‘Is this line scrambled?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Want to let me into the little secret of what’s going on?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Oh, come on.’
‘No, I don’t want to put a strain on your loyalty to the imperium.’
‘Come to that, has it?’ Plico snorted. ‘Surprised it’s taken so long.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s just call it a clash of personalities any fool could see coming for a good year.’
‘Juno knows, Plico, I’ve done my best, but I will not see the Families’ system of balances change on my watch. A pause for reflection will calm things down. And it’s not without precedent.’
‘You mean that business in the 1700s?’
‘Yes, and significant legal reform came out of that,’ I said.
‘But only after your great-great-whatever sulked for four months.’
‘She didn’t, and you know it.’
‘That imperatrix was just being stubborn beyond reason, just like her current descendant, eh?’
‘I didn’t say that – you did.’
The line went silent for a few moments.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ His voice sounded very matter-of-fact.
‘I’ve summoned Caius to a meeting with the Families Council in two days’ time.’
‘Do you really think he’ll turn up?’
‘No, but let’s hope for the best,’ I said. ‘It’s not just the constitutional position, a child’s welfare is at stake.’
*
Two days later, the heads of the Twelve Families of Roma Nova sat round the oval oak table that Milo’s staff had set up in the atrium at Domus Mitelarum. As speaker for the Families, Mitela was charged with convoking the council when required. Of course, we met socially and in our jobs, but this was the formal caucus, named after the ancient silver cup in front of me on the table.
In the month after he’d led the four hundred or so north out of Italy in the fourth century, Apulius had set up a council consisting of the heads of each family to discuss problems and propose ideas. Its existence was later written into the Twelve Tables; its influence reached far and deep.
Legend had it that Apulius confided in his friend and fellow senator Mitelus that he’d rather know what the rest of them were plotting and grumbling about than finding it out the hard way. Apulius accepted his election by his fellow exiles as imperator and had led them with courage and fairness through hard times, but scholars considered he would not have succeeded without the solidarity of the Twelve Families firmly behind him. My mother had put it neatly; Mitela was to Apulia as Agrippa was to Augustus in ancient Rome.
Spring had retreated today and light rain fell outside. It was so dull the glazed oculus in the roof didn’t let enough light in to forego artificial lighting. Even Milo had conceded we needed the heating on again. I sat at the head of the table in my mother’s antique carved oak chair and faced my peers. Calavia and Quirinia smiled in a friendly way; Volusenia the Elder, the sister of the Praetorian officer who’d guarded Marina years ago at the palace, nodded; Cornelia, the Senate president, sniffed; the remainder – Livia, Vara, Sella, Aquilia, Branca, Aemelia – merely stared.
One seat was conspicuously empty, but I didn’t expect it to be filled. The buzz of conversation died as I took the cup, sipped the wine and passed it on. When everybody had taken a sip and it came back, I placed it in front of me again. Sharing wine symbolised sharing counsel and in the past had diminished the risk of serious dispute. Somehow, few wanted to break the ancient code of hospitality.
‘I welcome you, Families, and wish you well.’
‘I have to say, Aurelia, this move of yours is extremely inconvenient,’ Florina Vara’s strident voice travelled the length of the table without losing a decibel. She was the mother of Livilla Vara, the Vienna nuncia, and no more likeable than her daughter.
‘It’s uncomfortable for all of us, Vara, so hold your tongue,’ Calavia shot back at her. She was one of my grandmother’s contemporaries, and at ninety, still fiery.
I glanced at my watch. We had five minutes to go before the official starting time. As an advisory body, we reported direct to the imperatrix and what we said to her was nobody else’s affair. No written records, or these days, recordings, were ever made of what the council discussed. Historians reproached us that it made their task difficult when documenting the official history of Roma Nova; their only sources were the notes the family heads had made in their own journals and they were embargoed for a hundred years.
I took a breath to begin when there was a tap on the door. I glanced at Quirinia and passed her the key. Traditionally, we locked ourselves in until all business had been concluded. Private meant private.
