Chapter Text
|"You know" said Phoebe, irritably, "the least they could do is just tell us what was happening. I'm not asking for that much, am I?"
"Domina?" I said, my mind jerked back into the present from a pleasant contemplation of what to cook for dinner.
She turned around, frowning.
"Weren't you listening, girl?" she snapped. Inwardly, I winced. She was in one of those moods, evidently. I hurriedly tried to reconstruct the conversation - or, rather, monologue - from the fragments I'd actually picked up.
"You're not asking for too much, domina" I said, placatingly. "And they really do owe it you." I shook my head, as though I remotely knew what I was talking about. "I'm sure they have their reasons, though" I added, lest Phoebe think I was mindlessly agreeing with her.
"And what could those reasons be, slave?" she snapped. I blinked, cursing myself, trying to think of something to say that would make it sound as though I had been paying attention. Fortunately, Phoebe herself came to my rescue. "It's arrogance, really. Nothing to do with wanting to protect us, or investigating a crime. It's just arrogance." She sniffed. "They're probably just annoyed that I got more information whilst they were still working out if anything was actually happening in Belgica!"
I sagged with relief. Ah-ha, I told myself. Quint was the subject - or more precisely, the Quint investigation. Well, that was hardly surprising. Phoebe had been quietly stewing about that injustice for about a month now - and Phoebe, stubborn as she is, is like a dog with a bone when it comes to insult. We'd left the Vigilium building - not, as I had suspected, the Castellum itself, but rather an ugly concrete office building deep in the heart of one of Rome's less lovely industrial areas - with mutual promises to keep each other updated. And then - silence.
That hadn't altogether surprised me - and frankly, after being beaten, abducted, interrogated and terrified I was happy enough to get home rather than disappear into a Black Cell somewhere. But Phoebe had, it seemed, got it into her head that she would be kept, at the very least, updated. The fact that maybe there was a reason why the People's Republic of Rome has a dedicated organisation devoted to going after criminals - especially extremely rich, influential ones allied with psychotic Volkish gangs - was a point I'd gently raised once or twice, but to no avail.
(Still, it hadn't been all bad. I'd had an enjoyable couple of days lying in bed, nursing my wounds and reading several lowbrow romance novels whilst my ribs healed - an indulgence I was fairly sure Phoebe granted me because, at a level she'd never admit, not even to herself, she felt somewhat guilty for what had happened to me. I've had a lot worse in my time, but I'm never the sort to refuse an opportunity to lie in bed whilst eating fruit).
What had made it worse was that we were at the tail end of the Dog Days. Why my Domina chooses to stay in Rome during the unbearable heat of July is a riddle for Minerva Herself - the city is unpleasantly hot and sticky, most of her friends decamp to more collegial parts of the Republic, work dries up, and Phoebe is left with little to do but to brood in the too-hot flat, snap at yours truly, and get bored.
"Quite possibly, domina" I said. "But then - it isn't really a matter for us, is it?"
Phoebe looked at me, sharply - but with a slight upturn of her lips.
"Well, not technically" she allowed. "But...come on, Flavia. Don't tell me you're not a little curious as well? Not the slightest inkling of interest?"
I shifted, uneasily, and Phoebe laughed. She'd read me right.
"Well, maybe a little, domina. And I do feel for that poor Jania. But...it was dangerous, domina, getting mixed up in all that."
"A true Roman woman is not afraid of danger" said Phoebe, slightly piously. She pointed to the gigantic, bronze plated statue of Mars that dominates the Gardens of Victory, his spear pointed triumphantly heavenward, his face obscured by his helm; atop that great marble pedestal. She looked at me, wryly. "You can hardly confess cowardice in such a place as this, slave."
It perhaps does, indeed, say something about the Roman mind that the Gardens of Victory, dedicated to the War-God, is one of the most beautiful and peaceful places in Rome - supposedly lying atop the ancient Campus Martius itself - although as ever with Rome's history, one can never entirely shake the suspicion that what ought to be the case has taken priority over what is actually the case. Pleasantly shaded gravelled paths march their way between immaculate lawns and gently tinkling fountains; every blade of grass and leaf as neat and ordered as a legionary; the rows of trees muffling and obscuring the surrounding city. Stone pillars adorned with carved laurel wreaths and the heads of eagles line the way, each one engraved with the name of one of the great generals or warriors of Rome's nearly three thousand years of history. Occasionally, one can catch glimpses of the massive edifices that surround the gardens, almost all belonging to the Militum in some way - the Academiae Martius, the squat brick monstrosity that is the Arsenal, the ancient Temple of Mars Victor; the Arch of Bellona, atop of which stands a gigantic statue of the savage War-Goddess herself - the metal, supposedly, forged from the swords and spears of the First Pretender's defeated army.
