Maia grinned. “Caecilia Paeta told me that her husband and his sister lived there from childhood; they could remember no other home. Apparently it’s a sore subject that everyone had to pick up and move house unexpectedly when the Flaminica died.”
“Was her death recent?”
“I got that impression. Anyway, they have now taken a house on the Ostia Gate side of the hill. Caecilia was complaining to me that it was run-down and unsatisfactory.”
I pulled a silly face. “And will Caecilia be delighted to see you, Maia darling, if you track her down?”
Maia smiled at me. “We’ll have to ask her, won’t we?”
Ma and I exchanged glances, willing to go along with any plan that made my sister behave like her old self, at least temporarily. My mother took charge of Julia for me. In no time I found myself marching over the Aventine with Maia, and after a few wrong turns while we found the address, we were surveying the house of the family Laelius. I was not impressed. Maia and I immediately agreed that as prospective buyers or tenants, even if we were desperate, we would never even have given it a once-over.
Who chose this place? The ex-Flamen himself, grief-stricken for his newly dead wife-or at least for the loss of his position on her death? His son, Gaia’s father? His errand-running son-in-law, the Flamen Pomonalis? Accepting that his household might be as liberal as my own, was it his womenfolk? Daughter? Daughter-in-law?
No. It had to be a realtor. Wincing at the gloomy place from down the street, I knew this was some housing market hack’s idea of a residence for a retired high priest. A massive gray portico that must be causing street subsidence. High, narrow windows and mean roofs. A pair of tall urns either side of the forbidding doorcase, both empty. A property with no attractive features, situated in a dull area, overlooking nothing much. A large, cold building on the dank side of the street, it must have lodged like a permanent fixture on the agent’ s list for a decade. Few people with enough money to afford such an edifice would have such poor taste as to accept it. But a Flamen Dialis, turfed out of his state residence, fresh from a funeral, unworldly and desperate to be rehoused, must have seemed to the agent like a gift from the Olympian gods. The proverbial soft touch. A gambler in a hurry, with absolutely no idea… and too sure of himself to take real expert advice.
“I hope he’s not there,” muttered Maia. “I deduce I will not care for him.”
“Right. Judging by his attitude to my goslings, he’s what Ma would call a nasty old basket.”
We were not given a chance to test this theory. When we managed to persuade a door porter to answer our knocking, he told us there was nobody home at all. The man kept us out on the porch; he agreed to go and make enquiries for us, though I wondered how, because he had assured us the entire family had gone to a funeral. Even the Flamen Dialis (as the porter still called him despite his retirement) was attending the ceremony.
Maia raised her eyebrows. “The Flamen Dialis is never allowed to see a body, but he can go to funerals,” I whispered, showing off my arcane knowledge, as we stood nervously alone on the threshold like untrustworthy trinket-sellers who were about to be sent packing. “Just as well he has gone. He would never have liked hearing that you had palled up with Caecilia.”
“He won’t like hearing we were here today at all then,” Maia said. She made no attempt to keep her voice down. “I fancy Caecilia will receive a lecture about mingling with unsuitable company. Encouraging rough callers. Allowing common connections for the dear special little girl.”
“Caecilia sounds all right after all.”
Maia laughed ruefully. “Don’t believe it, Marcus. But the Flamen won’t know it was no choice of hers that I sought her out at home.”
“Are you saying he mistreats her?”
“Oh no. I just reckon his word is law and his opinions are the only ones ever allowed to be voiced.”
“Sounds like our house, when Pa lived there,” I joked. Maia and I were both silent for a moment, remembering our childhood. “So the Flamen is bound to be rude, autocratic, and unfriendly-but do we believe he wants his precious little Gaia dead?”
“If he shows his face I’ll ask him that.”
“You’ll what?”
“Nothing to lose,” said Maia. “I’ll tell him as one mother to another, I want to ask Caecilia Paeta what has caused her sweet little girl-the dear new friend of mine-to be so unhappy and to take such a curious step as to approach my brother the informer with such a ridiculous tale.”
Perhaps it was fortunate after all that the porter then returned to confirm there was no one at home to speak to us. He was now accompanied by a couple of reinforcements. It was clear they were intended to persuade us to leave quietly. I would like to say that was what we did, but I had Maia with me. She hung around, insisting on leaving a message for Caecilia Paeta to say that she had called.
