Pandora's Boy: Flavia Albia 6 (Falco: The New Generation) Read online

  I was sorry to discover Clodia’s boyfriend had stayed away, as I wanted to meet him. When a lull fell while they wolfed the funeral scoff, I assessed the group discreetly. They were all around the same age, older than Clodia Volumnia. Over-confident and over-groomed; even the lads all had extreme barbering: slicked quiffs or fancy beard shapes. The tradition of showing bereavement with unshaved chins and dishevelled hair was impossible for them to achieve so they had not made any attempt.

  I counted four girls and three boys. I took against them all.

  At one point the nearest girls, Sabinilla and another called Redempta, began talking about someone further down the table, Anicia. Redempta and she had had an upset. I dared not guess what monstrous slight had occasioned it. ‘That’s what she’s like, she always has been. I told her, I was wounded by her treatment, no one had ever been so mean to me. I am prepared to make up with her, but I shall never trust her. I don’t want to have to spend time with her. I shall just put a face on. She is bound to give herself away.’

  ‘You’re absolutely my best friend so I just thought I ought to act as peacemaker,’ claimed Sabinilla, talking almost to herself while Redempta gnawed on a wheat cake as if cannibalising an enemy. Earlier Sabinilla had been chatting rather earnestly to a lad called Popilius. They looked rather alike, as if inbreeding was rife in their social stratum. ‘I told her I didn’t want to be drawn in between you, but if she would apologise, it could all be fine. If you have split from Vincentius, it’s obvious you won’t interfere between him and her.’

  ‘I have no feelings for him now. He and I had a long talk and we said it was over. She’s welcome. I am with Cluvius. Actually, I haven’t told anyone but I think it could be serious.’

  ‘What, all the way?’ (Listening in, I told myself that going all the way must mean marriage. That was a charitable interpretation. I wondered how many of these girls had ever thought they might be pregnant, or were afraid of it now.) ‘I thought you had been looking at Granius?’

  ‘Flirtable, but I don’t like his moustache.’ Having identified Granius from this, I decided that Redempta was right. I hate moustaches anyway but his was a stinker. ‘Anyway, his old folk are so desperate for him to practise law – it’s like, just too serious!’

  Servers were bringing trays of drinks. Hands shot out to snatch more. The girls were as quick to reach as the boys. The wine had been well watered. I waited to be served, then sipped mine with restraint (all right, with restraint because it was so watery). The youngsters tossed down tots, then rudely swiped more before the tray bearers could move on.

  I started to feel glum. No fifteen-year-old girl should have been exposed to this self-centred, amoral bunch. It became clear from further conversation that they knew each other from when their parents entertained. If the Volumnii moved in the same circles and Clodia decided these were wonderful beings, it would have been hard to stop her seeing them. I thought them feckless, though strictly speaking they were old enough to socialise without their parents. Clodia was not. I saw why she had been told to stay at home – but also understood how she came to bunk off against orders.

  Her brother was six years older. In Rome, he must have fitted in with these friends as a contemporary. No doubt Clodia tagged along, when their parents might have believed Volumnius Junior looked after little sister; if he was decent, it might even have been true. But after he was sent to the legions, things must have changed. What happened? Did Clodia still hanker to run with the crowd, especially when she fell for Numerius? No one was there any longer to protect her. At that point, she should have been reined in – and the family should have made sure she abided by the decision.

  My own witty and bright young sisters would have scoffed: ‘Time to be dragged out of Rome on a nice family holiday!’ Julia and Favonia always knew what was going on. They luckily had parents who monitored them; Falco and Helena really did remove them from potential harm until it went away. Luckily my father had inherited a maritime villa on a very remote stretch of coast, while Mother was bequeathed a farm by her parents that lay at the end of an extremely long, extremely rutted track. So handy!

  After a time, these four girls all stood up as one, and disappeared for a comfort break. They would take their time, trading ruder insults and wickeder secrets about the boys, tidying one another’s hair, possibly swigging from a flagon of stronger drink than we were served at table. I could have followed them. Weighing it up, I decided that four milling around outside a tenement latrine was too many to handle. Instead, I shuffled up the bench and made my presence known to the young men.

