Lindsey Davis - Master and God

Some front-runners were abroad, acting as governors of provinces or generals. Others were too old. A few with the right level of experience had foreign origins and there had never been a foreign emperor; Trajan, who certainly believed himself up to the job, was Spanish.

‘Unfortunate!’

‘His bad luck… What about that fellow who did all those years in Britain and whopped the natives? Agricola? We should not dismiss him simply because he had the bad luck to draw a ghastly province and got stuck there. Mind you, isn’t he from Gaul?’

Entellus was discreetly consulting scrolls. He whispered to Parthenius, who informed the gathering that they were spared having to consider the ex-governor of Britain, since he had died. Nobody had wanted to denigrate a province simply for being obscenely remote, or a candidate for having had to serve there. Nobody wanted a Gaul. Gaius, who cynically watched this performance, noticed veiled relief all round.

Another ex-governor of Britain, Julius Frontinus, was on their list; he had governed Asia too, which was more reassuring. Frontinus was born in Italy, so he must be sound.

There were other difficulties. Half the possible candidates had a close allegiance to Domitian — or might do; it was not always easy to tell how they would jump. He chose good men; good men had ethics; but ethical men might think it their duty to oppose a despot…

Everyone was drained by the intense discussion. Lucilla nudged Gaius to signal that one man had gone to sleep. Another kept getting up and going out; either he was whispering information to a hidden accomplice or he had a weak bladder.

The agenda was abandoned and they adjourned for dinner.

Towards the end of a fine meal, accompanied by flutes and decent conversation that deliberately ignored the conspiracy, Parthenius approached Lucilla. ‘Tell me about the cornicularius.’ Parthenius suspected Clodianus had only attended the meeting to keep an eye on his girl, now she had become so passionate about Domitian’s removal. If Clodianus became too anxious about her, he might be a risk. What were his own loyalties? Did Clodianus even know?

‘He has one Prefect sending him to spy, and one who wants to help us. Opposite orders… Don’t push him,’ Lucilla urged. ‘He hates it.’

‘Can we rely on him?’

‘I do,’ stated Lucilla unquestioningly. ‘He cares. You can trust him.’

‘With that wrecked face, I find it hard to decipher him. But you manage?’

‘I have known him a long time.’

‘How long?’

‘Over fifteen years.’

‘I never realised. You have both been extremely discreet.’

‘Long story!’ chuckled Lucilla. ‘In my view, Vinius Clodianus is completely decent. When things matter, he never hesitates.’

They watched Gaius. He knew they were observing him, and he knew why.

He had cornered Parthenius’ freedman Maximus to enthuse about his favourite scoff: ‘Your portions must be well roasted in olive oil. They need to be glossy and golden. Then the gravy is the real point. Chicken Frontinian is not for mimsy eaters who only pick at finger food. Serve the chicken in a decent bowl of sauce, either to mop up with a lot of old bread, or, well, you can just pick up your bowl and glug it down at the end.’

‘Gaius, you are a barbarian!’ Lucilla called.

He shrugged off the tease. ‘And pepper is essential. A good sprinkle all over, before serving.’

‘Not a dish for the poor then?’ joked Maximus.

‘No. I take my own peppercorns if I’m eating out, in case the waiter is mean.’

‘He really does,’ confirmed Lucilla, as she made her way over to Gaius. ‘He makes them bring a mortar to the table. You have to find it endearing — or you would cringe.’

Reclining alongside Gaius, Lucilla unexpectedly made a declaration to the company at large. For Gaius and her, this was a rare public appearance as a couple. She surprised herself with the confidence that gave her: ‘I know we agreed to have no business talk at table, but this is what we want. Don’t we need to recover a world where you can dine at ease, at home or in public, enjoying the fabulous ingredients our Empire makes available? Enjoying skilled cookery and service? Most of all, enjoying such good company as we have here tonight — without getting heartburn because you are racked with tension, and without constantly looking over your shoulder in case an informer reports unguarded words to a cruel tyrant?’

‘Being able to trust dinner companions, hired waiters and the little slave who helps remove your shoes,’ Parthenius agreed.

Even Gaius took a hand, smiling: ‘A world where Parthenius can safely bring his boy to listen in on the grown-ups.’ The sleepy-eyed young Burrus woke up and blushed. Gaius went on seriously, ‘Where you never have to look sideways at your wife nor keep your opinions hidden from your girlfriend — assuming you can get one as fine as I fortunately have to share my couch this evening!’

Lucilla smiled at his compliment. She could see that Parthenius was still wondering if this was a clever ploy from Gaius or if he had genuinely opened up. Was it the wine talking? Gaius had been quaffing in Praetorian style. He was mellow though not drunk, she thought, even though he turned and smiled back at her with giddying sweetness.

They returned to Rome the next day. Many decisions had failed to materialise, yet the project had moved on. People took away tasks — even though Gaius claimed knowledgeably that at the next meeting there would be complaints of inaction, caused by plotters being too terrified to approach anyone.

Lucilla was buoyant. Gaius, too, felt a hardening of purpose, which became all the more fixed after a couple of months when, simultaneously, they realised that Lucilla was to have a child.

A pang of uncertainty passed between them, before it was obvious they both welcomed this. Although pregnancy was unpredictable and birth a threat to both mother and baby, they were both happy that they were now to become a family. Ironically, they also treated their news like diagnosis of an incurable disease: during the next months, both began putting their affairs in order.

Gaius had decided to leave the Praetorians as soon as he had served his sixteen years. He informed both Prefects that his girlfriend was carrying, so he wanted to legitimise their relationship, and he started training an optio. The conservative Norbanus was particularly solicitous; it was a good Roman tradition to father a family and he assumed Gaius intended to produce a row of soldiers.

Strictly speaking, a retired Praetorian would be in the reserves for two years. ‘That assumes they can find me!’ muttered Gaius.

Lucilla meanwhile had learned about the compensation money Gaius squeezed from Lachne’s lover, Orgilius. She split it between the two slavegirls she worked with, giving them their freedom too. Calliste wanted to get married; Glyke in all probability never would, but Lucilla saw no reason for her to lose out. She treated them equally, letting them know that if ever she and Gaius decided to move away from Rome, she would leave them her business.

The couple vaguely prepared people for the idea that they might relocate one day, if they were not too disorganised to manage it. There was mention of Campania, where unclaimed land whose owners died in the Vesuvian eruption was being made available. Gaius cracked jokes about returning to Dacia as one of the Roman experts sent to support King Decebalus under Domitian’s unpopular treaty. Lucilla dropped other hints: that the prospect of a baby had given her the freedwoman’s dream to see the eastern homeland from whence her mother was originally taken…

‘Rome is a glorious city,’ claimed Gaius, ‘but not the only city in the world.’