I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘We’re hardly friends, Ligarius.’

  ‘Close enough.’ He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  Juno, Jupiter and Mars! ‘How long since whatsername, Antonia, died?’

  ‘December.’

  ‘Tell you what, Liggy. I can’t stop now, but why don’t I come and visit you in the tavern? Perhaps early one morning, before you open? We could have a quiet little chat?’

  ‘I’d like that, because well, you know how I’ve always felt about you.’

  Sentimental claptrap, of course, and without Antonia to whip him into line, he’d gone soft again. Why is it people always look back and see only the good times? She turned on her heel and marched back to the house. With any luck, the packing would be finished by now, and wouldn’t Gaius be happy to have her at the villa five days ahead of schedule? Damn that slimeball Lucan for diddling her out of the fun of the games!

  It was only when she was changing her stola that Claudia realized she’d forgotten to ask the whereabouts of Liggy’s tavern. No matter. When she blurted out her offer to call it was genuine, though in the cold light of day she realized it was folly to even think about it. Oh, he’d get over it. Hell, he might not even remember it, because she had a suspicion he’d been drinking his profits of late. The main thing was, his loyalty was firm, he wouldn’t give her away. Of course, it had come as a real shock, seeing him at the games—and his shadowing of her this afternoon didn’t bear thinking about. But no, she was satisfied Ligarius wouldn’t spoil it for her. Unless… Unless…

  ‘Your cousin to see you, madam.’

  ‘Melissa, how many times do I have to tell you, girl? They’re Gaius’s cousins—’

  ‘No, madam. Your cousin, he said. Marcus Cornelius Orbilio.’

  Minerva, how could you do this to me? How could you! Otho, Ligarius and now…this! Well, Orbilio, you can’t say I didn’t give you fair warning. This time I’ll suck you in then blow you out in tinksy winksy bubbles, so help me I will.

  He was standing in the atrium, admiring the newly painted frieze which Gaius had commissioned to celebrate all things Egyptian. Unfortunately, this afternoon he wasn’t alone.

  ‘Good grief, you and the oik? What a frightful combination.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too, Claudia.’

  ‘Difficult to recognize him without the headlice. What do you want?’

  ‘I heard you were in a spot of trouble this morning.’

  ‘You heard wrong. Goodbye.’

  He ran after her as she flounced towards the garden. ‘No, I heard right, Claudia.’

  She paused. ‘Oh, don’t tell me. That scruffy little tike is your chief witness? Again.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who the witness—’

  ‘Yep!’ Rufus had run up to join them. ‘I saw you. You was fighting with this real big geezer—umph!’

  A hand clamped itself over the boy’s mouth. ‘Listen to me, you spiteful little monster. One more lie from your duplicitous lips and I’ll rip your skinny liver out and serve it up for breakfast. Is that clear?’

  The boy’s eyes swivelled round to Orbilio, but Orbilio was giving intense study to the capital of the column beside him.

  ‘Oi, don’t get shirty, missus. Can I help if it’s the truth?’

  ‘Truth?’ Claudia pinched his earlobe and dragged him into a secluded corner of the garden. ‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it landed on your face and pecked your nose off. Now if I hear one more—’

  ‘Leave him alone, Claudia.’

  ‘You keep out of this.’

  ‘I said that’s enough. Let him go.’

  She gave the earlobe a sharp tweak before releasing it. The ghastly child seemed more interested in the two adults than his wretched ear. Well, she hoped it turned black and dropped off in the night.

  ‘The gaffer’s in a bad mood,’ Rufus said cheerfully. ‘Callisunus raked him over the coals a couple of hours ago and, boy,’ he let his breath out in a whistle, ‘were them coals hot!’

  ‘Splendid.’ Claudia smiled radiantly at Orbilio. ‘Now you can run along and chase criminals—and leave me in peace. Toodle-oo.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, woman, I’m trying to catch a murderer.’

