The atrium surrounds had had their walls stripped for repainting, and on one side a small shrine was under construction, the kind of niche where families with well-tended pedigrees keep not just their Lares but ugly busts of their most elevated forebears.
I was taken to a side room. There the porter unceremoniously left me. I began to smell incense: unusual in a private house. The porter had forgotten my name so I had to introduce myself. Luckily, I can do that. I could even name the person I was addressing. It had to be old man Laelius. He might be retired, but he found it impossible to let go. Even now, he wore the robes of his past office: the thick woollen toga praetexta, purple bordered and, according to ritual, woven by the hands of his late wife; and his apex, the conical cap with its earflaps and surmounting olive twig intertwined with white wool.
I took him in quickly. Late sixties, thin-fleshed, wrinkled neck, slightly shaky hands, chin up, a haughty beaked nose to look down and a sneer that went back through five centuries of arrogant ancestors. I had seen him before somewhere; presumably I recognized him from his role in past festivals. It surprised me that I remembered. Until I was landed with the Sacred Geese, I normally stayed in bed during such occurrences.
“Marcus Didius Falco, sir. You must be Publius Laelius Numentinus.” He gave me a hard stare, as if he had been the Flamen Dialis for so long it seemed an insult to be addressed by name. But whatever indulgence others granted him, I intended to stick to form. He had retired. The real Flamen Dialis was another man now. He could not complain. I had used his full three names. I used mine too, of course. At one level, we were equal: a democratic joke.
He was enthroned on an ivory stool with arms, like a magistrate. He had been sitting alone in that posture before I entered. Other people might have been reading or writing, but he preferred the brooding stillness of a stone god.
The room was furnished with side tables and lamps, and a small rug lay at his feet, which occupied a footstool. It could have been comfortable, but for the frosty atmosphere.
Helena Justina had brought me up to scratch on flamens when she and I had first talked about Gaia. Jove’s priest lived a life so hedged around with restrictive duties he had no time to stray; that was the idea, no doubt. Representing the god, he was untouchable in the strictest sense. When he went out, adding a double cloak to his woolly uniform, he carried a sacrificial knife in one hand (which must have deterred unwelcome contacts) and in the other a long wand with which he kept the populace at a distance. He was preceded by a lictor, but also by criers at whose approach everyone had to lay aside their tasks, for not only was every day a holiday for the Flamen himself (nice life!), but he must never see others working.
There was more. He could not mount, or even touch, a horse. He might not leave the city (except in recent enlightened times, for a maximum of two nights, to carry out unavoidable family duties, if directly sanctioned by the Pontifex Maximus). He could wear no knots (his clothes were fixed with clasps); his rings were split; he was forbidden to name ivy because of its binding properties, or to walk under any pergola that was canopied with vines. If someone in bonds was brought to his house, the fetters were at once struck off and hurled down from the roof; if he encountered a criminal, that person could neither be scourged nor executed. Only a free man could barber a Flamen’s beard; it must be cut with a bronze knife; the clippings and his nail trimmings were collected and buried beneath a sacred tree. The Flamen could not remove his tunic or headdress during daylight, lest Jove glimpse his person.
He must avoid dogs (which explained why they had no guard dogs here), she-goats, beans, raw flesh, or fermented dough.
There was probably more, but Helena had seen my eyes glaze over and had spared me. The restrictions seemed outrageous; they were designed to ensure the Flamen never let his mind wander, though he looked to me as if he had retained full control of his thoughts—and his rigid opinions too.
For all that, by virtue of his priesthood, this oddity would have sat in the senate. Still, he probably fitted in among the other eccentrics and crazy men.
Here in his house, everything was arranged to suit his wishes. That did not include me. He looked at me as though I had scuttled out of a drain.
“I understand, sir, that the Emperor has cleared my path with you. Your granddaughter is missing, and I possess experience that may help find her. It is particularly important that you work with me, since you have expressed a wish not to have contact with the vigiles. I regret that. They could have helped save time—and time is vital in a case like this.”
“You were recommended as a specialist. Are you saying you are not up to the job?” His voice was thin, his tone edged with malice. I knew what I had here: a wicked old bastard. In families like mine, they wield no power and so can do no harm. This was nothing like my family.
“I shall do my best, sir. You will find it better than average. But success will depend on how much cooperation I receive.”
“And what do you offer?”
“A fast, discreet service—on my terms. The most likely solution is that Gaia has imprisoned herself accidentally somewhere in her own home. I have to search your house for hiding places that might attract a child. I have to look everywhere, though you have my assurance that what I see will be immediately forgotten if it is not relevant.”
“I understand.” His hauteur was chilly.
“I shall knock and wait before entering rooms. I shall give any occupants a chance to remove themselves. I shall work as quickly as I can.”
“That is good.”
“I do have to be allowed to speak to your family.”
“It is acceptable.”
“They need not answer any questions they regard as improper, sir.” I gave him a level stare. He was intelligent. He knew that refusing fair questions would be informative in itself. “I should also like permission to talk to your staff. It is my intention to limit such interviews. But, for example, Gaia Laelia presumably was entrusted to a nursemaid?”
