Master and God (32 page)

‘Do not judge me by your standards,’ Vinius replied. ‘Flavia Lucilla will not want to touch money that has come from you but I shall invest it for her.’ Scorpus and Vinius went outside to the portico. ‘Try to lock him up with a vomiting drunk.’

‘Always feasible.’ Scorpus had now remembered Lucilla. ‘This is the girlie who came calling just before the big fire? Pasty, timid, flat as a board? But you liked her.’

‘The one. She’s not flat now.’

‘You cheeky beggar! You picked her up?’

‘She was far too young.’

‘You thought she was sweet . . . All this time you’ve been seeing her? –
Ten years,
Gaius?’

‘No. It’s not like that.’

‘What is it then?’

Vinius sucked in air slowly then expelled a long, enormous sigh. ‘What is it? – Scorpus old friend, I don’t think I know.’

Scorpus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Apparently, you still like her . . . You look a bit lean. Fancy a Frontinian for old times?’

‘I would, though another day, if you can wait. Thanks for your help, but I have to see a man about a dog.’

Lucilla was crouched on the edge of a wicker chair, huddling, her eyes dark with misery, when the Praetorian came in.

‘I brought food. Relax now. When I’ve seen you eat some supper, I’ll take you home if you want.’

‘Home?’ Lucilla felt bemused.

‘To your husband?’ Vinius suggested pointedly. ‘At his parents, in the Third Region?’

‘Not tonight . . .’ She could not face a quarrel with Nemurus. ‘What if Orgilius comes back?’

‘He won’t.’

‘Gaius, I think he will.’

‘No. All sorted.’

‘How?’

‘If that man ever bothers you, go to the vigiles; ask for Scorpus, who will put him on trial. The statements are all there; you won’t have to do anything. Orgilius is fixed and he knows it. But we’ll take a few precautions.’ Vinius, with parcels beneath one elbow, was making his way to the kitchen. ‘That slave has to be sold, for starters.’

‘He is just a child!’ Though full of gratitude for her rescue, Lucilla still hated Vinius being overbearing. ‘No second chance?’

Vinius glared. ‘You must not have a slave who can be bribed to put you in danger. Promise?’ Lucilla resisted mutely. ‘Listen to sense. I have to be at the Camp. I can’t always stroll in and save you.’

She smiled weakly in consent. Gaius went out to prepare the food; Lucilla jumped up and followed. ‘I have not thanked you—’

‘Forget it.’ Clearing the work space, he came on the multi-blade she had waved at Orgilius. ‘I don’t recommend facing off intruders with a folding spoon . . . We keep this where?’

‘Shelf.’ Lucilla indicated. Gaius clipped various parts closed and replaced it. ‘Would you care to define your mention of a “snittering” knife, Gaius?’

‘Snicketing. Absolutely no idea, darling. Some gadget that men with hobbies use for hours in their den, making awful Saturnalia presents for their rich great-uncles.’

After washing his hands at the tap, Gaius emptied two kinds of olives into bowls, placed a segmented loaf on a comport, ripped chicory and drizzled it with olive oil from Lucilla’s own long jar, pulling down dried herbs from a high hook. Lucilla had never seen him prepare food before, but she knew soldiers could cook. Everything was done fast and extremely neatly. ‘Being a man, I always buy too much when I’m shopping. All my wives have commented—’

Lucilla cut across the talk of wives. ‘How come the timely arrival today?’

She saw Gaius check. ‘Not sleeping. Dacia. Nightmares and flashbacks. It’s a known phenomenon. The Camp is noisy, so I thought I might manage better here.’ Lucilla started to speak, but he stopped her. ‘Don’t worry about me! What can we drink?’

‘Grape juice.’ She reached for cups from the shelf.

Gaius had a fresh mullet to fry; he was kindling the cooking fire, ready to heat oil in his square skillet. He had to use a flint to strike a spark, always a laborious process. Lucilla watched from the doorway; feeling herself sink back into gloom. He noticed she was so downcast: ‘Bear up. Could have been a disaster, but wasn’t.’

‘While you were out, I thought a lot about my life,’ Lucilla admitted, hugging a stole closer around her.

Gaius gave her a friendly poke with a spatula. ‘I don’t want to hear any grim stories.’ He filled a beaker, making the juice go further with water, and plonked it in front of her. ‘If you’re intending to snivel, let me do the talking.’

