Deadly Election (16 page)

I asked the porter if that was Julia Laurentina’s daughter. He said no, she belonged to Callistus Primus, his only child with a first wife, long divorced; her name was Julia Valentina. She lived with her father. He wanted to bring her up himself.

That was unusual, but fathers had a legal claim to their children after marital separation so it happened. Some men were determined to exert their right of possession, even of a daughter, even if the child was very young. I sometimes had to help divorced mothers argue for custody.

I also asked the man about the advertising notice outside. He said the family owned the wall space; they had supported Volusius Firmus for aedile, the candidate who was forced to stand down. So removing the notice made sense.

When I stepped out from the house, I passed two other Callistus wives being delivered home in chairs. Dressed in the same highly embroidered style as Julia, they had clearly been shopping; it was obvious from the train of slaves carrying baskets and parcels. I gave them a formal nod, but did not interrupt their happy dash indoors, calling for cold drinks and their feather-fan girl to revive them.

‘A goodly haul!’ I nodded at the packages, smiling.

‘It will all have to go back!’ muttered the porter, darkly.

I dallied, pretending to adjust my sandal. ‘Primus and Secundus are mean with money?’

‘Not when they have it, but there’s none to spare at the moment. Everyone has been ordered to cut down.’ The two young wives had obviously failed to hear the message.

‘Has it happened before?’ I remembered Gornia saying the men gambled heavily on chariot races.

‘Time to time. They always get a windfall eventually, then it’s joy all round again.’

I said drily, ‘They ought to buy themselves a big strongbox where they can put away a nest egg for times of crisis.’

The porter missed the joke.

I wasted no pity on the Callisti. They must have picked the wrong team. They would have their auction proceeds coming in shortly to ease their money worries. If funds were tight, I imagined they would not admit openly that they were poor managers. They would want to keep quiet publicly and might even try to bluff a new agent. Embarrassment about their cashflow might explain why Niger’s bid for the old chest had been overturned.

It would have been sensible to warn him not to go so high. But when do most people act sensibly?

I
convinced myself I needed to see Faustus. It was a short walk round the Caelian to the Vibius house so I went there, on the excuse that we had not fully discussed what Claudius Laeta told us.

Excuses were unnecessary. Faustus was writing a speech. He welcomed me, knowing I would listen, help him line up his thoughts and make good suggestions. The candidate, who had to deliver the oratory, ought to have done this but Vibius was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where is he?’

‘Oh, he’ll turn up. Let’s get the speech done. It’s time to make things personal.’

‘Insults!’

‘Yes, I thought you would like that.’

I would have liked to insult his friend Sextus for using Tiberius unfairly, but was too wise.

We had to blacken the rivals’ characters. It would involve information I had gathered, buffed up with dramatic rhetoric that Faustus was now contributing. Written out, most of my gleanings seemed to be about Dillius Surus: he not only drank, he lived off a rich wife who had given Domitian a troupe of obscene dwarfs, had tapeworms, was impotent, sued a man over an orchard − and if that wasn’t enough, he owned the dog that had bitten the priestess of Isis (on her birthday).

‘No, that’s wrong,’ said Faustus. ‘Latest information is—’

‘It was the priestess who bit the dog?’

For a moment I had him, then he smacked a cushion as he realised the joke. ‘Oh, and it was the
dog’s
birthday … No, I traced this malign canine. One of my colleagues had to deal with a public-order complaint from the priestess. The dog-owner is really Trebonius Fulvo. It’s some horrible hunting creature in a spiked collar that he keeps to make himself look menacing.’

‘What does he want a hunter for in Rome? Rat-catching?’

Faustus wrote that into the speech. For added sneers, he changed it to ‘Mouse-catching?’

Trebonius and Arulenus would be characterised jointly as antisocial citizens. Sextus would say not only did the pair show no respect for age, religion, decency or dog-control, they were physical degenerates. One did too many gymnastics, the other was both fat and effeminate, a double shame. Faustus had (he claimed) once seen Arulenus in a long striped tunic, with fringed sleeves, an outfit that no manly male would wear.

I smiled. ‘I had not envisaged either of those boors as chasing boys.’

‘No, but we can make the fact they are such close partners look suggestive in itself. “This pair practically roam the Forum holding hands – an insult to the stones where our ancestors walked!”’

