Deadly Election

11

We walked down the ancient Via Tusculana via the Ludus Magnus, Domitian’s new gladiators’ training school. He had built it for the fighters in the Flavian Amphitheatre, to which it was linked by an underground passage. You could always hear exaggerated huffing, whacks, thumps and raucous shouts of encouragement, as big stupid men inside showed off.

Once we had passed the milling gawpers, who were trying to gain entrance to the restricted viewing facilities at the Ludus, and the huddle of off-colour bars that the fighters and their crude associates favoured, the street climbed a little at the beginning of the Caelian Hill, then soon became quieter. We found a civilised thermopolium. It had an interior garden courtyard. A few other people were there but we had arrived ahead of the crowd.

We decided against the stuffed vine leaves on offer. Quality depends on what they have been stuffed with. While Faustus unwound himself from his toga, I selected flatbread and chickpea paste. He ordered mulsum, the invigorating drink that is given to soldiers – and to invalids, though I accepted his choice. It was too hot to drink wine at midday, unless you were at home and could fall into bed afterwards for sticky lovemaking.

I did mutter a muted apology for my upset earlier, admitting I was not myself. That led Faustus to quiz me about my health. I described my stay at the coast, talking nonsense about life at our seaside villa. We were a still-young family. My brother, whom Faustus had met, was only eleven and although my two sisters were in their middle teens they often behaved like silly schoolgirls.

‘I hope everyone spoiled you.’

‘Depend on it.’

‘It was hard to let you go,’ Faustus said, chewing and playing nonchalant.

It had been hard to leave.

Time for work. I described all I had learned in the course of that morning about the rival candidates. My companion winced at some of the details, yet seemed prepared to use the information. He was the speech-writer. From what I had seen of Sextus Vibius, that did not surprise me.

‘You write it out and he reads the scroll?’

‘No, I make him learn it.’

‘Are you going to share these stories with Salvius Gratus?’

‘Not the obscene dwarfs.’ He showed amusement, teasing me. He must know I was jealous of Laia. ‘Don’t you think his upright sister would be shocked?’

‘Well, you know her better than I do!’ I sniped, gently by my standards. ‘It isn’t for lofty Laia to poke her nose in. We have to discredit the opposition where we can.’

‘That’s what I say,’ agreed Faustus, placidly, giving me grapes. ‘The dwarfs are in.’

This was him. He would not give way to Laia, though at the same time he never criticised her. He showed pain whenever he referred to their divorce, but I had to look closely to see it. He took the blame, so he always spoke of Laia with scrupulous good manners and there was no point in trying to make him exhibit rancour. Anyway, the marriage had been over for ten years.

Besides, I bet he had never taken Laia Gratiana to a friendly lunch like this. I had seen how she loathed watching us go off together today.

He went to the counter to fetch more mulsum, coming back with a new nibbles saucer. ‘They have cheese!’

We both loved cheese. Manlius Faustus measured by eye then divided the piece into two, being carefully fair. We shared a smile at the way he did it, before enjoying the treat in silence.

After lunch Faustus went to the Vibius house to work on the campaign. He had drawn up a list of senators, marking any who might be favourable to our candidate, which were cemented to rivals, which remained unknowns. He was making little headway with them. He wasted effort scurrying around and was depressed because even if he managed to approach them nothing they said could be trusted. They might assure him they would vote for Vibius – but many simply lied to escape being canvassed.

‘The really devious ones keep me talking for ages, even though they have no intention of supporting us, just to prevent me going off and seeing someone else.’

‘Well, the task is not impossible. You got in last year.’ I had better taste than to say Faustus was not well known generally and I could not see why the Senate had chosen him.

Manlius Faustus had somehow managed to obtain votes – even though he was a single man with no children, which put him at a disadvantage because husbands and fathers took precedence. He must have organised sufficient support in the Senate, not to mention avoiding Domitian’s veto.

He did a sound job now. He had been a perfect choice. Maybe senators had good judgement after all. No, all right. His Uncle Tullius had simply bought them.

Faustus threw back his head, as if enjoying the sunshine that filtered through the canopy of vines on a trellis above us. ‘Yes, I got in, thanks to my uncle. Fortunately he is helping again. He is very close to Salvius Gratus, always has been.’

‘What’s behind that?’ From all I had heard, Tullius verged on crude; he seemed a poor fit with the staunchly respectable Grati.

Faustus grimaced, then explained, ‘Uncle Tullius, as you know, owns a great many warehouses. A number of his best are in a certain street, where one building plonk in the middle has always been owned not by us but by the Gratus family.’

I saw where this was heading.

‘The warehouse in question,’ Faustus rasped, with a new edge in his voice, ‘formed part of the dowry when Tullius married me to Laia Gratiana.’

‘Neat,’ I said. I kept it neutral.

‘Neat, though not for long. I had to hand it back when she divorced me.’

So: neat until everything had turned nasty … and that was his fault. ‘Tullius can never have forgiven you?’

‘For him, poor man, that was the worst aspect. He could live with the shame of me cheating on my wife, the inconvenience I caused him – even the expense. But he could not bear to lose that warehouse, not once he had triumphantly acquired it. I suspect he had hopes the whole road would be renamed after him, the Vicus Tullii … He still yearns to retrieve the situation. His cosying up to the Grati never stopped, first the parents and then Laia’s brother, even though it’s impossible to take me when he visits them and he cannot lure them to our house.’

‘What have they to fear? − You would go out!’ I sniggered.

Faustus growled, ‘I’d stay out all night if I had to – I’d sleep under a bridge … I don’t get involved, but Uncle Tullius still swarms around the Grati socially. Biding his time. Looking for an opening. Elections, for manipulators like my uncle – who, believe me, is impressive when he goes into action – are always a chance to reposition.’

‘With favours and promises.’

‘Exactly.’

‘You say you keep out of it, but you are working with Salvius Gratus now.’

‘Not to do so would be unfair to Sextus.’

‘What about being fair to you?’

‘Ah, you are very sweet to say that.’

No, I was very annoyed with his uncle, his friend and the damned Grati for putting Faustus in this position. ‘Nobody calls me sweet and gets away with it.’

‘We’ll see!’ chuckled Manlius Faustus, as if he thought he could get away with anything. From anyone else it would have been flirting.

I said I was sorry not to help with his campaign work that afternoon. I needed to rest. And the next day I would be caught up in my own family’s business: tomorrow was the Callistus auction. I wanted to be there. I assured Faustus I would be required to do nothing that would tax me; I would only be an observer. ‘Oh, really!’

I strolled with him as far as the Vibius house, after which I would make my own way home. We parted with a light kiss on the cheek – good manners between acquaintances.

I found the energy to walk all the way to my apartment. It was not a long distance: along the Clivus Scauri and around the far end of the Circus Maximus, on the flat at first, though followed by a slow climb up the Aventine. That was steep, especially with food inside you, but I knew how to pace myself. I was in a good mood. The streets of the thirteenth district were quiet while everyone was lunching, at home or out in company. Businesses were shuttered now until early evening. Even the most excitable dogs were resting in the shade. Children had been called in. Beggars were taking a snooze and hustlers could not be bothered.

So I went home, and was happy to be there, even though I was alone and there was no chance at all of an afternoon’s sticky lovemaking.