INSURRECTIO

by Alison Morton

  Caius spun round and jabbed a finger at me.

  ‘This is your fault, you and this crowd of witches.’

  ‘I believe it is time you left, Caius,’ I said in a neutral voice. ‘Thank you for your attendance.’ Quirinia jumped up and opened the door. At that moment a clap of thunder exploded outside. Caius shot a last angry look at Quintus and stormed out.

  V

  ‘Juno Moneta, Caius is a nasty piece of work!’ Quirinia said and took a gulp of water. She’d stayed on after the council had broken up. Her hand trembled as she placed the glass back on the table. ‘I’ve never quite taken on board what you said about him, Aurelia.’ She looked down at the empty glass. ‘I know there was that business in Prussia and the attack on you here at home. But that was years and years ago. Being honest, I wondered if you’d been exaggerating about him in the pre-meeting briefing. I always think back to that business at Aquilia’s—’

  ‘Yes, well,’ I interrupted. ‘Let’s not go over all that again.’ Even as I said it, a warm flush spread through me at the memory. Then it had been shame; now it was anger. That was when my childish unease and desire not to be near Caius had turned to loathing and real fear. We were at Aquilia’s emancipation party, all of us a bit tight and the dance music turned up to blast level.

  I was outside, grabbing some breaths of air – it was stifling in there and my toes were bruised from some idiot treading on them. I rested my forearms on the terrace balustrade and watched nothing in particular in the formal garden of box hedges, gravel paths and tall cypresses stretching out into the darkness.

  An arm round my waist and lips on the back of my neck.

  I spun round, but he gripped harder. In one swift movement, he dragged me up against the house wall and grabbed my breast. My head thudded against the hard sandstone and for a second, everything swam in front of me. Then I felt his hand up between my legs. I twisted, trying to pull away and batted his face with my hands.

  ‘Don’t struggle, Aurelia. You know you want it.’

  Caius. How bloody dared he? I managed to push his hand away from my chest, but he laid his forearm across my throat and grinned. My heart thumped with fright.

  As he leant in with his smirking mouth, something red seemed to burst in my head. Mars gave me strength and I brought my knee up hard into his groin. His face crumpled with pain and as he doubled over, I smacked him in the eye with my fist. Listening to him groaning and swearing like a centurion, I slumped against the wall, dragging breath into my lungs and trying to stop shuddering. It was stupid but I closed my eyes to block out what had just happened.

  Gods, I must get up or he’ll try again.

  ‘Aurelia? Are you out here? Come on, they’re drawing the prize.’ Quirinia’s voice. ‘Hey, are you all right?’

  I opened my eyes and just caught sight of Caius stumbling away and a couple of his cronies laughing at him. Blast him to Tartarus.

  ‘Yes, just catching my breath. Thanks.’

  Even in the poor light, I saw her pitying smile.

  ‘One too many, eh? Have you thrown up?’

  ‘For Juno’s sake, Quirinia,’ I snapped back. ‘I just wanted some air.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘I’m okay. Let’s go in.’

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her – I wasn’t quite sixteen and too embarrassed. I wanted to forget it. Not in an eon would I tell my mother, but the memory of Caius pinning me against the wall, his hand shoving up between my legs and touching me had made me feel sick for days. When Quirinia came round to see me the following week, I’d burst into tears and sobbed it all out to her. She’d said I should report him, but I knew it was useless. It was always my word against his and he’d wriggle out of it as he always did with his charm and convincing tongue.

  I shook off the fear and mortification that had swamped my teenaged self as Quirinia’s anxious voice dragged me back into the present.

  ‘He will be able to contain Caius, won’t he, though? Quintus, I mean. He’ll have Cornelia’s supervision order.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

  *

  ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘Come off it, Plico, I can’t tell you that.’ I was in the tablinum, my office, which unlike ancient times had a door which I went and closed. I picked up the extension handset again. ‘The Families discussion is entirely private and the council maintains its withdrawal from public life.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very helpful.’ His sarcastic tone cut through. ‘How in Hades are we supposed to run a country with half its ministers missing?’

