Fronto poured out a cup of water for Agrippa. Varro finally entered the room, flattening his hair and smoothing down the creases in his tunic. He offered up a respectful bow before speaking:
“My apologies, Consul. I was up late last night, working on a new poem.”
“I rather suspect you were working your way through your wine cellar, but no matter. You are here now.”
Varro took in the figure before him, whilst trying not to look him directly in the eye. Agrippa was only a few years older than Varro but he had lived ten lifetimes to his one. At nineteen he had accompanied Octavius to Rome, after hearing of the death of Caesar on the Ides of March. Agrippa trained as a soldier and fought at the battles of Mutina and Philippi. When Sextus Pompey – and his fleet of pirate ships – caused havoc on the seas and interrupted the grain supply Octavius called upon his closest friend to defeat his enemy – which he duly did. Caesar may have been the voice of Rome, but his lieutenant turned words into deeds. Bread and circuses were only maintained due to Agrippa’s management of the grain supply and his various building projects around the city.
The consul’s eyes were as brown and hard as acorns. He was dressed in a plain tunic, as opposed to toga. Whereas some statues can resonate with beauty and elegance Marcus Agrippa projected a sense of authority and competence. Good living had softened some of his muscle definition, but the consul was still powerfully built. His expression often remained impassive, neither smiling nor frowning. His demeanour was serious, but not severe. Indeed, after their meeting Varro thought that the consul had an air of mournfulness, or sorrow, about him. His prominent, corrugated brow hung over his eyes. Years of campaigning – and the death of his wife, Caecilia - had chipped away at his heart and humour.
“Please, take a seat,” Agrippa instructed, the guest acting like the master of the house. The consul was used to men following his orders, although he was not afraid to listen to his subordinates, should they proffer helpful advice. Agrippa prized efficiency over self-aggrandisement.
Varro sat on one of his couches and remained silent, nervously turning the ring on his finger. Sweat, from heat and anxiety, glazed his temples.
“I’m not sure if you know but I had cause to meet your father on a number of occasions, several years ago. Although he originally sided against us during the civil war Appius eventually realised that Caesar was Rome’s best hope, after Antony surrendered himself to the wiles and ambitions of Cleopatra. Your father was an accomplished commander, not given to sacrificing his men like burnt offerings to the gods. He also behaved with integrity as a statesman, which is easier said than done. I am surprised that you did not try and follow in your father’s footsteps and enter the army or submit to the course of honours.”
Varro thought how Agrippa was not the first person to posit how surprised, or disappointed, they were in him not living up to his father’s legacy. He had flirted with joining the army for all of two seconds as an adolescent. Varro had no desire to die in a foreign field for a cause which he little cared for or understood.
“As adept as I am at lying – and being selfish – I still don’t think I have it in me to be a politician. I’m a poet. We write about life, rather than prosaically live it,” Varro drily asserted.
Agrippa was unmoved by the reply. Partly he had been distracted by one of the benches outside in the garden. He remembered sitting on a similar bench when he had first met Caecilia, over ten years ago, at Cicero’s villa in Puteoli. The view across the valley had been picturesque, but he barely noticed it. Instead her bright blue eyes and shimmering silk stola burned themselves into his memory and soul. Caecilia had been his first and only love. Agrippa felt like his life was over when she passed away. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Caesar had encouraged his lieutenant to marry his young niece, Claudia Marcella, partly to help take his friend’s mind off his grief and partly to strengthen his dynastic ambitions. Agrippa gently shook his head, in regret and remorse, as he recalled the scene. Or he shook his head in chiding himself, for dwelling upon such painful memories when he should be focussed on work.
“I’m pleased you think that you’re adept at lying, as you will need to call upon the skill for what I am about to propose. A friend of mine, Quintus Verres, was found dead yesterday morning, having been murdered the night before. His throat was slit. His servants said there hadn’t been any sign of a forced entry at the first-floor apartment on the Quirinal Hill. I believe that his murder wasn’t committed by someone in his household, though I cannot wholly rule out that possibility. Thankfully his wife and children were spending time at the family villa in Astura, when the killing took place, else they would have been murdered while they slept too, I fear. I was first introduced to Verres years ago, by Cornelius Balbus, Julius Caesar’s old ally. Verres was an agent, who ran various informants in Rome and served as a winnowing shovel for who was an enemy or supporter of Caesar’s reforms. His services didn’t come cheap, but he was a valuable asset. Verres helped recruit several senators to our cause, through bribes or other means, during the war. During our last meeting he informed me that Lucius Scaurus had come to his attention as a possible enemy of the state, without divulging any other details.”
