by Laura Dowers
Caius squeezed her fingers a little too hard. ‘It does, Mother.’
Menenius walked onto the Field of Mars and surveyed the scene before him. Caius and Volumnia were here, he knew, their slave had told him so when he called at the domus, but he couldn’t see them. He took a deep breath and stepped into the crowd.
He was getting too old, he told himself for the umpteenth time that morning. He wasn’t a young man who could drink five jugs of wine and feel no ill effects any longer. How much had he drunk? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that, here he was, two days later, still paying the price for his overindulgence.
He could have endured the physical discomfort if he could only forget his visit to Volumnia. He didn’t recall every word he had uttered, every stumble he had made, but he knew he had made a fool of himself and the knowledge made his insides shrivel up in shame. And then there was the way Caius had spoken to him. He had deserved the rebuke, he knew, but still, to be told off by a boy...
He should have apologised straight away, the very next morning, but he hadn’t woken until the early afternoon and then had barely been able to get out of bed. Now, it would look as if he didn’t care what he had done, that he wasn’t sorry. He could only hope both Volumnia and Caius would forgive him. Their friendship was not one he wanted to lose.
Menenius forced a smile onto his face as he wandered about the field, accepting congratulations on his triumph from those who recognised him. Several people tried to stop him and engage him in conversation, but he was determined not to be diverted from his task and sidestepped them quickly. He had a sudden flash of inspiration and made his way to where the wrestling took place. If Caius and Volumnia were on the field, that was where they would be.
Wrestling was a common sport among Rome’s young men. It kept them fit when not training for war and gave them a chance to show off to the girls who would gather in groups to watch and make eyes at them. The wrestling often drew those wanting to win a few aes as bets were always placed on who would win. Caius often drew fewer gamblers than other wrestlers, simply because he was so difficult to beat; there were more riches to be made elsewhere on the field. But many people liked to watch him perform, all the same. Caius was so accomplished, it was a pleasure to watch him throw his opponent to the ground and lay across him, the dirt of the field mingling with the shining sweat on his long limbs and broad back.
Menenius had guessed right. Caius was there, in the middle of a circle marked out in the sand, his loincloth only a little stained by dust, for he had not yet been thrown. Young men were lining up on the opposite side of the circle to take their turn, all convinced they stood a chance of beating him. Fools, Menenius thought with a wry smile, they will never beat Caius. He scanned the ranks of onlookers and found Volumnia, feeling a lump form at the base of his throat. She was with Valeria, the wife of Publius Valerius, who was a terrible gossip. He could have done without her presence but there was no turning back now. Volumnia had seen him.
He edged through the crowd towards her. ‘Salve, Volumnia.’ He smiled a greeting at Valeria. ‘I thought I would find you here.’
‘Caius is wrestling,’ Volumnia said, keeping her eyes on the match. ‘Where else would I be?’
Valeria giggled. ‘Never misses a chance to watch her son perform, do you, my dear?’
Volumnia ignored her. ‘Nothing to do at the Senate today, Menenius?’
‘Oh, yes, busy, busy,’ he lied, for he had not been to the Senate house, ‘but I wanted, that is, I needed to see you and Caius. Lady Valeria, would you mind if I spoke in private with Volumnia for a moment?’
Valeria, disappointed to be excluded from a conversation that sounded interesting, moved away.
Menenius took a deep breath. ‘I apologise for my behaviour the other night. It was unforgivable.’
‘And yet, here you are asking for forgiveness.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am. Do I have your forgiveness?’
Volumnia turned to look at him. ‘You have mine. I cannot answer for Caius. He was very cross.’
‘I remember. And it grieves me that I angered him. I owe him so much.’
‘You owe him your life, in fact.’
‘I meant what I said. I did want you to be with me for my triumph. My wife would not allow it.’
‘Are you a mouse that you do as your wife tells you?’ she said scornfully. ‘You, a celebrated soldier of Rome on his day of triumph being told by his wife that the young man who saved her husband’s life cannot stand with him?’