  ‘You’re always telling me the imperial secretariat could manage very well without the patricians. Now’s your chance to prove it.’

  ‘What will it take to get you back?’

  ‘Gods on Olympus! Are you offering terms already?’ I said. ‘I thought you’d hold out a lot longer.’

  Silence.

  ‘Plico?’

  ‘I’m still here. I’m trying to work out how to get across to you what a dangerous thing you’re doing. Just for some tiff over a kid.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t that and you know it. Severina was in the wrong. She was the one who—’

  ‘Yes, I know. I have a recording of the whole thing.’

  My turn to be shocked into silence.

  ‘Tell me, Plico,’ I said after a minute, ‘do you spy on the imperatrix all the time?

  ‘Of course not. Only when some potential threat like that bastard Caius Tellus is likely to be in her vicinity.’

  I didn’t know whether to be pleased or outraged. I took a sip of the brandy I’d brought into the office with me. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Lost.’

  Severina had never worked without the circle of the Families to support her, poor woman. She’d been my friend when we were younger, but she’d never grown up. She relied on others to rescue her. I’d sworn to her mother to stay with her and guide her. Was I failing in that now?

  ‘Look, Plico, all she has to do is acknowledge that she overstepped her position in respect to the Families and everything will slot back into place. She’ll have her support circle again and we’ll fall over ourselves to help her.’

  ‘I rather think she’s expecting your apology,’ he said in his driest voice.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘I can’t believe she can’t see what she’s done.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t grasp it at all.’

  ‘Well, until somebody explains it to her letter by letter, she can go and suck a lemon.’

  *

  Three days later, Plico burst into my house and slammed three tabloids down on my desk. His face looked like Jupiter on a bad afternoon.

  ‘I know, I saw it on the wire service,’ I replied. The headlines screamed, ‘Twelve Versus One’ and ‘Historic Breach Wrecks Government’. I pulled the thickest one out from the bottom and groaned. The Sol Populi was running with ‘The Fall of Roma Nova’. Gods.

  ‘One of your crew has blabbed,’ Plico accused.

  ‘Very unlikely. Some sharp-witted journalist could have noticed the absence of several family heads from government and worked it out for themselves. I wonder if anybody has been helping them along?’

  ‘Never mind that. The imperatrix is flapping like a goose and has cancelled the Senate session for this afternoon. The palace comptroller has a whole team fending off the press and the Praetorians have already chucked one reporter in the cooler for climbing over the palace gates.’ He frowned. ‘And there’s a crowd gathering in the forum, a few hundred and growing. They’re waving placards, mostly about jobs.’

  With the increase in unemployment sparked by companies going through a spurt of modernising, it was hardly surprising. Of course, nobody demonstrated in support of increased benefits and free retraining financed by th
e state. Why anybody wanted to toil in old industrial jobs in hot, noisy factories, I’d never know. But it was fear of change, fear of the unknown, something we had to spend more time and budget on. I’d make sure it went at the top of the agenda for the next imperial council meeting. If we had a next meeting.

  ‘There’s the odd placard with “Where’s Severina” in amongst them,’ Plico said.

  ‘Well, she hasn’t appeared in public for weeks,’ I replied. I knew she didn’t like crowds and wondered if she was frightened of them. But it was her job.

  The vigiles say they’ve got it under control,’ Plico continued, ‘but—’

  ‘How did all those people get there so quickly?’

  ‘At this precise moment, I don’t really care – we need to stamp on this.’

  ‘How did you get out?’

  He shuffled his feet and glanced at the closed door.

  ‘It’s safe here, Plico. No flapping ears.’

  ‘Well, in times of stress and danger—’

  ‘You used the tunnels,’ I said flatly.

  ‘You know about them?’ His jaw didn’t quite drop open.

  ‘Oh, do come on! Of course the Mitelae know.’ I glared at him. ‘Something to do with Mitelus and Apulius being inseparable friends?’

