Last of the five siblings was Ennius Verecundus, no longer smiling as he had done so inanely during the campaign. His pale wife arrived on his arm, then sat leaning towards him; I found her manner indicative. I deduced that when they were alone in private they held long conversations. The pale thing was a traditional confidante and her presence was giving Ennius courage. I bet she had advised him what to say.
Last, the mother stomped in. Her freedwoman followed her and two male guards; she waved them away truculently. After they stood back on the edge of the circle, Julia Verecunda was left looking old, frail and alone. That was deliberate theatre. Nobody would have called her vulnerable. Without actually refusing to appear at the council, she showed she was here on sufferance. She was swathed in black, with a long Livia veil.
At first I thought she intended to remain covered, but she put the veil back from her face because it hid the glares that she directed at everyone. Even silent, she emitted loathing for everyone present. Now that I knew her history, I saw near-mania in the way her eyes darted to anyone who spoke. I could imagine the decades of long-distance envy she had sent towards her happier sister, the vengeful thoughts she had aimed at Callistus Valens.
She did not care that he was dead. She would have obliterated all of us, and never shown remorse.
I had attended a family council once before. They have the force of law. Ours had been a last resort in combating some truly terrible crimes; in retrospect, attending that meeting twelve years ago had marked my true growing up. I wondered, would the same be true for young Julia Valentina, brought to witness proceedings as a bereaved granddaughter? I had been a little older than her. At thirteen, she sat twisting her girl’s skinny bracelet and dangling her feet, visibly awed by the occasion.
Ennius took charge. He was thorough, yet did not allow delaying tactics or emotional outbursts. He said the purpose of the council was to ensure his mother’s rights as a citizen: not to have anyone lay hands on her nor have her liberty constrained. As a woman she would be accorded the decency of a private judgement. She had the right to a trial. Her family would judge her actions and, if they found her guilty, would decide what happened to her. It might also be necessary to compensate the Callisti for their loss. Ennius had promised Callistus Primus that a council was being held and that he would be told the outcome.
Ennius stated the charges: that his mother had arranged the attack on Callistus Valens, employing her son-in-law Aspicius; during his ordeal Valens had somehow perished; his body had been impiously concealed. There were witnesses to the initial attack and the corpse had now been identified. Aspicius had gone on the run, which argued his guilt.
Ennius asked if Julia Verecunda wanted to say anything. She refused to speak.
I had seen killers take the stubborn, silent route. Sometimes they, or their slaves or associates, were persuaded through the use of torture. Ennius pointed out that he would prevent that.
Others then made statements. They spoke solemnly. The rest listened without interruption.
Julia Pomponia, Aspicius’s wife, was the most important witness. She stated that early in July her mother had come to their house to see her husband about some special task, for which Aspicius was paid money. At first Pomponia was unaware what had been discussed. After the event, Aspicius told her all about the attack. According to him, Callistus Valens collapsed of heat exhaustion when they reached Rome. He was not beaten up, but died of natural causes. An accident, Aspicius claimed; there had been no intention to kill him. Verecunda had said that the point of capturing Valens was so she could humiliate him, avenge his rejection of her all those years ago, and gloat about how she had punished his family since. She had arrived on the scene soon after Valens died. She ordered the incarceration of the body in the strongbox in the storeroom. She decided they would keep Valens’s death a secret from his family, to cause them more distress as they agonised over what could have happened.
Next, Julia Optata gave witness. It was the first time I had seen Sextus’s wife speaking at any length. She managed to come across as the sweet woman Marcella Vibia had once called her. Julia confirmed that Pomponia had told her the same story, terrified of what Aspicius would do to her and the new baby when it came. Pomponia had been so frightened that Julia Optata helped her escape the marital home, after which another sister was intending to give her refuge overseas. Julia Optata added that yesterday Aspicius had turned up at the Vibius house. He believed his wife was there, and demanded access to ‘deal with’ Pomponia. He issued wild threats, terrified everybody, then stormed off.
