Saturnalia Read online

  Pa had said Justinus hit her, but there were no visible wounds or bruises. I was familiar with the evidence of wife-beating, from many a sad soul I knew when I lived up on the Aventine and from plenty of battered witnesses I met through my work.

  ‘We had a quarrel,’ stated Claudia in a tight voice. ‘As I am sure you know, Marcus Didius, this was nothing unusual.’ With compressed lips, Claudia stared at me for a moment. She was a proud girl; it hurt her to say it openly.

  ‘This was a particular quarrel?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Oh dear! ‘The woman Veleda is in Rome. Quintus is extremely agitated. I cannot bear it any longer. I told him if he attempts to see her, I will divorce him and return to Hispania Baetica. He has to choose. We cannot possibly continue as we are—’

  Claudia was close to hysterical. I glanced at Julia Justa then suggested she go and help Helena deal with the soldiers. Julia glared but took the hint.

  After she left, Claudia sat down on a couch, went into a short sobbing session which she ended of her own accord, then blew her nose, and sat up straight to discuss things. She had always been practical. It simplified the crises.

  ‘How did Quintus come to hit you, Claudia?’ Best to get this dealt with.

  Claudia blushed. ‘It was nothing. Just stupid. I was so furious and frustrated I must have accidentally knocked into him and he reacted instinctively. ‘

  I had been told similar by many an abused woman, but in this case I believed her. Abused wives don’t wriggle with embarrassment. ‘You lashed out and belted him, he swiped you back, neither of you meant it? And then,’ I said gently, ‘both of you were terribly shocked. He couldn’t cope, so he fled?’ Claudia was staring at the ground. ‘Look, I heard about it from my father. Quintus went to buy you a present to apologise—he was horrified and ashamed… ‘ Claudia was starting to look more cheerful. I didn’t fool myself; she was probably just happy to hear of Quintus being ashamed. ‘Was the baby in the room?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, at least he didn’t see the riot.’ I gave her a grin. ‘You’re a dangerous woman! And don’t blame Quintus; he has been taught by army trainers to react to an attack… It won’t happen again. If it did, you would both have to worry—but it won’t.’

  ‘It certainly won’t happen if he never comes home,’ snarled Claudia.

  ‘So you want him to come home?’ I demanded pointedly. She fell silent.

  The narrow double doors of our pleasant turquoise salon slid apart quietly; Helena came in, closing the doors again behind her back and leaning against them momentarily. She had probably been listening outside.

  I wondered where her mother was. The thought of the noble and elegant Julia Justa showing a group of inept soldiers where they could set up their camp beds was piquant. She would do it without a qualm. Julia was competent, much more competent than the lads would expect. I lived with her daughter, so I knew how the Camilli had been brought up.

  There had been plenty of past affection between Helena and Claudia. Even so, Helena came to sit by me. I knew her loyalty was to her brother rather than his wife.

  This was the predicament of the foreign bride, when things went wrong. Even if the people among whom she had made her new life were taking her part, she could never entirely trust them. My common origins made me different and I could sometimes comfort the girl, but Helena would always be one of the Camilli. Justinus had been in the wrong more than once, and he was going to make a fool of himself over Veleda if he possibly could, but his wife would struggle to find allies. She knew it too. She also knew it was her own fault she had married him, and if she gave him a divorce notice everyone else would blame her.

  Claudia Rufina was isolated in Rome. Her family, such as it was, lived far away in Corduba. Her parents were long dead; her younger brother had been murdered; her grandparents were very elderly. I was not even sure the old couple were still alive. She had had one close friend out in Baetica, a young woman called Aelia Annaea, but Aelia had stayed at Corduba and also married. Although they presumably wrote to each other, their relationship must have altered. For one thing, having announced that she intended to marry Camillus Aelianus (whom her people at home all knew because he had had a posting there), Claudia Rufina might have felt some reserve about telling them later that she had switched to his brother, Camillus Justinus. At the time, Claudia thought Justinus was more handsome than his brother and more fun. That was before she discovered just how much fun lay in his past.

  ‘Tell me what happened in Germany.’ Claudia was addressing me. Even Helena turned towards me expectantly; Claudia immediately noted that.

