Perfiditas

by Alison Morton

  The intimacy and unrestrained sensuality unnerved me. Not for itself, but because it conflicted in every way with the austere, controlled man standing behind me.

  ‘Sit,’ he commanded.

  I did, both entranced and stunned. My eyes adapted to the dim light. On the left hung a print of an unclothed river nymph with flowers in her long, wavy tresses. Such women always had “tresses”, never just hair. On the opposite wall was a painting of a tall, slender woman with long black hair, and wearing a pseudo-medieval robe. The artist had made her beautiful in the style of the age, but there was no mistaking from her black eyes who she was related to.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘My grandmother.’

  In all the years I’d known him, I’d never thought of Apollo in the context of a family. That was ridiculous, I knew; even he must have had a mother and father. I’d never known his real name nor his age – they weren’t questions you asked serious criminals. Despite his studied old-fashioned ways which I thought he used to distance people, he couldn’t have been more than late forties or early fifties.

  He handed me a glass of wine. I’d recovered enough to be able to hold it without spilling. I took one sip then set it down on a side table that had swan neck curved legs.

  ‘This is my grandmother’s boudoir – well, a copy of it,’ he explained. ‘She was French, you know, a well-known salonnière after the Great War. My mother, who was from Castra Lucilla, insisted that her mother-in-law came and live with them when she married my father. Although my grandmother was a parisienne, born and bred, she moved perfectly willingly. She feared for her son who had fatal weaknesses.’ His face hardened. ‘She was right, but as a small boy I didn’t know that until one very bad day.’

  He looked at the painting with longing. ‘She gave me unconditional love. She was my anchor during the nightmare that followed.

  ‘I won’t bore you with the rest of the sordid details, ma chère. Nobody likes to hear about an addicted father pimping a child, a mother reduced to thieving. He even beat and terrorised his own mother when she no longer had any money left to service his addiction. Not exactly edifying examples, are they, as parents?’

  So that was why he’d so hated the drugs trade when it had threatened us those years ago.

  ‘I clawed my way through my adolescence and eventually rid my family of my parasitic father.’

  I wasn’t going to ask what he meant by “rid”, but the hate must have boiled long and hard. It was heartbreaking. I nearly forgot to breathe.

  ‘I became a mildly successful criminal and maintained my mother and grandmother a few rungs above poverty. My mother I honoured and was sorry for, but I have loved no woman as I have my grandmother…until seven years ago.’

  We sat silently, the only noise a clock somewhere on the side. After a few minutes, I pulled myself up and went to sit at his feet. I stretched my hand up to lie on his. His other hand touched my hair, and I rested my head against his knee. We had never been so physically intimate. Nor so emotionally in tune.

  I felt myself slipping away in the warmth of the room. Almost before I realised it, Apollo had scooped me up in his arms and was carrying me. I was so tired and overwhelmed I didn’t care what he did. I felt my boots being removed, my uniform following, my hair released, the soft sheets, the slender hands, then no more.

  When I woke, I was by myself. A thin line of light outlined the window frame. It was early, around half seven, I guessed. I switched on a light and found a green silk kimono lying on the bed. As I tied it on, I caught my reflection in the cheval mirror. I looked like Madam Butterfly. I didn’t know if the past twelve hours had been a series of scenes from a comic opera or the deepest tragedy. Tears welled in my eyes as I realised what I’d found and lost all at once. I closed my eyes and shook my head to try reset my mind, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Flavius’s face appeared around the edge.

  ‘May I come in?’

  I burst into laughter, maybe a little hysterically. He was dressed as a house servant and carried a tray. I smelled the ginger and malt and groaned.

  ‘Don’t overreact. You love the stuff.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Philippus blabbed about your shot arm, and the cook made it up for you.’

  ‘So Philippus is talking to you again?’

  ‘Well, he thawed out a bit when Apollodorus lost it. He wanted to know what you’d done to him to make him react like that.’