It was busy, as always, befitting the nearest green space near to the Senatorial Palace - but ordered and calm. Men in crisp, white tunics and togas mingled with young legionary officers in scarlet uniforms and auxillary officers in brown uniforms, patrolling soldiers in grey battle-dress, ordinary citizens with families. Ahead of us, a knot of Vigilium - all armed to the teeth - were huddled around a kiosk, buying paper cups of lemonade. Behind them, a line of children - Young Wolves by their uniform - all singing a martial song in their tinny voices, were marching towards the statue itself, the lead boy holding a gigantic laurel wreath.
"We are the children, soldiers of the future, and we the children pledge to Rome, loyal devotion, endless devotion..."
"And to die with dignity" murmured Phoebe, finishing the old ditty. I was somewhat relieved to note her mood had abated slightly, as I had rather suspected it would after a walk in the park and getting out of the apartment. This early in the morning, the blazing heat of the summer was not yet unbearable; and I knew my owner well enough that she needed her exersise...
I stifled a quick smile at that irreverent thought. Phoebe Vestinia would not, I thought, take kindly to being compared to a hound.
We walked on, in companionable enough silence, the two of us thinking our own thoughts - my own split between what to have for dinner, and idly considering how best to edit Phoebe's latest article; I had a feeling that it was already overlong, but if we split it into two, then we'd get paid for two articles with only a modest extra amount of work...
"Furies and serpents!" exclaimed Phoebe, suddenly. I spun around, my editorial musings interrupted. "Oi!" she yelled, making some heads turn. "Claudilo! Over here!"
The man in question turned, and then saw my owner, beckoning him towards her with an imperious expression on his face. For a moment, he hesitated - but then either ingrained habits of obedience, or a recognition that Phoebe was likely to cause a scene if a slave ignored her, compelled him to come towards us. I shot my domina a glance.
"Domina-"
"Shut up, girl" snapped Phoebe. A rather thin smile had appeared on her face. "I'm not passing up this opportunity." She glanced at Claudilo as he approached. He had, I guessed, been jogging, for he was clad only in a loincloth, and was perspiring freely. He brushed a lock of his thick, dark hair out of his eyes as he nodded politely to her. I said nothing, although I'd be lying if I didn't take the opportunity to let my eyes flick over his body. Nice arms, I considered, and good thighs; with an impressive chest - but, I noted, well groomed and waxed. A runner's build, I decided; the build of a man who obviously exercised his body as much as his mind. I swallowed, suddenly uneasily conscious of my cheap tunica, the faded green headband I wore to keep my hair in place, the fact I wore only a slave's collar around my neck. I flashed him a quick smile, but his attention, alas, was all on my owner.
"Citizen Vestina" he said, somewhat uneasily - as well he might. The Senator had gone to some lengths to keep our relationship from being obvious in public; my owner publicly summoning his slave in a park close to the Senatorial Palace was hardly discreet.
"Claudilo" said Phoebe, her smile resembling the grin a shark might make as it spots a shipwrecked sailor. "I was starting to think your dominus had forgotten me."
"I am sure that is barely possible" said Claudilo. He looked around, nervously. "Forgive me, ma'am, but-"
"I'm sure your Senatorial business can wait" said Phoebe. "You know, I was wondering, since obviously I'm no longer required, and certainly not kept up to date with recent developments, whether I should pitch this Quint business to the Prosperity Journal, or something."
Claudilo's mouth dropped open. "M-ma'am." He paused for a moment, obviously hoping Phoebe would say something, but my domina was too skilled an interviewer to speak when all she had to do was stay silent. Eventually, he broke. "I am not...quite sure that would meet with my dominus' approval."
"I couldn't give a barley grain for what he approves of" said Phoebe, tartly.
"With the utmost respect-"
"Now, you're about to say something tedious, about a respectable woman such as myself risking scandal by being spotted talking to a sweating slave of another man such as yourself. Claudilo, I was divorced before I was twenty. I let very very little - and certainly nothing so boring as the small minded gossip of fools - to stop me." She chuckled. "Now, whether you feel the same way - or whether your dominus feels the same way - I don't know. But nor do I care."
Claudilo shot me a pleading glance. I said nothing, keeping my head bowed, but gave him a sympathetic grimace in return. Not proper slave sign, more a gesture of helpless sympathy. I felt a surge of annoyance towards Phoebe. It was unlikely Claudilo had had any role in the decision to cut her out of the loop, but she was putting him in an invidious position where he oculd either disobey his owner, or risk a public scandal.
Perhaps sensing this, Phoebe's voice softened. "Claudilo, we worked together. You know and your dominus knows I can be trusted. But considering what I went through - and Flavia too, for that matter - I think we at the least deserve to know."
