The evening was falling as we processed by torchlight to the burning ground, following the self-important praeco, strutting along inviting every passer-by to attend the funeral. It was traditional, of course, and expected, but Justina’s two Praetorians in full ceremonial dress shot glares in his direction as if they wanted to slit his throat and dump him in the river. Having all and sundry tag along would be a security nightmare for them, especially in the failing light.
In front of him four pipers, a trumpeter and two cornicines were churning out minor key dirges. Behind came the praeficae, the professional mourners, wailing and lamenting, pulling at their hair, a little excessively, I thought, but the dominus funeris had respectfully assured me they were the best when he’d presented his plans for the funeral a week ago. The ancestral images, some dating back centuries, were carried by our household staff under Milo’s strict supervision. He fretted around them as if he were walking on hot coals.
At last, the unnaturally calm dominus funeris and his lictors all in black led the bier with my mother lying on a blue velvet cloth and surrounded by myrtle leaves. Immediately in front of me two young cousins walked in that stilted way that came from constant supervised rehearsal. One carried a palm and basket, the other a traditional slim spade. They glanced repeatedly at each other for reassurance. Poor things. They, or their mother, probably considered it a high honour. I felt sorry for them. I’d refused to let Marina be cajoled into participating in the mummery and grasped her hand firmly in mine as she stumbled along.
At the burning ground, I walked around the pyre three times. Justina followed with Marina. I put the torch to the pyre and turned away as the flames erupted, and not merely to escape the sudden heat. People stepped forward when the flames began to rise, throwing on branches, oils, wine and scarves. One threw a ceremonial scroll with polished wood rollers decorated with gold finials. Thus we had burned and saluted our dead for hundreds of years. Now we used modern technology to accelerate the process, but the flames still roared, drawing our eyes in some kind of primordial fascination.
Hours later, the pyre doused down, the priest sprinkled the remains with wine and words of blessing.
Marina had fallen asleep in my arms well before the flames had finished their work. When we reached home in the early hours after consigning my mother’s remains to the priest, I put my child to bed as she was, smuts on her face and her hair smelling of ash. I couldn’t bear to disturb her further.
*
Nine days later on the Novendiale, we held a brief ceremony at the family crypt where a few cousins joined us. We made sacrifice, passed round wine and savouries, toasted my mother and wished her a safe journey to the underworld.
I drove back to the house in a mix of sadness and relief, but as the car stopped in the courtyard, I took a deep breath and braced myself for the next few hours. As I trudged up the steps, I caught the steward’s sympathetic look followed by a nod. We were expecting nearly three hundred for the funeral feast: cousins, Mother’s friends and senatorial and business colleagues descended on us. Some had visited her during her semi-existence, but most had drifted away to get on with their own busy lives. But they all turned up for the feast.
*
My life dragged on as before; no reprieve from business meetings, estate supervision, dull senatorial meetings. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I was sure people were watching me to see if I was going to live up to my mother. I drove myself to keep up with every aspect of everything, even giving up my daily run as I found I had no time. People stopped cracking jokes with me, or inviting me for a drink. Perhaps I refused too many times. Some days I didn’t know where to start with the work.
When Milo suggested I could leave the household management and the estate to him and his team, I snapped his head off. My mother had left this all in trust to me for the future. I couldn’t take my eye off any of the balls. But it was exhausting. How in Hades did people make time for a weekend off, let alone a holiday? I became more and more aware of my failure to keep a grip on things. It was all so boring as well as difficult. One morning, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for I didn’t know how long until I closed my eyes to shut everything out.
I woke to see the doctor’s face frowning at me.
‘So there is somebody still in there,’ she said. ‘Well, you certainly frightened your steward. He found you unconscious.’
Something pinched the back of my hand; a drip line snaked up to a plastic bag on a stand.
‘What,’ I croaked, ‘what’s happened?’ My whole body felt as if it were made of soggy rubber.
