One Virgin Too Many mdf-11

by Lindsey Davis

  I did not have a religious soul. I had come to see the Sacred Chicks.

  ***

  Alongside the Temple of Juno Moneta lay the Auguraculum. This was a consecrated platform which formed a practical, permanent augury site. I had always avoided the mystical lore of divination, but I knew broadly that an augur was supposed to mark out with a special curly stick the area of sky he intended to watch, then the area of ground from which he would operate and within which he pitched his observation tent. He sat inside from midnight to dawn, gazing out southwards or eastwards through the open doorway until he spied lightning or a significant flight of birds.

  I wondered idly just how he was supposed to see birds before dawn, in the dark.

  Today no auspice-taker was in action. Just as well, because I looked inside the booth to say hello-forgetting that any interruption would negate the whole night's watch.

  The Sacred Chickens had a different role from the Sacred Geese, but being used in augury they too lived on the Arx, and so it had seemed convenient to Vespasian to bundle them in with my main job. I found the chicken-keeper, one of the few people about. "You're early, Falco."

  "Had a late night."

  Preferring to remain a man of mystery, I did not explain. Going to bed late after a crisis makes me stay awake, brooding over the excitement. Then it's a choice of nodding off at dawn and feeling terrible when you wake up late, or getting up early and still feeling terrible but having time to do something. Anyway, Helena and I had stayed the night at the Camillus residence after I returned with her brother. I could not face breakfast being polite to people I hardly knew.

  The keeper showed me the hen coops. They stood on legs to keep out vermin. Double doors with lattice fronts kept the hens in and gave protection from dogs, weasels, and raptors.

  "I see you keep them good and clean."

  "I don't want them dying on me. I'd get the blame."

  If I wanted to be pedantic, now that I was the procurator in charge of poultry management, it was my job to answer questions if too many of the precious pullets popped off, but I was not giving him an excuse to slack. "Plenty of water?" I had been in the army. I knew how to be irritating when people were doing a perfectly adequate job without my supervision.

  "And plenty of food," the keeper said patiently (he had met my type before). "Except when I've been tipped the wink."

  "The wink?"

  "Well, you know how it works, Falco. When the augur wants to see the signs, we open the cage and feed the chicks with special dumplings. If they refuse to eat, or to come out of the coop-or if they come out and fly off-it's a bad omen. But if they eat greedily, spilling crumbs on the ground, that's good luck."

  "You are telling me you starve the chickens in advance, I suppose? And I imagine," I suggested, "you could make the dumplings crumbly, to help things along?"

  The chicken-keeper sucked his teeth. "Far be it from me!" he lied.

  One reason I despised the College of Augurs was that they could manipulate state business by choosing when the auspices should turn out favorable. Lofty personages who held opinions that I hated could affect or delay important issues. I don't suggest bribery took place. Just everyday perversions of democracy.

  The Sacred Chickens' main function was to confirm good omens for military purposes. Army commanders needed their blessing before leaving Rome. In fact, they usually took Roman chickens to consult before maneuvers, rather than relying on local birds who might not understand what was required of them.

  "I always like the story of the consul Clodius Pulcher, who received a bad augury when he was at sea, chafing to sail against the Carthaginians; the irascible old bastard threw the chickens overboard."

  "If they won't eat, let them drink!" quoted the chicken-keeper.

  "So he lost the battle, and his whole fleet. It shows you should respect the Sacred Birds."

  "You're just saying that because of your new job, Falco."

  "No, I'm famous for being kind to hens."

  I made notes on a tablet, so it looked good. My instructions for my position as procurator were typically vague, but I would prepare a report even though nobody had asked for one. That always makes officialdom jump.

  My plan was to suggest making the coop legs one inch longer. I would enjoy thinking up a spurious scientific reason for this. (Experience suggests that since the time of King Numa Pompilius the average length of weasels' legs has increased, so they can now reach higher than when the statuory Sacred Chcken coop was first designed. ..)