  15

  ‘Excuse me. I couldn’t help overhearing. Do I gather you young studs were friendly with Clodia Volumnia?’ My light satire when I called them ‘studs’ was worrying the trio. Friends of their parents would not use that word, and these young heroes were not generally seen as laughable. They certainly took themselves very seriously.

  I had managed to distinguish between them: Cluvius, the loudest and rudest, who was now with Redempta; Popilius, Sabinilla’s apparent conquest, a lightweight, to whom Cluvius had been talking when I first began observing them; Granius with the terrible moustache, who apparently had a future in the lawcourts but no girlfriend – maybe he should have shaved. Two of the group were missing today. Vincentius, Anicia’s new partner, the one Redempta had dumped – or who had dumped her – seemed not to be here. I wondered why. It was Numerius, Clodia’s former swain, who had the obvious reason to be absent.

  Since the girls had departed and I had seen Popilius watching a waitress with a rather short skirt, I had wondered about the levels of loyalty that applied within this group. Popilius had unmistakably been trying to get Sabinilla’s attention earlier. The waitress was floppily well-endowed, but the temporarily missing girls, though mostly slim, all possessed mammaries like well-pastured cows. They knew how to truss bustbands to their advantage, too, even under mourning outfits.

  The young men sized me up. I was half as old again, which counted me out. Unflirtable. To them, being addressed by an adult usually meant trouble. I sensed their unease. I am afraid I enjoyed it.

  Their scrutiny left them all uncertain what to make of me. They ticked off my age, figure, grooming and wedding ring, even how I sounded. They were not to know I had learned my Latin from a senator’s daughter. With such a good accent, my being unaccompanied puzzled them. No women in their circle went anywhere except in a flock of chaperones, friends or sisters.

  In a bar, they would have assumed I was a prostitute. At a funeral, they were flummoxed. Flummoxing made them look as lost as cowherds in the city for the first time, but these boys’ expensive shoes had rarely stepped in silage.

  Granius, for all his facial fluff, was the bright one. This did not make him intellectual, though he could probably spot if a slave put his left boot on his right foot. At least he would notice when it made him fall over. ‘Who wants to know?’ asked Granius. ‘Please state your name and occupation!’ I could see he was being trained as a lawyer: he had that brashness and hauteur, though he rapped out the formula as if he saw it as a joke.

  I smiled sadly. ‘My name is Albia, Flavia Albia. I have an acquaintance with the poor Volumnius family.’ I did not tell them what I did. Having asked his question, Granius forgot to follow through. Yes, in a few years’ time juries would wilt whenever he appeared for a plaintiff; even so, he might make it to judge at an early age. I know how it works.

  I gave them another regretful smile. ‘I came over to talk to you because Clodia sneakily ran off from home on the evening she died.’ The cocksure group showed little reaction, but quick glances did pass. ‘I just wondered,’ I said, like a curious busybody, ‘were you the friends she came out to play with?’

  Cluvius now took over as spokesman. The others sat and watched him do it. My guess was, his parents had the most money or the highest social position so he automatically assumed the role of ringleader. He was a broad-faced, laid-back character with a lordly air I didn�
��t trust. ‘Oh, yes.’ He knew it was best to own up. If they were out somewhere that night, they might well have been spotted. Even at a funeral feast this group drew attention to themselves. ‘Her brother’s an old mucker of ours. Nice little thing. We treated her like our baby cousin while he was around. Now he’s away, so better for her not to join in. When she turned up, we naturally sent her packing.’

  ‘That was very responsible of you. Clodia was so lucky to have sensible friends who cared. Dare I ask where you all were that evening?’

  Cluvius pretended to think. ‘Well, where can it have been?’

  ‘Fabulo’s,’ supplied Granius. He then grasped that the others were trying to keep this from me. I think Popilius had kicked him under the table. ‘Well, maybe I am wrong.’

  ‘I would expect the night Clodia Volumnia died to be etched in your memories,’ I reproved them frankly. ‘Surely you don’t often lose one of your friends? And at fifteen?’

  ‘People die,’ Cluvius assured me in an airy tone. ‘Some will stay, but some will have to leave.’

