Saturnalia

by Lindsey Davis

  Petronius cursed this development. He said the vigiles already had their hands full, without beatings on every street corner. Saturnalia meant a big increase in fires, due to the enormous number of festive lamps in feckless homes. There were fights everywhere, arising from friends and family fall-outs, even before this new rash of anti-barbarian feeling. Petro was glad that the vigiles could at least stop the searches he had set in hand for me; I asked him to tell the cohort commanders this was because of poor results, without mentioning that I had in fact found Veleda. I wanted to avoid bounty hunters turning up at my house.

  ‘Quite right!’ exclaimed Petronius, managing to imply I was a bounty hunter myself

  Still seeking to distract him, I asked if the vigiles searchers had come across anything unusual to do with dead vagrants. He gave me a sideways look, but slowly admitted there might be a problem. ‘We have been aware of an increased unclaimed-corpse count for some time.’

  ‘Does Scythax know about it? Or is he somehow mixed up in it?’ ‘Of course not. Crazy suggestion, Falco.’

  ‘Hear my words: he had a very fresh cadaver of a runaway slave laid out on his workbench when we took in Lentullus. According to Scythax, someone dumps them outside the patrol house, but that story sounds fishy.’

  ‘Reminds me: my tribune wants you to shift Lentullus off our premises. ‘

  ‘Tell Rubella to stuff a festive garland where it hurts. And answer my question, please.’

  Petronius shrugged and admitted there had always been a high death rate among the homeless, as long as he had been in the vigiles. Recently numbers had increased; they blamed the winter weather.

  ‘So why does your doctor involve himself?’

  Petro looked shifty, so I kept probing until he stopped wriggling and owned up feebly, ‘Scythax takes an interest in why the vagrants die.’

  ‘An interest—how?’

  ‘I believe,’ said Petronius, looking shy, ‘he has been known to dissect the corpses.’

  I presumed that information had to be kept confidential. ‘Using the dead for autopsies is illegal, I’m told.’

  ‘Too right, it is! We don’t want unnatural practices in backstreet morgues. ‘

  ‘No, much better to have them right in your patrol house!’

  On my promise of discretion, Petronius said what I already knew, that Scythax was occasionally allowed to take away the corpses of criminals who died in the arena—so long as he carried out any scientific research in his spare time and it was all kept quiet. The excuse was that what Scythax learned could help the army repair wounded soldiers. In any case, post-mortems only happened when the executed criminals had no family to complain, and when Scythax could pay enough bribes to sweeten the arena staff.

  ‘So when his supply from the arena dwindles, he encourages the dumping of dead runaways on your doorstep. Does he advertise this service? Jupiter, Petro, does he buy the bodies? And if so—you need to think about this—is somebody killing off vagrants deliberately for Scythax?’

  Petronius Longus sat bolt upright. ‘Nuts, Falco. Scythax would never countenance that. Besides, there are far too many runaway slaves being found dead!’

  ‘So it’s really a problem? You think you have a serial killer?’

  ‘I think it’s possible.’

  ‘Because the targets are vagrants, does nobody care?’

  ‘I care, Marcus.’

  All this time, Veleda had been sitting quiet, listening to us pretty blank-faced. She had a basket chair, like the one Petronius had commandeered, and was wrapped in shawls, with her feet on a small footstool. Had she had a wool basket at her feet, a child on her chair arm and a pet bird in her lap, she could have been a classic Roman matron. You might say she was too blonde—but a lot of married women I knew had turned mysteriously golden-haired, once they got their hands on their husband’s income.

  The intent way she was listening to us had attracted my attention. I doubted she was merely entranced byour talented oratory. ‘Veleda, you went out on the medication run from the Temple of AEsculapius. They find a lot of these bodies. Anything you can tell us about it?’

  ‘Did she?’ exploded Petronius. Assuming he was upset at the thought of her wandering loose on the streets that his cohort patrolled, I ignored him.

  ‘I never saw anything like that.’ Veleda disappointed me. Even if she had seen something, gratitude to the temple kept her silent.

  I decided it was time to pick up my original intention and tackle her about the death of Scaeva.