‘You’ve been out three days.’ She placed her index and middle fingers on the inside of my wrist and pressed lightly. As soon as she released me, I went to wriggle myself upright. But my muscles didn’t work. A wave of heat ran through my body and I broke out in a sweat. I licked my top lip and tasted salt. Did I have a fever?
‘You’re overdoing it, Aurelia. You’ve driven yourself into a state of stress and now your body is rebelling.’
‘It’s tiredness, that’s all,’ I mumbled.
‘I’m prescribing bed rest for another two days and medication; then you can get up and do some gentle exercise. Take Marina out for a walk in the garden, but that’s it for the rest of the week. A therapist will be in every day after that and you will walk and talk with her. No excuses.’
Hades. She was one of my mother’s friends, but she didn’t understand.
‘And don’t look at me like the Furies on a bad day.’ She took my hand. ‘You want so badly to do the right thing, but your mother would be the first to tell you not to destroy yourself in the attempt.’
Asclepius curse her, she was right. I slept, ate and walked. I even started reading books again, light, often silly stories, and writing my journal, not that I had anything scintillating to put in it. The doctor must have ambushed my household. Milo didn’t come to see me until the fifth day after her visit. He gave me a few headlines of his steward’s report and withdrew after ten minutes. Ditto the business manager. Strangely, I didn’t fret; perhaps it was the medication.
I recovered my energy levels, but fitness took longer. Marina trotted beside me sometimes, her face becoming anxious if I stopped to catch my breath for too long. My heart squeezed when I saw her eyes widen with concern. If for nobody else, I owed it to this beloved child to regain my balance.
In two months, I had adapted to this leisurely life and realised what an idiot I’d been before. Milo and the business manager were perfectly capable, more capable and expert than I could ever be. I apologised to them for trying to micromanage their areas. Both were very gracious, murmuring polite things, Milo shorter in words than the more diplomatic business manager, but I’d keep to my consultative role in the future and let them get on with theirs.
My life developed into an undemanding cycle padded with Senate and occasional imperial council meetings, lunches, theatre, charity meetings and children’s events with Marina. I loved watching her gain confidence and laugh, and I rejoiced as she glowed with pride when her tutor praised her studies.
But in the few quiet moments I allowed myself, I realised I wasn’t very happy. Apart from having no male companion, I mourned the purposeful and active life of my earlier years. I was searching for Marina’s medical card when I found a photo taken three years ago; me, Numerus and my Active Response Team. Back from an exercise in the north near the Hungarian border, we’d checked our weapons into the armoury, dumped our kit in the field room and headed for the mess bar. Caught in the photo raising our glasses, toasting our success after the tense fortnight, our eyes sparkled with laughter. Numerus was giving one of the younger ones a comradely thump on the back with his other hand and everybody was looking at him and laughing. I stared at it for a few moments, desperate with longing. I brought my hands up to my face and gave a sigh from deep within my gut, which turned into a sob.
PART II: DECEPTION
V
‘What are you doing here, my girl,
sitting on your backside?’ a strident voice rang out. I jumped, tipping my magazine on to the terrace. I twisted round ready to shout back, but stopped, my mouth open.
Justina.
Hades.
I struggled up from the sunlounger and the shade of the patio awning. Still dozy and squinting from the strong sunlight, I made a half-coordinated bow.
‘Better. Wonderful you haven’t got piles from all this sitting around.’
‘I—’
She put her hand up and I collapsed into silence.
‘You looked half asleep at the last council meeting. I know your reform proposal for the vigiles got dumped in the bin, but don’t tell me you’re moping about that.’ She glanced indoors and I saw the two Praetorians exchanging remarks with Milo, who was nodding every now and then.
‘If you would come indoors, Imperatrix, we can be more comfortable,’ I gestured her to precede me towards the cooler interior. The atrium was a fair few degrees cooler, ventilated from the shuttered louvre windows and the now open bull’s eye in the roof. We passed the old impluvium set in the marble floor directly beneath it. The square depression had collected rainwater centuries ago but like the bull’s eye had been glazed over. Maybe we could uncover it and fill it with water to add natural cooling as they used to do. Anything to help. A runnel of sweat ran down my neck, perhaps from the heat, but more from nerves.
