Rome Burning

by Sophia McDougall

  The bones of his hands were straining the skin, so tightly knotted were his fists. Carefully, finger by finger, he loosened them. There was a broad window seat against locked sandalwood shutters, through which a dim, sifted light fell. He let himself down onto it, resting his head against the wall, closing his eyes. And almost out of simple exhaustion, he gave up ordering himself to be calm. Well, at least being shut in here alone, he could go out of his mind for a while without anyone to see. He almost laughed then, because that last thought came to him in Gemella’s voice, as if she were leaning idly in the other corner of the window seat and speaking to him, so that with eyes still shut, he smiled affectionately at her and murmured, ‘Except you.’

  It only lasted a few minutes, but the feeling of her company had never been so easy, so close to painless, and even when it faded and he opened his eyes, his mind felt clearer, even if his pulse was still working far too fast and he didn’t expect the respite to be permanent.

  An hour or so after this, during which he’d been trying to make a dispassionate assessment of things, the door opened, making him start and then scowl at himself. Two of the Nionian retainers entered the room, with the interpreter he’d first encountered at the Venus Amaterasu ceremony.

  The interpreter asked softly, ‘Lord Varius, would you come with us?’

  He got up and followed them. Moving through the open door he felt an illogical pulse of relief and an equally strong, contradictory recollection of being marched through the corridors in the prison, first towards his silent cell, then towards the van that would take him to Gabinius. They went down to a long ground-floor room, walled on two sides with folding shutters of fretted wood, mercifully open to a garden and a courtyard. It seemed bare compared to the rooms in the other pavilions; Varius had the impression the Nionians had cleared away some of the furniture.

  The Prince was seated with the other lords – Kiyowara, Taira, Mimana, Sanetomo. All were wearing white mourning, and so looked, to Varius, strangely Roman and senatorial. Tadahito, pale and stern among the rest, said to the interpreter in Latin, ‘You may go. I will explain anything the Great Lords need to know.’

  The interpreter bowed and retreated. In Nionian, one of the men at Tadahito’s side ventured a protest and was answered sharply. ‘Lord Varius,’ said the Prince, with unsmiling graciousness, gesturing for him to sit.

  ‘I am not a lord,’ snapped Varius, much more irritably than was necessary. Tadahito only nodded gravely so that he felt a little ashamed of himself.

  He sat down, organising his body into stillness, stifling the nervous restlessness in his hands and making them lie relaxed at his sides. For a second the effort sapped focus out of everything again. He watched the Prince and the lords conferring briefly, automatically lowering their voices in front of him, even though he couldn’t have understood a word.

  Tadahito said in Latin, ‘You will be expecting questions now. It is in your own interest and your country’s to tell us the truth.’

  Varius judged this speech as pompous and tried to restrain a tic of impatience at it. He said, ‘As before this happened, I won’t lie to you. As before, I’ll tell you the truth or say nothing. It depends what you ask me.’ He braced himself a little and said dispassionately enough, ‘Can you tell me if you have any intelligence about Caesar’s journey? If anything has – happened?’

  Tadahito gazed at him, a kind of sad, regal emptiness in his face. ‘It is difficult for me to tell you anything,’ he answered, and then did not elaborate, so that after a moment Varius realised this meant: ‘No. I have nothing to tell you.’

  ‘Is Noviana Una safe?’

  ‘Why should anything worse have happened to her than has happened to you?’

  ‘I would like to see her. I appreciate it’s only sensible to question us separately in the first instance. But afterwards.’

  ‘Afterwards, we will consider it.’

  Varius nodded wearily, unsure if this was meant as a genuine concession or another coded refusal. A tired, apprehensive reflex shuddered through him.

  ‘Are you unwell?’ enquired Tadahito, watching him attentively.

  ‘No,’ said Varius looking away through the wide open lattices at the space and the light, clenching his teeth. The weakness was humiliatingly obvious, then.