Domitia Tella tottered into the room, her hand curled round the top of a silver decorated walking stick. A long dark palla wrapped tightly around her figure swamped her. She’d been a formidable orator in the Senate in her time. Now, she was a wisp of her own ghost. Poor soul – she could do without a predator like Caius hanging around her. She waved Quirinia’s offered arm away with an abrupt gesture and grasped the back of each chair as she made her way slowly to the empty seat to my left. She sank into the chair and gave me a brusque nod. Her eyes shone, but they were sunken in sockets above cheekbones that stood out under wrinkled skin. Her nose and chin jutted out at harsh angles; she seemed to have lost even more flesh than when I’d seen her at the funeral. Her hand trembled as she brought the caucus to her lips. And took a sip.
‘Now we are all present,’ I began, ‘there are two topics to discuss: a Families dispute and a constitutional matter. As they are directly linked, we’ll handle them together. Some of you may have heard accounts of the incident at Constantia Tella’s funeral.’ I bowed my head towards Domitia Tella who frowned. ‘Here are the facts.’
After I’d finished my account Vara looked away, Branca, the youngest, studied the table, Cornelia shrugged and Tella’s face reflected nothing. The remaining seven stared back at me, disbelieving, stunned or incredulous.
‘Although I think you are allowing your, er, differences with Caius Tellus to colour your views, Aurelia, I must back you on this.’ Calavia looked at the other family leaders around the table, most of whom nodded in agreement. Her age commanded respect, but so did her long legal career. ‘Severina was indeed ultra vires. Surely, Justina must have dinned some basics into her? The imperatrix stands away from Families disputes unless it becomes a matter of a criminal act and even then, the courts decide.’
‘Well, I think it’s a lot of fuss about nothing,’ Vara said. ‘My daughter has a prestigious post heading the Vienna legation and I won’t have any falling out with the imperatrix that will endanger her career.’ She screwed her eyes up and stared at me, too vain to wear her spectacles.
‘You may remember, Vara,’ I replied, in my driest voice, ‘that I was the assistant foreign minister who had the confidence to appoint her.’
‘Exactly! I won’t—’
‘She’s a state servant, Vara. Unless she steals a bag of imperial gold or starts a war, her position is secure and unaffected by our dispute.’ I looked around. ‘Anybody else?’
‘How long will this withdrawal last, Aurelia?’ Cornelia asked. She looked down her nose at Vara. ‘I’m not asking for personal reasons, just so I can make a formal statement in the Senate.’
‘I think it would be safest to say “for a short period”, if you feel you have to make an announcement at this point.’
‘Of course I do. Proper procedure is very important.’
I cursed Cornelia silently, and her stiff neck.
‘Very well,’ I continued. ‘Now, the child, Conradus Tellus. With his mother dead, his natural and legal carer would be his nearest female relative.’ I glanced at Domitia Tella, who had closed her eyes. ‘H
owever, as Countess Tella is in poor health, I suggest the child would be better fostered with one of the other Families which has children of a similar age.’ I smiled at Branca whose children were five, eight and twelve.
‘What does Quintus Tellus say? He’s very fond of the child,’ Calavia said.
‘He’s in the anteroom. Let’s have him in.’ I nodded at Quirinia to open the door.
Elegant and restrained in his light grey suit, Quintus bowed to the heads of families, keeping a solemn expression on his face. He bent and kissed his great-aunt’s cheek and rested his hand on her shoulder. She brought hers up to cover it. He smiled back, but didn’t say anything.
‘Please sit, Quintus.’ I stood and pulled a spare dining chair from the side of the room. ‘Now outline your concerns for us.’
He fidgeted for a moment, and looked down at the table. When he looked up, his face was set.
‘I had a speech prepared full of fine words and logic, but instead I’m going to be brutally honest.’
A chair creaked as somebody shifted, but all eyes were on him.
