She was not my type. (I had not expected she would be.) Of course, that did not prevent her being a woman other men would eventually warm to. (But probably not friends of mine.)
She looked nervous. As soon as a few listless pleasantries had been disposed of, she burst out, “I know that you have visited our house. Don’t ever tell Laelius Numentinus that I came here-”
“Why?” My sister was playing awkward. Maia had one eye on her door, still wanting to dash off after Marius so she could remonstrate with Pa. “A girl has to go out and chat to her friends sometimes. A respectable matron should be trusted to have social contact. Are you telling us your father-in-law keeps you a prisoner?”
It was too much to hope that Caecilia had made a brave bid for freedom; she loved being safe in religious- flavored oppression: “We are a private family. When Numentinus was Flamen Dialis this was essential for the rituals, and he wishes to continue with the life he always knew. He is an old man-”
“Your daughter made an odd approach to my brother,” interrupted Maia bluntly. “You are her mother. What do you think of her saying that someone wanted to kill her?”
“She told me too-and I then told her not to be so silly!” The woman appealed to Maia: “Gaia Laelia is six years old. I was horrified to hear she had approached your brother-”
“This is my brother,” Maia finally remembered to inform her. I gave a polite salute.
Caecilia Paeta looked frightened. Well, informers have bad reputations. She may have been expecting a mean-eyed political reprobate. The sight of a normal, rather attractive fellow with spots of fish sauce down his tunic, being shoved down hard beneath his little sister’s expert thumb, must have confused the poor woman. It often confused me.
“Gaia is rather overimaginative. There is nothing wrong,” Caecilia said swiftly.
“So we have been told.” I found a snakelike grin. “The Flamen Pomonalis insisted this to my wife, like a loyal and well-trained brother-in-law. Now you say it too. To feel absolutely certain, I would like to question Gaia herself again-though the Pomonalis went to a great deal of trouble to inform us that she is much loved and in no danger. So I imagine the same idea has been very thoroughly rammed into Gaia.” Caecilia’s eyes did not blink. People who live in terror of tyrants do not flinch when threatened; they have learned to avoid annoying their oppressor.
“Is there,” I insisted, without much hope, “any chance of me talking to Gaia?”
“Oh no. Absolutely not.” Aware that this sounded far too overprotective, Caecilia tried to soften it. “Gaia knows what she told you was nonsense.”
“Well, you are her mother,” said Maia again wryly, like a mother who knew better. Still, even my hotheaded sister could be fair. “She did seem thrilled with the idea of becoming a Vestal when she was talking about it to my daughter Cloelia.”
“She is, she is!” exclaimed Caecilia, almost pleading for us to believe her. “We are not monsters-as soon as I realized something had made her unhappy I arranged for her to have a long talk with Constantia about what her life in the House of the Vestals would be-”
“Constantia?” I asked.
“The Virgin we all met at the Palace,” Maia reminded me grumpily.
“Right. Constantia is liaison officer for the new recruits?”
“She ensures the hopefuls hear the proper lies,” Maia returned with deep cynicism. “She lays stress on the fame and respect Vestal Virgins receive-and forgets to mention drawbacks like living for thirty years with five other sexually deprived women, who all probably loathe you and get on your nerves.”
“Maia Favonia!” protested Caecilia, truly shocked.
Maia grimaced. “Sorry.”
There was a silence. I could see Maia still writhing in frustration that she could not escape to run and deal with Pa. Caecilia seemed to have no clue how to continue or to break off this interview.
“Whose idea was it to put Gaia’s name into the Virgins’ lottery?” I asked, thinking about what had happened in my sister’s family.
“Mine.” That surprised me.
“What does her father think?”
Her chin came up slightly. “Scaurus was delighted when I wrote to make the suggestion.” I must have looked puzzled at the way she had expressed it; Caecilia Paeta added calmly, “He no longer lives with us.”
Divorce is common enough, but one place I had not expected to find it was a house where every male was destined to serve as a flamen, whose marriage had to last for life. “So where does Scaurus live?” I managed to sound neutral. Scaurus must be Gaia’s father’s name; it was his first hint of any personal identity, and I wondered if that was significant.
“In the country.” She named a place that I happened to know; it was about an hour’s drive past the farm my mother’s brothers owned. Maia glanced my way, but I avoided her eye.
“And you are divorced?”
“No.” Caecilia’s voice was quiet. I had the feeling she rarely spoke of this to anyone. The ex-Flamen Dialis would be outraged that she should. “My father-in-law is strongly opposed to that.”
“Your husband-his son-was he a member of the priesthood?”
“No.” She looked down. “No, he never was. It had always been presumed he would follow the family tradition, indeed it was promised at the time I married him. Laelius Scaurus preferred a different kind of life.”
“His break with family tradition must have caused great discontent, I imagine?”
Caecilia made no direct comment, though her expression said it all. “It is never too late. There was always a hope that if we were at least only separated something might be salvaged-and there would be Gaia, of course. My father-in-law intended that she would be married in the ancient way to someone who would qualify for the College of Flamens; then one day, he hoped, she might even become the Flaminica like her grandmother…” She trailed off.
“Not if she is a Vestal Virgin!” Maia shot in. Caecilia’s head came up. Maia’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “You defied him! You put Gaia into the lottery deliberately, to thwart her grandfather’s plans!”
“I would never defy the Flamen,” replied Gaia’s mother far too smoothly. Realizing she had given us more than she intended, she prepared to sweep out. “This is a difficult time for my family. Please, show some consideration and leave us alone now.”
She was on her way out.
“We apologize,” said Maia briefly. She might have argued, but she still wanted to be off on her own errand. Instead, she picked up the reference to it being a difficult time. “We were, of course, sorry to hear of your loss.”
Wide-eyed, Caecilia Paeta spun back to stare at her. A rather extreme reaction, though grief can make people touchy in unexpected ways.
“Your family were attending a funeral when Maia came to visit you,” I reminded her gently. “Was it somebody close?”
“Oh no! A relative by marriage, that is all-” Caecilia pulled herself together, inclined her head formally, and went out to the carriage.
Even Maia managed to wait until the woman had departed, so she could mouth at me, “What’s going on? That family is so sensitive!”
“All families are sensitive,” I intoned piously.
“You cannot be thinking of ours!” scoffed my sister-running off at last to hurl herself into a quarrel with Pa.
I went to see my mother, like a devoted boy.
It was a long time since I had driven Ma out to the Campagna to see Great-Auntie Phoebe and whichever she was currently harboring of my unbelievable uncles: moody Fabius and broody Junius-though never the truly loopy one who had gone permanently missing, and of whom we were never supposed to speak. It would be easy to dump Ma at the family market garden for a long gossip, then to find something harmless to occupy myself.
I could, for instance, drive on a few miles to the place Caecilia Paeta had mentioned, and interview the estranged escapee father of little supposedly overimaginative Gaia Laelia.
XX