  ‘It’s pretty straightforward.’ I kept my voice level. ‘The Emperor sent me on a mission to persuade two bitter opponents of Rome to make peace. They were Civilis, a one-eyed Batavian turncoat who had served in the legions, and Veleda, a priestess who was stirring up hatred against us from a remote location in the forest. She lived in Germania Libera, where Rome has no remit, so that part of our trip was extremely hazardous. Quintus came over with me, as you know. We got into trouble—bad trouble. Most of my party fell into the hands of Veleda’s tribe, the Bructeri, who loathe Rome. They were going to kill us. Quintus and a couple of others, who had escaped their clutches, came to rescue us. While the warriors were feasting and working themselves up for the massacre, Quintus had to win the priestess’ confidence. He argued our fate with her for many hours; eventually he persuaded her to let us go. I don’t know—and frankly, I don’t care—just how he won Veleda over. We owe him our lives. It was the most difficult and dangerous thing he had ever done, and it affected him deeply.’

  ‘He fell in love with her.’ Claudia was wooden.

  ‘We were only there for a night.’

  ‘That’s long enough!’ murmured Helena. I glanced at her, curious. ‘He only spoke with the priestess, as far as I know.’ Both women thought I was lying. Mentally, I stuck with the strict truth: Justinus never had confessed to me that he slept with Veleda. Of course we all made assumptions. His behaviour afterwards made everything damned obvious. Besides, we all wished we had had the chance… ‘Whatever Quintus did, was in the service of Rome.’ That pompous declaration won me no friends. ‘Obviously Veleda is a charismatic woman—that is how she controlled her tribesmen. And Quintus must have admired her. We all did. For him, it was the big adventure of his youth. He will never forget. But Claudia, he then came home to Rome and settled down to a normal Roman life. He married you because he loved you—’ His wronged wife’s expression stopped me.

  Claudia Rufina was a fatalist. ‘Loved me? I dare say he did—but it was never the same, was it? And now Veleda is in Rome.’

  I tried not to comment. Helena said quietly, ‘Please Claudia, you must not mention her in public.’

  Claudia’s voice was dull. I had to bend forward to catch what she was saying. ‘If this had never happened, we might have managed. If she had stayed in the forest, we might have been all right. I thought Quintus and I had remained friends through all our problems. We were bound to one another by love for our son.’ Tears wound their way down her pale cheeks, unheeded. I hate to see a tough woman demoralised. ‘It is no use,’ she whispered. ‘He has gone to her. I cannot hold him any longer. I have lost him now.’

  X

  Why is it that bad behaviour by one male gets all the rest of us into trouble?

  Both Helena and her mother were polite women but strong-willed. They told me that I was expected to find Justinus, and I heard myself promising to do it. Unless he was already with Veleda, I really wanted him to stay missing. Keeping them apart was my best chance. If Justinus learned of my search for the priestess, he would attach himself to me—and not with a view to solving problems diplomatically. He would use me to find his forest sprite—and I knew he wouldn’t be intending to give her back to the authorities.

  My aim was to hand her in immediately. That is, immediately I had ascertained whether she did hack off the head of Quadrumatus’ brother-in-law. Tha
t niggled me. It was not in character. And I owed her something for saving my life. If Veleda had not killed Scaeva, I would not let the authorities—or Scaeva’s family—dump the crime on her just because it was convenient.

  According to Claudia, Justinus had denied making any contact with the priestess since she came to Rome. If that was true—and he was usually too transparent to lie—then as far as I could see, there had been no opportunity for the pair to collude before Veleda did her flit, and little opportunity since. Without a pre-arranged rendezvous, she would never find him. And now he had vanished from home, she had no hope of fixing such a rendezvous. Or so I hoped.

  Maybe they had found one another and were now together? No. Not feasible. Not unless they had already been in contact somehow.

  Never mind where Veleda had gone—where had he gone? Why had he gone? The element that made no sense was his buying a present for Claudia, as if he intended to crawl back home apologetically.

