The Pillars of Rome

CHAPTER THIRTY

Quintus Cornelius was being sonorous in a theatrical way, over-indulging himself in the sadness of the occasion and for once his stepmother was not inclined to reproach him for it. There had been a moment, when he had heard of the death of his father, when Quintus had seemed, not happy, but calmed. He had, of course, come into his inheritance — he was now the head of the Cornelii household and he was describing, as he sketched his ideas for the sculptures around the tomb, the images the public would see as they passed it on the road in and out of Rome.

‘I think your father would care more what was here at the family altar.’

‘We have no death mask, lady, but one can be made from the best of his statues, the most striking likeness, and will stand in the place of honour.’

‘No ashes,’ said Claudia, ruefully. ‘It is sad that such a man should have no ashes, no pyre with mourners weeping at his passing. I think we would really have seen his soul ascending to the heavens, not just a flock of doves.’

‘Cholon brought back a handful of dust from the place where he died. I intend that should go in his sarcophagus and the written inscription on the outside will remind Romans as long as time exists that my father died as well and as bravely as Leonidas at Thermopyle.’

‘Many men died with him, Quintus, do not forget that.’

‘Ordinary soldiers, lady.’

‘Roman soldiers, seventy-four of them. I wish to erect a plaque near his tomb listing their names, for they were as brave as their general and I will endow a memorial sacrifice every year so that the God Aeternitas is reminded of their bravery.’

The way Quintus said, ‘As you wish,’ left Claudia in no doubt that he thought her notion a trifle foolish, while she was sure that her late husband would have approved. He also thought any grief she showed at the death of Aulus was faked; being the kind of insincere person he was, Quintus was much given to labelling other people with the same shortcoming. Cholon might be sincere but he had no love for her, the wife who had made his master so unhappy, and both had stood in embarrassed silence when she cried at the felicitations the senior consul brought to the house — a signal honour which showed just how Aulus was viewed by his peers. She hoped that Titus would come home soon — he was on the way, not that she would be open with him, but he would accept her sorrow as genuine, which it was, though she was honest enough in herself to see there was a degree of self-pity in her anguish.

She knew she should feel free. Quintus thought her unconcerned about the Cornelii family name, but she was; the memory of her husband was too strong for her to easily bring that into disrepute. Having wounded Aulus in life she was not inclined to sully his name in death and what of Brennos, now a big enough nuisance to be a subject of occasional conversation in the circles in which she moved, the most recent barbarity another example of hatred. His opposition to Rome had not mellowed and she knew he had several wives and a large family, even a numerous tribe of his own.

Should she leave everything behind and go to Spain there was no guarantee that she would be welcome and how could she tell him that his son by their union had been exposed by Aulus, and was certainly dead; that the talisman by which he put so much store she had not only taken but lost; that it was buried under moss in some field or forest still hanging on the bones of a new born baby? The images of that horrible year flashed through her mind. At least Aulus had died unaware that the boy had been a love child, and he had expired in the fashion he would have wished, as a soldier serving the Republic. It was odd to think, given their edgy relationship over the last eleven years, that she was sure she would miss him.

The slave had entered so silently that when he spoke to Quintus, it made her start. ‘The most noble Lucius Falerius Nerva is at the gate, sir, and begs to be allowed to intrude upon your grief.’

‘Show the senator in at once,’ cried Quintus, almost beaming. ‘What an honour, lady, what an honour.’

He was so eager, too puffed up that such a man was calling, that Claudia wanted to ask why he did not crawl to the gate and open it himself, but an unspoken peace had been declared until the funeral rites were over and she was not about to break it. Was it so strange that the leading man of Rome should call to offer condolences for the death of her most puissant soldier? It was unlikely to be prompted by affection; you could not live with Aulus and not know that he often despaired of his childhood friend, nor could you be unaware that Lucius had slighted him more than once, subtly for certain, for he was a master of that art, but snubbed nonetheless. Had Claudia been head of the household she would at least have made the dried-up stick of venom wait. As it was, he was with them quickly, his son in tow, wearing black instead of his normal toga.