  Without warning, one of the older noblemen – Lord Taira – erupted, shouting at Varius what might have been an accusation, furious hands stabbing at the air, as if a pressure Varius had been unaware of had finally become unbearable. Taira turned to the Prince, bowing, begging something – apologising perhaps – but outraged and desperate. Even more than the violence of it, the sudden tears which ran freely from the man’s eyes were unnerving to Varius, for Taira made no attempt to hide or suppress them, and yet there was no edge of a sob in his voice. The other lords looked embarrassed, but Taira himself seemed to have no sense of dignity lost, as if he were at once abandoning himself to the emotion, and unconscious of it happening. Tadahito told him – what? To be silent? That what he wanted would happen in due course? Varius felt jarred, shaken. As abruptly as his outburst had begun, Taira had returned to his seat, apparently composed again.

  Tadahito said, as if nothing had happened, ‘Two days ago, I thought there would not be a war. It seemed as if the people of Tokogane …’ He paused, reconsidered something, went on, ‘… as if the people of the world grew safer with every hour that went by. Now, Lord Kato is murdered by a Roman, Caesar disappears without warning, and you are left here. War between us appears only days away and I do not even know that it should be prevented.’

  Varius said, ‘I only know a Roman was involved in Kato’s death because you tell me so. Neither Una nor I will be able to tell you about any government plot against you, because there was none. We came here, all of us, in the hope of peace. That is only what you would expect me to say, and it won’t become any more credible by being repeated, but it had better be said once.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the Prince laconically. ‘I would expect that.’

  ‘You said yourself you trusted us until two days ago,’ began Varius.

  ‘We were close to trusting you,’ Tadahito corrected him.

  ‘Lord Kato’s death is terrible, but it is still one man’s death. You do not need to let it start something infinitely worse. It has not made that inevitable, even now.’

  ‘It has made some things inevitable. He was much loved,’ remarked the Prince blandly. ‘Four of his men have already performed self-execution.’

  Varius looked up and met Tadahito’s eyes, feeling a jolt of disorientating recognition, bracing against the memory of the poison on his tongue. ‘I am sorry,’ he said.

  ‘They failed to protect him.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  The exchange had been rapid. Now they were silent, as Tadahito studied him for another second. He had told Varius of the retainers’ suicides with a kind of impassive defiance, as if to find it shocking would have been a weakness. But then his face altered, and became simply tired and depressed. He slumped a little, and said bitterly, ‘And now I have more corpses to send home, more families to inform. You see? More people have already begun to die. Every Nionian who hears of this will demand revenge. And—’ Varius saw Tadahito hesitate before taking the risk of the next words. ‘And, he was a great leader. A great warrior. His loss – weakens us. It strengthens Rome against us.’ He leant forward, indicating the other lords with a discreet glance. ‘They cannot understand us talking, Varius. They would be horrified to hear me admit so much. But you know it, whether or not you had any part in his death. And in truth, I believe you did not. Caesar would not have left you in our power if he thought you could betray anything. So at least, if you know anything, you do not know that you know.’

  ‘Look,’ said Varius. ‘Tell me the worst thing you suspect. That he had Lord Kato murdered, and everything else is just smoke to cover his return to Rome. Is it that? And we’re here to keep you confused; you waste your time here qu
estioning us for the few days before the attack comes. And he kept Una and myself ignorant so that we would be more convincing.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tadahito. ‘Don’t trouble to tell me Caesar would not act against us in that way. Tell me if he would do it to you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Of course. The only possible answer. Tell me about the lady.’

  ‘Is she expendable? No.’

  ‘Even as a painful sacrifice, if he were convinced it was necessary?’

  ‘No.’ Varius remembered Tadahito’s sister, the hinted marriage. It seemed to belong to another world, and yet it made discussing Una difficult. He was already aware that to put too much stress on her closeness to Marcus could place her in further jeopardy. He could have tried explaining that Marcus probably could not have deceived Una in such a way even if he’d wanted to, but the moment Una’s ability occurred to Varius, it was with the certainty that he must not reveal it – it was the only possible advantage either of them held. He said cautiously, ‘You must know that after his parents’ assassination, there was a serious threat against Marcus’ life. He met Una during a time which had a great impact on them both. Even if there were nothing between them now but the past, still, if he were to throw anyone away, she would be the last person.’

