented divinely with Arabic balsam and her face, on close inspection, had been lightly touched up with such skill in the use of the paint that it had to have been applied by one of her mother's maids or with the help of Maia.

  The last thing I wanted now was the kind of social gathering that called for such titivation.

  "Come along." Helena grinned, seeing my horror. She sniffed at me "Nice unguents, Falco! You have such exquisite taste… A litter is waiting outside with a clean tunic for you. We can stop at a bathhouse if you're quick."

  "I am in no mood for a party."

  "It's official: no option. Titus Caesar wants you."

  Titus Caesar sometimes did discuss state issues with me. I was not expected to take a chaperon. So what was this about?

  Titus, in my opinion, had once nursed a partiality for Helena. As far as I knew it had remained hypothetical, though she had needed to leave Rome in a hurry to avoid awkwardness. She still avoided him, and would certainly never normally turn out rigged like this, in case it revived his ideas.

  "What's the wrinkle, fruit?"

  Helena was smiling. Full of joy at seeing her, I had already let myself start to sink into her power. "Don't worry, my darling," she murmured. "I shall take care of you. I think, from what the messenger told me, our hosts will be wonderful Titus-and the fabulous Queen of Judaea."

  XXXVIII

  No wise man can possibly answer the question: Was Queen Berenice really beautiful? Well, not when any of his womenfolk are listening.

  I wondered if my brother Festus, he who died the heroic or not-quite-so-heroic death in her country, had ever seen Titus Caesar's armful. I found myself overcome by a yearning to discuss with Festus what he thought of her. Not that I mean to imply that anything would have happened if Festus, a mere centurion of common origin and raffish habits, ever had seen her, but, as is well known, Didius Festus was a lad.

  Well, was she beautiful?

  "Loud!" Ma would have said.

  Achieved with sensitivity and high-quality trappings, loudness has its virtues. I happen to believe there is a place for loud women. (Festus thought so too; for him, their place was in his bed.)

  Let it not be suggested that I am dodging the issue through a bad brother who happened to have had a reputation for jumping anyone in long skirts. I just want to say, as I am quite happy to do even if Helena Justina should be on hand, that had my brother Festus seen Queen Berenice he would undoubtedly have risen to the challenge of trying to displace his elite commander (Titus Caesar, legate of the Fifteenth Legion when Festus served with them)-and that I personally would have enjoyed watching Festus have a go.

  That's all. A man can dream.

  Believe me, a man can hardly avoid it when he has spent hours supervising bucketfuls of grunge from the depths of a lavatory that must have been first used in republican times and rarely emptied since, then he walks into a room so full of exotic items that he can barely take them all in-not counting the dame in the diadem who is apparently feeding flattery to Titus as if it were huge pearly oysters in wine sauce. (Titus is lapping up her murmured endearments like a parched dog.) (The attendants have their eyes on stalks.) (Helena chokes.)

  "Oh, settle down, Falco. It's just a woman. Two eyes, one nose, two arms, a rather obvious bust, and perhaps not quite as many teeth as she must have owned once."

  I do not practice dentistry. I had not been looking at the Queen's teeth.

  ***

  Luckily, we had just entered a suite in Nero's Golden House where the waterworks came in multiple quantities, with a luxuriant supply which was continually switched on. Liquefactious sheets of water slid down stair fountains; fine spouts tinkled in marble shells. High ceilings absorbed some of the stray sound and swathes of rich drapery muffled the rest. Unintentionally, the mad imperial harpist had created a satirist's dream: in the Golden House, a sharp girl could be rude about a rival all the way across the room-indeed, right until the rival's oriental perfumes knocked her back a pace, trying not to s
neeze.

  With an upheaval of purple, Titus Caesar, all curls and chubby chops, rushed from a dais to welcome us. He was typical of the Flavians, thickset and almost stout, apparently an ordinary fit countryman, yet conscious of his dignity.

  "Helena Justina-how wonderful to see you! Falco, welcome."

  Titus looked ready to burst with pride in his conquest-or at being conquered by such a wonder. Understandably, he was eager to show off his new royal girlfriend to a senator's daughter who once cold-shouldered him. Helena responded with a quiet smile. Had he known Helena well, Titus would have restrained his enthusiasm at that point. If she had smiled like that at me, I would have returned to my couch, rammed my knees together, clasped my hands, and kept quiet for the next hour in case I had my ears blasted.

