“Don’t worry, Gaius. I don’t believe he was murdered.” Although I had never spoken openly to Aemilianus about my ankle, and in many ways that had been a lifelong deception, I was not practiced as an outright liar. Now I would forever be saying things that were not true to cover up my guilt. I did believe Gaius, however. He was not the accomplice.
“Could he have taken his own life?” Gaius asked. “He was under tremendous pressure at the end—after a life of unbounded glory.”
“It’s possible. I try not to think about it. Polybius suggested giving him the grace of a natural passing. You and I have both read Herodotus’ Histories and know Solon’s answer to Croesus when he asked about the judgment of a man’s life.”
Gaius nodded. “No matter what a man has done in his life or what treasure he has accumulated, it matters little if he doesn’t finish his life with honor.”
“And to Polybius murder or even suicide would be a stain upon Aemilianus’ honor.”
“I spoke to Polybius at the funeral today,” said Gaius. “He asked several leading questions about Aemilianus. I thought it was strange. I hope he doesn’t think I had anything to do with his death. He and I spent many nights talking with Aemilianus in his tent outside Numantia during the siege. He had to have seen how much respect I had for the man.” He wagged his head. “Yes, I have been disturbed by Aemilianus’ comments about Tiberius—and me—but I still maintained a high opinion of the man.”
“Polybius was his best friend. He puts up a stoic front to disguise his deeper feelings. He might have been the person most gravely affected by Aemilianus’ death.”
“More than you?”
I looked down at my lap. “My marriage was not a pleasant one, Gaius. Our lack of children and my bad ankle didn’t help. When Aemilianus was criticized by those he had fought for all his life, he became less tolerant of my shortcomings.” I bit my lip. “For me, his death was bittersweet.” I lifted my eyes to his.
Gaius nodded slowly. “I didn’t know that. There’s a sadness there that is almost worse than his dying.”
Gaius was a remarkable young man. His empathy brought tears to my eyes. He put his arm around me as we rode the rest of the way to my house in silence.
CHAPTER 50
My mother remained in Rome after the funeral to spend time with Gaius and his family. Little Gaius was one year old, and Licinia was about to have a second child. Cornelia came to my home one morning in her litter, and after much cajoling, convinced me to go with her to one of the private baths. We had not spoken in several months, other than incidentally at the funeral. The baths would be a good place to soak and talk. The warm water would soothe my ankle, the rest of my leg, and my hip. I loved going to the baths, but rarely did for fear of revealing my ankle in public.
The bathhouse close to our home was brand new and exquisite. There were separate baths for men and women. Black and white Cyrenian tile laid out in geometric designs covered the floor and walls. There were three baths—one cold, one warm, and one hot. The pools were also fully tiled and adorned with mosaic images of dolphins, turtles, and seahorses. Cornelia walked beside me to help disguise my disfigurement. All the women bathed in light gowns. Full nudity, so common in the Greek culture, was not the tradition in Rome.
I suggested we go to the hot bath immediately. I slid into the steaming water and felt all the tightness in my right side relax. I imagined myself conjoining with the water. Cornelia and I shared a corner. Three other women lounged in the water on the opposite side of the pool. I closed my eyes and tried to forget about everything, but could not help wondering if Cornelia would ask me about Aemilianus’ death. Other than Nadia, only she knew how difficult the marriage had become.
I opened my eyes briefly. Cornelia lay stretched out in the water, eyes closed, her head against the apron, where she had placed a towel. Her gown had become transparent with wetness. I had not seen her in the bath in years. She was nearly sixty years old. Her body had changed. Although not apparent when wearing clothing, her once sleek figure had gained some curves. I considered her the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
She opened her eyes and looked directly at me. “Do you miss him?”
I lowered my eyes. “No. It’s as though he’s on a permanent military campaign. All the tension has left the house. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but I feel terribly relieved.” And then I started silently crying. I was terribly wound up from poisoning Aemilianus. Having held it inside for more than two weeks, I just melted into the warm water.
Cornelia did not understand the depth of my angst at first, but she certainly understood how much I needed to talk about whatever it was. She knelt beside me in the shallow water and put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, Sempronia. I breathed a sign of relief for you when I heard.” She wiped my tears away with her finger. “Are you all right being alone in your home?”
“I think so. Seeing you helps. The library is now mine.” I think I actually glimmered a smile. “The best collection in all of Rome—in all of Italy. That’s comforting—in a way.”
“Maybe we should put more time into our circle. We can meet here in Rome at your house or in Misenum at mine.”
“I would love that, Mother. More than that, I need it.”
Her eyes softened and she smiled. I put my hand on hers.
“What’s Polybius up to, Sempronia? He came over to Gaius’ home and sought me out right after I arrived in Rome. He seemed to be paying his condolences for my nephew’s death, but he asked a lot of questions, too. He was polite, and I love the man, but I couldn’t help thinking he had some kind of agenda—connected to Aemilianus. Am I reading too much into this?”
I did not know what to say. The whole thing welled up in me again, Aemilianus’ choking sounds, the unknown accomplice, and the guilt. She saw it in my face when I did not say anything.
