‘No, he’s from Tarentum.’
‘So why act foreign?’
‘To help people trust Min’s lettuce and its legendary potency.’
‘Eating lettuce seems to do the trick,’ I said, referring to last night.
‘Nothing to do with eating it. I only sell the stuff!’ Tiberius claimed.
The Gardens of Sallust were in the north of the city, sited in a deep valley between the Quirinal and Pincian Hills. These pleasure grounds exemplified the early era of the Empire, when notables could accompany a general on campaign then come home magnificently rich, boasting a fine reputation, keen on exotic culture and with loot to pay for it.
According to Tiberius, Sallustius Crispus was a Sabine middle-ranker who managed to have a classic career: good education and misspent youth; wobbled politically until he ended up close to Julius Caesar; awarded a governorship for questionable reasons; notorious for oppressing the natives and plundering his province; retired to write history. As a writer, Sallust collected and invented words, which made him sound more likeable. His chief fame was his garden.
Like those other golden bastards, Lucullus and Maecenas, Sallust used his cash to take over a large swathe of land. He kicked out any paupers who had the bad luck to live there, created these beautiful pleasure grounds, saw them as his visible achievement in life, then in death was buried there. His name would last. Better to be remembered for topiary and neologisms than battle. Especially as any battle may be a defeat, but good topiary is always a triumph over nature.
The Gardens of Sallust had fallen into the hands of the Imperial family. Nice things tend to have that fate. This became a favourite spot for Vespasian, who used the grounds as an informal office. The Gardens had always been magnanimously open to the public. It is a clever move to have the mob wandering through groves admiring plants, rather than standing in bars plotting. Yet in this gorgeous place was the dichotomy of Rome. Everything here – walks, fountains, flower beds, kiosks, statues, enormous vases, obelisks – was ours but only to look at; the heritage belonged to our rulers. They let us in so we could marvel at their riches. We could share this peaceful elegance so, through it, we would feel their power.
Tiberius, who held traditional views that I did not disturb, breathed the fresh air gently. To a narrow-eyed social outsider like me, this seemed an apt place for a tutor to bring charges as he introduced them to the work of revolutionists. I sympathised with the Stoic philosophy. Imperial gardens made me want to throw rocks at statues.
Tiberius caught my eye; I saw a smile. He knew when I was feeling rebellious. It did not worry him. I liked him for that. I say he was traditional, yet I knew he had unusual bravery. He would take a stand where most conventional folk would go home and hide.
For two people who had shared their love the night before, there was a strong temptation to enjoy the amenities somewhat unprofessionally. I was just about to grab Tiberius by the hand and haul him into the bushes when he pulled me behind a statue …
We had been told to look for Mamillianus near a nymphaeum, a grand water feature. It took us a while even to find the right one, because this was a large garden, full of splendid features. Along the Quirinal cliff there was not just one nymphaeum, but a row of them.
As soon as we saw the law professor, we were sure it was him. He had that air of massive self-regard. My father knew him only distantly. He had told me Mamillianus rarely descended to the Saepta to buy his art in person, but when he had a particularly grateful client, he would suggest – in addition to his fees of course – visiting Didius Falco with a heavy purse; the client could show his thanks via a donation to the Mamillianus private gallery. Supposedly it was fabulous. Since he never let anyone into his home, few people had seen his collection. He must gloat upon it by himself.
He was married. Few people ever saw his wife either. It looked as if he kept her locked away like another expensive treasure. Falco suggested that perhaps she was an invalid; I found this uncharacteristically generous of my father.
It did not take me long to define Mamillianus: arrogant, self-serving, pompous and acquisitive. It could have put me off, but I knew he might be useful. People had gone to him for years; perhaps he had hidden charm. Some might feel unlikeability was normal in his work, some might assume that to be a bully actually made him a good lawyer. Maybe it did too.
He was lolling on a licheny stone seat, one arm along the back of it. He was a lean but well-nourished man, who looked as if he enjoyed the fine things in life, in cautious moderation. If he had stood up he would probably be taller than average. He had a thin face, half-bald head, snooty features, like an old-time republican who would start lecturing on morality at any moment.