  Being the son and heir of an emperor, Titus assumed he was in charge here. Queen Berenice, if I am any judge, detected more complex undercurrents. She had followed him down to us, shimmering. A neat trick. Silken robes help. Then it's easy to do (Helena told me afterwards) if your sandals are difficult to walk in, so you have to sway sinuously in order not to fall over when traversing low steps.

  Attendants placed us all informally on couches off the dais. The cushions were packed so hard with down, I nearly slid off mine. Like all architect-designed mansions, the whole place was dangerous; my boot studs had already skidded a few times on over-polished floor mosaics. There was so much to look at, I could not decide where to feast my eyes. (I refer to the exquisite paintwork-that on the walls and the ceiling vaults, of course.)

  "Falco-you are very quiet!" chuckled Titus. He was reeking with happiness, poor dog.

  "Dazzled, Caesar." I could be polite. After today's efforts, however, I may have been openly flagging. Physically I was wrecked. I hoped it was temporary. I ached worryingly. Age was catching up. My hands and fingernails felt rough; the dry skin of my face felt stretched. Even after a fast steam and scrape in the baths, the contents of that lavatory were still arousing unpleasant nasal memories.

  "Marcus is exhausted," Helena told Titus, settling herself elegantly. Though a private lass, in company she sometimes produced a composure that startled me. I knew when to shut up, anyway. I was too tired, so she was crisply taking charge. "He has spent all day searching for the little girl at the Laelius house. When I tracked him down for you, he was filthy, and I am sure they had given him nothing to eat-"

  Berenice responded at once to the cue. (So the rumors were true; she had taken over the domestic keys already…) Rubies flashed as she waved a languid hand to call for sustenance for me. Helena beamed thanks in her direction.

  "No luck?" Titus asked me. He looked very keen for a reassuring answer.

  "No sign of her, unfortunately," Helena said. Trays of dainties had arrived. I started to pick at them; Helena weighed in like a food taster, then selected from the silver bowls and popped morsels into my mouth almost as fast as I could deal with them. Fortunately, my well-wound toga stopped me slumping. Propped up in its hot woollen swathes, I succumbed to being tended like an invalid. This was nice. A comfortable palace. Helena did the talking. There was plenty for me to stare around at while I let her run the interview.

  I wondered what the home life of the imperial family would be like nowadays: young Domitian, aping Augustus seizing Livia, had snatched a married woman and announced himself married to her; that was after seducing every senator's wife he could persuade to favor him-before his father came home and clipped his wings. Titus (once divorced, once widowed) had now been joined-perhaps unexpectedly-by his exotic royal piece. Vespasian had previously lived openly with an extremely astute freedwoman. Antonia Caenis, my late patroness (was it coincidence that Berenice had delayed her arrival in Rome until after the death of Vespasian's sensible, influential concubine?). There were a couple of very young female relations-Titus' daughter, Julia, and a Flavia. Vespasian himself had now decamped to live in the Gardens of Sallust in the north of the city, near his old family house. But even without the old man, communal breakfasts must be riveting affairs.

  "I suppose your father must have considered whether to continue with the Vestals' lottery?" Helena was asking Titus.

  "Well, we feel there is no choice about tomorrow. There are twenty perfectly good candidates-"

  "Nineteen," I mumbled, between mouthfuls.

  "Gaia Laelia may yet be found safe and well!" Titus reproved me.

  "One other little girl has had to be withdrawn," Helena informed him calmly. "Her father died." Titus pulled up, seeing she knew more about this than he did. "If the lottery is held," Helena explained for the Queen's benefit, "all the candidates must be present. It is essential that when the Pontifex Maximus selects a name, he can continue with the ritual: he must then take the girl by the hand, welcome her with the ancient declaration-and remove her at once from her family to her new home in the Vestals' House."

  The Queen listened, making no comment, but watching with dark, heavily etched eyes. I wondered what she made of us. Had Titus told her who he had sent for? If so, how did he describe us? Did she expect this low-born man with tired limbs and chin stubble, bossed into easy submission by a cool creature who spoke to the Emperor's son like one of her own brothers?

