‘Do you regret that?’
I grinned abruptly, even laughed out loud. ‘Never for one moment - nor did he, the old menace! … Have you told Helena this big idea of yours? Striking out on your own?’
‘She was upset.’
‘She would be!’
Albia turned to me, her face pale, her blue-grey eyes dark with panic despite her attempted bravado. ‘You gave me a chance; I am grateful. I want to stay in Rome. But I am going to make myself a life, a life that is suitable and sustainable. Don’t tell me I cannot try.’
Huffing gently, I squashed in on the bench beside her. Albia moved up, grumbling on principle. ‘So let’s hear about it?’
Uncertain of my reaction, she confided, ‘I cannot have the life you hoped to give me. Adoption only half works. I stay provincial - - if not a barbarian. Someone who hates us might find out where I came from. In this city, spiteful rumours could damage you and Helena.’
‘Anacrites?’
‘He intends to do it.’ Albia spoke quietly; all self-confidence had drained out of her.
I wondered how he had so badly crushed her spirit. ‘And what about you? Did he try something on?’
‘No.’ Albia was inscrutable. She had made up her mind not to tell me. If Anacrites had seduced or raped her, she would spare me incandescent anger; she would protect Helena, too, from the pain of knowing. But even the fact that Anacrites had lured her into danger gave me motives to pursue him.
‘You sure?’ Pointless question.
‘He was not the same. He had changed - - or at least had stopped hiding what he is really like. You were right about him: he looked lecherous. I decided straight away I must escape. Then I found Claudius Nobilis.’
‘Did he lay hands on you?’
‘No. He meant to. But Anacrites barged in and said “leave her to me”.’ Albia shuddered, looking older than her years. ‘Repulsive man!’
‘Don’t you think we are all the same?’ I teased, alluding to her opinion of Camillus Aelianus.
To my surprise, Albia smiled sweetly and replied, ‘Not quite all of you!’
‘So, Flavia Albia, you are leaving home. What are you planning?’
‘To live here. Do what you did.’
‘Right.’
‘No argument?’
‘No point. So you want to be an informer? Well, that could work.’ I put my head back against the rough surface of the wall, remembering the experience. Part of me was envious, though I hid it. ‘Start small. Work for women. Don’t accept any job that comes along - - gain a name for being picky, then folks will feel flattered if you take them on. It’s a hard life, depressing and dangerous. The rewards are few, you can never relax, and even when you achieve success, your miserable cheating clients will not thank you.’
‘I can do this,’ Albia insisted. ‘I have the proper attitude - the right bitterness. And I have sympathy for desperate people. I have been orphaned, abandoned, starved, neglected, beaten, even in the clutches of a violent pimp. There will be no surprises,’ she concluded.
‘I see you have convinced yourself! Nothing scares you - - even when it should.’ The romantic in me wanted to have faith in her. ‘You are too young. You have too much to learn,’ I warned, as the father in me took over.
‘I have been pushed into it before I’m ready, so it’s not ideal,’ replied Albia coolly. She had spent several days here, thinking up answers to thwart me. Then, because Helena Justina’s teaching had made an impression, she added demurely, ‘But I shall have you to teach me, Father.’
My throat went raw. ‘First time you ever called me that!’
‘Don’t get overexcited,’ Flavia Albia answered matter-of-factly. ‘You have to earn it, if you want it permanent.’
‘That’s my girl!’ I exclaimed proudly.
I stood up, easing my stiffback. I needed to see Glaucus at the gym, get back in shape. Before I left the apartment, I made a few adjustments to the old potted rose trees, pinching off dead wood from spindly branches. ‘Professional question, Albia: when you encountered Nobilis - did you notice his eyes?’
She jumped up eagerly. ‘Yes! I wanted to tell you - -‘
‘Save it. Come down to the house tomorrow. It will be a good exercise in moving around Rome unrecognised.’
‘What for?’
‘Family conference. We need to talk about Anacrites.’
