Deadly Election (37 page)

His uncle shrugged and admitted without drama, ‘Yes, he surprised us.’

‘Take my advice. Unless you accept the new Tiberius, you will lose him.’

This time Tullius laughed out loud. ‘You imagine I shall lose him to
you
?’

‘Well, I do like the new version, as he knows. But he makes his own choices,’ I said. ‘One thing I respect is that, since you had him at sixteen, some of Tiberius Manlius as he is today must be your creation.’

‘Oh, you are a clever one!’ Tullius scorned this as flattery, though I had meant what I said.

I had argued with much more dangerous men than him; undermined a few of them. ‘May I go home now, please?’

Not yet. My argument with Tullius Icilius had hardly started.

We stayed in the atrium, the staff gathered on the sidelines. They all stood still with their eyes cast down, trying to look unobtrusive in case Tullius dismissed them. I thought he enjoyed having an audience. He lolled his well-padded posterior against a heavy side-table, a man who loved holding forth when he assumed he had control. I stood erect. I must have been healthier and stronger than when I had returned to Rome.

Now Tullius dumped his clincher on me. He began by saying there were ambitious plans for Tiberius who, I was assured, would go along with them. His uncle bragged that financial control of their business affairs was kept in his hands, limiting his nephew’s freedom of action. He had accustomed Tiberius to a soft life, a luxury he would want not to lose. Unfortunately, I saw the force of that argument.

His uncle said Tiberius did not even realise how privileged his life had been. He had never concerned himself with the family business; to illustrate that, some years ago Tiberius had been allocated a warehouse in his own name yet he had not done anything with it.

‘What’s in it?’ I asked automatically.

‘Nothing.’

‘Is it secure? Is it waterproof?’ My questions clearly surprised Tullius. ‘He should hire guards and acquire tenants.’ Not the solution Tullius had intended! He didn’t want me beefing up his nephew to use his resources. ‘I expect Tiberius Manlius shied away from competition with you, who are the expert. But he evidently has thoughts of striking out on his own now, proven by that property he has bought in Lesser Laurel Street.’

Tullius scoffed. Tiberius had acquired it but had no funds for its refurbishment.

‘Of course you may refuse him finance,’ I conceded. I paused, letting the threat make its own point. ‘You would suffer if he decided to force you. He could do that. He manifestly has his own money, even though you have always taken charge. But a split would be stupid. Everybody loses when a good family business is broken up.’ Again, Tullius had not expected me to speak so shrewdly. Again, sadly, it made no impression on him.

That was when the uncle utterly floored me. He crowed that he was delighted when Faustus went into home-buying. Nothing could have been better. The reason would be announced at a musical evening tomorrow, an elegant gathering of influential plebeians to celebrate the end of the political campaign. This election party would be at the house of Marcia Balbilla, a social climber I knew was close friends with Laia Gratiana.

Manlius Faustus, his uncle told me, had so impressed everyone as an aedile that among his social circle − a circle in which, Tullius pointed out pleasantly, I had no standing − he was happily forgiven any youthful indiscretion. At the soirée tomorrow he would be welcomed back by those he had once offended. Tomorrow when Laia’s brother, Salvius Gratus, made the formal announcement of his planned wedding, Tullius Icilius would give their friends yet more good news. The election coalition between Gratus and Vibius had borne unexpected fruit. Old friendships had been rekindled. To the joy of both their families, his nephew Faustus was to be married again to Laia Gratiana.

I
never saw that coming.

It had to be true. It is how such things are done. Despite everything, despite how Tiberius spoke to me and looked at me, even though he was in love, I accepted he would see the benefit of a good social alliance. He had obeyed his uncle for twenty years. He valued what his uncle had done for him. Everything he himself owned was tied up with the warehouses and he was inured to agreeing with whatever was asked, for the sake of the family business in which he shared. But it would be a disaster.

I was startled and angry. Indeed, I was so angry on my friend’s behalf, I risked appearing quite naïve. ‘That’s a wicked proposal. I believed you must have affection for your nephew − how wrong I was! He and Laia Gratiana were always incompatible. If he failed her in their marriage, that is why. Nothing has changed; they cannot begin to communicate, neither of them even wants to. I am astonished she has agreed to this, though of course if her brother asks it of her, she is a dutiful woman. Nobody who cares for Tiberius could doom him to that again. You cannot care, or you would know this plan is selfish, cruel and dangerous.’