‘You are disappointed in me,’ Menenius said, hanging his head.
‘Very, I cannot deny it. For myself, it is of no matter, but Caius deserved the acclaim. He deserved to share a little of your glory. After all, you would not be alive to have had a triumph had it not been for him.’
‘You’re right,’ Menenius agreed. ‘I should have insisted. I owed him that.’
‘You must do what you can to make it up to him.’
‘I will. In whatever way I can,’ he promised.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Caius had thrown his opponent and was holding out his hand to help him up. His expression showed only disdain for the applause from the onlookers and he glared at the girls who tried to attract his attention.
‘Not that Caius has much to learn from me,’ Menenius said, seeing Valeria out of the corner of his eye edging back towards them.
‘Not in physical skills,’ Volumnia agreed. ‘But when he is old enough for the Senate, you will be of use.’
Menenius frowned. ‘The Senate, Volumnia? Do you really think Caius has the right temperament for politics, my dear?’
Volumnia’s eyes narrowed at him. ‘It is his right as a patrician, Menenius. Caius deserves glory in every aspect of his life, and he will get it. He will prove himself in war, and then he will prove himself in politics. The gods have decreed it, Menenius. They have foretold that my son is going to be the greatest man in Rome.’
Antium
Gallio Aufidius wiped the sweat from Salonia’s forehead with a cloth, folded it over, then wiped her throat and chest too. As he set the cloth to the side, he wondered why he was bothering. Salonia was asleep, she didn’t notice his care of her. She had been like this for two days now. When would the fever break? He thought of taking her away when it did, back to the country, out of the city. She had never been ill when they had lived in their village. It was only since coming to Antium that Salonia had been coughing and complaining of aches and pains. But she wouldn’t believe him when he told her so. She always said they were safer in the city, that living in the country in an isolated village made them vulnerable to attack. He couldn’t argue with that. How many Roman raids had they endured when they lived in their village hut? Five, six? He’d lost count.
He wondered where Tullus had got to. Gallio resented his son’s absence. Tullus should do his duty by his mother and spend some time tending to her, if for no other reason than to give his father a rest. He guessed where Tullus would be: with his friends, gambling and fighting, taking bets on who could land the first blow, who could keep his feet. Why did young men do it? Didn’t they have enough of fighting in real wars that they had to play at it too? Tullus had nothing else to occupy him, that was the problem. His son should have a wife, he was too old to still be unmarried. With a wife to consider, Tullus wouldn’t want to be always fighting. He would understand what duty truly meant.
Gallio heard footsteps in the corridor and turned towards the door.
‘How is she?’ Tullus asked quietly, tiptoeing into the room.
‘Still the same,’ Gallio said. ‘Where have you been?’
Tullus shrugged in answer. He moved around to the other side of the bed and sat on the end, staring at Salonia.
Gallio studied Tullus. He looked excited. His leg jiggled and he kept tapping his fingers. ‘What is it?’
‘What?’ Tullus looked up at him. ‘Oh, nothing, it doesn’t matter.’
‘It obviously does matter. Tell m
e.’
Tullus looked down at his hands. ‘There’s news. The Romans are attacking again.’
‘Attacking who?’
‘The Romans have taken Fidenae and Crustumeria. They besieged Fidenae, so they had to surrender or starve or die from disease. As for Crustumeria,’ Tullus shook his head, ‘one battle, that was all it took for Rome to conquer them. And then I’ve heard only this morning that Praeneste have surrendered to Rome rather than fight. Do you hear, Father? Praeneste have sold themselves like a whore. And puffed up with their victories, Rome has now declared war on the Latin tribes. We’ll be next, you see if we’re not.’
‘Tullus,’ Gallio said, closing his eyes, knowing his son was working himself up into a fury.
‘And you know what’s been happening in Rome?’ Tullus rose and began stalking the small cubiculum. ‘They’ve had a triumph to celebrate. One of their commanders, Menenius Agrippa by name, was publicly lauded for his war service.’
‘It is the Roman way, Tullus.’
