Perfiditas (15 page)

I kissed his forehead – his lip was too sore – and opened the door to let the others back in.

XX

Minutes before the curfew started, Conrad, Flavius and I were dropped off at a stone-built row house a block away from Imperatrix Silvia’s home, the Golden Palace. More of a substantial house than a palace, the imperial home had been rebuilt several times on the same site since they’d abandoned the old fortress on the clifftop.

Earlier that evening, Conrad had let us into the secret of some interesting additions to the Golden Palace introduced several centuries ago during one of the rebuilds. ‘There’s a system of underground service tunnels that runs under the city, connecting strategic locations. Very few know the extent of the network, or how to access it. Let’s keep it that way or I’ll have both your hides.’

Although Conrad was using a cane, Flavius helped him up the steep stairs of the row house to the portico. I entered the keycode Conrad gave me and we slipped in.

Flavius and I eased Conrad down on an unpadded wood settle – he looked white as death and was breathing heavily from the effort of the short car journey. A dim light shone through a faded pink plascard shade onto a blue floral woven rug that had been new a hundred years ago. Conrad nodded at me.

‘Hello, the house?’ I shouted out.

After a minute, a figure emerged bearing an antique, totally illegal, double-barrelled shotgun. Jupiter! She was slight, very old and grey, but she looked incredibly fierce, and there was, of course, the gun. If it still worked, I’d bet it could still blow a good-sized hole in anybody or anything.

‘Good evening, Marcella Volusenia,’ Conrad said. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to use the tunnel.’

‘Tellus? Conradus Tellus? What’s wrong with you? You look terrible!’

‘Thank you,’ he said, making the tiniest bow. He smiled.

She cast an eye over Flavius and me, decided we weren’t worth the favour of an introduction, and ordered us to follow her. We descended into a stone-lined cellar which looked centuries old. Although stale, the air wasn’t musty. Volusenia glided past wine racks and storage shelves, and between boxes, old furniture, boots and general detritus. We had to push stuff to one side as Conrad couldn’t manoeuvre easily. In the last alcove, almost hidden at the side, she pointed to a lightweight, empty, metal-backed shelving rack.

‘Move that aside, if you please,’ she barked. We abandoned Conrad and hurried to obey, revealing a wooden door, plain and clearly old. She unlocked it and pulled it open. ‘I’ll lock it behind you.’ She nodded to Conrad. ‘You know where the return key is?’

He nodded.

She gave him her flashlight, turned on her heel, clanged the door shut and left us in the corridor. We heard the lock mechanism turn behind us.

‘Who was that scary woman?’

Walking slowly along the tunnel, Conrad explained. ‘She’s Volusenia the Younger, Marcella Volusenia, if you will, and was the second deputy Legate after Caius Tellus’s rebellion. She was my mentor within the PGSF – I owe her so much. There was no favouritism.’ He half-smiled at his memories. ‘In fact, she was quite hard, but she stood up for me when I was treated unfairly because of my name. Most of all, she taught me how to endure.’

‘Then you can understand a little how Apollodorus and I stand.’

He didn’t reply.

We reached a long flight of steps hacked out of the rock. The stone walls were rough, but dry. Lights were strung along regularly and triggered by movement, so we couldn’t see much ahead. I thought they’d never end. Conrad leaned on me heavily, the cane taking the rest of his weight. We needed to stop several times to let him rest, but he kept waving us on. I was more than glad when I saw a fixed light glowing in the distance: even in the limited light, I could see Conrad was exhausted.

‘Just remember that Daniel doesn’t know I’m Pulcheria,’ I said. ‘I told him you’d be delivered by an unexpected person.’ I glanced back at Flav. ‘Flavius will stand back in the shadows.’

‘Do you think he’ll fall for it?’

I heard the scepticism in his voice. ‘Yes. People, even trained ones, only see what they expect to see. Look at me.’

He saw long, dark brown curls, tight black leather clothes, black leather boots, black eyes, all stitched together with a bad attitude.

‘When I alter my voice, he’ll see what his brain and his anger want him to.’

At the wooden door decorated with tapered iron fittings and a metal sign XIV, Conrad fished out two heavy keys from a wall box. He stretched his hand out to Flavius with one of them. ‘This will open the door at Volusenia’s end.’