  I said nothing.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, and paused for a few moments. ‘Well, we had a couple of beers and talked about this and that. Even Justus came and sat in. We packed up after an hour or so, and they found me a room but confiscated all my kit. So, I pinched this tunic from the laundry room this morning, then went and saw the cook.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down.

  ‘I don’t know what happens next. If we come out of this alive, it’s the final break, isn’t it?’

  He’d grown up with Philippus. They’d worked together for Apollo since they were teenagers, before I’d nudged Flavius into the PGSF. I knew he’d seen Philippus from time to time, but I’d never dreamed of reporting him.

  I laid my hand on his.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘total rupture.’

  A knock at the interconnecting door broke the silence. Then Apollo came through, also dressed in a kimono and smiling. Flavius’s eyes didn’t quite come out on stalks. He looked at me briefly, murmured an excuse and left. As the door shut behind him, I turned to Apollo.

  ‘Thanks, Apollo. That was really helpful.’

  ‘You didn’t think you’d escape without paying a price of some kind, did you?’

  I threw him a cold look.

  ‘Actually, I came to see if you would join me for breakfast.’ He held his hand out.

  We sat alone in the small triclinium by the garden. Open in the summer, large glazed panels were inserted in the cooler seasons. We talked of old times, people we both knew, his roses. The barrier had dissolved between us; we no longer needed to be guarded with each other. Our link was about to break, and I realised I’d never see him again.

  He leaned forward and wiped a tear off my cheek. ‘I won’t see you leave. I want to remember you as you are now, here, sitting with me in the garden.’

  ‘Apollo, I—’

  ‘Shh.’ He laid a finger on my lips.

  Eventually, he turned to me and said almost casually, ‘I’ve always loved you. From the first moment I saw you.’

  I searched his face. His eyes were warm and liquid, but his face was composed.

  ‘I’ve always known, Apollo,’ I replied.

  He smiled, took my hand, kissed it and left.

  Our uniforms were returned to our rooms, clean and pressed, boots shining. Flavius and I kitted up and made our way down to the atrium in silence. The reception committee was waiting for us. No Cassia – that was a relief.

  Hermina spoke first. ‘I don’t know what to say to you. Pulcheria was my friend. I see her in you, but you are not her.’ Her eyes were full of resentment and doubt.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hermi, I—’

  ‘Don’t call me that! That’s her name for me.’ She looked away.

  ‘I apologise, Hermina. I would not wish to cause you distress,’ I said formally. ‘I valued your friendship, and I thank you for the good things we did together. But we have to part now.’ I held my good hand out. The way she looked at it, I thought she’d refuse to take it, but she did, and then embraced me briefly. Albinus nodded to both of us, and walked away with Hermina.

  Justus. He just looked pissed with himself and resentful of us. ‘I’ll say this, Mitela, you’re one hell of an operator. I never imagined you were the law. Far too maverick. I bet they love you – you’re probably on a charge most of the time.’ He sneered at me. Flavius took a step towards him, but I signalled him back.

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, Justus. Actually, I’m considered very good at what I do, very imaginati
ve.’ I grinned and added, ‘Only in the cooler from time to time!’

  ‘Ha!’ He relented and half-smiled. ‘So I suppose we’ll now all have massive files on your system?’

  ‘Well, you might have a mention here and there…’ None of them knew it, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell them, but I’d set up a personal alert seven years ago that, if they ever registered on any law enforcement radar, a report would automatically be sent to me as their contact. I wouldn’t necessarily be able to get them off, but I’d ensure they had good representation and a fair hearing. I wouldn’t be adding Cassia to that list.

  Philippus had been talking quietly to Flavius but, seeing Justus had done, he approached me.

  ‘I feel privileged to have known you, Captain. You always were an exemplary leader and good soldier. I can see why you’re such an asset to them. I shall miss you.’ He held his arm out and we grasped forearms in the old Roman way. To my utter surprise, Justus followed suit.