  Could he have run into the priestess among the monuments south of the SaeptaJulia as he made his way home, and they had done a bunk? No. Too much of a coincidence.

  A cynic might have suggested he had actually bought the gift for Veleda, to reinstate himself—but Pa would have sniffed out a subterfuge. Pa thought it was a genuine peace offering. Justinus had been horrified at hitting Claudia. Besides, when he and Veleda had been together in the forest, it was love’s young dream; their relationship was far too ethereal to include the kind of bribery husbands and wives adopt in daily life. If Justinus went rushing to Veleda, he would fly headlong on swans down wings of love, without any basic planning.

  I sent one of my nephews to obtain from my father a description of the purchased gift. Gaius, the runner, was also to tell Pa to ask around among his cronies at the Saepta and the Emporium for sightings of the missing man. Or indeed, sightings of the gift. Pa would love this. He adored pretending he was some kind of expert with a brilliant set of contacts, whereas I was an incompetent amateur. If he discovered anything, I would have to endure his crowing, but there was just a chance Pa would come up with results.

  At home the pressure was truly on. In search of peace, I myself went to a wine bar up on the Aventine. I did not expect to find Justinus in this bolthole. As a place to drink it held very few attractions. But the waiter was amiable and the clientele, many of whom had something to hide from wives, mothers or taxation officials, respected other people’s privacy. Until the First Adiutrix soldiers discovered it—as they were bound to—I could brood there alone.

  Well, I took the dog. Walking Nux was always a good excuse to get out of the house.

  Flora’s Caupona was no longer run by Flora, who had died, probably worn out by twenty years of living with my father. Previously given by Pa to this mistress of his as a little business where she could earn hairpin money (a business which kept her busy when she might otherwise have taken unwelcome interest in what he was up to), for about twelve months now Flora’s had had my elder sister Junia as its hopeless proprietress. In the evening Junia was safe at home with her aggravating husband and her rather sweet deaf son; every day at sundown she would leave the caupona in the capable hands of the waiter, Apollonius, then everyone relaxed.

  The bar was situated on a corner, as the best bars are. It had the usual two counters with crazy-marble tops, into which were set big pots containing sinister stews in anaemic hues, thickened with what seemed to be a mix of lentils and pavement dust. As the lukewarm pots fermented, from time to time half a gherkin or a lump of turnip would pop up through the slime, then softly sink to its death.

  Awnings provided shelter in winter, when most topers sat miserably inside at a couple of wonky tables. Three wormy shelves on a wall held earthenware beakers. A clutch of amphorae leaned askew beneath them, around the bottom points of which Stringy, the caupona cat, curled his emaciated body. Stringy’s diet, being the food at Flora’s, was slowly poisoning him. The waiter (who always ate at the other caupona, the one across the street) either presided with lugubrious formality or lurked in a back room, where I knew he often read Euripides. When that happened it was bad news. He went off into another world and nobody could get served.

  Tonight Apollonius was out among the clients, with a cloth over one arm. I had known him since he was an infant teacher; as a winebar waiter he still applied his skills to quell rowdies and to explain simple arithmetic to confused people who could not work out whether he had diddled their change. As I arrived that night, he was telling a drunken vegetable stall holder, ‘I think we’ve all heard enough from you. Sit back on the bench and behave!’ I felt I was seven years old again. The drunk did as he was told. I hid a smile.

  Apollonius greeted me with a silent nod, then provided a dish of seeping chickpeas, which I ignored, and a cup of red wine, which I tried. ‘I’d like your opinion of that, Marcus Didius.’

  I noticed that instead of the normal thin crowd, tonight Flora’s was warm and full of customers—all crushed in, hoping for free samples. The rest of them eyed me jealously.

  ‘Junia experimenting with a new house wine?’ I took a longer swig.

  ‘Oddly enough, I can’t taste anything wrong with it.’

  ‘Oh it’s not for here,’ Apollonius hastened to calm my unease.

  ‘That’s reassuring. This caupona has a proud reputation for serving only the most disgusting rotgut on the Hill. People like to know where they stand, Apollonius. Change for change’s sake is never welcome!’

