Authors: John Hornor Jacobs
‘Oh, I am, friend. I am. When she’s not robbing me blind.’
Hand on the doorknob, I said ‘Oh, and Father?’
He looked at me, frowning.
‘Now that Carnelia and I will be gone for the foreseeable future,’ I said, sweetly, ‘You should consider taking a new wife. If only to stop the gossip in its tracks. I imagine there’s some eligible daughters or widows who would make valuable political arrangements.’
His jaw dropped. Fuqua and Rubus barely concealed their smiles.
I turned and left.
‘Ia damn her to Hell,’ I heard Father say from behind me.
11 Kalends of Sextilius, Eleventh Hour, 2638 Annum
Ex Rume Immortalis
Carnelia is in her element when shopping. Lupina and I trailed behind as she went from store to store, buying gifts, arranging for their delivery to our villa. I contented myself with simply paying the shopkeepers and watching Lupina’s reactions to the more outlandish aspects of the Cælian. In the Mezzo Market, she did not bat an eye at the vendors and spice sellers, but when we passed two of the seven- or eight-storey insulae, booming with noise and industry – women banging rugs from balconies, dandling babies on their knees, children dumping waste-buckets into the stone sluiceways leading into the Tever, mobile merchantmen pushing wagons full of trinkets or smouldering food carts, labourers hammering and stonemasons pushing wheelbarrows full of lime – her jaw dropped and she said, ‘How many people live inside?’
‘Three, maybe four hundred. They’re some of the larger buildings in this neighbourhood.’
Carnelia sniffed. ‘Used to be, the plebs couldn’t build on the Cælian, until Græchhus – a rabble rouser – was able to push through the Lex Libertini, which allowed freed slaves to own property anywhere in Rume, within or without the walls. Our neighbourhood went downhill from there.’
Lupina’s expression did not change, but she blinked slowly.
‘So,’ I said, ‘our great-grandfather, Marcus Cornelius Aquilonis, passed the Lex Aquilonis which required that all buildings on the Cælian must be built of stone.’ I laughed. ‘Little did he know that by forcing them to build with stone instead of cheap wood it allowed them to take advantage of the solid bedrock of the Cælian – as opposed to the softer areas nearer the Tever – and the newer building techniques. Suddenly tenements weren’t two or three stories any more, they were six or seven, holding far more “undesirables”.’ I laughed. ‘To this day, Father gets grumpy when the Lex Libertini and Aquilonis are mentioned.’
‘It brings down the property values, sissy,’ Carnelia said, aping something she’d heard Father say.
‘So?’ I said. ‘Everyone has a right to live and at least these insulae aren’t great fire hazards.’
Lupina cleared her throat. ‘How many people living in Rume?’
‘According to the last census in 2350, somewhere near two million people, including slaves.’
Lupina’s eyes widened. ‘That is more people than in all of the Hardscrabble!’
I nodded. ‘More people than all of the Imperial Protectorate and Occidentalia.’
‘In one city?’
‘Yes.’
I could see her struggling with the idea and the sheer size of it. ‘Sissy, let’s take her to The Spire.’
Carnelia shrugged. ‘It’s out of our way.’
‘Nonsense. We’re not walking.’ I instructed Father’s carriage driver of our new destination. The driver turned and after a short while, we began to rise above the rest of the Cælian, passing through residential areas on the hillsides until we came to a steep switchback road that led up to a level area with a thick copse of cypress trees like a cluster of verdant spearheads, surrounding a long rising tor of sandstone surmounted by a crusty altar to Ia. The blood of auguries stained the living rock, it being so near to Ia Terminalia. There are small sacrifices each day, growing larger and larger – nothing compared to the tauroctony that occurs during the Mithranalian Games, of course, but still substantial. We led Lupina through the cypress trees and up upon The Spire’s tor, overlooking the city itself.
From this vantage, the breadth of Rume was visible. A multitude of dwellings, congregations of teeming spires and domes and temples, myriad blocks of villaes and warehouses and factories. Munition plants and colleges, and cobbled roads threading throughout. Towering stone insulae on the Cælian. The dark shape of Rume’s original wall encircling some of the grandest white marble pillars and forums. The theatres and stadiums and markets. Thousands upon thousands of pillars of smoke – from homes and industry and
daemonic
combustion – rose to join in a pall that hung shroudlike over the city, yet below our vantage, only slightly obscuring the view in almost dreamlike haze.
‘Oh—’ Lupina said, her voice catching. ‘I have never seen the like.’
