Lindsey Davis - One Virgin Too Many

"Had a late night."

Preferring to remain a man of mystery, I did not explain. Going to bed late after a crisis makes me stay awake, brooding over the excitement. Then it's a choice of nodding off at dawn and feeling terrible when you wake up late, or getting up early and still feeling terrible but having time to do something. Anyway, Helena and I had stayed the night at the Camillus residence after I returned with her brother. I could not face breakfast being polite to people I hardly knew.

The keeper showed me the hen coops. They stood on legs to keep out vermin. Double doors with lattice fronts kept the hens in and gave protection from dogs, weasels, and raptors.

"I see you keep them good and clean."

"I don't want them dying on me. I'd get the blame."

If I wanted to be pedantic, now that I was the procurator in charge of poultry management, it was my job to answer questions if too many of the precious pullets popped off, but I was not giving him an excuse to slack. "Plenty of water?" I had been in the army. I knew how to be irritating when people were doing a perfectly adequate job without my supervision.

"And plenty of food," the keeper said patiently (he had met my type before). "Except when I've been tipped the wink."

"The wink?"

"Well, you know how it works, Falco. When the augur wants to see the signs, we open the cage and feed the chicks with special dumplings. If they refuse to eat, or to come out of the coop-or if they come out and fly off-it's a bad omen. But if they eat greedily, spilling crumbs on the ground, that's good luck."

"You are telling me you starve the chickens in advance, I suppose? And I imagine," I suggested, "you could make the dumplings crumbly, to help things along?"

The chicken-keeper sucked his teeth. "Far be it from me!" he lied.

One reason I despised the College of Augurs was that they could manipulate state business by choosing when the auspices should turn out favorable. Lofty personages who held opinions that I hated could affect or delay important issues. I don't suggest bribery took place. Just everyday perversions of democracy.

The Sacred Chickens' main function was to confirm good omens for military purposes. Army commanders needed their blessing before leaving Rome. In fact, they usually took Roman chickens to consult before maneuvers, rather than relying on local birds who might not understand what was required of them.

"I always like the story of the consul Clodius Pulcher, who received a bad augury when he was at sea, chafing to sail against the Carthaginians; the irascible old bastard threw the chickens overboard."

"If they won't eat, let them drink!" quoted the chicken-keeper.

"So he lost the battle, and his whole fleet. It shows you should respect the Sacred Birds."

"You're just saying that because of your new job, Falco."

"No, I'm famous for being kind to hens."

I made notes on a tablet, so it looked good. My instructions for my position as procurator were typically vague, but I would prepare a report even though nobody had asked for one. That always makes officialdom jump.

My plan was to suggest making the coop legs one inch longer. I would enjoy thinking up a spurious scientific reason for this. (Experience suggests that since the time of King Numa Pompilius the average length of weasels' legs has increased, so they can now reach higher than when the statuory Sacred Chcken coop was first designed. ..)

Duty done there, I sought out the Sacred Geese, my other charges. They rushed up, hissing in a way that reminded me that their keeper's specialist lore included warnings that they could break my arm if they turned nasty. Unlikely. Juno's geese had learned that humans might be bringing food. After I checked them out, they waddled after me relentlessly. I was returning to Helena, whom I had left feeding the baby in a secluded spot. A retinue of feather pillows on legs did not help my dignity.

She was waiting back at the Auguraculum, tall and stately. Even after being with her for four years, the sight of her made me catch my breath. My girl. Unbelievable.

Julia was now wide awake; last night, after being scrubbed and scolded about the ink episode, she and her grandfather had fallen asleep together. We crept away to a spare bedroom, leaving him in charge. There were plenty of slaves in the household to help him out if necessary. We had made love that morning without the risk of a nosy little witness appearing at the bedside.

"Lightly stained with woad!" Helena giggled. "She and Papa were rather well tattooed."

I put my arms around her, still yearning with intimate affection. "You know how laundries bleach things-maybe somebody should have peed on them."

"Papa preempted you with that joke."

We were facing east, squinting into the pale morning sun. Behind us was the temple; to our left, the vista across the Field of Mars and gray-silver hints of the river; more to the right, the augurs' long scan towards the distant misty hills.

"You don't seem a happy gooseboy," said Helena.

"I'm happy." I nuzzled her neck lasciviously.

"I think you are planning to make trouble."

"I'll be the most efficient procurator Rome has ever had."

"That's exactly what I meant-they don't know what they have done appointing you!"

"Should be fun, then." I leaned back, turned her around to look at me, and grinned. "Do you want me to be respectable but useless, like all the rest?"

Helena Justina grinned back wickedly. I could handle becoming pious, so long as she was prepared to stick it out with me.

The city was stirring. We could hear beasts bellowing below, in the Cattle Market Forum. I caught a faint whiff from a tannery that must offend the refined nostrils of the gods-or at least their snooty antiquated priests. It reminded me of the ex-Flamen Dialis, who had complained about the goslings. That reminded me of his troubled granddaughter.

"What are you planning to do about Gaia Laelia and her family?"

Helena pulled a face at the suggestion that it was her responsibility, but she was ready: "Invite Maia to lunch-I have not seen her yet, in any case-and ask her about that royal reception."

"Am I supposed to come home for lunch too?"

"It's not necessary." She knew I was dying to be in on what Maia said. "So," she retaliated, "what are you intending to do about that body Aelianus found and lost?"

"Not my problem."

"Oh, I see." Appearing to accept it (I should have known better), Helena mused slowly, "I don't know that I approved of my brother being set up for the Arval Brethren. I can see why he thought it would do him good socially, but the appointment is for life. He may enjoy feasting and dancing in a corn wreath for a few years, but he can be rather staid and serious. He won't endure it forever."

"You know what I think."

"That all the colleges of priests are elite cliques, where power is traditionally wielded by nonelected, jobs-for-life patricians, all dressing up in silly clothes for reasons no better than witchcraft and carrying out dubious, secretive manipulation of the state?"

"You old cynic."

"I am quoting you," said Helena.

"What a misery!"

"No." Helena pulled a dour face. "You are an astute observer of the political truth, Marcus Didius." Then she changed tack: "In my opinion, unless it is already known who killed the man Aelianus found, then my brother should make it his business-with your technical help-to discover the murderer."

"Why's this? So that he can inform the rest of the Arval Brothers and in gratitude they will elect dear Aulus to fill the vacancy?"

"No again," scoffed Helena. "I told you he is better off without them. So that when those snobs gratefully offer him membership he can make himself feel better by crying 'No thank you!' and marching out on them."