Deadly Election (20 page)

Julia Verecunda had assembled a matching outfit and the hair. She copied Livia’s wide eyes and beyond-reproach expression. Her features were naturally plump and might have been sweet but for the firm unsmiling lips.
Respect me or I break your legs.

Subservience to the male was, of course, her public persona. Their campaign was for Ennius, about him and (apparently) led by him, as it should have been. No one could doubt that she advised him, which probably meant nagged him.

Even if he did what he was told, he gave no real sign of feeling hen-pecked or bossed. He had learned. He knew to avoid trouble.

He had his own money, Arsinoë had told me. Presumably his mother knew that meant, if he was ever brave enough, he had an escape.

I now saw that a small, quiet party of faithfuls followed them about. These included a young, pale, decent-looking woman who must be the wife, mother of his baby. The babe had not been brought to woo the crowds, however cute it was. Today was far too hot; the child would have been wailing. Either the pale wife or someone else must have sense. The decision probably had not emanated from Julia Verecunda, the grandmother from Hades; such a one would surely expect infants to behave impeccably on all occasions – or would make the pale wife feel she was a useless mother if a fretful baby cried.

The wife had on an attractive sky blue gown, elegant on her slim figure. Though pale, she looked quietly composed. Mind you, the downtrodden learn to stand straight to avoid drawing more trouble on themselves. Perhaps she and Ennius were well matched in submissiveness.

I was heartened when Ennius, speaking to a man who had his own wife there, called forward the pale thing and introduced her; the two wives then talked. It was undoubtedly about babies. The wife of Ennius was not exactly animated, but assumed a polite, politician’s helpmeet manner. Ennius kept a hand on her shoulder. It looked almost affectionate.

Playing the politician’s partner was what Julia Optata, the supposedly devoted wife of Vibius, ought to be doing.

The rest of the party looked like family slaves and freedmen. Perhaps there were a few friends and relatives but, if so, they were very discreet.

I cornered one of the freedwomen. She had been trained to answer questions from the public and she welcomed me as a potential influence with male voters in my family. (She did not know my family or me.) Introducing myself by name though not by profession, I spoke admiringly of Julia Verecunda. I said I believed she was a woman of importance in this election. ‘I have heard she is not only mother to Ennius, but has two daughters married to other candidates. She must hardly know which train of well-wishers to join!’

‘Oh, she supports her son, of course.’

‘But it would be an accolade for any family to have more than one candidate elected the same year?’

‘Maybe, but Julia Verecunda is not thinking of that.’ No: she allegedly despised the sons-in-law.

‘Your young master will be elected, I feel sure.’

‘Yes, that’s what his mother wants for him.’

The freedwoman was turning away. I laid a hand on her arm, just enough to detain her yet remain good-mannered. ‘Excuse me, could you just tell me one thing? Someone said that one of her daughters, whom I need to speak to, is living with her mother nowadays. Julia Optata. Will I find her at your house?’

‘Oh, no – whoever told you that? Julia Optata is married to Vibius Marinus. You must ask for her where he lives.’

‘I wonder why I was told otherwise. Of course, as a good daughter she does come to see Julia Verecunda?’

‘We have not seen her for some time, but with so much going on, that is to be expected.’

‘She must be working hard at the moment, to support her husband?’ I suggested, wide-eyed.

‘Bound to be.’

The witness sounded so casual that I reckoned she believed it. Had no one in their party noticed how, when they encountered Vibius going about, they never saw his wife with him? I would expect a sharp-eyed mother to have spotted it, but perhaps Julia Verecunda kept her own counsel.

Would she have words with her daughter? Or would she approve, as Claudius Laeta and Claudia Arsinoë had both said?
She loves to see families disintegrate and to know she is responsible
… Had Julia Optata left Sextus because her mother encouraged it?

Here in the Forum, Verecunda continued as always, proudly bestowing maternal admiration on her son. Her head never turned. Yet her eyes moved. Her eyes were on me. She had spotted my conversation; her distrust looked acidic.

The freedwoman noticed and moved away from me. Very little showed that she was nervous, yet as she pulled her shawl tighter I saw her hand shaking. I, too, pretended to be unaware of Verecunda as I made off.