  Duty done there, I sought out the Sacred Geese, my other charges. They rushed up, hissing in a way that reminded me that their keeper's specialist lore included warnings that they could break my arm if they turned nasty. Unlikely. Juno's geese had learned that humans might be bringing food. After I checked them out, they waddled after me relentlessly. I was returning to Helena, whom I had left feeding the baby in a secluded spot. A retinue of feather pillows on legs did not help my dignity.

  She was waiting back at the Auguraculum, tall and stately. Even after being with her for four years, the sight of her made me catch my breath. My girl. Unbelievable.

  Julia was now wide awake; last night, after being scrubbed and scolded about the ink episode, she and her grandfather had fallen asleep together. We crept away to a spare bedroom, leaving him in charge. There were plenty of slaves in the household to help him out if necessary. We had made love that morning without the risk of a nosy little witness appearing at the bedside.

  "Lightly stained with woad!" Helena giggled. "She and Papa were rather well tattooed."

  I put my arms around her, still yearning with intimate affection. "You know how laundries bleach things-maybe somebody should have peed on them."

  "Papa preempted you with that joke."

  We were facing east, squinting into the pale morning sun. Behind us was the temple; to our left, the vista across the Field of Mars and gray-silver hints of the river; more to the right, the augurs' long scan towards the distant misty hills.

  "You don't seem a happy gooseboy," said Helena.

  "I'm happy." I nuzzled her neck lasciviously.

  "I think you are planning to make trouble."

  "I'll be the most efficient procurator Rome has ever had."

  "That's exactly what I meant-they don't know what they have done appointing you!"

  "Should be fun, then." I leaned back, turned her around to look at me, and grinned. "Do you want me to be respectable but useless, like all the rest?"

  Helena Justina grinned back wickedly. I could handle becoming pious, so long as she was prepared to stick it out with me.

  The city was stirring. We could hear beasts bellowing below, in the Cattle Market Forum. I caught a faint whiff from a tannery that must offend the refined nostrils of the gods-or at least their snooty antiquated priests. It reminded me of the ex-Flamen Dialis, who had complained about the goslings. That reminded me of his troubled granddaughter.

  "What are you planning to do about Gaia Laelia and her family?"

  Helena pulled a face at the suggestion that it was her responsibility, but she was ready: "Invite Maia to lunch-I have not seen her yet, in any case-and ask her about that royal reception."

  "Am I supposed to come home for lunch too?"

  "It's not necessary." She knew I was dying to be in on what Maia said. "So," she retaliated, "what are you intending to do about that body Aelianus found and lost?"

  "Not my problem."

  "Oh, I see." Appearing to accept it (I should have known better), Helena mused slowly, "I don't know that I approved of my brother being set up for the Arval Brethren. I can see why he thought it would do him good socially, but the appointment is for life. He may enjoy feasting and dancing in a corn wreath for a few years, but he can be rather staid and serious. He won't endure it forever."

  "You know what I think."

  "That all the colleges of priests are elite cliques, where power is traditionally wielded by nonelected, jobs-for-life patricians,
all dressing up in silly clothes for reasons no better than witchcraft and carrying out dubious, secretive manipulation of the state?"

  "You old cynic."

  "I am quoting you," said Helena.

  "What a misery!"

  "No." Helena pulled a dour face. "You are an astute observer of the political truth, Marcus Didius." Then she changed tack: "In my opinion, unless it is already known who killed the man Aelianus found, then my brother should make it his business-with your technical help-to discover the murderer."

  "Why's this? So that he can inform the rest of the Arval Brothers and in gratitude they will elect dear Aulus to fill the vacancy?"

  "No again," scoffed Helena. "I told you he is better off without them. So that when those snobs gratefully offer him membership he can make himself feel better by crying 'No thank you!' and marching out on them."

  Sometimes people suggested that I was the hot-headed one.

  ***

  "So you will be investigating this with him?" she grilled me.

