The Ides of April

XXXVIII

I was in shock over the dead vixen. Otherwise, I might have handled the situation better.

I could have invited Andronicus to come home with me. Why didn't I? Mainly because I had not known him long enough. I still wanted to keep him to myself. As soon as you introduce any friend to your family, they take over. My parents would interrogate him in their separate ways, discreet but determined; my sisters would ask inane questions about us in front of him; even my little brother, a difficult child at the best of times, would stare disconcertingly. We were not ready for that.

Mentioning that it was my birthday seemed unnecessary. I would feel embarrassed. So, looking back, I must have given Andronicus an unfortunate impression that this was a pre-arranged occasion of no great significance, from which I might escape at an early hour. It was only lunchtime now.

"Will you be all right?" he murmured lovingly. I was in a tizzy, which he must have thought was still the fox's fault.

"I shall be with my own folk, don't worry."

"Oh, they will look after her!" Rodan put in, though nobody had asked him. "That Falco is a nasty piece of work, but the rest are quite a nice family in their funny way."

"Thank you, Rodan!" Andronicus seemed more amused by the mixed commendation than annoyed at losing me.

I reassured him that he could dutifully attend the aedile's festival that evening, under no obligation to me. We were no longer in the mood to go to bed together, even if I had been free. The dying vixen had drained our desire. I was distressed and he was disturbed by whatever happened when he was on his own with the fox. It would take a while for either of us to recover.

I apologised for rushing off; he mentioned he might come along to Fountain Court to see me again later. The half-promise was not serious enough for me to mention that my return could be in the early hours.

I was too numb to think clearly. I could still hardly speak.

Andronicus exchanged sweet-talk with me, then sauntered off. He would have seen the chair, with its patient bearers, stood outside waiting. He probably thought if I was summoned in the morning, it would be for a light luncheon and perhaps an afternoon of gossip. I remained shy about explaining that today was my anniversary.

After he left, I went right upstairs to the office to fetch the blue gown on which I had sewn the braid the other day, especially to wear now. It still had the needle in the neck facing, where I had parked it when Andronicus visited. I intended to put away the needle in the bone case that I kept in my sewing box, but maddeningly could not find it. The box was crammed so its contents overflowed if I rummaged too much, and I was hurrying. I assumed I simply failed to see the case, the way you do sometimes even when an object is right in front of you. In the end, I had to stab the needle into a spare end of ribbon. Grabbing the box and the dress, I locked up the office and returned downstairs.

By the time I had made my way back to my apartment, I had become annoyed with myself for bungling. I like to keep equipment neat. I was now in a clumsy state where even putting on earrings was awkward; I could not find the hole in one lobe, which must have been made at an angle and was always elusive when in haste. Once I had changed into the dress and tidied my appearance, I calmed down. Before I left, I upturned the sewing box onto a low table and systematically sorted through its contents, determined not to be beaten. The needle-case was not there.

It could have dropped out on the floor of the office, but I had no time now to return and look. Anyway, I was sure I would have noticed. I hate the feeling something is not right. I particularly hate any hint that someone has tampered with my things. The needle-case was pretty and useful, but not exquisite; the office contained other items to attract a walk-in thief, all perfectly portable. Not many can be bothered to intrude so far up inside a building, with added risks to them at every storey; my apartment downstairs was far more at risk of burglary. So what trickery was this?

Eventually, I was ready to leave, in my blue dress, gold sandals and best earrings, knowing that Mother would comment I was looking tired, as mothers are obliged to do apparently. Tiredness, when it derives from the trials of life, cannot be altered. Nor can a mother be thwarted from looking at you narrow-eyed, even though you know it is her way to show you she cares. The first thing my sisters would shriek would be, "Horrible hair, Albia!" Those two madcaps, Julia and Favonia, would fall on me with combs and ornaments, carrying me off to remedy at least that perceived defect.

Suddenly I wanted to be there. I wanted to be pampered by my sisters and feted as the queen of the day. I wanted familiarity. I would relax-indeed, I was starting to relax already. I would emerge from the girls' patting and primping at once more bright-eyed and fun-loving, and quite willing to enjoy my birthday. I even wanted, marginally, relief from Andronicus, because there is a subtle strain when you are with a new man, whose reactions remain uncertain. With him, I still felt constantly wary.

