discuss the nature of Lucius’s power, let alone condemn it; all they had was the constantly repeated refrain that their host was allied to no party, that he was a servant of Rome, with no desire to be or support anyone who sought to be her master.
The meeting with Lucius was cordial without being effusive and both maintained the fiction it was only curiosity that made his host delve so deeply into what had happened during Aulus’s governorship, only an aid to memory that had his scribe writing down so many details on crop and mine yields, tax revenues set against expenditure and the state of relations on the borders of the province. Yet it was clear as the discussion progressed that Lucius was less than happy, and Aulus had to gently chide him several times for his rather high-handed methods of interrogation. It was only after one of those that the truth of his irritability began to surface.
Having had no hand in the choice of his successor, Aulus, when asked, refused to cast any opinion on his abilities, something in which Lucius was less restrained, and it was during a peroration on the perceived faults of one Vegetius Flaminus that Aulus realised that he was, in part, being castigated himself, for so weakening the Falerii power that the head of that faction had been forced to agree to the appointment of a man of whom he thoroughly disapproved.
‘You know how hard I fought against everything that Tiberius Livonius proposed, but at least, in his own crackpot way, the man was honest. Not Vegetius! He and others like him have taken up the Livonian baton as a stick with which to beat me and don’t they just love the way the riff-raff sing their praises and draw me as a beast on the walls. They no more believe in his ideas than do I, but they will happily string along our Latin allies and take bribes from them to bring such measures before the house. You have no notion of how hard I have to work to keep them at bay and when this came up, replacing you. Just to avoid defeat on something far more important, I was forced to concede. Every vote involves a concession to some interest or other. It should not be so, and would not be so, if men who should know better saw where their duty lay.’
‘Then retire,’ said Aulus, tired of this litany of self-pity mixed with disguised complaint.
Lucius narrowed his eyes as he looked at Aulus. ‘Would you leave the field of battle without a victory?’ The lack of a response was answer enough. ‘No, my friend, you would not, and neither shall I.’
‘Lucius, let us dine together and perhaps talk of other things, more pleasant things.’
‘I fear I would find that difficult, Aulus, so much does my care for the Republic master my time. At least my candidates for next year’s consular elections are relatively safe. If I had denied Vegetius Flaminus they might not have been.’
Aulus repeated his invitation as a way of staying off politics, of which he was bored. ‘But you will try to come to dinner?’
‘Yes, I will. And it will be pleasant to see again the Lady Claudia, who I must say I have sadly neglected to entertain in your absence, though she did decline more than one invitation from me.’
Claudia did not like Lucius, and both men knew it, for she too had heard about the jokes that Lucius had helped circulate at the time of their marriage. ‘With good reason I’m sure.’
‘Of course,’ said Lucius, with a wide smile. ‘Though I must say she is less vivacious since you both returned from Spain. I fear campaigning did not suit her.’
Aulus knew he should not react; Lucius was chiding him too, but he could not keep the terse tone out of his voice. ‘I think you have forgotten, my friend, how exhausting fighting in the field can be.’
‘It has one great advantage over fighting in the Senate, Aulus. In the field you know precisely who are your enemies and who are your friends.’ As Aulus swelled up to react, Lucius added quickly, with an air designed to disarm, ‘but I so look forward to an evening spent in the company of you both, and I assure you, politics will not intrude.’
When Aulus invited Lucius to dine, both men knew that it would not be an intimate affair. Quite apart from his own family, the in-laws of Quintus were present, as were Claudia’s parents and several of Aulus’s old field commanders, each provided with a dining couch. As was the custom they ate without drinking and then drank without eating, watered but still potent wine, which was the point at which matters took a turn for the worse.
Even with all those people to distract him, the evening was not a success. Lucius and Claudia, close together as he was the guest of honour, sniped at each other continually, though each did so with smiles that left the other guests to wonder whether their barbed comments were examples of wit or malice. Aulus knew better, knew that his wife was defending him, because Lucius, despite his promise, could not leave politics alone, something which left him too confused to intervene. Why would a woman who showed him no affection in private be so stoutly defensive of his reputation in public? That she had little time for Lucius, he knew, and that went back to the time of their wedding.
What he did not comprehend was that Claudia had her own opinion of Lucius, formed in the four years he had been away in Illyricum. She was a member of a set of well-born women who met regularly without the presence of their husbands, and as women do, they talked, mostly relaying to each other the frustrations, aspirations, doubts and certainties of each absent spouse. It was a commonplace jest that if you wanted to know what was really going on in Rome, it would be best to ask the wife of a senator. The actions of Lucius Falerius came up often, how could they not given his political prominence, and they were rarely flattering.
‘Probity, my dear Lady Claudia, is all very well in its place, but Rome cannot maintain its conquests on only that.’
If no one understood what Lucius was saying, Claudia did; it was nothing less than a subtle denigration of her husband and his natural decency. She had praised that quality when Lucius sought to imply that any man who stood aloof from affairs of state, though they might see themselves as virtuous, was in fact living in a world of dreams; Rome was run by actions, not contemplations.
‘But is that not what separates us from barbarians, Lucius Falerius, the notion that we will do the right thing even if it works against our interests? You of all people stand as an example of self-sacrifice in the pursuit of a well-run state.’
The gimlet look that accompanied those words took away from them any sincerity; Lucius knew that he was being accused of exactly the opposite. ‘I work for an ideal, I admit.’
‘Which must bring you great satisfaction.’
‘All I know is that it gives me much to do.’
‘How tiresome it must be, having all day, every day, to remind others of the need for integrity in all things.’
‘I think it is time for the musicians, father,’ said Quintus, who alone of all the guests knew exactly what was going on. Aulus agreed, indicated that they should be summoned, and tried to change the subject.
‘Is Marcellus musical in any way?’
‘No, thank the gods,’ Lucius replied. ‘My son’s activities are confined to subjects which will serve him in the field, and make him a good administrator.’
‘You should encourage him, Lucius,’ said Claudia, in a mischievous tone. ‘Music does much to soften the natural coarseness in young boys. It is possible to be both a soldier and a poet. I suggest he learns the lyre.’
‘Claudia, enough,’ said Aulus, for that play on words was going too far.
She nodded to indicate that she would henceforth be silent, but Lucius was not about to let it go. ‘I had no idea, Lady Claudia, that you were so knowledgeable about young men.’
‘Perhaps it is greater than yours, given that I am closer to it in memory.’
‘I know many women who admire that coarseness you refer to when boys become men.’
‘And yet you have not remarried after the death of the Lady Ameliana. That I find surprising, given that many women must admire you.’
That was an insult, to make Aulus sit up, but Lucius was too well-versed in the art of that not to return the compliment in full measure. ‘A pity, I know, especially when you and Aulus have set me such a fine example.’
The musicians were assembled, and Aulus, fearing a slanging match, waved at them furiously to begin playing. The opening notes were loud enough to drown out what Lucius said next, so that only Claudia heard him express his sorrow that she and Aulus had not managed to have children. Looking intently at her he knew he had struck home by the look of pain that crossed her face.