  "I have no time for unpaid private commissions. Helena, my darling, I am very busy making recommendations for the care of things that honk and cluck."

  "What have you suggested to Aulus?"

  "That he trots back to the Sacred Grove this morning and pretends to be making official enquiries."

  "So you are helping him!"

  Well, I had said he could use my name as a cover, if it persuaded people to take him seriously. "It's up to him. If he wants to know the truth about his mysterious corpse, he has plenty of free time and a good reason to be asking questions. He'll have to find all the attendants who were working at the pavilion yesterday, and speak to the priests at the various temples; that will take him all day and prove whether he's serious. I bet he discovers nothing. The experience will douse his ardor and perhaps be the end of it."

  "My brother can be very stubborn," warned Helena in a dark voice.

  As far as I was concerned, Aelianus could play with this curiosity as long as he liked. I might even give him a steer or two. But the swift removal of the body and the secrecy with which it had happened looked ominous. If the Arval Brothers had decided to hush up the incident, now that I was loosely attached to the state religion myself, I had to hold back. Once I had been a fearless, interfering informer; now the damned Establishment had bought me off. I had held this post for just two days, and already I was cursing it.

  "What can he do then?" insisted my darling, being stubborn herself.

  "Aelianus ought to present himself at the house of the Arval Master when the Brothers start assembling for today's feast. He should declare what he saw, making his involvement known at least to their chief, and if possible to the whole group. While he is there, he must keep his eyes open. If he notices any particular Brother is missing, he can deduce the identity of the corpse."

  Helena Justina seemed satisfied. In fact, she seemed to believe I was helping her brother rather more than I had agreed to do.

  "That's wonderful, Marcus. So while Justinus is away in Spain, you have somebody to work as your partner after all!"

  I shook my head, but she just laughed at me. Before we left the Arx, we shared a moment surveying the city. This was Rome. We were home again.

  If anyone has heard that a procurator attached to the cult of Juno once kissed a girl on the sacred ground of the Auguraculum, it's just winged rumor flitting around with her usual distaste for truth. Anyway, legate, that girl was my wife.

  XI

  Maia was being far too careful to look normal. She shrank from being hugged as if it seemed an unnecessary display. She was pale but neatly dressed as always, with her dark curls combed back from her face. She wore a dress that I knew was her favorite. She had taken trouble to reassure us; she was certainly making an effort. But her mouth was tight.

  With her came all her four children, and when I took them into the other room to show them my goslings, Maia's eyes followed her little ones overprotectively. Always well behaved, they were even quieter than before, all intelligent enough to know their father's death would have drastic consequences, the elder ones secretly shouldering responsibility for bringing everyone through the tragedy.

  "They make a lot of mess," said Ancus, now six, as he carefully handled one of the fledglings. He looked very worried. "What are you supposed to do about clearing up?"

  "I have to find them somewhere else to live, Ancus. I made arrangements this morning for them to go to Lenia's laundry over the road. They can waddle around the yard and forage in the back lane."

  "But don't they belong on the Arx?"

  "There are enough geese on the Arx at the moment."

  "So you can keep the spare ones?"

  "Perk of my new job."

  Ancus noted that gravely, seeing it as a career inducement.

  "It doesn't seem a good idea to have geese pooping in a place where clothes are being nicely cleaned," remarked Cloelia. She was about seven or eight, and believed herself frightened of creatures, but it had taken her no time to get the hang of shoveling their porridge and mashed nasturtium leaves into my charges. The practical one.

  Lenia's laundry had never been salubrious. I only went there because it was handy and she pretended she gave me cheap rates. She was hoping that geese would guard the laundry from the evil attentions of her recently divorced husband. Having failed to wrest the property from her, Smaractus was trying to drive her out of it. "Lenia hasn't thought of the mess, so we won't mention it. Do you want to help me take them to their new home?"

  We all went in procession, carrying the little birds, their basket, and their porridge pot. This gave Helena and Maia a chance to talk alone.