  Petronius Longus crossed his booted feet on a low table, linked his hands behind his head, and watched me proceed. His stare was supposed to unnerve me. I had known him a long time and just ignored his attitude.

  I explained to Veleda that one reason I had agreed to Helena’s suggestion and let her come to my house was that I hoped to use this period before I handed her over to justice—whoops, took her back to the authorities—in an attempt to discover what had really happened at the Quadrumatus house. If she was innocent of beheading Scaeva, I proposed to clear her. She seemed less impressed by this handsome offer than I thought she should have been. Maybe when you are already indicted for the deaths of thousands of Roman soldiers, one more murder makes little difference on the charge sheet.

  ‘I like to know the truth, V eleda.’

  ‘I remember.’

  She should do. I had, after all, once trekked for days to ask her, amongst other things, about the fate of a kidnapped army legate. It was nearly ten years now since that man disappeared in Germany, but if ever relationships became too friendly with this woman, what happened to the legate ought to be remembered. Veleda had not killed him (in her version), nor even ordered his appalling death by drowning while trussed up and pressed under a hurdle in a bog. Still, the devoted tribes who followed her had thought a kidnapped Roman army commander was a suitable ‘gift’ to send to her. Whether they expected her to eat him, rape him, kill him herself, or keep him on a perch in a golden cage and teach him to tweet nursery rhymes had never been entirely clear, but it was certain that even if his fickle captors had not finished him off before he ever reached her, Veleda herself would have sacrificed the legate to her gods and stacked his bones in the kind of shoulder-high ossuary that I and my companions saw in the forest. That was what this woman now sitting quietly in my home had once been. Perhaps she still was. In fact, since she showed no sign of repentance, make that ‘perhaps’ a ‘probably’.

  ‘You told me that you did not kill Scaeva.’ Five years ago Veleda had assured me she did not kill the legate either; she may have been lying. She certainly was responsible for his death, through firing up her followers’ bloodlust.

  She could be lying about Scaeva. ‘Do you know who did kill him? Or why?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Were you there when he died?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you saw his severed head lying in the atrium pool?’

  Perhaps Veleda hesitated. Petronius certainly winced as he imagined it. ‘I did not see the head, Falco.’ At my irritated growl, Veleda added quickly, ‘I never passed through the atrium that day; I left by way of a tradesmen’s exit on the side of the house. But I knew that Scaeva’s head was there. Ganna had seen it. She ran and told me.

  This did not fit the facts Ganna had fed to me. I wondered if, in some way I had yet to discover, Ganna was trying to protect the priestess.

  ‘So tell us,’ Petronius leaned forward with his ‘trust me’ look. ‘What exactly happened on that afternoon. Let’s start with why your—maid, is she?—’

  ‘Acolyte,’ I said tersely.

  ‘Oh nice! We’ll start with why your acolyte was walking thorough the atrium, shall we?’

  Veleda told him without arguing: ‘I had some letters that I could not read.’ That was good. Whatever mad, romantic pleas Justinus had made, Veleda had never been able to read them. Excellent. ‘At first I did not want to read them—’ Even better. This was too important for scoring points, but
Petro did enjoy a smirk at me over the way she was confiding in him. ‘I became so unhappy I changed my mind. The only person we could trust there was the man who had delivered the letters to me: Scaeva. I was constantly being watched—that terrible old woman who attended on Drusilla Gratiana—’

  ‘Phryne.’ I scored no points for sounding knowledgeable. ‘Phryne, of course. Phryne had always made it clear she hated me. She knew every move I made. So Ganna was going to ask Scaeva what the letters said.’

  ‘She never managed it?’ asked Petro. Veleda shook her head. Now the story went that Ganna only made it as far as the atrium that afternoon; she saw the head, then raced back—with the letters to inform Veleda of the murder. They realised at once that blame would be piled on the priestess, so with no chance for further conversation, Veleda made her escape in the laundry cart.

  ‘So why didn’t the young lady go with you?’ asked Petro, with what he probably imagined was a winning smile. Veleda’s eyes were shadowed; I reckoned she felt patronised.