‘The bastards!’
‘Tullus, hush. Think of your mother.’
‘I do think of her. I think of how she nearly died giving birth to me because of Romans. I think of how you had to come and live in Antium to be safe from Romans. And it’s because I think of her that I will be ready to fight Rome and destroy her utterly.’
Gallio looked at Salonia asleep in the bed and thought how proud she would be to hear their son talk so passionately about killing Romans.
13
Volumnia looked around the busy kitchen and wondered whether she had forgotten anything. She was not normally a woman to get easily flustered, but this day was so very important to Caius and she didn’t want anything to go wrong. She checked over the food preparations, reminded the slaves of their duties, and headed towards the atrium where Aemilia, Kaeso and Menenius waited.
‘There she is,’ Menenius smiled at her as she entered. ‘Is everything going to plan?’
‘I think so,’ she sighed. ‘The slaves are getting the food ready for the feast and I had the domus decorated late last night. Does it look well?’
Menenius and Aemilia obligingly looked around the room at the decorations, the flowers and greenery that Volumnia had ordered cut from the garden.
‘It looks lovely, my dear,’ Aemilia said.
Kaeso fingered one of the roses. ‘Don’t do that,’ Volumnia screeched almost hysterically.
‘There’s no need to shout,’ Aemilia said, going to Kaeso and gently taking hold of his hand. ‘We mustn’t touch, Kaeso.’
Volumnia sighed. She wished it wasn’t the custom to have one’s family present on this occasion. ‘You will keep an eye on him, Mother. I won’t have him embarrassing Caius.’
‘He won’t,’ Aemilia said angrily, turning her back to her daughter.
‘You must be calm, my dear,’ Menenius said to Volumnia.
‘It’s such a responsibility,’ Volumnia said. ‘And I can’t help feeling that we should have had this day years ago. I’m sure people have been gossiping about it.’
‘What do you care?’
‘What if they have been saying that I’ve put it off because I’m worried Caius is like Kaeso?’
Menenius laughed and shook his head. ‘Don’t be absurd, no one would ever think that. Everyone knows that Caius would have put on his manly gown when he was fourteen if he hadn’t been so busy being on campaign with me. There simply hasn’t been time to do this before.’
‘Well, yes, you and I know that—’
‘Stop worrying.’ Menenius put his hand on Volumnia’s arm. They both looked at it, knowing he shouldn’t. He withdrew his hand as the door opened.
Cominius, Caius’s closest friend, entered. ‘Forgive me, lady,’ he said to Volumnia, ‘I fear I am a little late.’
‘Not so, Cominius. Caius is still getting ready.’ Volumnia nodded at the door. ‘Are all his clients out there?’
Cominius nodded. ‘All waiting. It will be quite a procession to the forum.’
‘Well, that’s the idea,’ Volumnia said archly, and Menenius and Cominius shared an amused look.
The company talked quietly among themselves for a few minutes until footsteps were heard coming from the corridor. They all turned expectantly as Caius entered.
Caius felt his cheeks reddening as his family and friends stared at him. How he wished he could perform this ceremony without anyone looking on, but there was no way around it. The putting on of a manly gown was a rite of passage and the world must see it. He forced a smile onto his face and went up to his mother, bending his head to accept her kiss.
‘I am so proud of you,’ she said, and he could tell she was fighting back tears.
‘No need to cry, Mother,’ he said, stepping away and holding out his hand to Cominius. ‘Good to see you, Cominius.’
‘And you, Caius. Thank you for inviting me to be a part of this. It’s a great honour.’
Caius nodded. He greeted his grandmother with a kiss, and nodded stiffly to Kaeso, who tried to put his arms around him. Aemilia, knowing that neither Caius nor Volumnia would appreciate the embrace, took hold of her son’s arms and shook her head. Kaeso, frowning, lowered his arms to his side.
‘Uncle Menenius,’ Caius said, holding out his hand.
‘I think we can dispense with the ‘uncle’ from now on, don’t you, Caius?’ Menenius grinned.