  Helena continued to include the Queen: "We are talking about a symbolic ceremony in which the chosen girl leaves the authority of her own family, and abandons all her possessions as a member of that family, then becomes a child of Vesta. Her hair is shaved off and hung on a sacred tree-though of course, it is afterwards allowed to grow again; she dons the formal attire of a Vestal Virgin, and from that day begins her training. If the chosen child were not present when her name was called, it would be very awkward."

  "Impossible," said Titus.

  I chewed thoughtfully on a lobster dumpling. Tut, tut; the chef had left a piece of shell. I removed it with a pained expression, as if I expected better here.

  "I thought Rutilius Gallicus was your commissioner in the search for Gaia Laelia?" Helena asked Titus, perhaps reproving him for interference. I caught the eye of the young Caesar and smiled faintly. Time was, he had had me on the hop whenever he summoned me to a meeting. Well, I was respectable now; I could bring along my talented, well-bred girlfriend to defend me like a gladiator's trainer choreographing a fight.

  She had waved up an attendant with a wine flagon, but when the boy reached us, she took the vessel from him and poured my drink herself. The attendant looked startled. Helena flashed him a smile, and he jumped back, unaccustomed to acknowledgment.

  "Yes, well…" Titus was hedging. I had always reckoned he could be devious, so this was unlike him. I sipped the wine. Helena leaned forwards, as if waiting to hear what Titus had to say. Her flimsy stole had slipped down her back. Curled tendrils of her hair wafted on her neck. I reached out my free hand and tugged one of the soft tendrils so she sat nearer to me again. In defiance of protocol, I put my arm around her.

  "Some extra dimension, Caesar?" Now the authoritative tone was mine. I thought Berenice sharpened her gaze slightly, wondering whether Helena would accept my takeover. She did, of course. The refined and elegant Helena Justina knew that if she gave me any trouble I was going to tickle her neck until she collapsed in fits.

  "This is rather sensitive, Falco." It would be. I might be Procurator of the Sacred Geese, but I remained the fixer who was given all the rough jobs. "I just want to beg you to do all you can."

  "Marcus will continue until he has found the child." Long practiced, Helena had worked free of my restraining arm.

  "Yes, of course." Titus looked submissive. Then he looked at Berenice. She seemed to be waiting for something; he seemed embarrassed. He admitted, "There has been some bad feeling about the Queen and me."

  I inclined my head politely. At my side, Helena took my hand. Surely, she cannot have imagined I would say something rude? The man was in love. It was sad to watch.

  "Ridiculous!" scoffed Titus. In his eyes, Berenice could do no wrong, and anyone who suggested th
ere were problems was being unkind and irrational. He should have known better-as his father had done, when Berenice first tried her wiles on the old man himself.

  The lovers were insulated here; they might have convinced themselves everything was fine. This would carry Titus through a great deal of public disapproval. But he would have to face the truth when Vespasian himself decided to bust up the love nest.

  Murmurs of discontent must have already reached the romantic pair. "As you may know," Titus told me in a firm, formal voice, as if he were speech-making, "the last time the missing child, Gaia Laelia, was seen publicly was at a reception which was given to allow all the young lottery candidates to meet Queen Berenice."

  "Gaia Laelia spent part of the afternoon on the Queen's lap," I said. "I'm glad you raised this, Caesar-I understand there was some kind of commotion?"

  "You are well informed, Falco!"

  "My contacts are everywhere." He thought about that. I regretted saying it.

  "This may be important," Helena said to Berenice. "Can you tell us what the fuss was?"

  "No." Titus answered for the Queen. "All the girl talked about was her pleasure in being selected-I mean, being subjected to the lottery."

  I was beginning to wonder if Berenice lacked Latin. However, this was the woman who, while sharing the Judaean kingdom with her incestuous brother, had once protested volubly against the barbarity of a Roman governor in Jerusalem; she was a fearless orator who had appealed for clemency for her people barefoot, though in danger of her life. She could speak out when she wanted to.

  And now she did. Ignoring Titus studiously, she appeared to override his instructions to keep her mouth shut: "The child was rather quiet. After I seemed to win her confidence, she suddenly exclaimed, 'Please let me stay here. There is a mad person at home who is going to kill me!' I was alarmed. I thought the child herself must be crazy. Attendants came forward immediately and took her away."