Lindsey Davis - One Virgin Too Many

"He was definitely dead?" asked Decimus.

"No doubt."

"Did you know him?" I murmured.

"No. But a corn chaplet with the white ribbons was lying by him, dragged off in the struggle presumably-he was one of the Arval Brothers."

"Well, that creates another vacancy!" I sucked in air through my teeth. "I take it you then reported your find?"

A narrow look crossed the young man's face.

"Oh, Aulus!" groaned the senator.

"Papa, I was badly shaken. There was nothing I could do for him. It was a ghastly scene. There was no sign of the killer, or I would genuinely have made an effort to apprehend him. One worry I had was that if anyone turned up and found me alone with the body I might be suspected of killing him myself."

At once I asked, "Could the corpse have been the man who told you that you were unacceptable to the Arvals?"

Aelianus met my gaze, wide-eyed. He considered this. "No. No, Falco. Wrong build, I'm sure of it."

"Good! So what did you do?"

"Got out of there fast. Ran for my horse. Rode back here as quickly as I could."

"And came to ask our advice," I suggested, guessing he had hoped to forget the whole incident.

He pulled a face. "All right. I'm a fool."

"Not entirely. You have reported your grim find to your father, a senator, and to me… That's acceptable" Acceptable-but not enough. I tightened my belt and pushed my tunic down under it. "We have two choices. We can pretend we know nothing about it-or behave like reputable citizens."

Aelianus knew what I meant. He stood up. He wavered a little, but was probably fit for the job: "I have to go back there."

I grinned at him. "Don't imagine you get all the fun. You will have to take me too. Catch me sitting here with a flagon when I can jump on a horse and give myself indigestion pounding five miles into the countryside-all to learn that somebody else has by now found your piece of butchery and nobody thanks us for reporting it a second time." I turned to his father. "I can handle this. But you will have the awkward job: explaining to Helena and your wife why we have bunked off-"

"I think I can distract them," Decimus said, springing up with a start. He bent down and led out my baby daughter from behind his couch, holding her by her chubby little arms as she proudly demonstrated how she could now be walked along.

What a sight. I had known she could stand. It was a new trick. I had completely forgotten that it put her within reach of new attractions and dangers. I winced. Julia had somehow laid hands on the senator's inkstand-a two-tone job, apparently; her face, arms, legs, and her smart little white tunic were now covered with great stains in black and red. There was ink around her mouth. She even had ink in her hair.

She grabbed at her noble grandfather so he had to pick her up, immediately covering himself in red and black as well. Then, sensing trouble, her eyes filled with tears, she began to wail, at first just mournfully but with a steadily increasing volume that would soon bring all the women of the household rushing to see what tragedy had befallen her.

Aelianus and I got out of it and left the senator to cope.

It was still light. Helena and I had dined early with her parents so we could return home with the baby before the streets became too dangerous. By the time her brother and I rode off, however, dusk was starting to fall. Time was not on our side.

The Via Portuensis travels out towards the new harbor at Ostia on the north bank of the Tiber. We had to cut into the city first, in order to cross the river on the Probus Bridge. Anacrites and I had started our Census inspections out this way and had usually been ferried over from beside the Emporium, but with horses that was impossible. I hate riding, though I noticed Aelianus had a good seat and seemed at ease. We could have borrowed the senator's carriage, but in view of the hour we required speed. I had declined an escort too. It would only attract attention. We were armed with swords under our cloaks, and would have to rely on our own good sense.

As we passed Caesar's Gardens, there were already suspicious characters abroad. Soon we were trotting by the menagerie where, six months ago, my social rise began as I investigated Census cheats among the arena suppliers. The establishment was locked and silent, no longer echoing to the bustle of gladiators after their evening meal or the unexpected roars of lions. Farther out in the country we passed one or two travelers who had misjudged their timing, making a late arrival from the coast. When they ambled into town they would fetch up in the Transtiberina, a quarter that seasoned locals avoided, and for strangers bound to end in robbery or worse. Later still, we met occasional corn-bedecked members of the public who had been to the Games in the Sacred Grove. Aelianus reckoned most people had either left much earlier or would stay until dawn. That seemed wise.

As best he could, while riding, he had told me of the day's events: early morning sacrifices by the Master; the Brethren's ritual search outside the goddess's temple for ears of corn; sharing laureate bread (whatever that was) and turnips (at least the Arvals were not snobs when they chose their vegetable side dishes); anointing the image of the Dea Dia. Then the temple was cleared and its doors closed while the Brothers tucked up their tunics and performed a traditional dance to the strains of their ancient hymn (which was so obscure they all had to be handed sets of instructions). Next came the election of a new Master for the following year, a distribution of prizes and roses, and an afternoon of Games over which the Arval Master presided in ceremonial garb. With good appetites by then, the Brethren returned to Rome to change into dinner robes for more feasting.

"At what point did the supercilious corn dolly take you aside and dismiss your talents?"

"During a break in the Games. I met him at the latrines, actually."

"Nice timing."

"Oh, I am the sophisticated one in our family!"

"Yes; your life is assuming remarkable elegance." I was smiling over his bitter quip, which had a wry note that was typical of all the Camilli. "So tell me, Aulus: at that point there had been a lot of noise, and folk milling about the complex?"

"Yes." Aelianus immediately saw what I meant. "There were trumpets and applause from the Games too-a scuffle behind the pavilion would have been well muffled."

We spoke no more until we arrived at the Grove.

There were trees. Over the centuries these had been reduced to a straggly windbreak around the complex. The Arval Brothers were not keen foresters. Even routine lopping of the sacred boughs called for elaborate religious procedures; whenever decay or lightning strikes necessitated felling and replanting, major solemn sacrifices had to be performed. This was inconvenient and had had the result that the trees which stood around the sanctuary were in a gnarled, half-rotted condition. The Brethren might worship fertility, but they should have been ashamed of their arboretum.

Its buildings were a different matter. In decor and taste, the temples with their clean styling could have leaped straight from an architect's classical pattern book. The most refined lines and crispest details belonged to the Caesarium, the shrine for the deified emperors; every triglyph and antefix had a superior Augustan smirk. It looked as if the imperial family had plied the edifice with imperial money to ensure they were sufficiently honored. Very astute.

Aelianus led me straight to the Master's pavilion. It was a lavish marquee erected once a year on festival days, a far cry from the ten-man leather tents used by the legions in what I called camping. This large, fanciful party piece boasted prong-topped poles and tasseled ropes. Its roof was formed from stitched sheets the size of cornship sails; elaborate side walls were attached all around, and there was a porch, above which hung wreaths of corn and laurel leaves. New torches had just been set up outside the entrance, though nothing was going on inside.