“He asked about you. And your relationship with Aemilianus.”
A tremor passed through my body. I pulled my legs beneath me and moved away from the edge of the pool. “What did he ask about?”
“Some unpleasant things.”
“My being barren?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you say?” As soon as I asked, I saw it in her eyes. She had heard the guilt in my voice.
“I said nothing, Sempronia. I said I didn’t feel it was his business to ask. That’s when I began to wonder what he was up to.”
I surveyed the steamy room to see if anyone might hear us. I faced Cornelia and whispered, “He thinks Aemilianus was murdered.”
“And he’s not saying that.”
“Except to me.”
Cornelia’s look was a question.
“Polybius found him that morning. He came to discuss Aemilianus’ upcoming speech. Polybius immediately suspected a murder, but didn’t want to make it public. He was afraid some angry pleb had done it, and it would sully Aemilianus’ legacy.”
“An angry pleb? Really?”
I lifted my eyes. “Or Carbo? Or Gaius? He saw some bruises on Aemilianus’ neck. Someone strangled him—and possibly poisoned him also.”
Cornelia was flabbergasted. Something that almost never happened to her. “He thinks Gaius could have poisoned him? There is so much hatred in the air. Oh my. And that’s why he’s been asking questions?”
I nodded. “He wants to find the murderer.”
“What do you know about it? You were there that night.”
I looked down at the water. I had to tell her, but I could not say it. Cornelia suddenly embraced me. “Oh, Sempronia, oh my baby.”
“I put the poison in his cup,” I whispered. “But someone else strangled him.”
“Who?”
“I’m afraid to guess. But whoever it was might also know about me.”
Cornelia was stunned. “What can you do now?”
“I don’t know. Try to figure out who the other person was—and talk to them.”
“What if Polybius finds them first?�
�
“I will be found out.”
CHAPTER 51
Three weeks after the funeral, Licinia gave birth to her second child, another boy, this one named Publius after my grandfather. Cornelia had remained in Rome for the birth and to help Licinia with the children. Gaius was in south Italy with the land commission. We held a circle at my home one afternoon. Along with Cornelia and myself, we invited three other women from our family—Claudia, Licinia, and Licinia’s mother, the other Claudia. When Licinia’s mother said she could not make it, Licinia invited another woman, Laelia, the daughter of Aemilianus’ friend Gaius Laelius. She had married Mucius Scaevola’s son Quintus and given him three sons. Only Licinia had met her before. She was a lovely woman, twenty-five, with wavy, jet black hair and an ivory complexion. Her eyes were dark and blazing. She had been educated in Greek literature and art and was thrilled to talk with other educated women, especially Cornelia, whom she had heard about since childhood.
Laelia’s clear hunger for knowledge added enthusiasm to our group—though things got off to a rocky start that first meeting. Licinia had invited Laelia without asking Cornelia. Her father Gaius had been severely critical of Tiberius, and her father-in-law, who had been consul at the time of Tiberius’ murder, had not stepped in to halt the violence when he had the chance. Cornelia, Claudia, and myself were extremely disappointed by his lack of action. Cornelia still held a grudge against him. We all became uncomfortable when Licinia introduced Laelia to the group.
Four years had passed since Tiberius’ death. Now a murderer myself, I did not dare judge another person. But I certainly understood what Claudia and Cornelia were feeling, though neither Licinia nor Laelia, it seemed, were aware of the abiding rancor.
Laelia was an uncommonly forthright woman and broke right through the tension. “I’ve been counseling legal cases in the forum,” she said as an opening. “Not advocating for a client—yet—but advising. I’ve been tutored well at home.” We all knew her father-in-law was one of the top legal minds in Rome.
All of Cornelia’s resistance to Laelia melted away when she heard the confidence in the young woman’s voice. “You want to be an advocate?” Only during extreme circumstances had women even spoken in the forum, much less as advocates in a court of law.
“Yes, and I know that having the opportunity—the honor—of spending time with all of you will be of tremendous value.” She looked at each of us to emphasize what she was saying. “I’m particularly interested in history. It provides precedent for just about everything in law. But I’m also happy to listen to whatever you want to talk about.”
Cornelia loved nothing more than a young woman with an inquisitive mind, and so did I. “Laelia, are you familiar with the demonstrations against Lex Oppia sixty-five years ago?”
“Oh, yes, Cornelia. It could be called the most successful organization of women in our history. Your mother, Aemilia, was one of the leaders.”
“She was, primarily because she had the support of my father. He was really the originator of these intellectual discussions. It was initially all men, but he had the foresight to include my mother. She became a strong advocate for the education of women and formed a circle of her own. Her circle was responsible for bringing the cult of the Great Mother to Rome during the war with Hannibal. She was a modern woman before there were modern women.”
“But there were other incidents of women’s protests before Lex Oppia,” I said.
“That’s right, but this one was the most tightly organized,” said Cornelia. “The most well-conceived.”
“And it worked,” added Laelia.
“Can you tell us more about this protest?” asked Licinia, glancing at Claudia, who also appeared to know little about it.
“Let’s have Laelia do that,” said Cornelia.
