Only when the centurion thought this subject safely disposed of did Gaius Vinius revive it mischievously, saying that nonetheless Domitian’s anterooms were packed with throngs of pretty boy eunuchs, scantily-clad imperial playthings who called themselves cup-bearers.
Decius Gracilis understood this was a tease. He swallowed his prudery. ‘Convenient. If the catamites are half naked, we don’t have to search them for concealed weapons.’
‘No, we can see straightaway whether the buggers are carrying.. Sorry, sir; “buggers” was ill-chosen, in context.’
They both cleared their throats.
By this point, Decius Gracilis felt the conversation showed the right meeting of minds. Without more ado, he made the offer of becoming his beneficarius.
Encouraged by drink, Gaius Vinius was still amused by a mental picture of the upright centurion forced to overcome his natural distaste and frisk oriental eunuchs… He accepted straightaway.
8
The Insula of the Muses on Plum Street stood in the Sixth Region, the Alta Semita or High Lanes. This insignificant byway ran down the western slope of the Quirinal Hill and descended to the Vicus Longus. To the north were the extensive Gardens of Sallust and across the dip was the Viminal ridge. In this district, which had been favoured by the Flavians in their shabby days, were other substantial houses owned by senators nobody had ever heard of, families clinging on by their supposedly noble fingertips to uncertain status and rusty prestige. As the Senate mouldered under Domitian, they started losing their grip.
Bounded by narrow roads on all sides, the small block contained one of those houses. It was owned by the Crettici, who still lived there, though their fortunes were declining. The lack of heirs meant failure to bring in money through adept marriages, the elderly patriarch was now frail, and on good advice they were seeking to exploit their property. Ground floor rooms that faced onto streets were already leased out as shops or offices. Faded tenants in despised professions occupied single rooms on the top two storeys: honest accountants, engineers with no grasp of physics, half-blind bead threaders, a retired armed robber with quiet habits… Adaptations had recently begun on the first floor, carving up family accommodation in order to make bijou apartments, where a good class of person might be lured, guaranteed not to affront the owners, since the Crettici were hanging on in their original suites around the interior courtyard.
They still wanted to believe the house was their own, though in truth many other people had possession. A takeaway food and wine bar on one corner started slowly but as it became popular with passing workers, there were noisy periods. A religious statuette boutique attracted obsessed old widows who shouted strange abuse at harmless passers-by. The stationer served odd bods, in the form of would-be writers. They were believed responsible for a rash of subversive and not very funny graffiti. A stray dog solved that by biting a culprit.
Facing onto Plum Street were now a fringe-and-tassel shop (struggling) and a booth where a slightly peculiar man sold multi-bladed pocket-knives to soldiers and shy adolescent boys buying birthday presents for their fathers (a galloping trade). Between them, newly built steep stone steps disappeared under a tall arch, leading up to a discreet apartment. This was ‘strikingly renovated, with fine art frescos and high-end fittings’; Melissus, business manager for the Crettici, was attempting to sell a long-term lease to ‘discerning clients’ (anyone daft enough to believe his patter). A discreetly veiled imperial freedwoman seemed a good prospect, until she explained, ‘People who can afford exquisite frescos are looking for more space than this, while people who only want four rooms won’t pay your price.’
‘What about the decor?’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘You dislike it?’
‘I cannot afford it.’
‘You need to make up your mind quickly,’ oozed Melissus, deaf to obscenities like ‘cannot afford’. ‘Somebody else is interested.’
You’re bluffing.
Right.
You invented him?
He can’t afford it either.
A few weeks went by. There was no other interest. This was mainly because the pocket-knife vendor, who had fallen out with Melissus, was telling enquirers the place had been taken off the market. Melissus had not paid him attention, being concerned only to live the classic life of an owner’s agent: eating pies in his little office, conversing with associates in the Roman Forum, or sleeping with one of his mistresses. Neither was young any more; he was getting his action before they both packed him in.
Things became pressing. The Crettici were desperate to recoup their expenditure on the misconceived revamp. Their contractors wanted payment. Melissus had promised he would install tenants by the first of July, the traditional start of annual rents in expensive properties. Tenants had to pay upfront. It was attractive for owners, though a burden for tenants.
Melissus concocted a compromise. He told both potential clients that he was willing to split the apartment. It was laid out with two rooms each side of a central corridor. They could occupy half each. A lightweight partition could be put up as a divider. Melissus presumed these cheapskates would not object to shared facilities. Instead, he talked up how rare it was to have water, a clanking pipe linked to the supply the Crettici paid for from the nearest aqueduct: this was official, so no danger of being fined for illegal access. Melissus went into ecstasies over the tap in a cubby-hole that served as a kitchenette where a clever run-off then sluiced out a tiny lavatory, giving personal privacy as well as immediate convenience…
This apartment was indeed elegant, by Roman standards. The Crettici had had no idea how to cut corners for their own commercial benefit.
The freedwoman learned that her co-lessee would be a serving soldier. She pouted.
‘Not to worry,’ Melissus assured her. ‘The Emperor is taking the troops abroad, Germany, Gaul, some horrible place — by the way, I never told you that; it’s a state secret.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Demurely she implied she had better contacts than his.
‘Oh! The man’s brother is one of the builders, Fortunatus; you may have seen him working here — “Those steps will last a hundred years.. That’s a lovely bit of travertine!” He put his brother onto this, as an investment opportunity. The fellow just got married. He wants to salt away some capital, a secret from the wife. He’s looking for a business partner, if you’re interested.’
‘How does that work? To earn off the place he must intend to install tenants of his own?’ Clearly, like so many in Rome, the soldier intended to sublet at a profit. Some buildings had so many tiers of renters, no one could work out who owned the head lease.
‘He is leaving the country so that’s months away…’ The agent was bluffing; the soldier would want to have his subtenants in place before he left. Then he would be away, so if they turned out unsatisfactory, the freedwoman would find herself stuck with the problem. ‘Now I do need to move quickly, so let’s get this lease signed.’ Melissus winked. ‘You will be first in; you can make the place your own.’
‘I suppose you told this soldier, “She’s a woman alone; you can push her around”… Does the bullyboy have references?’
‘He is a Praetorian Guard, so have no qualms. A centurion’s assistant. Handsome fellow. Perfect manners. Absolutely responsible.’
‘A woman has to be careful.’
‘He will not make advances. I told you, he’s newly married. Besides, this is business for him; he won’t muck about. Maybe you know of him? His name is Vinius.’
‘Never heard of him,’ she answered, not believing in coincidence.
What Melissus had told Gaius Vinius was that he, the helpful Melissus, had with great difficulty persuaded an influential freedwoman to relinquish part of her space, given that she would be infrequently in Rome due to her duties attending on the imperial ladies.