Caesar's Women (41 page)

“Here we store the wills of Roman citizens, perhaps three quarters of a million,” said Licinia. “Rome, there. Italia, here. The various provinces of Rome, there and there and there. Other countries, over here. And a new . section for Italian Gaul, here. It became necessary after the Italian War, when all the communities south of the Padus River were enfranchised. We had to expand our section for Italia too.”

They were pigeonholed in rank after rank of wooden box shelves, each one tagged and labeled, perhaps fifty to one single box; he withdrew a specimen from Italian Gaul, then another and another. All different in size and thickness and the sort of paper, all sealed with wax and someone's insignia. This one hefty—a lot of property! That one slender and humble—perhaps a tiny cottage and a pig to bequeath.

“And where are the wills of non-citizens stored?” he asked as Licinia descended the stairs ahead of him.

“In the basement, domine, together with the records of all army wills and deaths on military service. We do not, of course, ever have custody of soldiers' wills themselves—they remain in the care of the legion clerks, and when a man finishes his time, they destroy his will. He then makes a new one and lodges it with us.” She sighed mournfully. “There is still space down there, but I fear it won't be long before we have to shift some of the provincial citizen wills to the basement, which also has to house quite a lot of sacred equipment we and you need for ceremonies. So where,” she enquired plaintively, “will we go when the whole of the basement is as full as it was for Ahenobarbus?”

“Luckily, Licinia, it won't be your worry,” said Caesar, “though it will undoubtedly be mine. How extraordinary to think that feminine Roman efficiency and attention to detail has bred a repository the like of which the world has never known before! Everyone wants his will kept safe from prying eyes and tampering pens. Where else is that possible except in the Atrium Vestae?”

The largeness of this observation escaped her, she was too busy shocking herself at discovery of an omission. “Domine, I forgot to show you the section for women's wills!” she cried.

“Yes, women do make wills,” he said, preserving gravity. “It is a great comfort to realize that you segregate the sexes, even in death.” When this sailed somewhere miles above her head, he thought of something else. “It amazes me that so many people lodge their wills here in Rome, yet may dwell in places up to several months' journey away. I would have thought all the movable property and coin would have vanished by the time the will itself could be executed.”

“I do not know, domine, because we never find out things like that. But if people do it, then surely they must feel secure in doing it. I imagine,” she concluded simply, “that everyone fears Rome and Roman retribution. Look at the will of King Ptolemy Alexander! The present King of Egypt is terrified of Rome because he knows Egypt really belongs to Rome from that will.”

“True,” said Caesar solemnly.

From the workplace (where, he noticed, even the two child Vestals were now busy at some task, feriae notwithstanding) he was conducted to the living quarters. These were, he decided, very adequate compensation for a conventual existence. However, the dining room was country style, chairs round a table.

“You don't have men to dine?” he asked.

Licinia looked horrified. “Not in our own quarters, domine! You are the only man who will ever enter here.”

“What about doctors and carpenters?”

“There are good women doctors, also women craftsmen of all kinds. Rome bears no prejudices against women in trades.”

“So much I don't know, despite the fact that I've been a pontifex for over ten years,” said Caesar, shaking his head.

“Well, you were not in Rome during our trials,” said Licinia, her voice trembling. “Our private entertaining and living habits were publicly aired then. But under normal circumstances only the Pontifex Maximus among the priests concerns himself with how we live. And our relatives and friends, naturally.”

“True. The last Julia in the College was Julia Strabo, and she died untimely. Do many of you die untimely, Licinia?”

“Very few these days, though I believe death here was common before we had water and plumbing laid on. Would you like to see the bathrooms and latrines? Ahenobarbus believed in hygiene for everyone, so he gave the servants baths and latrines too.”

“A remarkable man,” said Caesar. “How they reviled him for changing the law—and getting himself elected Pontifex Maximus at the same time! I remember Gaius Marius telling me there was an epidemic of marble-latrine-seat jokes after Ahenobarbus finished with the Domus Publica.”

Though Caesar was reluctant, Licinia insisted that he should see the Vestal sleeping arrangements.