Just as Flavius reached out to take it, it fell from Conrad’s fingers and clanged on the ground. Flavius bent down and grabbed it. We’d be trapped without it.

Conrad fumbled at the lock and I nearly took over, but he managed to turn the key and the tumblers grated, releasing the door. Flavius swung it open, carefully stepping back into the shadow. Daniel, flanked by three PGSF in full battledress carrying heavy weapons, stood there, legs braced, one hand resting on his pistol holster.

‘Good evening, Daniel,’ Conrad said casually, like he was at a smart evening party. Then he wilted. I caught him and came in full view.

‘Don’t go and die on me, Commander,’ came Pulcheria’s irritating voice. Within seconds, metal clashed. Three sub-machine guns were trained on me, Daniel’s pistol centimetres from my head.

‘Diana’s tits, it’s the boy Daniel! I remember you when you came sneaking round my club. You always have to go off too early, don’t you, sunshine?’ I said. ‘One of my girls would have sorted you out in no time.’

Daniel’s eyes boiled. I thought he was going to have a stroke.

‘You little cow! I thought they’d put you away permanently and walled you up. Fuck me if I don’t shoot you here and now!’

‘Enough!’ Conrad’s voice cracked but it reached through the fog that seemed to have invaded the space between Daniel’s brain and mouth. ‘Strange times bring strange allies, Daniel.’

He stared at Conrad as if he were crazy. ‘Sir, can we be in such trouble that we need the help of this sort of parasite?’ He spat on my boots.

‘You misjudge the situation,’ Conrad said tersely.

‘If you say so, sir.’

‘Well, we’ll be getting along before your boy here does something silly.’

‘Thank you, Pulcheria, for your help. Our ways part here.’ He looked solemn and held out his hand. I squeezed it then cheekily kissed him on the lips. I flashed a rude arm gesture at Daniel and slammed the door, relieved that Conrad was out of harm’s way.

Quarter days were a strange mix of Western European and Roman customs, solstices and equinoxes really, but in the West the Christians hijacked them and made them religious and legal days. For Romans, they meant ruptures and new beginnings through the year.

Traditionally, charities could petition the Senate in the morning before the latter’s formal meeting. Silvia Apulia usually attended on these days, not as imperatrix but taking her place like any other senator. She also attended the Representatives’ sessions regularly, as an observer. Apart from it making good political sense, she was genuinely interested. I wondered if this was part of the reason she was popular. My grandmother would normally have taken her place in the front row at the Senate, too, on quarter day, but what was normal now?

The open public forecourt of the Senate building was covered and wide steps rose towards the formal entrance. Inside, the vestibule was dominated by the ancients’ Altar of Victory on which a statue of a winged woman stood, holding a palm and leaning down to present a laurel wreath to some victor or other. Founder Apulius had smuggled it out of Rome as the old Empire was falling apart. The superstitious insisted that while it sat in the Senate, Roma Nova would never fall. I made my offering: a quick pinch of incense and a muttered prayer for success. I’d take help from anywhere.

I sidled in, dressed in my usual black, but covered with a long white
palla
drawn up over my head in a semblance of modesty. It was also a pretty good disguise. Inevitably, Hermina’s drones were not far away from me, but she herself was standing right by my side, also in
palla,
posing as my companion.

‘How long do we wait?’ she whispered.

‘Until his petition is drawn from the ballot, which we know it will be. He’ll have fixed that simple a detail.’ I scanned around and saw a number of familiar faces go into the main chamber. It was surreal: everything seemed so normal despite the frisson of excitement caused by the curfew. I always said life existed on different layers like a pile of pancakes, one sitting on top of another. The top pancake was certainly not clued into the gooey mess bubbling up at the bottom of the pile.

‘Oh, here we go!’ I whispered to Hermina.

The Senate officer drew the paper out and announced, ‘Martinus Apnius from Folentia begs leave to present…’

‘Gods, he’s using his real name!’ hissed Hermina.

‘Yeah, Caeco would have been too obvious.’

We moved forward through the crowd and slid into Committee Room 3 where his petition would be heard. Around twenty senators were seated on one side. Opposite them, separated by the waist-high public barrier, we managed to stand just behind the people’s tribune. Justus and two others were already there, dressed as Senate orderlies.