  Apollonius beamed. He had a quiet, intelligent sense of humour. This is always refreshing (and unexpected) in an intellectual. ‘Trust me. We have no intention of destroying the traditions of the establishment. Rotgut remains the house speciality.’

  ‘So what slippery travelling salesman offloaded this palatable gem on my dear sister?’

  ‘We are testing it on a few favoured customers. Junia plans to provide this wine for the vigiles, at the Fourth Cohort’s annual Saturnalia drinks party next week. She has been awarded the much coveted contract as their official caterer.’

  I whistled. ‘What kind of bribe did that take?’

  ‘I believe their tribune was impressed by her prospectus and sample menus,’ returned Apollonius stiffly. He had a certain loyalty to Junia, as his employer, and managed to remain civil even after I guffawed. ‘So what do you think, Falco?’

  ‘I think it’s all right.’

  He took the hint and gave me more. ‘It’s called Primitivum.’ The vigiles would like that.

  I quaffed a couple of drinks, then prepared to go home.

  I didn’t bother to enquire after Justinus, and I was not supposed to mention Veleda so I dutifully avoided that subject too. Some of you may wonder why I went to the caupona. I found no clues, searched out no helpful witnesses, turned up no bodies and announced no public appeals for informants to come forward. I accomplished nothing for the case and a pedant would argue there is no reason to describe the scene. But these are my memoirs, and I shall include damn well anything that interests me.

  I was paid by results. So long as I was getting the results, my methods were my own affair. You do your job, tribune, and leave me to mine.

  If it makes you feel better, let’s say, a good informer who is under pressure sometimes finds it useful to take a few moments of private reflection after a busy day.

  ‘Petronius Longus is back,’ said Apollonius, as I paid up. Well, there you are. That was a result.

  XI

  ‘What are you buying for Mother?’

  Maia, the most ruthlessly organised of my sisters, was working on a list. A stylus was pushed into her dark curly hair, and her big brown eyes were glaring at a waxed tablet where various relatives’ names had been assigned tasteful (but economical) gifts.

  ‘Maia, the best thing about being married is that at last I can leave my mother’s Saturnalia present to somebody else. Helena knows her duties. It saves Ma having to grit her teeth over one more manicure set that she doesn’t need since five people bought one at
the last minute from the same stall for her birthday.’

  ‘Tell Helena she can do bath oils. There won’t be duplicates. I had a brilliant idea—I’m clubbing together with the others to pay for an eye doctor. Galla and I are paying for the left eye operation, Junia and Allia are getting the right.’

  I raised an eyebrow gently. ‘Discount for the pair?’

  ‘Special one-time-only offer—two for the price of one on his low-interest instalment plan.’

  ‘Does Ma know?’

  ‘Of course not. She’d run off to the country. Don’t you let on, Marcus. ‘

  ‘Not me!’ Personally, I thought another set of ear-scoop and tweezers was safer. I knew what would be involved in the cataract operation; I had investigated cures when the white scales appeared and Mother first started bumping into the furniture. I’d like to be there when my four sisters explained to Ma how she had to endure some quack pushing cataracts aside with a couching needle. The girls would probably expect me to be the heavy who held our mother down while it happened. ‘In case you’re wondering,’ I said to Maia, ‘I could use some extra weight training sessions from Glaucus at the gym.’

  ‘You’re getting a new note-tablet,’ sneered Maia.

  I was still trying to think up ways to suggest I already owned enough notebooks to write a Greek novel, when Petro came in. He appeared to have woken from a nap, and was now gearing himself up for an evening shift on duty. This involved winding on leather wrist bands, rubbing his eyes a lot, and belching.

  Petro had been outstationed at Ostia for most of the summer, but with typical skill had wangled a move back to Rome just in time for the big festival. He and Maia, who had been living together for just over a year, were renting half a house three streets from the vigiles’ Aventine patrol house. They needed plenty of room, with Maia’s four growing children, Petro’s daughter who was staying with them for the holiday, the cats he always allowed around the house, and young Marius’ exuberant dog; Arctos had to be kept in a room away from the cats, who tyrannised him and raided his bowl. Nux, who was his mother, had gone in to see Arctos when we arrived.