‘Drusilla Gratiana. Wife to Quadrumatus,’ I spelled out to Petro.
‘They were keen that Mastarna should carryout an operation on Scaeva’s throat. Mastarna claimed he could remove Scaeva’s inflamed tonsils and cure him. But Quadrumatus has his own doctor Aedemon—who strongly warned against it. Aedemon wanted to purge the patient of the impurities that he said would be causing the infections. As you know Fako, Cleander attends on Drusilla; he also is a huge opponent of surgery—that’s his beef against Mastarna. But Drusilla was dead set on her brother trying anything.’
‘So young Scaeva is in misery, the doctors are all squabbling and the relatives are slogging it out at top volume; you get called in to tweak a dream or two as the beleaguered master’s last resort?’ Petronius looked askance. ‘And you helped him decide what he thought, did you?’
‘Quadrumatus forbade the surgery,’ agreed Pylaemenes coolly.
I saw it all now. ‘The others ignored him? Mastarna egged on Scaeva; Scaeva and his sister secretly arranged to have it done. So what happened? Was the operation on the same day Scaeva was found dead?’
Pylaemenes nodded. ‘He bled to death during the surgery. Mastarna admitted afterwards that it was a known risk.’
It took me a moment to grasp the nuances. ‘It was a throat operation! Unless Mastarna was the most brutal surgeon in history, or so drugged up he was floating on the ceiling, however could he slip with the knife so badly that he lopped offScaeva’s entire head?’
This time Pylaemenes just shrugged. ‘Unbelievable. That’s doctors for you.’
It explained why no weapon had ever been found. After the debacle, Mastarna would have taken it away in his medical bag. Even if we now found a surgical implement drenched with blood, that would prove nothing. We could not say it came from Scaeva. Mastarna probably cleaned up the knife afterwards in any case. Most surgeons are that hygienic. Well, their patients hope they are.
‘So who removed the head?’ mused Petronius. ‘And why, then, did they put the head in the atrium pool?’
‘As a cover-up,’ I said carefully. ‘Drusilla still didn’t want her husband to know that his orders had been countermanded. They organised a vindictive little enhancement, to disguise the bungled surgery and place blame on an innocent party.’ Petro knew who I meant, of course.
‘There was panic,’ said the Chaldean. ‘Drusilla was distraught at the death of her brother—blamed herself Still blames herself, in fact, and frankly she’s going to pieces over it. Her staff were running around in circles, wondering what to do. They all knew this was more than Quadrumatus would take. Drusilla herself found the head before they could warn her.’
‘Does Quadrumatus know the truth now?’
‘He suspects. His nightmares have been indicative.’
‘You could interpret them,’ Petronius suggested. ‘Might be for the best. Man deserves to know.’
‘The mind is a sensitive organ,’ murmured Pylaemenes. ‘He needs to work it out himself So much more healthy!’ The bastard thought that whoever told Quadrumatus the truth of this tawdry episode might end up being dismissed.
Petronius looked at me. His vigiles training had come to the fore. He was working out how to avoid documentation. ‘There has been no crime, Falco. What they did with the head was an act of desecration—but that’s for Quadrumatus to take up with his wife. Woman sounds troubled enough already. Her brother’s death was stupid and avoidable, but that’s her punishment. I’ll put that death down as an accident. Mastarna’s a suicide. Must have hated the thought of losing his reputation.’
‘And his business,’ I said. ‘Who would ever hire him after hearing he lost Scaeva that way? Besides, there might have been a whopping compensation claim. If Quadrumatus employs as many lawyers as doctors, one of them was bound to spot the potential to screw Mastarna for professional negligence.’
Petronius whistled, thinking of the possible sums involved.
For him, it was neat. I still had one preoccupation. ‘Pylaemenes, what was the involvement of Scaeva’s boy flautist?’ Petro looked at me quickly. Unsure whether he knew yet that I had asked Marcus Rubella to authorise further investigation by the cohort, I told him, ‘The flautist must have known something. I think he’s been killed to stop him speaking out. I want Scythax to look at him.’