  ‘We thought there would be an investigation.’

  ‘There is an investigation. Didius Falco is conducting it now.’ ‘No, we thought there would be an investigation at the house, straight after the murder. Ganna says nothing ever happened.’

  I interrupted quietly to explain that Quadrumatus Labeo had refused to have investigators on the premises until the nine days of formal mourning for Scaeva had finished.

  ‘What’s he hiding?’ Petronius asked me.

  ‘Did it to “spare the distressed relatives further upset”.’

  ‘Beautiful! Didn’t these relatives want to know who killed their boy?’ ‘You said it!’

  ‘Ganna did not understand what Quadrumatus was doing.’ Veleda showed no emotion at our angry exchange. ‘She despaired of justice, so she made her escape too. But initially we hoped she would be able to exonerate me. Ganna stayed behind in order to tell the enquiry officer what she had seen.’

  Petronius Longus, practised as he was, managed not to sound starded. ‘And what was that?’

  Veleda, equally intelligent, was clearly enjoying the suspense.

  ‘Ganna had seen someone positioning the head in the pool.’

  Of course we demanded to know who it was. According to Veleda, Ganna had never told her.

  Petronius could see no problem with this. We would go and ask Ganna to name the culprit. That was before I explained that Ganna had now been placed for safe keeping in the House of the Vestal Virgins, where no men are allowed.

  ‘You’ve been there, Falco!’

  ‘In the first place, as you so often tell me, I am an idiot. Then, it nearly got me executed. If anyone is breaking into the Vestals’ House, dear Lucius, it’s your turn.’ He declined the offer. ‘So what happened to the letters from Justinus?’ I asked Veleda.

  ‘I left them behind in my hurry. Maybe Ganna still has them.’

  We would probably have put Veleda through some even more intense questioning, but at that moment Helena came in. Our daughters were clinging to her skirts, ruining the fabric while they gave the priestess the hostile toddlers’ silent stare treatment. Stooping and prising little hands free, Helena announced that Zosime had come to the house as promised, so she was taking Veleda away from us for a consultation in private. Julia and Favonia made a break for safety, and rushed across the room to me. Petronius casually captured Favonia as she tumbled over in her haste.

  Just as the priestess reached the door, Petronius stopped her. He always favoured the routine where a witness was allowed to think they had been released, then he flung an extra question at them. As my daughter hid her face in his tunic then peeped at the priestess, Petro called out: ‘So, Veleda, when Zosime took you out among the homeless, did you ever suspect she was harming them, not healing?’

  Veleda looked surprised, then denied it. Helena then shepherded her out.

  I asked Petronius if there was a real suspicion that Zosime was behind the deaths of the vagrants. Ever cagey about vigiles business, he merely confirmed that he had the woman on a watch list.

  I was glad that Helena was supervising the consultation here. I could not see Zosime as a killer—but if she was, I did not want her working any fatal magic on Veleda. Having Rome’s famous prisoner die before the Triumph would be bad enough. Having her die at my house would finish my career.

  LII

  The consultation seemed to be dragging on, so Petro and I had lunch together, with my children and some of the soldiers.

  Before he left, Petronius invited us to a festival dinner that night at his house. He jauntily extended this to include the priestess. I told him that Anacrites’ narks had turned up again outside. I had barred her from leaving the house; the legionaries would stay in and guard her tonight during my absence. ‘And, Lucius, you are too old to be playing with fire, especially right in front of Maia! I thought you had grown up.’ He loved Maia, there was no doubt of it. In his view, that freed him to keep looking around.

  ‘I’m growing up about as fast as you!’ he scoffed. Whatever that meant.

  Well, I knew what he meant. I told him that anyone who had seen Veleda five years ago would be disappointed now. To which Petronius Longus answered sadly that he only hoped Quintus Camillus Justinus would see it my way. ‘If she went for Camillus, you’re not her type, Fako. She likes them clean and intellectual.’

  Detecting a wistful note that I remembered from his wicked past, I scoffed, ‘Dear Lucius, she gave you the bum’s rush too, and you know it.’

