Deadly Election

29

A new flash of white drew me towards the Basilica Julia where I found Faustus with Sextus Vibius. They were advancing purposefully down the Sacred Way, striding to the Rostra, under the high shadow of the Capitol.

More people were with them than usual. I was loath to pull Faustus out of this large train of supporters, but he saw me and came over of his own accord. He looked troubled. I did not need to ask why. We walked along together.

‘I tackled him.’ He spoke quickly in a low voice. ‘He admits Julia Optata is not at home. He says it is a normal visit away, with his complete agreement.’

Really? She had tripped off somewhere, at this crucial moment, taking all she owned? I remained convinced something was wrong. I would not push it. Intervention can go sour on you.

‘There is comforting news, Tiberius. I found out she is not at her mother’s, the obvious place if she ended her marriage.’ I sensed coolness in his behaviour so wanted to reconcile with him. ‘Forget I asked about her. I apologise. Apologise for me to Sextus. I shall meddle no more. But you do need to prepare a satisfactory public statement.’

‘They will get hold of it, won’t they?’ Faustus was gloomy, I hoped he remembered people were already prodding at Sextus when I began exploring. I felt guilty all the same.

‘You’re not angry with me?’

‘No, Albia.’ He softened. ‘Never.’

Faustus drew me in among the throng of people who wanted to hear Sextus. We were at the far northern end of the Forum, outside the Curia. The Rostra ran across almost the whole Forum’s width. Behind it was the Umbilicus of Rome, a marble structure that represented the city’s navel. In front stood the Golden Milestone, where all roads to Rome met. This was a sacred spot.

The tall base of the Rostra was adorned with ships’ prows, memorials to sea-battles; some of the beaks were real prows taken from defeated vessels, though more had been created specially. The back and sides of the large platform had ornate balustrades but the front was open. Speakers stood up there, looking down the length of the Forum, crowded with monuments and statues, towards the Temple of the Divine Julius, whose eulogy had occurred right there.

Many famous and infamous speeches had been uttered from the Rostra, much brilliant oratory – and, inevitably, much tame tosh. Overcome by the occasion, as soon as their feet touched that legendary podium, all too many speakers succumbed to cliché and verbosity. They all thought they were Mark Antony. None came near him. That never stopped them. Very few let themselves be deterred by the rude Roman crowds heckling.

I saw Sextus eagerly clamber up to the great platform. When he took up a position, he looked dwarfed by the various columns that supported commemorative statues. Fellows in wreaths, with swagger sticks or scrolls, ill-advised Roman noses and very ugly sandalled feet, posed nobly all around him. There were too many, so from time to time the Senate had to insist on a cull.

It was the first time I had seen Vibius Marinus in action. He was not at all bad. We had given him a strong speech, which he must have read and absorbed, stewing over it all last night. He spoke without notes. That was correct procedure, in both law and politics. As far as I could tell, he had not made scribbles in the folds of his toga. If he had, they were only for reassurance and he never seemed to look down at the secret reminders.

He had the right style: he looked at his audience and spoke in an almost conversational manner. He came across as trustworthy and likeable. I felt glad to find that Sextus might be slapdash on occasions, but he had substance.

Faustus had made sure the crowd contained all their supporters, prominently at the front. The other candidates collected, most giving themselves a good view from the steep steps of the Temple of Saturn. Ennius had a much worse position at the Temple of Concord, as if the others had refused him space. Word had been spread about our man’s intentions; none could afford to miss this, in case they needed to shout rebuttals. They brought their own supporters, who began catcalling early. Only a few people were unbiased members of the public. For all I knew, even some of those had been given incentives to come.

I spotted Gratus and his sister. For some reason, they were by themselves on the steps of the Temple of Vespasian, which had been squeezed in under the Capitol between the Temple of Concord and the Porticus of the Consenting Gods. It stood almost round a corner and gave hardly any view of the Rostra. Hiding there was a poor way to signal that they were in coalition with this speaker.

At first everything went well. The stories I had collected caused happily raucous shouts, while the jokes Faustus had written made all the crowd laugh, even those who were supposed to be supporting the insulted rivals. Sextus felt the buzz; he became positively thrilling. Everyone was with him, enjoying the speech, and he clearly enjoyed giving it.

Faustus and I listened, occasionally glancing at one another with smiles when our man reached one of our best lines.

‘Why does he need a fierce hunting dog in Rome? He surely cannot intend to attack venerable priestesses. Is it for catching mice? I ask you seriously, my friends, what pathetic kind of man needs to rely on a dog to give him a public presence? If this creature means so much, why don’t we elect the dog instead of his master, a new Incitatus?’ Incitatus was that racehorse a mad emperor had once had elected as consul.

The crowd were laughing; some made barking sounds. Sniping at Trebonius Fulvo was easy: unseemly weight-training, the hard attitude, a dangerous dog that didn’t respect religion, the fancy rings … Trebonius Fulvo listened with a faint smile, biding his time. As soon as Sextus paused for breath, he used his powerful barrel-chested voice: ‘I cannot be all bad – at least I have a loyal wife! Day after day she proudly comes to support my efforts. In offering myself for public service, I for one am sustained by a strong domestic partnership.’

