Master and God (14 page)

Lucilla blocked his path. Vinius stopped, reassessed his rights, grudgingly revised his view of hers. They had a short face-off.

Vinius cleared his throat. He looked her in the eye, finally acknowledging that day at the station house. ‘Flavia Lucilla. I see you grew up nicely.’

‘Oh, have we met before, soldier?’ Since his face was unforgettable, this amounted to an insult.

Oddly, he just smiled. ‘I let you down, I know . . . You did stay on my conscience but I was transferred out straight after the fire. I hope someone else came to look into your loss.’

‘There was no loss.’

‘Ah.’

They stood, three feet apart, in the corridor, either side of where the partition would be, if the agent ever had one constructed.

‘Your mother had a lover back then. What happened to him?’

‘I have no idea.’ Lucilla moved back towards the kitchen, not wanting to think about Orgilius, not wanting Gaius Vinius to sense that the man had seduced her. He would probably say he could tell that someone had. Still, that was how a man saw things.

Vinius was smitten by the alteration in Flavia Lucilla. She had changed much more than him. No longer a neglected child, she was neat, vibrant and kitted out daintily, in the tradition of her trade. Strappy sandals. Fancy hems on her dress. Plaits tied into a topknot with ribbons. In quiet moments, she and Lara did each other’s hair, nails, pedicure, brows. Lucilla frequently changed her appearance, enough to show she had an eye for fashion while never looking like a rival to the women she tended.

‘How is your mother?’

‘She died.’

‘Sorry to hear it.’

‘At least I found my sister. We work together now.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Lara – why?’ Lucilla asked truculently; Vinius was questioning her as if he were still an investigator.

‘Calm down! If I’m knocking about here, I may run into her.’ It was meant to make Lucilla feel unreasonable, though Vinius noted she merely scowled. He knew he could sound high-handed. ‘So your sister does not live with you?’

‘She is married with a family.’

His inquisitiveness was annoying. It forced Lucilla to retaliate: ‘You’re not dossing here with your wife then?’

Vinius looked surprised at the idea. ‘We live near the Market of Livia, by the Servian Wall . . .’ He pushed away the thought of Verania. They had a couple of rooms in a tenement, adequate (in his opinion) but cruder than this place.

‘Oh yes, I heard you keep secrets. You don’t intend your wife to know you have this place.’

He flinched. ‘My damned brother talks too much.’

‘He does!’ scoffed Lucilla, to make him wonder.

‘What other nonsense has Fortunatus regaled the whole neighbourhood with?’

Lucilla raised her neatly shaped eyebrows. ‘Not too much. What’s exciting you? Everyone around here thinks you are a man of mystery.’

‘That’s good!’ answered Vinius through gritted teeth. ‘That’s exactly how I like it!’ Then he slipped in vindictively, ‘So: who is Junius? Your boyfriend?’

Lucilla blinked. ‘My brother-in-law.’

‘I saw his name on our lease. I want to know what he’s like,’ Vinius growled. ‘Don’t tell me it’s not my business; it is. I don’t care for unknowns.’

‘He is my guardian – supposedly. I just put him down to keep Melissus happy.’ A Roman woman could not engage in business on her own account. If she lacked a father and husband, then for anything legal or financial she was obliged to have a male ‘guardian’ to act and sign for her. ‘Forget him, Vinius. He doesn’t know anything about it.’

‘So how did he sign the lease?’

‘My sister wrote his name in.’

‘Right!’

‘Soldier, your only worry is whether I pay up. I feel the same about you; the second-year rent is due now, incidentally.’

Vinius pre-empted her; he had paid Melissus that day. He had his Triumphal bonus to keep out of his wife’s grasp. To protect the cash from Verania, he was spending more of it on material goods and warned Lucilla he intended to have furniture delivered.

Putting on a show of competence, Vinius inspected the front door lock. ‘We need this changed. I don’t want the agent, or even my brother, or anyone else who may have obtained keys wandering in. One for you; one for me. No duplicates. Agreed?’

Lucilla nodded, looking amused.
Nothing for wifey?

Don’t be cheeky!

Vinius had a thought. ‘Doesn’t the agent have responsibilities – cleaning? maintenance?’