LX
I awoke late. I was alone, Helena’s side of the bed long cooled. I could hear the house thrumming with movement and casual noises, everyone going about their business without me, as they must have done while I was absent, as they would do if I stayed dozing. I was the master, but expendable. However, a wet snuffle under the door from Nux waiting patiently outside told me the dog was aware of my homecoming last night.
I let her in, endured a quick greeting (she was a polite dog), then allowed her to jump on the bed, which was her real purpose. The whiskery fright was not allowed on beds or couches; that made no difference. Nux curled up and went to sleep. I washed my face, put a comb through my curls, dived into a favourite tunic. I was ill-shaven, hungry, stiff from travel and subdued. I had no casework I was aware of and would have to look for clients. In most respects I could have been back in the life I once led in Fountain Court. Once again, I felt mournful and bereft of my youth.
Downstairs, slaves saluted me with only mild disdain. A good breakfast and my alert assistants were waiting. My wife came in and kissed me. My children appeared in the doorway, made sure it was me, then ran off back to their games. A buffet slave refilled the bread basket with warm rolls as soon as I took a serving, poured hot water on to honey for me, cut smoked ham slices. The napkin laid upon my lap was fine linen. I drank from a smooth Samian beaker. When I came to rinse my hands again, scented water in a silver bowl was immediately offered to me.
I had forgotten I was rich. Helena saw my reaction; I noticed her amusement. ‘Jupiter!’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ she said, smiling.
My new status brought responsibilities. Clients were lined up, awaiting favours shamelessly.
I dealt briskly with Marina, wanting money of course, then ignored a message from my sister Junia about the caupona needing a refurbishment. Helena said there were queries at the auction house, not urgent; I could attend to them when I visited the Saepta. Next came another, much more serious, family problem. The usher (I now required one, it seemed) ushered in Thalia.
She was visibly pregnant, puffing slightly. It had not persuaded her to wear less revealing clothes. The two Camilli, waiting for me to be free for our planned meeting, exchanged startled glances. Arrayed in a few wafts of gauze and long strings of semiprecious beads, Thalia patted the bump that was supposed to be Pa’s offspring. ‘Not long now, Marcus!’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Terrible! The python knows; he’s off colour, poor Jason.’
‘Still dancing?’
‘Still dancing! Are you hoping exertion will bring on a miscarriage?’
‘That would be irresponsible.’
‘Gods! Money has made you so sanctimonious! - - Now listen, I need to talk to you.’
‘Well, make it quick. I’m about to begin a business meeting.’
‘Stuff that,’ replied Thalia. ‘A little child’s life is at stake here. We’ve been let down, Falco, this poor baby and me. I’ve had words with that scheming shark, Septimus Parvo - your devious father’s utterly useless lawyer.’
‘He seemed competent.’ Thalia’s annoyance was cheering me up now.
‘You would say that. He tells me he has looked into things further and the will’s rotten. It won’t hold up. My poor little one has been cheated - and he is not even born yet!’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Thalia.’
‘According to Parvo,’ she enunciated with high distaste, ‘if a legacy is given to a posthumous infant, the child must be born of a legal marriage.’ Thalia was a tall woman of majestic stature; as she rounded on me
fiercely, I felt some alarm. ‘Geminus said Parvo would sort everything out for me. I know what’s gone on here. This is a fiddle. You bastard, Falco - you must have put him up to it!’
Not for the first time since my father died, my first thought was to lay wheat cakes on a divinity’s altar and exclaim, Thank you, for my good fortune!
Aulus leaned forward, his face serious. ‘Parvo is quite right, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘My brother Aelianus,’ Helena told Thalia helpfully. ‘He has had legal training.’
‘I don’t trust him then!’ Thalia scoffed. Aulus took it well.
‘There can be no doubt, I’m afraid, Thalia.’ What an excellent fellow Aulus had turned out to be. ‘Didius Favonius remained married to his wife of many years, the mother of his legal children.’ Helena may have discussed all this with Aulus. He was a better scholar than we expected, but only with advance warning. He must have looked up the law specifically. ‘Everyone at Geminus’ funeral saw Junilla Tacita taking her place as the widow. She was acknowledged as such by all those friends, family and business colleagues who knew her deceased husband. Moreover,’ Aulus continued relentlessly, ‘to become an heir, the child must be referred to in the will itself. I do not believe a codicil will count.’
