‘That’s good!’ answered Vinius through gritted teeth. ‘That’s exactly how I like it!’ Then he slipped in vindictively, ‘So: who is Junius? Your boyfriend?’
Lucilla blinked. ‘My brother-in-law.’
‘I saw his name on our lease. I want to know what he’s like,’ Vinius growled. ‘Don’t tell me it’s not my business; it is. I don’t care for unknowns.’
‘He is my guardian — supposedly. I just put him down to keep Melissus happy.’ A Roman woman could not engage in business on her own account. If she lacked a father and husband, then for anything legal or financial she was obliged to have a male ‘guardian’ to act and sign for her. ‘Forget him, Vinius. He doesn’t know anything about it.’
‘So how did he sign the lease?’
‘My sister wrote his name in.’
‘Right!’
‘Soldier, your only worry is whether I pay up. I feel the same about you; the second-year rent is due now, incidentally.’
Vinius pre-empted her; he had paid Melissus that day. He had his Triumphal bonus to keep out of his wife’s grasp. To protect the cash from Verania, he was spending more of it on material goods and warned Lucilla he intended to have furniture delivered.
Putting on a show of competence, Vinius inspected the front door lock. ‘We need this changed. I don’t want the agent, or even my brother, or anyone else who may have obtained keys wandering in. One for you; one for me. No duplicates. Agreed?’
Lucilla nodded, looking amused. Nothing for wifey?
Don’t be cheeky!
Vinius had a thought. ‘Doesn’t the agent have responsibilities — cleaning? maintenance?’
‘I already gave instructions,’ Lucilla informed him. ‘The slaves have to knock and wait to be admitted. They must keep the entrance tidy so the apartment looks lived in, but they can only work indoors when one of us is here to supervise.’
‘That man Melissus wanted me to pay for a porter and a cook.’
‘I said no. He wasn’t happy.’
‘Good girl. Those bastards try anything to push the price up… That seems to cover everything.’ Vinius sounded almost disappointed.
Before he left, Gaius Vinius held out one hand and they formally shook on their partnership. Both kept it brisk.
Oddly, when Lucilla ate her supper that evening, the apartment seemed unduly still. Their choppy conversation had affected her; she noticed her heart pattering.
Gaius Vinius was a man; he expected to dominate. He would learn better.
On leaving Plum Street, Vinius met his brother in a bar, as he did from time to time. Naturally Flavia Lucilla became a subject of conversation. Fortunatus needed to be reassured that his young brother would be able to tolerate her; there was nothing so awkward as a financial arrangement that failed to work out… ‘I only saw her all veiled up, but they say she’s tasty.’
‘Passable,’ shrugged Gaius.
With male complacence, he reflected that his assessment that first time he met her had been right; Flavia Lucilla had grown up quite attractively. The scrawny girl had filled out and fluffed up, fulfilling his prophecy to such an extent Gaius Vinius preened himself on his astuteness.
Fortunatus led a blameless life. His wife ensured that he ate dinner at home, every night without exception. She was also prone to turning up at whatever site he was working on, to bring his lunch, or for some other domestic reason, at unexpected times of day. His men joked that Galatia came to pick him up and take him home safely when they knocked off work, though that was untrue; she frequently left Fortunatus to find his own way home since, after all, he was not a schoolboy.
He was eager that his young brother should enjoy more excitement.
‘Are you screwing her?’
‘Not yet.’ Out of pity, Gaius went along with his brother’s need to be titillated. As Fortunatus drooled with jealousy, Gaius quipped, ‘She will have to wait until I’m in a good mood.’
O Jupiter. Gaius, you lucky beggar!
Fortunatus concluded their gossip in his favourite way. He was master of the well-placed fart.
Vinius went home to his own house where in due course he made love to his wife. There was no point a man being married unless he availed himself of his rights if ever, and indeed whenever, he had the opportunity.
Supposing that intercourse would make him approachable, Verania afterwards asked if it was true that the Emperor had raised the pay of the armed forces. Vinius pretended it was just a rumour. Luckily his salary, after deductions, was paid into the soldiers’ savings bank; that was kept in armoured chests under the shrine at the Praetorian Camp, well beyond the grasp of wives who were, after all, not supposed to exist.
Domitian had in truth given the troops an astonishing raise; he had increased pay across the board by a third. Who knew what the damage to the Treasury was — but who cared? It made the soldiers happy and secured the army’s loyalty.
They approved of more than that. Although the literary commentators who had stayed in Rome picking their noses all satirised the new Germanicus for indulging in a fake Triumph, the soldiers assessed his expedition differently. They could see how invading the Chatti formed part of the careful strategy to beef up frontiers against the very real threat of invasion. And Domitian now had another success. News came that Agricola, the governor of Britain, had won a major battle against the northern British tribes in some wild place called Mons Graupius; he brought more of the island under Roman control than had ever happened before (or would ever happen again).
All this made for a good mood in the army. The legions might never love Domitian as they had Vespasian and Titus, with their grasp of logistics, brilliance at siege warfare and willingness to be in the thick of it, fighting hand to hand. But Domitian had won the troops over.
He would need that. Because it soon became clear he was gripped by an obsession that he had enemies everywhere.
9
Paris. Paris the actor and dancer… Domitian decided that Paris had become Domitia Longina’s lover. The Emperor frequently brooded alone on this subject, but once he began goading his suspect wife, everyone was mesmerised.
When are you going to confess?
Oh please! Not that again.
He is your lover; admit it.
I would not demean myself.
You must take me for an idiot.
No, dear; you’re just sick…
Lucilla and Lara witnessed some of the upsets.
As Lara said, it must be hard trying to throw yourself into a rampaging private quarrel, when so many other people surrounded you. The Empress always had her attendants; the Emperor trailed his bodyguard. Scores of other functionaries roamed adjacent staterooms and corridors, with hundreds elsewhere in the palace. Their presence was physically oppressive and accompanied by a permanent level of noise. Slaves had no incentive to do their work quietly. People waiting for an audience would gossip, cough and make complaints. Freedmen from the imperial secretariats called out to one another loudly as they traversed intersections or bent their heads over scrolls in corners of peristyle gardens, speaking up over the mumbling of gardeners and the splash of fountains.
They were in Rome. The Emperor needed to be on the spot; he was reviewing his huge city rebuild. Civic works took precedence, as his architects reconstructed the fire damage; there would be many new buildings too: a remodelled overflow forum, new temples for the deified Vespasian and Titus and for Domitian’s favourite gods, extra entertainment facilities. Until he fulfilled plans to monumentalise imperial accommodation on the Palatine, his family stayed in the Domus Aurea, Nero’s Golden House; the Flavians had always indicated they would only be lodgers in that notorious extravaganza but so far other building projects took priority and after more than ten years they were still here. The exquisitely decorated corridors and intricately linked rooms gave ample opportunity for sweeping about in a rage.