Nemurus said he wanted to ask about the implications of recent opposition trials. Lucilla professed she was confused. Nemurus carefully offered to explain. (The Praetorian, he noticed, said nothing; presumably he kept details of previously condemned subversives all on file.)
‘It began about thirty years ago with a senator called Thrasea Paetus, who stood up to Nero. For example, he walked out of the Senate without voting when asked to approve the letter Nero sent to justify murdering his own mother, Agrippina.’
‘A terrible woman?’
‘Agreed, but it was matricide. Paetus offended Nero, then retired to private life. But his role model was the upright Cato, who had drawn attention to the ambitions of Julius Caesar; Paetus wrote Cato’s panegyric. The simple style of living that Paetus adopted seemed an affront to Nero’s crazy court. He was charged before the Senate, who caved in and convicted him, it is said, due to the presence of large numbers of intimidating troops.’
‘Hmm,’ commented Vinius: some uninterpretable professional remark.
Nemurus swallowed. ‘Paetus went home and opened his veins. His daughter Fannia, who was charged in this latest trial, was married to Helvidius Priscus, another ardent stoic. He survived from Nero to Vespasian, though he was banished by Nero at one point for demonstrating approval of Caesar’s murderers.’
‘That is illegal?’ Lucilla asked Vinius.
‘No wise man displays busts of Brutus and Cassius, nor celebrates their birthdays.’ His tone was neutral, suspiciously so, Nemurus thought. Vinius now joined the discussion: ‘Wouldn’t you say Helvidius Priscus embodies how these stoics deliberately confront emperors?’
‘You mean his quarrels with Vespasian?’
‘Yes; he was lucky that Vespasian was a tolerant old fellow, who let him continue his abominable behaviour for so long. Helvidius refused to acknowledge Vespasian as emperor in his judicial edicts as praetor. That was bloody rude. He resolutely called Vespasian by his private name, instead of his title. For the Emperor it must have been galling.’
Nemurus explained, ‘Helvidius was disgusted that Vespasian wanted to found a hereditary dynasty. He always refused to compromise, until Vespasian felt obliged to execute him. Vespasian is said to have tried to rescind the order.’
‘An old trick, but looks good!’ answered Vinius, smiling.
Nemurus was a little shocked. It had never struck him that Vespasian could have been devious about it.
‘Now,’ said Vinius, ‘Senecio’s treason must have been deliberate: he wrote a sympathetic biography of Helvidius Priscus.’
‘But it was a funeral eulogy… Have you read it?’ A teacher’s question. Nemurus noticed that Vinius avoided answering. He found it extremely hard to gauge this one-eyed man’s expression. Presumably if a Praetorian Guard did read republican literature, it was for obnoxious state reasons.
‘Gaius went to the trial.’ Lucilla leaned forwards and spoke earnestly across her lover’s lap, ‘You do realise the position Gaius Vinius holds now? He is the cornicularius — the Guards’ chief-of-staff.’
‘Just a bean-counter,’ Vinius put in, this time definitely smiling.
‘Congratulations,’ said Nemurus in a hollow voice.
Vinius stood up. ‘I’ll fetch more bites.’
An interlude followed, during which both Vinius and Lucilla came and went, bringing items for an informal supper. They clearly assumed that Nemurus would stay. New wine appeared. Perhaps by an oversight, Vinius only poured it for Lucilla and himself, but Lucilla seamlessly reached over and filled Nemurus’ beaker. It was a very palatable red from Spain. Clearly, they lived well.
‘Tell him about the trial, Gaius.’
‘Seems a shame to spoil a pleasant evening.’
‘Well he already knows it stank.’
‘These are good; where did you get them?’ Vinius was asking about seafood rissoles. It was not a distraction; intrigued, Nemurus watched their relaxed interplay between political and domestic subjects. Lucilla answered, then Vinius smoothly summarised the controversial treason trial as if the interruption never happened.
The seven accused included Arria, the fanatical widow of Thrasea Paetus and Fannia, his equally determined daughter, widow of Helvidius Priscus. Arulenus Rusticus, a friend of Thrasea, was convicted for writing a panegyric on him, a work which Domitian had had burned. Rusticus’ brother and sister-in-law were also on trial.
Senecio’s oration for Helvidius Priscus had been written at Fannia’s request and in court Mettius Carus forced her, using brutal interrogation, to admit she lent Senecio her husband’s notebooks. Senecio had further damned himself by refusing to stand for public office.
Helvidius Priscus junior, the late stoic’s son, was on a different charge: he had written a play. Based on the story of the Trojan prince Paris abandoning his first wife Oenone for Helen of Troy, it looked like a jibe at Domitian for divorcing Domitia over the actor, also aptly named Paris, supposedly to enable his passion for Julia.
‘Domitian made both Rusticus and Helvidius junior consuls last year,’ Vinius pointed out. ‘Diffusing the opposition through friendly overtures.’
‘Buying them off,’ scoffed Lucilla. ‘It never works!’
Three male defendants were now to be executed; Domitian had banished the other four, three of them women, to remote islands. The whole affair had become another cause celebre. This show trial would always be cited as proof that Domitian was a despot.
‘If you are worried about your own position, Nemurus,’ said Vinius, ‘forget it. Domitian has no quarrel with stoics as such. The condemned committed very public sins: parading their republicanism, a long family history of enmity with the Flavians, withholding themselves from public duties — plus writings that made saints of previous martyrs.’
‘Don’t write any eulogies,’ instructed Lucilla crisply.
‘So much for my proposed Life and Times of the Late Herrenius Senecio…’ Even Nemurus could make jokes. ‘I teach, dear; I don’t write. Just tell me,’ he pleaded with Vinius. ‘Are there to be banishments of philosophers?’
‘Sorry. Privileged information.’
‘I think it will happen, Vinius.’
‘I think you are right.’
‘You said it was privileged.’
‘The information is. I gave you my opinion.’
‘Subtle! Luckily you have freedom of speech.’
‘True,’ said Vinius. ‘What a glorious regime we live in, under our Master and God.’
Lucilla put a hand on his arm. ‘Gaius, stop teasing. What should he do?’
‘Does he need to do anything?’ Vinius shrugged. ‘I don’t want to insult the man, but he is well below the sight-lines. Why would anyone bother to attack you, Nemurus?’
‘We live in dark times — but not for most people.’ Lucilla reinforced Vinius’ comment.
‘Be realistic.’ Vinius was blunt. ‘You are not worth it. The old prosecutors of Thrasea Paetus gained five million sesterces from it. The latest lot will make their pile, plus Domitian’s gratitude. If you are anxious however, get out of Rome, man. Go now. Go of your own accord, so you can choose your destination and find a quiet life.’
‘He cannot afford it,’ protested Lucilla.
‘ Exactly! A poor teacher is not worth prosecuting.’
Nemurus remained silent and despondent.
‘So what’s perturbing you?’ insisted Vinius.
‘What happened to Juvenal. He was in the circle I move in.’
Lucilla growled. ‘The idiot cannot expect to get away forever with saying Julia died after popping out a series of aborted foetuses, “each the image of Uncle”.’
Vinius winced, then nodded. ‘Nor his descriptions of Domitian’s council in that turbot-cooking satire. He was brutal — about important men, many of whom are professional informers: very shortsighted.’
‘You know the work of Juvenal?’ Nemurus was amazed. The Satires had not yet been formally published, though drafts had been read at private parties; presumably, Vinius had been informed by spies.
‘So what has happened to this bloody daft author, Nemurus?’ The Praetorian pretended not to know.
‘Apparently there were whispers of “a promotion”; Juvenal is an equestrian. He thought he was to have an