  ‘And you. Are you as confident of your own standing with him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Varius answered, faintly surprised after he spoke at just how certain he was. ‘He could carry on as Caesar without my help, of course, but …’ He stopped speaking long enough for the Prince to open his mouth to begin a prompting question, but before he could voice it, Varius finished impatiently, ‘He considers that I saved his life.’

  Tadahito tilted his head, frowning, interested at the phrasing. ‘He is … mistaken, somehow?’

  Varius smiled unhappily, already wishing he hadn’t mentioned it. ‘I don’t share his view of events.’

  ‘But in his mind, he owes you that?’

  ‘No. He doesn’t owe me anything. And even if he had it’s – it’s been paid back, that was years ago, but of course I trust him. At least …’ He exhaled a small, harsh laugh. ‘I don’t want to be here, Your Highness. Caesar put me in this position against my will and I’m not going to forget it. But I do know his reasons. And for them to be as you fear, he would have had to have changed out of all recognition.’

  ‘Perhaps he has changed out of all recognition,’ said Tadahito. He sighed and without turning away, began to speak in Nionian, evidently summarising what had been said in Latin.

  Sanetomo answered, and spoke for some time, quietly arguing his case. He showed none of Taira’s earlier passion. But he avoided Varius’ eyes.

  Tadahito listened and said in Latin, quite lightly, ‘Lord Sanetomo says your intentions or Caesar’s are no longer the point. If we are to believe what you say of Caesar’s departure, then it is this second prince, who demands your return so vociferously, that we have to reckon with now. The peace negotiations are unsalvageable, and we must make use of what advantages we have. Maybe you can’t tell us anything about Lord Kato’s assassination. But there must be things you do know.’

  Varius breathed out. He felt a bizarre relief. They had come to the point. ‘And you must know that I won’t willingly tell you anything that could help you in a war against Rome. And if you attempt to – force me to do so, it will no longer be a question of whether you can trust Rome, it will be Rome’s certainty that they cannot trust you. And peace really will be unsalvageable. You can’t take that chance until you are sure Marcus isn’t coming back. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t questions you should be asking that I can answer. I will tell you everything that I know, right now, about Drusus Novius Faustus. Then I want to see Una.’

  *

  The lady was crouched in a chair, her knees drawn up and her arms hanging crossed over them. Her head jerked up as Noriko entered with Tomoe and Sakura, so sharply that Noriko stopped in her tracks and felt herself inexplicably blushing. The whites of the younger woman’s eyes were scrawled over with red – from tiredness, it seemed, however, rather than weeping. Her skin was greyish, opaque, as if drained not only of colour but of some kind of vital sap. Despite that, she looked almost too alert, feverishly so, if fever could be cold instead of hot. Her movements were all a little too jagged and quick – not actually aggressive, yet with a cornered dangerousness straining in the thin, tense joints, so that Noriko felt for a confused moment that she might lunge into an attack. Instead, the lady said, ‘Please, come in,’ her voice and face faultlessly courteous although the motion of the arm she extended was more commanding than welcoming.

  Noriko had spoken at the same moment, murmuring, ‘Forgive me. You are very tired.’ The collision of civilities silenced them both.

  Noriko glided decorously into the room, thinking that it was either bold or ridiculous for a prisoner – even a prisoner of high status – to offer an invitation into a room she had no control over and could not leave. She settled on finding it rather impressive, and smiled, cautiously.

