Facing change was frightening and not everybody wanted to adapt. After the disturbances a few months ago, I’d pushed through the formation of a joint task force with government, social and industry leaders to re-examine the benefits and retraining structures, education opportunities and job creation. The group reported to the imperial council three weeks ago that the employment rate had started to rise again; Quirinia had given us encouraging figures that inflation was stable.
My department monitored continuously for any foreign influence and Plico’s intelligence service ran regular checks. It wouldn’t be the first time we’d been attacked from outside. During the barbarian invasions in the centuries after Roma Nova’s foundation, families had almost died out in the mountains. The European religious wars in the seventeenth century had threatened our destruction but we’d secured recognition of our political independence in a footnote during the Peace of Westphalia. These days it was more likely to be economic. I’d had direct experience of that with the silver smuggling operation I’d broken when I was younger.
‘You know I report to Interior as well as you,’ he continued, ‘but you’ll take more notice.’
‘What do you mean?’ I shot a look at him.
‘The minister’s not an idiot, but he’s not very well and I don’t think he’s kept his eye on the ball.’
‘Explain.’
Plico outlined how the vigiles and the Urban Cohorts hadn’t been well coordinated to keep law and order over the past few months. I sighed. I’d pushed Severina to consider a full reform of all the police services and amalgamate these two leftovers from ancient times. They were top-heavy and arthritic as organisations; ordinary people didn’t know which to rely on, who to call and who to trust and it were getting worse. The vigiles, who knew the people in the neighbourhoods where they lived, resented the UC interfering and often sided with the locals for a quiet life. The smaller, tougher UC who acted on occasion as riot police despised the vigiles dealing pragmatically with the day-to-day. Severina had told me to keep my nose out. Her face had screwed up into a stubborn mask and her voice risen several tones. I’d politely pointed out I was there to give her advice on any topic, but she’d dismissed me with a wave of her hand. It was only my loyalty to her dead mother that kept me from sending her my letter of resignation.
‘You remember that demo out at Aquae Caesaris last month? Where that boy got killed?’
‘Juno, yes. Hasn’t that been settled with the family yet?’ Not that it would help them in their grief.
‘Unfortunately not. Interior are still haggling. If they don’t come to some agreement soon, it’ll get worse and blow up in all our faces.’
I scribbled it down as the ninety-sixth thing on my ‘to do’ list, but moved it up to the top. In the uneasy atmosphere at the moment, we needed to remove any potential flashpoints.
‘But it wasn’t all police brutality. If anything, the vigiles were being extra careful as it was that nationalist lot – the toga toughs. A lot of ordinary people are impressed by their marching and how purposeful and disciplined they seem.’
I groaned. We all wore traditional dress, especially at home; a light tunic in the summer was far more comfortable than tight Western clothes. But these toga toughs, calling themselves the Roman National Movement, were a strange development. They paraded, metres of heavy cloth draped around their bodies as if they were in an old imperial triumph. Plico’s people had reported how some bystanders actually clapped and cheered, even joining in their old marching songs. The vigiles seemed unable to contain them. Troops had been called out on one occasion but the toga boys had melted away. As well as their antics in the city and the bigger centres like Aquae Caesaris and Brancadorum, they’d had the nerve to march along my estate boundary at Castra Lucilla. I’d suggested to Severina that we ban them as they were becoming a civil order threat given the frequency and the widespread reach of their organisation. She looked at me vaguely and said she’d have it put in Any Other Business at the next imperial council meeting.
And that was tomorrow.
*
Marina eventually came out of her room. She sat at the table with me that evening, but she said nothing beyond a formal greeting and ‘yes’ and ‘no’. She had taken her separation from William Brown to heart. Silvia had invited her to the palace the next day and although she’d go in the car, I mentioned the toga toughs were out and about, so to be vigilant. She’d have Cassia, the under-steward’s daughter, with her this time and their driver was a hostage-trained member of our security team, but Marina wasn’t beyond doing something impulsive like ordering the car to stop in a dubious area and diving into a little shop because it displayed stands of colourful scarves.