I marched to the other end of the Forum and, believe me, I went very fast.

A
new flash of white drew me towards the Basilica Julia where I found Faustus with Sextus Vibius. They were advancing purposefully down the Sacred Way, striding to the Rostra, under the high shadow of the Capitol.

More people were with them than usual. I was loath to pull Faustus out of this large train of supporters, but he saw me and came over of his own accord. He looked troubled. I did not need to ask why. We walked along together.

‘I tackled him.’ He spoke quickly in a low voice. ‘He admits Julia Optata is not at home. He says it is a normal visit away, with his complete agreement.’

Really? She had tripped off somewhere, at this crucial moment, taking all she owned? I remained convinced something was wrong. I would not push it. Intervention can go sour on you.

‘There is comforting news, Tiberius. I found out she is
not
at her mother’s, the obvious place if she ended her marriage.’ I sensed coolness in his behaviour so wanted to reconcile with him. ‘Forget I asked about her. I apologise. Apologise for me to Sextus. I shall meddle no more. But you do need to prepare a satisfactory public statement.’

‘They will get hold of it, won’t they?’ Faustus was gloomy, I hoped he remembered people were already prodding at Sextus when I began exploring. I felt guilty all the same.

‘You’re not angry with me?’

‘No, Albia.’ He softened. ‘Never.’

Faustus drew me in among the throng of people who wanted to hear Sextus. We were at the far northern end of the Forum, outside the Curia. The Rostra ran across almost the whole Forum’s width. Behind it was the Umbilicus of Rome, a marble structure that represented the city’s navel. In front stood the Golden Milestone, where all roads to Rome met. This was a sacred spot.

The tall base of the Rostra was adorned with ships’ prows, memorials to sea-battles; some of the beaks were real prows taken from defeated vessels, though more had been created specially. The back and sides of the large platform had ornate balustrades but the front was open. Speakers stood up there, looking down the length of the Forum, crowded with monuments and statues, towards the Temple of the Divine Julius, whose eulogy had occurred right there.

Many famous and infamous speeches had been uttered from the Rostra, much brilliant oratory – and, inevitably, much tame tosh. Overcome by the occasion, as soon as their feet touched that legendary podium, all too many speakers succumbed to cliché and verbosity. They all thought they were Mark Antony. None came near him. That never stopped them. Very few let themselves be deterred by the rude Roman crowds heckling.

I saw Sextus eagerly clamber up to the great platform. When he took up a position, he looked dwarfed by the various columns that supported commemorative statues. Fellows in wreaths, with swagger sticks or scrolls, ill-advised Roman noses and very ugly sandalled feet, posed nobly all around him. There were too many, so from time to time the Senate had to insist on a cull.

It was the first time I had seen Vibius Marinus in action. He was not at all bad. We had given him a strong speech, which he must have read and absorbed, stewing over it all last night. He spoke without notes. That was correct procedure, in both law and politics. As far as I could tell, he had not made scribbles in the folds of his toga. If he had, they were only for reassurance and he never seemed to look down at the secret reminders.

He had the right style: he looked at his audience and spoke in an almost conversational manner. He came across as trustworthy and likeable. I felt glad to find that Sextus might be slapdash on occasions, but he had substance.

Faustus had made sure the crowd contained all their supporters, prominently at the front. The other candidates collected, most giving themselves a good view from the steep steps of the Temple of Saturn. Ennius had a much worse position at the Temple of Concord, as if the others had refused him space. Word had been spread about our man’s intentions; none could afford to miss this, in case they needed to shout rebuttals. They brought their own supporters, who began catcalling early. Only a few people were unbiased members of the public. For all I knew, even some of those had been given incentives to come.

I spotted Gratus and his sister. For some reason, they were by themselves on the steps of the Temple of Vespasian, which had been squeezed in under the Capitol between the Temple of Concord and the Porticus of the Consenting Gods. It stood almost round a corner and gave hardly any view of the Rostra. Hiding there was a poor way to signal that they were in coalition with this speaker.

