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

by Lindsey Davis

  Laia was closeted with Sentia Lucretia. I presumed hers was a condolence call, timed for when the first agony of grief was safely over. Was it coincidence that Sentia’s mother happened not to be here? Had the wily old bird seen Laia coming? Had she hidden in a cupboard the way I had done at our house? This thought almost made Marcia Sentilla seem human.

  ‘Flavia Albia!’ cried the blonde bugbear. ‘Here you are. I gather you haven’t been much in evidence so far. How are you getting along with your little puzzle?’ That woman should have worked in a soup kitchen: she really knew how to stir.

  I glanced at Sentia Lucretia for permission to talk in front of her visitor, hoping she would say no.

  ‘We have no secrets.’ She had no sense.

  Still, Laia somehow found it possible to keep quiet. Looking better than the first time we met, Sentia listened. I ran through what I had discovered, using a certain degree of tact. ‘I am afraid I have to tell you Clodia was rather naughty on her last evening. While you and her father were busy elsewhere, she managed to slip out unseen to join friends at a thermopolium. It is respectable; I have checked it out. Her friends say they looked after her. But we cannot avoid the fact she was missing from home late at night, unbeknown to those who were responsible for her safety and well-being.’

  Her mother sighed; she said it was not the first time.

  This was the woman who had originally praised her daughter’s sweetness and virtue. I suppose mine would have sympathised, saying you stand by your own. Not when you have had to hire an informer to explain a mysterious death, you don’t.

  Keeping a neutral expression, I broached the Numerius subject: although Clodia was supposedly heartbroken, I had been told both she and her object of desire were resigned to the situation. It had even been suggested Clodia had found a new interest, though no one specific had been mentioned.

  Her mother sighed again. I waited. Well, confessed the mother, girls move on fast. Sometimes they don’t stay faithful to their passions for five minutes. And, yes, her daughter had been talking and dreaming about another boy.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The one called Vincentius.’

  Juno. ‘I have to say Vincentius would have been too … mature.’ I meant far out of Clodia’s league. Too handsome, cocksure, demanding, sophisticated. Absolutely too damned experienced.

  Sentia looked vague. Laia got it.

  ‘Besides,’ I went on frankly, ‘I think your husband knows, there is a difficult issue blighting Vincentius Theo. His family background is extremely suspect, and he is being taught law by Mamillianus, with whom I believe Firmus had a run-in that he regretted.’

  ‘Well, I know nothing about that.’

  She had been wife to Firmus, before she left him recently. She was also the mother of a girlie she knew was getting out at night for secret fun. She ought to have known this. Maybe she did. Maybe she was lying.

  ‘The point is,’ I explained patiently, ‘Vincentius adds a different slant to the love-potion possibility. If Clodia admired him’ – Admired is such a useful word! – ‘he certainly rebuffed her. Vincentius plays the field, he likes girls who are a challenge, girls his own age. In that case, Clodia may very well have felt desperation as she wanted to influence his feelings.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know …’ Last time I came here, even with her hostile mother present, Sentia Lucretia had surprised me by being more positive than this.

  ‘Think back, please.’

  Suddenly she started talking. ‘No love-potion was ever in our house. With Numerius Cestinus, Clodia was truly upset. They were fond of each other, and he was her brother’s friend. At one time we were all thinking about marriage for them. We never told Clodia when her father found out things he did not like. We never said he went and warned off the Cestii. Clodia thought Numerius no longer liked her, so she was very unhappy about that. At home, we did laughingly suggest she would have to charm him back with magic – though, of course, we knew the truth in any case. So it was a joke, as I told you before. Nobody would have obtained any magic draught. Nobody did that. After that, if she was hankering for Vincentius, she kept her feelings to herself. Flavia Albia, I promise you, my girl never used any love-potion.’

  ‘I see. Thank you.’

  I did not see. I was not grateful. Her husband was my client. Sentia Lucretia was a suspect. If she had not been frank with her daughter, why should she be honest with me? I had no faith that she was telling me the whole story.