  Una was irritated at the sting of dismay she felt. For God’s sake, did any personal thing matter against the brew of crisis lapping outside the room? Or if she couldn’t force her thoughts to operate on the clean, rational level she wanted, if she couldn’t get her brain clear of agony about Marcus, it remained petty, degrading to be disturbed by another woman’s beauty. Nevertheless, she found herself unprepared. Without the glamour of the deep, green-shaded hair, hanging loose to the floor against her clothes like a layer of silk against silk, without the almost equal finery of the women framing her, Noriko might have been no more than pretty. But over the twenty-four years of her life, so many hours of so many ladies and maids must have been poured into her, glossing her hair, smoothing her skin: she was laminated in time and skill, and glowed unthinkingly, taking it for granted. She had not yet identified herself, but Una was in no doubt who this was. And as she registered Noriko’s hidden embarrassment, something else struck her – a furtive familiarity, a certainty that Noriko was concealing knowledge she should not have or could not admit to. Una had not seen the Princess before. But the Princess had seen her.

  One of the other women confirmed, in low, hesitant Latin, that this was the Princess Imperial. Noriko placed her hands one over the other before her chest and inclined her head in a nod of greeting which Una, after a moment, returned tersely. She was almost too raw with frustration and pain to act on the knowledge that she had better do what she could to be polite and likeable. Already she was aware of the ladies-in-waiting disapproving of her. Noriko herself was making allowances, though.

  ‘Please excuse my poor Latin,’ began Noriko, sitting down on one of the lacquered elmwood chairs. In Nionia they would all have been kneeling on cushions or matting. But they were not in Nionia.

  ‘It’s much better than my Nionian,’ said Una, after a moment in which she could not understand Noriko’s accent.

  ‘No, no. But I have these; I hope I shall manage a little.’ She took a couple of books from Tomoe and laid them beside her. Sakura poured out little bowls of the same leaf infusion Una had been given by the Sinoan court ladies. Or no, it was different, a startling grass green. Una stared at it, with a second’s blank, exhausted fascination.

  ‘I came to see how you were,’ continued Noriko. ‘If I can do anything for you.’

  Una held back a sardonic grimace, thinking, you came because you wanted to have another look at me. She uncurled, scrubbed viciously at her face, and said forcefully, ‘Yes, you can tell me what’s going on.’

  Noriko smiled sympathetically and busied herself leafing through her language books. But it was a deflecting tactic, Una knew she had understood.

  ‘I’ve been answering questions all day. They’ve asked me fifty different ways if Marcus could have had that lord killed, but no one will talk to me seriously.’

  She was too agitated to speak slowly and Noriko missed a few words of this, but the sense of it was obvious.‘
You must be anxious for news of Novius Caesar. But it is too soon for him to have reached Rome.’

  Una said bleakly, ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘So perhaps I cannot tell you anything of use. I could have some fresh clothes brought to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Una dully. ‘Thank you very much.’ She was quiet as she glanced at the Princess, shyly strategising. She subdued her impulse to look Noriko straight in the eyes, feeling that it was the wrong thing to do, but she leant forward and asked in a low, urgent voice, ‘But in my place you would find out more. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What is she asking? She is pestering you,’ complained Sakura in Nionian.

  ‘It is all right,’ muttered Noriko. She fingered the pages of the book broodingly and then snapped it shut. ‘Leave us.’

  Sakura and Tomoe rose silently to their feet and withdrew. The door shut again from the outside.

  ‘Women are not allowed to know as much as they wish,’ Noriko said, balancing her tone carefully, allowing for eventual evasion and at the same time signalling that she knew what Una meant. She smiled again, generously, including Una. ‘Perhaps especially women of rank. Sometimes we are so confined in what we may do, aren’t we?’

  Una blinked. She heard her own short, coarse, incredulous laugh, and thought that alone ought to have been enough to tell Noriko the truth. ‘I was a slave,’ she said bluntly.

  Noriko’s eyes widened very slightly in polite incomprehension.

  ‘Not some kind of high-up slave, either. I’ve been in filthy places doing horrible things you’ve never even thought of. I was a slave until I was fifteen.’ Only as it faded did she recognise the tormented spite in her own urge to shock this polished, privileged creature, to rub her face in it. She had even felt affronted – that Noriko should dare to think their lives had been remotely similar. She watched, a little angry with herself now, but interested to see how the Princess would react.