At home, I could simply be myself. They all knew and happily deplored me. That, as I had learned since my teens, was the point of a family.

Departing, I saw Rodan and demanded, "Have you let anyone up to the office in the past few days without telling me?"

"No." He was bound to say that. Who wants trouble?

"What about the other night? That man called Tiberius was looking for me, with Morellus from the vigiles."

"They came to my cubicle. I knew you weren't here."

"They believed you?"

"Why not?"

"Because anyone who knows you doesn't trust you to remember anything!"

Rodan looked at me and said slowly, "They never went up. They seemed to think they knew where you were that evening. They just danced off somewhere else."

I too spoke more levelly. "Rodan, I think someone has been in my room."

"Not that I know, Albia."

I gave up. "Well, keep your eyes peeled."

Rodan looked sheepish. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thank you, Rodan."

Yes, I had a wonderful birthday. My relatives can throw a party. As was traditional, it was so good, darkness fell before I realised. Admittedly bleary, I intended to call up the chair and toddle home, but was delayed at the last minute. Nobody was making good decisions at that point. I was prevailed upon to have a comforting word in private with my little brother.

Postumus was eleven now. We all knew his birth mother, a colourful character who ran a large entertainment company. Thalia might be maternal with baby lions, but had shrunk from ownership of a human child and handed him over to us. There were doubts over his paternity, but the story we all stuck with was that my grandfather had fathered him, just before he died. It was certainly what Grandpa in his vanity had wanted to believe.

My parents took the baby and because he too was adopted, it was always assumed he and I had a special bond. In truth, we shared neither blood nor sympathy. I felt sorry for him in some ways, but if I had to be honest (and I hoped this did not show to Postumus) I could never warm to him. He was none too keen on me either. Mind you, he was no lover of other people. My parents and sisters treated him kindly and fairly, but he endured it with suspicion, aware from the start that his existence obliged my father to share with him, as a half-brother, a major legacy; anyone who loved my father would therefore view Postumus as a cuckoo in the nest. Anyone who saw my pa as a much more wily operator would in fact suspect he only adopted the boy because, as his son, the legacy provision no longer applied… That was probably what my brother thought.

Postumus made few friends, within the family or outside, and seemed to enjoy his isolation. He had the kind of personality that makes you think a boy will grow up to be a public torturer. However, he harboured genuine anxieties. He had worried about his security during all his little life. Now, I was told, he felt convinced that his birth mother had her eye on him. He had reached an age when he could be useful to her in her work. Postumus feared she would be coming to claim him (he was a bright child, because not long after this she did).

"Cheer up," I told him, when I was asked to probe and intervene like a big sister. "Then you can be the only boy in history who, instead of running away from home to join a circus, has to run away from a circus to go home."

My brother bestowed on me his most baleful look. I would say he was going through a difficult phase, but with him, one difficult phase simply flowed into the next without a kink. "How would you feel, Albia, if those cabbage-sellers came from Londinium and fetched you back?"

"Trust me, child; life with the Didii has taught me to make exciting decisions. I would run away from the cabbages and become a lion-tamer."

I admitted to myself that I had been drinking wine for so long I might be viewing his unhappiness too flippantly. My brother stomped off, then I was so guilty I felt the need to drink more wine with my parents, who were similarly depressed by their helplessness in handling him. I abandoned any thought of returning to Fountain Court that day. They kept my old room there for me; as on many previous occasions, I stayed overnight.

I did pop home next morning, but only for a flying visit. I needed to pick up things because, at intervals during the party, we had had discussions about work. On the mysterious killings, everyone decided there was only one thing to do next. As relatives do, mine handed me their orders; as you do to avoid arguing, I caved in. So I was being despatched to Aricia where Laia Gratiana had sent her maid, Venusia.

Venusia had to be interviewed. Neither the vigiles nor the aediles' office would ever get around to it and, even if they did, we could be sure they would botch it. Morellus was a deadbeat; Faustus and his runner were implicated. I was not only a neutral party but female. I could bamboozle a maid. Crucially, unlike everybody else, I was efficient. Father would lend me a cart and driver next morning, so I could do it.

Someone I normally thought well of had the bright idea that the sullen one, my brother, could come along on the trip, to take him out of himself.

Thank you, Mother.