‘I would like that,’ Caius nodded, ‘though it may take some getting used to.’
‘Caius,’ Volumnia called, ‘we should begin.’
‘Yes, of course, Mother,’ Caius nodded, and Volumnia gestured towards the shrine of the household gods.
Caius stepped up to the shrine. He lifted the leather thong that held the bulla, the charm Volumnia had given him when a baby to protect him against evil spirits, over his head and laid it on the ledge before the small idols. It felt odd not to have the weight of the carved stone on his breastbone. Then he took off his tunic with the crimson border, the symbol of the child. Standing only in his subligaculum, he laid the tunic at the base of the shrine.
He rose at the sound of squawking and turned to take the cockerel from the slave who had brought it in from the kitchen. Caius tucked the flapping bird beneath his left arm and took the knife that lay waiting on the shrine’s ledge. He drew the blade smartly across the cockerel’s neck and felt the animal’s hot blood spurt over his arm and over the shrine. He stayed still as the animal died, feeling its body pulse as the blood drained out of it. When it was dead, he knelt and laid it beside his discarded tunic.
The slave returned with a bowl of hot, petal-scented water and Caius washed the blood from his arms and hands. Volumnia handed him a towel and they shared a brief smile. She turned and gestured to Kaeso, who as head of the Marcius clan since the death of Vibinius, had been given a pure white tunic to hold. Kaeso passed it to Caius, taking especial care to make sure Caius had hold of it before letting go. Caius knew Volumnia had made the tunic especially for this occasion and he fingered the soft wool appreciatively. He shook it out and lifted it over his head. It slid over his torso, coming to a stop halfway down his muscular thighs.
He was ready for the most important garment, the toga virilis with its two wide crimson stripes down the edge. Aemilia carried it to him and he took the yards of cloth with reverence. The length of cloth had to be folded around and across his body with precision. When he had finished, Caius looked to Volumnia for confirmation he had done it properly.
She made the slightest of adjustments, then stepped back and looked him up and down. Curling her bottom lip into her mouth and her chin dimpling, she nodded and said, ‘Perfect.’
Aemilia pressed her hands together in front of her face, like Volumnia, feeling too much emotion. Caius hoped his grandmother wouldn’t start crying; that would have been embarrassing.
‘Is everybody ready?’ he asked brusquely, keen to avoid such a sentimental scene.
Kaeso grinned. ‘They’re all out there,’ he swung an arm
at the front door. ‘All your slaves and those you have freed — not too many of those, nephew,’ he laughed. ‘Your clients and your friends. And us, of course.’ He clapped his hands as he looked round at Aemilia and Volumnia.
‘Yes, that’s enough, brother,’ Volumnia said testily. ‘Come now, Caius.’
They walked to the doors, and a slave opened them. As Caius stepped out into the street, a cheer went up that he was not allowed to silence. The street was cleaner than usual and Caius knew his mother had ordered it to be swept. He turned to her and extended his arm, palm outstretched, ready to take her hand so she could walk beside him. But Volumnia shook her head.
‘You won’t walk beside me?’ he asked, confused and a little hurt.
‘I cannot. You must do this alone. It is the custom.’
‘Away with custom,’ Caius snapped.
‘Caius,’ Menenius said warningly, ‘it is not fitting for a boy about to become a man to have his mother walk him to the forum. You understand?’
Yes, Caius did understand, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. He nodded at Menenius, glanced at his mother, who was giving him an encouraging, if sorrowful smile, and set off to have his name inscribed on a stone that would proclaim him a citizen of Rome.
The sound of the water rippling as he moved in the bath was supremely soothing. It had been a very trying day for Caius, for he had been required to be sociable and amenable, to accept congratulations and give thanks, and to stuff himself with more food than he had ever allowed himself before. The feast that followed the sacrifice of a goat at the Temple of Liber had been sumptuous and had cost a great deal, Caius knew, his mind briefly wondering how much of a dent it had put in the family accounts, but he accepted it had not been a day on which to be mean.