Next was Julia Laurentina, Firmus’s wife. She reported news from her brother-in-law, Callistus Primus, not present because he was no longer a relative. He had now ascertained from Palace sources that a senior official called Titinius Capito had been paid by Julia Verecunda to remove the Emperor’s grant allowing Volusius Firmus to call himself ‘Caesar’s candidate’.
At that, Firmus himself growled from where he was seated that he would never be able to stand for election again, due to lack of funds. Julia Laurentina resumed her seat, putting an arm round him.
Julia Terentia was the last sister to give testimony. Among that self-assured bunch, she came across as the most confident. Making much of her power derived from her money, she confirmed that for many years she had supported the hard-up Pomponia and Aspicius, as a favour to her impoverished sister. In light of Aspicius’s irresponsible behaviour, she had recently warned them she would stop paying. All he did with the money was go to bars where he started fights. Julia Terentia knew that cutting off handouts left the couple in great hardship, but she saw no other option. She had advised Pomponia to leave him. Terentia said Aspicius had come to her house yesterday, too. When he threatened the occupants, Dillius hurled a big amphora at him, then chased him away.
Ennius then read out a statement from Claudia Galeria, wife of Titus Niger, that a chilling conversation had left her husband in no doubt that Aspicius, who was gloating about it, had been party to the death of Valens. Niger had gone to see Aspicius about this and was himself murdered.
A brief discussion followed. The women, trained by their mother never to hold back, denounced her fiercely. Her son managed to be more moderate. Pretty soon he declared they had heard enough. He gave his mother one more chance to defend herself. She snorted, then pointedly replaced her veil over her face.
Ennius offered them a secret ballot; they all chose to put up hands openly. They voted. Their verdict was unanimous: Julia Verecunda had not planned to kill Callistus Valens, so was not guilty of murder. But she had caused his death by planning the attack and paying the man who had carried it out. Aspicius was found guilty in his absence; Julia Pomponia would be divorced from him and sent abroad for safety, while the family would cooperate with the vigiles manhunt.
Ennius pronounced his mother’s punishment. She would be taken to a distant temple on the family’s land, where she must permanently remain. She would live in the charge of the priestess, with the family providing maintenance. Anyone who wanted could visit her, but she must not return to Rome.
In addition, they would make a payment to Claudia Galeria in compensation for her husband’s murder. A suitable sum would also be paid for the death of Callistus Valens. In further settlement, they would pay the surviving Callisti a sum equal to what they had spent on their thwarted campaign for Volusius Firmus.
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As Ennius supervised the departure of his still-silent mother, the group began breaking up. The sisters swooped for farewell kisses; it would have been impossible for a stranger to tell which women were on good terms, which not speaking to one another. The girl, Valentina, was passed among them to be kissed. Sisters kissed brothers-in-law and vice versa. Brothers-in-law shook hands. Only Ennius made any gesture of farewell to Julia Verecunda who, oddly enough, accepted her son’s embrace.
A temple attendant must have been waiting until the council finished. A messenger was led up, wanting to see Faustus. While they step
ped aside, I had a quick word with Sextus Vibius, wishing him well for the election. He puffed out his cheeks, a relief of tension after the meeting. Then he grinned and asked teasingly, ‘Made his move yet?’
It was really too painful to answer, but somehow I managed to laugh back at him.
His wife whisked up, looking peeved. ‘Leave my husband alone!’ She spoke lightly enough, but with an undertone I did not like. Sextus and I had barely spoken. Any familiarity was on his side. I would much rather he had not teased me.
The others were leaving. Julia Optata took her husband away, giving him a little biff on the arm as they went. It looked playful, though not playful enough. Something about her action, and how he moved out of the way, perturbed me.
I stood waiting for Faustus, thinking.
After he finished with the messenger, he came to collect me; he raised his brows in enquiry because he could tell I was puzzling. ‘Tiberius, why would you call somebody a grain bag?’
‘A what?’
‘A “human grain bag”? In a context where it was definitely an insult.’
