The Pillars of Rome (15 page)

Those who supported Lucius regardless cried shame, his less numerous enemies aimed their angry scrolls at his heart, but a majority, the permanently
uncommitted, stayed silent, content to hear the noble Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus to the end.

‘What’s to be gained by perpetrating this foul act. Money? Where in Rome will you find a man less avaricious than Lucius Falerius Nerva? Who among you have put aside considerations of personal gain so that you may devote all your energies to the commonweal? My friend may not thank me for saying this, but while many here have increased their wealth a hundred-fold, sometimes at the expense of the state, my noble companion has watched his possessions dwindle through neglect. Why? Because he cares more about the power and majesty of the Republic than he does about himself, or his family.’

That last sentence was greeted by a mixture of nods, violently shaking jowls and the odd senators who threw back their heads in disbelief that anyone could countenance such tripe.

‘Then it’s rumoured the act was committed to gain power, as if the man does not dispose of enough of that already.’

Some members, trying to ensure that Lucius saw them do so, very vocally cried, ‘The gods be praised’. Others again aimed their scrolls at him and damned him as a tyrant. Aulus let the noise go on until it died of its own volition. Changing his voice, he sought a tone of inclusion, not declamation.

‘Fellow senators, it is in the nature of this assembly that differences of opinion will surface, sometimes disputes that are serious enough to threaten the very fabric of the polity we are set to defend. What kind of sheep would we be if everyone, here present, agreed on every subject? It is debate that has made us, the very variety of beliefs itself being our strength. This Senate has overseen the expansion of Roman power till no organised state can stand against us. We hold borders that would have caused envy in the breast of Alexander himself.’

Aulus paused to allow them a moment of self-congratulation, as well as to allow his fellow senators to recall his own triumphs. ‘And who in this house stands head and shoulders above us all in his ability to command attention on the floor of the house? What man cares more than he that the dignity of the Senate should be maintained? None other that that same Lucius Falerius Nerva. Which member has more ability to bring attention to his principles? Would such a man, with so much in his favour, stoop to secret murder, cause riot and mayhem which could put at risk everything he holds dear for the mere prospect of personal revenge?’

Aulus paused before he thundered his repetition of the word. ‘Revenge!’

‘Yet the rumours have some basis. There are
those determined to take advantage of recent events to gain a spurious political advantage. That, I submit, ranks with murder as a felony. All I propose to the house is this; that whoever committed this atrocity could not have the well-being of the Republic at the forefront of his concerns. That, more than the vow he personally volunteered to me, exonerates Lucius Falerius Nerva. I humbly ask that the repetition of such accusations should be made a criminal offence.’

Lucius had relaxed, and now his smile was genuine instead of forced. Aulus, in his bluff soldierly way, had played an admirable hand. True, it was not advocacy as Lucius understood it, but the effect was obvious. Even some of those he considered his opponents were pray to doubts and the motion Aulus had proposed would silence them for good. He could nod now to those who supported him most closely, men who probably did not believe a word of what Aulus Cornelius had just said, but could not care less. They had wanted Tiberius Livonius dead as much as anyone, and since that had come to pass they were satisfied.

He was slightly surprised when his defender continued. Aulus had made his case and really there was no more to say. Also, experience told Lucius that once a certain point had been reached, it was better to desist, that there was such a thing as excessive advocacy. It annoyed him that, least of all
in the chamber, he was in no position to interrupt, and the frustration showed on his fine boned face.

‘Everything humanly possible,’ Aulus proclaimed, ‘must be done to bring to justice the perpetrators of this heinous crime. Men must know that a plebeian tribune’s death will not remain unavenged. They must also be made aware that his ideas and principles do not die with him. I hope and trust that all will share my view; that Tiberius Livonius had the good of the Republic close to his heart, in the same way as my good friend and fellow senator whose case I’ve pleaded today. Both men deserve to be heard.’

The stunned silence that followed these words spoke volumes to those with the wit to interpret Aulus’s remarks. He had done no less than detach himself from slavish adherence to the Falerian faction. He may not have recommended Tiberius Livonius’s political nostrums to the house, but he had indicated that he, at least, was prepared to debate them. There was no smile on Lucius’s face now, just the look of a man fighting to hide cold fury.

He had to speak; to offer to the man who had defended him his gratitude. Lucius did so, with all the skill he could command, but at the final moment of his peroration the thanks he gave Aulus were offered through clenched teeth. The two men left the Forum separately, Lucius as usual surrounded by
supplicants and toadies, all eager to pledge support, Aulus alone, shunning even those who would congratulate him. He felt an emptiness inside, as if he had cut out some vital organ from his body. The following day, Aulus left Rome, sending a message to Lucius that he would regret not attending either the funeral of his wife or the celebration of the birth of his son; that after so long away from Italy, he needed to tour his estates, which, without his personal attention might go to rack and ruin. When he returned three months later, answering a politely couched, though pressing summons from Lucius, it was to a city that had moved on, to a populace to whom the murder of Tiberius Livonius was nothing but a distant memory.

It was with some trepidation that he called and to ensure that he was not humiliated a second time, he sent ahead his steward to arrange an appointment. The relief, as he was greeted like an old friend, was immense. He was taken to the nursery to see how young Marcellus was progressing and back in his study Lucius could even refer to the debate and Aulus’s speech without a trace of discomfort.

‘As you so rightly observed in the Senate, Aulus, I too have sadly neglected my properties. Now that my term of office is ending, I must undertake the task you’ve just completed and look to visit my estates.’

