by Carol Ashby
“Go stand by the litter.”
He froze his eyebrows to hide his shock. Was Vilicus planning to leave the horses untended? But no matter how foolish the command, he had to obey.
Three bearers already stood by the litter, so he joined them.
Satisfaction lifted the corners of the steward’s mouth. “He’s the right size. I’ll take that one for today. Have him wash to get rid of the stable smell and put him in the litter tunic. She’ll be wanting to leave in perhaps half an hour.”
Vilicus tipped his head. “Yes, steward.” He watched the steward enter the house before spinning on Dacius. “You. Wash that stench off, then dress for litter work.”
Dacius lowered his eyes. “Yes, overseer.”
The overseer strode through the small archway that connected the stable yard to the garden, and Dacius sighed. It was a good thing he’d risen early. Otherwise, the poor animals would have gone without. He’d barely finished placing the feed and water in the last stall, but Vilicus didn’t know that when he ordered him to litter duty.
He scanned the stable yard as he headed to the cistern to draw some water. The horses needed grooming. The stalls needed cleaning. If he were a betting man, he’d bet the work would still be waiting for him when he returned, and Vilicus would yell at him because he hadn’t finished.
Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear and sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ. He’d reminded himself at least ten times yesterday. Another sigh escaped. He’d probably hit twenty today.
When Marcus entered his father’s library, Lucius Drusus Fidelis had a hinged wax tablet open before him.
“Good morning, Father.” Marcus lowered himself into the second chair by the desk.
His father closed the tablet. “A letter from your brother.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows to feign interest. “How is he?”
“You know your brother. It’s impossible to tell. He never complains, no matter what his situation.” Father’s lips tightened. “I went to some trouble to get him a good tribune posting near Rome, but he’s decided to apply for a posting in a frontier province. He going to ask for Britannia, Dacia, or Judaea. He hasn’t decided which.”
Marcus pasted on a smile. “That sounds like Lucius. He’ll want to go to the most dangerous place where no one else would volunteer to serve, so I’d bet on Judaea.”
Father drummed on the tablet with a silver-tipped ivory stylus. “You’re probably right. Your brother would put the needs of Rome above his own self-interest. Someone needs to serve there, but I’d rather it wasn’t my son.”
Marcus picked up a brass stylus and rolled it between his fingers. “There’s glory to be found in battle. Lucius probably wants some excitement while he’s tribune.”
“Judaea isn’t like Germania before it was pacified. The Germans fought you like warriors. They didn’t stick a knife into you as you were going down the street and then keep walking as if they’d done nothing. Lucius might get himself killed by some zealot and left like the bodies the urban cohorts gather after they were murdered during the night. There’s no glory in that.” Father rolled his eyes. “But Lucius is too much like his grandfather, so he’ll probably volunteer for the most dangerous place.”
Father placed the stylus atop the closed tablet and leaned back in his chair. “But you didn’t come to discuss your brother.” His eyes warmed as they rested on Marcus. “So, why have you sought me out so early?”
Marcus stopped rolling the stylus. “I need 10,000 denarii.”
Father rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “What for?”
“To help a friend.”
“Aulus Macatus? What sort of trouble has he gotten himself into this time?”
“He was gambling when he’d drunk too much, and he lost more than he realized.”
His father laughed. “I’m not surprised. Aulus tends to act without thinking, and when the wine flows in, his sense leaks out. I’m glad my own sons are smart enough to keep their drinking and gambling separate.”
Father’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you stop him before he lost too much? He always follows your lead.”
“I wasn’t there, or I would have. You’ve taught me what a man should do for his best friend. His father told Aulus not to gamble to excess while he was governor in Sicilia, and except for that night, he hasn’t.”
Marcus leaned forward. “Will you give me the money so I can help him before his father finds out?”
“Of course. My best friend helped me more than once so your grandfather wouldn’t know. Marcus Corvinus and I were closer than brothers at your age. We still are. That’s why you carry his name.”
“Thank you, Father. Sabinus sent a gladiator to the baths yesterday to make Aulus sign a document committing his father to pay the debt within a month of his return. If Aulus clears the debt now, his father will never know.”
Father’s head pulled back. “Why would Aulus’s brother-in-law use a gladiator?”
“He didn’t lose to Julia’s husband. It was her husband’s cousin, Sextus.”
“Quintus Sabinus’s son?”
The edge on Father’s voice raised Marcus’s heart rate. “Yes.”
“Did it say Macatus owed Quintus?”
“Yes. Why?”
His father rubbed his mouth. “That changes things. Macatus and Quintus Sabinus have been political enemies for as long as I can remember. Macatus is an honorable man, but Sabinus…Let’s just say he’s not a man to cross.”
Father rested his elbow on the desk as he rubbed his forehead. “You were only fourteen and living with your mother when he wanted to marry your aunt Claudia. She ran off to Titus in Thracia to avoid that, and Sabinus was ready to kill me over the embarrassment that caused him.
