Behind us, the Master and his cronies came out from the room we had left. The big man paused, clapped Aelianus on the shoulder, then apologized that since the feast was to take place in his private house, where couches were limited, he could not invite us. The ordinary members had slowed, so the Master and other officers could now join the head of their group and lead the way. Aelianus and I stayed where we were to watch the corn dollies all process to their last formal meal of the festival.
“Aulus, I thought on the first day they squeezed you in to watch?”
“Yes.”
“But today the Master reckons they are pushed for space! Dining room must have shrunk.”
“You see conspiracies everywhere, Falco.”
“No. Just two unwanted enquirers who have been fed a very sticky porridge of half-truths.”
Probably all the Master was doing was covering up a tragic incident that would hurt those involved if it became a public scandal. I sympathized with the stricken family; after all, my own had troubles we preferred to veil. But I hated to be patronized.
Tripping over the hems of their white robes, the Brothers jostled past us. They were the pride of the patrician ranks, so half were tipsy and some senile. I counted them under my breath. There were one or two extras, but the corn wreaths stood out. All twelve. Wrong; eleven. One had been carved up last night by a mad wife. At least, I supposed it was a wife, though on reflection the Master had not specifically said so. (I was doubting him on every aspect now.)
“Full complement. Tell me, would-be novitiate, do they usually all make the effort to attend?”
“No. They reckon to muster between three and nine. A full quorum occurred once at the end of Nero’s reign, and is still spoken of with awe.”
“That Master must have owned a spectacular cook.”
“I expect they were going to debate the crazy emperor.”
“Surprise me!”
The party had all crammed into the triclinium. We could hear mutters as they vied for the best couches, and groans as the old men among them struggled to recline their raddled bodies encumbered with the clinging folds of their robes. I could imagine their eagerness to hear salacious details of the murder and to know how bad a scandal affected their order.
“Well, time to go, Falco.” Aelianus had the concentration of a gnat. “There’s nothing for us here.”
“That’s what they want you to think. The Master of your admired order has turned us inside out. Now I know how a skinned rabbit feels as its fur is peeled.”
“I stumbled across a ghastly domestic incident. Don’t you believe that?”
“Oh yes.”
“So the Master told us the truth.”
“Partially-probably.”
“He seemed perfectly open and reasonable.”
“A lovely fellow. But I bet he cheats at draughts.”
Four youths emerged from a side door. They wore matching white tunics, and all carried salvers.
Aelianus, who had been on the verge of abandoning any pretense of comradeship with me, turned slightly. Despite himself, he caught my eye. Once again, curiosity had won, and he was suddenly back in the game.
“Which was it?” I muttered.
He signaled to the third boy. I bounded across and grabbed him, whipped the salver away from him, dragged one arm up his back, and marched him into an alcove behind a statue. Aelianus blocked escape and confirmed aloud that this was the young man who ran away from questioning at the Grove earlier.
He was about thirteen. A few spots and stubbles. A pigeon-chested young lout who reckoned he could do as he liked and we had to put up with it. Aelianus wrinkled his nose. The pristine white uniform covered a body that shunned bathing in a routine adolescent way.
“Let me go! I have my duties at the feast-”
“This is the camillus with the runaway legs?” I asked Aelianus. “I wonder why? What’s he hiding?”
“Obviously something!” Aelianus leaned on the lad, squashing him up against the statue.
“Something bad, I’d say. What’s your name, Speedy?”
“Find out. I’ve done nothing.”
“Can you prove that? There has been a murder, clever. So what did you see of it?”
“Nothing!” He glared back, acting dumb. He was cocky, but I could play the official line. We were in somebody’s house, however; we might be discovered and thrown out at any minute. I had to act fast.
“What shall we do?” I mused to Aelianus. “The vigiles would be the nearest who own a set of thumbscrews, but it’s not my favorite district cohort. Why should they get all the fun? No, leave the esparto mat boys to comb the streets for arsonists. I reckon we’ll haul this little beggar to the Palace.”
“The Praetorians?”
“No-they’re far too soft.” Any lad in Rome would know the Praetorian Guard were vicious. “I’ll give him to Anacrites.”
“The Chief Spy?” Aelianus was playing along with me. “Oh, have a heart, Falco!”
“Well, of course he’s a brute; I can’t stand his dirty methods. Still, he’s got the best equipment. Speedy won’t last long in the underground torture cell.”
While Aelianus was shuddering dramatically, the boy squealed in panic. “I done nothing, I done nothing!”