‘I already gave instructions,’ Lucilla informed him. ‘The slaves have to knock and wait to be admitted. They must keep the entrance tidy so the apartment looks lived in, but they can only work indoors when one of us is here to supervise.’

‘That man Melissus wanted me to pay for a porter and a cook.’

‘I said no. He wasn’t happy.’

‘Good girl. Those bastards try anything to push the price up . . . That seems to cover everything.’ Vinius sounded almost disappointed.

Before he left, Gaius Vinius held out one hand and they formally shook on their partnership. Both kept it brisk.

Oddly, when Lucilla ate her supper that evening, the apartment seemed unduly still. Their choppy conversation had affected her; she noticed her heart pattering.

Gaius Vinius was a man; he expected to dominate. He would learn better.

On leaving Plum Street, Vinius met his brother in a bar, as he did from time to time. Naturally Flavia Lucilla became a subject of conversation. Fortunatus needed to be reassured that his young brother would be able to tolerate her; there was nothing so awkward as a financial arrangement that failed to work out . . . ‘I only saw her all veiled up, but they say she’s tasty.’

‘Passable,’ shrugged Gaius.

With male complacence, he reflected that his assessment that first time he met her had been right; Flavia Lucilla had grown up quite attractively. The scrawny girl had filled out and fluffed up, fulfilling his prophecy to such an extent Gaius Vinius preened himself on his astuteness.

Fortunatus led a blameless life. His wife ensured that he ate dinner at home, every night without exception. She was also prone to turning up at whatever site he was working on, to bring his lunch, or for some other domestic reason, at unexpected times of day. His men joked that Galatia came to pick him up and take him home safely when they knocked off work, though that was untrue; she frequently left Fortunatus to find his own way home since, after all, he was not a schoolboy.

He was eager that his young brother should enjoy more excitement.

‘Are you screwing her?’

‘Not yet.’ Out of pity, Gaius went along with his brother’s need to be titillated. As Fortunatus drooled with jealousy, Gaius quipped, ‘She will have to wait until I’m in a good mood.’

O Jupiter. Gaius, you lucky beggar!

Fortunatus concluded their gossip in his favourite way. He was master of the well-placed fart.

Vinius went home to his own house where in due course he made love to his wife. There was no point a man being married unless he availed himself of his rights if ever, and indeed whenever, he had the opportunity.

Supposing that intercourse would make him approachable, Verania afterwards asked if it was true that the Emperor had raised the pay of the armed forces. Vinius pretended it was just a rumour. Luckily his salary, after deductions, was paid into the soldiers’ savings bank; that was kept in armoured chests under the shrine at the Praetorian Camp, well beyond the grasp of wives who were, after all, not supposed to exist.

Domitian had in truth given the troops an astonishing raise; he had increased pay across the board by a third. Who knew what the damage to the Treasury was – but who cared? It made the soldiers happy and secured the army’s loyalty.

They approved of more than that. Although the literary commentators who had stayed in Rome picking their noses all satirised the new Germanicus for indulging in a fake Triumph, the soldiers assessed his expedition differently. They could see how invading the Chatti formed part of the careful strategy to beef up frontiers against the very real threat of invasion. And Domitian now had another success. News came that Agricola, the governor of Britain, had won a major battle against the northern British tribes in some wild place called Mons Graupius; he brought more of the island under Roman control than had ever happened before (or would ever happen again).

All this made for a good mood in the army. The legions might never love Domitian as they had Vespasian and Titus, with their grasp of logistics, brilliance at siege warfare and willingness to be in the thick of it, fighting hand to hand. But Domitian had won the troops over.

He would need that. Because it soon became clear he was gripped by an obsession that he had enemies everywhere.

P
aris. Paris the actor and dancer . . . Domitian decided that Paris had become Domitia Longina’s lover. The Emperor frequently brooded alone on this subject, but once he began goading his suspect wife, everyone was mesmerised.

When are you going to confess?

Oh please! Not that again.

He is your lover; admit it.

I would not demean myself.

You must take me for an idiot.

No, dear; you’re just sick . . .

Lucilla and Lara witnessed some of the upsets.