‘Lady Claudia, I know I can measure your loss, for it is set against my own and I do not know how it could be deeper.’

There were two choices, to mock him or accept his condolences. The way Quintus was hopping from foot to foot nearly made her employ the first, but her breeding won out and she chose the second. ‘I know how my late husband esteemed you. I think that to see you here and in mourning, would ease his soul.’

‘His soul?’ said Lucius with a pious expression. ‘Was there ever a man with one so pure?’

She could not resist it. ‘I know that you, Lucius Falerius, can discern purity better than any man in Rome.’

‘I feel I knew Aulus better than anyone outside his family, given that we were friends all the way back to childhood. We served as consuls together and no man could have asked for a more loyal colleague.’

‘That was something my late husband held very dear. He often mentioned the depth and duration of your association.’

Claudia had picked the word ‘association’ deliberately and the way it was said was designed to let Lucius know just how much he had failed in that respect; that all the work to keep their friendship alive had come from Aulus. Quintus might not be sure precisely what was going on, but he knew his stepmother too well to trust her and he wasn’t prepared to let this conversation run its course.

‘We are very conscious, Lucius Falerius, of the honour you do the house of Cornelii.’

‘Your father did most to honour that, Quintus, but I am sure his sons will add even more lustre to the Cornelii name. Can I assure you that your brother Titus will be home in time for the rites and may I bring to your attention my son, Marcellus, who asked to be allowed to accompany me and has his own words to say.’

With a gesture he brought the youngster forward, and he bowed to Claudia. ‘Lady, I only met your late husband on one occasion but it was a memorable one. To me he exemplified the very essence of all that is best about Rome. With your permission I would like to take him as my example in life, along with my own father, in the hope that one day I may emulate his nature and his military achievements.’

The sincerity of the boy was obvious, and Claudia responded in kind. ‘You are generous in your praise, young man, and I am sure that Quintus Cornelius would not object should you ever wish to seek guidance at the Cornelii family altar.’

‘We would consider it an honour, Master Marcellus,’ Quintus added.

‘Would I be permitted to enquire about the funeral arrangements?’ asked Lucius. ‘I ask only so that I may tell my fellow-senators what is being planned.’

‘Of course,’ Quintus replied, moving towards Lucius, who turned away so that they were walking, heads together, in quiet conversation.

Claudia was left with Marcellus, who was obviously at a loss to know what to do, and was very uncomfortable under the scrutiny of a high-born lady who was looking at him intently, wondering how a creature like Lucius Falerius managed to produce such an heir; handsome, well-built for his years, and obviously someone who could speak without dissimulation.

‘Come closer, Marcellus, and tell me how you met my late husband.’

They talked for a short period, time enough for Marcellus to tell her that he had studied Aulus’s military campaigns long before the meeting; that the occasion was brief but in a few words a man he admired already had risen hugely in his estimation. ‘It is true to say, lady, that Aulus Cornelius had the great gift of not only being a great soldier but looking like one.’

‘I am sure that one day, Marcellus Falerius, you will share the same quality. I think I can already see the forthcoming man in the boy and it is most pleasing.’

It was the kind of conversational flattery used socially by adults and it was plain, by his stammering response, that it was something Marcellus was unused to; what Claudia did not take into account was his lack of a mother as well as the constrained life he led, and the lowered eyes hid from her the fact that the young man’s admiration was not confined to her late husband. The woman before him was not only aristocratic and sophisticated — she was, even in mourning, still young and very beautiful, and for a boy on the cusp of puberty, she had great allure.

Quintus’s voice, with a distinct note of pique, broke the intimacy of their conversation. ‘I cannot command that Cholon speak with you, Lucius Falerius. Besides he is no longer under this roof. My father freed him in his will, and left him a great deal of money, which I fear has gone to his head.’