For a moment, he said nothing, and then he nodded.
"It isn't, to be clear, that we do not trust you, Citizen Vestina. It's more that, so far...there's been relatively little to report."
"You mean" said Phoebe, somewhat archly, "nothing has been done".
Claudilo looked somewhat uncertain, as well he might. I recognised my domina's tone. It was the tone she used to convey that she was, by nature, kindhearted, patient, and understanding of the weaknesses of others, but also to imply that if she didn't start hearing better news rather soon, some luckless slave would find themselves flayed alive.
"That is, perhaps, Ma'am, a little unfair..."
"A little unfair?" said Phoebe, narrowing her eyes. "Forgive me, slave" she said, wielding that last word like a whip, "I do not pretend to understand the complexities of Senatorial politics. In what way am I being unfair?"
I saw Claudilo's expression flicker, just for a second, and felt a pang of sympathy. Most days, I reckoned, he was treated with respect, maybe even deference; his status as the right hand of a Senator outweighing his servile origins. Phoebe, however, was not participating in the elegant dance that allowed him, most days, to converse with the free as a respected subordinate; his place comfortably ambigious.
"The situation is...complex" he said.
"Evidently" sniffed Phoebe.
"Tribune Aurelia brought my dominus' allegations to her superiors. Prefect Octavius is supportive of the investigation - to a degree. But he's concerned about the political implications. He doesn't want to authorise an investigation into a Senator - let alone one as influential as Quint - without more evidence. That'd be career suicide from his point of view. He gently approached his own superiors, who of course are" and here he frowned "supportive of whatever actions he chooses to undertake, so long as they are proportionate, but are unable to advise on any specific course of action without more information. His superiors are also sure that he will not wish to cause unnecessary alarm and distress without evidence."
"Translation: on your own head be it, and when it goes wrong we'll throw you to the wolves and pretend we knew nothing. He's Republican Security, since when do they care about evidence?"
"Since" Claudilo replied, rather more sharply than he might "their investigation implicates a Senator. The Senate gets uneasy when the Vigilium starts investigating one of their own - and the Vigilium knows that. Octavius could well lose his job if word of this got out. So, after a rather heated discussion with his own superiors, he wanted to hand the whole thing over to the Curia Censorate-"
"But that's madness!" exclaimed Phoebe. Claudilo smiled, rather tightly. I guessed he was, perhaps, getting a little irritated with my domina interrupting the answer she had herself demanded.
"Indeed" said Claudilo "because the Curia Censorate holds public hearings; and right now Quint - we think - is influential enough to, at least, delay those. Besides, they can't actually compel him to attend. The last thing any of us want is a long, drawn out hearing, giving Quint enough time to bribe everyone involved, threaten any witnesses, and throw as much sand as possible into the gears. Octavian reached out to a man within the Curia Censorate - and no, Citizen Vestina, I was sworn to secrecy as to which Censor it was - and sounded him out about the problem, without mentioning Quint or Belgica directly. After, let us say, full and frank discussion with my dominus, our contact within the Censorate, whilst of course agreeing that something had to be done, thought that he was not the right person to deal with it. He then kicked the case -"
"Back to the Vigilium?" said Phoebe. She scowled. "And I'm quite sure your nameless Censorate contact thought he was not the right person to deal with it!"
"No." Claudolo smiled, wryly. "They wanted to pass the case to the Comitibus Senatus. In fairness, they do have the authority to investigate Senators, at least in theory, if they're a threat to the State - and given Quint seems to be in bed with the Volkish, that's highly likely. In reality..." he raised his eyes heavenward "the Prefect of the Companions sits on the Praesidium. And the last thing he wants is to cause a huge stir. Investigating a popular Senator won't do his position any good. Certainly won't improve his standing with the Princeps. Prefect Octavian approached a friend of his within the Comitibus, and was told that they were not sure such a case would fall within their remit. In fact, Octavian said, his contact was absolutely sure it would not be allowed to fall within their remit. Indeed, Octavian was advised in strong terms that such a case was one perhaps even he need not be getting himself involved in."
I nodded. Even a slavegirl like me could understand the politics there. The Comitibus Senatus have - in theory - the sort of powers that would make Republican Security green with envy . But for them to launch an investigation of a Senator could spell the death sentence for the career of the man who authorised such. After all, the Senate might ask - and not unreasonably - if Quint could be investigated, who'd be next? Was the Prefect harbouring unhealthy political ambitions of his own? That was the sort of issue that might cause Aetius to consider replacing the Prefect with someone a little less brave and a little more tactful; a man who'd stick to simply guarding the Senate and carrying out its orders, rather than investigating the men he supposedly served. It might sound paranoid - but there's a reason, after all, why the Companions don't have their own armed forces, forcing them to rely on the Vigilium and Militum. The Senate is wary of its protectors - and frankly, given Roman history, you can't blame anyone for being wary of their own over-mighty Praetorians.