  I wasn’t going to do anything lame, but I was moved by their words and actions. One of the guards brought our weapons and belts to us. After strapping them on in silence, Flavius and I nodded to Philippus and Justus, turned about and marched to the door.

  Flavius, bless him, drove up to the heights over the town and stopped by the ruins of the old fortress. I sobbed my heart out. He just stared into the distance. Then we cleaned ourselves up and drove back to the barracks in silence.

  Part III: Endgame

  XXVIII

  I walked through my office on automatic. There was a day-old terse message from Daniel about the interrogations and where in Hades was I? I sent an equally terse holding reply and then mailed the legate’s EO for an appointment. Five minutes later, I was instructed to report immediately.

  As I walked along the corridor, I focused on keeping my head in professional mode. I doubted I could go near the personal for some time. I had my hand on the doorplate to go into the outer office leading to Conrad’s when Daniel came out of his own door.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been stuck in with Somna for the past day and a bit. Now they’re hassling me about you being AWOL.’

  I couldn’t deal with this now.

  ‘I was tying up a loose end.’

  He snorted. ‘What loose end?’

  ‘Need to know. And you don’t.’ I glanced up and down the corridor. Thankfully, it was empty.

  ‘Bullshit! Tell me.’ He grabbed my good arm.

  His normally smooth olive face was contorted by harsh lines. He radiated anger and resentment. Like a kid who’d been left out of the gang. But I was late. I didn’t have time to massage his ego.

  ‘Get off my case, okay?’ I heard my voice growing shriller.

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that – I outrank you,’ he bellowed at me.

  ‘You’re confusing me with somebody who gives a shit!’ I shouted back at him and pulled my arm out of his grip just as Conrad’s outer office door opened.

  ‘Enough!’ Conrad’s voice cut through the bedlam. ‘Is this a military office or the fish market? He glared at me. ‘Stop shrieking this instant! You’re not some sixteen-year-old tart whose punter ran off without paying. Find some dignity.’ He swung around to Daniel. ‘Go away and calm down, Daniel. If you can’t, go for a long run. I will not have you shouting like some barbarian.’

  He held his inner office door open for me. ‘Sit there,’ he said, pointing to the chair the other side of his desk, ‘and take some deep breaths. Don’t speak for five minutes.’

  He scribbled something on a paper report and tapped rapidly on his keyboard. The muted staccato rhythm on plastic was strangely calming.

  ‘I apologise for that scene,’ I said after two minutes. ‘I lost it when Daniel kept going on at me. I should know better.’

  ‘Yes, you should, but I understand the strain you are under.’ He shot a quick glance at me. ‘Do you want to tell me about it yet?’

  ‘No, but it’s all over.’

  ‘Very well. Now, you must go back to work. But first, I think you should go home and see Aurelia and the children for a few hours. They’re recovering well, but she’s worried about you. I’ll schedule you for the night watch so you don’t need to be back until 20.00.’

  I waved my thanks to the driver as she dropped me off at the gate, passed the bioscan and trudged up the steps.

  Junia’s son, Macro, greeted me. ‘Are you ill, lady? Let me fetch somebody for you. Would you like to lean on my arm?’

  I shook my head and started through the vestibule towards the hallway. Unlike his mother, he didn’t know how I hated a fuss. Where was Junia? The imagines looked particularly disapproving tonight, but I ignored them. Two were missing; coloured ceramic and marble shards lay in neat piles to the side, underneath a torn wall tapestry. A lobby door hung off its hinges. I was diverted from the vandalism by a familiar figure trip-tripping down the hallway.

  ‘Juno! You look like Proserpina after her three months in the underworld!’ announced Helena. Her voice was high and tight, and a little too cheery. One of her elegant eyebrows, each hair normally plucked and arched into submission, now soared above a black eye. Below, her cheek was swollen with red and blue bruising which made her little smile lopsided.

