A daytrip from Rome, Horace’s Villa had seemed in the past a superb place to plot. An equally long way from Alba, it still was.
The current owner was Domitian’s great chamberlain, Parthenius. He took on the villa after other wealthy and influential freedmen and women, as he explained on the first evening while his group of visitors relaxed with nightcaps after their hot and bumping journey from Rome.
‘I find it entertaining — ’ Perhaps because he had worked for so long for an emperor with a macabre sense of humour, Parthenius was amused by situations that made other people feel faint — ‘that one of my predecessors was Claudia Epicharis. In view of our purpose, this seems a peculiar irony.’
For those of his guests who either never knew or had forgotten, the genial host elucidated: Claudia Epicharis had been an influential freedwoman involved in the famous Pisonian plot against Nero. Epicharis tried on her own initiative to suborn the commander of the Misenum fleet, Volusius Proculus. She made a mistake there. He betrayed the plot to Nero’s chief secretary, Epaphroditus, the freedman Domitian had just eradicated.
Epicharis was arrested and tortured, yet never identified her fellow-conspirators. After being broken on the rack, she was being carried for a new day’s questioning in a chair, since the injuries already inflicted on her meant she could no longer stand. Though in hideous pain, she managed to remove a bustband she was wearing; she fixed it to the chair and by straining on the material somehow throttled herself.
‘The courageous Epicharis owned this villa. I like to think the Pisonian conspirators may have met and discussed their intentions here,’ Parthenius ended. ‘Where they failed, we must prosper.’
A short time afterwards, the urbane freedman bade everyone goodnight; he sauntered out into the garden. There he noticed the tall figure of the one-eyed cornicularius, Clodianus. Arms folded, the disfigured Praetorian stood lost in thought. The impression he gave was gloomy.
‘Are you enjoying the balmy evening — or reviewing your options?’ asked Parthenius, coming up to him. ‘Not reconsidering, I hope?’ Clodianus acknowledged his presence, though did not respond to the question. Around them moths and insects darted, while the fountains on a great square water feature still tinkled, lit with dim lights. ‘Oh, I am so sorry — did my story of Epicharis and her suicide upset Flavia Lucilla?’
‘It upset me.’
‘You are naturally anxious about Lucilla’s safety.’
‘She is her own woman. I can only urge caution.’
‘I am sure she values what you say.’ Parthenius could be bland. She was not his girl.
They were all putting themselves in great danger by this conspiracy and Gaius was suffering as he imagined the disaster of exposure, with Lucilla being tortured or suffering a hideous death. Alone of those here, he had in the course of his duties witnessed torture. Not often, but enough.
Parthenius was married. His wife had been sufficiently visible for politeness, though it had been clear she would stay safely out of discussions tomorrow. There were children. Gaius had glimpsed a boy, Burrus, about twelve or thirteen; he was loafing about like any adolescent, staring at the new arrivals yet unwilling to communicate with his father’s visitors.
‘The Piso affair,’ Gaius challenged bluntly. ‘Total cock-up, I recall. Debauched candidate. Huge group of conspirators — over forty people, no? — all with conflicting motives. Action delayed until it all unravelled hopelessly; slaves snitching on masters; promises of immunity that were filthily broken; suicides; betrayals; amoral prosecutors, out to make a mint. None showed a jot of the morality of Epicharis.’
‘No, indeed. Faenius Rufius, the Praetorian Prefect, was originally right in it,’ added Parthenius, who must have been an official at the time. ‘Became one of the most vicious accusers, covering himself. He died anyway.’ Mentioning this reprehensible Prefect was a mean sideswipe. ‘Lessons must be learned, Clodianus. We rely on you to keep our Prefects in order!’ Gaius sniffed at that. He would need to be ambidextrous. Parthenius lowered his voice, though it was hardly necessary on his own property and so far from Rome: ‘I am entertaining your esteemed Petronius Secundus later this week.’
‘After the rest of us leave?’
‘He will feel happier. A happy Prefect is a friendly one, I hope.. Well, to your bed, man,’ Parthenius urged. ‘Our delectable Lucilla will be wondering what kept you. I hope your room is satisfactory.’
‘We have simple tastes,’ Gaius assured him.
A chamberlain was bound to fuss about domestic matters. ‘I want everyone to be comfortable.’
‘Appreciated.’
Gaius would not be packed to bed like a teenager. He stood his ground until Parthenius wandered off on whatever household rounds were necessary in such a remote location, then he deliberately stayed longer in the garden. Above, the open sky had faded to a magical violet hue. A few faint stars became visible.
Once alone, Gaius mused despondently on the likelihood that a half-baked, behind-the-scenes bunch of fancy factotums might actually one day (the day in question being one of tomorrow’s agenda items) manage to dispose of Domitian.
Kill him.
Kill the Emperor. Words a good Praetorian Guard was conditioned to find outrageous. Any Praetorian. Including Gaius Vinius Clodianus.
Blundering noises from the nearby woods announced arrivals; nothing sinister, just Lucilla, holding a leash, and Terror, dragging her excitedly. Previously a complete town dog, Terror had been here less than an hour when he disgraced himself by assuming the horticultural plant pots buried in the garden had been put there with hidden bones for him. He had worked his way down half a row, destroying the elegant specimens they contained, before he was stopped. Gaius and Lucilla had underestimated the hard work involved in bringing a spoiled pet from Rome to the wilds of the country.
‘Done his business?’
‘Eventually. You take him next time!’ Lucilla grumbled. ‘It’s so dark! I was petrified — you know Horace once saw a wolf here when he was strolling about singing. It ran away from him, luckily.’
‘Any wolf that turns tail from a poet is a crap wolf.’
‘And a tree fell on Horace once and nearly brained him.’
Gaius, now softened by the quiet country night, enveloped her and kissed her. ‘You might be brained by a windowbox in a city street just as easily… I could live in a place like this.’
‘On a farm?’
‘I own a farm,’ Gaius reminded her. He made it sound significant. ‘In Spain.’
The dog had covered his snout and legs with leaf litter and had rolled in a pungent substance that had been deposited by a wild animal with a foul diet. They had to take him to the baths to be washed before he could go back in the house. There was no one about, but the single slave on duty volunteered to clean up Baby, keeping him well outside the pristine suite of hot rooms. Gaius and Lucilla had arrived too soon before dinner for more than basic ablutions, so as there was still hot water they went in and enjoyed the rare thrill of bathing together.
Gaius thwacked into the plunge pool, emerging to find Lucilla laughing as she watched him. After shaking off showers of water drops, he floated on his back naked and cheerful — the Gaius that Lucilla loved to see.
‘Oh I could get used to this! In Tarraconensis, I am told, my old centurion’s estate includes a farmhouse, like the simple place Horace had here originally. My manager says it’s become a hovel, so I could transfer money out there and rebuild. Mosaics and my own bath house to chase you round — there’s a thought.’
‘ That much money? And Tarraconensis?’ repeated Lucilla in pretend tones of horror.