Lindsey Davis - Deadly Election

We began to descend the long flight of steps out of the complex, which was steep. Tiberius offered me an arm; for safety I took it. He was still working out answers. ‘This is why Sextus and Julia rarely socialise. This is really why she left Rome when Sextus kept saying obliquely, “We agreed it is best.” Julia may genuinely not like crowds and she clearly wanted to look after her sister Pomponia. But the main reason was to ensure that Sextus never had to appear in the Forum showing the marks of domestic injury.’

We reached street level and walked on, round the back of the Palatine, towards the Circus Maximus.

‘This is extraordinary.’ Tiberius seemed baffled.

‘It happens.’ I lifted his hand, ruefully showing him the scars where I had once stabbed him.

‘Ah, you would not do that now.’ True. I could never hurt him; indeed, I would fight to protect him. ‘Besides, the difference is, Albiola, I was seriously in the wrong on that occasion. I would never offend you in that way nowadays.’

I nearly took him to task on what his uncle had said, but this was the wrong time. ‘Tiberius, even when a husband hits his wife, the situation tends to be well concealed. How much more so, when the wife is dangerous? A man, letting a woman batter him? It makes him no more than a slave. Think of the shame for Sextus. For her too, if she admits her temperament.’

Tiberius sighed gloomily. ‘We brought her back to him. What have we done, Albia?’

I had no answer.

As we carried on past the great curve of the Circus, we fell silent. When we spoke again, Tiberius changed the subject. He told me the messenger at the temple had come to say the vigiles had found a body. It sounded like Aspicius. The corpse had been dragged out of the Tiber that morning, an apparent drowning. If no one came forward to claim ownership, the man would be cremated at public expense and all record of him discreetly lost.

We agreed not to pursue the matter officially. Tiberius would tip the nod to Ennius, and let him decide whether to warn his sister Pomponia that she had probably lost her husband. We could never prove how Aspicius had ended up in the river, but we knew three substantial, capable men with detailed knowledge of the Tiber. They might, if they thought someone deserved it, get together on the riverbank with him. One might hold his feet, one take his arms, the third push his head underwater until he stopped kicking …

If that was what the Callisti had done to Aspicius, there was nothing to gain by accusing them and we agreed we could not blame them.

In a muted mood, we continued to walk down the long, far length of the Circus, up the hill on the crooked Vicus Publicius, then onwards to my building in Fountain Court. There, when I went up to my apartment, Tiberius followed. I let him come in with me. All the way home, I suppose I never looked at him. Indoors, he turned me so I was facing him. Hands on my shoulders he stared at me. He knew I was upset with him.

Tipping his head, he simply asked me, ‘What have I done?’

I loved the man. I adored his straightforward openness with me.

‘You have not done it yet.’

‘There’s hope, then!’

I choked a little, throwing my arms round him, burying my face against his chest. When I let go, I told him in plain words how I had met his uncle and what Tullius had said.

His mouth dropped open slightly. I knew then: Tiberius had not been keeping this from me; he had not known himself. ‘It will never happen!’

I covered my face.

‘Albia!’ Tiberius was stricken. ‘What must you have been thinking? Oh, my Albia!’

There was no time to discuss it. He would have to take action immediately: the announcement was to be made that very evening. If a marriage was announced, and if Tiberius later refused to go through with it, he stood no chance of salvaging his relationship with Tullius, let alone calming the wrath of Laia and her brother. He cared about all that. He was a pragmatist.

For the Verecundus council he had worn his aedile’s white tunic, with its magisterial purple bands. While he buffed up to look like a man who could be admitted to a musical evening (a quick hair comb), I did question why his uncle was plunging him into this without prior discussion.

‘All my fault,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘The idea was run past me, I have to say. I never took it seriously. Uncle Tullius is so desperate, I suppose he took silence for agreement.’

‘For heaven’s sake! You need to learn to talk to people.’

‘I’m sure you will teach me! Look, I must go to this bloody lyre party. Do you want to come?’

I badly wanted to hear what he was going to say, but ending the proposal (which her friends probably knew about) would be a public slap in the face for Laia Gratiana; my presence could only inflame the situation more. ‘No. You have to go alone.’

On the threshold, he grasped both my hands. ‘Have faith.’

If I had known in advance how long he would be gone, having faith while I waited would have been much easier.

It grew dark. I gave up on him. I cursed him, I wept, I dried my eyes and ate something. I would have got drunk but had no wine at home. I decided to send Rodan to buy a huge cheap amphora with which I could end my sorrows while writing a suitably dreadful suicide note, but as I opened the apartment door, a kerfuffle met me.

Struggling upstairs with a handcart was the aedile’s slave, Dromo. It was laden with scrolls, some in scroll boxes, some bundled and tied together, more clasped awkwardly under the arm of the overheated, agitated boy. He was too tired even to complain.

‘Stop, Dromo. Where are you going and what are all those?’

‘Stuff!’ He clumped the wheels up to the next landing and came to a halt, his handcart dangerously teetering. ‘I’m always having to haul stuff about for him.’

‘Scrolls? Tell me, Dromo.’

‘Old scrolls he’s gone and got from that warehouse, that one right over the Caelian with the boozy clerk. We’ve been scratching around and loading things for hours. It’s all his uncle’s accounts and no one is to tell Tullius we’ve got them. I’m supposed to lug my cart all on my own right up to the sixth floor of this awful building where you live, and tonight I’ve got to sleep up there to protect the stuff.’

‘And where is your master now?’

‘Getting even more stuff from our house.’

‘Go on, then,’ I said heartlessly. ‘Only four more flights and you’ll come to my office.’ I softened. ‘There’s a good couch you can lie on, and you can sleep in as long as you like tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, I see!’ Dromo gave me a disgusted look. He knew why I was saying that. ‘Are we coming to live here? It’s horrible. Oh, don’t do that to me!’

‘Ask him tomorrow.’

Tiberius arrived soon afterwards. He had a large bundle, which he dropped on the floor with a thud. In answer to my quizzical look, he listed, ‘Tunics, comb, strigil, spare belts, spare boots, knife and napkin, absolutely lots of writing tools for copying old documents.’

‘Isn’t thirty-six rather old to run away from home?’ I asked.

‘Thirty-seven. I believe in waiting until you are old enough to enjoy things.’ Suddenly, he became sweetly uncertain. ‘Should I have asked you?’

‘Not necessary. Tell me what happened with your uncle.’

‘I tried not to quarrel, but the conversation was painful and at the moment he wants no more to do with me. He will not make life easy, though he may come round one day … As a courtesy I spoke to Laia and her brother, gaining more enemies for life. Afterwards, I went to the old grain warehouse and extracted all my uncle’s records, as your father suggested. Now I have to say something.’