‘The flautist was supposed to be there,’ interrupted Pylaemenes. ‘He knew all about the operation. Scaeva used him for music therapy. So he was meant to be in the room all the time, playing soothing tunes to help relax people. Unfortunately he’s a dozy soul-well, maybe he was scared of watching the surgery. I heard that he turned up too late. Mastarna had completed the operation—as far as it went, before the patient haemorrhaged everywhere. Drusilla and her maids were screaming. Scaeva was dead—that must have been obvious—and the child witnessed his master in pools of blood, in the very act of having his head cut off…’
Petronius cursed, brutally. ‘Killing the boy was pointless. Accidents happen. If there was no crime, there was no need to silence the little beggar.’
‘But since they did kill the flautist,’ I barked back at him, ‘there is a crime—and we are damn well going to solve it!’
Petronius patted my shoulder. He knew about my deadline.
‘You’ve got your own worries. Leave this to us, Fako.’
LIX
I took Petronius Longus at his word.
While I was out and about, I went to see Julia Justa. At the senator’s house the door porter consented to say that my mother-inlaw had gone that morning to the Vestals’ House, though she had not returned. Typical: Mastarna killed Scaeva and presumably he then decapitated the dead patient. I no longer needed an explanation, but I was obligated to JuliaJusta anyway… I would not have made her beg favours from her Vestal friend unless it was unavoidable; next time we needed the Vestal it was bound to be more difficult, and who knows what emergencies lay in the future?
The senator was out. Gone to the gym. Perhaps to escape the stress at home. He and I were both members of Cassius’ gymnasium by the Temple of Castor, so I thought I might drop in and find him there. Unfortunately, someone had reported my presence in the house to Claudia Rufina. She came flying downstairs, green stoles fluttering like yacht pennants, and accosted me. She was a good mother, and her arrival was punctuated by alternate wafts of a very expensive perfume and baby milk. One of her pendant pearl earrings was sitting askew; Claudia had a devoted Baetican maid and plenty of polished silver hand mirrors, so it had probably been playfully yanked by ninemonth-old Gaius Camillus Rufius Constantinus.
She grabbed at my sleeve. ‘Marcus, don’t go!’ ‘Ah Claudia—don’t hit me!’
She lowered her voice swiftly to a quieter register. ‘Don’t ever joke about that, Falco.’ Teasing was what this higWy anxious young woman needed, in my opinion. She needed to hand it out too. If she had let Justinus think she didn’t give a damn, he would have come skipping home weeks ago. Still, not all women were like Helena
Justina; that was why Helena had been inescapably my choice. I was still being surprised by her. Whereas this one had had her fiery moments and was generally viewed as temperamental, to me she would always be straightforward and predictable. I knew what she thought of my talents, for instance: ‘You are never going to sort it out, are you?’
‘Claudia, don’t be so pessimistic. Events are moving fast. Have you seen Quintus?’
‘I don’t care if! never see him again.’
‘You do care—and, Claudia, you have to contact him. You and he must talk.’
Claudia fiddled with the bangles on her wrist. ‘Well he knows where to find us. He could come home. He could visit the baby, at least. ‘
‘Claudia, he really can’t come at the moment. He is generously caring for a young soldier who is terribly wounded. Quintus and I are both fond of Lentullus, and he is perilously close to death. He saved your husband’s life getting his wounds. Besides, I ordered Quintus to stay put. I had to. I’m trying to keep
him out of Anacrites’ clutches.’
Claudia stared at the floor. ‘That man came to see me.’
He was back from Nemi then. ‘I hope you didn’t tell him anything. ‘
Claudia’s face clouded. She had talked. Rats. At least she was now feeling guilty about it. That meant she was vulnerable to pressure.
‘He’s a bastard. Poor you. Was it awful?’
‘Oh Marcus, I told him Quintus was hiding with the vigiles. Was that very wrong of me?’ Just very, very stupid.
I sucked my teeth. ‘Well, whatever comes of it, I’m sure Quintus will forgive you.’ I let it sound doubtful. ‘Given how much he loves you, Claudia…’
Claudia Rufina burst into tears. Oh, excellent. Or as Helena scoffed later when I told her about it, ‘You swine, Falco!’
