add that I have done my duty by both the family and my class. In securing Vegetius’s triumph I have attached him, and those who support him, firmly to the aristocratic cause. Yes, he acted in a base and cowardly fashion, yet in the end he did his duty. Illyricum is at peace.’
Lucius, who in his passion had expended some saliva, stopped to wipe his mouth.
‘What would have happened if he had been impeached? Some in the Forum would have been on their feet to take advantage of the confusion in ourranks, arguing for land reform and an increase in the franchise, so that every peasant in Italy would be a Roman citizen, that justice should become the plaything of the mob instead of the prerogative of the well-born. Do you think the demands would stop there? No, the rule of the empire would become a plaything of political faction. How long would we last then? We would crumble, like every empire before us. The Pharaohs, Persia, Magna Graecia, Carthage, the Seleucids. Thank the Gods I have enough sense to put my duty and the survival of Rome above my selfish desire for personal honour. Posterity will record that if I failed to put virtue above necessity, I certainly did right by the Republic.’
Lucius had lost control, and that was, to his son, a scary sight, for displays of passion were, to him, anathema. He stood up suddenly, knocking back his chair, his voice loud and rasping. ‘Come with me, boy!’ He marched out of his study, Marcellus trailing him unhappily as Lucius made his way across the courtyard to the small chapel. Once there he threw open the decorated cupboards, exposing the family death-masks. Then he turned and dragged Marcellus to the altar.
‘Swear, boy, on the bones of your ancestors! Swear that you will never put your personal honour above the needs of Rome! Swear to defend the city against those who would give away our familywealth, take away our family power, and turn people like the Falerii into mongrels.’ Lucius was almost screaming now, shaking his son by the shoulders, the thin fingertips digging painfully into Marcellus’s flesh. ‘Damn you, swear. I’d rather see you dead than let you destroy what I have fought to preserve.’
Lucius Falerius Nerva was affable enough an hour later, smiling and nodding to his friends, all clients and all committed to his cause. The Falerii house was overflowing with guests of all ages and both sexes. The women had charge of the smaller children and they had been relegated, with their girls, to another part of the house. In the atrium it was the togate men and older boys, with Lucius occupying centre-stage. As soon as he decently could, Marcellus wandered away from his father’s side, still troubled by the exchange they had had that morning; the ceremonies that had attended the triumph enjoyed by Vegetius Flaminus and his legion had not served to wash away the feeling of distaste.
A servant approached Lucius, whispering in his ear, and he held up his hand before turning towards the main door, causing everyone to fall silent. They stood like statues as the door swung open and Vegetius Flaminus made his entrance, followed by several senators who were either relatives or closeclients. He was dressed as a soldier still, in his purple triumphal cloak, his face painted red and the crown of oak leaves on his brow. Yet Marcellus could see the rolls of fat under his armour, his fleshy jowls shaking in anticipation as Lucius advanced to greet him. They embraced like brothers, then his host turned, opening his arms to introduce his new guest, and the room erupted, men cheering and applauding. Lucius looked through the throng at his son, still unhappy about the vow he had sworn that morning, his eyes hard and glinting, while his hand still held that of the conquering hero. He seemed to be saying to Marcellus, ‘Look. Here, on the day of his triumph, this man comes to visit me! Nothing is more honourable than that!’
‘Your father seems euphoric?’
Marcellus
Lucius, who in his passion had expended some saliva, stopped to wipe his mouth.
‘What would have happened if he had been impeached? Some in the Forum would have been on their feet to take advantage of the confusion in ourranks, arguing for land reform and an increase in the franchise, so that every peasant in Italy would be a Roman citizen, that justice should become the plaything of the mob instead of the prerogative of the well-born. Do you think the demands would stop there? No, the rule of the empire would become a plaything of political faction. How long would we last then? We would crumble, like every empire before us. The Pharaohs, Persia, Magna Graecia, Carthage, the Seleucids. Thank the Gods I have enough sense to put my duty and the survival of Rome above my selfish desire for personal honour. Posterity will record that if I failed to put virtue above necessity, I certainly did right by the Republic.’
Lucius had lost control, and that was, to his son, a scary sight, for displays of passion were, to him, anathema. He stood up suddenly, knocking back his chair, his voice loud and rasping. ‘Come with me, boy!’ He marched out of his study, Marcellus trailing him unhappily as Lucius made his way across the courtyard to the small chapel. Once there he threw open the decorated cupboards, exposing the family death-masks. Then he turned and dragged Marcellus to the altar.
‘Swear, boy, on the bones of your ancestors! Swear that you will never put your personal honour above the needs of Rome! Swear to defend the city against those who would give away our familywealth, take away our family power, and turn people like the Falerii into mongrels.’ Lucius was almost screaming now, shaking his son by the shoulders, the thin fingertips digging painfully into Marcellus’s flesh. ‘Damn you, swear. I’d rather see you dead than let you destroy what I have fought to preserve.’
Lucius Falerius Nerva was affable enough an hour later, smiling and nodding to his friends, all clients and all committed to his cause. The Falerii house was overflowing with guests of all ages and both sexes. The women had charge of the smaller children and they had been relegated, with their girls, to another part of the house. In the atrium it was the togate men and older boys, with Lucius occupying centre-stage. As soon as he decently could, Marcellus wandered away from his father’s side, still troubled by the exchange they had had that morning; the ceremonies that had attended the triumph enjoyed by Vegetius Flaminus and his legion had not served to wash away the feeling of distaste.
A servant approached Lucius, whispering in his ear, and he held up his hand before turning towards the main door, causing everyone to fall silent. They stood like statues as the door swung open and Vegetius Flaminus made his entrance, followed by several senators who were either relatives or closeclients. He was dressed as a soldier still, in his purple triumphal cloak, his face painted red and the crown of oak leaves on his brow. Yet Marcellus could see the rolls of fat under his armour, his fleshy jowls shaking in anticipation as Lucius advanced to greet him. They embraced like brothers, then his host turned, opening his arms to introduce his new guest, and the room erupted, men cheering and applauding. Lucius looked through the throng at his son, still unhappy about the vow he had sworn that morning, his eyes hard and glinting, while his hand still held that of the conquering hero. He seemed to be saying to Marcellus, ‘Look. Here, on the day of his triumph, this man comes to visit me! Nothing is more honourable than that!’
‘Your father seems euphoric?’
Marcellus
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