‘Did you ever have children?’
‘One.’
‘Boy or girl?’ There was such a long pause, Lucilla rounded on him: ‘Juno, you are appalling; you don’t even remember!’
‘I was thinking about my daughter,’ Vinius responded coldly. Vinia Arruntina. A grand name for such a tiny tot. She would have been, what — eight? nine? now. Her father’s little girl; his lost princess; forever his baby…
Lucilla watched Vinius. She was surprised that his mood tonight was so strained. When she changed the subject, intuition nudged her to ask, ‘Will you tell me about Dacia?’
‘What do you want to know? Why?’
‘Not many people will discuss such things with a hairdresser. It’s all, “So does Julia really sleep with him?” As if while I’m pinning up a curl Flavia Julia would exclaim, “Uncle Domitian had incest with me again last night!”, then allot him a score as a lover.’
Gaius Vinius let out an uncharacteristic giggle. He gulped more wine to calm down. ‘So that’s what hairdressers talk about… Well, does he sleep with Julia?’
‘I don’t know. You’re as well-placed as me to observe.’
‘We don’t do bedroom duty. Thank the gods.’ After another pause, Vinius said not unsympathetically, ‘I see him with the imperial ladies. I’d say he does have genuine affection for the women in his family. The niece. The wife too. They say Julia is the one person who can exert a softening influence on him.’
‘I believe it’s true.’
‘Do you reckon she is frightened of the situation?’
‘She must be. I feel sorry for her. She can never remarry; it would be the man’s death sentence. I just think,’ said Lucilla, ‘as long as Domitian is alive, Julia will have to act sweet, look trusting, appear entirely happy with her fate — and never, ever share her thoughts with anybody.’
In silence, they considered Julia’s loneliness. Vinius offered the wine flask. This time Lucilla had some, then he took it back and drank again, hard.
Vinius was looking at her rather intently.
He changed the mood. He jumped to his feet, exclaiming, ‘We got distracted. So — Dacia!’ He was holding out his hand to her, so although she did not take it, Lucilla stood too and they walked. With night air cooling her flushed face, she felt much calmer; she now allowed herself to enjoy the beautiful location as they sauntered back down the gardens to where a large fountain had been built into the outer wall of the cryptoporticus.
They stopped to admire. Neptune. Two fellows on dolphins, wrestling snakes. Creepers ran up the high walls.
Vinius provided an epitome of the frontier arrangement, the recent Moesian disaster and the ongoing Dacian situation. ‘Free Europe is a vast area and the tribes there are very mobile, constantly roaming, hard to pin down. Gracilis, my centurion, served in Moesia. He says the Dacians live between two different groups of Sarmatians — the Iazyges on the great plains to their west and the Roxolani on their eastern flank — so he reckons they may feel pincered. It is a fluid situation, though. This side of the Sarmatians, the Suebi, who are Marcomanni and Quadi, are clearly eyeing up Pannonia. All these peoples are looking across the frontiers and seeing our Empire, so prosperous and well-organised, so civilised, just beckoning to them.’
He explained it well. Lucilla congratulated him and he said it was because his centurion had to instruct the men; as beneficarius, Vinius had to write the brief for the centurion. Lucilla suddenly remembered him at the vigiles station house, dipping pen into ink with a playfully fancy gesture.
Something in his tone had given her another flash of insight: ‘You don’t want to go!’
‘You will never persuade a soldier to say he does not want to fight.’
‘Do you like being a Praetorian?’
‘It’s probably treason to say anything different. You’ll get me sent to the beasts.’
‘You still don’t want to go. I know you, Gaius Vinius.’
‘Yes,’ he said gravely, as if noticing something significant, or seeing a truth for the first time. ‘I believe you do, Lucilla.’
When they began walking on again something — everything? — was different. They were hand in hand, their fingers intertwined.
Close to the fountain, clipped fretwork hedges allowed people to look out again at the panorama, though from intimate niches in the hedge. They stood there and gazed. Neither was seeing much.
Vinius spoke. His voice, that baritone that had always stirred Lucilla, was low: ‘Be true to yourself, girl. Look after yourself.’
‘I am better than you think.’
‘I think you’re adorable.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’
‘Don’t push me then. Don’t make me the guardian of your morals. Don’t be unfair on both of us.’
In two heartbeats the conversation had plunged into dangerous areas.
They walked again, now like close friends. They were two of a kind, like-minded, both outsiders, naturally bonded, mutually rueful. Whether friends or something else, both knew what was happening between them.
The night grew quiet. Though far from other people, they had a clear sense that elsewhere revellers had dispersed. Scents of roses, lilies and cypresses had whispered around them unnoticed. They descended to lower levels. They passed sunken gardens, parklike areas, belvederes, gazebos, galleries of statues, circular promenades, vistas to ornamental specimen trees or fishponds.
They came across a pavilion, empty now, though it had been occupied earlier. A fastidious man, Vinius wondered by whom? There were still sun-bleached cushions on couches, among abandoned flower garlands, cold perfume burners, and half-eaten bowls of tiny wild strawberries from Nemi.
By a pillar, they stopped. Vinius turned Lucilla towards him. They kissed quietly, without prior fuss. It seemed inevitable.
‘This is not a good idea.’ A cliche, but Vinius was fumbling to express reluctance while not really feeling it. He let her go. They were still close. They could not bear to draw apart.
‘A man of honour.’
‘Probably insane.’
Lucilla forced herself to support his decision. ‘We should go back, before we do something we shall both regret forever.’
‘And regret it all night if we don’t…’ Vinius was almost laughing. Both knew: they thought they were strong- willed but the attraction between them had become intense.
‘You go.’
‘I want to see you safe.’
‘I shall be. Let me stay here by myself a little longer, then when no one is about I’ll walk up quietly.’ To encourage him to go, Lucilla moved away, further into the pavilion, where she perched on a couch hugging her knees lightly. It was a flat stone structure, made like a triple dining-couch for picnicking in this dainty gazebo which in daylight would have dramatic views. Head back, she savoured the warm night air.
Gaius Vinius decided to take himself off. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
Next minute he was back, urgently leaning down over Lucilla. ‘Stuff honour!’ His lips were on hers. He was so aroused that to refuse him would be frightening.
Lucilla did not want to refuse. She kissed him back, much more intently than the first time. Juno — just for once it was her turn. Time to forget rectitude, time to ignore caution, time for what she so much needed, all she sensed this man would give her…
‘Agreed?’
‘Once!’
‘Once then,’ said Gaius, terse. His hands were moving over her. She was reaching for him… Lucilla seemed to hesitate. Still just in command of himself, Gaius cancelled her objections. ‘Accept it. You’re desperate. I’m going to Dacia and may never come back.’
‘No cheap excuses,’ said Lucilla.
He laughed quietly. Gaius Vinius showed amusement more often than she had realised; he could be full of
