AURELIA (Roma Nova Book 4)

by Alison Morton

‘Look, Plico, Prisca Monticola is neither slow nor stupid. I’d put money on it that she carries every design her guild ever made in her head. And this was a special piece. I only noticed it because it reminded me of the Diana they gave me the other night. Countess Tella is one of their significant shareholders, over fourteen per cent, so they had a party and a praise-fest. That was three months ago. Prisca’s sent a message to the manufacturer’s museum to transmit a photo of it to you ASAP. And to me.’

  ‘Hm. How did you leave it with Grosschenk?’

  ‘He smarmed on a bit saying I must come to dinner, etc. etc.’

  ‘I suggest you accept.’

  ‘What? You are joking!’

  ‘I’m not waltzing into Domus Tellarum accusing the most frightening old bat I know of silver smuggling and illegal metal trading until we’ve got something better to go on.’

  ‘If Grosschenk’s so bloody clever, then he’s hardly going to leave clues lying around for me to find.’

  ‘Scared?’

  I said a rude word that involved the theoretical rearranging of Plico’s anatomy.

  He flicked his hand impatiently.

  ‘Take the usual equipment with you, plus backup detail this time.’

  *

  The military commander assigned Fabia and two others to me, plus an authorisation to draw on whatever field equipment I needed. As I’d be wearing a cocktail dress, there wasn’t much scope for concealing bulky equipment. I could wind a length of thin, high-tensile rope around my middle – standard practice – but I needed to carry recording and transmitting equipment somehow. The usual body wire and transmitter would be too bulky.

  ‘The tech people have come up with this evening bag.’ Fabia handed me a sequin-festooned rectangle with a shoulder strap. ‘The aerial’s in the strap, so try not to bend or fold it or the wire may snap.’

  ‘Won’t the metal sequins corrupt the transmission signal?’

  ‘They’re plastic.’ She grinned. ‘A bit showy, I know, but Grosschenk won’t even notice it. We’ll be listening in, as will the legation signals office. Secretary Plico has authorised us to send a recording to Inspector Huber afterwards.’

  She glanced at me and I nodded. We didn’t want the local police blundering around in the middle of a live operation.

  She handed me another strap, about a metre long with an adjustable clip. It was covered in chiffon with sequin flowers. ‘Under the decoration, it’s reinforced steel mesh. It’s fully flexible and you can use it for various things, even fold and twist it together as a cosh if you need to defend yourself.’

  *

  Fabia’s detail took up position in a dark blue BMW not quite opposite the Schlosshotel Bon Souvenir entrance. It would be a long and boring evening for them, the only relief listening over the radio to Grosschenk and me exchanging banalities. Whatever Plico said, Grosschenk wasn’t going to tell me all about his criminal empire over veal with truffle sauce. I briefed Fabia to listen only and not to intervene unless I spoke the code word ‘arx’, whatever they thought was happening.

  I took a taxi from the legation and met Grosschenk promptly at seven in the bar, as arranged. Originally a private mansion, the rococo building had been sympathetically converted. However, the high ceiling decorated with laughing, uncaring cherubs didn’t help my mood.

  ‘Shall we?’ he invited as he stood after we’d finished our drinks.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘A surprise for you.’

  Hades.

  He held my evening coat as I shrugged it on. The hotel doorman opened the door of Grosschenk’s Mercedes and nodded to the chauffeur. I settled back in the seat – I had no choice. We drove south-west to the Grunewald. Were we going back to his place?

  We pulled off the main road and drove along the tarmac lane leading to his house. It bordered on the forest itself and the tall conifers turned the evening light several shades darker. Suddenly, the car braked hard. It shuddered and I grabbed the armrest but I was thrown forward and nearly fell against the back of the chauffeur’s seat. Grosschenk swore. At first I couldn’t see what had happened as the chauffeur was blocking my view. I twisted my head round, but I needn’t have bothered. An enormous deep brown horse and its rider stepped into my view. They stopped right in the middle of the road and blocked it. The rider, totally relaxed, his black curly hair waving in the evening breeze, looked down into the car with a haughty expression as if we had trespassed on his private property.