  The tunnels connected the palace, Senate and various strategic points like the Praetorian barracks. The first ones had been hacked out of the solid rock under the hill on which the castle and then the palace stood following the nearly fatal siege of Roma Nova in the fifth century. Gradually developed through the ages, they now included some unremarkable exit points which acted as safe houses, bought discreetly by the government. Apart from a very few sworn to secrecy, most people thought they were derelict and abandoned. My mother had told me about them just after my twentieth birthday.

  Things must be serious if Plico didn’t feel confident to have come openly by car. Or perhaps he didn’t want to confirm any kind of wild rumour circulating out there by looking if he were acting as go-between. He wandered over to the bookcase, grabbed a book in the middle of the top shelf and flipped it open. He frowned at it, without looking at it properly. After a few moments, he snapped the book shut and jammed it back into the bookcase upside down. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up.

  ‘Very well,’ I said, ‘I’ll go to the palace now. I’ll gather some of the others on the way. We’ll walk out together onto the balcony, all smiles for the people and the press. And then we’ll start the straight talking.’

  *

  Severina flopped down into the chair and smiled nervously at the rest of us. I nodded to Branca to help Calavia to an armchair; the older woman was tough in her mind, but standing out on the balcony for half an hour would have been fatiguing. I didn’t care if Severina thought it was impolite or not. Quirinia, Branca and I were not invited to sit.

  ‘Well, Aurelia, I suppose I have to thank you for coming to support me. You seem to have remembered your duty.’ In that moment, I glimpsed something of her mother, Justina, in her. At last. Perhaps this experience had been a turning point for Severina. A little truculence from her would be a small thing to put up with, if she’d learnt to become confident and decisive enough to provide Roma Nova with true leadership.

  ‘The Families have never forgotten their duty to Roma Nova, Imperatrix. It was with the deepest regret that we withdrew for consultation.’

  ‘Consultation? You ran off and left me with nobody to look after me,’ she shrieked, her face becoming blotchy and red. ‘What in Hades do you think you were doing? I should throw you all in the Transulium.’

  Quirinia gasped, but I ignored her. Calavia stared at Severina as if she were a child having a tantrum. The room stewards were trying their best not to look interested; the Praetorians by the door resembled marble statues, but they hadn’t suddenly become deaf.

  ‘I think that would not be a wise step, Imperatrix,’ I said. ‘And it would be ultra vires.’

  ‘You think you can bully me because of that commission my mother gave you.’

  ‘Not at all. I and the others are your and Roma Nova’s loyal servants.’ I lowered my voice to try to calm her. ‘If we could talk privately amongst the five of us, I think we should be able to resolve any differences.’

  She screwed her mouth up, but gave a brief nod. The senior steward clicked her fingers at the other two and withdrew, taking the Praetorians in her wake. I glanced at Quirinia and Branca who fetched chairs and positioned them so we were in an arc around Severina.

  ‘Imperatrix – no, Severina – I am going to talk very straight. My peers will be witnesses and contribute as necessary.’ She shot me a resentful look, but I continued. ‘The matter of the child Conradus Tellus’s welfare has now been settled where it should be – in the Twelve Families Council. That is a closed matter. I am more disturbed that the news of the difference between the Families and yourself has appeared so quickly and in such detail in the public domain. This interferes with the delicate balance mechanism instituted by the founders. However, if we agree tonight and resolve it, then there is nothing further to be talked about.’

  ‘Diplomatic words, Aurelia,’ Calavia said, ‘but the fault lies squarely with Severina.’ She turned to the imperatrix. ‘I sponsored you at your emancipation when you were sixteen and promised your mother to care for your welfare, but you’ve acted like a prize idiot.’

  I winced at Calavia’s words. Severina’s eyes bulged and she shrank back into her chair as if Calavia had struck her in the face. The older woman took her hand and gave it a little shake.