LX
I was still trying to escape from Claudia when Julia Justa was brought home. The bearers carried the dilapidated Camillus chair into the hall, and she descended stiffly, looking weary, just as I was saying, ‘Some men find it hard to show their true feelings, Claudia.’
Shedding her cloak, Julia Justa gave me a narrow look. She was as shrewd as Helena and would have spotted at once just how I was working on Claudia’s feelings. My deviousness would not surprise her. The noble Julia had always seen me as unreliable.
We all moved to a frescoed salon. Then followed a delay while slaves—who were already getting into a slapdash holiday mood for the dinner that evening—were prevailed upon to provide pre-Iunch snacks to revive their mistress. Julia only toyed with the food, so I weighed in. Nobody should make a big fuss about obtaining service, then not use what they have demanded. Slaves take against that, and who can blame them? Julia, who was a strict, good-mannered woman, even nodded her approval as I munched.
The news was interesting. ‘I saw Ganna as you asked, Marcus. She is well cared for and fairly content. The Vestals are taking the opportunity to teach her Roman ways.’ This would be another side of Rome from that Ganna saw at Mother’s house. ‘Unfortunately—’ I had to concede, my mother-in-law did have a sense of humour—‘they have taught her to read and I suspect that she has read the letters my foolish son wrote to the priestess.’ Julia was telling me this in a hurried undertone while Claudia made a temporary foray back to the nursery.
‘Ganna has the letters?’
‘Not any longer. I persuaded her that it was best for all concerned if we destroyed them. My first thought was to bring them away with me, but the Virgins are very much concerned with the confidentiality of documents, as you know.’ Elevated citizens gave their wills to the Vestal Virgins for safe keeping. ‘It is apparently improper for a mother to see love letters written by her son!’
‘Well, I think most sons would agree with that.’
‘So they were burned. And good riddance.’
Claudia returned, so without missing a beat we made the conversation more general. ‘Were the Vestals present for your interview?’
‘My friend supervised. It was a condition, Marcus.’
‘Fair enough.’
Julia did take a small almond cake from the tray of titbits. She was allowing herself a moment of reflection. .After six or seven years, I now knew her well enough to trust her instincts and let her dictate the rhythm of conversation. For me, talking to my mother-in-law was always eerie. She and Helena were enough alike for it to feel like familiar territory—yet Helena took after her father in more ways, so Julia remained worrying.
Claudia, who seemed even more jumpy than usual, could not wait patiently, but burst out, ‘So what did this Ganna have to say? I don’t know her, but I think I hate her.’
By contrast, Julia Justa seemed increasingly rational. Unlike the night of the feast for Saturn, when her garments got the better of her, she was now stonily calm and in charge. Julia finished her cake, wiped away a few tiny crumbs, and leaned back in her basket chair. ‘She is just a frightened girl, my dear. You have no need to be defensive. Marcus, with regard to your business, the person Ganna saw placing the severed head in the atrium pool was a freedwoman called Phryne.’ ‘What? Not the doctor, Mastarna?’
Julia looked as surprised as I was. ‘Apparently not. How could a doctor be involved?’
‘He killed his patient during an operation. Still, the freedwoman may have taken part in the cover-up, trying to protect her mistress.’ I now wondered whether it was Phryne or Mastarna who actually cut off Scaeva’s head. Phryne had showed enough hatred towards Veleda. She could have grabbed the doctor’s knife and done the deed. ‘The mistress had let the operation go ahead, even though her husband had forbidden it.’
Julia nodded. ‘Drusilla Gratiana.’
‘You know her?’
‘No, but my Vestal friend does, naturally.’ The Vestal Virgins know all the senior matrons in Roman society, where ‘senior’ normally means rich, with powerful husbands. Julia commented coolly, ‘Apparently the woman is in poor health.’
‘She drinks.’
‘Oh Marcus!’ This was from Claudia.
‘True—fact of life.’
‘Please! She has just lost her brother in appalling circumstances.’ Back in Baetica, Claudia had lost her own brother to murder; she had obvious reasons for sympathy.
‘Forgive me.’