He poured for himself, with a larger proportion of juice. Lucilla reached for the flagon and levelled hers. Gaius tutted teasingly. The mood was light, a hint of how things could have been between them.

Lucilla studied him as he continued to work on the fire and the fish, while indeed talking. In profile, with the undamaged side of his face towards her, his original good looks were stunning. He spoke steadily and quietly, as if distracting a badly upset child with a story. He described his new work under the cornicularius. ‘It’s a big department, many clerks and orderlies. Registrars to maintain documents; copy scribes; accountants and debt collectors. I am curator for the fallen. When Guards have died in service, I secure their property and sort out their wills; sometimes I have to trace their families. I try to see to things properly; do a bit of digging to find out what the man was like. You have to be sensitive.’

‘You like it. You are good at it. Was it a promotion?’

Lucilla thought Gaius looked oddly shy. ‘Yes. Well, yes, it was.’

‘Recognition for Dacia?’

‘I’m no hero.’

‘You were to me today. And don’t forget, I know how brave you are: you left me your golden oakleaves, your civic crown.’

‘Oh that old thing. I hope you chucked it out. Come and have your food.’

They had just finished eating when knocking came at the door. Lucilla froze, flinching with fear again.

‘Sit tight.’ Gaius went. She heard men’s voices, clearly nothing untoward. Goodnights were called.

It was late. The apartment interior had grown dark. Gaius lit oil lamps before coming back. ‘Delivery.’

‘What?’ Lucilla’s face clouded with suspicion.

‘I thought you could do with a dear little heart-melting puppy. Handily, my brother had one. I bet you never owned a pet?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I had lots, naturally.’ He was talking to calm her again. ‘Motherless boy, two big brothers, doting female relatives; naturally I had pups, kittens, doves, goslings, a tame rat – my grandma would watch until I lost interest, then a sad demise would be arranged. Felix gave me a crocodile hatchling once. I didn’t take to the snapper at all. One of my aunts helped me carry him to the other side of Rome and we slipped him down a drain. He’s probably still somewhere in the sewers, eighty feet long and looking for revenge. I don’t hang about in a public latrine even now; just in case he pops up through the seat.’

His portrait of a happy family life that she had never had disturbed Lucilla more than Gaius realised. ‘Stop whiffling. You got me a
dog
?’

‘His name is Terror.’ Gaius acting blasé failed to convince. ‘He is a guard dog. His father was a brutally expensive hunting hound from Britain, terrific, beautiful animal, ran like the west wind, breathtaking pedigree –’

‘His mother?’ Lucilla asked astutely.

‘We suspect,’ Gaius admitted, ‘his father bollocksed an old fur muff. That was the only reason Fortunatus could afford him, because admittedly Terror is a bit of a mixed pickle. My brother suggests don’t make any sudden movements.’

‘That scares me.’

‘
You
have to feed him. So he will be devoted and will protect you.’

‘What does he eat?’

‘Raw bloody meat.’ Lucilla’s face was a picture. Gaius pressed on. ‘And really big marrow bones, smelly ones are his favourite. Never, ever try to take one off him, not even if you gave it to him. Ready to meet him?’

‘I don’t want him.’

‘Yes, you do.’

Terror was medium-large, with chunky shoulders, little more than a puppy, still lanky-legged. A wide leather collar hung heavy on his neck, full of metal studs. He had a dribbly snout, long tangled fur, pointed ears and no visible confidence. Fortunatus had washed him, so now he smelled damp. He was sitting up on his own rush mat just inside the front door, looking sorry for himself.

‘He has been a night watchdog, guarding tools and materials on a construction site. Fortunatus has to get rid of him. Terror can’t bear to be left by himself, so he barks and whines all night and the neighbours complain. He should be fine with you for company.’

‘I do not want him.’

‘We covered that. He is protection. I paid for him and he’s no use to Fortunatus; I can’t take him back. You must call him “Terror” out of doors. Let people hear it. Let them feel scared.’

‘Does that mean –’ Lucilla nervously patted her unwelcome pet, who shrank away from her – ‘he has some other name?’

Gaius looked coy. ‘I believe that in the privacy of a home environment, this dog likes to be called “Baby”.’

Baby was sitting on his tail, but managed to wag it when he heard his private name.

