"Thanks." I forced myself to beam at him. Friendliness was stupid, but I fooled myself I had now escaped.

No such luck: "And what about the guano from the Sacred Geese?" he then asked even more intensely. "Did you know that bird dung is extremely nutritious to crops? The sacred element would be a good catchall advertis.e.m.e.nt. Have you thought of selling it off for muck-spreading?"

A whole vista of dangerously corrupt subcontract fiddles had opened up with my new rank. Being respectable could be very hard work if I took up every opportunity for graft that people kindly flung my way. Grinding my teeth, I leaped up to the driving seat of my cart.

I was actually whipping the mule out through the gate to the road home when we met head-on with a man on a donkey who turned out to be the missing Scaurus.

I knew it was him straightaway. As I had reckoned, he must be in his thirties, though he had the manner of somebody older. Depressingly, he had the same washed-out, defeated look as his wife. Even though he now lived in the country, he looked as if he dwindled in captivity indoors. He was lanky, with a high forehead, his thin shoulders diffidently stooped. He also had the kind of well-meaning att.i.tude that would quickly drive me mad.

"You're Laelius Scaurus!"

When I dragged the mule to a halt, he looked surprised that I knew him. "Are you Falco?"

There must be something about the air on the Campagna that made every woolly baa-lamb out here p.r.o.ne to stating the obvious. Now I was trapped. I had to interview him at a farm gate, with Ma, the baby, Nux, and Helena all looking on. He stuck on his donkey. I stayed on the cart.

"Yes, I'm Falco. Thank you for coming out here; I know you have had a busy couple of days traveling--"

"Oh, that's all right."

I hate people who let themselves be put upon, especially by me. I refused to feel too guilty, however. "Look, I won't delay you long . . ." Not with my mother's gimlet eyes boring into me, saying I had already kept her waiting enough after she had been promised she would be driven home before her leeks wilted.

To my relief, Scaurus now slowly dismounted from his donkey. I therefore hopped down too, and we two men strolled apart from the others. "You are Gaia Laelia's father, aren't you?" It was too much to expect this dry stick to retort with the old So my wife tells me So my wife tells me joke. "I don't know if you managed to see your young daughter when you were in Rome?" I said. joke. "I don't know if you managed to see your young daughter when you were in Rome?" I said.

"I saw all my family," he answered me gravely. As a runaway son he was about as exciting as a bowl of cold dripping.

I decided to be blunt. "I heard your aunt sent for you. Do you mind telling me why you had been summoned?"

Scaurus looked up at the sky nervously. "No, there can be no real objection." I bet his father would have found one. "My aunt, who is widowed, wishes me to be appointed as her guardian. I am Terentia Paulla's only surviving male relation."

For information retrieval, usually a slog, this was quick going. Only yesterday we had heard that, on her retirement, Terentia Paulla had married. Today I learned that her husband had already pa.s.sed away. It would be fun to think the man had had a seizure during the excitement of his wedding night with a Vestal--but more likely he was an old bird of ninety-three who went his way naturally. I was too delicate to ask Scaurus.

So now Terentia wanted Scaurus, her late sister's son, to act for her? In my family solitary aunts ran their own affairs, and did it with a grip of iron. My aunt Marciana could zing beads along their wires on her abacus with a verve any money changer would envy. But the law reckoned women were incapable of managing anything except the colors of their loom wool, so legally, especially where there was property, a woman was supposed to have a male friend or relative take charge of her. A woman who had borne three children became exempt (quite rightly, scoffed most of the mothers I knew). The aunt of Laelius Scaurus, being an ex-Vestal, presumably had no children. Once again, it seemed indelicate to speculate openly.

"You don't look too happy," I commented.

Scaurus was frowning and looked ill at ease with my line of questioning. "I daren't do it. I have never been emanc.i.p.ated from my father's patriarchal control."

I already knew that his family was rent by quarrels; now the aunt's request added one more disruptive element. "Your father is an ex-Flamen Dialis and he wishes to keep to the old rules. He will not change his mind?"

"No, never."

"Could he look after your aunt instead of you? A guardian does not have to be a blood relative."

"They hate one another," said Scaurus, as if this was natural.

"No friendly freedmen she could turn to then?"

