The Capena Gate had a visitor from the other side of the Aventine. Tall, scathing and blunt, their sister-in-law had responded to the Camillus women’s distraught appeal. Claudia wondered whether to run for her emerald set, but since Helena Justina was indifferent to matters of appearance, she decided not to bother. Meline found herself sitting up straighter in her basket chair, as if a more-than-usually caustic aunt had descended on them. The aunts of Karystos were legendary.
Helena Justina was the archetypal elder sister. Nobody called her bossy—no one dared—but she had supervised her brothers all their lives, which was absolutely for their own good. Now their parents were dead, it fell to her to take the lead in the family. The textbook verdict decreed that Rome was a paternalist society; the law gave men all the civic rights. This ignored a fierce tradition that went back to the city’s founding. Romulus and his men may have raped the Sabine women, but thereafter the Sabine women used their power as the mothers of the children who were needed to people Rome. The materfamilias was born.
An ancient king, Numa Pompilius, had laid down the laws Romans would follow; a practical nymph gave those laws to him. Vestal Virgins embodied the city. Women brought up the children. Women ran the home. Men might have a nominal right of life and death over their dependents, but in family councils strong female relatives spoke up and were listened to with meek respect, which often was not feigned. Never underestimate the power of a big dowry. Men held the purse strings; women spent then blithely sent their bills to the accountant. Even a whisper of divorce made husbands cringe. When men died, their widows had a riot. They married their appointed male guardians if they had to, or otherwise simply ignored them.
The materfamilias was typified in Helena Justina. She kissed her sisters-in-law formally; they kissed her cheek in return, respecting her enduring rights as the original daughter of this house. As soon as formalities were done, they burst out with their fears while she tried to calm them. Falco, she said, was at his warehouse conducting a stock take. Since there had been insufficient Dacian plunder for the Emperor’s triumph yesterday, the Didius auction house had lent a large quantity of “treasures” to boost the carts of supposedly captured treasure. “What’s come back is not exactly what he sent, but if things have been pinched, other things have been sent. Auctioneers do like a good turnaround. He is in heaven with his inventory.”
“We are worried about the boys!” Claudia insisted.
“Of course you are. And so am I. I came by way of Albia’s house, in case they know more, but they have avoided this fiasco; her husband had an invitation, but he made some excuse.”
“Snubbing Domitian makes Manlius Faustus a brave man!” Meline commented.
“He is. I don’t think I have heard the half of what goes on there,” Helena murmured. Claudia and Meline knew she was trying to balance being a light-handed mother-in-law against her yearning to know everything. They secretly laughed over how she always said she would not interfere. They knew she had brought up her children to be feisty souls, so they were bound to keep things from her. Helena could only pretend she was proud of their free will.
“Has Faustus, as a magistrate, heard anything about what the Emperor’s dinner purports?” asked Melina in her slightly formal way.
“Not a thing. Domitian has kept everyone guessing.”
“He must be planning something! Something dire!” Claudia was losing her outer calm.
“There is no way to find out, sweetheart,” Helena Justina told her sternly. “We’ll just have to wait until the boys come back. I know the situation is worrying, so I came here to wait out whatever befalls. Will it help if I keep you company? I’d like to see my brothers safely home in one piece.”
“What does Falco think?” demanded Claudia.
“He has no idea. He only made a bet that Domitian will toy with a whole turbot while everyone else is served wine-fried anchovies that have gone soggy on the route from the kitchen.… No women are invited,” Helena then growled. “I reckon Our Master is scared we would laugh at his antics, take over with our own funny stories, and spoil whatever sinister outcome he has planned.”
“I believe it used to be the custom,” Claudia speculated, “that while great men dined at the palace to celebrate a triumph, the Empress would hold a simultaneous banquet for all the senatorial wives.”
“We may die waiting for that!” scoffed Meline.
Helena stretched on a reading couch, where she began to work her way through the remaining honeyed dates. Claudia and Meline had lost out there. Their sister-in-law looked innocent as she set about it, but they had seen her with a snack platter before. “I can never decide,” Helena told them while she chewed, “whether Domitia Longina is terrified of her husband and what he may do next, or whether her method is to lie low, avoid confrontation, and let him get on with being a paranoid maniac, if that keeps him happy. At any rate, it’s obvious she won’t try to upstage him by becoming more popular herself.”
“No, people say she is horrible!” Meline, who could be waspish, suggested the Empress might be glad to know Domitian was preoccupied with his party, so for one night she could do as she liked.
Claudia looked nervous at this, so to distract her, Helena asked, “How long have the boys been gone now?” They told her glumly. “Juno, they will be hours yet! They won’t be able to slip out before the end, saying terribly sorry, they have to see a client.”
A pause fell.
“I do not know,” complained Meline, “why either of them ever wanted to be senators. My father always said that, given how the Emperor rules, the Senate is an irrelevance.”
“Social standing,” answered Helena. No snob, she sounded dismissive. She and Claudia exchanged a half glance, aware that Minas of Karystas had been perfectly willing to view this particular senatorial family as prey. The way he grabbed Aulus, first as a student then a son-in-law, had occasioned endless bitter debate. Aulus knew of it. Meline had been politely kept out of the Camillus family wrangling in theory—but inevitably Meline knew too; once she picked up the secret blame aimed at her father, it became one of the reasons her original marriage to Aulus was unhappy. Minas had seemed to be too sozzled to notice. His one complaint was that after he had drunk the Senator’s wine cellar dry, Decimus took much too long buying in new amphorae.
