Lucilla could tolerate Nemurus being eccentric if either he did not realise he was, or he knew it and accepted it honestly. If he felt the cold, or was ashamed of his feet, or sandal straps rubbed his skin, that was acceptable — but she now identified that those socks represented his contempt for people. He was sneering. Nemurus had always despised other people, and now they were married he bullied Lucilla with this eccentricity just as much as the controlling Domitian bullied the Roman people.
In the end, socks were not what caused their marriage crisis. That was precipitated by another man, and not even Gaius Vinius. Nemurus himself was partly responsible.
Lucilla had told him of her work with the Emperor’s barber. She had hoped sharing a confidence might help. It did make Nemurus view her as a little more important than a mere women’s hairdresser, though he was so snobbish he never really overcame his shame in her work. Nemurus, who was currently in Rome not at Alba, knew Lucilla had an appointment with the sculptor. It had been something to say; conversation between them could be strained. Driven by some tic of distrust, her husband visited too, joining the public who had come to gawp at the half-finished statue. Typically, although Lucilla had given him the idea, when he saw her leave the foundry he made no effort to attract her attention. She dodged through the crowd outside without ever knowing he was there.
Nemurus had come with some of his friends, the evening set who drank and diced with him, men Lucilla rarely met. She still knew the literary circle, though she saw less of them, because Nemurus thought a wife should stay at home in the Greek fashion. Lucilla disagreed, but sometimes establishing her freer rights as a Roman matron was just too wearing.
The men with whom Nemurus shared his private life were coarser, and wealthier, than poets. They had no respect for him, but were denuding him of cash. They did it little by little, never too much so they drove him away, but cynically and systematically. Nemurus was no fool so he probably knew. Gaming for money was illegal in Rome, though it regularly took place; he liked to lurk on the dark side. It was also why he taught philosophy, which emperors regarded with suspicion.
One of Nemurus’ unpleasant cronies recognised Flavia Lucilla. He was Orgilius, the businessman who had been Flavia Lachne’s lover.
Learning Nemurus was married to Lucilla, this man swiftly engineered an invitation for dinner along with other gambling playmates. Nemurus was shrewd enough to feel uneasy, though he simply told himself the men would be awkward in his parents’ company at home. He came from a family of stonecutters. They were good people, who had scraped together funds for his education in the belief he was a genius. Nemurus had never had any contact with his father’s employment; his parents were equal strangers to his learning, though they gazed on it with awe.
Lucilla actually liked his parents. They might have been fond of her, had her marriage looked more successful.
When Nemurus brought Orgilius home, she refused to socialise. Her husband raged at her for not entertaining his friends. She gave some reasons. When he belittled her qualms, she even hinted that Orgilius had once seduced her. Nemurus was not a bad man, but whenever Lucilla resisted him, he dug in his heels. Since he refused to listen, she took herself to Plum Street, claiming she was wanted by Flavia Domitilla.
For two days nothing happened. She hoped she had escaped.
No chance of that. Orgilius wheedled the address from her unworldly husband. He turned up there. He bribed her slave to admit him, then kicked the boy out. He was thrilled that Lucilla occupied such a discreet apartment. After a few salacious remarks, he tried to blackmail her by threatening to tell Nemurus she had been his mistress. Then he jumped her.
Unluckily for him, at that moment Gaius Vinius arrived. Vinius had found the little slave weeping outside, clutching a large coin. The Praetorian took the steps two at a time. As he unlocked the door, he heard Lucilla cry out, ‘No!’
They were grappling in the corridor, just by the kitchen. The man leapt back, but not before Vinius had glimpsed him, all mouth and teeth, thrusting hands, a hard thigh pushing Lucilla back towards a wall. She, white-faced, was brandishing the multi-tool that Vinius had bought years earlier.
‘Everything all right?’ Vinius spoke mildly but Lucilla saw his fist clamp on his sword pommel.
‘Your lover!’ Orgilius was enraged that someone had beaten him to it — while thinking that if Lucilla had one lover it would be easier to pressurise her into two…
‘Landlord!’ rapped Lucilla.
‘I need a swift word with my tenant — ’ Vinius shoved the intruder into the couch room and held its doors closed. Though still gaunt, he was stronger than the now elderly Orgilius. ‘Quickly — Who is that?’
Lucilla’s heart was pounding. ‘Orgilius. Lachne’s lover. Sadly for me, a friend of my foolish husband.’
‘What does he want?’
‘The usual.’
Vinius snapped questions like a professional, methodical and neutral. All he needed was a waxed note tablet, and he could be back in the vigiles. ‘You object?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I hate him. He forced his way in here. I told him to leave.’
‘Why do you hate him?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘He assaulted you?’
‘He will claim I was willing.’
‘Were you?’ Lucilla made no answer. ‘Did he use violence?’
‘I was fifteen. My mother had just died. We lived in his apartment. I thought I had no choice. Technically, I did not resist him.’
‘Wrong: “technically” he corrupted you.’ Vinius was angry, Lucilla thought, surprised by his black tone. ‘Once, or was it regular?’
‘Once. Once, then I knew it must never become regular. At Mother’s funeral I found Lara. I escaped to her.’
‘Does your husband know?’
‘I tried to explain.’
Vinius nodded.
He let the bastard out again, saying to Lucilla loudly, ‘I’ll have my knife back, please. I’ve told you before not to borrow my tools.. ’ To Orgilius he added, ‘You’re lucky. The last rapist who tried it, she cut off his prick with my snicketing knife. It took me a week to clean off his blood.’
‘I am not a rapist-’ Orgilius blustered.
Vinius sniffed. Praetorians had a special sniff, which implied one: such hard men could not be bothered with blowing their noses, and two: it was a distraction before they disembowelled whoever they were speaking to. ‘I heard her saying no.’
‘She was leading me on.’
‘Not my impression.’
‘She was saying no, but she meant yes.’
‘Get wise. “No” is simple: you don’t touch her.’ Vinius still held his sword grip, emphasising that he was a Guard. He was comfortable with his weapon; it was part of him, a natural extension of his arm. His voice was level. ‘Not now, nor at any future time. Never. This is an absolute prohibition. If you come within half a mile of this young woman, I will personally rip your heart out. Just in case you think I am joking, you and I are going to take a walk together now…’
‘What are you going to do to him?’ gasped Lucilla.
Vinius gazed at her for a moment. ‘I’ll think of something.’
20
It was a quiet afternoon on the Via Flaminia. There were no big fires, last night’s prisoners had been processed, very little was happening at the vigiles station house. For Scorpus, things perked up when Gaius Vinius arrived. After ten years, he strolled in as if he had never been away. He had even arrested a criminal.