Rivals of the Republic

by Annelise Freisenbruch

  “Hello Laelia, where’s your mama?”

  “Shopping for our supper. She told me to wait here for her.”

  She peered behind Hortensia, as though expecting to see someone else with her.

  “Where’s Lucrio?”

  “Lucrio has gone away for a little while.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “He went to Lusitania, a long way away. He used to live there when he was a little boy you see.”

  “Is he coming back?” demanded Laelia.

  Hortensia reflected that she had asked herself the same question many times. It had been four months now with no word. Not that she had expected Lucrio to be much of a correspondent.

  “I hope so. He went to back to look for someone.” She bent down to inspect Laelia’s tablet more closely. “That’s a beautiful picture. Are you drawing the forum?”

  Laelia nodded and patted the step next to her for Hortensia to sit down. She pointed at the obscure etchings on her tablet.

  “This is the sun, and this is a temple, and this is the street, and these are the shops.”

  “And who’s this?” Hortensia traced one finger over a row of lopsided smiling faces in the corner of the tablet. “Are these the people doing their shopping?”

  “No, that’s me, and that’s Mama and that’s Papa.”

  Hortensia glanced at Laelia, who had bent her head over her tablet once more and was adding extra details to her portraits, her dark tresses hiding her own face from view. After a moment, without looking up, Laelia spoke once more.

  “Mama says you and Lucrio found the men who took Papa away.”

  Hortensia hesitated, and nodded. Laelia carried on digging the tip of her stilus into the red wax for a while, then she turned her solemn brown eyes on Hortensia.

  “Did you punish them?”

  Again, Hortensia nodded gravely. Laelia turned back to her tablet.

  “Mama says when I finish this, she’ll give it to Papa for me. Then he’ll always have a picture of us to look at. I think he misses us.”

  Hortensia closed her eyes briefly over the tears that had formed there. Laelia brushed some wax shavings off her drawing and held it up to admire. A huge smile suddenly dimpled her cheeks.

  “Look! There’s Lucrio!”

  Hortensia squinted at the tablet, thinking Laelia must have added Lucrio to the picture. But then she saw that the little girl was pointing to someone coming toward them out of the crowd and the smile that lit up her face was even more joyful than Laelia’s.

  She stood up as he came toward them. He was very brown and he looked tired but she was relieved to see that he appeared otherwise to be in good health.

  “So you have come back,” she said warmly.

  “Yes, domina, I have come back,” said Lucrio with a slight smile, holding out his hand to Laelia, who thumped her fist into it and demanded without preamble:

  “Did you find the person you were looking for?”

  Hortensia’s eyes met Lucrio’s, an anxious question there. He smiled and closed a hand briefly around Laelia’s little fist.

  “I did. They were where I expected them to be.” He took the tablet being waved at him and admired it. “What a beautiful picture.”

  “My father will be pleased to see you,” said Hortensia. “Your timing couldn’t be better, as you can see.”

  “Yes, that is why I came to find you, domina. Your mother asked me to come and escort you back. Your father will be making his address to the crowd soon.”

  “The great showman. His audience awaits,” she acknowledged with a smile. She rose from the step, placed her hand on Laelia’s silken head and then after a moment’s hesitation, bent down and kissed her cheek.

  “Your papa does miss you, Laelia,” she whispered. “But he will always love you and be with you.”

  They said goodbye to the little girl, who was reluctant to let them go, and Hortensia let Lucrio take the lead in guiding them back toward the Curia. She looked up at him appraisingly, searching for answers in his unreadable face.

  “I’m glad to see you. Did you indeed find … the answer you were looking for?”

  “Yes, I found it, domina.”

  “And?” she pressed.

  He paused to steer her past a gaggle of chattering families blocking their path. When they were side-by-side again, he glanced down at her and smiled a little at the anticipation in her expression.

  “Three grave-markers, on the edge of the olive grove. All lined up in a row. The people who farm the land now say they have been there these fourteen years, ever since they took it over. They left them there out of respect.”

  Hortensia’s face twisted in anguished sympathy.

  “But what about your other family?” she asked after a pause. “Your uncle and aunt … the ones you said farmed nearby? Did they have anything to tell you?”

  “My aunt Luciana died some years ago. My uncle Caucenus told me that when they found my father and mother and Taio, they were all dead. He buried them himself. So you see, there can be no doubt, domina.” Lucrio was silent for a moment before the wry smile returned. “As you can imagine, my uncle and my cousins were very surprised to see me.”