“There is a girl who looks after her. You may speak to the nurse.”
“Thank you.” I must be going soft. He did not deserve the restraint I was showing. Still, I could see he expected aggression. I was happy to surprise him.
“And what,” asked the ex-Flamen in a tense voice, “are the questions that you wish to put to me?”
XXXI
I TOOK OUT my note-tablet. I would make jottings occasionally, to look competent. Mostly I just held the stylus still and listened, to show my impeccable tact.
“The investigation must begin with the facts of your granddaughter’s disappearance. You have expressed a reluctance to raise the alarm or to involve the authorities. Please tell me why.”
“There is no need. I recently gave instructions that Gaia Laelia is never to go out alone.” After she came to see me, presumably. “The door porter would have stopped her—had she tried.” I already knew that the door porter still cheerfully left his station unattended.
“You first noticed her missing yesterday?”
“Ask her mother these details.”
“Very well.” I refused to be thrown. “My sister is acquainted with Caecilia Paeta.” I remembered not to land Caecilia in trouble by admitting that I had met her when she came secretly to Maia’s house. “I understand her to be sensible.” Numentinus looked annoyed at me for commenting. His eyes narrowed; like most people he encountered, I felt that his daughter-in-law aroused mild contempt in him. I was glad I had spoken. I wanted him to know I would evaluate witnesses on my terms. “Let us consider more general issues. The vigiles have been asked to search the city in case Gaia has been abducted. It is a complex task, but they will do as decent a job as they can.” I was telling him it would be near impossible to find her, unless the cohorts had some clues. “My own search starts here. If the child is deliberately hiding, or if she has run away, what would make her do that? Was she unhappy, sir?”
“She had no reason to be.”
“Her parents liv
e apart. Did their separation distress her?”
“At first.” I was surprised he answered, but I suppose he had already realized this would be asked. “My son left home three years ago. Gaia Laelia was an infant. She has accepted the situation.” More readily than the old man himself, probably.
“A parental separation might cause arguments that could have frightened her? But later she must have realized she remained in a secure and loving home.” Numentinus looked suspicious, as though he thought I was being ironic. “Are you willing to answer questions about why your son, Laelius Scaurus, left?”
“No. Keep to the subject.” After that, I did not dare ask about the possibility of Gaia’s parents divorcing, let alone the relationship between Scaurus and his aunt. I would have to tackle that with somebody, though. Somebody else.
“So Gaia settled down, still living here with her mother, and three years later her name has gone into the Vestals’ lottery. I understand you are opposed to that?”
“My opinion is immaterial.”
“Excuse me. I simply wondered if there had been anger in the family home which might have caused a bad response in a sensitive child.” He made no answer. That chin came up again, warning me I strayed too far into an unwelcome area. “Very well. Gaia Laelia’s own reaction to her proposal as a Vestal is relevant, you will concede. A motive for her disappearance might be that she hates the prospect and fled to avoid it. Yet I am told by all sources that she was delighted. This, sir, is why I am inclined to believe that her disappearance is some childish accident.”
“She is a careful child,” he disagreed. No children are careful.
“And intelligent,” I said. There was no flicker of grandfatherly pride. If I had been discussing Julia Junilla at home, either Pa or the senator would have been orating in full flood immediately. “I met her, as you know. Which brings me unavoidably to this question: Why would your granddaughter seek out an informer and announce that her family was trying to kill her?”
The old man was ready, and full of contempt. “Since it was untrue, I can offer no reason for her claim.”
I kept my voice quiet. “Did you punish her when you found out?”
He hated having to answer. He knew if he did not tell me, the servants would. “It was explained to her that she had erred.”
“Was she beaten?” I made the suggestion neutrally.
“No.” His lip curled as if disdaining the thought. I wondered. Still, Vestals have to be perfect in every limb. Her mother, wanting Gaia to remain eligible, would have protested against a beating, even if she dared not argue about much else.
“Was she confined to her room?”
“Briefly. She should not have left the house without permission.”
“When she left the house, where was her nurse?”
“Gaia had locked her in a pantry.”
Numentinus had expressed no emotion, but I let him see me smile slightly at Gaia’s spirit and initiative before I continued in the same neutral tone as before: “Was the same pantry used as a cell when Gaia disappeared yesterday?”
“No.”
“Who can best tell me what happened then?”
“Discuss it with my daughter-in-law.”
“Thank you.” I had finished with him. I might as well not have started. He knew that. He looked very pleased with himself. “I shall just check your room, if I may, then you need not be disturbed here again.” I scanned everywhere quickly. Flat walls; no curtained arches; only small items of furniture—apart from one chest. “May I look in the chest, please?”
Numentinus breathed; well, he seethed with annoyance. “It is not locked.”
I half expected him to come and look over my shoulder. In fact, he sat like stone. I walked quickly to the great wooden box and lifted the lid. It was so heavy I nearly dropped it, but I recovered and held it, one arm braced. The chest contained scrolls and moneybags. I let the old man see me shift them aside enough to check that no child was hidden in the base, then I replaced the scrolls and bags as found, lowered the lid gently, and made sure I showed no visible interest in the contents.
