Ma had forestalled me. The Virgins would have to wait. Petronius Longus would say virgins never do that. Still, the kind of virgins Petro joked about were never just six years old.

After Ma had gone, I waited for Helena to tell me about the Flamen Pomonalis visit. I had to pretend that I had come home right at the end of it, not that I overheard the whole interview. Helena could play up to me as a hidden accomplice if a conspiracy had been agreed on beforehand, but she hated to be spied on secretly. For one thing, she resented being supervised.

Obviously now deeply troubled, she gave me a succinct report.

“What exactly was Gaia’s story yesterday when you saw her alone before I came home, Helena?”

“She said, ‘One of my relations threatened to kill me.’ And that it had frightened her,” Helena told me, looking thoughtful. “She had got it into her head that she needed to see an informer, so I left it for you to deal with.”

“I’m starting to regret sending her away without asking more questions. I know you thought I should have gone into it more thoroughly.”

“You had your own troubles, Marcus.”

“This little girl may have worse.”

“She has grown up in a most peculiar home, that’s for certain,” said Helena with some force. “Her grandparents will have been married by a strange old formal ceremony, and as they were the Flamen Dialis and the Flaminica, even their house itself had ritual significance. No child in such a home knows a normal upbringing. The daily life of the priest and priestess is proscribed by ridiculous taboos and rituals at every turn. It leaves little time for family matters. Even the children formally take part in religious ceremonies-presumably, Gaia’s father went through all that. And now Gaia, the poor mite, is being pushed into becoming a Vestal Virgin-”

“An escape, by the sound of it!” I grinned.