What a terrible family. They made mine look perfectly normal.
I reminded myself that my interest was supposed to be in a child. I already believed little Gaia was also being used-by her parents, Scaurus and Caecilia, in their own struggle to thwart the old man’s plans. Where did the aunt fit in there?
“I suppose Terentia Paulla must be delighted that your daughter is-fortune willing-to follow her career at the Vestals’ House?”
An odd look crossed the face of the child’s father. “Actually, this is the one subject of difference between my dear aunt and me. I believe it would be an honor-and one in the traditions of my familybut my aunt for some reason is very strongly opposed.” He gave me a direct stare.
“Terentia objects? Why?”
“That is a long story,” said Scaurus. He had previously seemed like dough anyone could knead-yet he was as slippery as any other devious swine. “And it is our family business, if you don’t mind. I understand the Pontifex Maximus will conduct the lottery three days from now, so the matter will then be settled. Was that all you wanted to say to me, Falco? I promised Meldina I would not be away from home too long today.”
“You must have finished, Marcus!” shouted Ma from the cart. And so I took the hint. We bade Scaurus farewell. He drove south again to his luscious companion; we set off northwards towards Rome.
I gave Helena Justina a brief account of my interview. Her reaction was scathing: “Save us from the intervention of loving aunts!”
“Your grandmother recognized a Virgin to avoid,” I agreed. I then listed for Helena all the caring actions of Terentia Paulla in her late sister’s family-well, all the ones we knew about: “Terentia was always at odds with her sister, the late Flaminica, over the Flaminica’s having a lover; yet Terentia seems to have made a favorite of her sister’s son. It can’t be popular with his family. Three years ago she provided the means for Scaurus to leave home and live on her farm; by doing that she ensured he will never satisfy his father by joining a priesthood-and when he escaped he left his wife. If the family in Rome have heard about Meldina-who is connected to Terentia through her mother-it won’t help. Terentia now courts more trouble by naming Scaurus as her guardian against his father’s wishes. She is planning legal action, which at the very least will drag the exFlamen’s name to public notice-we can guess how he will feel about a lurid Daily Gazette court report. If the action is successful, it may remove Scaurus from his father’s authority.”
“Virgins who break their vows of chastity are buried alive,” Ma scoffed. “It sounds as though this one should have been buried somewhere deep the instant she retired.”
“I have a feeling,” Helena answered, “that whatever this woman has done or said-or whatever she is planning-may be at the heart of what was troubling Gaia Laelia.”
If she was right, a dreamy soul like Scaurus hardly seemed an adequate guardian of the lady’s affairs. Nor did he inspire me in his role as father to a disturbed and rather isolated six-year-old. “Well, we may have to accept that it is none of our business. Not one of these people is a paying client of mine.”
“When did that stop you?” muttered Ma.
“The little girl asked you for help,” Helena reminded me. Then she paused, looking thoughtful. I knew her well enough to wait. “There is something madly wrong about that legal tale Scaurus spun you.”
“It sounded reasonable to me.”
“But for one thing.” Helena had made up her mind and was highly indignant. “Marcus, it’s complete nonsense-a Vestal Virgin is exempt from the rules of female guardianship!”
“Are you certain?”
“Of course,” Helena rebuked me for doubting her. “It is one of their famous privileges.”
My mother’s mouth tightened. “Total freedom from male interference! The best reason for ever becoming a Vestal, if you ask me.”
“Of course,” said Helena, calming down as she became interested in the problem, “it is always possible that the ex-Vestal in question has to have a guardian for special reasons. She may be disposing of her property in a brazenly profligate manner.”
“Or she may be a lunatic!” Ma chortled wickedly.
But Terentia Paulla sounded too good an organizer for that to be the case.
“So,” I pondered, with a certain amount of annoyance, “Laelius Scaurus is either an unworldly booby who has utterly misunderstood something his aunt has said to him-or he has just bamboozled me with a pack of outright lies!”
But why should he do that?
I had let Scaurus go and we were too far down the road for me to drive back and challenge him. Besides, I really had to think about Gaia. Tomorrow was the Nones of June. In two days’ time, as any conscientious procurator knew from consulting his calendar of festivals, would begin a period that was sacred to Vesta, including two great days of ceremony called the Vestalia. The women of Rome would progress to the temple to beg the goddess for favor in the coming year; there would be elaborate cleansing ceremonies for the temple and its storehouse. The start of these events this year was when the Pontifex Maximus had elected to draw lots for the next Virgin, after which it seemed likely that Gaia’s fate would be fixed. Even if I did attempt to help her, I had only three days left. After that, the girl might well be removed from the oppression and strife of her family; but she would be sweeping up embers from the Sacred Hearth for the next thirty years.
Her father’s aunt, who had carried out the duties for a full term, thought this a bad idea. Well, she should know.
XXIII
THE NONES OF June was dedicated to Jupiter, Guardian of Truth. Naturally, this was my favorite manifestation of the Best and Greatest of gods. Truth, in the life of an informer, is such a rare phenomenon. In case there were any ramifications for me in the festival, I made damned sure I stayed away from the big temples on the Capitol.
I had now been home from Africa for about ten days. I had expected that private clients who had need of an informer would have heard this with relief, and would start queuing up for my expert advice. Prospective clients thought otherwise.
There were three reasons to accept this calmly. Firstly, my supposed new partner, Camillus Justinus, was abroad and unable to share the task of rebuilding the business. If he offended his girlfriend’s rich relatives in Corduba they might extract her and leave him so desolate he would go off on Herculean adventures for the next ten years. If Claudia’s grandparents took to him too much, however, they might set him up as a married man, permanently growing olives in Baetica. Either way, if I ever saw him again, I would be lucky. But until I knew the result for certain, I was hampered in honing my business plan.
Secondly, I had rented an office in the Saepta Julia when I worked with Anacrites, but I dumped that when I dumped him. Once again my nominal office was my old apartment in Fountain Court, still occupied by Petronius Longus since his wife left him. Any person who needed to employ an informer was likely to have reasons to keep their private life unofficial on all fronts; they would be horrified to arrive for a consultation and find a large specimen of the official vigiles in his after-hours tunic, swigging a drink, with his feet up on the balcony parapet. I could not evict Petro. Instead I currently interviewed any clients who did turn up at my new apartment. Many a craftsman’s lockup in Rome is overrun by children; it may be fine if you only want to buy a bronze tripod with satyrs’ feet, but people dislike being interviewed about their life-or-death problems while an energetic baby hurls porridge at their knees.
Thirdly, for the first time ever I could view all this without much urgent concern. Anacrites and I had achieved so much in our work for the Great Census that I had no pressing financial worries.