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.

“So, please tell me about Gaia’s day.”

“She sat quietly with the maids to begin with, helping them with their weaving at the loom.” I should have known that as well as believing in self-education, these were home-weaving cranks. Well, a Flamen Dialis has to insist that his Flaminica work her fingers sore preparing his ceremonial robes. I amused myself wondering about Helena’s reaction, if I had come home with my new honor and suggested that a Procurator of Poultry ought to swank about in wife-sewn livery. “After a while,” continued Caecilia, now speaking with more confidence, “she was allowed to go into a safe inner garden and play.”

“When did you hear she was missing?”

“After lunch. That is an informal meal here, but of course I expected to see her. When Gaia did not appear, I accepted a story her nurse told, that Gaia had taken her food to eat by herself. She does that sometimes, sitting on a bench in the sun, or making herself a little picnic still involved in play…” She suddenly looked at me sharply. “I expect you think us a strange, strict family-but Gaia is allowed to be a child, Falco! She plays. She owns plenty of toys.” Not many friends to share them with, I guessed.

“I shall have to search her room shortly.”

“You will find that she lived in a dear little nursery, quite spoiled.”

“So she had no obvious reason to want to run away from home?” I demanded, without warning. Caecilia clammed up. “No horrid new family crises?” I noticed a few restless movements among the waiting maids. They kept their eyes cast down. They had been well drilled, probably while I was kept hanging about before this interview.

“Gaia has always been a happy child. A sweet baby and a happy child.” The mother had retreated into a talismanic chant. Still, at least she was now showing some natural misery. “What has happened to her? Will I ever see her again?”

“I am trying to find the answer. Please trust me.”

She was still agitated. I had no hopes of getting anywhere while she was surrounded by her female bodyguards. The maids were as much protecting me from the truth as protecting the lady from me. I pretended I had finished, then asked if Caecilia would now show me the child’s room, saying I would like her to do this herself in case, under my guidance, she could spot anything different from normal that would act as a clue. She agreed to come without the maids. The slave who was supposed to escort me scuttled along behind us, but he was a loon and hardly ever kept up. He was already carrying the house plan for me, and I added my toga to burden him more.

Caecilia walked me along several corridors. Cooling down abruptly in just my tunic, I hooked my thumbs in my belt. I gave her time to relax too, then returned to the questions she had avoided and asked gently, “Something was wrong, wasn’t it?”

She took a deep breath. “There had been bad feeling, for various reasons, and Gaia has always been sensitive. Like any child, she assumed that all problems were her fault.”

“Were they?”

She jumped. “How could they be?”

I said callously, “I have no idea-since I don’t know what these problems were!” She was determined not to tell me. Orders from the Flamen, no doubt. We paced along in silence for a while, then I pressed it: “Was the trouble to do with your husband’s aunt?”

Caecilia glanced at me sideways. “You know about that?” She looked amazed. Too amazed. At the same moment we both realized we were somehow at cross-purposes. I made a mental note of the subject.

I said, “Terentia Paulla sounds a force to be reckoned with.” She laughed, rather bitterly. “Be frank. What’s this aunt really playing at?”

Caecilia shook her head. “It is all a disaster. Please don’t ask any more. Just find Gaia. Please.”

We had reached the child’s room.

It was of modest size, though the mother had correctly implied that the child hardly lived in a cell. Anyway, there was only so much space, so Caecilia ordered the slave that Numentinus had imposed on me to wait outside. The man did not like it, yet he took her instructions as though overruling the Flamen was not unknown.

I absorbed the scene. There was more jumble here than I had found anywhere previously. I had seen Gaia dressed in her finery; there was an open chest full of similarly dainty clothes: gowns and undergowns, small fancy-strapped sandals, colored girdles and stoles, tot-sized cloaks. A tangle of beads and bracelets-not cheap fakes, but real silver and semiprecious hardstones-occupied a tray on a side table. A sunhat hung on a hook on the door.

For her amusement, Gaia possessed many a toy that my Julia would be happy to bang around the floor: dolls, wooden, ceramic and rag; feather- and bean-stuffed balls; a hoop; toy horses and carts; a miniature farm. They were all good quality, the work of craftsmen, not the whittled stumpy things that youngsters in my family had to make do with. The dolls had been sat in a line on a shelf. The toy farm was spread over the floor, however, with its animals arranged as if the child had just left the room temporarily while playing with them.

Looking down at the model farm that had been so meticulously displayed by her small daughter, Caecilia Paeta caught her breath, though she tried to conceal it. She folded her arms tight, gripping her body as if resolutely holding back her emotion.

I had stopped her on the threshold. “Now, look around carefully. Is everything the way Gaia normally has it? Anything odd? Anything out of place?”

She looked, quite carefully, then rapidly shook her head. In the sea of treasures Gaia had owned, it would be difficult to spot disturbance. I entered the room and started a search.

The furnishings were less lavish than the child’s personal possessions, and may even have come with the house. The oil lamps, rugs, and cushions were minimal. There was a narrow child-sized bed in a specially designed alcove, covered with a checkered spread, and several cupboards, mainly built in. I looked in the bed and under it, then in the cupboards, where I found a few more toys and shoes and an unused chamberpot. A large wooden box, of fairly standard type and quality, contained a mirror, combs, pins, manicure tools on a big silver ring, and tangled lengths of hair ribbon.

Holding a solitary small ankle boot that I had found under the bed, I asked, “Who buys all the toys?”