  During this interview, Laia Gratiana had sat silent. She even began to look rather uncomfortable. I had never liked her, but I never doubted her intelligence. She could spot the flaws, just as I did.

  Rather than go round in pointless circles, I said I had no more to ask, then took my leave. Laia Gratiana ended her visit too. I guessed her brother would be growing fretful, waiting for her outside. But as soon as we reached the courtyard, I found there was more to it. She had left with me on purpose.

  ‘Shall I tell you? Well, I presume you have heard about it … Ought I to?’ she mused, in her most haughty way.

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I hate people who do that.

  ‘Laia, don’t insult me. You sound like the young twerps I have been dealing with. They are always debating whether to break confidences – then as soon as they start discussing the morality of snitching, they brazenly give away secrets. Do the same, please. Cough it up!’

  Laia still had to pause, drawing out the suspense. ‘All right. I am pretty sure none of the people involved will have told you this.’

  ‘Come on. You want to help your friends, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, never say it was me who told you.’

  ‘Trust me. I really prefer not to mention you at all.’

  She gave me a nasty look. However, the secret was too good for her to miss the chance.

  ‘This is nothing to do with me, I think it’s horrible. But this is it: various Quirinal ladies think the best way to find out what happened is to ask Clodia Volumnia’s ghost. They have asked somebody to help them. They are planning,’ revealed Laia, ‘to hold a seance.’

  39

  Of course it was Pandora they had asked. Fair-skinned and flawless, my confidante pretended to know nothing of her. The medium’s name would not pass her thin lips.

  ‘Oh, it will be Pandora, trust me,’ I said. ‘She has the same grip on the women of the Quirinal as her gangster brother exerts over their men’s businesses.’ Horrible or not, I told Laia Gratiana that she had to be there. Seeing what happened would be in the interests of justice, I maintained, to make the woman feel important.

  She would go. Whatever I thought of her, I knew she would be game. First, she loved to be the centre of attention. Next, she was a cult-curator, a temple-tyrant, a goddess-dresser. She knew better than Ceres did what wheaten cakes Ceres prefers in a sacrifice. Ceres would be scared to argue.

  I had seen Laia Gratiana spearhead a festival procession even though everyone had warned her a mad killer was out to get her. Laia never hesitated. She believed the gods would never let a hair of her be harmed. She was in their service, she assumed she was special to them. The gods, it is fair to say, feebly went along with it.

  Give her an incense-reeking room full of meek women who would let her be their leader, Laia was in bliss. There was a good chance she would take over this seance, bullying Clodia’s little ghost.

  ‘Go back indoors and find out from Sentia when and where it is. Say you really want to go too. Just give her instructions – you’re good at that. You will take a maid,’ I instructed. ‘Not that downtrodden Venusia you like to drag around.’ I had had run-ins with Venusia, a miserable crone; Laia must have left her at home today, using her brother as a chaperone instead.

  ‘Who, then?’

  ‘Me.’ That risked destroying Laia’s glory. I could see her bridling. ‘Look, I can’t just turn up. Pandora knows me. But if I sneak in as your plain-faced companion, I won’t get a second glance.’

&nbs
p; ‘If she spots you, you are on your own!’

  ‘What’s new?’

  I had never been to a seance. If my mother found out, she would denounce me. My father would be no help; he would parrot mystic voices telling him in ghoulish tones to agree with Mother. Hell, he always agreed with Helena anyway.

  My husband was too new for me to be sure of his reaction. As an aedile, he was dedicated to Ceres (Laia’s favourite), an utterly wholesome goddess of all things natural. Strictly speaking, my head of household could forbid this squalid venture. That is, he could try.

  Oddly, my father knew some witches. He said there were three, but he only ever got to see two in action round a cauldron because the other was always needed to babysit her grandchildren.

  Pandora’s domestic life looked under control, in the big hands of her grotesque maid, Polemaena. Her husband was dead; her son was in exile; her grandson lived apart. Only her brother, Rabirius, the invalid, seemed to need her, but he would have henchmen around him. As a witch, Pandora would run solo, unencumbered by home anxieties. Well, that should make for good magic!

