The Ides of April

XXXV

In Rome, the homes of the great are as well-protected from intrusion as it is possible to be. They have high walls, no windows on the exterior, the most hostile door porters in the world, and often troops of taciturn guards from strange overseas provinces, in charge of snarling dogs who also don't respond to Latin-or not unless someone orders "Kill!" They all know that one. In daylight at least, these houses are also notoriously chock-a-block with inquisitive outsiders, invited in for a look around by members of the staff. In a house of this status, everyone thinks they are a cheeky slave in a play. Kitchen hands' out-of-work brothers-in-law lounge around the storerooms, pinching commodities. Maids' giggling friends come and try out the beds, still warm from members of the family. Factotums are pitifully keen to ingratiate themselves with people they drink with at fish restaurants on Fridays. Even the snootiest stewards love a chance to impress; fine fellows who claim to have been trained in etiquette at some minor villa owned by a relation of Julius Caesar's can easily be inveigled into showing off to total strangers the mansion where they work. It's a sad fact that only when a hardworking informer has a genuine reason to call at one of these places does entry seem difficult.

Manlius Faustus and his uncle were bound to have forbidden casual visits. But I knew they were probably resigned to it happening.

They lived on the western side of the Hill, close to the main bank of warehouses they owned. They were in the triangle of large properties that lay to the west of the Street of the Plane Trees, so they were close to Laia Gratiana and Marcia Balbilla; it was clearly an enclave of plebeian aristocracy. Tullius owned half a block of typical urban mansion, of some grandeur, with an atrium just inside the main door, beyond which your eyes were drawn to an enclosed garden. A typical formal vista. Sightlines developed to impress.

All the public rooms were placed directly beside the entrance. People came here on business, probably on a daily basis. Only the few who were permitted close intimacy with the masters would ever penetrate as far as private snugs and bedrooms. I sensed that plenty of those existed, off discreet downstairs corridors and upstairs on a second floor. In a city where most people lived crammed against other people's halitosis and smelly armpits, the lucky occupants here had space.

Andronicus marched straight in through the double front doors, which opened at the top of a couple of marble steps, each tread adorned with standard rose trees in matching urns. An elderly porter, who had probably lived there for years, put out his head from a cubicle; he looked surprised, but made no objection to me being brought indoors by the archivist. Perhaps he thought I had come about ink supplies, though I doubt it.

Just inside the atrium was a lararium, a family shrine against a wall, with signs that the household gods were tended daily with offerings. The flowers and wheat cakes looked fresh. "Tullius," said Andronicus. I nodded; it would not be the first time a man who showed casual disrespect to women gave heavy reverence to the gods. As head of the household, he would make the offerings himself. He would call himself "an old-fashioned traditionalist." I bet if I met him I would want to thrust his old-fashioned attitudes down his old-fashioned throat before he had time to say what a pretty little backside I had, and feverishly make a grab for it. I hoped we would not run into him.

I was led around the main areas, feeling nervous. There was an inside dining room, with convenient kitchen areas to the right-hand side of the garden. Salons with seating and a few display cases for statuettes lay on another side, along with a small library; there was no time for me to pull out scrolls and see what authors they read. Everywhere was decorated with wall frescos that had been painted in the not too distant past, as if they had a routine maintenance programme. I suppose I expected pornographic scenes, though if they existed I saw none. It was all minor myths, stylised architectural views and pleasant garlands, well executed but in unexciting colour schemes.

Where the aedile lived with his uncle was neat, and not particularly ostentatious. You could tell they had money, but the money was used with a light hand, so the place had simple elegance. I was surprised by its calm atmosphere. This house was well run, in a casual way that I found rather remarkable. Even though I was uninvited, I soon felt comfortable. The easygoing mood did not fit the antagonism I had witnessed between Andronicus and Tiberius, or the sharp way Andronicus spoke about the aedile and his uncle; still, that shows how human nature can fester, even in a good environment.

