The Legate's Daughter

by Wallace Breem

Genres: Historical Fiction

Synopsis

From the author of EAGLE IN THE SNOW an epic Roman tale about a kidnapping and rescue The scene is Rome in the troublesome year 24 B.C. Emperor Augustus is in ill health and the city is seething with intrigue. There is speculation about the succession, uncertainty in the capital and unrest on the frontiers. The question of an heir is acute. Augustus has only one child, a daughter, Julia. She is married to Marcellus, marking the young man with the Emperor's favour, but some disagree with the match. Powerful rivals engineer crisis and conspiracy. These events are seen through the eyes of Curtius Rufus, ex-centurion, gambler, and a man dissatisfied with life. He comes to the attention of Augustus's lieutenant, Marcus Agrippa, who leads Curtius into the puzzling affair of the legate's daughter, kidnapped, it appears, by pirates and held in captivity in the African desert.

Release date: November 15, 2012

Publisher: Weidenfeld & Nicolson

Print pages: 296

Sample

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The naval battle at Actium in 31 BC that destroyed the power of both Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra of Egypt left Octavian the undisputed master of the Roman world.

There followed years of consolidation in which the scars of war healed slowly and every effort was made to revive the traditions and the virtues that had made Rome great. On the surface there was apparent calm: the Republic had been ostensibly restored. Certainly the legions and the ordinary people – the plebs – supported Octavian; but political expression was silent. Ardent Republicans of the aristocracy who resented a one-party state endured political impotence with smiling faces. Their thoughts were their own.

Never in his lifetime, and he ruled for over forty years, was Octavian regarded as emperor in the sense that Napoleon was Emperor of the French. In 27 BC he received the appellation of Augustus, a title hinting at veneration and for which there is no modern counterpart. For himself he selected a title that conveyed most satisfactorily his own views of his constitutional position, Princeps, which may for convenience be translated to mean ‘the Chief’. It was as first citizen and, in his relations with the Senate, the first among equals, that he wished to be regarded. Thus, by limiting his own power the fiction was maintained, the opprobrium of being named dictator avoided. In fact his position was not dissimilar to that of the President of the United States of America, though the comparison should not be pressed too far.

Augustus and his second wife, Livilla, produced no children. He had a daughter, Julia, by his first marriage; and Livilla by her first marriage had two sons, Tiberius (whom Augustus detested) and Drusus. The question of a political heir became acute when in 24 BC, after a three-year absence in the provinces, Augustus returned in ill health to Rome. Augustus may have thought he had solved the problem when he married his daughter to her cousin, Marcellus, the previous year and thus marked the young man by his favor. Not everyone, however, agreed with his choice.

At the time of Augustus’ return Marcus Primus, a senator of unknown persuasion, was Proconsul of Macedonia; Marcus Aelius Gallus, Praefectus of Egypt, had just concluded an unsuccessful invasion of Arabia; and Terentius Varro Murena, a senator and successful soldier, was in Rome, shortly to be appointed joint consul with Augustus for the following year. Also in Rome were Augustus’s two chief lieutenants, Marcus Agrippa, the soldier, and Gaius Maecenas, the diplomat; the latter related to Murena by marriage if not ambition. In Rome, too, was Fannius Caepio, an ardent Republican, of whom little else is known. Across the sea Juba II sat on the throne of Mauretania, where Augustus had placed him two years before. Juba was married to an exotic link with the past – Cleopatra Selene, the only surviving child of the liaison between Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra of Egypt.

Augustus’s health failed to improve and the year 24/23 BC became a year of great crisis for the party of Augustus and the State of Rome, but the outline of the story is hard to trace (Cassius Dio, who gives the fullest account, misdates some events to the wrong year) and the details if known were deliberately suppressed. Only two facts are clear beyond dispute: the sickness unto near death of Augustus, which was to precipitate a constitutional crisis; and the apparent exposure of a conspiracy against his life by two men, one of whom he had the right to trust absolutely.

Novelists are permitted to conjecture about matters on which historians must remain silent. It is with the events of this year, therefore that this story is concerned.