Varro had met the affluent and influential senator, Lucius Scaurus, on more than one occasion. He must have now been close to sixty years old, but age had not dulled his appetites or ambitions. His wealth was principally derived from mining interests. The civil war – and the demand for weapons and armour – had been good for business. Scaurus originally made a name for himself as an aedile. He arranged games for the city, which rivalled those of Julius Caesar several years before him. All manner of exotic beasts were slain by teams of gladiators (although sometimes the animals gored their opponents to death, much to the delight of the crowds). Rumour had it that Scaurus made a profit by selling the remains of the beasts – and their victims – to Rome’s butchers and gourmets. The senator was a powerful man who could doubtless win – or purchase - the support of several patricians and factions in the Senate. But surely Scaurus would not be so foolhardy as to somehow challenge Caesar and become an enemy of the state, Varro thought.
“Should Scaurus be guilty of any wrongdoing then I’m sure he’ll be apprehended. If nothing else Caesar has proved proficient in dealing with – and defeating – his enemies,” he remarked, thinking how even if Scaurus was innocent of any wrongdoing he could still be easily prosecuted. Innocence wouldn’t get in the way of punishing the senator, should Augustus will it.
“Caesar isn’t above the law.”
Inside Varro raised his eyebrows and smirked at Agrippa’s ability to keep a straight face whist uttering the words.
“Of course.”
“Caesar has no desire to open up old wounds, not if he can avoid it. Prosecuting and punishing Scaurus, without any just cause, could create more problems that it would solve. Cutting off one head may cause two others to grow. And you never know, Scaurus may be wholly guiltless of any crimes against the state, although there’s more chance of me breeding unicorns. But proscriptions, blood feuds, factionalism in the Senate – all need to be consigned to history. We cannot be seen to be a dictatorship. Yet peace comes at the price of constant vigilance. I hear rumours of plots against Caesar almost every day. I’d be suspicious if there wasn’t one. The enemy now is inside the gates. But what the nest of vipers need to realise is that, should any snakes venture outside the nest, or raise their heads too high, then their necks will be wrung. We can all pray to Fortuna – but we cannot rely on the gods to preserve the peace. Which is why I’m relying on you, Rufus Varro. As well as mentioning that you were a good liar, both to others and yourself, your father mentioned that you have a weakness for women – and that crucially they have a weakness for you. He said that women give you their hearts, but you never give yours away in return.”
“It seems my father said more to you in a handful of meetings, than he said during a lifetime spent with me,” Varro drolly emitted.
“Do I have any choice in the matter?”
Varro realised he would need to surrender to events now. But events can change, and he nursed a hope that he could somehow extricate himself from his fate, once he had time to think. He was willing to work hard to maintain his life of leisure.
“You could say yes, but you would be lying to yourself. But do not consider yourself trapped, Rufus. Rather I am giving you an opportunity, to climb out of the hole you have dug for yourself. You may live comfortably, but wealth isn’t worth. You may enjoy writing, but words aren’t deeds. Rome still needs honourable men to protect her, it’s just that sometimes they need to work in the shadows. And all I am asking you to do is to continue to be a gossip. You are a poet, which means you have little immunity against vanity. But whereas you may desire a certain clique of people to gossip about you, your brief now will be to ensure that people gossip to you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Agrippa continued to brief Varro on the job at hand, providing him with further intelligence on Scaurus and his allies. The senator was also hosting a party that evening, which Varro would attend and re-introduce himself to Cassandra and her husband.
“I will leave it to you to judge the lay of the land… Subtly imply that you have little love for Caesar when you talk to Scaurus. But make haste slowly,” Agrippa advised, borrowing a maxim from his friend, Octavius. “Eventually we can bait the hook and catch him… Do not underestimate Lucius however. He’s intelligent and ruthless. Rumour has it that he poisoned his brother-in-law when he discovered he was indebted too much – and a business partner offered to marry his sister in return for signing a contract for mining rights. As much as you seem to have a love for staying in bed, I do not want you dying in your sleep… I much prefer the honesty of an open battle to the back-stabbing games played-out by ignoble politicians. But we are where we are.”
Agrippa also instructed his new agent that his assignment must remain a secret. Varro countered however that he would need the help and council of his bodyguard and his elderly attendant, Fronto.
“You can trust Manius more than you can me.”
“He is the Briton and former gladiator is he not? I believe I saw him fight once, in the arena. His technique was matched by his brute strength. Every Briton I know drinks more than what’s good for him, but what they lack in acumen they more than make up for in courage.”
“Fronto can be trusted too. He’s so old that, whatever I tell him, he’ll forget by morning.”
Agrippa finished his debriefing and, without ceremony, took his leave. He believed Varro had it in him to prove equal to his task. The consul was just unsure whether Varro believed it too.
Fronto entered the triclinium, his wizened countenance more wrinkled than usual. His master was sitting on the couch, with his head in his hands. Either in despair or mourning, for his past life.
“What happened? At least we can be thankful that you’re not being hauled away in chains,” Fronto remarked, curious and worried.