‘You do not need to be concerned, Mother. I know.’
I was more stung by her formal address than by her cold tone.
‘Marina, I—’
‘I will return at the correct time, Mother. Goodbye.’
I watched as she stalked out of the dining room, straight back radiating hostility, her earrings reflecting the morning light from the bull’s-eye roof window and the copper shining in the soft brown of her hair.
*
Additional guards were on duty in the palace annex where Severina held council meetings. I rubbed my forehead to ease the stinging headache that had been with me since I woke up. Claudia offered me analgesic again, but I didn’t want even the slightest part of my brain dulled today. I nodded as the Praetorian optio saluted me and we passed through the electronic scanner gate.
In the council room, sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting diamonds of light in different shades through the sixteenth-century glass onto the dressed stone of the wall opposite. The air conditioning was humming, trying to combat the already hot day. Twenty-eight pads of paper and pens were set out along the table, a purple velvet padded chair drawn up precisely at each place. Familiar, but I sensed something wasn’t right. I greeted the half dozen colleagues loitering around the refreshments table and we exchanged polite niceties as more joined us. Claudia Cornelia went to sit at the side with Tertullius Plico, her notepad and pencil ready.
The imperatrix’s entrance was the signal for us to sit and as I took my place at her right hand, she beamed at me. I smiled back, on reflex, startled, but pleasantly surprised, and the hammer in my head struck a little less powerfully. A worm of doubt wriggled in my mind wondering what she was up to, but I squashed it as ungenerous. She greeted us with the usual words, rather absent-mindedly, then pulled herself up straight as if preparing to say or do something contentious.
‘Although we have good representation from the Twelve Families, several of you are also permanent members of the government.’
I quickly counted five heads or junior heads of families at the table including me. What on earth was she coming up with now?
‘I feel those concerned must be burdened by the conflict of representing two constituencies – your functional duties as ministers and your Families representation.’ She looked down at her notes. ‘So in order to introduce an independent Families representative, I have invited the acting head of the second most important one to join us.’ She raised her hand and a servant opened the door to admit Caius Tellus.
I nearly forgot to breathe. With all the other members of the council, I stared at Caius as he walked slowly to a space at the table. He rested his hands on the back of the chair, gave a full smile to the other council members, bowed to the imperatrix. He stopped opposite me. The smile died in his eyes. They became hard like green agate. We stared each other out for a full minute.
I hadn’t seen him since the Families Council meeting when he stormed out. Now he was a member of the ruling imperial council. I shivered. Not because of the air conditioning. Only the interior minister’s hacking cough broke the tension. Caius pulled the chair back and sat down. We progressed through the agenda, mostly without inciden
t. But I couldn’t stop glancing over at him, watching as he nodded at people’s comments, and agreed with them; affability itself. Twice he caught me looking and gave me a knowing half-smile back. What in Hades was that about? As my headache grew worse during those interminable hours, I struggled not to feel sick.
Severina couldn’t decide on the finance reform bill and called for further explanations. I thought the finance minister was going to fall on her pen as she explained each point again in careful detail, but Severina wanted more and it was postponed. But we didn’t get the toga toughs banned. It came down to one vote and Caius voted against.
*
Fortified by a double dose of analgesic for my head and tea for my nerves, I tried to recover as my new driver battled his way through the rush hour. Apart from the thick heat of the day intensifying the dust and noise, there seemed to be a lot of police on the streets – vigiles cars were everywhere. As we reached the forum, we found it barriered off and took a diversion. When we finally reached Domus Mitelarum, I called Plico’s office and asked one of his staffers to look on their system to see if there was a reason for additional vigiles presence. A march and rally of the Roman National Movement was taking place that evening, she said.
