‘Not sure. They may have been mere acquaintances, who met that afternoon by chance. After all, Niger did not originally intend to default, and we know he was distraught when the Callisti changed their minds. Backing out damaged his reputation.’
Faustus winced. ‘Oh, I heard all about that again from the widow. She is not sufficiently prostrate with grief to stop her insulting the Callisti!’
‘I think she is wrong,’ I disagreed. ‘I am now seeing them as good sorts. The lost father seems to have been particularly well liked.’
At this juncture Sextus Vibius came home. He plumped himself down heavily on a seat, causing clouds of chalk dust to fly up. He seemed disgruntled.
To my surprise, Faustus at once tackled him, and head on. ‘What’s up? Let me guess – more hassle about your missing Julia?’
‘People can be such pigs.’ The words had force, yet Vibius spoke mildly.
‘Well, you have revealed a weakness,’ Faustus told him, none too sympathetically. ‘In politics, that is an invitation to attack. Look, we have to talk about this. It’s unacceptable that your rivals are harping on Julia Optata’s absence from Rome. They are making a really bad accusation about you, and how you are supposed to have caused her to go.’
‘Are they? What can that be?’ Vibius looked bewildered. Apparently he was one of those men who are wilfully blind. The more gossip about him became public knowledge, the less aware he appeared to be.
No politician can afford to be so obtuse. I was completely unused to it. All the men close to me were as bright as campaign medals. Father, uncles, and now Tiberius. Holding a conversation with them was like scuffling in a constant race to be first to the point. They might not agree with you, but they knew not only what you were saying but why you said it.
Either Sextus was dumb or he was hiding something.
‘Brace yourself,’ Faustus instructed bleakly. ‘People are saying Julia has left home in order to get away from you.’ His friend continued to look disingenuous. ‘All right, Sextus, I shall have to be blunt. People believe she has left you because you are violent.’
There was a silence. I stayed still, watching Vibius. He did not, like many violent men, instantly rage and deny it. He did not, like the clever ones, claim he could see why people might think that, then produce a slick, plausible explanation. He did not whine, thank the gods. Nor did he blame his wife for any behaviour of hers that had misled people.
Manlius Faustus held his gaze. His old friend looked straight back.
‘Vibius Marinus, please tell me you are not a wife-beater.’
Vibius spoke solemnly: ‘Manlius Faustus, I give you my word this is untrue.’
‘In that case, I am sorry to have raised it.’ Faustus was not letting up, however. I stayed out of the conversation. It sounded polite, yet must be painful. ‘I have a proposition then, my Sextus. We have to bring Julia Optata back to Rome.’
‘I can’t do that.’ Sextus was equally steady.
‘Either you do it,’ said Faustus, ‘or I can’t carry on as your mentor. I cannot and will not continue with a situation that is so pointlessly damaging to you.’
His friend leaned forwards on his couch indignantly. ‘I need you! You know the condition of my father. My mother is utterly loyal, but this is men’s work. I have no brothers or uncles. Where shall I turn, but to my oldest friend?’
‘Don’t blackmail me, please.’
‘Don’t you blackmail me!’
‘It’s not meant that way. This is what I must absolutely advise you.’
‘She agreed to go.’
‘Then she must agree to return.’
Vibius slumped back and looked glum.
‘What are you afraid of?’ I now asked him quietly. ‘How long has she been gone? When did you last hear from her?’ He looked grateful for my intervention, yet still said nothing. I risked more: ‘If you and Julia Optata have quarrelled, will you allow Tiberius and me to talk to her? … You would do that for him, wouldn’t you?’ I asked Tiberius.
Tiberius remained steely, but backed me up. ‘I am prepared to go out to see her, yes.’ Sextus was weakening. ‘You cannot leave Rome yourself, Sextus,’ he continued. ‘You’re a candidate and remaining in town is axiomatic. You should write her a letter. Ask her to come home. I shall go, taking your letter, and I shall speak to her on your behalf. You’re a good man and you ought to be elected. The Julia I have met will certainly see that.’
‘She understands!’ Sextus assured him.
‘Then I shall plead with her to come back to help you. If Albia is willing, I should take her along with me. She can address Julia woman-to-woman.’
‘I can do that,’ I agreed, despite surprise at being asked.
‘No time to waste, then. We’ll go tomorrow.’
I assumed that was in case Sextus changed his mind.
42
We began our journey in darkness, fighting for passage with the last of the delivery carts. Faustus provided transport, a carpentum, the zippy two-wheel, two-mule carriage that his uncle used for going down to Ostia on warehouse business. There was room to have a driver. This permitted more conversation than if Faustus had taken the reins, not that he bothered to talk when we first set out.
He picked me up at Fountain Court. I was sleepy-eyed and wishing I could stay in bed. He put me in the back of the carriage, under a rug. He hunched in a cloak, up at the front with the taciturn driver. I felt the jolts as we went downhill, then was aware of curses and sick-making stops and starts as we dawdled through Rome, with all the other vehicles seeming to want to cross our path or travel against us.
We were travelling out past Fidenae, which is ten miles beyond Rome, an easy day’s journey, except that from the Aventine it was necessary to go first either through or round the city in order to reach the Via Salaria, the ancient Salt Road that goes north. Rather than out and round, the driver went through. He headed down to the Embankment then up across the Field of Mars, along the Quirinal ridge and so found the Via Salaria somewhere near Domitian’s new temple, built to glorify the Flavian family. Personally, I would not have chosen that way. But who listens to women?
Eventually I grew drowsy as the pace grew easier when we reached open country. The air seemed fresher. Light was beginning to filter in, but I fell asleep.
Later, I sensed food was being consumed. I scrambled forward and squeezed in on the driving seat, a narrow cross-bench. As he made room, Faustus handed me a bread roll from a basket, smelling warm from a baker’s stall. Always organised, he also produced home-cooked clove-infused gammon to fold inside the opened roll.
The day brightened. Grassland and crops were now glowing gold beneath the summer sun. Cypress trees darkly dotted the landscape, singles or doubles or lines that often seemed planted together for no obvious reason. We passed olive groves and vineyards, heading towards the rolling Sabine Hills, though we would stop long before Reate, Vespasian’s homeland. Occasional old Etruscan towns clustered on hilltops in the far distance, each dominated by a temple, each colourful with red pantiled roofs above their rocky grey escarpments.
We were chinking along at a racing pace. Faustus had told me the Vibius estate ought to be reachable today; a bonus of setting out so early was that if we forced the pace we almost had time to return tonight. It would partly depend on Julia: how willing she was to accept our request and how fast she packed for the journey.
Even though his uncle had invested in seriously good mules, this was not to be. We hit a long delay en route. It happened quite soon after Rome. We had reached the bridge over the Anio, which comes down from Tibur. That famously clear river wanders around, crossing both the Via Nomentina and the Via Salaria before it turns towards the sea and is consumed into the muddy Tiber.
Faustus had been sitting up and looking around. I presumed that was because annoying beggars often lurk under bridges. As vehicles slow down, they jump out at you, whining sad stories and wanting money. They can also snatch packages off the back of carts, unnoticed by less careful drivers and passengers.