"That would be inappropriate." Presumably because she had been a Vestal; some women were less squeamish about ex-slaves. A freedman had a duty to his patroness which could mean more, to be frank, than the affection felt by true relatives. Sometimes a freedman and his patroness were lovers, though of course I could not suggest that of a Vestal.

"So how did you sort it out, Scaurus?"

He hesitated. Perhaps he thought it was none of my business. "My aunt will pursue the matter. I have to return to Rome in twelve days' time--"

"Twelve days?"

"The next time for legal action." After Pa's urgency in sorting out my sister Maia, I should have remembered that. What Laelius Scaurus was planning with his auntie's connivance, however, turned out to be far more astonishing than our mere attempt to buy a business: "An approach will be made to the Praetor to name me as sui juris--free to conduct my own affairs. If that fails, we shall pet.i.tion the Emperor."

I whistled. "Fast going! Your aunt," I said admiringly, "seems to be more than capable, if she thought all this up." He looked vague. I rather liked her idea: "Pleading that she must have a male adviser is legal, reasonable, and modest. If the issue goes to the Emperor, he has her interest at heart, since, as he is Pontifex Maximus, the Vestals are his direct responsibility. He must treat a retired one with heavy respect. As Pontifex, he outranks your father too." I could see only one possible wrinkle. "You don't suppose the Emperor will elect to act as your aunt's guardian himself?" That would be seen as suitable, though it would not help Laelius Scaurus escape from his father's control--and it could mean the aunt acquired a guardian who would expect to be her heir too. Many did. And Vespasian was famously grasping.

Scaurus looked as if I was rushing him. "If it happens, it happens." A shade of humor propelled him: "The Emperor may feel that my aunt is a handful."

"Ex-Vestals do tend to be forceful," I sympathized. He was frowning again uneasily. Talking to him was like trying to clean cooking oil off a table. Every time I thought I was making headway the surface dried out to reveal the same old sheen. "I take it she does not frighten you?" He looked as if she did. "You're a grown man. There cannot be too much work or anxiety in running the lady's estates."

"My aunt is very fierce." Scaurus spoke woodenly. I guessed she was making a monkey of him in some way. But that was often the case when a patrician woman a.s.signed her guardianship to some poor cipher who was then supposed to humor her.

"Bear up. Terentia Paulla must have great regard for you. Look, I hope you don't mind me asking this, but if you remain in your father's legal control you cannot yourself hold property. Does that mean somebody else owns the farm that you and the delightful Meldina occupy?"

"My aunt," he confirmed, unsurprisingly. A pattern had emerged here. If I was any judge, the ex-Virgin and the ex-Flamen were enjoying a hot feud and were using poor Scaurus as one of their weapons. He was a limp foil to two tremendously strong characters.

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 family--but 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 ex-Flamen's name to public notice--we can guess how he will feel about a lurid Daily Gazette Daily Gazette court report. If the action is successful, it may remove Scaurus from his father's authority." court report. If the action is successful, it may remove Scaurus from his father's authority."

"Virgins who break their vows of chast.i.ty 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 b.o.o.by 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 G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ds. 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 d.a.m.ned 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.

Yet that in itself was disturbing. I would need to get used to it. For the past eight years, since I had persuaded the army that it wanted to release me from legionary service, I had lived in fear of starvation and being thrown on the street by my landlord. I had once felt unable to marry, for dread of dragging others down with me. I had lived in filth. I lacked leisure and intellectual refinement. I had been forced into work that was dangerous and demeaning. So I drank, dreamed, l.u.s.ted, complained, conspired, wrote gauche poetry, and did all that informers are reckoned to do by those who insult them. Then in Britain, on my first mission for Vespasian, I had met a girl.

For a man who sneered at snooty women, I had thrown myself into wooing Helena Justina with a wholeheartedness that appalled my friends. She was a senator's daughter and I was a street rat. Our relationship seemed impossible--a wondrous attraction to a fellow who liked challenges. She at first hated me: another lure. I even thought I hated her: ridiculous.

The story of how we came to live as we did now, so much more closely and companionably than most people (more, especially, than my turmoiled clients) would fill a few scrolls for your library. That Helena loved me was one mystery. That, even though she cared, she chose to endure my way of life was even stranger. We had lived for short periods in my old apartment, the one Petronius now filled with his mighty frame when he forced himself to return for a night's sleep under the leaky tiles. We had briefly shared a rental in a building that was "accidentally" demolished by a crooked developer--fortunately when neither of us was at home. And now we lived in a three-room first-floor sublet, from which we had removed the obscene wall frescos and to which we imported our child's screams and our own laughter, but little else.

