Lindsey Davis - Master and God

The living quarters remained modest, at least by contrast with the gross spreads flaunted by tycoons along the Bay of Naples. Even so, a luxurious redesign and make-over in the reign of Vespasian had improved both facilities and decor, with plenty of white and grey marble, all worked to a high standard. The most important rooms on the ground floor had impressive geometric mosaic floors in black and white, announcing that this was a high-status home. Pleasant suites occupied two storeys; some rooms opened onto internal courtyard gardens. The master dining room had a splendid view across a peristyle down the main axis towards a particularly striking hill in the distance. A short flight of steps led to a gently sloping garden, surrounded by shady colonnades, that included the usual topiary and urns, a large pool and scallop shell grotto. Natural woodland complemented the formal plantings.

Only a staggeringly outsized bath house showed that although this delightful and very secluded house was in single private ownership, it was occasionally used by travelling rulers and their large, demanding retinues. Freedmen lived here. An emperor could enjoy the attractive dining and sleeping rooms, in the suave company of a host he knew and trusted, while his swarming backup team was foisted onto local villages or bivouacked in the grounds. This rural villa made an ideal stopping point on the way to Nero’s spectacular country palace in the hills at Sublacium, too far from Rome to be reached in one day, which had continued in use by the Flavians. Alternatively, with only a slight detour, this could serve as a way-station en route to Vespasian’s birthplace at Reate and other Flavian family compounds. Though close to the Via Valeria, the house lay down a minor road which lent privacy and made it very secure.

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.