The Ides of April

LVII

A cloud of mortar dust bellied into the room and enveloped me.

I swayed off-balance above empty space. As I toppled, strong arms crushed me. Tiberius hauled me to safety. One of us sobbed with shock; it may even have been him.

We heard terrible noises as the balcony landed with its tumbling cargo. Cries sounded in the alley far below. Then silence.

The runner turned me around for inspection. He apologised. I apologised. He meant for not telling me the plan and I meant for not understanding him. That was done. Neither of us would refer to it again.

He told me he had to go downstairs. I understood why. I was to follow as soon as I could. He left me. After his urgent steps faded, I could not bear it there alone and though still feeling fragile, I went down after him.

In Fountain Court there was a mound of rubble, but nothing terrible to see. The vigiles had covered the body. Somehow, no one else was hurt. Tiberius came up quickly and confirmed it was over; that was considerate.

I was taken to my father's house, where I spent the night and all the next day. Even after the office was made safe again, it would be some time before I wanted to go back, maybe never. Even my apartment held memories. I needed to adjust before I could be comfortable there.

It was the end of the Cerialia, so that night there was a big chariot race in the Circus. It would be the last event in the Games that the aedile had to supervise. He sent my family tickets, but none of us went. I stayed quietly at the town house until after lunch the following day. Everyone was going to our villa on the coast and taking me with them.

There were things I needed from my apartment. I walked back alone early that afternoon, slowly taking the Stairs of Cassius. First, I went to the vigiles station house, where I learned that Morellus had been stricken, but somehow survived. He was at home, and since they said he was slowly rallying, I left good wishes and did not bother his wife, Pullia. Seeking quietness, I made my way to the empty enclosure of the Armilustrium. I seated myself on my usual bench, where I stayed for a long while, reflecting.

I was still there, and beginning to dislike my solitude, when I heard someone approaching. I did not look up. A lone woman should avoid eye-contact with strangers. Not that this was a stranger. I knew the man. I recognised his tread. I knew exactly who he was, even though I had never seen him before resplendent in full Roman whites, complete with broad purple status bands on his luxuriant toga. He looked good. Very good. He could carry robes with confidence. As usual he had no bodyguards, but he needed none. By virtue of his high office, his person was sacrosanct.

Even before I looked, I knew he would have grey eyes and where he supported the toga's heavy folds on his casually bent left arm, that hand was now permanently scarred. This was, as I expected, Tiberius Manlius Faustus, the plebeian aedile.