Saturnalia Part 22

Veleda looked surprised, then denied it. Helena then shepherded her out.

I asked Petronius if there was a real suspicion that Zosime was behind the deaths of the vagrants. Ever cagey about vigiles business, he merely confirmed that he had the woman on a watch list.

I was glad that Helena was supervising the consultation here. I could not see Zosime as a killer--but if she was, I did not want her working any fatal magic on Veleda. Having Rome's famous prisoner die before the Triumph would be bad enough. Having her die at my house would finish my career.

LII.

The consultation seemed to be dragging on, so Petro and I had lunch together, with my children and some of the soldiers.

Before he left, Petronius invited us to a festival dinner that night at his house. He jauntily extended this to include the priestess. I told him that Anacrites' narks had turned up again outside. I had barred her from leaving the house; the legionaries would stay in and guard her tonight during my absence. 'And, Lucius, you are too old to be playing with fire, especially right in front of Maia! I thought you had grown up.' He loved Maia, there was no doubt of it. In his view, that freed him to keep looking around.

'I'm growing up about as fast as you!' he scoffed. Whatever that meant.

Well, I knew what he meant. I told him that anyone who had seen Veleda five years ago would be disappointed now. To which Petronius Longus answered sadly that he only hoped Quintus Camillus Justinus would see it my way. 'If she went for Camillus, you're not her type, Fako. She likes them clean and intellectual.'

Detecting a wistful note that I remembered from his wicked past, I scoffed, 'Dear Lucius, she gave you the b.u.m's rush too, and you know it.'

We sounded as if we were eighteen again. The legionaries watched us curiously.

Still weary after the Nemi trip, I was fast asleep on the part of a couch I had wrestled from the dog, when Helena tickled my nose.

'I'm awake!' To prove it, I grabbed her and pulled her down with me, shoving Nux to the floor. The elegant antelope legs of the reading couch were protesting, but would probably support us so long as we didn't try anything athletic. With a house full of nosy people that was unwise in any case, so we talked.

'You were a long time closeted with Zosime.'

'She's still here. In return for a large donation to the temple this morning, I obtained agreement to keep her here while Veleda stays with us.'

I suggested that if Zosime was involved in killing the vagrants that could be dangerous; Helena brushed my fears aside. On consideration, I thought she was right. 'Luckily for your bankbox, you'll be paying for four days at most.' I felt myself tense. Three days to deadline. It was starting to prey on my mind. 'So what's the verdict on our guest's health?'

'Zosime suspects just a bout of marsh fever. Epidemics are usually virulent in summer, but people can get the fever any time--especially strangers to Rome, before they are used to our climate.'

'Hmm. The Quadrumatus villa isn't in a marsh.'

'No, but Marcus, I remember the gardens are full of water ca.n.a.ls and other ornamental features. The miasma, or whatever it is that carries the disease, could be lurking there.' Helena looked optimistic. 'Zosime thinks there is an improvement since she saw Veleda at the villa, although Veleda may never quite recover. People don't; once struck down, they remain vulnerable to new attacks. Zosime is prescribing rest and good food: frequent small meals, no wine--and fresh air.'

'Veleda is not allowed out to go walking in parks. She'll have to make do with our roof terrace. And if she goes up there, two of the legionaries are to be in attendance at all times.'

Helena dug me in the ribs. 'Don't be so gruff, Marcus. She's hardly going to light a signal fire. Who would she contact, in any case?'

Good question. I was not taking any chances.

That afternoon, Helena and I had a pleasant winter stroll together through the city. At the far end of the Forum lay the Vestals' House, where we made an application for Helena at least to be allowed in to see young Ganna. This was rejected outright.

Annoyed by failure, Helena and I had an irritable discussion about one of the younger Vestals, a kind-hearted and rather lively gem called Constantia, who had been helpful to me in a previous enquiry. Despite the strict conditions under which the Virgins live, I suggested I contact Constantia again. Helena responded that if I wanted to stay married, that idea was a non-starter. I sighed regretfully. Constantia's willingness to help me had been wonderful.