CHAPTER I

He had been susceptible to headaches ever since the brawl in the wineshop at Tomi. It was there the Sarmatian horse trader had flung the beer mug that scarred him above the right ear. Now, when the traffic woke him as it always did in the still time before the dawn, the pain returned; the result, no doubt, of too much wine the previous evening. The heavy shutters across the windows creaked as the October wind blew hesitantly against the tenement block in which he had lived for the past year.

He lay tensed beneath the worn blanket and tried, as always, to shut out the noise of the rumbling carts that, empty now, having deposited their loads at the warehouses south of the Aventine hill, were moving up to the Aemilius bridge. But he found it impossible to sleep and, presently, went to the window to cool his head and watch the torches of the night patrol blowing gustily in the narrow street as they went off duty.

The street began to flare with torches and movement. The baker’s assistant opposite began to pile fresh loaves onto a handcart, watched intently by two barefoot boys. When it became overloaded they would pick the spoiled bread from the gutter without fear of being charged with theft. A murmur of voices came from below as men filled the street on their way to work. Over all, he could hear the din of hammers as the metalworkers in iron and bronze who occupied the next street commenced their day.

His feet grew chilled on the bare floor. Half closing the shutters, he took the pitcher from its place in the corner and splashed his face with stale water, swallowing a mouthful to rid himself of the taste of wine, almost as an afterthought. Then he sat on the end of the bed, carefully avoiding the place where the webbing was frayed, and warmed his feet on the stained mat. A baby cried suddenly, a woman laughed, and he could hear voices in the passage as two men who shared the room at the end passed quickly by. They were auctioneers, people of no account, and he rarely spoke to them, though he knew their names well enough. The walls were thin, they made love in the night, and they did not seem to mind who heard them. From the room opposite came an occasional cough. It was occupied by a young seaman from Puteoli, now sick and out of work; but the girl whose father was a stonemason, and who lived on the second floor, brought him food now and again. The Greek doctor on the third floor might have cured him easily enough, but without money he would do nothing. He did a better trade in abortions.

Curtius Rufus took a fresh tunic out of the chest that contained all his possessions and examined it carefully to see that it was clean. Feet sounded on the stairs, climbing to his level. That would be Criton, the Macedonian, who wrote indifferent verse no one would buy. He made a meager living as ‘client’ to a lawyer who practiced before the Centumviral Court but when in funds was inclined to generosity. Perhaps he had remembered that old debt. The two men had loaned each other money upon occasion.

He put on his tunic hastily and was tying his sandal thongs when Criton knocked at the door.

‘Come in.’

The Macedonian entered, looking anxious. ‘I have the tickets I promised for the Circus Maximus. See! I even remembered to get one for your girl too.’

‘Thank you. I was hoping—’

‘It is nothing. You know I can always get them for you.’

‘It is very generous.’

‘It costs him nothing. That is why.’ The Macedonian smiled nervously. ‘I hope your girl is generous too and thinks the same way.’

Curtius Rufus laughed. ‘Pero is a little devil.’

Criton sniffed at the bleakness of the room. ‘My dear Curtius, I know it is not fashionable to sleep in comfort, but you must buy some furniture. That chest looks as though it was made by a Gaul with ten thumbs. And this stool now – is it safe?’

‘Try it and see.’

‘You will be late for work.’

Curtius Rufus smiled. ‘It would seem likely if you intend to stay for long.’

The Macedonian said gloomily, ‘It will probably rain and I shall get wet.’

‘We shall all get wet,’ said Curtius Rufus lightly.

The Macedonian dropped his eyes and said hesitantly, ‘I have to attend my patron. He has so many clients. My toga’ – he swept a fold aside – ‘has a hole in it.’

‘True,’ said Curtius Rufus gently. ‘You need a new one.’

‘Yes. The trouble is, I have already worn one out this summer.’

‘As have I. Even good togas wear out, and ours are not the most expensive.’

The Macedonian nodded impatiently. ‘It is the wool. The material is not what it was.’ He paused. He said in a low voice, ‘He is very fussy, and that new chamberlain of his is – is difficult. Full of self-importance. He prefers to remember new faces.’