‘I despise my brother for his lack of morality, his hypocrisy and unprincipled and selfish attitudes. More than that, he cares absolutely nothing for the welfare of Roma Nova, its institutions or its people.’
‘Don’t hold back, Quintus,’ Vara snorted.
‘Shut up, Vara,’ said Calavia. ‘Carry on, young Tellus.’ She nodded at Quintus.
‘He made Constantia’s life a misery. She turned from a confident academic into a cowed semi-servant.’ He looked around the room. ‘The death certificate may state pneumonia as the cause, but I have no doubt at all that it was living with my brother.’
‘We don’t know the ins and outs of the marriage. He had a bad time in Prussia – in prison for all those years,’ said Vara. ‘Perhaps that made him harder than he would have been.’ She glared in my direction.
I was about to remind her exactly why he had served thirteen years in a Germanic prison but Quintus was faster.
‘Florina Vara, my brother murdered a Prussian citizen, smuggled silver, tried to murder Aurelia Mitela and conspired to frame her for that Prussian’s murder. He got what he deserved. In my opinion, he is extremely lucky not to have been charged with illegal silver trading here, but all the Roma Nova transactions were found to be legal.’ He rubbed the back of his hand with the palm of the other. ‘Going back to the case of my nephew, Conradus—’
‘Actually, he’s your second cousin, Quintus, if truth be told,’ Cornelia interrupted.
‘I regard him as my nephew and always have,’ Quintus shot back so ferociously that Cornelia recoiled. ‘Constantia was like a sister to me when I was growing up in Domus Tellarum before I went to live with my father. And I stood as supporter when Conradus was formally named as a baby. Caius terrifies Conradus, mocking him as a foreigner for his light colouring, his hair, and humiliating him whenever he can. I’ve seen bruises on the boy more than once. And that was while Constantia was alive and could protect him. Mostly. You all saw at the funeral how scared the child was of Caius. I tremble for his safety if he stays with Caius.’ He sighed. ‘I think Caius wants to hold on to the child just to show he controls him. He doesn’t see him as a human being, but as a source of power. I would love Conradus to come and live with my father and me – we’d help him to recover from the shock of losing both his parents. He’s a sensitive child and I fear for him. However, if the Families consider he should be fostered with other children, then I will acquiesce.’ He struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘Anything to keep him out of Caius’s reach.’
I went to touch his hand in empathy, but he’d turned to Domitia Tella and put his arm around her shoulder. She looked up at him, moisture in her eyes. He smiled at her.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘as Caius Tellus hasn’t deigned to present himself to us this afternoon to pursue the matter of young Conradus Tellus’s custody,’ I continued. ‘I propose we—’
Heavy pounding at the door. Who was knocking as if it was the exit from Tartarus? Domitia Tella wheezed and broke into a fit of coughing. Quintus’s figure stiffened. Of course, it could be only one person. As the noise continued, I signalled Branca to fetch some water for Tella. Her hand, barely more than skin-covered bones, shook as she raised it to her lips.
I nodded to Quirinia. She unlocked the door and Caius Tellus strode in, brushing against her, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards. He wore a shirt, no tie, casual jacket and slacks. He stopped a few paces into the atrium, took in the thirteen of us and gave a half smile, half sneer. He sauntered along the table nodding at each of the family heads as if he was their superior. He reached his great-aunt’s chair and placed his hand on her shoulder. She flinched.
The bastard.
‘What a cosy gathering you have here, Aurelia. Is it time for tea?’ He looked around. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me to sit?’
‘No.’
He shrugged and folded his arms. The scars running down in white lines from under his nose, through his lips and to the edge of his chin stood out prominently, much more so than at Constantia’s funeral. Was he anxious about this appearance today? He looked down at me, his eyes hard as agates, but a tight smile pasted on his uneven lips. Every time I looked at his face, I remembered fighting him for my daughter’s life. I had no regret for ruining his film star looks before sending him back north to prison.