I dithered about, rang the palace comptroller who confirmed Marina was already on her way back. I glanced at my watch – it was only fifteen minutes in the worst traffic; she would be clear by at least an hour before the toga toughs set out. When she hadn’t arrived forty minutes later, I checked again with the palace, then called the vigiles.
‘I’m sorry, Countess, we’ve got more on tonight than a lost young woman to look for. I’ll put the details on our system when I’ve got a minute.’
‘When you’ve got a minute? What kind of answer is that?’ Then I heard the noise in the background. Shooting. The phone went dead.
I snapped on the television news channel. It was a pitched battle around the forum. Rioters were setting fire to cars, shops, kiosks, anything. International shops’ windows were smashed in and their goods spray painted. People were lugging things out of other shops. Alarms screamed, people chanted and shouted, placards jabbed rhythmically into the air. Against the flames, dark figures, their lower faces covered in scarves, and armed with sticks and metal piping, pushed and shoved amongst the demonstrators. The vigiles in riot gear were in retreat, their line broken.
And Marina was out in this.
VIII
Upstairs, I tore off my day clothes, pulled on my old plain khaki combat trousers and para boots. My fingers trembled as I buttoned up an old shirt and buckled on my ballistic vest that I’d grabbed from the back of the cupboard. I was sweating already. Reaching up onto the shelf amongst gloves and hats, I stretched my fingers out for my service pistol. It was loaded, ready. I grabbed extra rounds and stuffed them in my pockets. My heart was hammering. Heaving open the top drawer of my cabinet, I snatched the PGSF gold eagle badge and stuffed it in the top pocket of my shirt.
I clattered down the stairs and belted out to the courtyard. Callixtus, the head of our domestic security, was briefing the night team.
‘4x4. Two troops, armed. Now,’ I shouted.
He frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but must have seen my look. I took some deep breaths while he waved a woman forward. ‘Rufia, get the short wheelbase out, stat.’ The woman ran to the garage, then he turned back to me. ‘What’s happening, domina?’
‘Countess Marina, she’s out in this.’
‘What!’
‘She left the palace nearly an hour ago.’
‘Jupiter’s balls.’
He pointed to two of his team and flicked his fingers at the porter’s lodge. They ran in, emerged with weapons and clambered into the now ready vehicle. Callixtus reached into his pocket. ‘Here, domina, take this.’ He thrust his reinforced black field cap at me. Barely minutes later, we were driving up the Dec Max towards the noise and flames.
Spotting a police barrier, we veered right into a side street. Snaking through the backstreets we only once came across rioters. Callixtus brought his rifle up and fired one round over their heads. They ran like rabbits, dropping everything. The noise faded as we neared the palace. Rufia turned the vehicle back onto the main approach road. No rioters or vigiles. No rubbish or burning wrecks.
‘Okay, we trace the normal route the chauffeur would take to Domus Mitelarum.’
Rufia and Callixtus exchanged glances.
‘Wherever it takes us,’ I added.
It was always the noise: the screams of excitement, of triumph, cries of pain, the crash of plate-glass windows falling to the ground, the roar of flames consuming cars and the whoomp of fuel tanks exploding.
Rufia slowed down as we approached the centre. Wild faces with blood and smuts peered in the vehicle windows, but she got us through. I stared around as we reached the forum. The barriers were destroyed and the rioters swarmed everywhere, taunting the vigiles who tried to contain them. How could we find one slight girl in this hell?
Callixtus touched me on the shoulder and pointed to a blackened Mercedes, warning lights flashing, rear door open. Too many milling figures in the way to see the number plate. No, please not, I swallowed hard, but I opened my door and slid out.
‘Stay here, Rufia, but watch for my signal,’ I said.
She nodded.
‘Callixtus, with me.’
We advanced toward the Mercedes, weaving in between the shouting, wired rioters, crunching broken glass and rubbish under our boots. Some gave way, others looked at us with a moment’s curiosity, tensed, but turned back to their friends as soon as we had passed. Maybe Callixtus’s assault rifle, my pistol and our grim faces decided them to find easier prey.
