“I usually know what that means, sir.”
“It is not dangerous.”
“Surprise! So what is it?”
Rutilius remained patient. He understood these were my own pleasantries, a way to brace myself for today’s unwanted supplicant and today’s sour job.
“There is a problem, one you already know about.” He was brisk now. I liked him more. “A child who was to be submitted to the Vestal Virgins’ lottery tomorrow has disappeared.”
“Gaia Laelia.”
“Exactly. You can see the tricky elements-granddaughter of an exFlamen Dialis, niece of a Flamen Pomonalis. Apart from needing to find her for humanitarian reasons-”
“They do count, then?”
“Of course! But Falco, this is extremely sensitive.”
“I won’t suggest the lottery result is already decided, but let’s say, sir: if Gaia Laelia were chosen, she would be regarded as highly suitable?”
“Her family background would certainly mean that the Pontifex would feel confident she is fully prepared for a lifetime of service.”
“That sounds like an official brief.” Rutilius for once grinned in sympathy. “Rutilius, there is no need to dodge. You want me to find her?”
“Well, the Palace fixers are jumpy. The Urban Prefect raised the alarm.” Wrong. Lucius Petronius had done that. “Her grandfather has now admitted to Vespasian that she is lost. Somebody learned of your interest. According to Palace records, you still work as a partner with a member of the vigiles. The records are out of date, as always! We had an interesting discussion at the meeting I just attended about how you managed the vigiles’ support. Then Vespasian pointed out that your last known colleague was Anacrites, his own Chief Spy.”
“More shrieks of outrage ensued?”
“By that stage you had achieved some notoriety, yes.”
“So then you said, sir, that my current partner is Camillus Justinus so I no longer pirate my backup from the ranks of public servants. This makes me a responsible hound who can safely be enrolled to sniff out lost Virgins?”
“I said, Falco, you had my utmost confidence as a discreet, efficient operative. You may like to know Vespasian agreed.”
“Thank you, sir. If I take this on, I will need entry to the Laelius house and permission to question the family.”
Rutilius groaned. “I told them you would ask that.”
I gave him a straight stare. “You would do the same.” He was silent. “Rutilius, you would not be discussing the matter, had you failed to persuade your colleagues-including the Emperor-that it has to be done this way.”
He took a moment before answering. “The Emperor left here on his way to inform Laelius Numentinus that you must be granted access.”
“Right.” I relaxed. I had been prepared for unacceptable conditions. This job had my interest; I would probably have taken it anyway. “I am not being offensive. You know why I lay down these rules. The child will probably turn up at home. I need to carry out a proper search, which I admit will be intrusive. It has to be. The first place I look will be in their baskets of dirty underwear, and it will get worse from there on. Besides, if her disappearance is no accident, the most likely cause is domestic. It will be vital to question the whole family.”
“This is all understood.”
“I shall, as you say, be discreet.”
“Thanks, Falco.”
We had started to move towards one of the courtyard exits, heading for the elderly, foursquare arch of Fabius Maximus over the crossroads on the Sacred Way.
“Why,” I asked bluntly, “are we being so careful with this family? Surely it is not just a matter of status?”
Rutilius paused, then shrugged. I felt he knew more than he had said. He gestured to our right as we emerged. “Do you have the current address of the Laelii? Before Numentinus became Flamen Dialis and moved to the official residence, they used to live down there, you know-in one of the great houses that perished in Nero’s Great Fire.”
“Jupiter! The Sacred Way-the best address in Rome? I know where their new place is, thanks; on the Aventine. A decent house-though hardly the same.”
“They were once a prominent family,” Rutilius reminded me.
“Obviously. This quarter was favored by famous republicans: Clodius Pulcher, Cicero. And was there not a notorious house along here that was owned by a Scaurus-with those expensive red-black marble columns that ended up on the Theatre of Marcellus? My father is a specialist salesman, and he always cites its record price: fifteen million sesterces it changed hands for once. Gaia Laelia’s father has Scaurus as his cognomen; is that significant?”
Rutilius shrugged again. His noble shoulders were working hard today. “There could well be a past connection. It is a family name, no doubt.”
I felt my eyes narrowing. “Do the Laelii have money nowadays?”
“They must have some.”
“Will I be allowed to ask them?”
“Only if it is very obviously relevant. They may not answer, of course,” Rutilius warned. “Please remember, you are not interrogating Census frauds today.”
I would have preferred that. Give me an honest cheat. Infinitely preferable to a devious and hypocritical so- called pillar of public life. “One more thing, sir: time is of the essence. I need support. I would like to bring in my friend and ex-partner, Petronius Longus.”
“I thought you would say that too,” Rutilius confessed. “Sorry; it is impossible. The Emperor decided that we should not involve the vigiles in direct contact with the family. The troops are to be ordered to search the city for the child, but the old Flamen is adamant that he does not want the big boys invading his home. Remember, Falco, for most of his life, Numentinus was bound never to look on armed men or to witness fetters. Even his ring had to be made from a broken band of metal. He cannot change. The paraphernalia of law and order still affronts him. This is the situation: he refuses to let in the vigiles; you have been put forward as the acceptable alternative.”
“He may not accept me.”
“He will.”
Worst luck.
XXX
It looked as dreary as when I came here first with Maia. I felt today’s errand was likely to be just as abortive. Visiting for the second time, now that I knew more about the family, I viewed their unappealing home with an even more gloomy sense of mistrust.
Somebody was leaving, just as I arrived. A litter emerged, ebony colored, with heavily drawn gray curtains. It was not the one with the Medusa boss that the Laelii themselves used. A well-wisher, perhaps. Whoever it was, they appeared to be accompanied by their laundry: a short train of slaves followed, one with a bulging clothes hamper and others with smaller baggage items. I refrained from asking the escort who this was; off-putting lads with pug noses walked alongside the litter. They paid as much attention to checking that the half doors were closed and the dark curtains kept tight as they did to surveying the street for menaces. Some husband who did not want his wife leaping out to buy too much from jewelry kiosks, I joked to myself.
After they left, I walked up to the house, thoughtfully. The porter’s peephole was shuttered so I stood with my back to the front door as if waiting. Passersby would suppose I had knocked and was waiting. Instead, I listened. This was a house where a young girl had gone missing. There should be panic inside. Every footfall on the front
