We were escorted into the white salon. Fine oils burned in the gilded lamps, gleaming on the nifty bronze Aphrodite in her matte plastered niche. The two sisters, Rubiria Juliana and Rubiria Carina, were displaying handsome jewelry as they sat in genteel postures on the best-positioned ornate couch. Their husbands spread themselves on other plush upholstery, one on each side of the women. Negrinus sat gloomily one along from Verginius Laco, feet planted in front of him and elbows on his knees; beyond Negrinus was a tanned, thickset man we had never seen before. Helena and I took places near the scowling Canidianus Rufus, forming a half- circle. We ended up opposite the stranger. He stared at us curiously, and we returned the compliment.
The Camillus brothers arrived last, though fortunately not too late. They redeemed themselves by their smartness. Each wore well-buffed leather boots, tight belts, and identical white tunics; I detected their mother’s hand in their overall neat turnout. Neither had his usual hair parting and I reckoned the noble Julia Justa had tackled them both with her fine bone comb before letting them loose.
Justinus immediately nodded a greeting to the thickset man. That confirmed he was Julius Alexander, the freedman and land agent from Lanuvium. Despite their tussle over Perseus, when the lads stationed themselves on the remaining seat Justinus sat adjacent to the freedman. Both then leaned over the curled arms of their couches and muttered in an undertone about the vigiles’ fatal handling of the door porter.
Silent slaves handed trays of savory fancies, which we mostly left untouched in case they crumbled disastrously in our fingers; others brought delicate silver thimbles of rather sweet white wine. Not a lot was said. Everyone was waiting for the attendants to withdraw. Carina gave the signal early, and they vanished. People tried surreptitiously to find somewhere to discard their little wine tots. I bent forward and placed Helena’s and mine on the floor beneath our couch, giving myself heartburn. Out of sight behind my back, Helena massaged my ribs. She always knew when I was in danger of emitting an unseemly belch.
Since nobody else seemed keen to break the silence, I began. “This meeting follows the death of your mother, presumably? Has that freed you to be more open?”
Verginius Laco, thin, austere, and understated, now seemed to be the family leader. “There has been a long disagreement about making public a certain situation.”
“Calpurnia wanted to keep the secret?” I smiled politely. “If it helps, Falco and Associates already assume that all your problems center on the parentage of Birdy.”
Carina jumped. “Please don’t call him that!” I had tried it out deliberately. None of my party was surprised when his sister said unhappily, “That was his wife’s name for him. None of us ever use it.”
“We understand.” Helena was sympathetic. She dropped in the answer almost as if it hardly counted: “Saffia employed an unkind nickname to remind everyone of what she knew: that Negrinus was not really his father’s son.”
“Took you long enough to guess!” Canidianus Rufus seemed to be here on sufferance. Always edgy, his unhappiness was worse tonight. Whatever was about to be exposed, he hated it. His wife, Juliana, stared down at her lap.
“Once you know,” I agreed, “it explains a great deal.” Rufus humphed.
More relaxed than his brother-in-law, Laco leaned sideways on a couch arm, hands linked, surveying me. He had made a habit of holding back, waiting for me to reveal what I knew before he spoke up. Expecting candor, I suddenly had a feeling that he was still testing me, still ready to disguise the fact. I became more careful.
“So, Falco—” He was pretending to be friendly. “You understand us now?”
I paused, then went with the theory that Negrinus was illegitimate. “Around two years ago, Rubirius Metellus—who thought himself the father of a happy family, with a son moving up through the Senate—was shocked to discover that that son was not his own. I suppose this information had long been known to the wet nurse who cared for Negrinus as a baby—Euboule. She somehow discovered his parentage from Calpurnia Cara. Over the years, she heavily blackmailed Calpurnia with the threat of telling her husband, causing Calpurnia enormous grief—not to mention the sale of her jewelry.”
As I unraveled the story, Laco and the others listened quietly. Negrinus had his chin up slightly, but he was taking it well—so far.