  Laia quickly returned from quizzing Sentia Lucretia, bearing the news that the occult occasion would be tomorrow.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘We are to be informed beforehand.’ I noted that Laia was already speaking as one of the willing initiates.

  ‘Well, that’s natural. It will be kept a secret until the last moment. When you hear, come as fast as you can to collect me.’

  I won’t say we giggled like girls fixing up a spree, but we parted on fair terms. Laia’s brother looked startled. So was I.

  With no further plans, I walked back to Apricot Street, where I sought out Tiberius. He was sweeping the pavement outside Dedu’s closed booth; he had a strong, competent broom action. I took him for a plain early lunch at the bar we frequented.

  ‘Here’s a bargain: I won’t tease you about looking after Dromo if you agree not to stop Laia and me doing this.’ I had no intention of clearing the seance with him, but I said I thought he should be informed.

  ‘It is for your work,’ he agreed, not turning a hair.

  ‘Your new wife is in with witches.’

  ‘No, she is simply observing one. From what you say, it’s my old wife who has eagerly joined the coven!’ He was smiling now.

  ‘Proves you were right to get rid of her, dearest.’

  I noticed the pale brown dog had joined us. She sat beside us, basking in the aura of happy good sense that Tiberius and I shared. When I looked down, she moved her long thin tail an inch to one side, but did not push the familiarity. I almost liked her restraint.

  As we reflected, a familiar figure came in sight. Seeing Tiberius, he loped over. Full of charm and insouciance, Vincentius said he had come along to ask whether he could see Numerius.

  ‘No,’ said Tiberius.

  ‘Oh that’s tough, that’s really tough. How is he bearing up? Is anybody feeding him?’

  ‘Bread and water,’ I growled.

  ‘Bread, water and lettuce,’ Tiberius corrected me.

  ‘I am glad we ran into you,’ I told the handsome one. ‘It would be good to clear the air. I don’t know what’s real any more.’ I was talking in the young people’s inane language, but at least speaking in the way they understood saved hiring an interpreter. ‘On the one hand I have Clodia’s parents telling me she was distraught over Numerius, then he says there was nothing between them, or not any longer. Now I hear Clodia in fact had a new passion – and that was for you, Vincentius.’

  He looked earnest. ‘Flavia Albia, who is saying that about me? I feel that as a betrayal. It is really not the case.’

  ‘Give me your version.’

  ‘Someone is lying. I have never exchanged more than two words with her.’

  ‘This is not what has been relayed to me.’

  ‘She was not my type.’

  ‘She was too bloody young!’ Tiberius observed.

  ‘Exactly. You are so right, sir. I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me. I would never have played with the affections of so young a girl.’

  ‘Besides, you had Redempta,’ I catalogued cruelly. ‘Until you two split up, then she had Cluvius. After her, you paired off with Anicia, until she set her sights on Numerius, if that’s genuine. So you must have been wondering, who next? Perhaps Sabinilla, though she was fixed up with Popilius before her family stepped in; mind you, I have it on his own authority Cluvius was up for a pop at her. Or there is always Ummidia, though she has a rather attractive fencing teacher …’

  ‘No, she has—’ Vincentius stopped himself. I stared at him, wondering what had caused this unaccustomed hesitation. Normally he was so forthright and open. ‘Ummidia had an understanding with Volumnius Auctus. They tried to keep it confidential but were very sweet together. Before he went abroad,’ concluded Vincentius lamely. ‘So obviously that’s off. For the time being.’

  ‘Clodia’s brother Publius? I thought he was a lame duck. Perhaps not to his friends,’ I mused, aware that Tiberius thought I was being too unkind. ‘Back to Clodia and you. Speak, Vincentius!’

  ‘There never was any Clodia and me.’ I waited. ‘I admit, I sometimes saw her looking at me rather heavily.’

  ‘If she thought you were a wonder,’ I suggested, ‘what would she have done about it?’

  ‘Mooned a lot, but said nothing.’

  ‘Not sent you a love-potion?’