We went to see Helena's mother. Julia Justa had heard from Claudia all about us finding Veleda. I had to endure a shriek about whether having Veleda at our house was wise wise--where 'wise' had nothing to do with cerebral efficiency and everything to do with me being an idiot. I managed to hold back the information that the scheme originated with Helena, but since she was an honest, ethical girl, she confessed. Her mother said I must have put her up to it.

Once she had worked out her anxieties, Julia Justa settled down. I explained that the accusation of beheading Scaeva was uncorroborated, and that Ganna might be able to prove the priestess was innocent; Julia brightened up. For the sake of her loves truck son and her unhappy daughter-in-law, she was clearly hoping that Ganna's evidence would do the opposite. She promised to contact her friend, that very much older and plainer Vestal Virgin than the charming one I knew, and request an interview with Ganna herself As a respected matron who could demonstrate that she had a good reason, in Julia's case it might be allowed.

'The important thing,' I told her, 'is to find out who Ganna saw laying the severed head in the water. But if you have the chance, you might like to pose one other question.' Before my mother-in-law could formulate her indignation at being treated like my junior a.s.sistant, I got in pointedly, 'Ask ifshe knows what happened to some letters Veleda received at the Quadrumatus house.'

'What letters?' snapped Julia Justa. I smiled at her sadly. 'Oh the fool!--He didn't?'

Until now I had not even mentioned Justinus' letters to Helena.

She and her mother instantly colluded and swore never to tell Claudia. (Claudia was in the nursery with her baby son and did not know we were visiting.) From what I knew of the daft relations.h.i.+p between Claudia and Justinus, he would probably confess to his wife himself They had never had secrets. A cynic would say that explained their problems.

Helena and I walked home via the Aventine. We visited Ma, who was holding court among her neighbours as a pitiful invalid; the operation must have been successful because I caught her casting a very sharp eye over their dainty offerings of fruit and pastries. Although we told her Ganna had been sent to a place of safety, we had decided not to risk Anacrites finding out that we were giving houseroom to Veleda. We kept quiet about that. Ma thought she could always tell when I was hiding something, but I had lived at home until I was eighteen; I knew how to bluff.

Once my mother had made free with her instructions on child care and household management for as long as we could bear, we left.

'I hear your father had his piles attended to,' was her gleeful parting shot. 'Apparendy it was very very painful!' painful!'

Only an impious Roman son would rejoice that his father was suffering--but the thought ofPa lying face down in agony while the pile-crus.h.i.+ng gadget savaged his posterior was boosting my mother's recovery. Happy for her, I gave Ma my best grin.

'That's the wicked grin she says reminds her of Geminus,' Helena remarked. I let her have a share in it.

Strolling in an affectionate mood, we made our way to the patrol house and dropped in to see Lentullus. I had snaffled some of my mother's treats to bring him--the t.i.tbits Ma had judged not good enough--but he was still far too ill to eat. Quintus volunteered to see nothing went to waste. While Helena mopped the sick soldier's brow, I warned Justinus that Anacrites and the Praetorians were marauding through the city with increased desperation. He should remain inside the patrol house. So long as Petronius kept his promise of not mentioning Veleda, I hoped Quintus would never learn she was at my house. He asked about my search, of course; I just said I had a few leads to follow.

Lentullus kept bleating that he was sorry to be such a trouble and would hurry to get well and rejoin his comrades. Quintus privately shook his head at me. We went into the yard and he let me know quiedy that the lad was unlikely ever to be fit enough for the army. Clemens and the others would be going back to Germany without him. If he survived, eventually somebody would have to tell Lentullus that his days in the army were over. I could see it would be me. Knowing his innocent joy in legionary service, I saw no way of consoling him.