  Grosschenk’s chauffeur stabbed the window button. As soon as the glass had retracted enough, he stuck his head out and told the rider to clear out of the way. The rider smirked. The chauffeur swore at him, but neither animal nor man moved.

  ‘Bloody gypsies!’ Grosschenk said.

  ‘What does he want?’ I asked.

  ‘God knows. They lurk around the forest, annoying everybody and stealing anything not bolted down. Probably stole that horse.’

  The rider patted the horse’s neck, and ambled towards my side of the car. If I thought the horse was impressive, the rider was no less so; a tall figure, and supple as he moved with the horse, his strong-featured face was without expression but his whole person exuded confidence. He would move out of the way when he wanted to and not before. I craned up at him, but he would only have seen my outline through the smoked glass passenger window. But I felt he was staring right at me as if it wasn’t there. I had an urgent need to see beyond the barrier of the window and stabbed at the window button. As the glass retracted, I found the horse rider looking at me, no, studying me. His eyes were half closed in concentration, but I couldn’t break away. He seemed familiar, but I’d never met him before in my life. I vaguely registered a touch on my forearm. Grosschenk.

  Then the horse rider broke his stare and nodded, but not in a friendly way. It was more an expression of satisfaction, as if he’d accomplished a task. I didn’t stop to analyse it; my heart was beating at twice its normal rate and I almost forgot to breathe.

  *

  The Mercedes continued up the lane to the gates of Grosschenk’s house after the horseman had moved. I barely registered the metal gates opening; my whole body was tingling. It was ridiculous, like one of the romantic films that Justina’s daughter Severina loved watching. She would no doubt have used words such as ‘powerful thighs’, ‘broad chest’, ‘strong arms’ and ‘come-to-bed eyes’. Juno, she was such a dimwit.

  But I urgently wanted to explore what lay under the horse rider’s open shirt neck, how it would be to touch his lips, to be encircled by those arms. A wave of hot sensation rolled through me right down to my toes.

  Gods.

  Batting away the attack of lust, I tried to pull my brain together. I had to concentrate on Grosschenk. Saying his name to myself and glancing at his oily face and squat figure shut down my aroused body. Eventually.

  The car came to a stop alongside the left wing of his house, a few metres from the tower at the end. By dead reckoning, this had to be north-facing. I glanced up. The tower must be at least four floors high. Grosschenk produced a key and unlocked the door to the tower and ushered me into a tiled octagonal hall. At the far side, an open stairwell curled upwards, the treads hugging the dressed stone walls. A light metal rail with occasional uprights and two parallel rows of steel wire strung between them gave no real sense of safety.

  ‘I had the railing added a few years ago. I wouldn’t want to lose any of my guests by accident.’

  His slight emphasis on the word ‘accident’ was unnerving, but I turned and smiled at him as if agreeing. Grosschenk gestured we should go up. I paused on the second floor as the latticed window looked out on the drive and front gate. Apart from the light shed by the courtyard lanterns, it was completely dark. Fabia and the backup detail would have no trouble hiding nearby on such a dark night.

  On the fourth storey, the last step opened on to a semi-circular landing interspersed with a door in the centre and recessed mullioned windows at each end. I looked back down and sh
ivered. The safety rail had ended below the top step. One false step and I could plunge through the stairwell on to the red tiled floor.

  ‘Yes, very wise not to tread too near the edge,’ Grosschenk said and smiled. He tapped a four-figure combination into the small panel by the frame and pulled the door open. Immediately in front of us was a damask covered table with silver cutlery and crystal glasses and two chairs. Normal enough, but the whole room was open to the sky, protected only by a dome of octagonal glass panels. Grosschenk flicked a switch on the back wall and the lights in the courtyard died. White, red and orange light from the city glowed along the horizon to the north-east.

  ‘What a beautiful room,’ I couldn’t help saying as he took my coat. ‘You must love it up here.’

  ‘Indeed, many people admire it. However, few dare step out on the balcony. A pity, as you can get a nearly three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view from there.’

