Steven Saylor - A murder on the Appian way

"Prisoners…" I shook my head. "Your brother mentioned them. But who could they have been?"

"Some of Clodius's men?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so." "Why not?"

Because, I thought, Fulvia told me specifically that none of her husband's men had been missing. Felicia looked at me shrewdly, or as shrewdly as anyone could with those glassy eyes and that unwavering smile. "You seem to know a lot already about what happened that day."

"And you seem to have already told this story a number of times before."

She shrugged. "The Appian Way is a busy road, even in these troubled times. And people are naturally curious."

"Do you tell what you saw to anyone who happens to pass by?"

"So long as they donate something to the shrine. I've never been one to withhold favours, either in my old profession or my new one."

I looked at her and shook my head. I found little to admire in her, but I saw nothing to despise either. When I considered the danger into which she had unwittingly, even stupidly placed herself, merely for the sake of taking in a few coins from strangers, my blood ran cold. "Felicia, have you any idea of the risk you've taken? I'm amazed that you're still alive, you and your brother both."

Her smile wavered. Her eyes flickered, as if just beginning to focus. "What do you mean?"

"Do you have no idea of the magnitude of what you saw that day? You act as if it were merely a curiosity, an amusing story to tell to travellers for profit. But at this very moment, up in Rome, a very powerful, very ruthless man is struggling for his survival. Milo is telling everyone that he was ambushed by Clodius that day."

She shrugged. "Well, I don't care what the man says. I know what I saw, and the things I told you — "

"If produced in a court of law, could send Milo into exile, discredit his followers and cause enormous embarrassment to some of the most powerful men in Rome. Men who havespies everywhere, and assassins, and whole stables full of fellows like Eudamus and Birria. Milo's agents may have been here already, snooping about. If they managed to pass by you and your brother, it can only be because the gods made them look the other way. Or have you already spoken to them, as freely as you've spoken to me? They may already know who you are and what you've been telling. In that case only their incompetence can explain that fact that you're still alive to tell the tale to me. Or is it your lemur I'm speaking to?"

Her lips tightened. Her eyes narrowed. After a moment she

rallied and managed a semblance of her previous bland serenity, but could not quite control the quaver in her voice. "I serve the Good Goddess — "

"Do you think that will protect you? That it will mean anything to such men, any more than your brother's priesthood will mean something to them?"

"Then you believe…"

"That you are in great danger, or soon will be."

Her smile at last faded and her eyes for the first time seemed to truly see me. "Who are you?"

"A man who was glad to hear the truth and wishes you no harm."

She stared at me for a long moment. "What would you suggest that I do?"

"At the very least, stop telling what you know to every traveller who passes by, and tell your brother to do the same. Keep your mouths shut! Better than that, I'd suggest that both of you take a lesson from the birds."

"What?"

"Fly south for the rest of the winter." Like the innkeeper's widow, I thought. Perhaps it wasn't grief that had sent her to Rhegium, but common sense. "Fly south, or else go to Rome with your brother and seek the widow Fulvia's protection. She'll expect something in return, especially if there's a trial, and you could be placing your fortunes with a losing side. But whatever you do, leave this place."

"But who would attend to the shrine? How would I make a living?"

"I suspect you still have sufficient attributes to support yourself, one way or another."

Her smile flickered. "I'll think about it. In the meantime, I'll take your advice and say no more." Just as boldly as her brother, she held out her empty palm. When Eco looked into his purse with a parsimonious frown, I took the bag from him and pulled out one of the larger coins.

The sight of it in her hand prompted the return of her former glassy-eyed state. "You're generous, stranger, with your advice and with your money."

"Use it for lodgings when you leave."

"Perhaps. But you've paid for more than I've given, I think. Shall I tell you something else? Something I haven't told to every curious traveller passing by?" She saw my reaction and laughed. "I love that expression on a man's face — so eager and attentive. Well, then: do you remember passing the House of the Vestals on your way here from Bovillae?"

"Yes. Your brother pointed it out."

"But you didn't stop to speak to any of the Vestals?"

"No."

"Since you seem so anxious to know everything that happened that day, it might profit you to speak to the Virgo Maxima. Ask her about the visitor who came to her after the battle. Ask about the offering that was made and refused."

"Can't you tell me?"

"The virgins of the goddess Vesta do not tread on my authority, and I do not tread on theirs. Ask the Virgo Maxima, if you can manage to penetrate her haughtiness. Whatever you do, don't let her know that I sent you. Whether she confides in you or not is her affair. There, now I've given you full value for your coin." She began to walk back to the shrine.

"Felicia…"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"One last question. I meant to ask your brother and forgot. A name: Marc Antony. Does it mean anything to you?" She shook her head, turned away and resumed walking. "And Felicia…" "Yes?"

"May the Good Goddess protect you from harm."

Following Felicia's advice, we turned around and made our way back to the House of the Vestals.

From the Appian Way a narrow, winding lane led up to the forecourt and main entrance. Both the lane and the building were clearly of recent construction; broken earth and tree stumps lined the lanes and the sharp edges and stained walls of the house were not yet softened by the wear of time. It was a humble dwelling compared to the great House of the Vestals in Rome, but hardly a hovel; many a dweller on the Palatine would have been proud to claim it. Or so it appeared from the outside.

It is not true, as many people think, that all men are forbidden at all times to enter any part of a sanctified building where Vestals dwell. I myself had once penetrated into the very sleeping cubicles of the House of the Vestals in Rome, when I was called upon to investigate the scandal that led to the trials of Catilina and Crassus for desecrating the purity of certain of the Vestals. The penalty for such a crime is death for the man, and for the Vestal something far worse: she is buried alive.

That incident was now twenty years in the past, and the circumstances had been highly unusual. But it occurred to me, as I recalled it, that Clodius had been involved in that affair as well. It had been one of his earliest escapades. The general consensus finally held that Clodius had tried to falsely incriminate the accused parties for his own obscure motives, and the reaction against him had been so hostile that for a while he had dropped from sight. Early on, Clodius had set a pattern of attacking powerful men and revered institutions, and had occasionally paid a price for his impudence.

I had no expectation of being allowed into the sleeping chambers of the House of the Vestals on Mount Alba, but if the rules of the dwelling followed those, of the one in Rome, during daylight hours the foyer and perhaps one or two public rooms would be open to male visitors. Vestals are not entirely shut off from the world of men, after all, and must have practical means of meeting and dealing with the tradesmen who serve their needs and the state priests who oversee their activities.