When we approached, he paused and let me introduce myself. The way Mamillianus assessed me reminded me that Iucundus had called him notorious for chasing women visitors around. From his stare, I could believe it. However, I knew how difficult it was to gain admittance to his house, so maybe the story was malicious gossip.
A couple of students had been discussing points with their tutor; seeing I wanted to speak to him, he paused his tutorial. He told his students always to be prepared to break off and listen to a stranger’s request as there could be money in it. Just like informing really, I thought.
After mentioning my father, I outlined why I was there. I did not explain Tiberius, who remained silent, as he behaved like my unkempt escort slave.
At first the pupils were allowed to stay. This enabled Mamillianus to demonstrate how to be aloof with informers, although he explained to the two young men that we were necessary beings. ‘You may want to hire your own agents to chase up evidence or dig into witnesses’ backgrounds. They will run down absconders who need to be served subpoenas. Then sometimes informers who are in the pay of others will approach you in connection with a case.’ He stared at me, looking supercilious. ‘A woman is rare.’
Ignoring the slur, I began conversing with the students. ‘It’s a job. Someone has to do it. I find being female is often a help.’ Mamillianus looked irritated, though did not stop me. ‘My current casework involves a victim, Clodia Volumnia, a young girl who died in odd circumstances; the possible perpetrator is a woman suspected of witchcraft, Rubria Theodosia. Some witnesses are young girls. Everyone agrees I am well-placed for this. My father,’ I told Mamillianus, ‘suggested you know people on the Quirinal, but I have since learned that you even tutor one of Clodia Volumnia’s friends, Vincentius? He is the grandson of the same Rubria Theodosia. Going by the name of Pandora, she has been accused of supplying a love-potion to the dead girl. So, Lucius Mamillianus, it seems you are the very man to tell me about this suggested witch … unless, of course, she pays her grandson’s fees so you feel compromised?’
Mamillianus announced pompously that it was no impediment; nevertheless, if he had to discuss something that touched on a student, these other two should leave us. While the young men gathered their note-tablets, he told me Vincentius’ lecture fees were paid by his parents. I demurred, mentioning that the father was abroad.
‘Pandora offered. The mother stepped in and she coughs up. I presume she is following instructions.’
I did not see why that had to be the case. I held my peace, but having met her son, I thought his mother must have quite a lot about her and would not simply comply with instructions. The lawyer volunteered that there was a tussle in the family. I said Vincentius seemed like a man who would have women fighting for him all his life – but in my opinion he would handle it.
Once the pupils left, Mamillianus looked tellingly at Tiberius.
‘I trust him,’ I said offhandedly. ‘It is proper for me to be accompanied. He can stay.’
‘As you wish.’
The legal man settled down to talk. He was occupying the stone bench, which I was reluctant to share, so I perched on a bollard. Tiberius dropped to the ground with his back against a plane tree, looking as if he had fallen asleep.
First Mamillianus folded
his arms. He gazed down his long nose at me, drawing out the suspense. ‘So, Flavia Albia, how much do you know about the family of Vincentius Theo?’
I gazed back. ‘Is that the boy’s formal name? I know very little; I guess rather more. He studies law, when he is not leading the life of a society ass. His grandmother sells cosmetics, which is legal, and probably love-potions, which contravenes anti-magic legislation. His mother lives with her son but no head of household, while his father is “looking after the family business abroad”, as they call it. I gather he has been away for years. To me,’ I commented with emphasis, ‘that means something.’
‘What does it mean?’ the lawyer asked, sudden interest in his hooded eyes. He was bright himself, that went without saying; I was finding it hard to persuade him to accept that I was too.
‘It sounds as if the father has been given time to depart.’
I am proud to say Mamillianus looked impressed. ‘You understand the term?’
‘I do!’ I managed not to sound resentful of his assumption that I would not. ‘If true, it means the man committed a serious crime, or crimes. Capital crime. Murder. But this man must be a full Roman citizen. So rather than face execution, he has been allowed a short time to gather his possessions, then permitted to leave Rome. He has gone into exile outside the Empire. Being doomed to live among barbarians is considered his punishment.’