  He opened a glazed door at the far end of the glass wall. A narrow ledge protected by a waist-high glass wall with a curled edge metal top rail extended out about a metre from the wall. He was right; the view was spectacular. The sky glittered like a net of white diamonds on navy velvet. At times like this, you wondered if there really were gods on Olympus who could have created such beauty. I stretched my hand out towards Grosschenk, about to compliment him.

  Before I could say anything, I heard the door click behind us. Grosschenk’s smile didn’t change, but his eyes tightened. He fished in his pocket, drew out a cigarette and lit it.

  ‘What are you doing, Manfred? It’s cold out here.’ I shivered, not entirely acting. The handkerchief hem of my halter dress fluttered around my calves. ‘Let’s go back in.’

  ‘No, I want to clarify a few things first. I don’t know exactly what you’re up to, Aurelia, but I tried to give you a warning. You should have gone home then.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  He looked out over the view. ‘I know you’re working with the organised crime people, with Huber. My business associate advised me to keep an eye on you, but that amateur who tracked you at first was total shit. God knows where he’s pissed off to.’ He flicked ash from his cigarette over the parapet. ‘One less for me to dispose of.’

  I shivered again. Putting that ‘amateur’ on the train to Bavaria had been the correct thing to do – for his sake.

  ‘I thought you’d be warned off after Fischer took you and your silver refining friend for a little tour.’

  ‘So that was you.’

  He turned back, his eyes cold and hard. ‘I can’t have you bumbling around upsetting my trading, especially with the biggest deal of my life coming up.’

  ‘You mean manipulating the silver contracts? Or are you running the smuggling, too?’

  ‘My, my, you have been busy sticking your nose in unwanted places. A little forward buying here and a touch of shorting the market there. I’ll net a good sum and my associate will also achieve his goals.’

  ‘Who’s your associate?’

  He laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too many movies, Aurelia. I’m not telling you all my little secrets. Even now.’

  ‘What do you mean? Is this a final warning?’

  ‘Sadly not, I’m afraid this is dismissal.’

  He didn’t move, he just stared at me. In the next split second, the impact of his words reached my brain. He was going to kill me. Cold washed through me, but I felt sweat dribble down my back.

  ‘You can’t. They’ll come after you. You’d never escape them.’

  ‘A tragic accident, obviously.’ He sighed. ‘Really, Aurelia, give me some credit. You know, I don’t know why Plico sent such a beginner – you should have stuck to playing soldiers.’

  He shrugged, fished something out of his pocket. I searched around, desperate for some way out, but he stood between me and the door. I glanced down. We had to be a good fifteen metres above ground level.

  ‘Please, Manfred. I have a daughter, she’s only five.’

  ‘We have to hope she’ll mourn you for a few months, but Caius says she’ll manage with the palace to support her.’

  I stopped breathing. Marina would be lost. She’d be surrounded by friends and cousins, but she’d be lost. I gulped down a sob as I felt my strength and will seep out of me. Then I registered what he said.

  Caius? How in Hades was he involved?

  ‘You’re working with Caius?’

  He shrugged. ‘I suppose there’s no real harm telling you now. Yes, of course. How do you think I could do this without a partner from Roma Nova? He’s been invaluable.’

  Gods! Living at Domus Tellarum, Caius would have been able to access all his great-aunt’s records and dealings, and her valuables like the Mercury statuette. He’d have got round any safe combination she’d set – she was bound to have written it down. I shook my head, but it didn’t wake me up from this nightmare.

  ‘But why? Why is he doing this?’ I glanced up at Grosschenk’s face.

  ‘That’s not important.’ He flicked open the cardboard packet he’d taken from his pocket and withdrew a hypodermic needle. The barrel was fully loaded with a colourless liquid. He placed it on the top rail of the glass barrier.

  I shivered as a breeze touched the tower. Even if I called now, Fabia and her detail would never get to me in time.

  ‘We can do this the easy way where you accept your fate and fall on the needle as a good Roman would or I can choke you to unconsciousness first. Either way, you’re going to end up dead in the courtyard.’

  XI

  Any soldier will tell you: if you don’t get home, then you pray for a quick battlefield death. A high-gauge stainless steel needle was not the way I thought I would die. It glinted in the moonlight. Out of my reach.