‘And you never will,’ said Carnelia, strangely grave. ‘Behold the might of Rume, westerner, and despair.’ Then, glancing at Lupina’s stunned expression, she covered her mouth and giggled.
At lunch we stopped at Rimbenus’ – a small restaurant frequented by wealthy equite wives and patricians who want good food rather than a social event. We were ushered to a small table and had begun to dine upon peppered oil and hot bread with wine, when a great horse-faced skag of a woman, dripping with jewels, approached our table. She greeted Carnelia by name and introduced herself to me and ignored Lupina entirely, at first.
‘I am Vespasia Polla, wife to Octavius Petro Polla,’ she offered her hand.
‘Livia Fiscelion,’ said I, taking her hand.
‘I have heard of you,’ she said, and a knowing smile touched her lips. ‘Rough,’ she remarked, feeling the skin of my palm. A small look of distaste curdled her expression. ‘There’s a marvellous little shop around the corner that sells lotions of all sorts. And they even have a burly Teuton slave who’ll scrub your callouses away.’
Carnelia looked terrified, glancing from me to the horse-faced Polla and back again.
‘I see no need to rid myself of them,’ said I, looking at this woman, with her unfortunate face and even more unbecoming demeanour. ‘I came by them honourably.’
‘In Occidentalia? Your sister, Carnelia?’ Polla asked. ‘The one who—’ She gestured with one hand in an offhand manner.
Carnelia grimaced, glancing at me.
I raised my eyebrow at the woman. ‘The one who what?’ I asked, though I knew full well what she referred to.
I did not cow her, though. She gazed at me levelly, her expression not in the least bit intimidated. I thought for a moment of my shotgun sitting cozy and nestled in my chest back at Father’s villae.
Polla sneered. ‘The one who reputedly ruts with animals.’ She glanced at Lupina. ‘Ah … and collects perversions. While many in Rume would pay for a go at her, most good women of standing are outraged.’
Lupina didn’t blink.
‘Perversions?’ I asked.
‘This native
thing
you brought from the west.’ She waved a negligent hand at Lupina and then casually indicated my belly. ‘And whatever monstrosity you have in there.’
Lupina remained blank. A lifetime of slavery – slavery to Rumans in the Occident – had inured her to the worst things my kinsman could say. Yet, at the look of her dead eyes and blank countenance, I could only feel a great shame at my heritage and a great sympathy for her plight.
I centred myself. Had I my gun, I might shoot Polla. (My love, that is one of the things I miss desperately of the Hardscrabble Territories: constant danger. A civilization full of physically dangerous men and women makes for tolerance, self-preservation, and a very polite and respectful society.) Still. I had my tongue and it has always been dangerous.
‘Thank you, Polla,’ said I.
She looked genuinely surprised at that. ‘Why?’
‘You have said something that I very much needed to hear.’
She looked lost. Carnelia said, ‘Polla, I don’t think—’ but I silenced her with a gesture. Carnelia popped one of her long tresses into her mouth and began chewing it, nervously.
‘I can’t imagine how I could have said anything to
you
—’
‘No, you can’t imagine at all. And that is very much the point.’ I turned and sat back down at our table and beckoned the waiter with the amphorae of wine over. He poured me a small glass, due to my pregnancy. ‘Maybe the gods sent you here to me today, Vespasia Polla. I do not know, but you have performed a very necessary service to me.’
When she did not respond I went on. ‘You have reminded me how miserable this beast of a city is. How miserable it is and how miserable are its citizens.’
I took a sip of my wine.
‘You,’ I said, indicating her with my glass in my best imitation of Father, ‘– are a great horse-faced
bitch
and I would very much enjoy splattering your brains across the cobblestones of the Via Cæliana, yet I failed to bring Hellfire with me on this little shopping spree. Had I known I would encounter something so needing to be put out of its misery – and you
are
miserable, Polla – I would have done so.’
Polla stood there spluttering. When she finally regained her wits, I had already beckoned Rimbenus Minor – the owner’s son – over to our table.
‘Mister Rimbenus, this woman is disturbing our lunch and insists upon making a scene. Could you escort her out? Or, at least, prevent her from pestering us further?’
Polla’s spluttering continued. What finally caused her to shut her mouth, turn on heel, and leave was the notice of the other Ruman matrons in the restaurant. They were beginning to stare.
Carnelia said, ‘Sissy, that was harsh.’
I looked at my sister. ‘Yes, it was. I think it had probably been better if I had shot her.’