Justina was wearing a concentrated look of determination. She glanced around, but there were only her two Praetorians.
‘Please, sit, domina,’ I invited. ‘It’s always a pleasure to see you but I’m afraid we’re poorly prepared for—’
‘Don’t give me your party manners, Aurelia. I’m here on a double errand.’
I hoped my mouth didn’t gape open. I’d never associated this formidable descendant of a hundred generations of warriors with somebody who ran errands. Something critical or ultra classified had happened. And why had she come to see me about it? Of course, I was the head of the senior of the Twelve Families, but otherwise a middle-grade ex-soldier, living a run-of-the-mill life.
‘Obviously, I’ve come to see how you’re getting on and to see my foster sister’s grandchild.’ She looked round. ‘Where is Marina, anyway?’
‘She’s upstairs in the nursery, painting, with a friend. I’ll get them to clean her up and bring her down.’
‘No, leave her. We’ll go up later, if there’s time. I need to talk to you, confidentially.’ She fixed me with her unblinking stare. ‘Severina tells me you’re drifting between one thing and another and haven’t been out in months. Is that true?’
‘I live a calm life, I go to my meetings and business lunches, I work on my papers—’
‘Juno,’ she retorted, ‘you sound fifty-nine not twenty-nine. Don’t you ever go out and have fun?’
Fun? The last fun I’d had was chasing smugglers on top of an icy mountain a year and a bit ago. Not something most people would enjoy, but I missed it sorely. I’d die in the arena before I’d admit that to Justina; she’d think I was pathetic.
‘Well, you can come and do something a little exciting for me. Knowing you, you’d enjoy it.’
‘Domina? What exactly did you have in mind?’
‘I’m having you recalled to the Guard. Your legate tells me she refused your resignation. Astute woman!’
‘But I have my duties here.’
‘Rubbish! You have people for most of that.’
‘But Marina— I can’t leave her.’
‘Marina can join the nursery at the palace with my grandson Julian. Severina tells me they get on well.’
‘But—’
‘Stop bleating “but”.’
I swallowed hard.
‘Of course, I am at your service, domina,’ I said, feeling truculent. She had a palace-full running around after her. But I couldn’t ignore the centuries-old ties of duty. Nor could I contain my curiosity about why she was going to all this trouble. ‘Why are you doing this now? Have I been neglectful in some way?’
‘For Juno’s sake, you’re starting to sound as feeble as Severina.’ She sat up straight. ‘Look at me, Aurelia.’ She’d lost some of the fire in her eyes and her shoulders relaxed. ‘Felicia was my friend. She was fostered with me from six. We were as sisters. I cannot let her daughter fritter away her life, however much she thinks she wants to.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
‘You look bored out of your mind and, besides, you’re perfect for the job we have in mind.’
‘What would you want me to do?’
She glanced at her watch and stood up. I jumped up a moment afterwards, still trying to puzzle out what she meant. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t time to see Marina now, but I’ll have many more opportunities when she moves into the palace.’ She beckoned to one of the Praetorians who handed her an envelope. ‘Here’s your posting order. Report to Tertullius Plico – he’s my external security affairs secretary – tomorrow morning at the palace. And, for Juno’s sake, go for a run this evening and get some fresh air.’
*
‘How’s your Germanic? Know much about Prussia?’
Plico sounded irritated. I was his late afternoon interview. Never a good time. He was a second tier secretary, a high level functionary and one who reported direct to Justina, not via any minister. I’d never met him before, although I remember our legate mentioning him at the briefing meeting before my last mission.
I’d been on a round of activity since eight that morning. First there was a two-hour remobilisation session at the Praetorian barracks, including a full physical and mental check with medical prodding; I was embarrassed I’d gained several kilos and lost muscle tone. Once I’d been reissued with my Praetorian ID and crowned eagle badge, I made my way back to the Foreign Ministry; an hour of form-filling and then interviews testing my European diplomatic and commercial knowledge.