  ‘Caius tells me your daughter’s a fetching little thing and should mature well.’ He leered at me, his eyes warm with perverted desire. ‘He seems to have quite a yen for her. Perhaps he’ll share.’

  A sour wave rolled up from my stomach and revulsion spread through me. I feinted a lunge to the right. He grabbed the syringe and launched himself at me. Before he could touch me, I’d brought my hand up, fingers hard, and shoved them into his right eye. He screamed, then fell back, collapsing to the floor.

  ‘Door combination. Now, or I’ll put the other one out.’

  Although he was sobbing in pain, he brought his hand towards me, jabbing the hypodermic in the air. I ducked and dodged, not risking even being touched by the tip of the needle. He rolled over, attempted to stand up. I kicked him hard in the ribs, but I was wearing light evening shoes. He grunted but staggered on. If I didn’t stop him, he still might succeed in killing me.

  Then I saw the interior door from the inner landing open.

  Caius. His eyes gleamed as he strode across the room. His hand reached for the door to the ledge, but it didn’t budge. Grosschenk had locked it. I expelled the air in my lungs.

  Fingers clamped my ankle. I twisted round and stamped on Grosschenk’s right wrist with my other foot. His fingers slackened their grip and I stamped again. He grunted. The syringe fell out of his right hand and rolled away.

  Caius was smashing his fists on the glass wall, but the panes held under the impact.

  I glanced down over the balcony edge. It was cantilevered from the tower itself. Tugging to unwind the ultra thin rope concealed around my waist, I prayed it wouldn’t snag. Fabia’s steel reinforced braided band unclipped easily. I looped it round the top rail as an anchor for the rope and threw the loose end over the edge into the darkness.

  Glass crashed behind me. Jupiter’s balls. Bloody Caius had smashed the bloody wall in. There was no way back for me. I ripped panels from my dress to protect my hands. I grabbed my bag, slung the strap diagonally across my shoulder. I took a deep breath and climbed over the rail.

  Clinging on, I scrabbled down the rope, hand over hand. Sweat dripped down my arms. Must go faster. Then there was no more rope.

  Shit. I was dangling
a good five metres short.

  ‘Aurelia, you bitch!’ I looked up and saw Caius’s face distorted with anger. A shot rang out and the bullet flew past my head. Swinging the rope to spoil his aim, I let go of the rope as I touched the tower wall and dropped to the ground into the worst ever parachute roll. I heard a crunch as my foot bent awkwardly. I sprang up and pain shot through my foot.

  Hades!

  My toes flopped at the end of my left foot. They were broken. No doubt of it.

  Another shot. I flinched, and I pressed myself against the wall under the balcony out of his line of fire. But unless I moved – now – they’d come for me and slaughter me like a trapped animal.

  I snatched off the remnants of my temporary gloves and fumbled around binding up my foot so tightly it felt numb. I prayed to Fortuna to protect me.

  The first time I put my weight on my broken foot, pain shot up through it as if I’d been bitten by Cerberus. I was never going to make it to the gate. Was this my fate? To be slaughtered and disappear in the middle of a north Germanic forest as happened to Varus’s legions in ancient times?

  To Hades with that.

  I stretched my stride to minimise the times my broken foot had to touch the ground. Tears washed down my face each time. No tools left out or branches uncleared in this tidy garden to use for support. I crawled the last few metres on my hands and knees.

  At the gate, I collapsed against the pillar, leaning back, and heaved in some breaths. My throat ached like Hades. I dragged the evening bag round to my front and shouted, ‘Arx, arx.’ Nothing. Of course not, it was only transmitting. My brains had been jumbled by the pain. Had Fabia heard it? No sound from outside, but nothing from the house. Yet.

  I glanced up at the walls. No grip or holds. I had to climb the damned gate. Dragging myself to the horizontal bar halfway up, I took a second to catch my breath. Blood was seeping from my foot bandages so much I slipped on the metal, nearly falling off. I couldn’t feel my leg below the knee.

  My muscles trembled with the effort as I reached up and grasped two of the rising uprights of the metal gate. When I touched the fleur-de-lys finials at the top, blood wept from my fingers. Razor sharp. Gods, if I pulled myself over them, I’d tear my flesh off.