‘You are surprisingly inventive, Faustus … Can’t they then say the same about Vibius and Gratus?’

‘Anyone can see Gratus would be scared to do anything outrageous and Sextus looks clean-living.’

‘I hope he is!’ I murmured.

‘Trust me. Then we point out Trebonius acquires his muscles by over-exercising in some sleazy gym.’

It was tricky for a Roman to strike a balance between looking after his body and not. A politician needed to be healthy and strong; he would be admired if he took care of himself, which implied he could be trusted to take care of his office. However, too much weight-training put him on a par with gladiators, bloody brutes who were social outcasts. Being muscle-bound could only be for sordid purposes in Roman eyes; there was a suggestion that what went on in gymnasiums (with their sinister Greek origins) might be sexually outrageous.

I eyed up Faustus, who shifted on his couch as I assessed his physique. ‘Nice!’

He concealed any embarrassment. ‘Arulenus wearing exotic clothes implies he’s a beast who lives for bodily pleasure – such an easy target. Everyone knows people in fancy dinner outfits go to all-night supper-parties with singing and dancing, leading to lascivious sex games. They wear perfume and depilate their bodies, all to appeal to the wrong kind of sexual partner. From a long tunic it’s a short step to a man who has wasted his fortune—’

‘Loose belts mean loose morals; fringes equal fornication … But the fringes are hearsay,’ I murmured. ‘And has anybody ever seen him with a pretty boy?’

‘I saw the fringes! Dangling right on his hairy wrists.’

‘Tiberius, I don’t doubt your eyesight. But please only have Sextus report he heard this from “a trusted friend”. Those two will make bad enemies. Trebonius and Arulenus might well send shaved-head heavies to thrash you senseless.’

‘Thank you for caring.’

I acknowledged his thanks. ‘Trebonius Fulvo wears ordinary tunics – though he is bursting out of them. He is also laden with finger jewellery. The rings look stuck on his fat fingers so if Sextus points them out Trebonius can only twist them helplessly, while everyone stares right at him. Arulenus seems much worse, totally immoral – isn’t he the one who cheated on a mistress, promising her marriage, then stealing her jewellery? And apparently he abandoned a wife when she was pregnant.’

‘Yes, he’s poison. We can imply the hypothetical pretty boys are the reason he reneges on decent marriage. He breaks the heart of an innocent woman – well, fairly innocent. It is said half the Senate have slept with her. He fails to become a respectable husband who sets about fathering children or if he gets one he leaves the mother in the lurch. Completely decadent. Is it too extreme to suggest his pretty boys are eunuchs?’

‘Stage too far,’ I warned him. ‘Given that you invented them!’

‘Me? Glyco and Hesperus, handsome young bucks who gild their nipples, everybody knows that degenerate duo …’

‘You made them up.’

‘That’s oratory.’

‘Be sensible. Go back to Trebonius. He’s
too
masculine?’

‘A brute!’ Faustus was fired up. ‘For comparison, I read up on Catiline – once the evil hard man of Republican politics. Cicero said Catiline made himself able to endure cold, hunger, thirst, lack of sleep – but then there was an argument against him that he was too dangerous to trust.’

‘My father rails against him for trying to overthrow the Republic, using the plight of the poor for his selfish advantage. Many of the poor still admire him, but those fools won’t be voting. Senators who actually remember who Catiline was will think of him as attacking the aristocracy. They will shudder and vote against that, hopefully voting
for
Sextus.’

‘Cicero calls Catiline an enigmatic figure,’ mused Faustus. ‘A good leader, but lustful and self-serving.’

‘Enigma is always viewed as dangerous. Mind you, some senators probably think lust is commendable in a strong politician.’

Faustus laughed. ‘I cannot call Trebonius ambiguous. He’s transparently ambitious for personal power.’

‘Say that, then. And don’t forget to mention how Trebonius and Arulenus dined out the bankers so they could make promises to increase interest rates. Many of the Senate are struggling in debt. That will rile them.’ Faustus made more notes. ‘Now, doesn’t that heartless swine Dillius have a vicious lawsuit against his dying grandfather? He cannot wait for his inheritance because he is desperate for more money for his exotic Greek wines.’

‘Greek?’