  ‘Ah, the Stoic view!’ I knew it was not original. None of them had bothered to notice me earlier, when Cluvius rolled up, quoting the parents of Numerius Cestinus. But he knew he was rumbled. He made a slight gesture, half acknowledging that I must have overheard him. The truth was, he didn’t care.

  Hoping to make him more anxious about what I might discover, I said lightly, ‘The people at Fabulo’s will know if you were there. Did anything happen? Anything of note?’

  ‘We ate.’ Popilius was sneering. ‘It’s a famous eating-house.’

  ‘Lucky you!’ I could not help myself.

  ‘You are asking a lot of questions,’ complained Cluvius.

  I shook my head. ‘It’s just that the family are struggling to come to terms. They want to know about her last hours, in case it can help them accept what happened.’

  The young bucks must be well aware that Clodia’s father believed she had suffered a misadventure.

  ‘Not very healthy to dwell on it!’ Granius scoffed, smoothing his moustache.

  ‘I tend to agree.’ Having pretended to go along with him, I returned to my question. ‘So, what’s the glitch, lads? What was done to Clodia, or what did Clodia do? Did anything occur that will come crawling out into the open when questions are asked at Fabulo’s? I would like to warn the parents gently in advance if they have to hear something even more upsetting.’

  ‘Nothing happened.’ Back in charge, Cluvius was definite.

  ‘Did she make a scene with Numerius Cestinus?’

  ‘No. All little Clodia wanted was to belong to our group. To keep her happy, we always pretended that she was.’

  Then all those lying bastards faced it out. Spoilt, handsome, self-assured and absolutely convinced that they were safe.

  They would learn. I could tell there was a secret. I would find it.

  With me watching, they could hardly sneak away now to put measures in place to cover their tracks. If anything had happened that night at Fabulo’s, I was on my guard for what they might organise now to conceal it. I had the impression they were too cocksure to go back and bribe witnesses – or possibly Cluvius, the confident ringleader, thought any necessary cover-up was already in hand.

  On the other side of the courtyard, I could see Iucundus waving to attract my attention. I stood up, including the trio in a dry benediction. ‘I am so sorry you have lost your friend like this. You are all so young. It must be very hard for you to come to terms with it.’

  You bad girl, Flavia Albia!

  16

  By the time I reached Iucundus, the girls had returned from peeing and primping. They were soon heads together with the boys as they discussed me while pretending not to. They had let their veils drop so their long luxurious hair swung free. I had not seen so much glimmering shine outside a bronze workshop.

  I sent them all another fake smile. Their attention spans were short, but it might rattle them to see Iucundus introducing me to various parents.

  ‘I have been doing good work on your behalf, dear Albia!’ he exclaimed proudly. As with everything else, he enjoyed this success. While chatting politely, the smooth operator had rounded up three sets for interview: the parents of Granius and of Cluvius, plus Redempta’s mother and her aunt. I had seen the men speak to Volumnius Firmus while the women comforted Sentia Lucretia, with what looked like genuine compassion. Assuming these adults were true friends of the Volumnii, I saw no reason to hide my commission. I quietly introduced myself as an investigator. With luck, word that my role could have repercussions would get back to their self-assured offspring.

  I found them pleasant people. The ones I met even helpfully told me about others who had not come today. All ran businesses, the perennial ‘import/export’. None of the products were exotic, but they traded in bulk: amphorae of olives and of seafood in brine, esparto grass, copper and other metallics for paint and dye pigments. I heard that Anicia’s father trafficked Egyptian linen and cotton (no home looms at their house then). Such dealings allowed people from ordinary backgrounds to earn good livings and climb social ladders. They then aspired to culture, negotiated priesthoods, sponsored concerts, appeared often in public, networked energetically.

  Such people would manage their daughters’ marriages with care. I was sure they had approved of Volumnius Firmus rejecting what he saw as an unwise match for Clodia. I held off from asking what was wrong with the Cestii; Iucundus had tipped me the wink that he could introduce me to them, so I could explore this for myself. Suitable options for a husband for Clodia must have been available among these other families. There were sons in the army, I learned, though mainly they kept their lads in Rome, heading for safe careers, a step up from their origins. Some were bound for the law; I had guessed correctly that unless he dodged it, this was Granius’ destiny, according to his proud mama – though his papa looked rather dour about his prospects. Others would take positions in civil life: procurators, superintendents, tax collectors.

