Anacrites obviously guessed who she was, and still thought she was the lunatic who had killed Ventidius. He looked nervous; I no longer was. I had no time to explain. “Then a woman rushed in,” he told me. “ The son yelled at her-he was demanding, what had she said to get him brought here like this? She went hysterical-”
“Falco-” Terentia began urgently.
“It’s Laelia-yes, I understand.” I gave her a straight look. I needed to hear no more. I shoved the dog into Anacrites’ arms. If Nux bit him, so much the better. I rushed ahead into the atrium. Terentia Paulla was close on my heels.
They were all there. Numentinus appeared to have had some kind of seizure. Caecilia Paeta was bending over the elderly man, trying to fan his face with her hands. Ariminius was on the floor. He had blood all over him, though I could not see where he was hurt. He was alive, though curled up and gasping; he needed help, and in the next few minutes.
A couple of vigiles were trying to drag Scaurus to safety while his sister Laelia wielded the late Flaminica’s sacrificial knife. Laelia must have snatched it from the shrine. I cursed myself for having ever left it there. Athene, Gaia’s horse-faced nurse, was making a brave attempt to hold Laelia back; she must share the duties of caring for and guarding the lunatic. In great danger herself, she was nonetheless hanging on although Laelia was fighting her off with obscenities and violence. As I approached, Laelia started beating the nurse, luckily with her free hand, not the one that held the knife. Athene acquired yet more bruises on top of those she had had when I interviewed her, yet she doggedly took the punishment.
Every time his sister lunged near enough to Scaurus, she stabbed at him wildly. Instead of retreating, Scaurus was waving his arms at her, and yelling. He was fueling her agitation. It almost looked deliberate.
One of the watch fastened both arms around Scaurus from behind and would have carried him off backwards, but a fierce knife stroke from Laelia slashed into the man’s forearm, and he let go, cursing and pouring with blood. Another vigilis rushed to support his wounded colleague and pull him away from danger.
Caecilia Paeta now saw what was happening. With a scream, she left the old man and ran to her husband, crying at Scaurus to stop before he was killed. Oblivious, Scaurus only concerned himself with goading his sister. She looked radiant, exultantly jeering at him, and encouraging him to risk himself on the wide sweeps of the wicked bronze knife. She tossed Athene to one side; the poor girl fell heavily, and as I broke through the crowd I signaled her to keep away.
Caecilia had caught at the front of Scaurus’ clothing, trying to deter him from approaching his crazy sister. With great determination, his still-loyal wife hung on to him and held him back. Nobody else seemed willing to help.
“Dear gods, what a mess!”
I keep a dagger in my boot. Half the time I never used it, and it would not achieve much now. I was the only person here who would have any sort of weapon, except possibly Anacrites, and he was still in poor health, unreliable in a ruck. This was a household of priests; for them, swords were what antique heroes hung up in temple sanctums prettily adorned with laurel twigs. Even the vigiles, as civil troops, are unarmed. So it was up to me.
Laelia was now really raving. Apart from Athene’s and Caecilia’s efforts, only his sister’s uncontrolled mania had saved Scaurus from real harm. Nobody dared approach her, but she had no aim and only half an intention. Flecks of froth showed around her mouth. A manic grin was transfixed on her flushed face. She was dancing from foot to foot, swinging the knife to left and right. So far, she appeared not to want to harm herself, but I felt that could come at any moment.
I, of course, am a correct Roman. I do not fight women. This was a problem. I would have to disarm Laelia, and then rapidly overpower her. Her grip on the knife was so tight her knuckles shone white.
I leaped across the hall, vaulting the dry pool, to where the workmen had stored their equipment. I snatched up a piece of rough wood that they probably used as scaffolding. Sensing a new situation, Laelia started screaming repeatedly. Other people were shouting. Scaurus suddenly stopped struggling, so Caecilia let go of him.
Scaurus threw open his arms as if to embrace Laelia.
Abruptly she stood still. “Cutting his throat was not enough,” she told Scaurus. Her calm was even more unnerving than her previous violence. She could have been explaining why she had changed the daily bakery delivery. Everyone else froze in horror. “The man’s entrails should have been examined for omens. The liver should have been offered to the gods.”
I started walking towards her. “So it was you who killed Uncle Tiberius?” I asked, trying to distract her. “Why did you do that, Laelia?”