“Metellus Pius Pontifex Maximus thought of it after he came back from Spain. You see?” she asked, conducting him through a series of curtained archways leading off her own sleeping cubicle. “The only way out is through my room. We all used to have doors onto the passageway, but Metellus Pius Pontifex Maximus bricked them up. He said we must be protected from all allegations.”

Lips tight, Caesar said nothing; they retraced their steps back to the Vestal workplace. There he returned to the subject of wills, which fascinated him.

“Your figures shocked me,” he said, “but I realize they ought not. All my life has passed in the Subura, and how many times I have seen it for myself, that Head Count man owning a single slave solemnly parading down to the Atrium Vestae to lodge his will. Nothing to leave but a brooch, some chairs and a table, a prized haybox oven, and his slave. Tricked out in his citizen's toga and bearing his grain chit as proof of his Roman status, as proud as Tarquinius Superbus. He can't vote in the Centuries and his urban tribe makes his comitial vote worthless, but he can serve in our legions and he can lodge his will.”

“You neglected to say, domine, how many times he arrives with you at his side as his patron,” said Licinia. “It does not escape us which patrons find the time to do this, and which just send one of their freedmen.”

“Who comes in person?” asked Caesar, curious.

“You and Marcus Crassus, always. Cato too, and the Domitii Ahenobarbi. Of the rest, hardly any.”

“No surprise in those names!”

Time to change the subject while a loud voice would enable all the toiling white-clad figures to hear him. “You work very hard,” he said. “I've lodged enough wills and demanded enough of them for probate, but it never occurred to me what an enormous task it is to care for Rome's last testaments. You are to be commended.”

Thus it was a very pleased and happy Chief Vestal who let him into the vestibule again, and handed him the keys to his domain.

Wonderful!

The L-shaped reception room was a mirror-image twin of the Vestal workplace, fifty feet on its long side. No expense or luxury had been spared, from the glorious frescoes to the gilding to the furniture and art objects littered everywhere. Mosaic floor, fabulous ceiling of plaster roses and gold honeycomb, colored marble pilasters engaging the walls and colored marble sheaths on the sole freestanding column.

A study and sleeping cubicle for the Pontifex Maximus, and a smaller suite for his wife. A dining room which held a full six couches. A peristyle garden off to one side, adjacent to the Porticus Margaritaria and on full view to the windows of the Via Nova insulae. The kitchen could feed thirty diners; though it was within the main structure, most of the outside wall was missing, and the dangerous cooking fires were in the yard. As was a cistern large enough to wash the clothes and serve as a reservoir in case of fire.

“Ahenobarbus Pontifex Maximus tapped into the Cloaca Maxima, which made him very popular with the Via Nova too,” said Licinia, smiling because she was talking about her idol. “When he put the sewer down our back alley, it enabled the insulae to use it, and the Porticus Margaritaria as well.”

“And the water?'' asked Caesar.

“The Forum Romanum on this side abounds with springs, domine. One feeds your cistern, another the cistern in our yard.”

There were servants' quarters both upstairs and downstairs, including a suite which would house Burgundus, Cardixa and their unmarried sons. And how ecstatic Eutychus would be to have his own little nest!

However, it was the front section of the top storey which put the final touch on Caesar's gratitude for being dowered with the Domus Publica. The front stairs ascended between the reception room and his study, and conveniently divided the area into two. He would give all the rooms anterior to the stairs to Pompeia, which meant they need never see her or hear her from one market day clear through to the next! Julia could have the spacious suite behind the front stairs for her use, as there were two guest suites reached by the back stairs.

So whom did Caesar plan to install in the wife's suite downstairs? Why, his mother, naturally. Whom else?

“What do you think?” he asked his mother as they walked up the Clivus Orbius after their inspection on the following day.

“It is superb, Caesar.” She frowned. “Only one aspect does worry me—Pompeia. Too easy for people to creep upstairs! The place is vast, no one will see who comes and goes.”

“Oh, Mater, don't sentence me to keeping her downstairs right next door to me!” he cried.

“No, my son, I won't do that. However, we have to find a way to police Pompeia's comings and goings. In the apartment it was so easy to make sure Polyxena attended her the moment she ventured out the door, but here? We'd never know. Nor can she smuggle men into the apartment, whereas here? We'd never know.”

