ROME

 

The villa of Atia Balba Prima, like most of the houses of the wealthier families on the Palatine hill had a very austere façade, plain brick walls coated with plaster, with few apertures and even those high up.

Balbus frowned from the shadow of the apple tree.

‘I still do not like this.’

Faleria, the sister of Fronto, was proving to Balbus to be every bit as headstrong and troublesome as her brother and probably more so. The well-dressed lady in her lemon-coloured stola and mustard-toned shawl smiled.

‘Quintus, we are quite all right, you know. This is a social call; nothing more. Now run along and we’ll meet you back at the house in a couple of hours.’

Balbus’ gaze slipped back and forth between Faleria and his daughter Lucilia, bedecked in a midnight blue stola and looking far too adult and mature for his liking.

‘I’d tell you to look after each other, but I do worry you’re each as bad. Be careful.’

Lucilia smiled and patted him on the cheek as they turned and strode across the square, passing a family of the equestrian class and an apple seller who apparently had not cottoned on to the abundance of the fruit going for free in the square. Balbus watched them until they got to the door and then turned with a nervous swallow and returned to the three litters that had brought them from the Cispian.

Faleria arched a perfect eyebrow at her companion.

‘Are you really comfortable with this? I’ve met Atia. She’s shrewd and very used to being steeped in the politics of the city.’

Lucilia smiled.

‘I’m fine, Faleria. Come on.’

Reaching up, she tugged the bell-pull by the featureless door. A few long moments passed before they heard the muffled flapping of sandals on marble from the far side and, after a couple of clunks and rattles, the door opened.

A short, bald man with an olive complexion and a neat, short beard squinted at them.

‘Mistresses?’

Faleria allowed her most imperious expression to fall across her face, her voice matching it perfectly.

‘Please inform your mistress that the ladies Faleria and Lucilia have come to pay their respects to the gracious niece of the great Caesar.’

The slave gestured to them, inviting them into the atrium, and then shuffled off. A murmur of conversation drifted back from the tablinum nearby, while the two visitors cast their glance around the room.

Close to the door stood the altar to the household and family gods, with its small statuettes and a mass of flower heads in the dipped surface, soaked in Falernian wine as an offering. A similar sight stood inside most households, though more surprising was the small altar to Venus that stood nearby with a tray of sweetmeats in the offering bowl. It was said that Caesar could trace his family line back to the Goddess herself and Atia clearly bought into the idea.

The fountain in the impluvium pool, a bronze statue of a dancing nymph, sprayed a jet into the air that tinkled down to the water with a calming splatter.

‘The domina will see you now, ladies. Please follow me.’

Lucilia and Faleria smiled at the slave who had appeared from around a corner and followed him back and into the tablinum. Atia Balba Prima lounged on a golden couch while two slave girls anointed her feet and tended her toenails. Absently, she plucked a grape from the bowl next to her and popped it into her mouth.

Lady Atia could hardly look any more different from her uncle. Rather than being tall and lean, she was diminutive and voluptuous, her nose small and button-like, her hair lustrous and coppery, falling in carefully-curled waves to her shoulders. Her face was pale – presumably with white lead – her lips crimson and her eyes kohl-darkened.

‘Noble names. The widow of the Falerii, sister of my uncle’s favourite soldier, and the daughter of the erstwhile commander of one of his legions. And keeping company together in the city. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

Faleria nodded – a gesture that suggested an equality between them that surprised Lucilia.

‘A social call only. As friends of your family, it seemed polite to make your acquaintance again. We met a few years ago, of course, but Lucilia is new to the circles of Rome.’

Atia smiled and a shudder ran through Lucilia. That face suddenly reminded her of nothing so much as a crocodile.

‘Of course; of course. Do come and sit. I will have food and drink brought for you. Wine or fruit juice?’

Lucilia smiled nervously. ‘Fruit juice will be fine for me, thank you my lady.’ Faleria nodded. ‘For me too.’

Atia gestured to the spare couches and snapped her fingers.

‘Agorion? Play something sweet for our guests.’

A thin, ebony-skinned man in a loincloth plucked a lyre from beside a pillar and stepped to the side of the room, beginning to pick out a light melody with seeming ease.

‘So you have decided to spend the summer in Rome while the men are off playing soldier with the barbarian. Very sensible, I should say. Sadly, you missed one of the great social engagements of the spring, when lady Sepunia held her orgy. It was quite a party, I can tell you. Some juicy scandal and some delicious slaves from Tingis.’

Lucilia sat gingerly on the couch to one side and raised her feet, removing her sandals. Faleria mirrored her opposite with a sigh of relief.

‘Thank you, Atia. I don’t know about you, but I find litters to be less comfort than walking. The bones are shaken up with every step.’

‘Indeed, though it would not do for ladies to walk so far unescorted, of course.’

‘Of course.’

The opening pleasantries over, Atia turned to Lucilia with a smile.

‘Your father has a villa near to Massilia, I understand, where the family resides much of the time?’

‘Very true, lady Atia.’

‘Do you not find yourselves overcome with the tedium? Do you not miss the spectacle of Rome?’

Lucilia shrugged.

‘I have not spent a great deal of my time here, my lady. Much of my youth I lived in the provinces with father and mother. I have only ever spent short stints in the city.’

‘Then we shall have to train you up in the manner of a lady of the city, my darling Lucilia. Why I shall make it my personal task to introduce you to every important face and every delight the city has to offer.’

Faleria switched off. Lucilia was handling herself well, and something that had attracted Faleria’s interest since she had first entered nagged at her. Over the general hubbub of the house, the chattering of the lady and her slaves in this room, there had been the barely-discernible sound of male voices in deep discussion somewhere in the house. Now, as she concentrated, trying to filter out the lyre music and the inane chat, she could hear them more clearly.

Because they were becoming louder.

She realised suddenly that the sources of the noise were approaching.

With the pretence of sorting an errant coil in her hair, she draped the falling locks like a curtain, hiding her face from the door, while being able to look between the coils and strands.

Half a dozen men passed the doorway on the way to the front entrance without even a glance in at the lady who owned the building: an unthinkable breach in etiquette that it seemed odd for Atia to ignore.

Faleria squinted through the hair curtain. The men were rough thugs dressed in dirty tunics and leather, at least one bearing the mark of a former legionary on his upper arm. All were armed with knives or stout sticks.

She was peering intently when the face of Publius Clodius Pulcher appeared at the end of the small group of men, his sharp gaze snapping around to the room and Atia’s visitors. He was dressed in a toga, yet even he carried a knife. Faleria’s heart raced at the sight of the loathsome man. Here was the villain who had burned down their house and tried to kill her family.

So casually that it almost pained her, she turned her face to Atia, away from the door, her pulse thudding, hoping that the man had somehow not recognised her.

‘We must away for the afternoon my lady’ Clodius said pleasantly. ‘Business to attend to; you known how it is.’

Atia waved dismissively at him.

‘Just don’t disturb my guests and I when you return.’

There was an unpleasant laugh.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Though the lady Faleria and I are old friends, are we not?’

Faleria winced, but he clearly did not expect an answer as he strode out laughing lightly, following his men to the door.

‘Horrible man, but he does have his uses’ said Atia, apologetically.

Faleria murmured platitudes and made a small deal of the matter, turning the conversation back to Lucilia as her mind raced. Clodius leading thugs from the house of Caesar’s niece and following Cicero and other senators. One thing was certain: if Clodius was involved, those senators were far from safe.

It was time to write to Fronto.