“I’m not so sure. It might be a preferable fate. My father might be pleased though. I’ve been called upon to work for the good of Rome. Unfortunately.”
6.
A brace of butterflies danced across the scene, either in a courtship ritual or one desired to escape the other’s advances. A few ambling clouds smudged the sky, to take the sting out of the midday sun.
Manius and Camilla sat side by side, overlooking the undulating Tiber, on a blanket of grass. The gardens, which had once belonged to the Clodii family, were now open to the public, by order of Caesar. Several plumes of smoke, from houses and bakeries on the opposite side of the river, drifted upwards and melted into the warm air. The clatter of wooden swords sounded in the background, as a couple of children played at being soldiers. A rake-thin mime appeared from nowhere and stood in front of the couple but Manius gave him a look, which intimated an obscenity or three, to communicate that they did not want to be disturbed.
“So, did you go out last night with Rufus?” Camilla asked, casually but curious.
“Yes, he wanted to visit the Subura. I thought it best I accompany him, as it was late and he had a few drinks,” Manius replied, hoping that he wouldn’t be forced to lie to her about how events unfolded towards the end of the evening.
“Is the Subura as bad as they say?”
“It’s probably worse, in some respects. I wouldn’t recommend you travel there by night, or even by day. But the district is home to decent, hard-working people too – trying to survive or better their lot.”
“My father has forbidden me from going there. I’m occasionally tempted to don a disguise and have a few of my attendants accompany me though. I’ve been locked up, like a Vestal Virgin, for too long. My father too often treats me like a priceless statue, forever fearing that I might break, if exposed to the weather or people.”
Manius imagined how Aulus Sanga might crack, or even explode, when his daughter revealed how she was being courted by a suitor from somewhere even worse than the Subura. Britannia.
He breathed in her jasmine infused perfume, as if storing up the fragrance to re-live it later. He also drunk in her good looks. The sun brought out the freckles on her rounded cheeks. Her hair was pinned-up, but two tendrils on either side of her head hung down, framing her pretty features. Her snub nose would scrunch up slightly just before she laughed, Manius noticed. Her startling eyes, bordered by innocent and coquettish lashes, could probe and yet make someone feel at ease at the same time. Did he think she was beautiful because he loved her, or did he love her because she was beautiful?
“Your father is just trying to keep you safe.”
“But the truth must out. I’m intending to tell him about you – and how I feel – this afternoon. I have asked our cook to prepare his favourite food.”
Camilla had been preparing some of her arguments too. Her father always said he wanted her to be happy. Manius made her happy. Therefore, he should allow them to be together. Unlike other suitors Manius wasn’t motivated by money. He would not ask for a dowry.
Manius hoped Sanga wouldn’t end up choking on his favourite food after he heard what his daughter had to say.
He reached over and clasped his hand in hers, to comfort her. The rough with the smooth.
Varro made his way across the Palatine. He occasionally nodded his head and smiled politely at an acquaintance, but he was in no mood to stop and chat. He wended his way through the human
traffic, scurrying to and from the Forum: merchants, messengers, slaves, officials and shoppers.
He thought how it had been a while since he had walked so quickly and determinedly. Should I give thanks to the almighty Augustus for my new-found purpose? Varro thought about all the honours conferred upon Caesar in January. A laurel wreath was hung on one of the Princep’s properties to indicate how he had saved the lives of Roman citizens (no mention was made of the lives he had taken however). An ornate, golden shield was also mounted on one of the walls of the Senate House, with Caesar’s chief virtues inscribed around the rim: clemency, justice, valour and piety. Varro considered how he could select some other choice words to describe the dictator.
Rumour had it that Octavius wished to re-name himself Romulus, as opposed to Augustus. But Maecenas warned that Romulus conjured up thoughts of a king. Romulus had also murdered his brother and, so one version of his life ran, was killed at the hands of the Senate.
Varro avoided an oncoming litter – and mound of dung - on the street whilst wondering how much he was working for the good of Rome and how much he was working for the good of Caesar. Agrippa would have loyally pronounced that they were one in the same thing.
Caesar would soon be departing from Rome to lead a campaign in Spain which was why, when the Princep turned his back on the city, Agrippa needed to ensure that no one stabbed Octavius in the back and attempted a grab for power. Caesar’s chief lieutenant didn’t want any trouble on his watch, lest he found himself being replaced by the likes of Maecenas as the Second Man of Rome.
It was not unreasonable to think how Agrippa might be paranoid in speculating that Lucius Scaurus was an enemy of the state. Quintus Verres could have been killed by a burglar. He could have been having an affair, or an old enemy could have exacted revenge on him. Varro decided to collect more intelligence and evidence, before the party that evening, to ascertain how guilty or innocent Scaurus might be.
Blood & Honour Page 4