Andronicus had asked a serving boy to bring us refreshments in the garden. As a family freedman, he could order himself snacks; as his guest, I just kept trying to look as if I had come about stationery and Andronicus was trying to persuade me to give them a bulk discount. We established ourselves on a bench, with a little portable table carrying man-size cups and miniature dishes, as if we owned the house.

I never ascertained if Tullius was on the premises. The young master definitely was at home, I was told. After his late night running the festival, the aedile was still dead asleep in his bedroom; given that he had more to do this evening and for several nights to follow, nobody was disturbing him. To know he was so close gave me an odd feeling, though Andronicus seemed unfazed by any thought that Faustus might emerge, yawning.

It is always intriguing to see someone at home when you have only met them outside before. Here, Andronicus was the most relaxed I had ever known him. He lost that spiky, restless edge. Occasionally a slave would pass, giving him a nod and a quiet greeting. He returned it, seeming on good terms with all of them.

I was pleased. I liked to know he could be like this.

Soon we were talking avidly. Naturally our conversation turned to the aedile, when I made it plain I felt shy being in his house without his knowledge or permission. "So does he always lie in until lunchtime? Is he exhausted by organising the festival?"

"In fairness, the Cerialia has meant a lot of work for him." It was probably the first time Andronicus had ever shown such understanding when talking about Faustus. "He has never been used to working hard. It matters so much to him that he comes out of it well, and he has been a bit off-colour."

"Nerves?"

"Not him. But he is desperate to look brilliant."

"So what was it like last night?"

"Oh you know, the usual. A lot of parading in white, hymns, torches, complicated rituals performed inaudibly on special altars."

"Fun with the gods."

"Fannying with the female college-they bag most of the ceremonies. Unless they want to be Vestal Virgins, women have no other chance to be domineering priestesses."

"Laia Gratiana loves it?"

"And behaves as if she leads the cult-since she is currently single, she's deluding herself. The chief priestess of Ceres is always a wife, and fertile, to enhance the myth of everything in abundance. Having twins is good-triplets is better; triplets who all survived the birth is a clincher."

"Though somewhat rare! That's the old biddy we saw the other night in the temple?"

"The same. 'A mature woman from a good family,' or rather, a bad-tempered old bat who can't remember her lines in the ceremonies because her wellborn brain is going. Gratiana always pushes forwards to help her, but last night was demoted among the ranks all prancing like ancient Greeks."

I had been to this kind of festival. "Give a cult devotee a big flaming torch and she'll just adore pointing it at something in a ritual manner."

Andronicus did a hilarious mime for me. "Terrible posing and slow-motion solemnity. Really embarrassing dances by young people who had been made to dress up in fake Hellenic costumes. Horrible little playlets, with truly gruesome dialogue."

"Oh, you had a good time then!" I grinned and Andronicus snorted.

"Yes, I had a good time." He was obviously waiting for me to question the statement, but I teasingly refused.

We were silent for a moment. I was enjoying the bread that had been supplied with our refreshments. It was a good, fresh, crusty loaf torn up into its eight portions and served in a basket lined with a crisp white napkin. It came with a small silver platter of cheese which, unless I was mistaken, had been made by Metellus Nepos, Salvidia's stepson. I was sure I recognised the flavours, though sadly there was none of the smoked cheese; perhaps Tiberius had devoured it all. At least tragedy had brought Nepos custom.

The thought struck me that since this appeared to be the only enclosed garden in the house, it must be where Cassiana Clara had lingered that night she came here to dinner with Viator. I tried to imagine the place, lit by a few oil lamps flickering along the colonnades. There were festoons of jasmine where sparrows played, small statues of young dryads and a bubbling fountain that actually worked. It would make a pleasant place to hide away-though not if you then had some kind of unfortunate encounter. She had. I was certain now.