‘Bound to be. Unpatriotically ignoring Italian vintages.’

‘Well, it’s not him,’ I said. ‘Latest information puts that charge against Gratus, so you won’t want to use it.’

‘Ah! … Pity.’

The only candidate against whom we had no ammunition was Ennius Verecundus, the loner who went around smiling too much, with his mother running his campaign. Faustus remarked, ‘A candidate’s mother, if she is alive, should back him, though a man needs visible male supporters. Since Rome reveres strong mothers, we cannot call that reprehensible. But we may insinuate that if they elect Ennius Verecundus we’ll have a woman running a magistracy.’

‘
So
unacceptable!’ I scoffed fiercely.

‘Depends on the woman, in my opinion,’ Faustus answered. ‘But this idea will terrify the greybeards. Many are scared of their own mothers, and they will have seen Ennius being led around virtually on a leash by his fierce mama. When Sextus speaks, the frightful woman only has to stand there glowering and she will make our point herself.’

Having seen the mama, I allowed that. ‘I hate the way Ennius Verecundus smiles all the time. And I wonder, Tiberius, where are the rest of his family? Does he have other relatives? If not, be careful, or he and his mama will turn into the brave lone widow and the poor fatherless boy she lovingly does her best for … I’ll try to find out. If he does have relatives, are they too nervous to be near his domineering mother? I doubt if I can prove he lives a wild life – he doesn’t look as if she has ever let him out of doors to enjoy life at all.’

Faustus wrote that down.

We had reached the end of what we could achieve, and at that moment we were joined by the mother of Sextus Vibius. The grey-haired elderly woman had brought home-made mint cordial for us, with her own hands carrying in a tray and delicate little cups.

I had not properly met her before. She was well dressed but looked worn. She had a mentally ailing husband. He was regularly brought out to support Sextus, but never left the litter. I found myself wondering about those mortgages Sextus had had fetched from store; did his father really have legal capacity to sign financial documents? Was he truly aware of the resources being spent on his son’s campaign (was he even aware of the campaign)?

Marcella Vibia spent all day looking after him, rarely out of his company. An old-fashioned wife, she took his care upon herself, even though they had domestic staff. I had often heard him fretting and her soothing him. She looked like someone who spent her days fearing the worst.

Now she sat down with us as if glad of other company; she said the old man was asleep for once. She fanned herself gently with her hand, feeling the heat. I leaned over and served out the cordial. Then, as Marcella Vibia only smiled and sipped, I took up what had caught my attention earlier and asked, ‘Have you enjoyed being aedile yourself, Tiberius?’

He nodded, but did not elaborate. Vibia spoke up. ‘It has changed him visibly, Flavia Albia, in only a few months. The magistracy has helped this young man finally discover what he is made of.’

I could see that, having no mother of his own, Tiberius was sometimes taken under this kindly woman’s wing. She talked freely about him and he let her do so. ‘You mean,’ he said, ‘I was an idle scamp but I have learned to be useful.’

‘We were all a little surprised!’ she teased. ‘That is why we wanted to see Sextus follow in your footsteps.’

I wondered whether that meant his parents saw Vibius as an idle scamp himself … Personally, if we managed to have him elected, I could not see it turning out so well.

Then, more seriously, Vibia spoke to me: ‘I have known Tiberius Manlius from childhood; his family had the next estate to ours near Fidenae and the boys went to school together. We were so upset when his parents died – such lovely people − both carried off by the same summer plague. That meant his uncle took him, which of course was for the best, I would never say otherwise, but Tiberius went away to Rome at that early age and we almost lost sight of him.’

‘Well, we are all together in the city now,’ Faustus soothed her.

‘But Tullius has you up there on the Aventine, so far away from everyone!’

Faustus chuckled. ‘Not everyone. Flavia Albia lives there too.’

‘Obviously a great attraction,’ responded Marcella Vibia, only a little sarcastically. ‘I hope you don’t haunt the streets looking for girls to follow about, Tiberius.’

Faustus liked to tease stern women – I had seen him do it before, with my mother. Possibly he even did it to me. ‘Perk of the job! I still remember when I spotted Flavia Albia, trotting to and fro on her business. It brightened my day.’ That startled me. I liked him, but not the idea he had regularly tailed me. I could not believe it. Surely I would have noticed.