At my side, Helena moved slightly. “In time,” she began conversationally, as if talking this through quietly at home with me, “Euboule was not alone in blackmailing the family. It is obvious that she told her daughter Zeuko, who told the porter, Perseus. His demands must have seemed the final indignity. But long before then, enormous damage had been done by someone else—Saffia Donata.”
This time at the mention of her name, everyone tensed. I carried on the story. “Rubirius Metellus was given the bad news when Saffia Donata began to squeeze. Saffia had found out during her first marriage to Licinius Lutea. She had placed their son Lucius for nursing with Zeuko. For Saffia, picking up an indiscreet remark from a wet nurse must have been a godsend. She and Lutea had money troubles. The Metelli were very wealthy. Saffia formed an audacious plan to divorce and remarry herself to Negrinus. Getting right in among the family must have helped her apply pressure—and it will have disguised from other people what she was up to.”
“It is shocking,” said Helena. “We have rarely heard of such determined abuse. But once she had produced a child to tie her to the Metelli, Saffia began a vicious program of extortion. Not just occasional payments; she wanted everything.”
Carina broke in: “I want to make it plain, there was never any sordid relationship between my father and Saffia.”
“No,” Helena agreed gently.
Carina, once said to have been estranged from her family, seemed most keen to defend Metellus. “My father was a man who stood up for himself. Some people found him aggressive—but he was just as strong in his loyalty to Negrinus. When he found out the truth, Father refused to reject him, you know.”
“We can see that,” I reassured her. “And Saffia relied on it. Without your father’s feeling for Negrinus, Saffia’s plan would have collapsed. She needed the family desperate to cover up the secret. So Negrinus and his father were in shock together. Money flowed out of the coffers until Saffia’s demands drove them to corruption.”
“We were desperate!” Negrinus himself spoke up. This was the first time we had heard him acknowledge what happened during his term of public office. “Saffia had drained our coffers. As an aedile, you have to keep up your style in society—”
“You don’t have to plunder the state!” I commented.
“There was nothing else we could do. Saffia was insatiable. Father even sold the land that had formed her dowry—he said it served her right.”
“Why on earth did you stay married to her?” I scoffed.
“One of her conditions for keeping quiet. Part of her cunning. She was always with us, making sure she kept up the pressure.”
“Besides, she pretended she was fond of you?”
Negrinus flushed and fell silent. I had only met her once, but she was memorably pretty. That explained the second child he and Saffia produced together. Whether it was his son or not, he must have reason to suppose it might be. At least the newborn stood more chance with him than with Lutea.
“And the will?” I asked. “Furious and heartbroken when the truth came out, Metellus changed his will, disinheriting both you and your mother who had betrayed him?”
“Saffia made him do that,” Negrinus insisted, writhing with unhappiness.
“And that was when your father called in Paccius Africanus to advise on how she could receive a huge legacy? A big mistake, I fear.” I leaned forward. “Paccius had to be told the reason for the gift to Saffia? So two years ago, when you were first running for aedile, Paccius Africanus learned that you were illegitimate?”
Negrinus nodded and said weakly, “Paccius has always been professional.”
“Oh, I am sure he kept it confidential!” I mocked.
Verginius Laco also sat forward. “I am with you, Falco. In retrospect, I believe Paccius told Silius Italicus—who then lay in wait until he could institute corruption charges. It was calculated.”
“And callous.” I asked Negrinus slowly, “Did Paccius actually suggest to your father that he use your post as aedile to make money?”
Negrinus was surprisingly astute about that: “You mean, can we mount corruption charges against Paccius? No. Father never said where the idea came from.”
“Nor, for that matter,” Laco added, “can we prove that Paccius informed Silius of the situation.”
“You lose all around,” I told the victim.
“I do.”
Aelianus, frowning, wanted to go back a step. “I don’t understand,” he asked, “why Paccius had to be told the reason for giving money to Saffia.”
His sister shook her head at him. “Think about it, Aulus. Experts say the will is open to contest. Paccius had to know why the Metellus children would not make a claim against it. He had to be told that the daughters would hold off to protect Negrinus—while Negrinus himself had no real claim in any case.”
“Your illegitimacy”—Aelianus never knew how to be sympathetic to a loser—“bars your inheritance?”