‘Ah! You wish to borrow mine?’

The Macedonian nodded. ‘Please.’

‘Is it so important? Yes, of course it is. You will find it in the chest. But be careful, mine is also worn.’

‘Could I keep it for a while, until—?’

‘Why not, dear friend? I, as you know, seldom attend official functions. Here, let me help you. Now, that is better. You look yourself again.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Of course. I have my old cloak. They are used to the way I dress. No one will mind.’

The Macedonian looked at the oiled hair, unfashionably long at the nape of the neck, the saffron tunic, the close-fitting cap that matched it, and at the silver earring in the left ear. He said disapprovingly, ‘You like to upset people. You are a fool, dear boy.’

‘I upset no one except myself. I remain what I am.’

‘And what is that, pray?’

‘A free man. No man hires me to clap bad speeches or swell his self-importance by being a paid hanger-on, dancing attendance like a slave.’

The Macedonian flushed. ‘Your cloak is thin enough.’

‘But not yet ragged.’ Curtius Rufus paused and then said gently, ‘Do you attend him at court today?’

‘No, today we go to the baths.’ The Macedonian bit his lip and then said with a curious pride, ‘I am invited to dinner.’

‘But you have been before. You are always dining out. You get depressed if you have to eat at home.’

‘This is a special occasion. Fannius Caepio is coming.’

‘The Republican.’

‘And that is not all. They say that Murena may be there also. He will be consul next year.’

Curtius Rufus laughed. ‘You keep good company. Your patron has powerful friends. The governor of Macedonia is one of them.’

‘Yes, I have always wanted to meet Primus. An introduction to him would be invaluable.’ Criton blushed. ‘Perhaps when he returns to Rome—’

‘Of course, Criton. You must tell me all about it afterwards.’

‘I will, I will.’ The Macedonian could not conceal his excitement and his pleasure. ‘You laugh at me.’

‘No, only with you.’

Criton went to the door. ‘I must hurry now or I shall be late. Do not worry. I will repay you at the Saturnalia, if not before. I hope to receive a present then. My patron can be generous when he chooses.’

‘Of course. I will share your hopes with you, if not the dinner.’

The door closed and the footsteps died away. Curtius Rufus ran a comb through his hair and prayed that he would not meet the landlord on the way out. He had been a fool to gamble so heavily at the races. The Reds had gone through the card against all expectations, and he was never lucky at the Flaminius. Now there was rent owing on the room and he had no means of paying it unless he starved. Still, it had been worth it. He would not have met Pero otherwise. He went to close the shutters. The sky showed thick clouds, and drops of rain fell upon his face. To the north a scattering of red-tiled roofs, the houses of the wealthy, came into view among the woods and groves that covered the Aventine.

It was then that he remembered. It was his birthday. He was thirty years old.

On his way to work he joined the crowd streaming up the Tiber embankment to the city gate, and then paused for a snack of bread and olives at a cookshop inside the Servian wall. It was close to the Circus Maximus; he always ate there after the races, and the proprietor knew him well and would allow him to run up credit in a bad month. This morning he marked the tablet as usual and said cheerfully, ‘You ought to go back to sea. There is no money in working for the government, only in trade.’ He patted his stomach affectionately and chuckled.

Curtius Rufus said, ‘One needs capital to buy a ship.’

‘I know a freedman who might put up the money. But he would require a good return on his investment.’

Curtius Rufus nodded. ‘Then I should be working for him and not myself.’

‘Why not think about it?’

‘You need more than a ship. You need confidence. I would have the guild against me.’

The proprietor roared with laughter. ‘It is only their daughters who have confidence in you. Keep away from them and all will be well again.’

Curtius Rufus smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I have a girl.’

‘You have too many. Watch out that this one does not get the better of you.’

The streets were full and Curtius Rufus pushed his way slowly through the crowds that thronged the markets of the Velabrum. He paused at the junction of Tuscan Street and the New Way, where there was a crossing, while a closed litter swept by borne by a team of Galatean slaves; turned left up the side of the Basilica Julia; and crossed the western end of the Forum behind the New Rostra. He nodded briefly to the guard on duty outside the Tullianum prison. ‘You have an easy time,’ he said cheerfully, for the Tullianum was a two-roomed prison occupied only by the condemned. He had been shown inside it once by a friend and the remembrance made him shiver.

