See Delphi And Die Read Free Page B

contents. The dead girl had been bleached and sun-baked for a twelvemonth on the mountainside and animals had got to her. There were a lot of loose bones, a little shredded clothing. Collecting the relics must have been difficult. The coffin had been on a sea voyage since. If you have ever seen a corpse in that condition, you know how it was. If you never have, be grateful.
    'How was the body lying, Caesius? Could you tell?'
    'I don't know. I thought she had been left on her back. That was merely my feeling. Everything was widely scattered.'
    'Any indication that she had been buried? Could you see a shallow grave?'
    'No.'
    Under the fierce gaze of Caesius Secundus, I endured the experience, walking around to view the coffin from every angle. I saw nothing helpful. Out of decency, I gave it time, then shook my head. I tried to find reverence; I probably failed. Then I left Caesius raising his arms in prayer, while his daughter's remains were resealed by the purse-lipped slave, hammering over the lead lip of the coffin lid as best he could.
    It had one result for me. Mere curiosity changed to a much harder mood.
    In that angry frame of mind, I addressed the new case, the second young Roman girl dead in Olympia. I set about investigating her in Rome.
    Aulus had written a few facts: This victim was called Valeria Ventidia. At nineteen, she had married Tullius Statianus, a decent young man from a well-to-do family, their middle son. The Tullius family were supporting an older son for election to the Senate. They had not intended anything similar for Statianus, so perhaps as a compromise his parents gave the bride and groom a wedding gift of a long tour abroad.
    I was unable to trace Valeria's own relations. So far, there was no Forum gossip about this case. I only tracked down the Tulli because of the other son, who was standing for election; a clerk in the Curia grudgingly let himself be bribed to scribble an address. By the time I turned up there, Caesius Secundus had ignored my plea, tracked down this family, and preceded me to confront the groom's parents.
    It did not help. He imagined that grief gave him an entry, and that if there was something unnatural in the bride's death, her new in-laws would share his indignation. I could have told him this was unlikely. But I had been an informer for nearly two decades, and I knew people stink. Bereavement does not improve anybody's morals. It just gives them more excuses to slam doors in the faces of more ethical people. People like Caesius Secundus. People like me.
    The Tullii lived on the Argiletum. This hectic thoroughfare leading north from the Curia passed itself off as a prime address; however, it had a bad reputation for riots and rip-offs, and the private houses there must be frequently bothered by street brawls and bad language. That told us the family either had over-grandiose ideas, or old money that was running out. Either way, they were bluffing about their importance.
    The groom's mother was called Tullia, Tullia Longina. Since she shared her husband's family name, it must be a marriage between cousins, probably for money reasons. She agreed to see us, though reluctantly. To knock on the door of a private house, unannounced, always puts you on the wrong foot. I could shoulder my way into most places, but a Roman matron, mother of three children, by tradition expects less crudity. Upset her, and a slab-like slave would soon evict us.
    'My husband is attending to business.' Tullia Longina was eyeing us up more critically than Caesius had done. I looked slightly less suave than a gladiator. At least Helena, clad in clean white with gold glinting at her throat, seemed reassuring. Once again, I had taken her with me. I was in a raw mood and needed her restrained back-up.
    'We could return at a more convenient time,' Helena offered, not meaning it.
    We noticed the woman's guarded look. 'Better to speak to me. Tullius is annoyed already - A man called Caesius has been here; are