  Hortensia shook her head in sorrow.

  “I’m so sorry Lucrio. He was an evil man. It was just like him to say something to torment you even from beyond the grave.”

  “Yes, domina. Still, at least I have no doubts anymore, and I am glad to have had the chance to go back. The farm was just as I remembered it. Even my father’s vegetable patch was still there.”

  They were now near the spot where Lutatia and the others were dutifully applauding Caecilius, but were forced to wait while a line of goats, their horns trailing colored ribbons, were led toward the steps of the senate house as part of the preparations for the great sacrifice of thanks which would take place there.

  “Did you ever find out which of them knew?” he asked suddenly.

  Hortensia’s brow wrinkled in puzzled enquiry. Lucrio gestured toward the men lined up behind her father and Caecilius.

  “The senators. The ones who signed the will. Were they all part of the conspiracy, apart from your father and Albinus?”

  Hortensia glanced up and scanned the row of faces looking out from the Curia. Crassus. Metellus Pius. Marcus Cotta. Julius Caesar. All of them smiling and waving to the crowd.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe Pompey has his suspicions. But I suppose we’ll never know for certain. What good would it do? It’s all over now.”

  She glanced up at him warily. “So what now? Did you just come back to say goodbye? Are you … are you going to go home again?”

  “No, domina. I lost my home a long time ago.”

  “You’ll always have a home here, with us. Won’t you stay?”

  “I’m not sure it’s in my power to leave.”

  “Well of course it is, if you truly wish. My father gave you your freedom. No one has the right to stop you.”

  As usual, she couldn’t read the look he gave her. But there was something in it that made her feel strange, as though he was simultaneously keeping her at bay and yet willing her to see something else. Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her arm.

  “So you found her, good. Come on Hortensia,” boomed Hortensius jovially. “Your old Papa is about to put on a show.”

  He drew his daughter’s hand through his arm, saluting some of his supporters in the crowd with a theatrical wave, and turned to lead her back to join the other members of their family. But first he paused and peered more closely at Lucrio.

  “Back from your travels, are you? Good. I didn’t make you a free man just so that you could swan about on holiday. What are you going to do with yourself now? Found an occupation yet?”

  “Not yet, domine.”

  “Well while you make up your mind, you can have your old job back at Laurentum if you want it. I suppose I’ll have to pay you this time.”

  “You are too good, domine,” replied Lucr
io drily.

  “Yes I am, aren’t I?” Hortensius peered more closely at him. “And I see you’ve got rid of that thing while you’ve been away,” he commented sardonically, nodding at Lucrio’s right arm where a small patch of white skin showed up against the brown. Lucrio glanced down before meeting the challenge in Hortensius’s eyes.

  “Maybe your politicians have something to teach us after all, domine,” he said.

  The faintest curl of a smile tugged at Hortensius’s mouth. The crowd was now shouting his name and he tucked Hortensia’s hand under his arm again. Leading her up the steps of the Curia, he glanced down at her and pinched her cheek before raising an arm in salute. Gradually the crowd quieted and Hortensius began to speak.

  “My fellow Romans,” he boomed, his rich, magnificent voice echoing effortlessly round the forum as Caecilius’s had not. “This is a wonderful day for myself and for my family.” He beamed down at Hortensia and made a desultory gesture toward Lutatia and Quintus, still standing on the slope next to the Curia before hushing the crowd with a grand sweep of his arm. “But more than that, it is a wonderful day for our city. It is a wonderful day for our empire.”

  As the crowd roared its delighted response, Hortensia glanced behind her along the row of senators to where Crassus and Pompey were standing side by side. As usual, Crassus was wearing a smile as wide as his handsome face, as though he were in full agreement with the mood in the forum. He was nudging Pompey and pointing into the crowd as though he had just spied a mutual friend of theirs. By contrast, Pompey’s habitual air of good-humored jollity seemed muted. He acknowledged his supporters in the crowd with much waving and grinning, but there was a hint of boredom about his manner and though he nodded at Crassus’s asides, he made no attempt to show any other sign of amity with his fellow outgoing consul.