I had long harbored grandiose fantasies of owning a mansion--in a few decades, when I had time, money, energy, motive, and the name of a trustworthy real estate vendor (well, the last criterion ruled it out!). More recently Helena Justina had talked of acquiring somewhere s.p.a.cious enough for us to share with her younger brother, whom we liked, and whose young lady (if she stuck with him) was as pleasant as we could hope for. I was not sure I liked anyone enough to endure a joint tenure of my home. Apparently, it was a closer possibility than I had thought.

"While we have the mule cart on hire," Helena announced, looking only slightly sheepish, "we could drive out tomorrow and look at this house I bought."

"This is the house that I know nothing about, I suppose?"

"You know it is."

"Right. If a man takes up with a formidable woman, he has to expect some curtailment of his domestic liberties. A whole house has been bought for me, without anybody telling me the street or the locality, showing me the site plan, or even, if I may be so coa.r.s.e as to raise this, Helena, mentioning the price."

"You will like it," Helena a.s.sured me, sounding as if she had begun to doubt that she liked the place herself.

"Of course I will, if you chose it." I was often firm. Helena had always ignored firmness, so it might have seemed pointless, but the statement made it clear who would be blamed if we were stuck with a b.u.mmer.

As we were. I could already tell.

Because of the daytime wheeled-vehicle curfew in Rome, after we took my mother home that evening we hitched the mule in Lenia's laundry and planned to rise very early in order to leave just before dawn. After a few hours' sleep at our apartment, I dragged myself awake the next morning only reluctantly. We put Julia and Nux in the back of the cart, still both asleep in separate baskets, and set off through the silent streets like defaulters doing a bunk.

"This seems to be the first disadvantage. Our house is miles outside town?"

"I was told that the distance is walkable." Helena looked miserable.

"Time to own up, lady. Is that true?"

"You always said you wanted to live on the Janiculan Hill--with a view over Rome."

"So I did. Very nice. I saw a superb gangster's house there once--mind you, he had excellent reasons for guarding his privacy."

The house Helena had bought was the other side of the Tiber: secluded, you could say. If it had a view as she promised, I knew it must be an upland property. Every day when I returned home in the evening (I would obviously not bother nipping back just for lunch as I did now), the last part of the walk would be up a steep hill. I could manage that, I told myself. I had lived all my life on the Aventine.

"We can afford our own litter now," Helena ventured nervously as we drove past the Theatre of Pompey and rattled over the Agrippan Bridge. This was already further out of the city than I normally enjoyed tramping.

"If you want a social life, we'll need one each."

The house had tremendous potential. (Those deadly words!) Renovated--for it was suffering about twenty years of total neglect--it could end up truly beautiful. Airy rooms led from lofty corridors; attractive interior peristyle gardens separated pleasingly proportioned wings. There were good polychrome geometric mosaic floors in the princ.i.p.al rooms and hallways. Old-fashioned, slightly faded frescos posed interesting problems: whether to keep them or invest in more modern designs.

"It had no bathhouse," Helena said. "There is a spring, luckily. I don't know how the previous owners managed. I thought it was essential to have our own facilities."

I gulped. "Gloccus and Cotta?"

"How did you guess?"

"They sound likely candidates for a job that can easily go wrong. I don't see them here." I could, however, see their various piles of ladders, litter, and old lunch crusts. They also had a large trade plate advertising their services, which had pushed over the welcoming herm at the entrance gate. No doubt they would reerect Hermes for us before they finally left.

I jest. The situation was clear to me. These were, without question, boys who left a trail of destruction in their wake. Snagging, in this contract, would mean employing a major contractor to put right everything that these smaller folk had done wrong--and all they had ruined which they should never have touched. There was nothing new or surprising in this situation. It is carefully worked out in the builders' guild. It is how they perpetuate their craft. Every time one comes in and ruins your home, the next in the chain is guaranteed work. Don't try to escape. They know every trick the luckless householder can pull. They are G.o.ds. Just leave them to get on with it.

"Gloccus and Cotta are never here," Helena replied in a taut voice. "That, I am forced to admit, is their big disadvantage. If I tell you I bought this house before we went to Africa--"