At first everything went well. The stories I had collected caused happily raucous shouts, while the jokes Faustus had written made all the crowd laugh, even those who were supposed to be supporting the insulted rivals. Sextus felt the buzz; he became positively thrilling. Everyone was with him, enjoying the speech, and he clearly enjoyed giving it.

Faustus and I listened, occasionally glancing at one another with smiles when our man reached one of our best lines.

‘Why does he need a fierce hunting dog in Rome? He surely cannot intend to attack venerable priestesses. Is it for catching mice? I ask you seriously, my friends, what pathetic kind of man needs to rely on a
dog
to give him a public presence? If this creature means so much, why don’t we elect the dog instead of his master, a new Incitatus?’ Incitatus was that racehorse a mad emperor had once had elected as consul.

The crowd were laughing; some made barking sounds. Sniping at Trebonius Fulvo was easy: unseemly weight-training, the hard attitude, a dangerous dog that didn’t respect religion, the fancy rings … Trebonius Fulvo listened with a faint smile, biding his time. As soon as Sextus paused for breath, he used his powerful barrel-chested voice: ‘I cannot be all bad – at least I have a loyal wife! Day after day she proudly comes to support my efforts. In offering myself for public service, I for one am sustained by a strong domestic partnership.’

The loyal wife was with him; he took her hand and clasped it in the traditional pose of marital commitment, while she simpered at him adoringly the way politicians’ loyal wives do when asked to perform in public. She looked older than Trebonius, a respectable woman of forty, forgetting her marital disappointments and horribly forgiving such a shameless fraud.

‘Gruesome!’ muttered Faustus. ‘She must have seen through him years ago.’

‘Sickening, yes – but it doesn’t mean that when they are home she never complains that his feet smell, or tells him not to belch in front of her mother because he only does it to annoy the old crone …’

Trebonius went further onto the attack: ‘So where, Vibius Marinus, is your own wife today? As usual, I look around and do not see her! I begin to wonder if the lovely Julia Optata has cruelly abandoned you! Is your marriage over?’

Sextus handled it. He gave Trebonius a pitying glance as if the man was recklessly misinformed: ‘Trebonius, how good of you to enquire. Friends, let me tell you, I am much blessed in Julia Optata, but sometimes one must make a sacrifice. My dear wife has volunteered to visit her sister, who is due to give birth for the first time and is terrified. I miss my darling, but I must bear her absence. This is an act of kindness on her part, and may help produce a safe birth. Julia Optata and I have children, so she can offer useful experience.’

Trebonius came out of the exchange looking petty and inaccurate while Sextus boldly moved on to satirising Arulenus Crescens. The crowd knew that would be even more fun. They foretold ripe jokes about partying and eunuchs – always a favourite.

As their enjoyment swelled again, I was thinking that Sextus could have told us about the nervous pregnant sister – if it was true. His slipperiness continued to niggle at me. Even Faustus murmured, ‘That was a surprise. When we spoke, Sextus only said Julia went on a visit.’

I decided to let Faustus come to terms with these conflicting stories in his own way. My way would be to dig deeper.

‘Did Trebonius Fulvo
know
Julia is not at home?’

‘How could he?’ Faustus grumbled. ‘Trebonius cannot have gained access, then gone up and inspected the apartment as you did!’

Then I remembered: I had told someone else yesterday. I looked across sideways to where Laia and her brother were standing. Laia noticed me turn in their direction. Was she feeling guilty? A mere shadow of communication passed between her and her brother. They were too far away for me to see if she said anything, though I thought not.

I took a deep breath. ‘Have Laia Gratiana or her brother spoken to you today?’

‘No.’ Faustus gazed at me. ‘No. Gratus politely left us alone to do the speech. He knew we were keyed up about it.’

‘Do you think …?’

I saw Faustus take a conscious decision not to become annoyed, even though he shared my suspicions. ‘I think nothing,’ he declared. ‘This is politics.’

Laia must have told her brother that Julia had left. For Gratus to pass this ammunition to Trebonius was spiteful, but he probably thought he had to start defending his own position. We already knew he was an opportunist. Gratus might want to extricate himself from the now-awkward partnership with Sextus. Before he openly chose to split, he might stir things up, see what came out of asking hard questions, make sure of his ground.