Deadly Election

28

What was I trying to prove here, and would anybody thank me? Deciding no to that, I opted to be cautious.

It was mid-morning. I walked down the Clivus Tuscus past the Temple of Augustus, heading into the Forum. This temple had been destroyed by fire and rebuilt by Domitian; the neat edifice was newly released from its scaffold, so I paused to admire its eight spanking columns and glimpse the interior statues of Augustus and Livia.

Considering my next move, I would look again at the various candidates, including the now-problematic Vibius.

It seemed very quiet. If the rivals were on their daily walkabout, either I kept missing them or they had floated off to a new venue. None was at the Rostra, the main point for formal oratory, where Sextus Vibius was to make his speech today. Had he done it? Had the jibes hurt the others so deeply they had crept home to lick their wounds like defeated athletes? I did not suppose so. I am a realist.

‘Anybody been on the rostrum today?’

‘One of the fools was up there spouting. I took no notice.’

Great.

So much for being a political speech-writer. Nobody thanks you. Even the dummy who is reading the words misses the point of your best jokes; your fine sentiments will be superseded by events and forgotten by tomorrow; anyway, the crowd don’t even listen. No one is impressed. Get a new career. Sell fish-pickle.

Perhaps because they were always somewhat isolated from the main group, I did run into Ennius Verecundus and his mother. If the other rivals had moved off in a body, these two had missed the picnic invitation. He was the boy nobody else wants to play with.

I watched Ennius lavishing those smiles on everyone he met. He had a rectangular face with a pointed chin and a slightly receding hairline that made his forehead extra square. His eyes looked more intelligent than fitted his humble stance. If you met him out of his election robes, you might identify him as a disillusioned secretary. One who had been pensioned off because he was no good.

Mama did not steer her son quite as blatantly as I had originally thought. He moved around of his own accord, even though she was constantly watchful. She must know he had no real aptitude. He launched himself towards people and dutifully shook their hands; that smile of his was not exactly false, though meaningless. If someone had called him a lying cheat, he would have kept smiling.

Surprisingly, people were oddly patient. He would join a group and pose as he shook the hand of the leading figure, smiling around at the others. He acted as if they were all like-minded. They let him.

At least no firebrand tackled him with aggressive questions about what was wrong in their neighbourhood. Nobody expected he would do much about anything. Nobody had the energy, on a hot day, to engage with him. No one threw goose eggs. They just waited for him to move on again.

It was true that his baleful mother looked a woman not to cross. That was partly because of her resolutely old-fashioned dress and deportment. Today she again wore the stola, that sleeveless over-tunic that had once been reserved for respectable matrons but which now no younger woman would be seen in. Her hair, turned back in a topknot, with three precisely pinched waves down each side of her head, also harked back to the cult statue of the Empress Livia I had seen earlier.

In imperial art, Livia wore the stola, and was frequently veiled. She had an oddly sweet face, yet, even if you disbelieved the lurid tales of her poisoning people, she had been another dame to treat with caution: a wife who, while pregnant, had left her first husband when she saw that Augustus was a better deal. Thereafter she had tirelessly devoted herself to polishing his reputation, grabbing the seal and conducting business if he was away. A matriarch to chill the blood. Another mother who had pursued the claims of her son, the weird Tiberius. Wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother of emperors (some wicked, others mad). Deified, yet still viewed nervously.

Julia Verecunda had assembled a matching outfit and the hair. She copied Livia’s wide eyes and beyond-reproach expression. Her features were naturally plump and might have been sweet but for the firm unsmiling lips. Respect me or I break your legs.

Subservience to the male was, of course, her public persona. Their campaign was for Ennius, about him and (apparently) led by him, as it should have been. No one could doubt that she advised him, which probably meant nagged him.

Even if he did what he was told, he gave no real sign of feeling hen-pecked or bossed. He had learned. He knew to avoid trouble.

He had his own money, Arsinoë had told me. Presumably his mother knew that meant, if he was ever brave enough, he had an escape.

I now saw that a small, quiet party of faithfuls followed them about. These included a young, pale, decent-looking woman who must be the wife, mother of his baby. The babe had not been brought to woo the crowds, however cute it was. Today was far too hot; the child would have been wailing. Either the pale wife or someone else must have sense. The decision probably had not emanated from Julia Verecunda, the grandmother from Hades; such a one would surely expect infants to behave impeccably on all occasions – or would make the pale wife feel she was a useless mother if a fretful baby cried.

The wife had on an attractive sky blue gown, elegant on her slim figure. Though pale, she looked quietly composed. Mind you, the downtrodden learn to stand straight to avoid drawing more trouble on themselves. Perhaps she and Ennius were well matched in submissiveness.

I was heartened when Ennius, speaking to a man who had his own wife there, called forward the pale thing and introduced her; the two wives then talked. It was undoubtedly about babies. The wife of Ennius was not exactly animated, but assumed a polite, politician’s helpmeet manner. Ennius kept a hand on her shoulder. It looked almost affectionate.

Playing the politician’s partner was what Julia Optata, the supposedly devoted wife of Vibius, ought to be doing.

The rest of the party looked like family slaves and freedmen. Perhaps there were a few friends and relatives but, if so, they were very discreet.

I cornered one of the freedwomen. She had been trained to answer questions from the public and she welcomed me as a potential influence with male voters in my family. (She did not know my family or me.) Introducing myself by name though not by profession, I spoke admiringly of Julia Verecunda. I said I believed she was a woman of importance in this election. ‘I have heard she is not only mother to Ennius, but has two daughters married to other candidates. She must hardly know which train of well-wishers to join!’

‘Oh, she supports her son, of course.’

‘But it would be an accolade for any family to have more than one candidate elected the same year?’

‘Maybe, but Julia Verecunda is not thinking of that.’ No: she allegedly despised the sons-in-law.

‘Your young master will be elected, I feel sure.’

‘Yes, that’s what his mother wants for him.’

The freedwoman was turning away. I laid a hand on her arm, just enough to detain her yet remain good-mannered. ‘Excuse me, could you just tell me one thing? Someone said that one of her daughters, whom I need to speak to, is living with her mother nowadays. Julia Optata. Will I find her at your house?’

‘Oh, no – whoever told you that? Julia Optata is married to Vibius Marinus. You must ask for her where he lives.’

‘I wonder why I was told otherwise. Of course, as a good daughter she does come to see Julia Verecunda?’

‘We have not seen her for some time, but with so much going on, that is to be expected.’

‘She must be working hard at the moment, to support her husband?’ I suggested, wide-eyed.

‘Bound to be.’

The witness sounded so casual that I reckoned she believed it. Had no one in their party noticed how, when they encountered Vibius going about, they never saw his wife with him? I would expect a sharp-eyed mother to have spotted it, but perhaps Julia Verecunda kept her own counsel.

Would she have words with her daughter? Or would she approve, as Claudius Laeta and Claudia Arsinoë had both said? She loves to see families disintegrate and to know she is responsible … Had Julia Optata left Sextus because her mother encouraged it?

Here in the Forum, Verecunda continued as always, proudly bestowing maternal admiration on her son. Her head never turned. Yet her eyes moved. Her eyes were on me. She had spotted my conversation; her distrust looked acidic.

The freedwoman noticed and moved away from me. Very little showed that she was nervous, yet as she pulled her shawl tighter I saw her hand shaking. I, too, pretended to be unaware of Verecunda as I made off.

I marched to the other end of the Forum and, believe me, I went very fast.