His survival still hung in the balance. Being realistic, he was more likely to die than live. It would be some time before we could be sure he had avoided a fatal infection. Gangrene lurked ever closer. The doctor was daily reviewing the need for amputation, which would probably kill the patient. Lentullus had lost huge quant.i.ties of blood and was unable to take much nourishment. He now had an enormous pad of wadding bandaged on to the injured leg, which Scythax said was too badly damaged ever to bear his weight properly again. A large bottle of pain-killing medicine had been left for when he needed drugging--which Quintus said was frequently.

Scythax was not here, so Quintus was in charge of the soporific. His duties as a nurse must include more intimate attentions too; the calm, kind-hearted way he was getting on with it all reminded me why his men had so admired him as an army tribune. Although he had a sensitive nature, he was not afraid to get his hands dirty. At his best Quintus Camillus Justinus was practical, competent--and completely decent. At his very best he had applied those qualities to his marriage. Then, there had seemed a chance he and Claudia could survive together. As Helena and I walked back home slowly together, she cursed Veleda's presence in Rome, which had put her brother's future in jeopardy.

Helena had not yet made good her promise to beg for clemency for the priestess. After seeing Justinus, she confessed to me, 'I half wish I could forget that n.o.ble offer!' Being who she was, I knew she would honour the promise. The only reason she had not yet tried approaching Vespasian or t.i.tus was that we wanted to be able to prove that Veleda was innocent of murdering Scaeva. With the charge hanging over her, especially with the killing here in Rome, no plea for leniency stood a hope.

We still had three days. I told myself that if Ganna really had seen the killer in action, three more days should be ample to establish our case.

LIII.

We spent a good evening with Maia and Petronius. This was mainly achieved by Maia pretending it had nothing to do with Saturnalia but was a simple family meal. My daughters were well behaved, as often happened in the presence of much older children; in the company were Maia's four, plus Petro's daughter and Albia, who all got on together.

I would normally have avoided breaking off in the middle of an investigation merely to socialise, but at that point I was stuck, waiting on other people. I managed to relax. Well, Lucius Petronius always had a good wine to hand, and was liberal with it. Maia could cook too.

My mother had been invited, which at least kept her out of the clutches of Anacrites. Apparently he was paying her a lot of attention, grilling her about my activities. She claimed she always told him I was a good family man, devoting myself to giving my children a wonderful festival. 'And what have you bought for Helena as a present, Marcus? Oh don't tell me; you're just like your father. I don't suppose you've given it a thought.'

I claimed it was a secret. Maia muttered that that was always a good way to buy time. Helena said she would be happy with a surprise, so we all roared the traditional reply that her surprise would come when she received nothing. Some younger children who had never heard this one before collapsed in hysterical laughter.

Helena had never been demanding in that way. Her soft brown eyes were telling me she would not mind--while I felt my heart lurch guiltily because I had still not arranged anything.

Ear-rings. Pa had mentioned unsold ear-rings... 'What have you got for Maia?' I muttered to Petronius.

'A neck chain.'

Why did I ask? He had always bought neck chains, whatever woman--or women--he was b.u.t.tering up. That way, the philandering rascal never got caught out in conversations afterwards.

Although they were not invited, we were joined just after dinner by my other sister Junia and dreary Gaius Baebius. They always knew when someone else was entertaining. To demonstrate that Junia's slipup with vinum primitivum vinum primitivum was all forgotten and they were once again the devoted couple, they made a big fuss of jointly issuing invitations to their house the next day. Abruptly, Petronius stood up and left, saying that he had to be on duty. This left Maia with the task of refusing the invitation for them (Petro loathed Junia and Gaius Baebius). Maia, who was always blunt, just said, 'No thank you, Junia.' was all forgotten and they were once again the devoted couple, they made a big fuss of jointly issuing invitations to their house the next day. Abruptly, Petronius stood up and left, saying that he had to be on duty. This left Maia with the task of refusing the invitation for them (Petro loathed Junia and Gaius Baebius). Maia, who was always blunt, just said, 'No thank you, Junia.'

'Oh I suppose you busy people must have other plans!'

Maia bared her neat little teeth in what could be either smile or snarl.