Dimly, I started to understand one reason why Quint had been getting away with it for so long. Bribery, threats and intimidation were all part of it, of course, but so was simple inertia. It was less effort to turn a blind eye, to rationalise away the evidence, to simply do nothing. Doing something would make you enemies, wreck your career, end friendships, be difficult. Far easier to point to someone else, vaguely indicate that perhaps they were the ones who were really responsible, and then let the whole affair drift from your mind.
"Furies and serpents" murmered Phoebe, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Claudilo sighed. "Indeed, Citizen Vestina. My dominus, I think, shares your...frustration."
"Does he?" said Phoebe, not sounding at all convinced. "So what's he doing about it?"
"Well, he's been putting together a small group of men he trusts-"
"I hope, my dear Claudilo, that his plan is not to form a committee."
Claudilo held up a hand. "It is - but with a purpose. We've identified perhaps a dozen men who can help us, and who are prepared to do something about it. But we need to be careful and - much as you might dislike it - be political. At this level, guilt and evidence matters a lot less than favours or patrongage."
"I see. Well, thank you Claudilo, you've been very helpful. And rest assured, I won't breath a word of this to anyone - "
Claudilo didn't even bother to hide his relief. "Well, thank-"
"Assuming, of course, that I'm invited onto this committee. I think I've proved myself useful before, and may do so again."
I spun around, alarmed, distracted from a pleasant contemplation of Claudilo's face. "Domina-"
"Silence, slave" snapped Phoebe, glaring at me. She turned to Claudilo. "Forgive the interuption. My slave can be emotional at times. Usually, though, she has more self-control."
"I'm sure her other qualities more than make up for it. What she went through at the Vigilium's hands was rather traumatic" said Claudilo, favouring me with a smile. I returned it.
"Don't avoid the question, Claudilo, I'm serious."
"With all due respect-"
"What? I'm a woman? A plebian? What?" Phoebe cocked her head. "I might add that none of your politicians or spies seem to have achieved anything themselves, so I could hardly do a worse job. Do you know why I took your dominus' commission in the first place? It wasn't about the money, not at all."
I blinked. That was not, as a politician might say, a statement entirely consistent with all of the available evidence, but it was hardly my place to comment.
"It was because I think truth matters, and that corruption is wrong whoever does it, and a thief is a thief regardless of whether they are an Excellency or not. So you bring me back in, Claudilo, or I go to one of my more sensationalistic colleagues. Your choice." She paused for a moment. "Dismissed, boy. And tell my dominus what I told you."
We turned to watch him go, Phoebe with a rather smug look of satisfaction on her face.
"Well, that was a stroke of luck" she said, happily. She looked at me. "And don't say a word, Flavia." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not going to be cast to the side just because of my sex. I want to be in on this."
I swallowed a probably unwise response, realising now was not the time, and simply nodded.
"And stop staring at Claudilo, girl" drawled Phoebe. She looked at me, with mingled amusement and contempt. "I know you have trouble controlling your baser urges, but do try and not act like a lovesick teenager, you're a bit old for it."
I forced a smile, even as I felt a blush creep over me, along with a depressing understanding that Phoebe would be teasing me about this for quite a while.
"I was hardly staring, domina-"
"Besides, isn't your usual type twice your age, twice your weight, married and able to wrestle an ox to a draw?" smirked my owner. She chuckled. "Gods, I do hope Cornelius doesn't get too jealous. I'd hate to think of poor Claudilo being arrested by the Executioners on some trumped up treason charge. Though I will grant that Claudilo is maybe more suitable for you."
"You did give me permission, with Cornelius" I said, quietly. I felt a small stab of resentment towards Phoebe for her teasing, for the assumption that all I was was a slut barely able to control myself. For her opinion that there was something inherently funny in a slave like me having a preference for who slept with her. Had she never wanted someone to hold her at night? Never wanted someone to stroke her hair, tell her she was pretty? And, yes, someone to take her as a woman should be taken by a man - which is hardly an urge to be ashamed of.
Phoebe rolled her eyes, but when she spoke afterwards she had a slightly warmer tone to her voice, perhaps realising she was treading on sensitive ground.
"You're my slave, but frankly, so long as you're not beaten, knocked up, or given some disease I couldn't care less about who you open your legs for." She gave me a smile. "And consider this, slave."
"What domina?" I asked, slightly warily.
The teasing tone was back.
"Imagine how brave, bold, and loyal Claudilo will think you when you agree to help his dominus"