‘Well? What do you want me here for, Aurelia? I have other, more important things to do than this.’ He tipped his head slightly and made a big show of studying his watch.
‘As you know perfectly well from the summons served on you, Caius, we’re deciding on the custody of Constantia Tella’s child. Under the rules when there is a dispute, the Families Council or, if necessary, the Families Court decides. Quintus Tellus disputes your claim to custody. As the child prefers his company and Quintus and his father offer a stable family environment, we are inclined to grant his claim. The alternative, if there is an equal vote for and against, is to foster him with a family where there are other young children in the household.’
‘All very elegant and no doubt you’ve gossiped with the others here to stitch up the decision, but you’ve forgotten one vital fact.’
‘Really? And what is that?’
‘Constantia’s testament naming me the child’s guardian.’ He threw two ribbon-bound sheets down onto the table in front of me. ‘It’s legal and binding. No argument.’
I studied it. The date was a week before Constantia had died.
‘Quintus, is this Constantia’s signature?’
He picked up the stiff papers as if they carried the plague. He read the document through, then returned it to me and nodded. He looked as if he was going to be sick. Caius smirked at his brother.
‘I would like Cornelia’s view on this testament’s validity,’ I said.
She studied it for a full five minutes, flipping back from one page to another. The rain was hammering down on the glazed centre of the roof directly above me as if Jupiter himself was trying to burst through. I longed to get up and walk over to the French windows to break the tension. Eventually, Cornelia looked up.
‘It’s legal.’ She looked up at Caius. ‘Has it been read to the family?’ Until it was read aloud to the assembly of the Tella family it wasn’t proven.
‘The lawyer has been trying to assemble them, but they won’t answer the summons,’ Caius replied, and kicked Quintus’s chair.
‘I haven’t had any call or letter from the lawyer.’ Quintus turned round to face Caius. ‘When did he send out the summons?’
Caius waved his hand. ‘I don’t waste my time checking every letter my employees dispatch.’
Quintus leapt up. ‘He’s not your employee – he’s Aunt Domitia’s. Don’t even try to read the testament without her present. Or me.’
‘Do calm down, br
other,’ Caius said, ‘or these ladies will think you’re hysterical.’
Quintus clenched his fists and I thought he was going to hit Caius.
‘Enough,’ I shouted. ‘Sit down, Quintus. Caius, if you say one more provocative word, I’ll sanction you. One thousand solidi, and don’t think I won’t enforce it.’
He narrowed his eyes and sent me a look of pure hate. After a moment he shrugged.
‘Cornelia, give us the legal position, please.’
‘Normally, we would decide the child’s status as he is an orphan and his head of house is in frail health with no female responsible adult to care for him. However, Constantia’s testament is very specifically worded and even cites a legal precedent. Whoever drew up this document knows their law. The Families could attempt to contest it, but it would be a difficult litigation.’
Caius looked triumphant and thrust his hand out for the document.
‘However,’ she continued, not conceding it and giving Caius a cool look, ‘there is provision under the fiduciary regulations where a minor child inherits from a dead mother for supervision by the Families of that child’s welfare and inheritance. I propose we stipulate a supervisory order in this case and nominate Quintus Tellus to execute it.’
Juno, she was a clever woman. Caius looked as furious as Pluto himself. He slammed his hands down on the table, leaned forward and thrust his face in Cornelia’s.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman. You’re making it up,’ he bellowed.
‘Not at all. It’s all set out in the Families Code, Table Seven. Would you like me to send you a copy?’ she asked in a pseudo-agreeable tone.
‘Don’t think I’ll forget this, Cornelia.’
‘The law is the law, Caius Tellus, and you are as subject to it as the imperatrix or the poorest labourer.’
‘Give me the testament.’ He curved his fingers and flexed them, beckoning imperiously.
‘No, I will take a copy and attach the supervisory order to it when I return it to you,’ Cornelia said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of it.’
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