surprised Gaius cooperated, though she then realised his contribution was so factual anyone could safely say such things openly: they should avoid the horror of a death in public. So not at the Games. The palace offered a secure, containable location, ‘where any balls-ups can remain hidden.’ His soldierly belief that hitches were inevitable made the others look nervous.
A long argument ensued, with people faffing about whether to tackle their victim at dinner or the baths. At dinner, it was thought he might be relaxed and off-guard — although Domitian’s main meal was generally lunch. In the baths, anyone was vulnerable. Clodianus pointed out dryly that an armed, clothed assassin would stand out among the oiled nudes, plus there was a risk the would-be killer would slip on a wet floor and go arse-over-tip. He spoke gravely, yet appeared insidiously satirical.
Too difficult: the dinner or baths debate was dropped. Parthenius ordered up a buffet lunch. They ate in the garden, to the sounds of cicadas and tumbling water. Baby was having the time of his life in the elegant pool; the young boy Burrus was boisterously playing with him.
When depended on Domitian being in the capital. Parthenius would keep a close watch on his diary for a suitable moment; first he wanted to wait until there was a favourable consul, to keep a grip on senators. Then the Senate could be summoned quickly, too, and the next emperor proclaimed fast. Whoever that was. They discussed other important people in Rome. With the Praetorian Prefects sympathetic (or Secundus sympathetic and Norbanus somehow dealt with), the Prefects of the City and Vigiles would probably acquiesce, locking down Rome until everything had settled. If Rome stayed calm, there would be more chance of avoiding mutiny abroad.
They had to consider Domitia Longina. While afternoon refreshments were brought — for this was a very comfortable kind of conspiracy — Parthenius asked if Lucilla could transfer her services to the Empress, now Domitilla was gone.
‘To observe?’ asked Gaius, with a narrow look. ‘Working for the plot?’
‘An idealist would say, she is working for Rome,’ corrected Parthenius.
Lucilla smiled. Gaius did not buy that crap. Neither did she. ‘Is Domitia Longina aware of us? If not, is she to be told?’
‘What would you advise, Lucilla?’
‘Say nothing. Never force her to choose sides.’
‘My feeling is,’ Parthenius said, ‘she is now trapped with him, in fear for her life.’
‘Don’t underestimate her loyalty,’ Lucilla warned. ‘She married him for love, and in their way it has been a successful partnership. Despite his mad behaviour, she has shown she means to stick it out.’
‘But she must feel certain he no longer loves her.’
‘So? I don’t suppose she still loves him. How could she? Women stay married for plenty of reasons. She has always been conscious of her position as Corbulo’s daughter; she is equally proud to be the Augusta, with her crowns and carriages. Those two still have the habits of enduring one another that come from any lengthy marriage. So, for safety, keep her out of it.’
How? Poison was problematical, and a woman’s method. Nero’s attempts to murder his mother had shown that trick beds, drowning accidents or the like were foolish and dented public confidence. Strangling was a punishment for criminals; in Rome, it was important to respect rank. This was an emperor; they were terminating his career for decent reasons. Ever since Julius Caesar, despots had been killed with blades. That was the mark of noble killers, killers with consciences.
Who became a poser. People tried to pressurise Clodianus, the only soldier present; he refused the honour, citing what his Prefect Secundus had said: that the Guards should only refrain from intervention. Parthenius said he had some ideas, but deferred a decision.
What unlucky bugger do we choose next? Everyone pitched in to discuss a replacement emperor.
Entellus, the petitions secretary, went through a list, apparently without notes. Emperor was hardly a job anyone could apply for, in the way of requesting a sideways move to Supplies or an upgrade to Transportation. On the other hand, if the position ceased to be hereditary, this was no different from putting together any promotion board.
‘Ought we to consider the two Flavian boys?’
‘No!’
‘No boy emperors.’
‘No relations of Domitian either.’
Their team had to headhunt a man of standing and calibre, but critically, someone who would agree to do it. Based on Entellus’ suggestions, names of men to approach were shared out among people who knew them. Previous attempts to interest a candidate had miserably come to nothing. Those asked had changed their minds, were waiting for their wives’ reactions, had already been told to say no by the wife, were too cautious, or ill, or had an ill grandfather they were suddenly very fond of, or were aware of the situation and thought these were novel proposals but unfortunately could not make full disclosure of their intentions at this stage…
Some front-runners were abroad, acting as governors of provinces or generals. Others were too old. A few with the right level of experience had foreign origins and there had never been a foreign emperor; Trajan, who certainly believed himself up to the job, was Spanish.
‘Unfortunate!’
‘His bad luck… What about that fellow who did all those years in Britain and whopped the natives? Agricola? We should not dismiss him simply because he had the bad luck to draw a ghastly province and got stuck there. Mind you, isn’t he from Gaul?’
Entellus was discreetly consulting scrolls. He whispered to Parthenius, who informed the gathering that they were spared having to consider the ex-governor of Britain, since he had died. Nobody had wanted to denigrate a province simply for being obscenely remote, or a candidate for having had to serve there. Nobody wanted a Gaul. Gaius, who cynically watched this performance, noticed veiled relief all round.
Another ex-governor of Britain, Julius Frontinus, was on their list; he had governed Asia too, which was more reassuring. Frontinus was born in Italy, so he must be sound.
There were other difficulties. Half the possible candidates had a close allegiance to Domitian — or might do; it was not always easy to tell how they would jump. He chose good men; good men had ethics; but ethical men might think it their duty to oppose a despot…
Everyone was drained by the intense discussion. Lucilla nudged Gaius to signal that one man had gone to sleep. Another kept getting up and going out; either he was whispering information to a hidden accomplice or he had a weak bladder.
The agenda was abandoned and they adjourned for dinner.
Towards the end of a fine meal, accompanied by flutes and decent conversation that deliberately ignored the conspiracy, Parthenius approached Lucilla. ‘Tell me about the cornicularius.’ Parthenius suspected Clodianus had only attended the meeting to keep an eye on his girl, now she had become so passionate about Domitian’s removal. If Clodianus became too anxious about her, he might be a risk. What were his own loyalties? Did Clodianus even know?
‘He has one Prefect sending him to spy, and one who wants to help us. Opposite orders… Don’t push him,’ Lucilla urged. ‘He hates it.’
‘Can we rely on him?’
‘I do,’ stated Lucilla unquestioningly. ‘He cares. You can trust him.’
‘With that wrecked face, I find it hard to decipher him. But you manage?’
‘I have known him a long time.’
‘How long?’
‘Over fifteen years.’
‘I never realised. You have both been extremely discreet.’
‘Long story!’ chuckled Lucilla. ‘In my view, Vinius Clodianus is completely decent. When things matter, he never hesitates.’
They watched Gaius. He knew they were observing him, and he knew why.
He had cornered Parthenius’ freedman Maximus to enthuse about his favourite scoff: ‘Your portions must be well roasted in olive oil. They need to be glossy and golden. Then the gravy is the real point. Chicken Frontinian is not for mimsy eaters who only pick at finger food. Serve the chicken in a decent bowl of sauce, either to mop up with a lot of old bread, or, well, you can just pick up your bowl and glug it down at the end.’