‘Then I shall appeal to him as a Roman citizen. Surely having just gained such a distinction he will take that seriously.’

‘If I may be permitted to advise you, Lucius Falerius,’ said Claudia, ‘appeal to him as a person who served my husband, and can serve him still by telling you all you want to know about that slimy toad who betrayed him and left him to die.’

‘I have no doubt that Vegetius Falerius deliberately sacrificed my master to further his own career and if you question my word, talk to the centurion Didius Flaccus, for it was he Aulus Cornelius sent to ask for reinforcements.’

Lucius knew all about what had happened in Illyricum, as well as at Thralaxas. He had read all the despatches and having questioned Vegetius’s officers, he had a very clear story of what the man had done. He even had it attested by the gubernatorial priests that the abandonment of Aulus and his men was a deliberate act brought on by jealousy and anger and not some tactical mistake, for the governor had asked them to sacrifice a goat and read its entrails to ensure that his actions would bring him the success he craved. He had even spoken to Flaccus to find out what Aulus had seen and done on that reconnaissance to the south where he had first realised the extent of the revolt.

Nothing the ex-centurion said had been any more enlightening than what Cholon was telling him now but it was necessary to go through the motions of questioning this newly freed slave to get to the nub of what he wanted to know. So he let him ramble on, and even sat with an air of seeming compassion as Cholon wept, until the man had drained himself of any more to say about the nobility of his late master, or the treachery of Vegetius.

‘Did your master ever mention to you anything about eagles?’

‘Eagles?’ Cholon sniffed, dried his eyes and looked confused. ‘We saw lots. Illyricum, at least the mountainous part, is full of them.’

‘Flying.’

‘That is what eagles do.’

‘Did Aulus refer to them in any way?’

‘Not that I recall.’

‘I was thinking perhaps of one that had had its wings clipped, one that might try to fly but could not.’

Cholon was clearly confused. ‘I saw no such creature.’

‘You were close to your master?’

Cholon wanted to say, ‘Closer than you know,’ but actually said, ‘Every waking moment, and I slept in the antechamber to his tent. The only time I was not, was because he sent me away. Why do you ask?’

Lucius waved an airy hand. ‘Nothing really, just something Aulus and I talked about many years ago. It was something we were told as children, and plainly the possibility exists that it was false.’

‘Might I ask what?’

Lucius was quite sharp. ‘If your late master declined to enlighten you, I think it only fitting that I should do the same.’

Cholon responded in kind, enjoying the new freedom that allowed him to address someone like Lucius as an equal. ‘When are you going to impeach Vegetius?’

‘You are sure he deserves it, Cholon?’

The Greek bridled. ‘He deserves to be tied into a sack with a dog and a snake and thrown into the Tiber, yet where is he? Sitting outside Rome with his legion waiting for the Senate to vote him a triumph.’

‘Trust me, Greek, the Senate will know how to do the right thing.’

‘Greetings, Lucius Falerius,’ said Vegetius Flaminus, his voice decidedly tremulous. ‘And welcome to the camp of the 10th Legion.’

The ex-governor was curious about the box that his visitor’s slave brought in but there was no way he could ask what it contained. He was hoping that Lucius had come to tell him he was about to support the motion to grant his triumph, which would guarantee acceptance, yet nothing in the censor’s demeanour hinted at such a thing. But then, Vegetius reminded himself, Lucius was not called Nerva for nothing. He was famous for his ability to mask his thoughts; he might be contemplating that, or a ritual disembowelling, you could never tell. That he had come out of Rome to see him in his legionary encampment, without lictors or escorts, was a positive sign.

‘I do what I must. Since successful generals are not permitted to enter the city without approval, I have to come to you, as I feel we need to speak.’

Vegetius indicated a table laden with fruit, bread, sweet delicacies and wine. ‘May I offer you refreshments?’