‘Not now. We’re full up.’

‘Oh!’

‘Two men.’ The soldier dropped his voice. ‘They say one was once a slave to the new consul. The other I don’t know. They were brought from Macedonia under arrest.’

‘What are the charges?’

‘It’s a state matter.’

‘Have they been here long?’

‘Four days. They’ve been questioned.’

Curtius Rufus said bleakly, ‘When?’

‘They go down to the lower room tomorrow.’ The man hesitated and then said in a whisper, ‘I heard my centurion talking to the tribune. They say that Primus is being recalled from Macedonia before his tour of duty as governor is up. It’s odd, that.’ He raised his voice suddenly as a senator escorted by his secretaries came toward them. ‘No, I don’t want any tickets, thanks. I’ve got two already. I’ll see you at the circus. Thanks for the tip.’

Curtius Rufus smiled and moved on. Behind, he could see the tiled roof of the Tabularium, the official record office of the central government, rising behind the prison. He climbed the steep steps leading to the Temple of Juno and so came to the small rectangular building where he worked – the temporary head office of the city water supply. The gatekeeper on duty grinned and held out a hand, the thumb and index finger extended. He twisted his wrist with the motion of a man turning a water glass and then passed one finger rapidly across his throat.

‘I am always late,’ said Curtius Rufus softly. ‘They are used to it.’

They were. None of the six draftsmen bent over their tables so much as looked up, though one of them said in a low voice as he passed, ‘He is in a bad mood today.’

He went through a second room and a clerk looked up from an abacus board and said coldly, ‘He is waiting for you. A message came through from the Curator of the Palace Water Supply and he has been in conference with the Praefectus.’ He crossed the room, hesitated, knocked on the door, entered, flung his cloak over the rail provided, and said cheerfully, ‘Well, we shall not be short of water today.’

The Inspector of Aqueducts said sourly, ‘You would be in a better position to judge if you had arrived on time to read the reports on your table. There is one from the Surveyor’s Department that must give us considerable concern, particularly since there is to be a state dinner on the Palatine in two days’ time to celebrate the commencement of the Games.’

‘I will read it.’

‘If it is not too much trouble.’

Curtius Rufus opened a wrapped bundle that lay on his desk. ‘They’ve sent us the wrong papyrus again. Not even a goat could avoid tripping over the fibers on this Egyptian muck.’ Mechanically he took a roll and began to smooth the first page with an ivory blade. Then he picked up the reports and looked them over. An inquiry was called for into an accident that had taken place at harvest time when a weakened arch in the Julian aqueduct had collapsed, injuring not only the repair gang but also a wagon belonging to an influential fish merchant. Now the driver had died and a sharp question had been asked in the Senate about responsibility and compensation. A proposal to extend an existing aqueduct to the Capitoline hill was being blocked by the landlord of a valuable apartment block, and he was being supported by the merchants of the adjacent market, who complained that it would ruin the entire site. There was a protest about drainage from the Praefectus of the Fourth Region, and a request from the Praefectus of the Second for more street fountains because of the population increase in his area. None of these concerned him directly, but he was responsible for checking them against the records to ensure that the basic facts were correct, adding any data that might assist his seniors in reaching satisfactory decisions. Finally, he read the surveyor’s report, frowned, wrote a note below the signature, appended his initials, and passed it to the Inspector. ‘This is urgent.’

‘I will pass it to the Praefectus for consideration by the Water Board.’

Curtius Rufus said, ‘This is his third report in three months. It concerns’ – he paused – ‘the Marcian Aqueduct. He claims the section mentioned was incorrectly sited and that the piers have settled badly. The consequent cracking and leaking has worsened in the last week. He recommends an immediate major repair, involving the rebuilding of three arches.’ He paused. He wondered why the report, which had been dated three days previously, and which he had not seen before, had not been shown to the Praefectus at the morning meeting. But the Inspector said nothing.