  I have relatives who reckon that such officials tend to be talentless and bumptious, with a low moral threshold. Whenever my father says this my mother points out, in the interests of balance, that civil administrators may be earnest and scrupulous, with lofty objectives. Falco laughs bitterly, then winks at me.

  I wondered whether Volumnius Firmus had ever shared a fatherly joke with his Clodia. I thought not. I felt they never knew each other well enough. All he was going to remember was how they had quarrelled in her final days. They were never friends like Falco and me.

  I asked if these parents knew where their children had been on the evening Clodia died. Not at the time, though they freely admitted they made sure they found out after they had heard she was gone. They now knew the group had had an expensive dinner at a big thermopolium.

  I enlightened them: it was Fabulo’s, a fashionable eating-house. Granius’ father, the sceptical one, pulled a face at the potential cost, muttering that his legal lessons cost enough without him constantly asking for cash for dining out. I deduced that young Granius must experience tension at home. Mind you, he probably deserved it.

  ‘I don’t know how they find half the places they go to,’ said Redempta’s aunt. ‘They lead better social lives than we do!’

  I smiled. ‘Probably wise not to venture. I can tell you what such diners are like – trading on undeserved reputations and overcrowded with poseurs. Noisy haunts with uncomfortable seats; you can’t tell what your food is and the wine makes you sick. Hard to hear yourselves talk – but that is not why people go.’

  We all shuddered.

  ‘Well, you know the young!’ commented Cluvius’ mother. Basically, she was a sweet woman, who probably dropped coins into beggars’ hands on principle. I could have liked her, had I not already taken against her son.

  I asked the women about Pandora. They all knew her, and admitted using her products, though they were only interested in harmless moisturising oils, or so they said. This
time it was Cluvius’ parents who betrayed signs of friction: his mother glared at his father, who obviously hated to cough up for the age-defying lotions.

  According to Redempta’s aunt, nobody knew where Pandora lived. She visited women in their homes. She had a round of regulars on whom she called weekly, or more often if requested. So how, I asked, would they request a visit? If any self-respecting woman on the Quirinal woke up with an acne eruption, obviously Pandora could be summoned with a battery of healing salves? They were all vague and said they left it to their maids to organise. Unfortunately, because they were out in a bunch and with menfolk, today the maids had been left at home so that left me no further forward.

  With no more to learn, I gave the sign to Iucundus. Thanking these parents, and telling them where to find me if they thought of anything useful, we moved on. Iucundus had kept the Cestii separate for me. This man rolled through life on a private cloud of joy, yet he was shrewd.

  ‘I must take you to Fabulo’s, Albia,’ he murmured. ‘My treat. I am having so much fun, and you need to inspect the scene of the crime, or at least find out whether a crime took place.’

  ‘I would love that! But isn’t there a long waiting list? Can you get in there? Silly question, I bet you can … Did you know any of those people before today, Iucundus?’

  ‘No, but we are best friends now! I have gathered two invitations to music recitals and the father of Granius will introduce me to his broker. I have one, but I like to keep a spare.’

  ‘You are a marvel.’

  ‘Thank you, dear girl.’

  The parents of Numerius Cestinus were sitting on their own. As soon as I met them, I knew everything about these people. They stuck out as different; they liked it that way. After what I had heard from the young people, I was prepared for it. I tried not to assess them as idiots, though it was tempting.

  The father was silent and deeply unhappy to be there. That man should never be brought anywhere near a funeral. He hated them. He could not cope. Today’s feast was worse because of the awkward link to their son, but Cestius Senior would never fit in. For a start, of the men who were close to the Volumnii, he was the only one not wearing black. Some low-grade Quirinal neighbours had failed to come in mourning garments, but otherwise respect was shown. Only this maverick, supposedly a family friend, wore an everyday lime green tunic, with a tight belt and what looked like navvy’s boots. I expect he would call that sensible footwear, just as he would say that as a Stoic he did not believe in grief. The couple had probably spent the past eight days in endless discussion about whether they should come today. Their home was one constant family council, I guessed.