Justus had placed his troops strategically to catch as many of the delinquent senators as possible on covert video and stills so that the
custodes
could arrest them with due process. Justus thought we were being too nice. I’d given up explaining. I gave him his orders and told him to just do it. Stopping and capturing Caeco was our main objective. Justus could do what he liked with Caeco as far as I was concerned. All I wanted left was something to interrogate.

A bored Senate officer signalled Caeco to begin. He stood and faced the Senate rows. He looked much the same as before, but was impeccably dressed in full toga. He drew his squat figure up to its full height, his arm thrust out.

‘Gentlemen of the Senate.’ He paused and scanned his audience. ‘And Lady,’ he added as an afterthought, inclining his head to the single female senator almost as a concession. Who on earth
was
the woman senator? I didn’t recognise her. With her fancy necklace and white face, she looked like a ritual sacrificial offering, or maybe it was just anxiety.

‘I come here to enlist your help,’ Caeco declared. ‘I speak as head of the Paterfamilias charity. For centuries, there has been unequal treatment of half the population. My group aims to rectify this. We petition you today to restore the traditional Roman way that led to a thousand years of greatness.’

Oh, for Jupiter’s sake! Caeco had watched too many swords and sandals epics as a kid.

Shouts of ‘Well said!’ came from the Senate rows. Justus had better be picking this up – nobody would believe us if not.

Caeco went on to describe various injustices, proposed the reintroduction of the
Leges Juliae
and asked for the group’s endorsement. He finished with an impassioned plea, which was straight out of a bad movie.

Leges Juliae.
Not merely the Augustan ones, but the harsh anti-female update brought in by that Greek idiot Justinian in the East. None of them had
ever
applied in Roma Nova. I could hardly believe it. In the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake.

In a boring and bored voice, the official asked the people’s tribune if anybody wished to address the Senate group on this subject. Usually these things went through on the nod, but he was legally required to ask. He’d picked up the agenda to pass to the vote, when I raised one hand and tapped the tribune’s shoulder with the other. The clerk stared at me, not believing what he saw. The tribune’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

‘I’d like to speak,’ I whispered directly in her ear.

‘You’re not serious?’

‘Yes. Is there a problem?’

She ran her eyes up and down me as if she was searching for signs of craziness or wondering if I was going to be a bunch of trouble. Deciding I wasn’t either, she nodded at me, and advised the official that the people wished to address the group.

Stunned is how I’d describe the general reaction. The senators looked wary, some shocked. Heads bent together in urgent whispers and questions. Caeco’s face was a dream: surprised, thunderous, murderous.

‘What’s the name?’ hissed the tribune at me.

‘Pulcheria.’

‘That’s it?’

‘It’s enough.’

‘The people present Pulcheria to speak on its behalf,’ she announced.

I let the fold of my
palla
fall to my shoulder, revealing some of the black underneath and stepped forward.

‘Lady and Gentlemen,’ I began, bowing to her.
I
, at least, knew the precedence rules. ‘Martinus Apnius has made an eloquent case to you. Indeed, he has brought forward many intriguing arguments. His oratory is clear and convincing.’ I graciously inclined my head in his direction. He glared at me. ‘However, before you make your decision to support his cause, I would like to make a few comments. We must, of course, be certain of our grounds for considering these arguments. We must peel away any emotion coating rational arguments for and against. Lastly, we must weigh up the consequences of our actions for future generations.’

The audience listened politely. They must have thought it was amateur night.

‘Let me ask you to consider some concepts: absolute power in the hands of one individual with no popular, historic or democratic support; economic and social breakdown with collapse of a prosperous, stable and advanced scientific civilisation; and lastly, the murder of female children.’

Uproar. Two men started in my direction, obviously intent on shutting me up. Hermina’s drones surrounded me in seconds. Tall, muscular and radiating attitude, they would beat anybody off.

‘Next,’ I continued, once the babble had eased up, ‘allow me to introduce one or two facts. Firstly, the man addressing you, Martinus Apnius, known as Caeco, is a convicted criminal. Secondly, he is joint partner in a conspiracy to overthrow the imperatrix, dispose of her and her female children, and set up her son with a puppet Council of Regency to be drawn from your honourable ranks.’ I paused and panned around the twenty senators who were starting to squirm. Cries of ‘No!’ and ‘Murderers!’ came from behind the public rail beside me.