David Wishart: Last Rites

I nodded. This didn’t look good. Including the other staircase at the far end of the corridor off the atrium itself that’d connect with the upper floors there were plenty of access points to the bedroom where Cornelia had died, but they were all internal; and if both doors, front and back, had been bolted then sixty women – or fifty-nine, rather – was all we’d got. Scratch the disturbed burglar who’d panicked, stabbed first and asked questions later; he didn’t exist.

I led the way back to the hall and opened the remaining doors. Most of them were storerooms. The two either side of where Cornelia lay were bedrooms, bare and anonymous as the one with the corpse.

So much for the floor plan. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So what about the lady herself? Who was she, exactly?’

‘As I told you, the daughter of Publius Cornelius Lentulus, currently in Asia,’ Arruntius said. ‘An only child. Her mother is the sister of my friend the ex-consul Marcus Lepidus. They divorced many years ago and both have remarried. Lepida Calvina and her new husband moved to Tarentum.’

‘Uh-huh.’ All that, I knew, was incidental: Vestals are selected by the chief priest from a list of eligible girls between the ages of six and ten, and when they’re appointed the old family ties are cut completely. Cornelia’s ‘family’ would’ve been the other five Vestals living with her in the House of the Vestals just down the road next to the temple itself. I turned to Torquata. ‘She, uh, show any signs of odd behaviour recently? Seem worried, out of sorts, that kind of thing?’

I’d kept my voice neutral, but it was clear what I was asking. Also that Torquata wasn’t happy about the answer. Her big bruiser’s face reddened. ‘Yes, young man,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact she did.’

‘Did she tell you why?’

The old girl’s lips were tight, and she was still holding herself like a soldier. ‘No. I didn’t ask. I don’t pry, Valerius Corvinus. I believe the best policy, especially with young girls, is to make oneself approachable and let them come forward themselves when they feel ready to do so. I’ve always been a great one for trust, and in an artificial environment such as ours – and it is artificial, I acknowledge that – one must be very careful not to infringe on the private space of others.’

There was a quietness to her voice, and I knew why; it’d been there since she’d touched the girl’s forehead. The chief Vestal was crucifying herself, wondering if things might’ve been different if she had interfered for once, knowing that it was too late now for anything but regret. I felt sorry as hell for Junia Torquata. Still, this had to be done.

I hadn’t missed that ‘Corvinus’, either. That was significant, too.

‘What about the other sisters?’ I said. ‘Would she talk to any of them?’

‘I doubt it. Cornelia wasn’t …’ Torquata hesitated. ‘Cornelia was a very private person, and although we get on well enough generally as a group there is still the occasional friction and the petty jealousies that exist in every family. Especially a family wholly composed of women.’ The corners of her mouth turned down. ‘You being a man would not understand, or you would find the details trivial, so I won’t be more explicit. However you may take it from me that had Cornelia approached any of her colleagues it would have been myself. I knew her from birth, and we were always close.’

‘There’s Niobe, of course,’ Arruntius murmured.

That got him a look that would’ve skewered a rhino, and Torquata’s voice took on its old sharpness. ‘Lucius Arruntius,’ she snapped, ‘I am fully aware that we have not yet come to Niobe, and I also possess a perfectly serviceable pair of ears. Caecinus was asking about the sisterhood, not the servants. Or do you think I am prevaricating intentionally?’ Arruntius winced and said nothing. Jupiter! Well, at least the old warhorse was showing signs of pulling herself out of her slump. And I noticed that I was Caecinus again.

‘Niobe?’ I said.

‘Cornelia’s maid.’ Torquata was still glaring at Arruntius. ‘You can interview her shortly, young man. Lucius here is quite correct, they were extremely close; in fact they were brought up together.’

I nodded; yeah, that made sense. It happens all the time, especially in the old traditional families. A kid barely past the toddling stage will be matched with another of the same sex and about the same age belonging to one of the house slaves. From then on the two will be inseparable, with the slave kid naturally filling the role of personal maid or valet. ‘She was here last night?’

‘It was Niobe who found the body.’ Arruntius cleared his throat; the poor guy still looked chewed. ‘If anyone can help you with time or any other details like that she’s the most likely.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I paused, gathering my courage. Hell, we’d gone round the houses long enough. We all knew the vital question had to be asked and answered sooner or later, and however I phrased it it had to sound brutal. ‘Junia Torquata, I’m sorry, but is there any possibility that Cornelia had been seeing a man? That she committed suicide because she was pregnant?’

The silence was total. I expected a glare like the one that had frozen Lucius Arruntius’s balls for him, but all I got was the sort of look a doctor might expect when he told a patient she had only a month to live. Arruntius, too, said nothing, but his lips tightened and he looked away.

Finally, Torquata drew in her breath and let it out. When she did speak, her voice was low and careful, with more than a touch of steel to it. ‘I have told you, Valerius Corvinus, that I knew Cornelia from the moment she was born to the day of her death. She was a lovely girl, full of life, but she was a true Vestal. I would as soon suspect myself of breaking the vow of chastity as I would her. Your answer is no. Categorically no. Suicide or not, Cornelia lived and died a virgin, and I would swear to that by Vesta’s fire itself. Whatever proofs or indications to the contrary there might be.’

‘I agree,’ Arruntius said quietly.

Well, that was that. I sighed. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and join the others.’

When we got back to the atrium we found that the gaggle had lost one and gained one. Camillus had left and in his place was a smart-looking guy in his mid-thirties with a broad purple stripe to his mantle and the go-getting air of the professional politician. He came over and held out his hand.

‘Gaius Sextius Nomentanus,’ he said as I took it. ‘City judge.’

Uh-oh; the top legal brass had arrived. Yeah, well, I supposed that was inevitable: not just because of the death but because the city judges, as a corporate group, foot the bill for the December rite. Nomentanus, or if not him one of his colleagues, would have a vested interest in the proceedings.

‘You’ve seen everything you need to, Valerius Corvinus?’ That was the consul, Galba. The guy had a jaw like a pike’s, and his skin had a pasty, sweaty sheen.

I nodded.

His eyes slid away from me. ‘It’s a bad business,’ he said. ‘A very bad business.’

‘Yeah.’ I had the distinct impression that he meant it was bad for business: sure, he hadn’t been around when the girl had died but a Vestal’s death in your back bedroom under suspicious circumstances wasn’t exactly a plus where a political career was concerned. I hadn’t expected to like Galba, and first-hand experience confirmed it. ‘I’ll want to talk to whoever was in charge of the servants last night, of course. The dead woman’s maid as well.’ I looked at Nomentanus. ‘If that’s okay with you, sir.’

Nomentanus had sat back down on one of the couches. He was a good-looking guy, and I noticed Aemilia was giving him sidelong glances from her own couch next door. ‘Don’t mind me, Corvinus,’ he said. ‘I’m not here in any official capacity, at any rate not in these terms. I think Arruntius explained that to you.’