I knew the basics. Roma Nova was a part-producer, part-technological economy with considerable resources devoted to research and development. The strategy had ensured our technical development outstripped that of every other country, including the Eastern United States. And we had silver and fine glass sand, both of which were in high demand by the new technology giants like the United Kingdom in the north. Commercial transactions with the rest of Europe were important and thus well regulated, especially the silver.
As I sat afterwards in the bland but air-conditioned refectory munching on salad, olives and fruit, I thanked Mercury for the weekly briefings with my business manager. But still nobody had told me what this mystery job was.
Now I was sitting in a paper-festooned office that obviously hadn’t seen a cleaner in aeons in front of a grumpy functionary firing questions about something I hadn’t been near for years. And my chair creaked as if it were about to collapse every time I moved.
‘My Germanic’s reasonably good, I’d say. I spent several summers in Brandenburg with my father’s cousins when I was younger and then a year at the university in Berlin before I came back here to join the military.’
‘Why did you leave?’ His dark eyes stared at me from deep sockets.
I shrugged. ‘Didn’t see myself spending three years in a classroom.’
He looked at his file. My file. ‘No. A bit of a fidget. So, these Prussian cousins of yours—’
‘They’re more Brandenburgers,’ I interrupted.
‘Oh, excuse me.’ He leant back, semi-sprawling against the chair rest. ‘I didn’t realise there were sensitivities. Not a word normally associated with our northern friends.’
He didn’t quite sneer, but I’d had enough. I stood and picked up my jacket. ‘If you’re going to sit there and insult my relations,’ I said, ‘then I’ll leave you to it. I have better things to do.’
‘Sit down.’
I stayed where I was.
‘Please,’ he said with a false smile.
Why was he trying so hard?
‘Look, we need somebody to go and do a little inv
estigation work up there. It’s only for a few weeks. The imperatrix suggested you as you have the connections and language. And you have military training.’
‘You want me to go and spy on my cousins?’
‘No, of course not. But they’d get you in where we want to look.’
*
I was assigned to the Foreign Ministry on detached duty, even given a desk and a title – Special Trade Delegate – but I reported exclusively to Tertullius Plico. He sent me to a place near Aquae Caesaris which appeared to be an elegant nineteenth-century villa with granaries and outbuildings attached, but turned out to be a spy training school. I’d never heard of it. He replied in a sarcastic voice that that was the whole point.
The tutors were happy with my physical and fighting skills – I thought I was sloppy. Evidently, the Praetorians had higher standards than the Foreign Ministry operatives. I’d led covert and intelligence-gathering missions in my military role but in the following two weeks I learnt about working solo and using the vast range of technological backup, particularly surveillance and recording equipment. By the time I returned to the city, I was a little fitter and lighter. I’d even been issued with my personal lock pick set disguised as a bank card holder.
‘It’s only a sketchy introduction but you won’t need any of this if you stick to your brief,’ Plico said when I saw him on my first day back.
‘What exactly is my brief?’
He waved his hand around vaguely. ‘A bit of economic investigation. I’ll give you more details before you go to Berlin. In the meantime, bring yourself up to speed on what a real trade delegate does, particularly in accompanying missions.’ He handed me a paper slip. ‘Report to the Germanic desk secretary tomorrow morning. You can have the rest of the day off.’
*
I glanced out of the taxi window at the dust, tourists and tree-lined streets. As we climbed up the road to the palace, I wondered how Plico could be so powerful that he commanded the resources he did. He was one of Justina’s confidential imperial secretaries, so stood close to her. Close enough to order me back into service. These secretaries ran the imperial system, working mostly with the ministers who made up the imperial council, but sometimes not. Apart from his rudeness and untidiness, Plico must have other qualities to have people respect him so much. Perhaps he knew their secrets.
AURELIA (Roma Nova Book 4) Page 4