Everyone else had gone. Just the two of us now, we started to walk through the high colonnade, our shoes striking clops on the expensive marble slabs. I explained how Trebonius Fulvo had once dismissively listed out his rivals to me: a drunk, a wimp, a prig and a human grain bag. Dillius, Ennius, Gratus – and that grain bag was Vibius Marinus.
Troubled, Tiberius suggested an explanation: ‘Trebonius is a gym-frequenter. Apart from its agricultural meaning, sacks of grain are used for training boxers. They are hung up to be whacked, sufficiently firm to take meaningful practice punches, but with enough give in them not to cause physical harm.’
I sighed. ‘Oh dear. I have a horrible feeling. Julia Optata just showed extraordinary suspicion when all I was doing was chatting to Sextus.’
Faustus whistled through his teeth, very softly. He knew what I was suggesting. ‘Now I am worried too. Did we have it wrong? Is the violent one not Sextus but Julia? Does she keep losing her temper and battering him?’
‘Sextus vowed to you he never hits his wife, and I don’t think he lied. We ourselves have seen what happens with them.’ I said. ‘It felt extremely unpleasant. In front of us, Julia Optata snapped at Sextus over the children’s schooling; when he went off to talk to her, he looked very anxious. Now I think he may have been expecting violence.’
Tiberius explored the idea. ‘If this is true, did she behave in the same way when she was married to Callistus Primus?’
‘Primus wouldn’t stand for it. That might be why he divorced her, and so rapidly,’ I said. ‘And why the circumstances were hushed up.’
Faustus agreed. ‘It’s why her sister, who must have known the situation, took away the newborn baby, saying Julia Optata should not bring up a child – and why Primus insisted on custody.’
‘He only lets Julia Optata see Valentina with careful arrangements,’ I said. ‘Mind you, he never acknowledges any of this. He blanks all questions.’
‘Because he has to protect the child from scandal,’ explained Faustus. ‘That’s why reasons for the divorce have never surfaced and the battle for his daughter ended with a private settlement.’
‘Julia Optata’s mother knows,’ I decided. ‘Optata and Verecunda share the same traits. Not only a violent temper but unjust suspicion, especially where men are involved.’
We began to descend the long flight of steps out of the complex, which was steep. Tiberius offered me an arm; for safety I took it. He was still working out answers. ‘This is why Sextus and Julia rarely socialise. This is really why she left Rome when Sextus kept saying obliquely, “We agreed it is best.” Julia may genuinely not like crowds and she clearly wanted to look after her sister Pomponia. But the main reason was to ensure that Sextus never had to appear in the Forum showing the marks of domestic injury.’
We reached street level and walked on, round the back of the Palatine, towards the Circus Maximus.
‘This is extraordinary.’ Tiberius seemed baffled.
‘It happens.’ I lifted his hand, ruefully showing him the scars where I had once stabbed him.
‘Ah, you would not do that now.’ True. I could never hurt him; indeed, I would fight to protect him. ‘Besides, the difference is, Albiola, I was seriously in the wrong on that occasion. I would never offend you in that way nowadays.’
I nearly took him to task on what his uncle had said, but this was the wrong time. ‘Tiberius, even when a husband hits his wife, the situation tends to be well concealed. How much more so, when the wife is dangerous? A man, letting a woman batter him? It makes him no more than a slave. Think of the shame for Sextus. For her too, if she admits her temperament.’
Tiberius sighed gloomily. ‘We brought her back to him. What have we done, Albia?’
I had no answer.
As we carried on past the great curve of the Circus, we fell silent. When we spoke again, Tiberius changed the subject. He told me the messenger at the temple had come to say the vigiles had found a body. It sounded like Aspicius. The corpse had been dragged out of the Tiber that morning, an apparent drowning. If no one came forward to claim ownership, the man would be cremated at public expense and all record of him discreetly lost.
