“Obviously I shall take care of Tiberius when he comes home exhausted from the races and plays.”
“No, you must be right at his side through all the events! Flavia Albia, it will be to his public credit if he is a proper married man.” Being paraded at festivals as his domestic dear was a role I might dodge. As he listened to the chatter, Tiberius twinkled at the thought. He did know what he was in for with me. I, however, had not previously considered the full horror of being an aedile’s wife.
I had one more possible weapon. “I believe a widow who is remarrying, by tradition, ought to choose a public holiday or major festival in order to conceal her shame that, instead of being a one-man woman, she is committing the social blunder of a second marriage.”
“Ha! Don’t try it!” scoffed Julia.
Favonia leaned forward. She explained to me as if to a dimwit: “The purpose of your wedding, Albia darling, is to demonstrate publicly that the brave Tiberius Manlius Faustus is committing himself to you, our eccentric sister, and that from now on he wants you to be invited to supper parties with him. Even though we have told him you will be rude to his friends.”
“So he thinks I’m starving; it’s to get me more prawn nibbles?” I chortled.
Favonia rolled her eyes at my beloved. “We warned you. She is incorrigible. If you want to back out, do so now before it’s too late and the wedding guests are traveling.”
“Ah, but she is the woman for me!” He took my hand tenderly but firmly.
My sisters then looked at each other, miming This is just so-o-o romantic! It lasted a few moments before they lost interest. They had known me since they were babies. In some ways they found it inconceivable that I might have a love life-let alone with a man they had come to perceive as very old (by their standards) yet nevertheless nice (even by their standards).
He took them seriously. They liked that. In fact, they had slightly grown up while fixing this wedding for him. I knew our parents were impressed.
The madcaps had been talking about one subject for as long as they could manage. Now they turned to what had really lured them here from the Aventine.
“Can we see the bones?”
I frowned. It made no difference. “Show some respect, Julia.”
“We do. We know it was a person once. We want her poor spirit to rest easy. But can we see the bones, can we? Is that them there, in that basket Tiberius has under his seat?”
Before we could stop them, they flew across the courtyard, pulled out the rubble basket and like competent navvies carried it over to their own bench. In fairness, they opened it carefully. They could have tipped it out all over the yard, but of their own accord they spent time lifting out each bone, or piece of bone, individually. They handled each with cautious reverence.
Julia and Favonia set out the collection on the ground, to some extent composing a skeleton. Father’s work as an informer meant they had acquired strange gobbets of knowledge, anatomy being just one subject they would one day have to conceal from respectable husbands. Pa had taught them to play dice too. Favonia even had her own-she had filched a set of counterfeit ones that turned up once at the auction house.
Now they were absorbed, heads together, as they pored over the remnants of the skeleton.
“Where is her skull?”
Good point. These flighty bits could notice significant things. A skull certainly ought to survive in the ground, if other bones do. The workmen had not found it.
“Her head is not here. This will not do! There needs to be more digging,” declared Favonia. Julia always seemed to be the leader but Favonia was a born organizer. Then it was she, my thoughtful youngest sister, who noticed something else, something cruciaclass="underline" “Look, this is not right. These leg bones are different sizes. Either the barmaid was deformed, or the bones come from two different people.”
XV
I let Tiberius tell my disappointed sisters that they could not come with us to see Morellus. We were seeking a favor, so it would be bad practice to arrive in a noisy crowd. We would need to flatter Morellus. “Albia will need to restrain herself. This won’t be the moment for her to tell him his faults.”
I bridled. “Husband-to-be, are you chastising me?”
“Never, my darling!”
“How wise of you, Aedile.”
I watched Julia and Favonia accept what Tiberius said as they would never have done with most people. Instead, while we walked along in a posse, I was treated to a list of wedding guests. I had the odd experience, even though Tiberius was here, of my own sisters enlightening me on his family relationships: “First, Uncle Tullius. He is a famous molester, so if we talk to him we always have to make sure there are two of us there.” I saw Tiberius wince, though he did not dispute the description.
“That’s if he comes. He may not, because of Tiberius demanding his property rights.”
“No, it will be all right. Father went to smooth things over.”
“I’d like to have been at that meeting!” I commented, stepping around a recumbent beggar.
“Oh no. It needed diplomacy.”
“Well, thanks, Julia!”
“Father told Mother all about it, so we know what happened.” This was not because Helena Justina had confided in them but, in the family tradition, the girls had shamelessly listened outside the door.
“Father said he fully understands why Uncle Tullius feels unhappy; he wanted Tullius to know the marriage is nothing to do with him. Falco has his own misgivings, which he hoped Tullius would not mind him setting out briefly. Flavia Albia is his eldest daughter and Falco had always hoped any new partnership would reflect our family’s status, with him being a confidant of the great emperors Vespasian and Titus; also, we have two uncles in the Senate, which is evidently important.”
I choked quietly.
“Uncle Tullius then blamed Falco for putting Tiberius up to trying to get his own money back. But Falco said Tiberius had the idea himself-” Lies, devious Father! Falco had suggested it. “If it comes to court, Falco’s advice would be to back away fast. But of course, Tullius doesn’t need advice from him or from anyone; he’s a famously sharp businessman.”
“So what,” asked Tiberius wryly, “did my sharp Uncle Tullius respond?”
“Oh, we don’t know. We only heard the sounds of Mother throwing a cushion because Father is a reprobate. Then Father threw it back, but he missed and broke a vase. I think it was a kantharos. Things were said. About the kantharos, I mean.”
“As in ‘This is a fine Etruscan drinking cup with two vertical handles?’”
“No, Albia. As in, ‘Didius Falco, you are a trial to live with.’”
“Next, Mother invited Uncle Tullius to dinner and, to the surprise of all, he came. She didn’t use our cook-she borrowed a good one.”
“Father got ours, Tiberius. Hopeless as usual. He just can’t buy slaves.”
“Helena Justina tucked his napkin around Uncle Tullius with her own hands, complimenting him on the fine job he has made of bringing up his lovely nephew. She murmured to him that it would be best for both families to grit their teeth and show support. Tiberius and Albia both being so headstrong, she thought that was the only way-otherwise there was a danger you would run off to be beach bums on a Greek island.”
“We never even thought of that,” I marveled.
“Still could!” suggested Tiberius in a low voice.
“Falco said our mother was a wise and wonderful woman. So, he was prepared to withdraw his own objections and pay for the ceremony as a gesture, even if it choked him, provided Uncle Tullius found it in his heart to unbend as well.”