  "We'd like the pot back eventually," I told Lenia.

  She threw back her ghastly fox-red hair and croaked, "Not too soon, Falco! I'll be wanting the pot for cooking these geese when they get big enough."

  "She doesn't mean that, does she?" Ancus whispered in my ear nervously. Knowing Lenia, I was pretty sure she did.

  "Of course not, Ancus. They are sacred. Lenia will be looking after them very carefully."

  Lenia laughed.

  We found Petronius outside the laundry, on his lunch break, so he invited himself to join us, bringing a melon as his entrance fee.

  ***

  Helena gave me a private scowl when she saw Petro, but it seemed to me he would be a great help in jollying Maia. His idea of doing this was to wink at her and leer, "The new widow's looking spruce!"

  "Grow up," said Maia. Her gaze followed Cloelia, who was handing out food bowls rather precariously. "And that does not mean you can drive me mad being nice to me. Just act normally!"

  "Whoops. I thought you'd be sick of normal people murmuring 'However will you cope?' You will, don't worry."

  My sister gave him a tart look. "Is it true what I hear-that Arria Silvia and her potted-food man have decamped to live in Ostia?"

  Petronius was milder than I had expected as he confirmed this new disaster in his own life. "Apparently, the gelatinous clown reckons there is a great market for his ghastly produce on the quays. And yes, Silvia has taken my daughters. And no, I do not expect to see the girls more than once a year in future."

  "I am sorry," commented Maia briefly. We all knew he would miss his daughters; but at least he would be there if they really needed him. Her children could no longer say the same about their father.

  Petronius, who had installed himself on a bench at the table, stretched his long legs in front of him, leaned back, folded his arms, and returned quietly, "Sole purpose of presenting myself-to give you somebody else to feel sorry for."

  Maia, who thought Petro an even worse scoundrel than me, took it well, at least for her: "Petronius and Falco: always the boys who had to be different. Now listen carefully, you two. The official set speech runs like this: My husband was a ne'er-do-well whose death may turn out to be the best thing that happened to me; if I want anything I have only to ask-though of course it means don't ask for anything that
requires money or time, or causes embarrassment; most important, you have to tell me that I am still young and attractive-all right, you can say 'fairly attractive'-and that somebody else will soon turn up to take Famia's place."

  Petronius Longus lifted Rhea, the silent three-year-old, onto his lap and started filling her bowl for her. He had been a good father, and Rhea accepted him trustingly. "Take Famia's place in being a ne'er-do-well, is that it?"

  "What else?" said Maia, grudgingly allowing herself a half smile.

  "Has enough time passed for us to tell you that you should never have married him?"

  "No, Petro."

  "Right. We'll keep that one in reserve."

  "Don't worry; I can dwell on it for myself… Isnt it rich-how eagerly people want to tell you that the person you chose was not worth it! As if you were not already wondering what life was for, and why you seem to have wasted half of it! All, of course, preceded by 'I feel I have to say this, Maia!' So thoughtful!"

  "You have to remember," Petronius advised in a dark voice, like one who knew, "that it all seemed to be what you wanted, at the time."

  Helena had been placing various serving dishes on the table; now she joined in, taking up their ironic tone. "I'm sure there must be plenty of pious souls explaining that you have four beautiful children who will be your consolation, Maia? And that what you must do is devote yourself to them?"

  "But not let myself go!" Maia growled. "'In case something comes along.' Meaning, oh Juno, let's hope Maia fixes herself up quickly with a new man, so we don't have to worry about her for too long."

  "Your words have a horrible resonance of Allia and Galla," I commented, referring to two of our elder sisters, who were particular mistresses of tact. "And does that mean," I asked her hollowly, "that our mother has started plaguing you to be nice to poor Anacrites?"

  This time Maia snapped. "Oh, don't be so ridiculous! Marcus darling, mother would never do that. She has already been warning me not to bat my eyelids that way because Anacrites is far too good for me-"