I gave this definition quietly, not getting excited.
‘The father is Rabirius Vincentius,’ Mamillianus told me. ‘He is related to some of our city’s most notorious criminal gangsters.’
Involuntarily, I glanced at Tiberius, whose eyes were now open. We knew the name Rabirius.
‘What did Didius Falco tell you about my work?’ Mamillianus asked.
‘Little.’ Father tended to be cagey. He had only said this man knew a lot of people.
Mamillianus condescended to give details: ‘I have retired from active court work; younger men can have the stress. Now I teach. Previously, I spent my long, respected career prosecuting members of outlawed organisations.’ That would explain why he refused visitors at home. In the Roman world, great men were supposed to open their houses for business and political activity, but if he had gone up against the clan chiefs of major crime, Mamillianus must keep his doors locked as a safety measure. He would always have to do this. Even now he said he had retired, there would be a threat from those he had antagonised.
‘Then you are a brave man, sir.’
‘I do not fear such people.’ It was part of his arrogance to despise people he prosecuted. I wondered how they saw him.
‘Have you heard of these Rabirii?’ Mamillianus asked me. I could tell he wanted to act all-knowing, a role he was used to taking, yet he had reluctantly begun to suspect I had relevant experience. I wondered if he knew that years ago Falco had snatched me from a mobster’s clutches? There might have been circumstances where my father would have asked advice on it. Sell a lawyer something at a discount, get free legal work in return …
‘In fact, I do know of the Rabirius gang,’ I said. ‘I had work on the Esquiline recently. The Rabirii were not implicated, as it turned out, but at one point they seemed to be. My husband interviewed a family cadet, the one they call Young Roscius, nephew of the top man. Roscius, who seemed to us a lightweight, aspires to take over the organisation, though we heard there were rival contenders.’
Mamillianus swept aside my comments. ‘The Rabirius clan,’ he declared, ‘are long-established professionals. Their family holds great sway over northern Rome, with tentacles invading every kind of illegal activity. They cause great damage and considerable pain. Their existence is an affront to decency. The commander is Old Rabirius, now seldom seen; he is in failing health, though he remains a legend. The woman you spoke of previously, Rubria Theodosia, is his sister.’
‘Ah!’ Now that was news. But I could believe it. ‘I met her.’ Considering, I whistled gently through my teeth. ‘I can see it! She mentioned a brother being unwell.’ Taking this on board, I suggested, ‘Was she married to a crime lord? What happened to him? Exiled as well?’
‘He died. This was many years ago. It would not surprise me if Rubria Theodosia killed him,’ Mamillianus said, as if it was nothing unusual. ‘Their son, Rabirius Vincentius, became a major figure, until he fell foul of the authorities. He had to flee. I personally was preparing to prosecute him. He would have been convicted, that’s a certainty.’
I had no grounds to dispute his self-confidence, though I could not help asking, ‘Yet now you are teaching his son, so Vincentius will be able to defend other relatives?’
‘Everyone is entitled to representation. If there is a case to be defended, it should be. I find no objection to that being handled well. I shall prepare Vincentius to do so. Then justice can be seen to be done.’
I was amused. ‘Nice theory! Give them a defence. It isn’t expected to succeed because wherever there are good grounds for it, a properly prepared prosecution is bound to prevail?’
‘No,’ retorted Mamillianus nastily. ‘Not at all, young lady. In practice, I believe that in our courts incompetence, mismanagement and corruption all too often lead to acquittal! I have little faith in my erstwhile colleagues. Still, I shall fit my pupil to play an exemplary part in the judiciary process.’
At this point Tiberius forgot he was supposed to be invisible. Still propped against his tree, he called over, ‘How do you find the young man, professor? What is your opinion of him?’
Mamillianus gave him a cool look. He was not someone who would gossip with slaves; he clearly suspected my ‘escort’. Nevertheless he produced an assessment: ‘Vincentius is intelligent, personable, even hardworking when he wants to be. He has a quick grasp of legal precedents, so he can argue a point most persuasively.’