  We sounded as if we were eighteen again. The legionaries watched us curiously.

  Still weary after the Nemi trip, I was fast asleep on the part of a couch I had wrestled from the dog, when Helena tickled my nose.

  ‘I’m awake!’ To prove it, I grabbed her and pulled her down with me, shoving Nux to the floor. The elegant antelope legs of the reading couch were protesting, but would probably support us so long as we didn’t try anything athletic. With a house full of nosy people that was unwise in any case, so we talked.

  ‘You were a long time closeted with Zosime.’

  ‘She’s still here. In return for a large donation to the temple this morning, I obtained agreement to keep her here while Veleda stays with us.’

  I suggested that if Zosime was involved in killing the vagrants that could be dangerous; Helena brushed my fears aside. On consideration, I thought she was right. ‘Luckily for your bankbox, you’ll be paying for four days at most.’ I felt myself tense. Three days to deadline. It was starting to prey on my mind. ‘So what’s the verdict on our guest’s health?’

  ‘Zosime suspects just a bout of marsh fever. Epidemics are usually virulent in summer, but people can get the fever any time—especially strangers to Rome, before they are used to our climate.’

  ‘Hmm. The Quadrumatus villa isn’t in a marsh.’

  ‘No, but Marcus, I remember the gardens are full of water canals and other ornamental features. The miasma, or whatever it is that carries the disease, could be lurking there.’ Helena looked optimistic. ‘Zosime thinks there is an improvement since she saw Veleda at the villa, although Veleda may never quite recover. People don’t; once struck down, they remain vulnerable to new attacks. Zosime is prescribing rest and good food: frequent small meals, no wine—and fresh air.’

  ‘Veleda is not allowed out to go walking in parks. She’ll have to make do with our roof terrace. And if she goes up there, two of the legionaries are to be in attendance at all times.’

  Helena dug me in the ribs. ‘Don’t be so gruff, Marcus. She’s hardly going to light a signal fire. Who would she contact, in any case?’

  Good question. I was not taking any chances.

  That afternoon, Helena and I had a pleasant winter stroll together through the city. At the far end of the Forum lay the Vestals’ House, where we made an application for Helena at least to be allowed in to see young Ganna. This was rejected outright.

  Annoyed by failure, Helena and I had an irritable discussio
n about one of the younger Vestals, a kind-hearted and rather lively gem called Constantia, who had been helpful to me in a previous enquiry. Despite the strict conditions under which the Virgins live, I suggested I contact Constantia again. Helena responded that if I wanted to stay married, that idea was a non-starter. I sighed regretfully. Constantia’s willingness to help me had been wonderful.

  We went to see Helena’s mother. Julia Justa had heard from Claudia all about us finding Veleda. I had to endure a shriek about whether having Veleda at our house was wise—where ‘wise’ had nothing to do with cerebral efficiency and everything to do with me being an idiot. I managed to hold back the information that the scheme originated with Helena, but since she was an honest, ethical girl, she confessed. Her mother said I must have put her up to it.

  Once she had worked out her anxieties, Julia Justa settled down. I explained that the accusation of beheading Scaeva was uncorroborated, and that Ganna might be able to prove the priestess was innocent; Julia brightened up. For the sake of her loves truck son and her unhappy daughter-in-law, she was clearly hoping that Ganna’s evidence would do the opposite. She promised to contact her friend, that very much older and plainer Vestal Virgin than the charming one I knew, and request an interview with Ganna herself As a respected matron who could demonstrate that she had a good reason, in Julia’s case it might be allowed.

  ‘The important thing,’ I told her, ‘is to find out who Ganna saw laying the severed head in the water. But if you have the chance, you might like to pose one other question.’ Before my mother-in-law could formulate her indignation at being treated like my junior assistant, I got in pointedly, ‘Ask ifshe knows what happened to some letters Veleda received at the Quadrumatus house.’

  ‘What letters?’ snapped Julia Justa. I smiled at her sadly. ‘Oh the fool!—He didn’t?’

  Until now I had not even mentioned Justinus’ letters to Helena.