‘Domitian made both Rusticus and Helvidius junior consuls last year,’ Vinius pointed out. ‘Diffusing the opposition through friendly overtures.’
‘Buying them off,’ scoffed Lucilla. ‘It never works!’
Three male defendants were now to be executed; Domitian had banished the other four, three of them women, to remote islands. The whole affair had become another cause celebre. This show trial would always be cited as proof that Domitian was a despot.
‘If you are worried about your own position, Nemurus,’ said Vinius, ‘forget it. Domitian has no quarrel with stoics as such. The condemned committed very public sins: parading their republicanism, a long family history of enmity with the Flavians, withholding themselves from public duties — plus writings that made saints of previous martyrs.’
‘Don’t write any eulogies,’ instructed Lucilla crisply.
‘So much for my proposed Life and Times of the Late Herrenius Senecio…’ Even Nemurus could make jokes. ‘I teach, dear; I don’t write. Just tell me,’ he pleaded with Vinius. ‘Are there to be banishments of philosophers?’
‘Sorry. Privileged information.’
‘I think it will happen, Vinius.’
‘I think you are right.’
‘You said it was privileged.’
‘The information is. I gave you my opinion.’
‘Subtle! Luckily you have freedom of speech.’
‘True,’ said Vinius. ‘What a glorious regime we live in, under our Master and God.’
Lucilla put a hand on his arm. ‘Gaius, stop teasing. What should he do?’
‘Does he need to do anything?’ Vinius shrugged. ‘I don’t want to insult the man, but he is well below the sight-lines. Why would anyone bother to attack you, Nemurus?’
‘We live in dark times — but not for most people.’ Lucilla reinforced Vinius’ comment.
‘Be realistic.’ Vinius was blunt. ‘You are not worth it. The old prosecutors of Thrasea Paetus gained five million sesterces from it. The latest lot will make their pile, plus Domitian’s gratitude. If you are anxious however, get out of Rome, man. Go now. Go of your own accord, so you can choose your destination and find a quiet life.’
‘He cannot afford it,’ protested Lucilla.
‘ Exactly! A poor teacher is not worth prosecuting.’
Nemurus remained silent and despondent.
‘So what’s perturbing you?’ insisted Vinius.
‘What happened to Juvenal. He was in the circle I move in.’
Lucilla growled. ‘The idiot cannot expect to get away forever with saying Julia died after popping out a series of aborted foetuses, “each the image of Uncle”.’
Vinius winced, then nodded. ‘Nor his descriptions of Domitian’s council in that turbot-cooking satire. He was brutal — about important men, many of whom are professional informers: very shortsighted.’
‘You know the work of Juvenal?’ Nemurus was amazed. The Satires had not yet been formally published, though drafts had been read at private parties; presumably, Vinius had been informed by spies.
‘So what has happened to this bloody daft author, Nemurus?’ The Praetorian pretended not to know.
‘Apparently there were whispers of “a promotion”; Juvenal is an equestrian. He thought he was to have an honourable military posting; instead he was packed off to an oasis miles from civilisation, stuck in a quarry in the Egyptian desert.’
‘Classic Domitian!’ Vinius guffawed unkindly. ‘I have a thought,’ he then offered. ‘If you do consider moving, Nemurus, I know someone with a working farm on the Bay of Naples. It’s towards Surrentum and escaped the volcano. She might welcome a respectable tenant living there as a rent-free caretaker.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Lucilla a little too quickly.
‘Caecilia.’ Vinius twinkled. ‘It’s her famous legacy. Decent size, room for you to take your parents, if that’s a worry, Nemurus; great views; the best weather in the world. Domitian’s villa is safely on the opposite side of the Bay. The area is being revived after the eruption and there is plenty of culture for a man like yourself.’
‘Have you been there?’ Lucilla demanded.
‘No. Septimus took a look.’
‘He would!’ They had dinner with Septimus and Caecilia occasionally now; Lucilla felt ambiguous about the friendship.
‘Who are these people?’ Nemurus sensed undercurrents.
‘My ex-wife and her husband. Nice couple. Obviously,’ said Gaius, teasing Lucilla, ‘Septimus owes me a favour for freeing up Caecilia and her fabulous farm for him.’
‘Bastard.’ Lucilla showed him no real malice.
Gaius then reached across the arm of her chair and clasped her hand, looking at her tenderly.
Public displays of affection between men and women were traditionally un-Roman, but even with Nemurus awkwardly watching, the couple continued to hold hands. Nemurus could tell they did it frequently, whether anyone was there or not.
The meal ended. The wine flagon was not refilled. Nemurus decided to mention that he must be going.
Lucilla merely waved him off, staying where she was. It was Vinius who saw him out. The Praetorian actually came onto the landing, holding the door closed behind him. ‘I meant what I said about Naples. If it seems good, let me know.’
‘That is unexpectedly kind of you.’
‘I want something,’ Vinius admitted. His tone was unexceptional, but his stare was harder. ‘Don’t look so worried. My affection for Lucilla has always shielded you. Sincerely, I do not expect anyone else to betray you either. Our Master and God permits honest philosophy; what you believe, even what you teach, is your own affair. But I want to protect Lucilla.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t contact her again. This is not personal, though I suppose you are entitled to think so. If ever any informer should look at you too closely, I do not want them to pick up a silver snailtrail leading to her.’
The teacher chewed his lip.
‘She is defiant in her choice of friends,’ said the Praetorian softly. ‘She will not drop you; so you have to do it. “ The point is, not how long you live, but how nobly. ” Seneca,’ Vinius spelt out. ‘You know: wise, compassionate, amiable — one of those worthy men of literature who got himself killed by a mad emperor.’
29
One day, in his thirty-seventh year, when he ought to have known better, the Praetorian cornicularius Clodianus was called in to the Prefects’ office and invited to join a small committee of like-minded men. He could see no way to wriggle out. It was proposed to him, as such nightmares always are, as an honour.
Privately, he thought the term ‘like-minded men’ carried the same whiff as ‘concerned citizens’; it meant madmen with unpleasant designs on society. He had served in the vigiles. He had kept the surveillance lists of mathematicians, Christians and astrologers. He knew what like-minded men who gathered in furtive groups were generally aiming for and as a soldier he disliked it.
‘There has been bit of toing and froing on this,’ the Prefect admitted. It was Casperius Aelianus, the man Gaius first met after Dacia. ‘Usual nonsense. Changes of mind. Waiting for a decision. Still, we seem to be clear now, and you’ll be glad to know it has been agreed you are absolutely the right man for the job.’
No one else will touch it, thought Gaius. Luckily, keeping his private thoughts hidden was one of his talents. It was essential to his job. Being one-eyed with a wrecked face gave him every advantage in appearing inscrutable. With the Prefect, he played on it shamelessly. ‘Thank you, sir.’
His tone was so benign the Prefect shifted on his seat, caught by a riffle of uncertainty. He suspected that under the grave veneer, this Clodianus could be a subversive bugger.
The new committee was official, yet it was secret. Clodianus was given to understand that the Emperor was aware of its existence. That implied Domitian approved. Perhaps he had even suggested it — always a worrying aspect.
‘May I ask who chose me, sir?’
‘Abascantus. Know him?’
‘Vaguely. I know who he is, obviously — chief correspondence secretary. I have dealings with his people.’