  I swallowed hard. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Everybody’s fine now, but Aunt Aurelia’s taking us all into the country next week, to the farm. She says we need to be away from the city. It’ll give the staff a chance to clean and refurbish the whole house.’

  Her voice was brittle with false reassurance. She glanced around nervously, unable to let her eyes settle on my face.

  ‘Helena, tell me.’

  She looked away.

  ‘Well?’

  She shuddered. ‘It was the most frightening thing I’ve known. Aurelia was dignified and tough. I was scared stiff, but petrified for the children.’ She gulped.

  I pulled her onto a couch and gently drew her to me. ‘Tell me from the beginning.’

  ‘They came first thing, before breakfast. A load of military police, they ran into the house and dragged us out into the back of a dirty truck. Conradus hadn’t come back the night before; I assumed he was still on duty. I called and called him. I tried your office phone in case anybody was monitoring it, but was diverted to voicemail. I kept trying to reach somebody, anybody, until they grabbed my phone. It had to be a horrible mistake.’ She glanced up. ‘I know now that was when they’d taken him off to the Transulium. One of them smacked my face when I tried to help Aurelia.’ She made a moue and briefly touched her damaged face. Her hand was shaking. ‘The twins cried, but we managed to calm them, but Allegra just stared at everything and didn’t make a sound.’

  I felt a chill, and it wasn’t anything to do with the stone walls. My fists balled up. I would make sure I traced that MP detail. Their regret would be long and painful. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well, you saw Macro was on duty? Junia’s in hospital with a broken arm and concussion; Galienus has a dislocated jaw, cracked ribs and a fractured foot. They tried so hard to defend us. The rest of the household staff were held at gunpoint and then locked in a cellar. Macro came back from the early market and found his mother unconscious on the floor.’ Her voice rose, shaky and tighter. She grabbed my arm. ‘Carina, they had the access codes.’

  ‘That bastard, Superbus.’

  ‘Juno! Of course, we’d just sent the codes out for the Family Day,’ she said. She gulped, trying hard not to let tears escape.

  I said nothing, but pulled her to me and let her shake her sobs out.

  After a minute or so, Helena drew her head back from my shoulder, looked at me and blew her nose. ‘You’d better see Aurelia first – Allegra is having a nap.’

  ‘Allegra. She’s not – she’s wasn’t…hurt?’

  ‘No, apart from rough handling, they didn’t really injure us.’

  I shut my eyes and breathed out.

  ‘Was it likely?’ she asked, doubt gr
owing on her face as she realised what I was saying.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. You’re a teacher, Helena. Think back to your Republican and early Imperial history,’ I said, roughly. ‘Remember exactly how they killed female children and relatives of political enemies? How they couldn’t kill virgins? What they did first?’

  She stared at me, horrified.

  I reached the atrium and found my grandmother on a couch by the glass wall giving onto the garden. The fall sunshine painted the walkway columns and gravels a delicate gold. Unlike Apollo’s cosseted roses, the flowers were looking overblown and turning brown, on their way to becoming corpses. The grasses waved around, their ears full of seeds, but looked stalwart among the failing summer plants.

  Speaking of stalwart, Aurelia Mitela sat upright on the couch reading a newspaper, new gold-rimmed glasses perched halfway up her nose. She looked like an old-fashioned English headmistress, especially as her expression so evidently disapproved of what she was reading.

  ‘Tchah!’ She half threw the paper down on the oak table in front of her and, sensing me, looked up. She opened her arms and I fell into them.

  We sat there, talking quietly together. She insisted I tell her everything, interrupting now and again to ask a pointed question or when my brain overran my mouth.

  ‘What about you, Nonna? Pretty terrifying for you.’ I scrutinised her face, but she looked exactly as usual.

  ‘Don’t be soppy. I’ve been through a great deal worse. I’m not a little old lady out of some genteel novel.’

  No, she truly wasn’t. She’d been PGSF in her time, even led the attack to retake the city during the civil war. Although now in her mid-seventies, she definitely belonged to the “tough gals” league.