Laelia had a classically round face. When she smiled she beamed—and she did now. “If I have it correctly, Lex Oppia was put in place by a tribune of the plebs by the name of Gaius Oppius. It was during the war with Hannibal, following the disastrous Roman defeat at Cannae. The treasury was running dry, and there was a movement to eliminate excess in Roman society, starting with wealthy women. The law forbade a woman to own more than an ounce of gold, wear the color purple, or ride in a carriage anywhere within a mile of Rome. It made sense at the time. Rome needed money for the war. Everyone had to sacrifice. But five years after the war was over, Lex Oppia was still in place. Two of the tribunes at that time—I think they were prompted by your father, Cornelia—proposed a bill to repeal the law, but two other tribunes threatened to veto the proposal if it were brought up at the Assembly. The women of Rome, mustered by Cornelia’s mother, decided to protest the veto.”
“And what happened?” asked Claudia.
I spoke up. “The day before the vote the Assembly held a debate. One of the tribunes, Lucius Valerius, I believe, spoke in favor of repeal, emphasizing that the war was over and that the law was unnecessary because a husband already had the authority to control his wife’s actions in any way he wanted. The outspoken conservative Porcius Cato spoke vehemently against it, claiming it would only lead to more decadence and an excess of Greek influence in our society—something he hated. The day of the vote women came out early and in number to block all access to the assembly grounds. When their disruption caused the meeting to be put off, they came in greater numbers the next day. Although no woman spoke, the two tribunes rescinded their threat to veto and the law was repealed.”
Cornelia looked at each of us. “Was this a victory for women?”
“Yes,” answered Laelia, “but not a great one. The repeal of the law only meant that things went back to the way they were—full control of a woman by her husband through the marriage institution of manus. But the huge number of women acting together demonstrated the power of such a protest. It’s the sort of thing that gives me hope for serving as an advocate and speaking in the forum one day.”
“Would you consider advancing changes to the laws of marriage?” Cornelia asked.
When Laelia hesitated, Cornelia looked to Licinia and Claudia. With Gaius and Tiberius as husbands, they had not witnessed the dark side of marriage that I had, but my convictions were so bound up in guilt I kept my thoughts to myself.
“It’s an important question,” said Cornelia, “but a bigger part of it is having the words and ideas of women included in the political discourse. Many women have difficult marriages, but they have been taught to stay at home and say nothing. We might be the only women in Rome who would even think to bring marriage up as a political issue. If these circles do nothing else, I hope that each of you acts as an ambassador for women’s education as I have. Things may not change for women for several generations, but my mother always felt that learning how to speak intelligently and in public was the path to greater rights for women.”
After that first meeting I told Laelia that she was welcome at all of our circles and that she could use the library any time she wanted. She interested me for a couple of reasons. Like Cornelia, I wanted to see the rights of women defended, and who could do that better than a woman trained in law? But I was also worried that Polybius might eventually confront me about Aemilianus’ death. While suicide was the obvious option, knowing a woman who knew the law seemed like a good backup plan.
CHAPTER 52
No one had more to do with shaping Cornelia’s character and intellect than her mother Aemilia Tertia. The third daughter of Lucius Aemilius Paullus, Aemilia came from one of Rome’s greatest families. She openly basked in her patrician heritage and dressed as eloquently as any woman in Rome, especially after my grandfather’s success in Africa and the increased wealth that came with it. She indulged in the purchase of works of art and made a show of her trips across the city, traveling in an elaborate carriage with a train of slaves. Though Cornelia was not ostentatious like Aemilia, she was proud of her bloodline and always presented herself at home and in public in the manner of an aristocrat.
While Af
ricanus was the preeminent ambassador of Greek learning of his time, Aemilia was nearly an equal part of it, advocating for the education of women and leading her own lesser-known intellectual circle. After Africanus’ death, she had provided the best tutors for Cornelia and was responsible for Cornelia’s love of literature and art.
Aemilia was gentle and mild-mannered, but also fiercely loyal to her husband. When she was pregnant with Cornelia, Africanus was unfaithful to her with one of their housemaids, something that ran counter to all that he had boasted of earlier in his life. Aemilia chose not to make the matter public, either to protect her husband’s image or to save herself the embarrassment.
Cornelia spoke about this to me and my brothers many years later. She emphasized the importance of fidelity for both partners in a marriage, though Roman custom typically condemned the wife for such indiscretions and overlooked the husband’s. Cornelia made sure all of us understood the hypocrisy of this kind of social inequity.
Aemilia died when I was a child, but I did know her, and though my memory of her is limited, I do remember thinking she was a grand woman, but a little intimidating. I was always on my best behavior when my grandmother came to our house.
More importantly, though, Aemilia maintained the progressive politics of her husband, even after his death. While he was alive, she organized and led the resistance to Lex Oppia. Cornelia spoke of this proudly, and yet there might have been a bit of hypocrisy there as well. Yes, Aemilia organized the women of Rome in a way that had never happened before, but I have wondered if it was because of the law’s oppression of women’s rights or my grandmother’s love of extravagance. One way or the other, she wanted to ride in a carriage and wear her jewelry and purple clothing.
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