The Mercedes’ door drooped, the paintwork sported a large dent as if it had taken a direct side impact, but worst was inside. In her grey uniform, lying legs akimbo, one hand on the wheel, the other flopped down at her side, was my driver. Her face was white; the flames in the street cast sickly yellow light across it. Her eyes were open, gaze forward, below a perfect red hole in the middle of her forehead.
‘Marksman. No GSR,’ Callixtus said, his voice devoid of emotion. His face was tight; the anger in his eyes reflected the firelight around us.
I nodded. A sour taste rose up into my mouth, but I clamped it shut. On the back seat, I found a worse horror; Cassia, my assistant steward’s daughter, her throat slit and a pool of blood coagulating on the leather seat. I spun round to the street, bent over and threw up.
We had no time to think. The boom of a massive explosion. Hot flying metal. We threw ourselves on the ground and scrabbled under the damaged car. I glanced over at the 4x4. Rufia was stretched out underneath. As soon as the debris stopped falling, Callixtus and I ran for our vehicle, Rufia scrambled up into the driving seat. The tyres screeched as she threw the car into an emergency turn and drove away like a Fury.
In the first calm street, we slowed.
‘Stop here, Rufia. You two, wait here. I have to go back.’
‘No, domina, you can’t.’
‘You forget yourself, Callixtus.’ I gave him a hard stare.
‘No, you do.’ He gave Rufia a nod, but she was already on the radio to the house. ‘You cannot go back into that by yourself. We wait for reinforcements.’
He was right, but this was my child. Her driver and companion had been murdered under cover of the riot. And there was no sign of her. I gripped the car door handle until my hand hurt.
The reinforcements were there in four and a half minutes. I shot out of the 4x4.
‘Report,’ I said tersely to the nearest newcomer.
‘The house is locked down. I’ve brought the night team plus my sister who’s ex-infantry.’
‘Right.’ I panned round all six faces. ‘Countess Marina is out there somewhere. The driver and assistant steward’s daughter are dead, murde
red, so we assume this is at least a kidnapping.’
‘But, domina, they’d know we wouldn’t pay a ransom,’ Callixtus said in a soft voice.
‘Exactly, so I have to assume it’s an attack on the Mitela family, or at least on me. And they’ve gone for the softest part.’
I had to hold it together. For my child’s sake and for my people I was leading into danger. My old training kicked in and kept me focused. While the others guarded us, Rufia and I searched the Mercedes as thoroughly as we could by torchlight. Rufia took photos despite the poor light. When I jolted the steward’s daughter by mistake, her head rolled over at such an acute angle I thought it would part from her body. I caught it and stared. I stifled a sob and shot a plea for help at Rufia. She looked as terrified, but helped me lay the body down along the back seat. This was no time for scene of crime niceties. The only thing I found was one of Marina’s crystal earrings. I nearly crushed it as I gripped it.
We split into two parties, continuously in radio contact, and set out in a ninety-degree arc, travelling twenty metres. We regrouped at the car and did it three more times, covering the remaining quadrants.
‘Okay, we go to forty metres, but exercise extreme caution,’ I said. ‘You will inevitably confront rioters at that range.’
Callixtus, the infantry sister and I took the direction of the forum. As we eased towards the flames and the noise, I couldn’t help thinking we could be wasting our time. Marina might have been taken away, she could be imprisoned in a building or, the gods forbid, lying dead somewhere. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath to steady myself. And where in Hades were the vigiles? We hadn’t seen one for over half an hour.
Then came the throb of heavy engines. Armoured vehicles. I snapped my head round in the direction of the noise. Troops were marching towards the open side of the forum. Praetorians. They wouldn’t stop for anything. On a night like this, the ‘shoot first’ protocol would apply.
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