The loyal wife was with him; he took her hand and clasped it in the traditional pose of marital commitment, while she simpered at him adoringly the way politicians’ loyal wives do when asked to perform in public. She looked older than Trebonius, a respectable woman of forty, forgetting her marital disappointments and horribly forgiving such a shameless fraud.

‘Gruesome!’ muttered Faustus. ‘She must have seen through him years ago.’

‘Sickening, yes – but it doesn’t mean that when they are home she never complains that his feet smell, or tells him not to belch in front of her mother because he only does it to annoy the old crone …’

Trebonius went further onto the attack: ‘So where, Vibius Marinus, is your own wife today? As usual, I look around and do not see her! I begin to wonder if the lovely Julia Optata has cruelly abandoned you! Is your marriage over?’

Sextus handled it. He gave Trebonius a pitying glance as if the man was recklessly misinformed: ‘Trebonius, how good of you to enquire. Friends, let me tell you, I am much blessed in Julia Optata, but sometimes one must make a sacrifice. My dear wife has volunteered to visit her sister, who is due to give birth for the first time and is terrified. I miss my darling, but I must bear her absence. This is an act of kindness on her part, and may help produce a safe birth. Julia Optata and I have children, so she can offer useful experience.’

Trebonius came out of the exchange looking petty and inaccurate while Sextus boldly moved on to satirising Arulenus Crescens. The crowd knew that would be even more fun. They foretold ripe jokes about partying and eunuchs – always a favourite.

As their enjoyment swelled again, I was thinking that Sextus could have told us about the nervous pregnant sister – if it was true. His slipperiness continued to niggle at me. Even Faustus murmured, ‘That was a surprise. When we spoke, Sextus only said Julia went on a visit.’

I decided to let Faustus come to terms with these conflicting stories in his own way. My way would be to dig deeper.

‘Did Trebonius Fulvo know Julia is not at home?’

‘How could he?’ Faustus grumbled. ‘Trebonius cannot have gained access, then gone up and inspected the apartment as you did!’

Then I remembered: I had told someone else yesterday. I looked across sideways to where Laia and her brother were standing. Laia noticed me turn in their direction. Was she feeling guilty? A mere shadow of communication passed between her and her brother. They were too far away for me to see if she said anything, though I thought not.

I took a deep breath. ‘Have Laia Gratiana or her brother spoken to you today?’

‘No.’ Faustus gazed at me. ‘No. Gratus politely left us alone to do the speech. He knew we were keyed up about it.’

‘Do you think …?’

I saw Faustus take a conscious decision not to become annoyed, even though he shared my suspicions. ‘I think nothing,’ he declared. ‘This is politics.’

Laia must have told her brother that Julia had left. For Gratus to pass this ammunition to Trebonius was spiteful, but he probably thought he had to start defending his own position. We already knew he was an opportunist. Gratus might want to extricate himself from the now-awkward partnership with Sextus. Before he openly chose to split, he might stir things up, see what came out of asking hard questions, make sure of his ground.

‘I’m sorry I told Laia.’

‘You can’t be blamed. She was already dropping hints.’

‘So much for loyalty!’

Faustus merely looked rueful. Knowing him, he blamed himself and his old enmity with Laia.

Sextus was drawing to a close. A roar of approval filled the north end of the Forum.

I asked quietly, ‘How do you feel the speech has gone?’

Faustus smiled. I was relieved to see it. ‘It went well!’ he said. He tipped his head on one side, viewing me with a big, beaming grin, full of his usual warmth. ‘Thank you for your help.’

Sextus jumped down from the Rostra, fired up with his success. He moved through the crowds, shaking many hands as he walked, until he reached us. People clapped him on the back so clouds of white dust arose from his toga. Even he started coughing.

At that point people almost barged into us. It was the Ennius Verecundus group. To my amazement his mother plonked herself right in front of us.

‘That was a pretty piece of rubbish, Sextus Vibius!’

Close to, her skin was leathery, her black eyes glistening. Her high-rolled Livia topknot almost looked varnished. Standing straight as a battering ram and unmoved, she examined us, while Sextus very quietly leaned in and kissed her wrinkled cheek in greeting. I wondered how well he had known her before he was married, if at all, and how closely they had been connected since. Whatever their relationship, or his with Julia, he was maintaining correct respect for his mother-in-law in public. She looked annoyed but took it as her right.

The man was doubly gracious because Julia Verecunda visibly had no time for him. She jabbed an index finger so hard into his breastbone he would certainly be bruised. She seemed to be trying to bore a deep hole, but he only stepped back a little.

‘Son-in-law! Tell that daughter of mine I expect to see her immediately.’

‘I shall write and say that is what you wish,’ agreed Sextus, mild and polite.

‘Bring her back!’ Julia Verecunda had a voice like charcoal rasping on the hot bars of a griddle. ‘I want to hear her explanation of your falsehood. Visiting a nervous sister? You talk nonsense, Vibius Marinus. Somebody should tell those fools who applauded your rhetoric. Not one of my daughters is pregnant. Believe me, I would be the first to know!’