On those travels Aulus had had much time to ponder his act of separation, one on which he had
no intention of going back, but he did want this man to know that despite what had happened, on a personal if not a political level, he still considered him a friend, still considered himself bound by that oath they had taken years before. Nothing in Lucius’s demeanour told him that he was seen as dangerous now, a man around whom opposition might coalesce, just as Lucius would never let on how much his power had been dented by Aulus’s defection. He had not lost control of the Senate, but without his old friend’s unquestioning support, his authority had been severely diminished. He now had to bargain where once he could command.

‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’ Aulus asked.

Lucius laughed. ‘Never in life. I shall be sadly bored by the need. I would not even think of subjecting you to such a thing, especially since you’ve undergone months of such torture.’

Aulus was perplexed and it showed, for the messenger Lucius had sent asked that he return to Rome without delay. ‘Yet your message implied some urgency.’

‘True, and I apologise for it. You must have still been coated with the dust of travel when it arrived.’ Aulus shrugged, as Lucius continued. ‘You will recall my telling you on the way to the Senate, the day you defended me, that the governor of Illyricum was ill.’

‘Is he still in Brindisium?’

‘His ashes are,’ said Lucius, with a sigh. ‘Three months it’s taken him to die. Meanwhile everything in the province is on the perish. I need an immediate replacement, on whose abilities I can rely, and naturally my thoughts turned to you.’

‘Would the house agree, Lucius?’

His old friend laughed, as if amazed at the naivety he was witnessing. ‘You have no idea of how high you stand in the estimation of your fellow senators, Aulus. They see now what I have known all along, that you are a paragon. If you agree, they will!’

Aulus blushed at the word paragon, and as he considered the proposition he knew he should turn it down, given that he had only so recently returned from Spain. To be given another posting, and a lucrative one at that, would cause jealousy in some quarters, and in others, since it came from the hand of Lucius, undermine the independence he was so desperate to maintain. Yet against that was a deep desire to be away from Rome. Titus was on the first leg of a career in military service and Quintus was about to be married. Perhaps the preparations for that event had disguised the deep rift that remained between him and Claudia. The last quarter had been a torture that had nothing to do with travelling round his scattered possessions, more to do with his infrequent, and discreet returns to
Rome. His wife had remained cold and distant and nothing he could do seemed to help. She needed even more time to recover from her ordeal in Spain and that painful birth. His presence clearly hindered that process, and it was an old but valid expression that ‘absence made the heart grow fonder’.

‘I am always at the service of the state, you know that,’ he said.

‘Good,’ Lucius exclaimed. ‘You must dine with me before you depart.’

Aulus nodded as Lucius took his arm in a gesture of friendship that was wholly false. Inwardly he was content; Lucius knew that he must hold close those he did not fully trust but there was more than one method by which he could skin a cat. The death of Tiberius Livonius had stilled the clamour for reform, but it had not killed it off and if anything, Lucius, faced with a multitude of enemies rather than one, had to be even more vigilant. He had a task to perform, to sell all his distant properties and concentrate his holdings around the capital. Never again would he face the need for a prolonged absence and he believed that while he had to be out of the city this one last time, to leave Aulus Cornelius in the Senate was too dangerous an idea to contemplate. Even present, Lucius could not be sure of controlling him.

CHAPTER TEN

‘You’re not the same fellow, Clodius,’ said Piscius Dabo, patting his sweating companion on the back.

The contrast between the pair was telling; Dabo, wiry of build in clean, dust free clothes, Clodius Terentius, sturdily built and unkempt, his hair and smock grey from the powdered chaff. He leant down to hoist another sack of corn, gasping rather than speaking his reply as he heaved the load onto his shoulder. ‘I’m older, Dabo, that’s for certain, but as the gods will swear, no wiser.’

Dabo followed him across the yard. ‘That sounds like Fulmina’s words, not yours.’

‘I don’t get many words from Fulmina these days, few words and precious little else, to boot. If she speaks at all, it’s usually to say we need more coin.’

Dabo executed a sad shake of the head. ‘That changeling boy has certainly taken over her life.’

Clodius threw the sack on to the rear of the cart, then leant there for a second, hoping the mill owner.
would be too busy to notice him slacking, as he thought about his past; of how a life that had once had some pleasure now seemed just full of toil. In six or seven years he had gone from being the owner of a farm to paid day labourer. Dabo, whose life had gone in the opposite direction watched him closely, thinking that if his old comrade had an abiding fault he was too soft, and nothing demonstrated it more than the way his life was now ordered to suit a child that was not even his own.

‘He’s taken over mine, as well, friend,’ Clodius sighed. ‘Aquila needs this, Aquila needs that. I can’t remember the last time I had the means to get drunk.’

Dabo smiled broadly and patted him on the back again. ‘You’re welcome at my place anytime, mate, you know that.’

Clodius eyed him warily, for to call Dabo a friend was stretching a point. True they had shared many a flagon as they swapped stories about their days in the legions but in the last few years Dabo had prospered, so held himself to be a cut above Clodius the day labourer. Dabo had not only retained his own farm, he had taken over his father’s place as well and with the income from both had bought another from the family of some poor sod who had been cut down in Spain. Piscius Dabo was now a man of property and given sufficient drink he would open up enough to boast, to tell all and
sundry that he intended to die a knight. He would need a damn sight more than three farms to have enough property to qualify for such an elevated class as the
Equities
and his pretensions were a source of much quiet amusement in the vicinity.

‘You don’t hand out the invitations like you used to, Dabo.’

The other man looked shocked. ‘Invitations! Since when did you need an invitation to visit my place?’