‘All that is as may be!’ Thalia could be worryingly firm. ‘I am here to make arrangements. Things have to be set up properly.’
I gulped nervously.
‘Here is the deal, Marcus Didius. When this child is born, it has to be looked after. Don’t expect me to do it. I can’t take a baby on tour with the circus! My animals -would be dangerously jealous, it’s not hygienic, and I don’t have the capacity.’
‘That’s very sad,’ Helena interrupted. ‘Children give so much pleasure and can be a comfort, Thalia.’
‘He’ll get in the way!’ Thalia replied, as riotously honest as when she discussed her sex life. Then she dropped me in the midden. ‘You will have to bring him up, Falco.’
‘What?’
‘I thought about it. This is what Geminus wanted. You know it is. He told you in that codicil: you were to see my baby as your own sister or your brother. You can’t argue with a fideicommissum.’ She was calm. She was composed. Before I could bluster excuses, Thalia added the death blow: ‘The best thing will be, Marcus darling, if as soon as he is born, you take him off me and adopt him.’
I closed my eyes while it sank in. I had expected troubles to come with money. I knew some of them would be complex, many crushing. Cynical though I was, nothing of this magnitude had crossed my mind. There was no escape, however. Pa had landed me absolutely.
I said I had to consult Helena. ‘That’s right,’ Thalia agreed composedly. ‘Then the dear little thing can grow up with you two, and be part of your beautiful family.’
Those quick brown eyes of Helena’s told me she foresaw everything, just as I did.
So I acquired a ‘brother’, who was almost certainly not my brother but whom I had to adopt and endure as my son. I would have shared the money with him fairly willingly, but now I had to give him a decent chance in life as well - - quite another proposition. This could only go wrong. Helena and I anticipated from the start that little Marcus Didius Alexander Postumus (as his mother would name him, poor noddle) could never be grateful. We would offer him a home, education, moral guidance and affection. Pointless. A soulless waste of effort. He would be difficult to raise and impossible to console for the arbitrary fate that had been dumped on him. He was bound to seethe with jealousy and resentment. And I would not even blame him. .
Thank you again, Geminus.
LXI
There had been slaves pootling around us, but we dismissed them. Katutis did not even try to argue; he was learning.
We sat in the salon. Helena had moved things around while I was in Latium. We reclined on day-couches with bronze fittings. Cushions in soft shades of blue and aqua lay under our elbows. The walls, newly painted last year, were respectable tones of honey and off-white, plain panels delineated by fine tendrils and elegant candelabrum motifs, intermittently relieved with discreet miniature paintings of birds, done in faint brushstrokes. These were civilised, though unpretentious surroundings. With her own sure taste, Helena had scaled down from when my father lived here, using less grandeur than when he had the place bursting with antiques. The salon made a quiet setting for the sombre discussion we were about to hold.
Others soon joined us: first Albia, then Petronius and Maia. I had considered including Ma, but my habit of keeping secrets from her was too great. Helena rose to close the double doors for privacy. Before she resumed her seat, she stood for a moment: tall, wearing white with coloured bands and informal jewellery, just a matron at home, as ever on the edge of domestic harassment, always alert in case she was called away to scorched meat in the kitchen or bruises in the nursery… It would not happen today. Arrangements were in place. Here she was, the woman I loved, taking on the wider role of a Roman wife and mother: steering her family towards great decisions and the righting of intolerable wrongs.
I smiled at her faintly. She understood what I was thinking. I had made a good choice.
Helena said, ‘This will be a family conference - in every sense, because we are all members of a family, and families are what we have to talk about. Nothing that is to be said in this room today may be mentioned outside it to anyone.’
‘Sub rosa,’ said Aulus.
‘Isca rules,’ nodded Petro.
‘Our rules,’ my ever-caustic sister Maia corrected him.