I tried to bluff by saying we had a house full of soldiers, so Junia countered quickly that we would be glad to get away from them--as we had obviously done today. I then a.s.sumed it was Helena's turn to cover for us, but she had gone into some dream of her own, so we ended up with no escape.

'We are having ghost stories. I shall be giving you a perfect night!' Junia oozed, with the self-satisfaction we all hated.

Junia and Gaius clung on like rock anemones. They were still there swiping the leftover food from Maia's serving dishes when a message came for me from Petronius, so I was able to abandon the party and go over to the patrol house. I a.s.sumed the call was merely a courtesy on his part, but it turned out to be genuine: another body of a vagrant had been found.

The dead man was laid out in a cell, since Lentullus was still occupying the doctor's treatment room. I found Petronius and Scythax bending over the corpse, a weightless, grey-faced vagrant who could be anywhere between forty years and sixty. If I had seen him walking around, I would have kept my distance in case he harboured an infectious lung disease. Petro said he had instructed his men to give all rough-sleepers a kick to ensure they were alive. After zero response to their greeting, a vigiles patrol had brought this one in, just after twilight.

'Not dumped for Scythax then?' I gave Scythax a forbidding glance.

He refused to look s.h.i.+fty.

Petronius said, 'I sent to the temple to have Zosime questioned, but I gather she is still at your house, Falco?'

'Right. Helena wants her for something... Time of death, Scythax?' Only a couple of hours earlier, he said; the body still had traces of warmth. It was a mild night for December, and the vagrant had wrapped himself in many dirty layers. We joked gently that the dirt alone would have kept him warm. I frowned. 'We know for sure this one wasn't done in by Zosime. I've got ten daft but honest legionaries and a centurion's servant who can all give her an alibi tonight. '

'Could be a d.a.m.n copycat killing.' After dear Junia's invasion of his home, Petronius was in a dour mood.

'Think so? So far, the authorities haven't commented,' I put to him. 'You normally have a problem advertised and a loud public outcry, before the crazy emulators start. I'd say there is an original serial killer prowling out there--hitherto unnoticed.'

Reluctantly, Petro nodded. 'We have absolutely nothing on him.' I turned to the doctor. 'Scythax, come clean about the corpses that are dumped for you. This one was left on the streets. So what do you know about your little presents--and do you suspect Zosime from the Temple of AEsculapius is connected with them?'

For a moment Scythax looked unhelpful. Chin up, Petronius stared at him, though my pal said nothing. 'The ones we find at the patrol house,' Scythax finally admitted, 'are brought here by the woman.' He seemed to cringe, knowing that Petro would be annoyed.

'By Zosime?' I said quickly. 'I a.s.sume you can explain that?'

Scythax let himself be drawn out by me, where he was obviously wary of Petro. For one thing, I did not have the power to set Sergius on him. Sergius was the muscle-man who beat criminals into confessions. Well, sometimes they were criminals, sometimes they had just been arrested by mistake--but they all confessed. The vigiles were one happy family; if anyone upset Petro, he believed in traditional paternal chastis.e.m.e.nt. When he was feeling particularly conservative, he would rave that it had been a bad day when fathers of families lost the power of life and death. 'Zosime was the first to suspect something,' Scythax admitted nervously. 'She came and discussed it with me. Her temple won't take any action, so she has to rely on the vigiles. '

'Why not mention this to me?' snarled Petro.

'Nothing definite to go on. Zosime brings me the corpses, when she finds them, so that I can say whether they are natural or unnatural deaths. '

'Unnatural, I take it?' I asked. I take it?' I asked.

'I am starting to think so. Sometimes we get one who has genuinely died of malnutrition or disease. But most display the cla.s.sic sign of manual strangulation manual strangulation--a small bone in their throats is broken.' It seemed best not to ask how a doctor would discover that. Presumably not by pressing down a tongue and ordering the corpse to say ah. ah. 'It is as if,' said Scythax, with dry distaste, 'they are birds who have had their necks casually wrung.' 'It is as if,' said Scythax, with dry distaste, 'they are birds who have had their necks casually wrung.'

