Lindsey Davis - A Body In The Bath House

'Wrong. Last I saw, Petronius was hanging back. At the Festival of Vertumnus, Maia tried throwing herself at him.'

'Petronius was afraid of being hurt. Maia misjudged that. And she herself may be confused, Marcus. For one thing,' Helena suggested, 'she had been married a long time, and may have lost her confidence.'

'Marriage makes you forget the arts of love?' I scoffed.

Helena Justina looked up at me, straight into my eyes, in a way that was intended to make me wish I had not asked. Both the children were with us; I had to let that pass.

I was sure Maia had not simply mishandled her relationship with Petro. She knew how strongly he felt. She was a straight dealer. She had been all set to start something serious – then she completely backed off. Something made her do that.

Helena and Maia were good friends. 'What happened?' I asked quietly.

'I'm not sure.' Helena looked troubled. She had an idea – but she hated it.

I considered the situation. There was one possibility. Before my sister so briefly became interested in Petronius, she had an abortive friendship with another man. 'Anacrites!'

Well, she had sunk low there.

Maia deserved better in life than the dice she had shaken out for herself. First as a young girl, she had opted to marry Famia. He may have looked amiable, and even stayed friends with her in his dozy way. Anyone connected with Maia would be stupid to give up on her. But Famia was a low proposition. He was a horse doctor for the Green charioteer faction and he drank continually. In his defence, he allowed Maia a free hand to run their household and bring up their children respectably which she could have done twice as well without his presence.

Maia was finally widowed and, newly unattached, she took on the traditional role of flighty piece. Her first foray was to adopt a male friend of stunning unsuitability, as widows like to do. Her chosen companion was Anacrites, the Chief Spy. Spies are never reliable lovers, due to their life of risk and their lying natures. Anacrites was also my sworn enemy. We had been forced into occasional shared work for the Emperor, yet I never forgot that Anacrites had once tried to have me killed. He was shifty, jealous, vicious and amoral. He had no sense of humour and no tact. He never knew when he should keep to himself. And I reckoned he took up with my sister just to get back at me.

A woman would have to be cracked to hitch up with a chief spy – any spy – but Maia always believed she could handle anything. Anacrites knew our family not only because he had worked with me; he had lodged with my mother. Ma thought he was perfect. I presumed my sister knew that our parent had a blind spot about men (well, dear Mother had married our father, for one thing). Maia also knew how I saw Anacrites. Anyone who looked that plausible had to be fake.

Eventually even Maia sensed a dangerous imbalance in their friendship. Anacrites was too intense for her. She told us they had parted. She would have been tactful. She was even a little upset. If I could see it, he must have known too. He should have withdrawn gracefully.

It was for the best. But would that maggot agree to let go? At last I understood the problem. 'Helena, are you saying Anacrites is harassing Maia?'

Helena usually shared her worries with me, though sometimes she hugged them to herself for a long time first. Finally she burst out, 'I am frightened for her. She changed so suddenly.'

'The children are very quiet.' Still, they had lost their father less than a year ago.

'Have you spoken to Anacrites lately, Marcus?'

'No.' I had thought it might be embarrassing. I expected him to plead with me to intercede with Maia. In fact, he had never addressed the point.

If it hurt him to be rejected, he could react very nastily. Maia would not change her mind. So then Anacrites might do anything…

Being the man he was, of course he did.

My sister must have discovered what had happened in the late afternoon. After a normal day working with Pa at the Saepta Julia, she collected the children from my mother's house and returned home. By chance, I came along shortly afterwards. There was never any hope of her hiding the situation. Even before I went into the house, I had sensed the disaster.

As I strolled up the road where they lived, I had seen Maia's three youngest children. She had left them waiting outside; that was unusual. The two girls and Ancus, the nervous one, were clinging together in a group on the pavement, opposite where they lived. Marius, the eldest, was missing (in defiance of his mother, I learned later, he had raced off trying to find me). Maia's street door was open.

This was one of the Aventine's few good locations. People would think it rude to form a nosy crowd. Even so, frowning women were standing in their doorways. Men at food shop counters were staring this way. There was an ominous stillness. My instincts said something terrible had happened. I could hardly believe it; Maia's home was always well run. No oil lamps fell over, no braziers flickered near to door curtains. No unlocked shutters let in thieves. And she never left her children out in the road.

I approached Cloelia, the maternal nine-year-old, who had her arms around her younger sister, Rhea. Ancus was holding his brother's oversized puppy; Nux, my own dog, slunk past ignoring her offspring as usual, then waited for me snootily as I took stock of the children. They all looked white, staring up at me with shocked, beseeching eyes. I drew a painful breath. I turned towards the house. When I saw the open door properly, the nightmare started. Whoever came here earlier had advertised their atrocious deed: a girl's wooden doll had been hammered to the door, with a great nail through its head.

Beyond, the short corridor was almost blocked. Possessions and shattered furniture were in chaos. I crashed over the threshold. My heart pounded. As I glanced into rooms, there was nothing worse to find. Well, there was nothing left. Every item that belonged to Maia and her children had been torn apart. Where was she? Nothing left. Everything destroyed.

I found her, on the small balcony area they had always called their sun terrace. She stood amid the ruin of cushioned loungers and graceful side tables, with more smashed toys at her feet. Her back was to me; whitened fingernails gripped her bare arms as she rocked slightly to and fro. She was rigid when I took hold of her. She stayed rigid when I turned her round and held her. Then agonised tears came, silently.

Voices. I tensed, ready for intruders. I heard urgent footsteps, then shocked obscenities. Young Marius, the eleven-year-old, had brought Petronius Longus, some vigiles too. After an initial commotion came quieter murmurs. Petronius arrived behind me. I knew who it was. He stood in the doorway; his mouth moved as he cursed silently. He stared at me, then his gaze covered the destruction in near disbelief. He pulled Marius against him, comforting the boy. Marius gripped a splintered chair arm, like a spear to kill his enemies.

'Maia!' Petro had seen plenty of horrors, but his voice rasped. 'Maia Favonia who did this?'

My sister moved. She spoke, her voice hard. 'I have no idea.'

A lie. Maia knew who it was, and so did Petronius, and so did I.

It took us time to gently persuade her to shift. By then, Petro's men had brought transport. They realised we must get her away. So we sent Maia and all the children with a vigiles escort to my father's house, out of town, on the Janiculan. There they would have space, peace, perhaps some safety. Well, at least Pa would give them decent beds.

Either something else would happen, or nothing. Either this was a statement and a warning – or worse.

Petronius and I cleared everything that night. We spent hours tearing the innards from the house, carrying out the smashed belongings and just burning them in the street. Maia had said wildly that she wanted nothing. Little could be salvaged, but we did keep a few items; I would store them, and let my sister see them later if she changed her mind. The house had been rented. I would terminate the lease. The family never needed to come back here.