The dog lay down and went to sleep. Gaius began to fuss around providing the animal with a bowl of water, then generally clearing up. He said it was late; he told Lucilla she should get some rest too. ‘You’re safe. I’m here. Leave your door open so you can call if you are worried.’ Lucilla was not moving. ‘Go to bed, woman.’

‘Will you come too?’

‘Best not.’

She had made a horrible mistake. Lucilla had acknowledged her desire honestly, but now hot shame rushed over her. Vinius answered at once, as if he had been dreading her request. He was a picture of a man who had taken a decision to distance himself from a woman whose interest in him was becoming tiresome.

He stood well away from her, arms folded defensively. ‘Look. I just spent all afternoon pointing out morality laws to your mother’s despicable lover. So, beautiful creature, although of course I want to rip your clothes off and throw you over the cooking bench – if I did it, I would be the same as him.’

Lucilla remained still.

‘You are very sweet . . .’ Gaius at last seemed awkward. ‘I am honoured to be asked – and heartbroken that you look so disappointed.’

Gods, I sound pompous.

You must be very proud of that.

Head high but stricken, Lucilla spun off to her room.

She still half supposed he would weaken and come to her. Stoically, he did not do so. She had closed her door. Even so, she remained so alive to his movements she heard him pottering for some time – a long time, in fact – he chinked bowls, washed his face, checked door locks; he blew out lamps; she heard him speak to Terror. She reckoned he left his own bedroom door open, but she also knew he then lay chastely in the darkness alone.

All night neither of them slept much. Stentorian snores filled the apartment, but it was the watchdog.

Dawn came. Creeping out to use the facilities and run herself a cup of water, Lucilla had thought the Praetorian was gone already. But he must have been waiting until she moved about.

He was by the front door. ‘I’m off to the Camp.’ He paused. ‘Friends?’

‘Of course.’ That was a lie. She had humiliated herself so much she would never be in the same room again if she could help it.

He came up to her. Placed his hands upon her shoulders. Dropped a light farewell kiss onto her forehead, the way people did in families. Fatherly. Brotherly. Unbearably.

From the look in his eye, he then changed his mind and was about to kiss her in a different way. Lucilla was about to let him.

The dog went mad. His bark, as promised, was scarily loud. The moment he saw two people even mildly embracing, he jumped up in frenzied jealousy and put a stop to it.

‘Bad boy!’ Gaius was appalled, mostly at the dog suggesting he had devious motives. Terror wagged his tail, simply entranced to be spoken to.

‘Good doggie,’ murmured Lucilla. ‘Good Baby!’

Gaius left for the Camp.

Flavia Lucilla curled up back in her bed and thought about men’s fallibility.

She was profoundly aware of the legal position regarding adultery. As a hairdresser for ten years, her clients had often lamented aspects of the legislation which was, to put it mildly, one-sided.

A wife whose husband cheated on her could not prosecute him; she might divorce him and return to her father, but otherwise she had to endure the situation.

Women’s adultery was a crime, however. A man whose wife cheated on him not only could take legal action, he had to. There was a special court for sexual offences; it was always busy.

A betrayed husband must immediately divorce his wife. If he tolerated an affair he was guilty of encouragement and, as Scorpus had told Orgilius, he could be accused of pimping. If a husband delayed, after sixty days
anyone
could lay charges against the lover or the adulterous wife, as a public duty.

The law aimed to protect families from illegitimate children; hence the bias against loose women. Penalties were severe. An adulterous wife lost half her dowry and a third of her other property. A convicted woman could not remarry a free citizen. Her lover lost half his property and suffered public infamy, which meant he lost his rights to give evidence in court and to make or inherit from wills. Both the guilty wife and her lover would be exiled – though to separate islands.
Nice touch!
thought Lucilla grimly.

She buried her head under her pillow and thought about the added wrinkle that she knew applied to Vinius. A
soldier
who committed adultery with another man’s wife faced dishonourable discharge. All over the Empire soldiers were sleeping around with enthusiasm, but the law was there, if anyone ever made an accusation. A betrayed husband might. So, when Gaius Vinius made love to Lucilla at Alba even though he was married, it was tough on his wife Verania, yet legal. If he slept with Lucilla now
she
was married, it was a crime. Vinius could lose his position, its accrued financial rights, his good name, his legal standing, his ability to receive bequests, his capacity to remarry and, therefore, his right ever to have any legitimate children.