“What inheritance? There is nothing left,” Juliana’s husband snorted. Then Rufus leaped up and stomped out. His wife briefly covered her mouth in distress.
People had called him bad-tempered; I could see why he might be. His respectable marriage to a daughter of a wealthy family had turned very sour. He had probably even lost financially. He had tolerated the scandal until now. But he had had enough. I caught sight of Juliana’s face. She knew she was heading for divorce.
I breathed slowly. “So will you now admit the truth about Negrinus?”
“This was my father’s wish,” replied Carina. “After the corruption charges, Father decided to take a stand.”
“It made my mother very angry,” said Juliana, “but my father really did refuse to commit suicide. He said he would pay the compensation to Silius Italicus, and he would publicly declare the truth.”
“Your mother must have hated that. It was her deceit. When your father died anyway—”
“Mother was a very determined character. She said we had to rally around and back her up,” Juliana said. I was starting to think it was not so much Negrinus who was pushed around in this family, but her. She had carried the main burden of the “suicide,” with her elaborate fake story of sitting with Metellus on the day he died.
Helena clasped her hands, absorbed by the revelations. “Your father’s decision to reveal the true story caused Saffia to leave. She then had no reason to stay. And she knew she would lose her source of plunder?”
“She left at last. But then she decided she would murder my father,” said Carina bitterly.
“She had had so much—” Juliana agreed bitterly. “She wanted her bequest, and she refused to wait. She wanted everything.”
“And she got it!” Negrinus growled.
There was a pause, as we all considered this.
It was Camillus Justinus who tackled the next aspect. “You had defensive measures in place, however? Money that went missing has been quietly put into land—in Lanuvium, and perhaps other places?”
I turned to the freedman, Alexander. “We had wondered whether you were among the blackmailers—” Julius Alexander heard this dispassionately. He was one of those solid ex-slaves who are held in great regard, close to the family who freed him, and in command of himself.
“But no,” Justinus corrected me, with a smile. “I think Alexander remained loyal to a remarkable extent—and if I am right, he has positioned an estate where Negrinus can restart his life.” It made sense. The Metelli had come from Lanuvium, only a few generations ago; Negrinus would go back there, then retrace the procedure that had brought them wealth and status. He had probably gone to Lanuvium to make final arrangements, when Metellus senior died. “Is that so?” Justinus insisted.
The freedman deliberately folded his arms. Calmly he refused to speak. All the others were silent too. Well, most of them were used to keeping secrets. What was one more? Justinus was wasting his time; nobody here would own up.
If Rubirius Metellus had been the defiant character they said, I could believe that he had surreptitiously removed money from Saffia’s grasp and invested it where the son he had loved could benefit. It would be untraceable, no question. If it was the proceeds of the corruption, he would have had to make sure even the Treasury could not unravel his dealings and reclaim the cash. It would have been cash, of course. Backhanders are.
Aelianus now joined in with his brother, addressing the freedman in a haughty tone: “People will think that you are Negrinus’ father. Are you?” he badgered, always blunt.
“No.” Julius Alexander had long mastered self-control. It was the first time he had spoken. He might as well not have bothered.
“You should be prepared for people to believe it!”
“If it helps.” Alexander smiled.
“But why must you leave?” Justinus rounded angrily on Negrinus. “Why not admit there is a question mark over your origins, and just brazen things out? Rome is stuffed with men who have suspect paternity. Some great names, starting with Augustus, have been subject to rumors.”
Helena touched my arm. “Leave it alone,” I ordered her brother.
She stood up and went over to him. “Quintus, imagine it. For thirty years Metellus Negrinus had thought he belonged to a family—”
Justinus was beyond stopping. “Yes—and if his parents and his sisters had all turned their backs when they found out, Negrinus would have lost everything, including his identity. But he has their support. He’s lucky. It’s clear his father—even though he was not his father—loved him.”
Rubiria Carina now went to Negrinus. She put her arm around him. “We all love him. He grew up with us. He is part of us. Nothing will ever change that.”
“You were the angriest,” Justinus reminded her. “You even caused a scene at the funeral.”