I could not go on.

Head high, I turned away. Behind me I heard Tullius order me out of their house, but I left of my own accord. He might now regret letting his slaves hear what I said to him. They all liked Tiberius, who was a generous, kindly master.

Somehow, unaware of how I made the journey, I went home to Fountain Court. In my heart, I was hoping I might find Tiberius there but the apartment was empty.

I
spent another sleepless night, though it was not the heat that distressed me.

By morning I was strangely reconciled. I accepted I was losing him.

Was it a measure of my love that I never at any point raged against Tiberius? I wished no harm on him. I felt no fury. I was only clear that, if he did marry Laia, I could have no more to do with him. For one thing, if he allowed himself to be pitched into that arid marriage again, I would be bitterly disappointed in him. I had thought he had more self-regard.

I was desolate myself yet, to my surprise, my first thoughts were to protect Tiberius. Despite that, I did not want to see him. I rejected breakfast at the Stargazer, though it seemed probable he would be there, looking for me. I made myself scarce, carrying out domestic errands that took me away from the apartment, then hid at my parents’ house. I was trying to avoid a falling-out. That was interesting, because once I would have torn right in to confront and censure him.

Bored, I emerged and bought a snack lunch, which I ate alone in the deserted enclosure called the Armilustrium. Tiberius knew it as a place I went to, though he did not come there to find me. That was good. I had not bought enough food to share.

I found myself making a comparison between myself, in this eerie mood of tolerance, and the brooding wrath of Julia Verecunda when she lost the man she had set her heart on. I wondered if the difference was that I loved mine, whereas she had only coveted Valens possessively. I wanted an equal companion. She wanted power.

People with that fault in their nature are prone to jealousy and suspicion, even if their elective choice accepts them. Many lose lovers through their extreme behaviour. Verecunda probably never stood a chance with Valens. Over-possessiveness can be very well hidden, but a strong character will resist its controlling nature. Valens was too wise to be trapped.

I was genuinely not jealous of Laia Gratiana. I feared what Faustus would do, yet I knew he did not want her. His heart belonged to me. Yet would he act upon it?

At one low point, the idea flitted into my mind that maybe he planned to show the house in Lesser Laurel Street to Laia Gratiana. It was extremely convenient for the Temple of Ceres, where she held her implacable sway in the cult.

No. Laia would not like that house. She definitely would not want to live next to a building yard. On the other hand
I
would never object to a man who had his work premises next door to where he lived. The first suggestion I would make, in fact, was to knock a door through for direct access into the yard from the house … This was too dangerous a dream.

Sad but calm, I left the Armilustrium and made my way home.

Stepping into the cold gloom of the entrance to the Eagle Building, I heard male voices. Faustus was there. I saw him sitting on the bench he had bought for me, holding court with his slave, Dromo, and my porter, Rodan. They were discussing the elections, seriously, man to man. I stood out of sight, listening.

Faustus was reporting on the likely outcome of their campaign. ‘The lobbying is over and names will go forward to the Senate. Of course, the level of support they have managed to gather – or not! – will influence the vote. The hard candidates, Trebonius Fulvo and Arulenus Crescens, have streaked ahead.’

Rodan naturally thought that good. He had been a feeble gladiator, retired by his trainer because his only habit was losing. Still, he liked men who went to the gym. ‘Brilliant!’

‘Well, they have worked for it and deserve it.’ Faustus was a fair man. ‘After them is the woozy one, Dillius Surus.’

Dromo chuckled. ‘He’ll have good experience for regulating bars.’

‘I think he drinks at home,’ Faustus demurred, smiling.

‘What about the others, Master? What about that fellow you like?’

‘Trickier, Dromo. The last three are neck and neck. Ennius is about to be connected to a tragic scandal, bad enough to damn him. Otherwise, my man and his co-runner seem to be heading for a tie. If so, a helpful senator says he’ll get up and propose placing them in the traditional order – that is, precedence to married men with children. Vibius is married and a father of two. Gratus is getting married, but has no children.’

