properly.’
Gaius was obsessed with plots, plots and the history of imperial plotting. Although Lucilla knew he had an airy enjoyment of his work on the secret committee, she was in two minds about how it affected him. The only thing that saved him from complete commitment was his double-edged verdict on the mandarin Abascantus. Gaius judged him extremely clever, but found him subtly unreliable. Such mistrust was endemic in Domitian’s Rome.
Lucilla had owned up to something: ‘Gaius, you do realise I know Abascantus’ wife? Priscilla? She is a friend of Statius’ wife Claudia and has been a client of mine for years.’
‘So what’s the gen? Do you like her?’
‘She is not my favourite. Being in the height of fashion with the same hairstyle as the imperial ladies is all part of her plan to push Abascantus. She wants to look the part. He married up, quite a long way up — ’
‘The freedman’s ideal.’
‘Yes, I’m waiting to catch some consul’s eye myself, Gaius darling
… Priscilla seems to have decided to make Abascantus her life’s great project. His service to Domitian is a holy calling — I do so loathe that! Still, she has money and she tips well…’
‘He’s her second husband?’
‘Yes and she is significantly older. They seem a little odd together; I can never imagine them in bed. Theirs is one of those marriages where the couple work for the sole purpose of furthering the husband’s career.’
‘Vomit-making. When Domitian promoted Abascantus, Priscilla flung herself down like a human carpet and practically licked the floor at the Emperor’s feet, thanking him. I do wish people would stop doing that. It encourages his delusions.’
Lucilla smiled serenely. ‘Would you like me to kiss our Master’s tunic hem for you, darling?’
‘No! You know I try never to be noticed by the great.’
‘You have not done too badly then, Gaius.’
‘Yes, my father would be ecstatic.’
‘I think I’ll have a cameo carved to celebrate your glorious career. You will ride in a chariot with gambolling cupids, wearing your oakleaf wreath and looking shy of the attention. It will be titled, The Triumph of Diffidence.’
‘Have you kept my golden oakleaves?’
‘They are a swine to dust. But maybe one day the name Clodianus will be famous.’
‘If I thought that,’ said Gaius, with feeling, ‘it would really worry me!’
Lucilla was one of the first people who knew the wife of chief secretary Abascantus was ill. Hairdressers notice the health of their clients. Hair becomes lacklustre or even falls out, sometimes before any other symptoms of disease present themselves. Clients share bad news with their hairdressers too. Their special intimate relationship encourages people who would not normally open up to trust their stylist. It is understood that nothing said while the comb is plied will be passed on.
Priscilla needed a confidante. She shared her fears with Lucilla early on, yet she was concerned to keep the information from her husband for as long as possible. This was how they lived; his work for the Emperor was too important to be disrupted by anxiety for her. Domitian, of course, took Abascantus’ devotion for granted.
Priscilla was very ill. That quickly became obvious. Abascantus had to be informed. Although Priscilla had not previously been a favourite customer, Lucilla was upset by the situation. She tended Priscilla gently on her sickbed, making her more comfortable and tidying her when her ravaged appearance embarrassed her. Doctors came and went, but despite the very best attention it was clear there was no hope. Soon, Priscilla no longer wanted the fuss of being touched, though Lucilla continued to visit her.
When Priscilla died, Abascantus was with her. Lucilla witnessed the human side of what was supposed to be faceless bureaucracy. The man was devastated. He had lost the driving force of his life. Theirs had been a partnership where the husband was the public face, yet the powerful woman made decisions, kept him to the mark, gave him his energy and his will to prosper. While he worked late by lamplight, instead of sending slaves, Priscilla herself tiptoed in with refreshments — frugal snacks of course, because that was what Our Master and God himself liked.
Losing her, Abascantus was crushed.
A year later Statius wrote a poem of consolation, where he claimed the chief secretary had been so bereft he raved, threw himself upon his wife’s body, threatened suicide. Certainly when Gaius took Lucilla to the funeral they were both shocked by the extravagance of the cortege and the opulence of the tomb Abascantus provided, even though by that time the freedman was conducting himself with dignity.
Lucilla herself had been shaken by Priscilla’s death. It was by no means the first time she lost a customer but she was caught off guard. Gaius had accompanied her to the funeral to support her; he had some obligation to Abascantus as a member of his committee, but he would probably not have attended otherwise.
After seeing the flamboyant parade the freedman gave his wife, Lucilla muttered grimly, ‘I give it a year. You see; he will soon remarry.’
‘Men are all bastards, you think?’
‘No; he just won’t be able to bear being on his own.’
Lucilla and Gaius were at home by then. Struck by melancholy, she asked him, ‘What would you do, if you lost me? Would your grief be so outlandish?’
‘I would not show my heart to the world.’
‘No; you are very different.’
Lucilla knew Gaius would not stagily finger a sword blade, nor would he run to a high crag and threaten to jump off, as Abascantus was supposed to have done. Gaius did not issue ‘cries for help’ like Daily Gazette advertisements. He was sentimental but he either endured his feelings in private or got on logically and dealt with the problem. This was in part because he was a soldier, but it also derived from his character and heritage. Although Lucilla had never met his father, from what she had heard, Gaius was still influenced by that strong-willed tribune.
Nevertheless, Gaius showed unexpected sympathy for Abascantus. ‘I can see why he splashed out on myrrh and balsam, why all those expensive statues in the tomb and the elaborate funeral banquets. He must be thinking, what is the point of the money now she is gone? What was it striven for, if not to give them a good life together?… If I lost you, I would feel the same. I would send you off in style, my love, if it seemed the appropriate gesture — I know there are plenty of people who would want to mourn, and I would let them. But privately, I would never, ever be consoled.’
‘Would you take up with someone else?’
‘No.’
Lucilla doubted men’s claims; that was why she distrusted Abascantus’ exaggerated display. But she believed Gaius.
After Dacia, neither needed to ask the other question: how Lucilla would feel if she lost him. But she had been younger then, and not bound to him. When she curled up against him now and cried, it was more than her grief for Priscilla. It gave belated relief for the pain she still remembered. Gaius held her, comforting her, and as she clutched his hand against her cheek, he was again moved by her deep feelings.
For Abascantus, difficulties continued. It was reported that Priscilla’s last words had been to encourage his devoted service to Domitian. That must continue at all costs. The ethos of public service was to bury yourself in your work, solace in itself.
Once the freedman was able to return to his duties, Gaius expected to be called to a new meeting of the safety committee. When it failed to happen, he risked wary enquiries. To his surprise, he learned Abascantus was no longer in Rome. Domitian’s distrust of his freedmen had claimed another victim. The Emperor continued to work his way across the secretariats, replacing imperial servants with men of equestrian rank he had chosen himself. Now he had dismissed Abascantus.
The circumstances of any freedman’s banishment were by convention murky. There was only one reason a senior official was removed: embezzlement. Fraud need not have taken place. Even if the real reason was that his imperial master could not stand the sight of him, mishandling funds was a useful public excuse. It would be ungrateful to dismiss a freedman otherwise, someone born and bred to palace service, someone completely devoted to the Emperor. (Any emperor he was stuck with.) There had to be rules, all the more so in times of upset.