A formal family conference is the symbol of emergency in Roman society. It happens rarely, because it only happens after outside measures have been tried and have failed. A fallback when public systems have collapsed, it is used for both utterly private reasons and for arranging a challenge to political tyranny. This is the last meeting before assassinations, executions, exile or disgrace. This is where wives are summoned to account for adultery by stern old-fashioned husbands, then humiliating punishments levied with unpleasant aunts’ encouragement. It is where necessary usurpation of rulers is plotted. Where suicide or honour killing is carried out, after rape or other violation.
Our family council was where seven of us, my closest and dearest, assembled to unpick the full connection between the Claudii and Anacrites. Then we would decide what to do about it.
First, Quintus reported events in Latium. I watched him, tall, still boyish in appearance though increasingly firm in manner. He had his father’s straight rather spiky hair, his mother’s bearing and good looks. He was more slightly built than his brother, though Aulus had lost weight since his marriage: stress, presumably.
Quintus was concise, his tone almost pleasant. He could have been assessing routine logistics for a fort commander in a frontier province, as he concluded: ‘We never had a chance to interrogate Claudius Nobilis. Everything else about him has to be conjectural - - except one thing: his eyes. After he died, Marcus and I noticed they were odd. Nobilis had pale eyes, eyes that were neither one colour nor another. Part grey, part brown. Extremely unusual.’
I heard Maia catch her breath as she made the link. Albia was twisting her hands in her lap.
‘Neither of the twins, nor Probus, had that aberration,’ Quintus continued, after a quick glance at Maia. ‘Marcus and I checked the survivors. But we all know one other person whose eyes look two-coloured with some tricks of the light: Anacrites.’
Helena took up the story, taking the narrative from her brother as smoothly as the sacred torch is passed in a Panathenian relay race. ‘This explains many things. Let us go back to two slaves on an imperial estate in the days of the early Empire: Aristocles and Casta. Of course they could not marry while they were in slavery, but let’s assume they met, matched and even perhaps began to have children then. They were freed, some say to get rid of them because they were so difficult. They had many offspring. Some died. Some of the girls broke away, at least partly, and married. The eldest was Justus, wh
o died not that long ago, perhaps of a bad conscience. Nobilis was among the youngest, pushed out more, perhaps; having to jostle more for attention, maybe even for clothes, space and food.’
My turn. ‘One of the boys was called Felix. His brother Probus sneered: Felix, the happy and fortunate - - and a clever little sod too; well we lost him early, naturally … How did they “lose” him? We know now. When he was three years old his intelligence was officially noticed and he was removed from the family. In Rome, he was arbitrarily assigned a new name. It happens to slaves. So the man we know as Tiberius Claudius Anacrites began life as Claudius Felix. He may not always have remembered where he came from - - but he certainly knows now.’
At that point, it was Maia, Maia who might have been expected to be harshest, who put in a word for him. ‘Imagine how it might have been for a child so young to be forcibly removed from the people he thought were his own.’ Shaking her head, she went on in a low voice, ‘Aristocles and Casta may have been distant, even violent, as parents, but I dare say they screamed and shouted when they had to give him up. From what we know, they were possessive; he was theirs, their property.’
‘Casta may have tried to hang on to him physically,’ Helena agreed. ‘I know I would. Imagine the scenes - with the child hysterically weeping, torn from his mother’s grasp by brutal overseers. Next, with Casta’s screams ringing in his little ears, he was taken many miles away, nobody telling him why or where he was going. Perhaps he felt it was a punishment for some unknown naughtiness. Plenty of punishment went on among the Claudii - - he knew that concept. Dumped at the Palace, he wakes up in a cold dormitory. Other children there were strangers. They may all have been older, may have bullied him.’
‘He says his subsequent childhood seemed normal to him,’ I said. ‘But was it really? He learned to survive - - but trauma and fear moulded him.’
Petronius had been listening with distaste. Now he stretched his long legs and frame, looking too bulky for the couch. ‘I’m more intrigued by where he is today. In adulthood, do you think he was aware who his family were?’
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