I say ‘had been married’ for a reason. By the time of the vote, his status had altered. For him, there had been a tragic coda.
One day at mid-morning, Julia Optata was found at the bottom of a flight of stairs at home, dead. We were not called to the scene, never saw the evidence. Next thing, her body had been gathered up and we were attending her funeral.
Friends were invited to the house afterwards, so we had a chance to look discreetly at where she was found. I remembered taking that staircase, which led up from the ground floor to the apartment Sextus and Julia shared. I had thought it unusually safe. The treads were clean natural stone, spaced evenly and well designed. Small windows lit them. A handrail, so rare in Rome’s ramshackle tenements, made the climb easier …
After the other mourners had left, Sextus told us two that he wanted to explain. His mother, tight-lipped, went away to another room, leading his father. Sextus sat on a couch with one arm round each of his small children. He said he intended them to know about their mother, to love her, but to know her life had been difficult.
‘I killed her. That is, I was responsible. But of course it was an accident.’
If anyone asked, he said he would be open in public. There had been too much secrecy. Sextus did not want his children or himself to be the subject of any more unfortunate rumours. All the best politicians take that line, I thought.
He confessed that throughout their marriage Julia had attacked him. On the day she died, they had been fighting again. She was furious that Sextus had announced in public that she was with a pregnant sister, revealing to Aspicius where his frightened wife might be. Her angry tirade worsened until, as so often before, Julia started shouting and beating Sextus. He tried to escape by leaving the apartment, intending to go down to his parents. Julia rushed after him and they struggled together on the stairs. She lost her balance and fell. It was a terrible accident. Sextus said he had loved her and was heartbroken.
We had to accept what he told us.
In private afterwards, at home, Tiberius and I thought his story was all too convenient. While he had spoken to us so earnestly, his eyes flickered like those of a guilty man lying. Most of his story might have been true, but we were afraid he had taken his chance and deliberately pushed her.
If Sextus had killed Julia, he would get away with it. Even if questions were asked, he was a plausible man. If necessary, depositions would be made by family and friends that, sad as it was, Julia had regularly attacked him. The tragic results were not his fault; it had been self-defence.
Sextus carried it off beautifully, ironically as trained by us. He told Tiberius that even if cruel people had suspicions, he would be able to rehabilitate himself. Once in office, when he started repaying favours, the public would soon forget. His reputation remained pure – or at least as pure as any other politician’s.
Tiberius, no fool and a good man, was subsequently cool with him. I found my feelings affected unexpectedly. I could never say I had liked Julia Optata; I certainly pitied her husband for what he had endured with her. But I felt belated sympathy; I saw the sadness of her life.
On the surface, Tiberius continued his friendship with Vibius and was always kind to his two children. A wise partner does not come between her man and his best friend. Luckily, at heart, mine shared my reserve. So Sextus Vibius Marinus would not be invited to our home, when we had one, as often as he once might have been.
We would have our own home. But that is another story.