Rome: A.D. 74
A young girl, the granddaughter of a chief priest of Jupiter, believes her family wants to kill her. Marcus Falco informer/detective wonders why. When she disappears Falco must find her.
An ideal client?
My ideal client, assuming Helena Justina permitted me to assist such a person nowadays, would be a pert widow aged somewhere between seventeen and twenty. I placed this little gem in a far less dangerous bracket. She was only five or six.
I leaned on the balcony newel post, a rotting timber the landlord should have replaced years ago. When I spoke my voice sounded weary even to me. “Hello, princess. Can’t you find the door porter to let you in?”
“I was told an informer lives here.” Her accent said she was upper class. I had worked that out. I tried not to let it prejudice me. Well, not too much. “If you are Falco, I want to consult you.”
. . .
“So what wonderful job from this Gaia have I just cruelly turned down?”
“Didn’t she tell you? She thinks her family want to kill her,” said Helena.
“Oh, that’s all right then. I was worried it might have been a real emergency.”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe it?”
“Granddaughter of a chief priest of Jupiter? That would be a high-profile scandal, and no mistake.” I sighed. The litter had already vanished, and there was nothing I could do now. “She’ll get used to it. My family feel like that about me most of the time.”
The anticipated fears of parenting in public
Planning her moment. Little Julia knew how to disrupt mealtimes. She had learned new skills since the estimable Camilli last had a chance to dote on her.
“Isn’t she good!”
Helena and I smiled the shameless public smiles of experienced parents. We had had a year to learn never to confess that our cute-looking dimpled baby could be a screaming troublemaker. We had dressed her nicely in white, combed her soft dark hair into a sweet curl, and now we were waiting with our nerves on edge for the inevitable moment when she decided to roar and rampage.
. . .
Decimus bent down and led out my baby daughter from behind his couch, holding her by her chubby little arms as she proudly demonstrated how she could now be walked along.
What a sight. I had known she could stand. It was a new trick. I had completely forgotten that it put her within reach of new attractions and dangers. I winced. Julia had somehow laid hands on the senator’s inkstand—a two-tone job, apparently; her face, arms, legs, and her smart little white tunic were now covered with great stains in black and red. There was ink around her mouth. She even had ink in her hair.
She grabbed at her noble grandfather so he had to pick her up, immediately covering himself in red and black as well. Then, sensing trouble, her eyes filled with tears, she began to wail, at first just mournfully but with a steadily increasing volume that would soon bring all the women of the household rushing to see what tragedy had befallen her.
How the Sacred Chickens can determine the fate of the Empire
The Sacred Chickens’ main function was to confirm good omens for military purposes. Army commanders needed their blessing before leaving Rome. In fact, they usually took Roman chickens to consult before maneuvers, rather than relying on local birds who might not understand what was required of them.
“I always like the story of the consul Clodius Pulcher, who received a bad augury when he was at sea, chafing to sail against the Carthaginians; the irascible old bastard threw the chickens overboard.”
“If they won’t eat, let them drink!” quoted the chicken-keeper.
“So he lost the battle, and his whole fleet. It shows you should respect the Sacred Birds.”
“You’re just saying that because of your new job, Falco.”
“No, I’m famous for being kind to hens.”
Maia, who has suffered the unexpected death of her husband, has recovered enough to have a public statement
Maia, who thought Petro an even worse scoundrel than me, took it well, at least for her: “Petronius and Falco: always the boys who had to be different. Now listen carefully, you two. The official set speech runs like this: My husband was a ne’er-do-well whose death may turn out to be the best thing that happened to me; if I want anything I have only to ask—though of course it means don’t ask for anything that requires money or time, or causes embarrassment; most important, you have to tell me that I am still young and attractive—all right, you can say ‘fairly attractive’—and that somebody else will soon turn up to take Famia’s place.”
Falco and his brother in law Aelianus discover a dead man who had been killed in the style of a priestly sacrifice complete with a bowl of his blood. The victim was a relative of the missing girl. The plot thickens. Being set in ancient Rome there are no car chases, but we can observe a deadly knife fight made even more dangerous as it is between relatives armed with the sacrifical (and very sharp) knife.
Apart from the victims there is a satisfactory end for all.
Enjoy