  Gazing farther along the row to the other side of the Curia, where more senatorial wives and children were corralled in a group, Hortensia spied Terentia, who was engaged in conversation with her sister-in-law Servilia. As she stared curiously at Cicero’s wife, the older woman caught Hortensia looking at her. She nodded her head slightly as though in knowing greeting, but Hortensia didn’t know how to respond and so she looked away as though she hadn’t seen her.

  Hortensius raised his arms again and the crowd eagerly obeyed his command.

  “I know you will want to join with me in expressing the gratitude of the entire Republic to the two men in whose footsteps my colleague Caecilius and I have the impossible task of following.” Hortensia was the only one close enough to see the sparkle of mischief which had kindled in her father’s blue eyes. “I know too that you, as much as I, would like nothing more than to see these two remarkable sons of Rome making one last show of unity. Pompey, Crassus – step forward and shake hands so that the city of Rome may offer you its grateful thanks!”

  With the crowd in full voice, Pompey and Crassus had no choice but to turn to each other. Crassus put out his hand first, and the two men clasped hands, the veins straining against their knuckles, and smiled out at their audience. As they released their grip, it was Pompey rather than Crassus who shot Hortensius a look of pure malice.

  But Hortensius didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he turned to his daughter, squeezed her shoulders and bent his head to murmur in her ear. She could only just hear him over the ecstatic cheering of the crowd.

  “What do I always tell you, Hortensia? Give them a show.”

  His face was full of mischievous delight and pride. She smiled up at him, put a hand to his temples and dutifully smoothed a strand of his slick black hair back into place. “As you say, Papa,” she replied.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  MY INSPIRATION FOR THIS BOOK – AND THE SERIES THAT WILL FOLLOW – was the historical character of Hortensia, who I first met when I was researching my previous book The First Ladies of Rome. All that is known of her survives in short literary references which preserve her identity as the daughter of Cicero’s great law court rival Quintus Hortensius Hortalus, and her reputation as one of the very few women in Roman history known for her speech-making abilities. These were praised by (amongst others) first-century historian and advocate Appian, who wrote of her: “… by bringing back her father’s eloquence … Quintus Hortensius lived again in the female line and breathed through his daughter’s words.”

  Although Hortensia herself almost certainly never spoke in the Roman law court, other women are known to have done so before a law was passed in the late Republic to put an end to what was seen as a scandalous practice. Hortensia lived through one of the most politically tumultuous periods in Roman history and through her family connections was well acquainted with many of the key players of the day. Most of the characters in my book are real-life figures, including Hortensia’s husband Caepio and the Vestal Virgin Fabia, not to mention titans of Roman history such as Crassus, Pompey, Cato, Brutus, Cicero and Julius Caesar. Others such as the young Lusitanian gladiator Lucrio and the villainous Tiberius Dolabella are fictional creations of my own – though the Dolabella family did contribute several major players to the Roman political scene, including Publius Cornelius Dolabella, who also appears in the book.

  In setting off down the path worn by so many writers of historical fiction before, I have been guided by the principle that where known footprints of history exist, I have done my best to tread carefully around them. Otherwise, I have felt free to go my own way. Hortensius and Cicero’s famous showdown at the trial of Gaius Verres is well documented and has been recounted in fiction before. It is not my particular concern to offer an alternative viewpoint on that trial. This story is Hortensia’s and part of the fascination for me is in imagining how a young woman with her intelligence, courage and determination might fight to make her voice heard in a society deeply resistant to women playing any part in public life, let alone the law court of which her father is king. To speak was a man’s job in ancient Rome and the great pleasure in weaving a life for Hortensia was to bring into being a woman who could confound that expectation.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ANNELISE FREISENBRUCH WAS BORN IN BERMUDA IN 1977, AND studied Classics at Newnham College, Cambridge, receiving her PhD in 2004. In 2010, her first book The First Ladies of Rome was published by Jonathan Cape in the UK and by Free Press in the United States (where it appeared as Caesars’ Wives: Sex, Power and Politics in the Roman Empire). It has since been translated into several languages and Annelise has appeared on television and radio to talk about her research. She has taught Latin for ten years and is currently the Head of Classics at Port Regis School in Dorset. This is her first novel.

  To discover more please visit Annelise’s website:

  www.annelisefreisenbruch.co.uk

  Or follow Annelise on Twitter: @afreisenbruch

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in the UK in 2016 by

  Duckworth Overlook

  This eBook published in 2016

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  Copyright © 2016 by Annelise Freisenbruch

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  eISBN: 9780715651001

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