“They thought if they were senators, sheer reputation might bring them more work,” Claudia explained to Meline. “Which it has done, though probably not as much as they hoped. Yet you are right, darling; if they hadn’t done it, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. We would have more money,” she grumbled, “and I would see Quintus here at home a lot more. Helena, I blame your husband for helping out when they decided to stand.” At the time, Falco had been in receipt of an unexpected inheritance. At first, he saw it as his role to act as benefactor for his numerous relations, though lately he had grown more comfortable with his wealth; he now guarded it more closely, which he openly said was the way rich men stay rich. Hands off, you beggars. You can fight over everything after I’m dead. I won’t care then.
“They wanted to do it.” Helena brushed off any criticism, as if her brothers had simply demanded unfortunate toys to play with, asking to join the Senate the way they had once wanted model animals then, later, tickets to see gladiators. “Too late now!”
The three women were all bored. Perhaps they were not sufficiently fond of one another to enjoy an evening of simply waiting around for their menfolk. Or perhaps the tension as they feared for Aulus and Quintus was becoming too much.
They could do something about the wait. None of these were passive women. Helena suggested that in the absence of proper entertainment provided by the Empress, they should hold their own party. Meline might be used to the Greek idea of being stuck at home in the women’s quarters mending tunics while men went out for drink and debauchery, but Meline was the daughter of a legendary boozer so she knew how a symposium worked. Claudia even liked playing the good Roman housewife; a bride receiving the keys to all the store cupboards formed part of the wedding ceremony.
“Then we should raid the wine cellar.” Taking the point instantly, Meline was showing herself to be a pragmatist. “If Domitian kills our husbands, he will confiscate their property.”
“No! Surely he won’t, darling, will he?” On the property point, Quintus had been less forthright with Claudia than Aulus with Meline. Claudia was now shocked.
Helena played peacemaker. “No, no. Vespasian admitted them to the Senate. They never draw attention to themselves by speaking in debates; they just go for a snooze in the Curia. The present emperor doesn’t even know who they are.”
“That is not what I have heard!” Suddenly Meline rounded on Helena. “My father said, Decimus Camillus told him in deepest confidence that your husband, Falco, possesses some evidence against Domitian. Domitian wants revenge for it, he is that type of person.”
Helena tried to avoid this conversation. “Domitian wants revenge against so many people for so many slights, most of them pure imagination on his part. He cannot wreak his warped judgement on everyone. People close to him are at most risk, because he sees them frequently and it gives him ideas about them.”
“Is your Falco a threat to him?” Meline persisted.
“Marcus keeps his head down.”
“Do you have a plan? If Domitian ever turns on him?”
“Retirement to a farm in Britain—it’s a pretty desperate plan!” Helena answered, laughing.
Meline growled. She kept digging. “Domitian will see Aulus and Quintus tonight! Palace protocol means he will be told their names. Nobody knows what evidence your dangerous husband has, but if the Emperor fears it seeing the light of day, that will be fatal. Helena Justina, you should do the honourable thing by your family and divorce Falco!”
Helena looked surprised, but then she laughed again, more gently.
Claudia was amused too. She had known Helena and Falco long enough to reproach Meline: “That will never happen! … Anyway, I have been told there was a plot by an uncle that still reverberates. It’s their uncle who remains dangerous to Aulus and Quintus. Helena, you ought to tell us why.”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t want to!”
Helena merely shrugged. Her stole slipped off one shoulder so she busied herself with that classic gesture of fielding the cloth then rearranging it gracefully in new folds. Her gold earrings twinkled. Bracelets on one arm chimed. “Old scandal. We survived. When Vespasian received my brothers into the Senate it was his signal of forgiveness. We should not harp on a past error as if we felt guilty. Let it lie.”
Claudia knew when to give up. “This woman will not budge. We may as well stop asking.… Meline, you and I had best consider our escape plans.”
Meline also capitulated. She too lifted and replaced the silken folds of her wrap, so that light from an overhead chandelier glistened on expensive embroidery along its edges. This was a formal way to punctuate a change of subject, an unspoken gesture that all women understood. “So, before the Emperor’s agents come to seize our goods, we must drink the wine—to keep it from them.” Claudia and Helena exchanged mock-humorous glances again, pretending to be nervous that she might follow in her father’s inebriated footsteps. Claudia deployed the stole gesture to imply unspoken disapproval. “In moderation!” Meline assured them affably. She knew how people had viewed Minas. “I believe it is appalling for Roman wives to be drunk?”
“That never stopped any of us,” Helena reassured her.
“You have been listening to Roman husbands,” Claudia added. They deserved a treat, she said, to encourage her companions. Stuck at home, with nothing to do but wait to hear that the Emperor had murdered the men they loved …
“Well, ‘love’ is a word to drive anyone to a wine goblet!” Helena giggled with Claudia, then she smiled at Meline, so lately returned to Aulus, who was looking perturbed. “Irony, dear girl!”
So, while Claudia Rufina, best of housewives, toddled off to the cellar, Hosidia Meline took herself to Claudia’s kitchen to persuade slaves to rustle up snacks and nibbles.
Left alone in the salon, Helena Justina, who ought to have been their role model, a woman of gravitas, realised she had polished off all the honeyed dates. For a moment she sat motionless, considering love: her love for her husband and children, then the love they all bore for her endangered brothers. Then, since she was still unobserved in the room on her own, she started the night’s descent into decadence by licking clean the empty snacks plate.