“He spared our family because he found another girl to marry with better political connections. It’s been four years, but I still feel the venom in his gaze.”
He tightened his lips until they vanished. “If it were anyone else, I’d give you the money, but I’m not going to get between the crocodile and his prey.”
“But―”
Father held up his hand. “This discussion is over.”
Marcus froze his face to stop the frown. “As you wish, Father.” While he could still control his irritation, he turned and left the room.
Aulus was waiting for him in the peristyle garden, sitting on the low wall by the pool.
When Marcus entered, he shot to his feet, smiling. “So, do we go to Sextus or his father to settle the debt?”
“Neither. Father said he’d give me the money; then he backed out when he heard you owed Quintus Sabinus.” He spat. “I never took Father for a coward before.”
The blood drained from Aulus’s face. “What am I going to do?”
Marcus placed his hand on Aulus’s bicep and squeezed. “I’ll think of something.” A slow smile crept across his face. “I guess we need to plan a kidnapping.”
“I thought that was a joke.” Aulus bit his lip. “We can’t actually do it.”
Marcus rubbed his chin before the half-shrug. “Why not?”
Historical Note
Roman Family Law: The Power of the Father, the Rights of the Mother,
the Fate of the Children
The Roman concept of family was distinctly different from today’s nuclear family, defined as an independent unit of father, mother, and children under the age of eighteen. The Roman familia consisted of a father, his wife with some limitations, his children whether young or fully grown, and his slaves.
Roman society was intensely patriarchal. The paterfamilias was the oldest male and the legal head of the familia. Until he died, he possessed patria potestas (the power of the father) over his grown children, both male and female, whether they were married or not.
The paterfamilias had the power to tell any of his children to do something, and they were required to obey hi
m. He had the power of life and death over all except his wife. He had the right to kill his child of any age (ius vitae necisque), the right to decide whether a newborn would be allowed to live or would be exposed to the elements to die, and the right to sell his children into slavery. It was not uncommon for an unwanted or defective baby to be exposed. Although it was legal, killing one’s children after infancy was generally frowned upon without extreme provocation.
He owned all the family property, with the exception of the wages earned by a grown son from his military service. If a grown son ran a business, the business and the profits all belonged to his father. Grown sons usually had families of their own and lived separately from their father, but they lived off the allowance (peculium) he provided. Only at his death did his children finally became independent (sui iuris, under one’s own authority).
A father could choose to emancipate a grown son before his death. There were two main reasons. The son might have done something that led his father to disown him, but fathers sometimes emancipated their sons so they could inherit from their mother. Since the mother officially remained in the familia of her father, all her property remained subject to the control of her own paterfamilias. Her children wouldn’t inherit directly from her if they were still under the control of their father.
Roman marriage took different forms, depending on the time period and the circumstances of the couple getting married. During the early Republic, a woman might marry in manu, where she passed from her father’s control into her husband’s control, or sine manu, where she remained under her father or a male guardian. By the time of the Empire, most marriages were sine manu. Marrying sine manu had a major financial effect that contributed to the stability of marriages.
Because a woman didn’t officially leave her father’s familia, she kept her maiden name when she married. The children took their father’s name. When Cornelia Scipia (whose father’s clan and family names were Cornelius Scipio) married Lucius Claudius Drusus, their first-born son would also be Lucius Claudius Drusus, and their later sons would be Claudius Drusus but with a different first name. Their first-born daughter would normally be Claudia Drusilla, a feminine form of her father’s clan and family name.
A new wife was usually accompanied by a dowry in a sine manu marriage. Because her paterfamilias owned all the family property, the dowry did not automatically become the property of her new husband. The dowry itself remained the property of her paterfamilias or under the control of her guardian, if her paterfamilias had died. The guardian was usually, but not always, the male relative who replaced her father as the new paterfamilias. Her husband could use the dowry and keep any profits it earned, but if the marriage was ended through divorce by either husband or wife, the full dowry had to be returned.
In an attempt to encourage the Roman elite to have more children, Emperor Augustus declared that a freeborn woman would be released from the requirement of a guardian after bearing three children. She could then take control of her own property and do what she wished with it without any man’s permission.
A Roman marriage existed by the consent of the couple for as long as they wanted to be considered a family unit. The marriage was recognized as valid when both parties publicly declared their desire to unite in a marriage. But because it was based only on the consent of the couple, it wasn’t a legally binding agreement like modern marriages. Either party could decide to divorce the other for any reason. The divorce became “official” when the decision by one to separate from the other was declared in front of witnesses, even if the spouse wasn’t present. It was a “no-fault” divorce, and the partner being divorced had no say in whether the divorce happened.
The dowry, on the other hand, was usually established by a legally binding contract. It was the husband’s to use as long as the marriage lasted. He owned any profits, but his wife’s family still owned the original amount of the dowry. When a couple divorced, the husband had to return the full amount of the dowry. His inability to do so often discouraged a man from divorcing his wife.