Lucius waved aside the offer, visibly disappointing his host who had put off nibbling at the spread so as not to disturb the careful arrangement. He was hungry and craved a glass of wine, but that was nothing new; to a man like him such desires were permanent. Lucius was thinking that Vegetius had got fatter since he had last seem him and he had, on the day he had been granted the governorship, been no slim creature. He had expanded especially in the jowls; the lips, red and wet, had always been unattractively thick.

‘I take it you captured much spoils from the rebellion?’

‘Cart loads. We stripped the living as well as the dead.’

You would, thought Lucius. You probably stripped every household in both provinces to make your triumph look more impressive. ‘Good. I would like to examine them if I may.’

The ‘why’ died on Vegetius’s fat lips. ‘As you wish. Do you need me to accompany you?’

‘No, Vegetius, I will be content with a man of lower rank to show me the carts. Meanwhile, you are obviously in need of food and drink, so you can indulge yourself while I am away.’

‘I can wait,’ Vegetius replied, unconvincingly.

‘Open that box I brought with me while I am absent, it may help to suppress your appetite. I will talk to you about what it contains when I return.’

Lucius was handed over to a slave, then to an old soldier who was responsible for the triumphal trophies. They were behind the Praetorium, rows and rows of carts laden with helmets, swords and shields, animal skins and tribal symbols, too many to examine individually. Fortunately the old man with him had helped to load them from the mess they were in when they first came into the camp.

‘Eagles? Don’t recall seein’ any, your honour, it not bein’ a symbol that the buggers use, beggin’ your pardon. They’re strong on wolves and bears, daresay ’cause they hunt and kill them, and I have seen the odd big-toothed fish, river sort, but not eagles.’

‘Who helped you load these?’

‘Praetorian guards, and a mighty moan I got from them for the order, they seeing it as beneath them.’

‘Fetch them.’

‘All of them, your honour? There be some on duty guarding the general.’

‘Vegetius is safe enough here in Italy, don’t you think?’

The old soldier would like to have replied that he was not sure, for he knew the man he served was a dab hand at making enemies, but that was not the kind of remark the likes of him made to Lucius Falerius so he did as he was asked. The soldiers came, all were questioned, and none could recall a single instance of an eagle. Finally satisfied, Lucius sent them back to their duties.

Vegetius, who had been reading the scrolls that lay in the chest, the private letters of Aulus Cornelius to Lucius Falerius, had nearly died of heart failure when his Praetorian Guards were removed, mystified when they came back and took up their posts. Then he had the thought that he was not much loved by his soldiers. Lucius did not need replacement sentinels on the Praetorian tent; some of his own soldiers would no doubt gladly take part in his arrest. That he was about to be arrested was obvious for everything he had ever done that could be misinterpreted was listed in Aulus’s letters, and, typical of the stuck-up snobbish bastard, he had seen it all in the worst possible light. Vegetius was not vain enough to believe that he was wholly innocent of the odd bit of self-serving, but that was what it was, the kind of little peculations that any provincial governor got up to. Not Aulus Cornelius of course; his predecessor had been so rich he had not indulged even in what was unquestionably his by right.

‘My, Vegetius,’ said Lucius, looking at the well-laden table. ‘You’ve not eaten a thing.’

Vegetius waved a scroll, his face red and his anger seemingly manufactured and insincere. ‘I am too busy reading these lies.’

‘Dismiss your slaves now, we need to speak alone.’ When they had been sent away, Lucius added, ‘Are they lies, Vegetius?’

‘Of course.’

‘So you did not lend out your soldiers’ pay for months and pocket the interest, you did not sell their services as labourers, you never took bribes from the frontier farmers and mine owners to provide security.’

‘I…’

‘Have a care, Vegetius. I am not a man to whom you can lightly tell a lie and I have not even mentioned two other possible things which raise questions. The excessive taxes which you pocketed from your office, and the fact that the treasury of Publius Trebonius, which we suspect was taken by the Illyrian rebels who killed him, and would surely have been with the forces you defeated, is missing.’