‘Can he adopt some?’

‘I don’t think it counts, Rodan. Otherwise people standing for election would all foster orphans just for the voting period!’

I stepped out into view. Watching Tiberius closely, I saw his face light when he saw me. ‘Albia, there you are!’

Expressionless, I walked over to them. Dromo slipped off the bench to make space for me, but I remained standing.

‘Who is your useful senator?’

‘Camillus Aelianus made the offer.’

‘Aulus!’ The surly one.

‘Yes, I was surprised. But your uncle seems to mean it.’

Faustus signalled to his slave and the porter to leave us, saying we had things to discuss. That was truer than he knew.

I did sit, at the other end of the bench. He held out a hand for me to move closer, but I pretended not to notice.

It was more than a day since we were last together, when we interviewed the vigiles about Valens’s slaves. I said I had no more news, so Faustus should give his catch-up first.

He stared at me curiously, but then began. He made no reference to his uncle. Tullius could not have said anything. ‘Yesterday first: I saw the Callisti. They owned up that their slaves say Valens recognised the leader of the group who attacked him.’

‘Aspicius?’

‘Yes. Valens told them to run home and warn the family, as we know. But with Valens dead, only the slaves are witnesses to who took part in the ambush. In law they have to be tortured to give usable evidence. The family do not want that.’

I sighed. ‘Can we squeeze a confession out of Aspicius? He could be offered a deal, if he implicates Julia Verecunda.’

Faustus pulled a face. ‘Unfortunately we can’t find him.’

Groaning at that, I asked, ‘What have you tried?’

They had started with a vigiles search of the hod-carrier’s workplace and home. Aspicius had not been seen in his usual haunts for days. He had left the site where he worked, and neighbours said he had not been home. They told the vigiles he had been brooding about his missing wife, claiming he knew where Pomponia had gone. Faustus feared Aspicius might follow her to Fidenae, so he had spent most of yesterday and half the night racing back there with mounted men to rescue her.

‘We brought the woman and baby back to a safe house in Rome. She made a fuss but I insisted.’

‘Does she admit to knowing what her husband did?’

‘There was no time to interrogate her. We came back in the dark. It’s a damned long way, even for cavalry.’

‘You can ride?’

‘Country upbringing.’

‘You looked whacked.’ He was tired out, and no wonder.

‘Yes, I am.’ My man was pleading to be comforted; it was hard not to respond.

Instead, I reported my own fears that the Callisti would go after Aspicius. Faustus had already thought of that: he had told the vigiles to send him word if any suspicious bodies turned up.

We discussed Julia Verecunda. I explained her history with Valens, her tireless jealousy and manipulative nature, her attempts to subvert her daughters’ marriages, and how Philippus and I thought she must have paid money to abort the election hopes of Volusius Firmus. Faustus said that yesterday the Callistus brothers and Firmus had evidently worked out who must have employed Aspicius.

I asked if anyone had interviewed her. Faustus had attempted it this morning. At her most old-fashioned, Julia Verecunda had claimed the full privilege of a Roman matron to have a male relative speak on her behalf.

‘Oh, no. Not Ennius?’

‘Yes, Mother’s Boy! But don’t despair,’ Faustus told me. ‘Ennius came good. He surprised me. He must have amazed his mother.’

‘What with?’

‘Well, whether or not Julia Verecunda intended that Valens should die, ultimately she organised the ambush and caused his death, which cannot be ignored. Ennius asked me not to put her to a public trial. Instead − and I agreed this, so I hope it meets with your approval − he has called a full family council in the ancient tradition. You know what that means, Albia?’

‘The charges against his mother will be judged by her assembled family. The family will give their verdict; the family will decide any punishment.’

‘Exactly. Ennius will preside. He gave the impression he is going to be tough on her. It takes place later today. I shall be present as an observer,’ said Faustus. ‘You can accompany me, if you would like.’

I nodded.

It was the hottest part of the day. We were burning up in the courtyard. I stood and said I would see Faustus later. I was going indoors, and made it obvious that he was not invited. He stood up too. He looked hurt, but made no attempt to follow me.