“That was before I knew the truth,” Carina retorted. Though she was a charitable woman, as she remembered being left out of the secret, her face darkened. “All I saw for several years was bad feeling and inexplicable financial mismanagement.”
Helena continued with Justinus. “Allow him a new beginning, Quintus. He will take his young children and make what he can of the world. I believe he will do it stalwartly.”
Justinus capitulated. He had always been a decent sort. We could trust him not to inflict unnecessary pain on people.
Verginius Laco made the formal speech to finish—or so he intended.
“We are most grateful for your discretion. We all feel you have acted in a most supportive manner to Negrinus. He will be leaving Rome shortly with Julius Alexander, and in due course as you surmise, he will begin a new life under a new name, we hope in far happier circumstances.”
He had not reckoned with my two young associates. They were still boiling over. “But Negrinus cannot leave Rome. What about the court case?” demanded Justinus, finding a new reason to argue.
Laco quietly had the answer: “It was announced today that there will be no court case.”
“Silius and Paccius have withdrawn?” Aelianus exclaimed eagerly.
“Reason prevails!” Laco remarked drily, before adding, “The Senate will not allow the charge to proceed. The grounds cited in the Daily Gazette will be that the Senate will not permit the pursuit of public wrongs for the purposes of private vengeance.”
“This makes no mention of Saffia killing Metellus? So it appears,” I said, “as if everything relates to the original corruption case? Paccius and Silius are being reprimanded for hounding the Metelli—”
“As they have done,” said Laco, rather curtly. “Everyone can see that.” I began to suspect his influence in this Senate vote. In fact, he looked tired. I wondered if he had been spending hard effort on lobbying colleagues. He admitted frankly, “It is of no interest to us to have it made known what Saffia did.”
Of course not. Never mind that she was a murderess. If they damned her in public, her blackmail had to be explained; the secret she knew would become public knowledge.
“She is dead. We cannot punish her. And we have to protect her children. Her father,” said Laco, “has stepped in with remedies. Donatus, a decent type, is to adopt Saffia’s young son Lucius—Lutea has agreed to it—and Donatus is pleased to do so, having no sons of his own. Then, to protect Lucius and the other children from being sullied by their mother’s past actions, Donatus will make certain payments from the money and goods Saffia had carried off. He will take responsibility for the payment Silius Italicus won in the corruption case. And I believe he will also cover certain ‘expenses’ for Paccius Africanus.”
“The compensation was a million and a quarter,” Helena reminded him coolly.
Verginius Laco smiled. “I understand Silius will accept a lesser sum, as a compromise.”
“Why?” Like her brothers, Helena did not shy from the awkward question, though her tone was less abrasive.
“Why?” Laco seemed surprised to be challenged.
“Why is Silius Italicus prepared to compromise?”
Without her insistence, Verginius Laco would not have paid the compliment: “The ethical queries raised by Didius Falco against both Silius and Paccius may be a factor. They were embarrassed by the speech he made. It could interfere with their present and future standing.”
Helena Justina gave him a gracious smile. “Then we are glad Falco made the speech! And what about the loss of Rubirius Metellus?”
Laco was terse. “Donatus will make reparation.”
His children had accepted a payoff. Perhaps that was justice. Certainly the law would say so.
“So the family is content. But are you sure,” I asked him, “neither Silius nor Paccius will want a formal verdict on the murder? Are their payments from Donatus enough to make them forget such a terrible crime was committed?”
“They are informers,” said Laco. Perhaps he forgot I was one. “Pursuing money appeals to them more than pursuing wrongs.”
We had one last awkward question. Just when everything seemed over, Aelianus doggedly came out with it: “There is just one thing nobody has explained yet. All the fuss has been because Negrinus is an interloper. So—who was his real father?”
Helena was too far away to cuff him around the ears. Rubiria Carina spoke up at once: “That we do not know. And since my mother is now dead,” she continued wanly, “I am afraid we will never know.”
Aelianus suspected she was lying. A raised finger from his own sister made him hold his peace.
I myself thought that Carina was telling the truth. Though, like the rest of them throughout this sad story, she was not telling all of it.