‘Should he not be honest too?’ I queried drily.
‘What is dishonest about him?’ snapped Mamillianus. ‘Admire his front! He never hides his background. He never fudges why he wants a legal education. Every large crime family has two important associates: a very sharp accountant and an excellent court advocate.’
‘True.’ I knew it. Relatives of mine had spent years battling organised crime. The way it worked was constant talk at home. ‘Vincentius told me frankly why he was learning at your feet. I just happened to be unaware who his relatives were.’
This connection was a curiosity, but my task was to discover if it had any relevance. As the bollard where I had been sitting became too uncomfortable, I stood up and paced about.
‘Mamillianus, Pandora’s relationship to Old Rabirius intrigues me, but can it have any implication for my case? How might it affect her supplying a love-potion to a fifteen-year-old girl, apparently the child of respectable parents? Vincentius was one of this girl’s friends – is that coincidence, or is there more to it? Would his grandmother Pandora have deliberately done harm to my client’s daughter, as a reprisal or warning to others?’
Mamillianus was curt and dismissive. ‘These are questions for you, Flavia Albia. The edict concerning poisoning and magic holds little interest for me. I never concern myself with the law of the sensational. Women’s matters. Mine is a purer specialism.’
What a snob.
‘I deduce you don’t have a young daughter!’ I reproved him, even though fighting back against this man was pointless.
Two new pupils were advancing on their eminent and pure master, so he waved a hand; my interview was over. ‘I have given you enough of my valuable time.’ He paused. A moment of court performance. ‘You and your oddly attired associate.’
Tiberius rolled himself upright. Now he had dry grass stems sticking to his tattered tunic. He gave a turn of his head, acknowledging that there might be more to him. We did not explain.
I thanked Mamillianus courteously, then we prepared to leave him to his next tutorial. The lawyer threw after me haughtily, ‘Did I hear that the eldest daughter of Didius Falco had married a plebeian aedile?’
&n
bsp; ‘Afraid so!’ My response was jocular. ‘A magistrate! Such a let-down. But the aedile is a fine man, so Falco has to hide his embarrassment.’
Finally, Mamillianus smiled. He might not know my father well, but he must have met him. ‘Flavia Albia, I know that he is extremely proud of you … Was there something odd at the wedding?’
‘All rumour.’ I was sick of our wedding being made out to be peculiar.
‘Well then …’ He ended his coda. ‘If you find yourself tangling with the Rabirius gang, a tactical withdrawal would be wise.’
27
The lawman was already greeting his next pupils. Tiberius and I walked away.
For some time we ambled through the pleasure grounds, not cowed by Mamillianus, yet more subdued than usual. So we passed in silence among the well-planned axial views, gazed at the pavilions and gazebos, listened to the water splashing over marble basins, strolled in the shade of tall imported plane trees. Why have one Temple of Fortune when you can have three in a line? Why limit yourself to one Dying Gaul? Not when you can show off vanquished barbarians from various parts of the world that you have conquered and pillaged; don’t display one warrior collapsed in exhaustion but indulge yourself, too, with a proud chieftain about to slay his wife to save her from rape and slavery. And make sure all your masterpieces are clad in spiky hairstyles and exotic torquery …
I was starting to feel rebellious again.
Throughout the gardens much work was going on. It looked as if tweaking the water supply was an enduring project. Tiberius started a conversation with some workmen who were carrying out adaptations to an irrigation channel. They were wary of him at first because his speaking voice was such a contrast to his dress, which looked not much different from their own workwear. They could not place him. But he quickly won them over. Soon he was learning how Sallust and his heirs had left a good garden, which Emperors later made spectacular, using public money. There was ample water, coming in from an aqueduct and then draining away into the Campus Martius. Repairing or altering the system was a non-stop effort. Installing the elaborate fountains was organised by specialists, though the day-labourers Tiberius was talking to had plenty of opinions on how well, or how poorly, the experts performed.
Pandora's Boy: Flavia Albia 6 (Falco: The New Generation) Page 15