The fat red lips were wetted several times before a reply came. ‘I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.’

‘Then you have little knowledge of what the word means, I fear. You have taken gubernatorial rapacity to a height I have certainly never seen before, made yourself rich at the expense of your office and the state. You have deliberately left my oldest friend and the best soldier Rome had to die so that you could seek enough dead bodies to get you a triumph, and we are about to have a debate in the house to decide whether that wish should be granted.’

‘I deny everything in these letters.’

‘I think I need a glass of wine and I think I should pour you one.’ This he did, only to see it disappear down the man’s throat in one gulp. ‘Now what you are saying is this. That Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus, probably the most honest and upright man ever to put on a senatorial toga, has told lies, while you, a man known for the depth rather than the height of your standards, are telling the truth. I wonder how that will be received?’

‘I have friends who will support me.’

Lucius smiled, but it was the look of a fox who had just found its way into the chicken coop. ‘I too have friends, and Aulus? He had the good opinion of everyone except those too base to comprehend his nature. I think that should I produce these letters, then propose not only that you be impeached but that you be stoned then cast naked from the Tarpien Rock, that I might carry the day.’

‘I made a modest amount, I admit.’

‘Modest?’

‘And I am happy to share it.’

‘A bribe, Vegetius. I think I should call for a shovel, since in a hole your inclination is to keep digging. What you need is someone who can save you from the justified anger of your peers.’ Vegetius was wise enough then, to stay silent. ‘But of course, such a saviour would have a price.’

‘Anything.’

‘That is a great deal, but nothing I suppose, set against your life, and a very painful death. Have you read the report of the commission that Aulus Cornelius headed?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You would enjoy it, but then since it was written by friends of yours that is hardly surprising.’

Vegetius sat forward, and spoke with a degree of hope. ‘It absolves me?’

‘It does not even accuse you, so much is it a pack of lies. Keeping the soldiers pay is excused as keeping them from throwing away their hard-earned money, their labours as service to the provincial farmers, and your policy of guarding the frontiers in small detachments is described as masterful. Given the lengths you employed to pacify the indigenes, the Illyrian peasants are seen as ingrates for their revolt. When I read it I laughed until tears filled my eyes.’

‘What do you want, Lucius Falerius?’

‘A peaceful life, Vegetius, is that not what we all want? No more scraped votes in the Forum, no more having to cajole my fellow senators to do the right thing. It would be wonderful not to hear of land redistribution ever again, just as I would welcome an end to the clamour for the peoples we have defeated to be given citizenship. You and your friends represent a sizeable block of senatorial votes. If I can always count on those my mind will be at rest.’

‘These letters?’

‘Are copies. The originals I shall keep.’

‘Who has seen them?’

‘Enough people of position to ensure that I can introduce them to the house at any time I choose.’

‘They will lose potency as time passes, Lucius, and then people will ask why you hung on to them and said nothing.’

‘They might not result in your death, but ruin can be just as painful.’

‘You’re asking me to help you gain total control of the Senate.’

‘Never fear, Vegetius. No one ever has control of the Senate and if I do have power, I intend to use it wisely. That was something Aulus Cornelius never understood. Now, about your triumph.’

When Lucius departed he was content. He had what he had sought when he contrived at the murder of Tiberius Livonius, the power to ensure that the Imperium of Rome would remain unchanged and unsullied. Aulus had taken that away from him the day he had mounted his defence; now in death, without knowing it, his old friend had created the circumstances that gifted it back to him. There was another thing to cheer him up; no evidence of any eagles appeared in Aulus’s death, so perhaps, as he always half suspected, that Alban Sybil was wont to give her prophecy out for the money they brought in, not as true warnings from the gods.

The burning drawing was no more than a conjuring trick to terrify the gullible, and he could now dismiss from his mind the occasional fears it produced.