“Well,” said Caesar with a sigh, “my new position carries a good number of public slaves with it. On the whole they're lazy and irresponsible because they're not supervised and no one thinks to praise them if they do good work. That will most definitely change. Eutychus is getting old, but he's still a wonderful steward. Burgundus and Cardixa can come back from Bovillae with their four youngest. Their four oldest can caretake Bovillae. It will be your job to organize a new regimen and a better frame of mind among the servants, both those we bring with us and those already here. I won't have the time, so it must devolve upon you.”

“I understand that,” she said, “but it doesn't answer our problem with Pompeia.”

“What that amounts to, Mater, is adequate supervision. We both know you can't put just one servant on door duty or any kind of watch. He goes to sleep, from boredom if not from weariness. Therefore we'll put two on permanent duty at the bottom of the front stairs. Day and night. And we set them some sort of task—folding linens without a crease, polishing knives and spoons, washing dishes, mending clothes—you know the duties better than I do. A certain amount must be done on each shift. Luckily there is a good-sized alcove between the beginning of the stairs and the end wall. I'll put a loudly creaking door on it to shut it from view of the reception room, and that means whoever uses the stairs has to open it first. If our sentries should doze off, that at least will alert them. When Pompeia appears at the bottom to go out, one of them will notify Polyxena immediately. As well for us that Pompeia hasn't got the gumption to run off before Polyxena can be found! If her friend Clodia tries to put her up to that, it will only happen once, I can assure you. For I shall inform Pompeia conduct of that kind is a good way to be divorced. I shall also instruct Eutychus to put servants on sentry duty who won't collude with each other to accept bribes.”

“Oh, Caesar, I hate it!” cried Aurelia, striking her hands together. “Are we legionaries guarding the camp from attack?”

“Yes, Mater, I rather think we are. Her own silly fault. She's mixing in the wrong circles and refuses to abandon them.”

“As the result of which we are obliged to imprison her.”

“Not really. Be fair! I haven't forbidden her access to her women friends, either here or elsewhere. She and they can come and go as they please, including beauties like Sempronia Tuditani and Palla. And the appalling Pompeius Rufus. But Pompeia is now the wife of Caesar Pontifex Maximus, a social elevation of no mean order. Even for Sulla's granddaughter. I can't trust her good sense, because she hasn't any. We all know the story of Metella Dalmatica and how she managed despite Scaurus Princeps Senatus to make Sulla's life a misery when he was trying to be elected to the praetorship. Sulla spurned her then—evidence of his instinct for self-preservation, if nothing else. But can you see Clodius or Decimus Brutus or young Poplicola behaving with Sulla's circumspection? Hah! They'd whip Pompeia off in a trice.”

“Then,” said Aurelia with decision, “when you see Pompeia to inform her of the new rules, I suggest you have her mother there as well. Cornelia Sulla is a splendid person. And she knows what a fool Pompeia is. Reinforce your authority with the authority her mother wields. It is no use bringing me into it, Pompeia detests me for chaining her to Polyxena.”

No sooner decided upon than done. Though the move to the Domus Publica took place the next day, Pompeia had been fully acquainted with the new rules before she and her handful of personal servants set eyes upon her palatial suite upstairs. She had wept, of course, and protested the innocence of her intentions, but to no avail. Cornelia Sulla was sterner than Caesar, and adamant that in the event of a fall from grace, her daughter would not be welcome to return to Uncle Mamercus's house divorced on grounds of adultery. Fortunately Pompeia was not the type to nurse grudges, so by the time the move occurred she was completely immersed in the transfer of her tasteless but expensive knickknacks, and planning shopping trips to overfill those areas she considered denuded.

Caesar had wondered how Aurelia would cope with the change from landlady of a thriving insula to doyenne of the closest thing Rome had to a palace. Would she insist upon continuing to keep her books? Would she break the ties of more than forty years in the Subura? But by the time the afternoon of his inaugural feast came round, he knew that he need not have worried about that truly remarkable lady. Though she would personally audit, she said, the insula's accounts would now be done by a man whom Lucius Decumius had found and vouched for. And it turned out that most of the work she had done was not on behalf of her own property; to fill in her days she had acted as agent for more than a dozen other landlords. How horrified her husband would have been if he had known that! Caesar just chuckled.