Simplicius if he knew anything about Mucia’s will, since Roman law did grudgingly allow a woman to dispose of her own property. He claimed to have no idea, though I screwed out details of a freedman who had acted as her official guardian before she married.
We moved on to an outline of Aviola’s bequests.
In the will as it stood, I was told, there were a number of gifts to close relatives and old friends. There were rewards for the two executors, payments which Simplicius described demurely as ‘generous’. Overall, however, no one person would receive a whacking amount. Freedmen and women were provided with pensions but ordered to continue service to the family in various non-controversial ways. Donations were made to temples. The usual perk was earmarked for the emperor, a bribe to dissuade him from seizing more. Domitian’s reaction could never be guessed in advance, but Simplicius told me no one, not even the paranoid tyrant who ruled Rome, had a real reason to speed up Aviola’s departure to Hades in order to inherit. Their legacies would be welcome yet were not enormous.
As was a wife’s right, an allowance was left to Mucia Lucilia. Simplicius and I discussed the legal problems with both that bequest and her dowry; he intended to take advice (I recommended the Camillus brothers). He needed to know whether Mucia died first. I had to tell him that in my judgement she was killed after Aviola. Since this could not currently be proved, and might never be, Simplicius wanted to obtain a legal opinion that would allow him proceed as Aviola’s executor on the basis they ‘died at the same time’, negating bequests to each other. Possibly there was such a rule.
‘Does this will say how Aviola’s bequest to Mucia Lucilia should be reassigned if she’s no longer alive?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes. Wives can die early …’ Childbirth (Mucia was young enough), accident, disease … ‘The amount would be shared out pro rata among the other beneficiaries. They all get more, therefore – but as they are many, the addition cannot be called significant.’
That would depend on how rich you were to start with, I supposed.
‘As a matter of interest, Simplicius, what happens now to slaves who are
not
freed in the will?’
‘The rural slaves are part and parcel of the farms they work on.’
‘And any others?’
‘Have to be liquidated.’
I was startled by his casual turn of phrase. ‘What?’
‘Sold for their cash value. Some may be taken on by the beneficiaries, for a price set against their legacies. A few may be able to buy their own freedom, according to their assessed value. Otherwise, it’s the slave market for any bummers, special auction for the best.’
‘They would have known this?’
‘Standard practice, my dear.’
There was nothing else I wanted to discuss. The conversation had taken me no further, other than suggesting no beneficiary was likely to have helped Aviola on his way. It cast a little light on why some slaves might have held grudges, but nothing dramatic.
Sextus Simplicius escorted me to the door. He seemed anxious. ‘I should warn you about Mucia Lucilia’s guardian … The man can be a menace – he holds some wild theories. Do not believe everything he may say.’
I like wild people. I thanked Simplicius for the advice – then opted to make the guardian my very next interviewee.
13
H ermes was a sixty-five-year-old family freedman. He had a long, narrow head with vase-handle ears. This came with a pinched, unhappy expression, though I bore in mind he had recently lost his patroness, in grim circumstances.
Women have to be assigned a guardian when they have no husband, father or other obvious head of household. Some women are so much under their guardian’s control they marry them, others manage to bamboozle their so-called protectors. As I established when I took Faustus to meet my uncles, I would never have wanted one; I was not prepared to have
anybody
sign
We moved on to an outline of Aviola’s bequests.
In the will as it stood, I was told, there were a number of gifts to close relatives and old friends. There were rewards for the two executors, payments which Simplicius described demurely as ‘generous’. Overall, however, no one person would receive a whacking amount. Freedmen and women were provided with pensions but ordered to continue service to the family in various non-controversial ways. Donations were made to temples. The usual perk was earmarked for the emperor, a bribe to dissuade him from seizing more. Domitian’s reaction could never be guessed in advance, but Simplicius told me no one, not even the paranoid tyrant who ruled Rome, had a real reason to speed up Aviola’s departure to Hades in order to inherit. Their legacies would be welcome yet were not enormous.
As was a wife’s right, an allowance was left to Mucia Lucilia. Simplicius and I discussed the legal problems with both that bequest and her dowry; he intended to take advice (I recommended the Camillus brothers). He needed to know whether Mucia died first. I had to tell him that in my judgement she was killed after Aviola. Since this could not currently be proved, and might never be, Simplicius wanted to obtain a legal opinion that would allow him proceed as Aviola’s executor on the basis they ‘died at the same time’, negating bequests to each other. Possibly there was such a rule.
‘Does this will say how Aviola’s bequest to Mucia Lucilia should be reassigned if she’s no longer alive?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes. Wives can die early …’ Childbirth (Mucia was young enough), accident, disease … ‘The amount would be shared out pro rata among the other beneficiaries. They all get more, therefore – but as they are many, the addition cannot be called significant.’
That would depend on how rich you were to start with, I supposed.
‘As a matter of interest, Simplicius, what happens now to slaves who are
not
freed in the will?’
‘The rural slaves are part and parcel of the farms they work on.’
‘And any others?’
‘Have to be liquidated.’
I was startled by his casual turn of phrase. ‘What?’
‘Sold for their cash value. Some may be taken on by the beneficiaries, for a price set against their legacies. A few may be able to buy their own freedom, according to their assessed value. Otherwise, it’s the slave market for any bummers, special auction for the best.’
‘They would have known this?’
‘Standard practice, my dear.’
There was nothing else I wanted to discuss. The conversation had taken me no further, other than suggesting no beneficiary was likely to have helped Aviola on his way. It cast a little light on why some slaves might have held grudges, but nothing dramatic.
Sextus Simplicius escorted me to the door. He seemed anxious. ‘I should warn you about Mucia Lucilia’s guardian … The man can be a menace – he holds some wild theories. Do not believe everything he may say.’
I like wild people. I thanked Simplicius for the advice – then opted to make the guardian my very next interviewee.
13
H ermes was a sixty-five-year-old family freedman. He had a long, narrow head with vase-handle ears. This came with a pinched, unhappy expression, though I bore in mind he had recently lost his patroness, in grim circumstances.
Women have to be assigned a guardian when they have no husband, father or other obvious head of household. Some women are so much under their guardian’s control they marry them, others manage to bamboozle their so-called protectors. As I established when I took Faustus to meet my uncles, I would never have wanted one; I was not prepared to have
anybody
sign
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