Women were often discouraged from divorcing their husbands because any children were the property of the paterfamilias. He had the right to refuse her any further contact with her children after a divorce. Even if her husband died while they were still married, his father could tell the widow that she could no longer see her children.
While reputable women were expected to be faithful to their husbands, it was not considered adultery when a Roman man engaged in sexual activity with an unmarried woman, slave or free, who was not his wife. Promiscuous activity on the part of the man was considered normal, but a respectable Roman matron was expected to abstain from extramarital affairs, at least as far as anyone outside her household knew.
In Second Chances, Cornelia tolerated many years of Lucius’s infidelity because she didn’t want to risk losing her children. But after twenty-five years of marriage, her three boys were grown. When Lucius decides to put their daughter at risk, she has no legal power to stop him. She decides to protect Drusilla by divorcing Lucius without his knowledge, reclaiming her dowry, and disappearing with her daughter before he can stop her.
As the mother of four children, she didn’t need a guardian’s permission to divorce Lucius or do what she wanted with her dowry. The divorce and immediate return of her dowry were her legal rights, but Roman law gave Lucius all rights to Drusilla.
When Cornelia took Drusilla without her ex-husband’s permission, she “acquired and concealed” a Roman citizen who didn’t belong to her. Technically, she violated the law against “possessing a citizen in bad faith” (plagium). But Roman abduction law was aimed at those who kidnapped a person to make them a slave, not a mother stealing her own daughter from her father to protect her. Given the political prominence of her family, it’s not clear how the Roman courts would have dealt with the case if Lucius wanted Cornelia tried for kidnapping.
For more about life in the Roman Empire at its peak, please go to carolashby.com.
Discussion Guide
1) Hector was devastated by the loss of his wife and daughter, even knowing that he would see them again in heaven. Given his background, what do you think made it so hard for him to move past his deep grief? Have you ever tried to encourage a friend mired in grief? What helped?
2) Lucius Fidelis is a self-focused man who arranged his father’s death for his own advantage. But he’s also a loyal friend, willing to do whatever he can to help his best friend solve a serious problem. Have you ever known someone who easily betrays some but is intensely loyal to others? How do you deal with them?
3) Cornelia is a proud woman and loving mother who tolerated many years of her husband’s adulteries and verbal cruelty for the sake of her children. Under Roman law, the children of a marriage belonged to the father. If she divorced him, he had the right to ban her from ever seeing her own children. Have you known a man or woman who’s made the same choice she did?
4) When Lucius is willing to risk his daughter Drusilla’s life to help out his best friend, Cornelia divorces him, takes Drusilla, and runs halfway across the Empire. Under Roman law, she was a kidnapper. Would you consider doing what she did in the same circumstances?
5) Cornelia is from a family that had helped rule Rome for 500 years. Bloodline, wealth, and her own skill moving in Rome’s highest social circles had elevated her to the pinnacle of society. How did that affect her first impression of Hector? How did that change and why?
6) Rescued from slavery by Aristarchus, Hector worked hard to become a landowner and family man, but he knows his social status is far beneath Cornelia’s. How did that affect his attitude toward her when they first met? What caused it to change?
7) Drusilla is saddened by leaving her brother and friends, but she’s also sorry her mother is sacrificing everything to protect her. Although Hector initially befriends her to cheer her up, he soon discovers that helping her helps him even more. Are there times you’ve seen the same in your
life or the lives of friends?
8) For Lucius, what began as a desire to help out a friend turns into determination to hurt Cornelia for outmaneuvering him by disappearing with Drusilla. Drusilla becomes a pawn in the contest between them. Roman law gave Lucius all the rights to his daughter; today both mother and father have “rights” to their children. When children are turned into weapons in the battle between parents, are there things we can do to help?
9) Cornelia’s affection for her dead father-in-law and amazement at his decision to die for his faith make her curious about the Gospel message. Where does that curiosity lead? How does it affect her attitude toward choices of which her upper-class Roman society disapproves?
10) Second Chances is a story of loss and longing and the power of love to heal the pain of the past, opening the door to a joyful future. What touched you most? What made you think about what your own choices would be?
What should the future hold for Lucius Fidelis?
Lucius Fidelis got his father executed so he could take control of his own life and the family fortune.in The Legacy. When Fidelis betrayed his father, his sons, Lucius, Marcus, and Tertius, were sixteen, fourteen, and ten, and his daughter Drusilla was two. Lucius and Marcus were old enough to understand what their father had done, and the consequences play out eight years later in Forgiven. In Second Chances, Tertius, now 18, works against his father to protect his sister. When Lucius Fidelis realizes his favorite son may have helped his ex-wife outsmart him, he suspects Tertius poses a danger to himself. I haven’t yet decided where that will lead or what Fidelis’s ultimate end will be. Will he act on his suspicions? If so, what will he do? I’d love to hear what you think. Please go to my website, carol-ashby.com and share your thoughts in the comment box. Looking forward to hearing from you!