As Lara said, it must be hard trying to throw yourself into a rampaging private quarrel, when so many other people surrounded you. The Empress always had her attendants; the Emperor trailed his bodyguard. Scores of other functionaries roamed adjacent staterooms and corridors, with hundreds elsewhere in the palace. Their presence was physically oppressive and accompanied by a permanent level of noise. Slaves had no incentive to do their work quietly. People waiting for an audience would gossip, cough and make complaints. Freedmen from the imperial secretariats called out to one another loudly as they traversed intersections or bent their heads over scrolls in corners of peristyle gardens, speaking up over the mumbling of gardeners and the splash of fountains.

They were in Rome. The Emperor needed to be on the spot; he was reviewing his huge city rebuild. Civic works took precedence, as his architects reconstructed the fire damage; there would be many new buildings too: a remodelled overflow forum, new temples for the deified Vespasian and Titus and for Domitian’s favourite gods, extra entertainment facilities. Until he fulfilled plans to monumentalise imperial accommodation on the Palatine, his family stayed in the Domus Aurea, Nero’s Golden House; the Flavians had always indicated they would only be lodgers in that notorious extravaganza but so far other building projects took priority and after more than ten years they were still here. The exquisitely decorated corridors and intricately linked rooms gave ample opportunity for sweeping about in a rage.

Flavia Domitilla, who was herself pregnant again and lumbering uncomfortably, had lent Lara and Lucilla to her cousin the Empress, to ease well-reported marital problems. Nothing had been mentioned openly – nothing ever was – but they understood it was their task to support Domitia Longina as she tried to prevent her marriage unravelling. She was a woman who looked too determined to be beaten by a quarrel. She had a strong hooked nose any general would be proud of, full cheeks and an incipient double chin; yet she was pampered enough to believe in her own looks, and of course still young.

Within the suite where they were styling Domitia, cushion-plumpers and tray-bearers came and went as if their minor errands were all important. The surroundings were sumptuous, wearying to the eye, a clutter of overstuffed upholstery, drapes and often startling statues. A rash of ornate daybeds and side-tables filled the cavernous room, among towering stone candelabra whose last night’s smoke still lingered.

The day began as routine. When Domitian burst in, everyone froze. Always prone to blushing, he had coloured up. His wife tensed, though she hid it. The two sisters saw a marital fight coming. Some attendants scattered. Lara and Lucilla followed protocol, abruptly standing still with lowered eyes. Domitian was prowling between them and the double doors he had flung open; they could not make a discreet withdrawal.

Domitia had had ten years of practice with her husband. The trick was to let him be the centre of attention.

I know you had an affair.

You are winding yourself up needlessly.

Stop lying to me . . .

There had certainly been a shift in this famous marriage. Domitian had returned from Europe suffering agonies of jealousy. It seemed to blow up from nowhere, though Lucilla suspected Domitia Longina had unwittingly contributed. She had misplayed her position when left behind in Rome. In the anticlimax after his campaign and triumph, the new Germanicus was now all too ready to ponder uncomfortably on what might have happened in his absence. Domitian never liked feeling left out, even though he preferred solitude. Now he had a new game: brooding over these fears that his wife had been unfaithful.

If the ‘visit to Gaul’ had been merely ceremonial, Domitia Longina might have gone abroad with him. Although he took courtiers, she did not escort her husband. She was Corbulo’s daughter. She could have stomached a few weeks of pecking at unusual titbits among men with moustaches and trousers. But Roman commanders did not take high-born wives into battle, which had always been the expedition’s real purpose. So she was left in Rome.

Problems had begun when their son died. They had lost their young boy and were not coping well. Domitia was both grieving and resenting any pressure for her to immediately produce another heir. Breeding called for conjugal relations. There were doubts whether that was happening.

The couple guarded their privacy. People were not even sure how many children they had produced; if they ever had a daughter too, as some believed, her little life must have been even shorter than the boy’s. His existence was recorded; he was pictured on coins; now he was shown among the stars, dead and deified.

Neither of his parents could open up and talk about it. In a festering atmosphere of secrecy, Domitian’s response to loss was as strangulated as always. They gave each other no consolation. Domitia froze; Domitian consorted with his eunuchs. Domitia tolerated that, since at least he had not taken a senatorial mistress who would usurp her position. There had been strife, though not a rift, but when he left for the north it must have been a relief to both of them. For Domitia, his absence brought unprecedented freedom.