When the hourglass had been turned over six times Curtius Rufus yawned and put down his pen. The Inspector looked up. ‘Have you finished?’

‘No, but it is time for a drink.’

‘I suggest you complete your work first.’

Curtius Rufus said patiently, ‘I have annotated the reports. The facts about the inquiry are clear. All that is needed now is the approval of our masters for an opinion by the legal department. It is for them to say what happens next. The complaint by the landlord has validity, but less than that of the merchants. Again, this is a matter for the lawyers, and if the landlord wins, as he must, since he has connections with the Senate, then the region will be as badly off as ever. Their complaints will continue. The drainage problem is important. It would seem to be reasonable. Our own inspector confirmed this in the summer. The street fountains, however, are another matter. There is some justification for the Praefectus’ complaint, but his statistics are wrong. I am checking them now. In any event, if we meet even half his demand it will make nonsense of our budget for next year.’

‘Very well, but don’t be long.’

‘I am going to the races next month. Would you like me to place a bet for you?’

‘You know I do not bet. I cannot afford it. I am a family man. I have four children.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Curtius Rufus. ‘But I forgot. You prefer the fights. It is always preferable to watch blood spilled when it is not your own.’

‘Be careful what you say.’

‘I am always careful. Come, let’s not quarrel. I know a good team and the odds are likely to be reasonable.’

‘Waste your own money then, not mine.’

Curtius Rufus shook his head, smiled, and went out. On the steps, between the pillars, he paused and blinked. The rain had stopped, the clouds had cleared, and the sun was casting soft shadows on to the damp ground. It was going to be a fine day after all.

There was a booth just behind the colonnades in the Lautumiae, much frequented by junior officials from the state departments. The wine was cheap, but Curtius Rufus liked it as a place where one could hear all the gossip, some of it grounded in fact yet much of it malicious. Piso, a clerk in the Censor’s Office, was already there, sitting in his usual corner. A copy of the Acta Diurnia, the official gazette containing state intelligence, lay on the table before him.

Curtius Rufus sat down, touched the surface of the liquid in his cup with an extended finger, and then traced a half circle on the table. He watched it until it dried.

Piso said, ‘Are you short of luck today?’ He was a fat man and his second chin quivered as he spoke.

‘I am always short of luck, but especially today.’

‘Another quarrel?’

‘Not yet, but there will be one soon.’

‘Arrange a transfer.’

Curtius Rufus smiled. ‘I like the job – I think. But transfers are not easy.’

‘I worked with him once. The man is a pig.’

‘You are unfair to pigs who are friendly creatures.’

Piso said sharply, ‘What is it this time?’

‘Trouble with the Marcian Aqueduct. He is worried should the Palace water supply give out at the wrong moment and that he will be blamed.’

‘Oh! I have heard something of that.’

Curtius Rufus looked at him questioningly, but Piso nodded toward a praetorian who stood by the counter, talking to a street girl from the Subura district. ‘Not now. Do you wish to see this?’ Piso picked up the news sheet.

‘My eyes are tired. You read it to me.’

‘Well, there is an abstract of the Senate’s report to magistrates on court procedure. That is lawyers’ business. Very dull.’

‘Go on,’ said Curtius Rufus, his eyes on the young girl.

‘Oh, two magisterial edicts: one about the salt tax and the other amending the harbor regulations at Ostia.’

‘The passenger boat that sank on the evening run from Puteoli?’

‘Yes. A list of appointments, but no one very interesting. A little about our First Family. Marcellus and Julia have returned from the Campania—’

‘That should please Augustus and the Lady Livilla.’

‘I doubt it. Augustus perhaps, but not his wife. Everyone knows that Marcus Agrippa wanted to marry Julia, and Livilla is concerned for her sons, particularly Tiberius.’

Curtius Rufus said, ‘Whenever I contemplate marriage I remember the Lady Livilla.’

Piso laughed. ‘Aelius Gallus is on his way to Rome.’

‘To explain away the failure of his Arabian expedition, no doubt.’

‘Of course. And the Senate held a special meeting in the Temple of Juno yesterday to hear a report on the Hispania war. Attendance was very low.’

