Deadly Election

56

Someone I once knew had accused Tullius of lewd and predatory behaviour. Even Faustus acknowledged they were very different characters. Still, this man had taken in an orphaned nephew, brought him up, then stayed on good terms while they had lived together for most of the past twenty years. I had never heard Tiberius make a complaint.

Face to face, I saw little physical resemblance between the two men, nor any between the uncle and that young woman in the ancestral plaque who must have been his sister. The uncle was bulky though not gross. He must be sixty, sixty plus. He had a bald crown, inquisitive light brown eyes, and a contemptuous manner. I knew why that was. Even though he asked, ‘And who are you?’ he knew. ‘Don’t tell me − the cheeky piece who has been luring my nephew away from home!’

Quietly, I answered: ‘My name is Flavia Albia, daughter of the equestrian Didius Falco and the noble Helena Justina. I do have the friendship of Tiberius Manlius -’ I deliberately chose to use his first two names rather than the more formal last two. The Roman naming system is so subtle, and I knew how to deploy it. ‘I apologise for coming so late. I have been assisting your nephew with his election work. We uncovered foul play and I badly need to give him information.’

‘“Election assistance” – that’s a new word for an old game!’ Tullius screwed up his eyes, which gave him a piggy expression. ‘Well, this is a useful meeting, young woman!’ He folded his arms aggressively.

I decided there was no point in holding back. ‘I see. You think I am a graspy little gold-digger and this is your chance to see me off.’

Good move. My calm words surprised him. He expected me to be defensive, not to come straight out with my own challenge.

With anyone else, I would have suggested we relocate to somewhere private. Here, we had the porter, the secretary and several slaves, who had popped out to greet their returning master, a rash of attentive people who had heard him come home. In view of what I had been told about his crude habits, I chose not to be alone with him. So we held our conversation there in the atrium, with an eager audience.

I had to be very careful. Faustus wanted to avoid a quarrel. It was wise for me to cultivate good relations with his uncle.

‘You had your fun,’ sneered Tullius. ‘Him too, I gather!’

He looked me up and down, his meaning unmistakable. I wondered what he made of my white funeral-going drapery: thoroughly discreet, with minimal jewellery and the formal veil I had automatically lifted over my hair. I watched him assess me, as people so often did when I was working. He would be puzzled by the grave appearance that belied my smart talk. He had expected three-inch cork heels and thick lead face paint, with layers of gold necklace – probably loaded onto me by Faustus. He could not know that Faustus’s idea of a love-gift was a stone bench, but even so Tullius was bemused by his nephew’s taste in girlfriends.

‘Tullius Icilius …’ Nobody seemed to use it, but I knew his cognomen from my father’s investigation. Indeed, I knew much more about this man than he would expect. Good at what he does, had been Falco’s verdict. Apparently without undue use of sharp practice. A sly mover and a hard-working money hound. Thank you, Father! ‘Tullius Icilius, it is late. If you want to say something important, do. But please remember that your nephew has chosen to be friends with me.’

‘And now he’ll see sense.’ That old line!

‘You haven’t been watching closely enough. He has changed.’ I sounded sure.

‘Oh, no!’ So did Tullius.

‘I have seen the alteration.’ I remembered Tiberius when we first met: hard, belligerent, short-tempered – simply unsure how to wield his magisterial authority, I now realised. For a time it had made him unpleasant to deal with. That was how I had ended up stabbing his hand with a meat skewer. He learned; he calmed down. I calmed down too. I spoke very levelly now. ‘Other people have commented on the alteration. He spent thirty years doing nothing, then he acquired the aedilate. You must have thought this was simply good for your business contacts, good for prestige. You underestimated the results. Never mind how other men approach such a post, your nephew took it on and mastered it. And when the work and his ability to carry it out thrilled him, he discovered himself. A cliché, perhaps, yet true.’

His uncle shrugged and admitted without drama, ‘Yes, he surprised us.’

‘Take my advice. Unless you accept the new Tiberius, you will lose him.’

This time Tullius laughed out loud. ‘You imagine I shall lose him to you?’

‘Well, I do like the new version, as he knows. But he makes his own choices,’ I said. ‘One thing I respect is that, since you had him at sixteen, some of Tiberius Manlius as he is today must be your creation.’

‘Oh, you are a clever one!’ Tullius scorned this as flattery, though I had meant what I said.

I had argued with much more dangerous men than him; undermined a few of them. ‘May I go home now, please?’

Not yet. My argument with Tullius Icilius had hardly started.

We stayed in the atrium, the staff gathered on the sidelines. They all stood still with their eyes cast down, trying to look unobtrusive in case Tullius dismissed them. I thought he enjoyed having an audience. He lolled his well-padded posterior against a heavy side-table, a man who loved holding forth when he assumed he had control. I stood erect. I must have been healthier and stronger than when I had returned to Rome.

Now Tullius dumped his clincher on me. He began by saying there were ambitious plans for Tiberius who, I was assured, would go along with them. His uncle bragged that financial control of their business affairs was kept in his hands, limiting his nephew’s freedom of action. He had accustomed Tiberius to a soft life, a luxury he would want not to lose. Unfortunately, I saw the force of that argument.

His uncle said Tiberius did not even realise how privileged his life had been. He had never concerned himself with the family business; to illustrate that, some years ago Tiberius had been allocated a warehouse in his own name yet he had not done anything with it.

‘What’s in it?’ I asked automatically.

‘Nothing.’

‘Is it secure? Is it waterproof?’ My questions clearly surprised Tullius. ‘He should hire guards and acquire tenants.’ Not the solution Tullius had intended! He didn’t want me beefing up his nephew to use his resources. ‘I expect Tiberius Manlius shied away from competition with you, who are the expert. But he evidently has thoughts of striking out on his own now, proven by that property he has bought in Lesser Laurel Street.’

Tullius scoffed. Tiberius had acquired it but had no funds for its refurbishment.

‘Of course you may refuse him finance,’ I conceded. I paused, letting the threat make its own point. ‘You would suffer if he decided to force you. He could do that. He manifestly has his own money, even though you have always taken charge. But a split would be stupid. Everybody loses when a good family business is broken up.’ Again, Tullius had not expected me to speak so shrewdly. Again, sadly, it made no impression on him.

That was when the uncle utterly floored me. He crowed that he was delighted when Faustus went into home-buying. Nothing could have been better. The reason would be announced at a musical evening tomorrow, an elegant gathering of influential plebeians to celebrate the end of the political campaign. This election party would be at the house of Marcia Balbilla, a social climber I knew was close friends with Laia Gratiana.

Manlius Faustus, his uncle told me, had so impressed everyone as an aedile that among his social circle − a circle in which, Tullius pointed out pleasantly, I had no standing − he was happily forgiven any youthful indiscretion. At the soirée tomorrow he would be welcomed back by those he had once offended. Tomorrow when Laia’s brother, Salvius Gratus, made the formal announcement of his planned wedding, Tullius Icilius would give their friends yet more good news. The election coalition between Gratus and Vibius had borne unexpected fruit. Old friendships had been rekindled. To the joy of both their families, his nephew Faustus was to be married again to Laia Gratiana.