‘Well, those were my commissions.’ Julia thought it time to shoo me off home. ‘But I am the bearer of a good suggestion. Marcus, will you put this idea to Helena, please? I know she is intending to ask the Emperor to extend clemency to Veleda. My friend suggested we make a formal, old-fashioned deputation of Roman matrons. She even volunteered to accompany us. If Helena wants to do this, I will certainly join with her.’
‘You mean, a group of respectable women in black, covering their heads, and confronting Vespasian with noble pleas to save the priestess?’
‘I do,’ said Julia. It sounded historic, but the last time this classic political ploy had been used, the full trick with a Vestal Virgin to the fore, had been as recently as the civil war that brought Vespasian to power.
Now Julia showed why she had hesitated earlier. She turned to her daughter-in-law. ‘My dear Claudia Rufina, this is a lot to ask, I know. To be effective, the Vestal Virgin felt that the deputation really needs you to be a part of it with us. Veleda once saved the lives of both Marcus and Quintus, so both their wives should be seen to plead to save her.’
I was glad I did not have to suggest that.
Claudia took it well. That is, she refrained from hurling furniture. Her tone was acidic: ‘My husband wants to leave me for this flagrant enemy of Rome—and I am to make such a selfless gesture?’
‘That would be the point.’ Julia managed to sound diffident. ‘The sacrifice would be too cruel!’
‘Then don’t do it,’ replied Julia briskly. ‘I told the Vestal you could not be expected to. Marcus, we shall see you tonight, I hope?’
I said she would, and on cue began to take my leave. When Julia rose and kissed my cheek (a formality that always chilled me) I could see Claudia behind her, biting her lip as she reviewed her dilemma. I went over and kissed her too, bending down as she remained seated. ‘Veleda will never be a free woman. Just think about saving your marriage. You could demonstrate to Quintus that you trust him, while showing your own generosity of spirit. Seems to me, it would put him in a position where his love and respect for you would then take precedence—’
Claudia jumped up, nearly knocking me over. ‘And would that work with you?—Marcus Didius Falco, I don’t think so!’
I grinned. ‘Oh I’m an informer. I’m famous for hating upright women. You’re quite right—do as Julia says, lady. Tell them just where they can put their great idea! That could work too; Quintus did marry you because you were adventurous and forthright.’
‘He wanted my money.’ That was the first time I had ever heard
Claudia say it. She sounded wounded, wan and defeated.
‘He wanted the package,’ I told her. ‘The money was good, but the woman was
better.’
Claudia was not having it. She drew herself up; she was at least my height. Then she stalked from the room. Her despondency suggested she was off to pack her bags and leave for Baetica with her young child immediately.
I made a conciliatory gesture. Julia Justa stilled me with an oddly casual little shrug, as if Claudia was better left to reach her own decisions. I thought Julia was wrong, but I told myself my mother-in-law was a wise woman. Besides, there would be other chances to plead with the young woman. We still had to get through a Satumalia feast tonight.
LXI
‘Anacrites is back!’ Had it not been so serious, Helena would have been giggling. ‘He didn’t go to Nemi. He rode about seven miles then he decided you had sent him on a fool’s errand. He came here to search the house.’
I gulped. ‘Where’s Veleda?’
‘Now,’ said Helena, ‘she is sleeping on a couch. At the time, she had gone out in the chair with Albia and Zosime to take some air in Caesar’s Gardens.’
‘How come? I gave strict orders she was to stay in at all times.’ ‘Don’t be pompous. If I took any notice of your orders,’ Helena told me, ‘you would have lost her to Anacrites.’
‘The stricter my orders are, the quicker you defy me.’
‘That’s right, darling. Do you want me to describe how enraged the Spy was when he went all over our property and could not find her? He had been so sure! I just stood in the hall with my arms folded and waited for his men to finish. That should have told him I was not afraid of discovery. The longer it lasted, the more he was sweating as his mistake dawned on him. All the soldiers stood to attention, with disapproval painted all over them. Julia and Favonia clung to me and cried their eyes out. We made a wonderful picture of an outraged matron and her children, offered grave offence in her own home, where she should be safe from insult—moreover, while the father of the family was absent. I asked Anacrites icily whether he had obtained your permission to enter and search our house. I swear he blushed. When he left, his apology was so sickly I could hardly bear it.’
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