We agreed not to pursue the matter officially. Tiberius would tip the nod to Ennius, and let him decide whether to warn his sister Pomponia that she had probably lost her husband. We could never prove how Aspicius had ended up in the river, but we knew three substantial, capable men with detailed knowledge of the Tiber. They might, if they thought someone deserved it, get together on the riverbank with him. One might hold his feet, one take his arms, the third push his head underwater until he stopped kicking …
If that was what the Callisti had done to Aspicius, there was nothing to gain by accusing them and we agreed we could not blame them.
In a muted mood, we continued to walk down the long, far length of the Circus, up the hill on the crooked Vicus Publicius, then onwards to my building in Fountain Court. There, when I went up to my apartment, Tiberius followed. I let him come in with me. All the way home, I suppose I never looked at him. Indoors, he turned me so I was facing him. Hands on my shoulders he stared at me. He knew I was upset with him.
Tipping his head, he simply asked me, ‘What have I done?’
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I loved the man. I adored his straightforward openness with me.
‘You have not done it yet.’
‘There’s hope, then!’
I choked a little, throwing my arms round him, burying my face against his chest. When I let go, I told him in plain words how I had met his uncle and what Tullius had said.
His mouth dropped open slightly. I knew then: Tiberius had not been keeping this from me; he had not known himself. ‘It will never happen!’
I covered my face.
‘Albia!’ Tiberius was stricken. ‘What must you have been thinking? Oh, my Albia!’
There was no time to discuss it. He would have to take action immediately: the announcement was to be made that very evening. If a marriage was announced, and if Tiberius later refused to go through with it, he stood no chance of salvaging his relationship with Tullius, let alone calming the wrath of Laia and her brother. He cared about all that. He was a pragmatist.
For the Verecundus council he had worn his aedile’s white tunic, with its magisterial purple bands. While he buffed up to look like a man who could be admitted to a musical evening (a quick hair comb), I did question why his uncle was plunging him into this without prior discussion.
‘All my fault,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘The idea was run past me, I have to say. I never took it seriously. Uncle Tullius is so desperate, I suppose he took silence for agreement.’
‘For heaven’s sake! You need to learn to talk to people.’
‘I’m sure you will teach me! Look, I must go to this bloody lyre party. Do you want to come?’
I badly wanted to hear what he was going to say, but
ending the proposal (which her friends probably knew about) would be a public slap in the face for Laia Gratiana; my presence could only inflame the situation more. ‘No. You have to go alone.’
On the threshold, he grasped both my hands. ‘Have faith.’
If I had known in advance how long he would be gone, having faith while I waited would have been much easier.
It grew dark. I gave up on him. I cursed him, I wept, I dried my eyes and ate something. I would have got drunk but had no wine at home. I decided to send Rodan to buy a huge cheap amphora with which I could end my sorrows while writing a suitably dreadful suicide note, but as I opened the apartment door, a kerfuffle met me.
Struggling upstairs with a handcart was the aedile’s slave, Dromo. It was laden with scrolls, some in scroll boxes, some bundled and tied together, more clasped awkwardly under the arm of the overheated, agitated boy. He was too tired even to complain.
‘Stop, Dromo. Where are you going and what are all those?’
‘Stuff!’ He clumped the wheels up to the next landing and came to a halt, his handcart dangerously teetering. ‘I’m always having to haul stuff about for him.’
‘Scrolls? Tell me, Dromo.’
‘Old scrolls he’s gone and got from that warehouse, that one right over the Caelian with the boozy clerk. We’ve been scratching around and loading things for hours. It’s all his uncle’s accounts and no one is to tell Tullius we’ve got them. I’m supposed to lug my cart all on my own right up to the sixth floor of this awful building where you live, and tonight I’ve got to sleep up there to protect the stuff.’
‘And where is your master now?’
‘Getting even more stuff from our house.’
‘Go on, then,’ I said heartlessly. ‘Only four more flights and you’ll come to my office.’ I softened. ‘There’s a good couch you can lie on, and you can sleep in as long as you like tomorrow morning.’
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