  ‘My dear, you treated Aurelia dishonourably in public and you owe her an equally public apology.’ Calavia glanced at me. ‘I’m sure she’ll forego the public one but you have to understand something. You cannot rule without us and we must be ruled by you. This cuts both ways. You have a duty to respect the responsibilities that belong to the Families and to keep above the disputes and governance between them. Aurelia had no choice but to withdraw when you interfered at Constantia’s funeral. Look at it from a practical point of view. Do you really want to become mixed up in hundreds of petty squabbles and grievances, the endless charity committees, children’s affairs, organising contracted marriages, negotiating financial settlements between them, the land swaps, and hours of policy committees? The reason the government burden is so light is because of the work the Twelve carry out. Don’t jeopardise it.’

  *

  The next imperial council meeting was formal in tone, bordering on the chilly in contrast to the early April sunshine piercing the diamond panes of the council chamber windows. Severina glanced at me once just before she delivered a short speech about the guidelines clarifying the relationship between the Twelve Families and the ruler. She nearly choked when she had to say ‘apologise’. Nobody moved as she spoke, not even to write a note. Even the secretariat staff were still. She finished, laid the single sheet of paper on the table and stared down at it as if it were the most repulsive text she had ever read. But we’d never in fifteen hundred years had to put into written words how the balance worked. History had been broken.

  I spotted a tiny movement to Severina’s left. Plico raised one eyebrow. I nodded and he waved his fingers at his senior assistant who started writing as fast as a gods’ messenger flew. The soft scrape woke us all from our stasis and we passed on to the agenda proper.

  *

  ‘Will she ever talk to you again?’ Quirinia whispered as we shuffled our papers together at the end. I smiled and nodded at the others as they filed out, then turned back to Quirinia. ‘I give it two or three days,’ I murmured. ‘She’ll want something and then she’ll pick up the phone. Or, more likely, make Plico do it. If she ever does anything like this again, I won’t be responsible for my next action.’ Quirinia said nothing, but nodded, her expression grave. ‘In the meantime,’ I continued, ‘we’d better get back to our o
ffices. The gods know what’s been happening while we’ve been away.’

  Quirinia laughed, in relief, I thought. I was about to make a joke about rusty abacuses, when I felt a light touch on my arm. Silvia, Severina’s daughter, stood there, a serious look on her face.

  ‘Aunt Aurelia, may I have a word, if you have a moment?’

  ‘Of course. Consiliaria Quirinia will excuse us, I’m sure.’ Quirinia said nothing, but shot a questioning look at me. I shook my head, so she waved her hand as a farewell and hurried off.

  ‘Did you find it interesting, your first council meeting?’ I asked.

  ‘It all seemed such a muddle at first and everybody spoke quickly about things I’d never heard of. And all that paper!’

  Poor child, she was only fifteen; her emancipation wouldn’t be until her sixteenth birthday in the summer. But she had to learn. We didn’t want a second ruler who knew nothing about the business of government.

  ‘Mama was very embarrassed. I was so sorry for her. I wanted to hug her.’ She looked away for a few moments. ‘But I suppose she was wrong, wasn’t she?’

  Her brown eyes pleaded for me to contradict her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Silvia, but yes, she was. You were at Constantia’s funeral. You saw what happened.’

  She looked so dejected that I placed my hand on her shoulder and pressed it. She looked up and searched my face.

  ‘I don’t ever want to be so humiliated, so I’d better make sure I never make a mistake like that.’ She pinched her dress skirt between her fingers and twisted the material. Her face was a picture of misery and doubt.

  ‘Darling, you don’t have to worry about that for many years, decades even,’ I said. ‘Your mother’s only just into her forties. You’ll have plenty of time to learn the ropes.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She released her skirt, patted the crumpled material smooth and drew herself up. ‘I’m going to see Mama now. She’ll need me.’ Dignity had replaced misery, but as she walked off, her shoulders drooped and by the time she reached the other end of the council room, she was trudging as if she were carrying the world like Atlas himself.