I noted that if Clara had cried out in distress, people in the dining room would easily have heard her and come running to assist. A few strides would have brought Viator, angry that in some way his young wife had been affronted. I visualised how he must have strode out here, slung that muscled arm around Clara and steered her back to a couch for the dessert course, the flautist and her polite conversation with Faustus about music…

"What really made Cassiana Clara so upset?" I asked. "From talking to her, she clearly was."

Andronicus looked startled. "Why do you ask?"

"Mild curiosity."

"She's a silly girl."

"All girls are silly. I was silly myself once. She comes from a sheltered environment, she's young, she is probably easily bored by long conversations about retail space and storage conditions."

"Personally," Andronicus joked, "I can never get enough of the iugerum-to-denarius ratio, and the free flow of air currents for optimal mould prevention."

I loved his sense of humour. "You're giving me a fine glimpse of the breakfast dialogue in this home."

"You're right. From early dawn, one is expected to enjoy a symposium on underfloor granary aeration, with the latest anxieties about mice and beetle damage. Tullius is a very successful warehouse owner, Albia."

"It's gained him a lovely house to hold beetle symposiums in… So," I persisted, "what did happen when Clara was bored with the space-to-hire-cost ratio?"

Andronicus shrugged. "As I said, I found her here and talked to her, aiming to cheer her up if I could. Hard work, I must say! When I could see it was making her uneasy to be on her own with someone, of course I quit the scene."

"Perfect manners," I murmured. I had not found Cassiana Clara hard to talk to, even now she was grieving, but I was a woman.

He pretended to preen. "I didn't go for her anyway."

"Would that have made a difference?"

"Why not?" he demanded lightly. I felt a lurch in the pit of my stomach, but reminded myself he was a man. Surely he had no idea this caused me a pang of jealousy? Or maybe he did know. What he said next came as a shock. "Faustus must have come along immediately afterwards, when she was still moping alone, and could not believe his luck."

"Faustus?"

"He lives here, you know!"

"But 'couldn't believe his luck,' Andronicus?"

"He grabbed. She screamed. Out rushes everybody, her maddened husband in the lead."

"Hey, steady on for a moment! …" I had to readjust. This was a possibility that had never occurred to me. Up until now I had not imagined the supposedly priggish aedile as a man who would set upon a young female visitor to his home, let alone when her husband was toying with the nuts and peaches dessert course only a few yards away.

"The girl was to blame," said Andronicus.

"Why? All Cassiana Clara did was put herself in the wrong place briefly, while she needed a breather from a stultifying dinner."

I could accept Clara was inexperienced enough to have secretly been excited by an older man mildly flirting (any aedile must be thirty-six by the rules, against her nineteen, a significant difference). But anything serious would have shocked and alarmed her, I was sure. She would not have known how to handle it. Anyway, she was devoted to Julius Viator-unless her devotion now was guilt after the event.

"She wound him up." I stiffened instinctively, at which Andronicus immediately dropped the hard attitude. "Oh, just testing! I realise you are bursting to accuse me of every kind of masculine hypocrisy, dear Albia. You are quite right. A woman should be able to sit by herself in the garden of a private house-"

"Or anywhere!" I snarled.

"Without every hot-blooded male who spots her taking it as an open signal to stick his prick in."

"You're saying Manlius Faustus is the same lousy type as his uncle?"

Andronicus just pulled a face and left me to think as I chose.

I put this in context with what Tiberius had told me about the aediles old affair. Imagine it: back then, Faustus, when left alone with his patron's trophy brooch-buster, assumed the beauty was there for the taking. "She offered. He took," Tiberius had said. But presumably that woman liked and wanted his attention.

For some reason, I suddenly felt I would like to ask Tiberius for his opinion about this story of Cassiana Clara's assault.

"You can imagine the furore when the silly thing started yelling. The girl was to blame," repeated Andronicus, matter-of-factly. Then he said, "So you know, Albia, there is a good reason to say it was Faustus who got his revenge by taking out Viator afterwards-revenge for spoiling his fun and showing him up."