“Thank you, sir.” The coinage did raise another issue, however. “It is possible, I am afraid, that Gaia Laelia has been abducted by some criminal element, with a financial motive. Would your family be known as wealthy?”
“We live simply and very quietly.” Numentinus had answered only part of the question. I did not pursue it. After my Census work, I would soon sniff out his financial situation.
“This is a large house. I want to keep a record of rooms as I check them. You only moved here recently; did the agent provide a room plan, by any chance?”
“You may have it.” He clapped his hands. A slave appeared instantly from outside and was dispatched to the steward. “That slave will accompany you in your search.” Supervision; I had expected it.
“Thanks. Was this house an outright purchase, or do you rent?”
I expected him to tell me he had bought the place, probably expressing horror that anyone should think such a family would be beholden to a landlord. “I rent,” he said.
“Long term?” It must be, if he had the landlord’s approval for the building work I had seen in the atrium. He nodded haughtily.
“I am grateful for your frankness. I hope the questions were not too painful. I shall see your daughter-in-law next.”
The slave was already back, saying the chart would be found for me.
“One final point, sir. I offer my sympathy for your late wife’s death. I believe it was recent?”
“The Flaminica suffered from a tragic illness that came upon her last July.” Laelius Numentinus spoke out so abruptly I pulled up. It was the first time he had volunteered more than a minimal answer. Did he love his wife? “There is no need—absolutely no need—for you to concern yourself with that. Her death was sudden, though nothing untoward.”
I had never supposed it was. I had only wanted to ask him if Gaia had been particularly fond of her grandmother, and perhaps troubled by her death. Instead I said nothing and followed the slave out.
XXXII
IT TOOK A while for me to be admitted to see Caecilia Paeta. I used the time to familiarize myself with the house plan; I marked off the room where I had seen the ex-Flamen, then covered two more while I waited. They were medium-sized reception rooms, very lightly furnished and probably not used. Given that the family had been here nearly a year, I was surprised how little progress they seemed to have made in settling in. Did they lack practical application, or had there been a reluctance to face the fact that they were staying?
The Flaminia, their official residence on the Palatine, would have been officially furnished. I had already noticed that what they owned here was old and of good quality—family pieces, probably—yet there was not much of it. Like many an elite family, these people appeared to have money, but less ready cash than they needed. Either that, or when they needed to reequip they had been too caught up in their wrangles to find time to go shopping.
The reception room I was called to next was typical: too much bare space and no style. Caecilia Paeta was much as I remembered from her visit to Maia’s house, though she looked more drawn. Several frightened maids had flocked to protect her from the immodesty of being interviewed by an informer. She sat hunched in a single basket-weave chair, pulling a light stole too tightly around her shoulders, while they squatted on stools or cushions in a circle around her and stared at the floor.
Once again, I kept my voice quiet and my manner calm, though not subservient. I would have to know much more about the situation here before I started throwing my weight about. But I could already feel the tension knotted around this household. In the mother’s silence as she faced me, I could sense the years of oppression that had crushed any spirit out of her.
What kind of life did she face? Abandoned by her husband who, if Numentinus had his way, would never be allowed to divorce her, she was denied the normal right to rejoin her own family and start a
fresh. Her father-in-law had probably thought little of her to begin with; bullies loathe their victims. When she failed to hold his son, it would seem logical to the tyrant to despise Caecilia more. Now she had lost her child.
“Don’t give up hope.” I had not meant to be kind to her. She had not expected it, either. We shared a moment of uncomfortable surprise. “Look, we won’t waste time. I need to know everything that happened yesterday, up until it was noticed that Gaia was missing. I want you to describe the day.”
Caecilia looked nervous. When she spoke, it was in so quiet a voice I had to lean right forward to hear her. “We all rose as usual, which was not long after dawn.” I could have guessed that. When your home is full of trouble, why waste good arguing time? “The Flamen makes offerings to the gods before breakfast.”
“You eat together as a family? Who was present then?”
“All of us. The Flamen, me and Gaia, Laelia and Ariminius …” She paused, uncertainly.
“Ariminius is the Flamen Pomonalis, and Laelia is his wife? Your husband’s sister? Anyone else there?” I asked, looking down at my tablet. I had thought I sensed something. Caecilia was so shortsighted, she could probably not see my expression, but tone of voice carries. Besides, the maids were watching, and if I looked too keen on a particular question, their anxiety might communicate itself to her.
“Nobody.” I was sure she had hesitated.
“After breakfast you went your separate ways?”
“Laelia was in her room, I think. I had my household tasks.” So the daughter-in-law was their drudge while the daughter took her ease? “Ariminius went out.” Lucky man.
“What about Gaia? Does she go to school?”
“Oh no.” Silly me.
“She has a tutor?”
“No. I have taught her the alphabet myself; she can read and write. Everything children in this household need to know, they learn at home.”
The priestly caste may be top-notch on peculiar ritual; they are not famous for being erudite.
One Virgin Too Many Page 19