Carnelia frowned. ‘You know what I mean. She is an
important
woman. Her husband has as much
gravitas
and clout as Father. You’ve made an enemy today,’ she said, looking at the stewed lamb in herbs on her plate.
‘Make no mistake, Carnelia, I did not make an enemy today, I
discovered
one. And I am disappointed in you being unable to discern those who would harm our family and those who would help us.’ I looked at her pointedly. ‘I remember now why I never wanted to return here. Now, eat your lamb.’
The incident with the Polla harridan killed any enjoyment of the rest of the day. Carnelia was subdued and Lupina silent. We bought the rest of the presents for Father’s clients and household, arranged for their delivery, and returned home. The villae was empty and quiet.
I realized it was now that Secundus was speaking before the Senate. I felt another surge of outrage that I wouldn’t have been allowed to listen to my brother’s suit against my ex-husband even had I wanted to: no women were allowed on the floor of the senate when it was in session.
Carnelia and I retired to our rooms. Rume – the city, its citizens – had worn me out far more than a day in the hardscrabble on horseback might have done. I find myself growing tired, now, often at times I never felt so before and I must assume it is my body making the great changes necessary for the birth of our son.
When Father and Secundus returned, it was already dark and they entered the villa with a great furore and clatter. They were singing a song of the legions and had obviously been at the wine.
‘Daughters! Daughters!’ Father bellowed from below, in his office. When roused, his voice could carry throughout the whole expanse of his estate. ‘Come!’
We made ourselves presentable and hurried downstairs.
Father sat behind his desk in a sort of exhausted yet victorious languor and Secundus, smiling, stood talking softly with Tenebrae. They all held glasses of whiskey and were filling the room with the smoke from Father’s Ægyptian cheroots. The atmosphere was thick enough to slice.
‘I assume that Secundus’ presentation before the senate went well?’
‘Well?’ Father said, his whiskers quivering with inebriated excitement. ‘It was glorious! Masterful!’
‘Congratulations, brother,’ I said, kissing him on his cheek and greeting Tenebrae warmly. ‘I am excited to hear.’
But Father was going on. ‘He took the floor like a lion, Secundus did. And fully stating his intention to bear suit upon that shit-for-brains Metellus. Your brother—’ he said to me, ‘was so forceful, that it took five minutes before Metellus’ cadre of asslickers realized that he was presenting evidence before them.’
‘It was masterfully done,’ Tenebrae added. ‘Presenting evidence in front of the senate is especially frowned upon and it went on so long, I think that they were caught by surprise.’
‘So, we won, then?’ Carnelia asked.
‘Won?’ Secundus said. ‘Sissy, this was only a speech in which I announced plans to bring suit against Metellus, a member of the senate.’
‘Of course,’ Carnelia said, negligently. If there’s one thing about my sister it is that she cares very little for specifics.
Tenebrae, his rich voice exultant, said, ‘It was a resounding victory, Miss Carnelia, in that it alarmed Metellus and his hangers-on greatly. It announced a new Cornelian in the political arena and, I daresay, stirred up the other senators who have less than above-board economic dealings.’ He took a sip of whiskey from his tumbler and followed that with a pull off the cheroot. ‘I will wager ten silver denarii that Metellus will be knocking at that front door first thing in the morning in hopes of making a bargain.’
‘What sort of bargain?’ Carnelia asked absently as she poured herself a large cup of wine and faded it with the barest hint of water.
‘He’ll want us to not bring suit against him.’
‘In exchange for?’
‘Making a public announcement in the Rume Pandectium regarding Livia’s honour. And possibly a few other concessions in some of his interests in Occidentalia.’
That was interesting and a piece of information I had not been privy to earlier. ‘What interests?’
‘When we were studying the College of Cartographers and Surveyors’ records of Anatolia, Tenebrae saw that Metellus had funded a surveying mission to somewhere around
Dvergar
. The findings were quite interesting.’
‘What were they?’
‘There was some acanhite and galena discovered in the Smokey Mountains south of
Dvergar
.’
‘And that means?’
‘Silver.’
‘Ahh.’
‘But with this suit, we’ll be able to place a legal prohibition against Metellus from having any dealings in ore,’ Secundus said. ‘And the rest of the benchers will vote for it. If Tamberlaine doesn’t get involved.’
I was beginning to see the plan. ‘But you won’t, will you?’
‘No,’ Secundus said. ‘We only intend on having him sell us half of his interest.’
‘It’s solely about money, then.’
Father snorted. ‘Everything is about money, Livia.’