'Anything else we should know?' demanded Petronius, becoming more intrigued.

'Anything s.e.xual?' Scythax knew the vigiles' preoccupations in murder. 'Nothing that seems connected. Many vagrants have been abused at some time prior to death, it goes without saying. In In those who are clearly runaway slaves, indications of long-term brutalisation are practically generic.' those who are clearly runaway slaves, indications of long-term brutalisation are practically generic.'

'Are the corpses all men?' I asked.

'Occasional women. And, sadly, a few children.'

I looked at Petro. 'Isn't this wide spread of victims unusual from repeat killers?'

He nodded. 'Yes, mostly they go for one consistent type--male or female, adults or children.'

Scythax volunteered, 'I believe the common factor is that the victims live on the streets. They seem to be chosen for punishment because of their indigent lifestyle. Someone finds them sleeping under arches or in doorways, and ends their existence. He--or she--may justify murder as a kindness to end their misery.'

'Putting them down like worn-out horses?' Petronius was shocked and angry.

'Unless,' said Scythax, with his odd dispa.s.sionate att.i.tude, 'this killer hates them--sees them as a kind of human vermin. Eradicates them for the greater good.'

'Even more delightful. How will I find this self-appointed Fury?'

'Look for someone who is convinced cleaning up the streets is a decent motive. Of course,' said the doctor diffidently, 'you need to know where to start looking.'

'Io,' replied Petronius glumly. 'Happy Saturnalia!' replied Petronius glumly. 'Happy Saturnalia!'

SATURNALIA, DAY FIVE.

Twelve days before the Kalends of ]anuary (21 December)

LIV.

The fifth day of the festival brought a turn of the winch.

It started well: we were at breakfast when a message came for me from Petronius. He had obviously buckled down last night to reviewing reports. Among a pile from other cohorts he picked out that the Third had discovered a runaway slave, a teenaged musician. Petro sent a runner over to the Third, who rapidly returned confirmation that they had banged up the Quadrumatus flautist. He did not confess, but when he was rounded up he was carrying a flute. The Third were not bright, but they could add I and I to make III . . (According to Petro, III was the only number they knew.) They had chucked the flute away; their tribune hated music in the cells. (According to Petro, III was the only number they knew.) They had chucked the flute away; their tribune hated music in the cells.

I was in my cloak and about to set off for the Third's patrol house to interview the recaptured slave, when a huge litter with gold k.n.o.bs on the poles turned up on the windy embankment outside my house. The gold was wearing thin and the eight bearers were a lop-sided, shabby set who could not march in time. The conveyance was government issue: some tatty leftover from the imperial transport pool, downgraded from when Claudius or Nero were dragged around in it. Twenty years later it was due for a bonfire. Equally senile, the bearers lurched and dropped it heavily. Out staggered Claudius Laeta and under compulsion I greeted him. He was fetching me to a meeting. Laeta said it was urgent. I knew that meant two things: it wasn't urgent--and the pointless blather would drag on for hours. This was my day ruined.

'I'll fetch my toga.' Helena caught me in the unusual activity, so I lured her into the expedition. That was not hard. After our late night with Maia and Petro, the children were over-tired and squabbling fretfully. Both Helena and I could have coped with the children, but their nursemaid, Galene, was screaming in a hideous storm of foreign frustration. Albia had refused a.s.sistance. Currendy she was locked in her room. She was a teenaged girl; Helena let her act like one. Nux was in hiding with Albia. We tapped at the door and called out that we had to go somewhere. 'Get going then!' snarled Albia from within. Well, it was better than 'I hate you', and much better than 'I hate myself. In about six months we would be facing both.

We sent Galene to the kitchen, telling her to make good use of it and cook something. Jacinthus was there, but unlikely to be productive. Galene bounced off happily. Helena looked rueful. 'Maybe we should just accept this, Marcus.'