I took him in quickly. Late sixties, thin-fleshed, wrinkled neck, slightly shaky hands, chin up, a haughty beaked nose to look down and a sneer that went back through five centuries of arrogant ancestors. I had seen him before somewhere; presumably I recognized him from his role in past festivals. It surprised me that I remembered. Until I was landed with the Sacred Geese, I normally stayed in bed during such occurrences.

“Marcus Didius Falco, sir. You must be Publius Laelius Numentinus.” He gave me a hard stare, as if he had been the Flamen Dialis for so long it seemed an insult to be addressed by name. But whatever indulgence others granted him, I intended to stick to form. He had retired. The real Flamen Dialis was another man now. He could not complain. I had used his full three names. I used mine too, of course. At one level, we were equal: a democratic joke.

He was enthroned on an ivory stool with arms, like a magistrate. He had been sitting alone in that posture before I entered. Other people might have been reading or writing, but he preferred the brooding stillness of a stone god.

The room was furnished with side tables and lamps, and a small rug lay at his feet, which occupied a footstool. It could have been comfortable, but for the frosty atmosphere.

Helena Justina had brought me up to scratch on flamens when she and I had first talked about Gaia. Jove’s priest lived a life so hedged around with restrictive duties he had no time to stray; that was the idea, no doubt. Representing the god, he was untouchable in the strictest sense. When he went out, adding a double cloak to his woolly uniform, he carried a sacrificial knife in one hand (which must have deterred unwelcome contacts) and in the other a long wand with which he kept the populace at a distance. He was preceded by a lictor, but also by criers at whose approach everyone had to lay aside their tasks, for not only was every day a holiday for the Flamen himself (nice life!), but he must never see others working.

There was more. He could not mount, or even touch, a horse. He might not leave the city (except in recent enlightened times, for a maximum of two nights, to carry out unavoidable family duties, if directly sanctioned by the Pontifex Maximus). He could wear no knots (his clothes were fixed with clasps); his rings were split; he was forbidden to name ivy because of its binding properties, or to walk under any pergola that was canopied with vines. If someone in bonds was brought to his house, the fetters were at once struck off and hurled down from the roof; if he encountered a criminal, that person could neither be scourged nor executed. Only a free man could barber a Flamen’s beard; it must be cut with a bronze knife; the clippings and his nail trimmings were collected and buried beneath a sacred tree. The Flamen could not remove his tunic or headdress during daylight, lest Jove glimpse his person.

He must avoid dogs (which explained why they had no guard dogs here), she-goats, beans, raw flesh, or fermented dough.

There was probably more, but Helena had seen my eyes glaze over and had spared me. The restrictions seemed outrageous; they were designed to ensure the Flamen never let his mind wander, though he looked to me as if he had retained full control of his thoughts-and his rigid opinions too.

For all that, by virtue of his priesthood, this oddity would have sat in the senate. Still, he probably fitted in among the other eccentrics and crazy men.

Here in his house, everything was arranged to suit his wishes. That did not include me. He looked at me as though I had scuttled out of a drain.

“I understand, sir, that the Emperor has cleared my path with you. Your granddaughter is missing, and I possess experience that may help find her. It is particularly important that you work with me, since you have expressed a wish not to have contact with the vigiles. I regret that. They could have helped save time-and time is vital in a case like this.”

“You were recommended as a specialist. Are you saying you are not up to the job?” His voice was thin, his tone edged with malice. I knew what I had here: a wicked old bastard. In families like mine, they wield no power and so can do no harm. This was nothing like my family.

“I shall do my best, sir. You will find it better than average. But success will depend on how much cooperation I receive.”

“And what do you offer?”

“A fast, discreet service-on my terms. The most likely solution is that Gaia has imprisoned herself accidentally somewhere in her own home. I have to search your house for hiding places that might attract a child. I have to look everywhere, though you have my assurance that what I see will be immediately forgotten if it is not relevant.”

“I understand.” His hauteur was chilly.

“I shall knock and wait before entering rooms. I shall give any occupants a chance to remove themselves. I shall work as quickly as I can.”

“That is good.”

“I do have to be allowed to speak to your family.”

“It is acceptable.”

“They need not answer any questions they regard as improper, sir.” I gave him a level stare. He was intelligent. He knew that refusing fair questions would be informative in itself. “I should also like permission to talk to your staff. It is my intention to limit such interviews. But, for example, Gaia Laelia presumably was entrusted to a nursemaid?”

“There is a girl who looks after her. You may speak to the nurse.”

“Thank you.” I must be going soft. He did not deserve the restraint I was showing. Still, I could see he expected aggression. I was happy to surprise him.

“And what,” asked the ex-Flamen in a tense voice, “are the questions that you wish to put to me?”

I TOOK OUT my note-tablet. I would make jottings occasionally, to look competent. Mostly I just held the stylus still and listened, to show my impeccable tact.

“The investigation must begin with the facts of your granddaughter’s disappearance. You have expressed a reluctance to raise the alarm or to involve the authorities. Please tell me why.”

“There is no need. I recently gave instructions that Gaia Laelia is never to go out alone.” After she came to see me, presumably. “The door porter would have stopped her-had she tried.” I already knew that the door porter still cheerfully left his station unattended.

“You first noticed her missing yesterday?”

“Ask her mother these details.”

“Very well.” I refused to be thrown. “My sister is acquainted with Caecilia Paeta.” I remembered not to land Caecilia in trouble by admitting that I had met her when she came secretly to Maia’s house. “ I understand her to be sensible.” Numentinus looked annoyed at me for commenting. His eyes narrowed; like most people he encountered, I felt that his daughter-in-law aroused mild contempt in him. I was glad I had spoken. I wanted him to know I would evaluate witnesses on my terms. “Let us consider more general issues. The vigiles have been asked to search the city in case Gaia has been abducted. It is a complex task, but they will do as decent a job as they can.” I was telling him it would be near impossible to find her, unless the cohorts had some clues. “My own search starts here. If the child is deliberately hiding, or if she has run away, what would make her do that? Was she unhappy, sir?”

“She had no reason to be.”

“Her parents live apart. Did their separation distress her?”

“At first.” I was surprised he answered, but I suppose he had already realized this would be asked. “My son left home three years ago. Gaia Laelia was an infant. She has accepted the situation.” More readily than the old man himself, probably.

“A parental separation might cause arguments that could have frightened her? But later she must have realized she remained in a secure and loving home.” Numentinus looked suspicious, as though he thought I was being ironic. “Are you willing to answer questions about why your son, Laelius Scaurus, left?”