  At that he came out with a gutsy laugh. ‘Not to me! Acquired from my grandmother? I don’t think so! My dear old gran wasn’t going to supply some loopy elixir to be used on her own boy, was she?’ He had a point.

  Mentioning Pandora reminded Vincentius he had an errand. ‘Urgent task involving family business. Sorry, my gran did tell me I could leave this alone, but I know it means a lot to her and I think it’s worth a try … Big boy now. Dying to impress the lovely old goose with my hardcore negotiating skills …’ Extricating himself with the easy grease of a budding lawyer, he loped off.

  Tiberius and I finished our snacks, then decided we ought to visit Iucundus. Apart from needing to thank him effusively for dinner last night, both of us were eager to know whether he had succeeded in his dream of buying Fabulo’s.

  40

  Sometimes you have no idea what you are walking into.

  When we reached the happy man’s apartment, its front door was open. A little slave was sitting on the kerb outside. I had seen him before. He looked rather white today, his small face puffy as if with lack of sleep. He recognised me. When he took no action, I hinted to him, was Iucundus at home and could we go in? He nodded. He stayed where he was. We walked past him and entered.

  Inside we heard male voices. Tiberius was the first to sense something; he touched my arm as if to delay me. At the same moment, a pair of doors burst open, then two men strode out.

  They were too rough to belong here. I had been thinking we had interrupted Iucundus during some business meeting, perhaps even the conclusion of his longed-for purchase. These men were not here about contracts. When they saw us, they stopped abruptly.

  Shock struck. It felt like interrupting a burglary.

  Straight away I knew it was not that, because although one man was a stranger, we knew the other.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Tiberius demanded. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Who are you?’ The stranger accosted us. He was heavy in build, though more fatty than hard. If he looked soft, instinctively I knew he wasn’t. Head shaved, chin blue, reeked of the military, not in a good way.

  ‘We are friends of Iucundus, who lives here.’

  ‘Aedile Faustus,’ the man we knew warned the stranger with him, quickly, as if to head off misunderstandings. This speaker was Scorpus, from the First Cohort, the vigiles. ‘Goes about incognito. That’s his wife. I vouch for them.’

  We all stared at each other. The hard man still assessed Tiberius, who at least had replaced the old tunic that was damaged yesterday with
a plain green one. Last night’s haircut and shave kept him decent.

  I could hear wailing from the depths of the apartment. Closer to, another door opened. Paris, the runabout, came out. When he saw us, he clapped his hand over his mouth, his swollen eyes stricken with hysteria and unhappiness. I broke away from Tiberius; I began to move into the room the officers had come from. Scorpus put out a hand, flat against me, so he stopped me.

  ‘Tell!’ Tiberius Manlius ordered, his voice curt. He grasped my arms from behind, holding me back. Scorpus let go.

  ‘Been an incident.’ That was Scorpus.

  ‘What incident?’

  ‘You can look, sir. If you want to.’ The stranger. He sounded deferential, as he should to a magistrate, yet he carried himself like the man in charge.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Julius Karus. On special detachment.’

  ‘What unit?’

  ‘The Castra. Castra Peregrina.’ The Strangers’ Camp. Troops brought into Rome by Domitian for surveillance on the rest of us. I would call it secret surveillance, but Domitian never hid it. He wanted us to feel fear.

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Confidential.’

  ‘You had better tell me!’ Tiberius could be officious.

  ‘Operation Phoenix.’

  ‘Whatever the hell is that?’

  ‘Successor to Operation Bandit King. New initiative, ordered by the Emperor. I answer personally to Domitian. Seems I will be needed.’

  ‘Why?’

  Not waiting for an answer, Tiberius loosened his hold on me, so we could move together inside the room. There we saw why. Iucundus, the loveliest, kindest, happiest of men, had been murdered.

  41

  The body had been placed upon a coverlet upon a couch. It cannot have been easy to lift. There was blood on the floor, so I supposed he had been stabbed. He must have been moved to a more respectful position after someone found him. Now he was arranged as if already on his funeral bier. Laid straight. Hands on his breast. Somebody had closed his eyes.