The soldier touched the girl’s cheek. She had beautiful skin. Curtius Rufus said absently, ‘It always is at this time of year. They are still on their estates.’

‘True, but Augustus was not pleased. I hear he made some sharp remarks.’

‘I can guess. If we who have spent three years in campaign tents for the good of the state and without holidays—’

‘Precisely.’

‘How does he look? Still sick?’

‘I did not see him, but those who did say that he walked to the Senate with his arm on Maecenas’ shoulder. He seemed very frail.’

Curtius Rufus said casually, ‘Any news of my old legion in Hispania?’

Piso paused and put down his cup. ‘I will see if I can find out. A dispatch boat docked in Ostia yesterday. There was a tribune on board with messages. He is at Agrippa’s house.’

‘On the Palatine?’

‘Yes, but his escort are quartered with the third cohort. I know one of the centurions. I will find out what I can.’ Piso wiped his mouth and said casually, ‘Tell me, how is the great affair going?’

‘Pero?’

‘Yes.’

‘She smiles, and I pay. She is grossly extravagant.’

‘Slave girls to great ladies usually are. They try to imitate their betters.’

‘She amuses me.’

‘But does not surrender,’ said Piso shrewdly.

Curtius Rufus shrugged. ‘She will.’

‘Do you hear any gossip about the Lady Terentia or her husband?’

‘None that would interest you. Pero’s mistress and Maecenas go their own way.’

‘Is it true that she and Augustus—?’

‘Very probably. But it is all women’s gossip that Pero passes on.’

When the office closed for the day he stayed on alone to finish his work. Then he walked up the Esquiline to Maecenas’ house and spoke to the doorkeeper. The man knew him slightly, and smiled. ‘Not a chance. An important visitor has arrived. The place is in an uproar. You’ll not see your girl today. The Lady Terentia has them all running six ways at once.’ A small coin changed hands. ‘I’ll give her your message. Tomorrow at the usual time and place. Do my best.’

Curtius Rufus nodded his thanks. Disappointed, he returned to the tenement and collected his washing things. Criton had recommended a new bathing establishment, recently opened by a middle-aged Syrian. It stood a little way off the Long Street, not far from a desolate area of brick rubble, old houses, and decaying empty blocks. The whole district was due for redevelopment, and the Macedonian, whose gossip was often reliable, said that Augustus had announced plans to build a new forum there but was held up by the owners of a number of properties, which they had stubbornly refused to sell. The Syrian, with his eye on the main chance, had built on land that was going cheap and was only waiting until the forum went up to find himself close to a thriving area in which, otherwise, he could never have afforded to operate. When that time came the profits would be enormous and the ground rent, should he wish to sell, would be worth a small fortune.

Curtius Rufus approved of the baths, was charmed by the Syrian’s politeness, and, having fallen asleep in the warm room, awoke feeling hungry. He ate in the cookshop attached and then, clean and contented, asked for a girl. In this matter also the Syrian was efficient, and it was close on dusk when Curtius Rufus set off for home. On the way he stopped at a tavern, carefully choosing one where he was not known. Here, in return for a drink, he showed a soldier on leave how to play dice. When the tavern had filled sufficiently and he was sure of a crowd, he borrowed three drinking cups, produced three ivory flats from his tunic (identical except that one had a black spot on one side), and introduced the visiting countrymen to the mysteries of Three Men in a Row. It was late when he reached his room and the aching envy that he had felt that morning when he awoke and which had made him sick to his stomach was now gone. He had avoided a bad quarrel at work, he had been lucky in the girl of his choice, no one had robbed him in the streets or picked his purse clean while he slept; he had drunk a good deal of free wine and had made a little money into the bargain. He was contented. On the whole it had been a good day.

CHAPTER II

The next morning he had a headache again so that he noticed every sound: the beat of the rain against the colored glass above his head; the clatter of a clerk’s sandal in the next room, and the squeak of the Inspector’s pen coming from the corner table. He worked slowly, concentrating with difficulty upon the documents before him. It seemed to be the morning for complaints, the chief one being from a senator about the quality of the water coming from the aqued. . .