  ‘So who’s stopping you?’

  ‘Tell me about this morning.’

  She scowled at the boy, then she scowled at Orbilio. ‘Very well. Claudia—on her way to the baths. Claudia—tipped out of her litter. Wee bit of a scrap. Junius—vital organs rearranged. Claudia—came home.’ She held her hands out, palms upwards, and arranged her face in a smile. ‘End of story.’

  ‘Tell me about the Thracian.’

  ‘Good heavens, man. You don’t think we stopped to exchange pleasantries with them, do you? Oh, what a charming riot, but tell me, didn’t we meet in Thrace a year or two back? Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Orbilio settled himself against the trunk of an apple tree. ‘I’m a patient man, Claudia. I can wait.’

  She turned to Rufus. ‘You.’ She jabbed him with her finger. ‘Kitchen.’

  He looked over at Orbilio and opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Now!’

  The boy ran off so fast that had the floor been made of wood it might well have caught fire.

  ‘And you.’ A slave came running. ‘Follow that urchin. Make sure he doesn’t steal anything.’ She clapped her hands and sent the rest of the slaves packing.

  ‘Wine?’ she asked pleasantly.

  His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but finding nothing except ingenuousness, Orbilio slowly nodded acceptance.

  ‘You’re derisive about Rufus, but his testimony is reliable, I’m afraid, and since—Claudia, are you listening to me?’

  ‘Try the figs. Come along, they’re not poisoned!’ She busied herself with pouring wine and settling herself on the bench, then patted the marble beside her in invitation. Seeing the scepticism on his face, she added, ‘I don’t bite.’

  He glanced under the shrubs, but didn’t sit.

  ‘And Drusilla’s indoors.’

  He sat.

  ‘Now you seem very tense today, Orbilio,’ she said, patting his thigh. ‘Something the matter?’ She was met by a look of undisguised distrust, and she shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

  She leant backwards, picked up her lyre and began to strum. From the corner of her eye she could see he was as stiff as a ramrod.

  ‘Tell me about the Thracian,’ he said quietly. ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Have you adopted that guttersnipe?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Simple question. I’m asking you whether you’ve adopted that little arab out there.’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t. Oh, come on, you can’t believe I’m bribing the boy.’

  Claudia smiled. ‘As if I would. No, no. I merely wondered why he’s trailing round with you. I presume you’re the one responsible for cleaning him up and giving him a proper tunic?’

  Orbilio’s back lost some of its starch. ‘I felt sorry for him. Living off scraps, sleeping in doorways. That’s no life for a lad of his age.’

  ‘And what do you propose to do with him now?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Give him some money, I suppose.’

  ‘You’ve picked him up, washed him down, filled his belly, filled his pocket—and that absolves you of any further responsibility? Orbilio, you’re a fool. You should have left him where he was.’

  ‘I couldn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you could. It would have been kinder for the boy. Now you’ve given him a taste of what he can never have, how do you think he’ll feel after that?’

  She placed the lyre on the seat, stood up, smoothed her tunic and smiled. ‘As I said, Orbilio. You really are a fool.’

  With that, she opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Orbilio sprang to his feet. ‘What the—’

  ‘Aaaargh!’

  ‘Claudia, for pity’s sake!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Orbilio. I did warn you that if you came b
ack, there’d be trouble. There’s only one rock, you see, and we can’t both be cock of it. Aaaargh!’

  In two quick strides, Orbilio was across the garden, covering her mouth with his hand. She bit it and he let go. ‘Aaaargh!’

  ‘Claudia, for pity’s sake, what are you doing?’

  He lunged towards her, but the move had been anticipated. Claudia sidestepped him. Unfortunately, she’d under-estimated his athleticism and on the next move he’d overpowered her. Terrific, she thought. Better than I’d hoped. There can be little doubt about Cousin Markie’s intentions now. Squirming free, Claudia opened her mouth to scream again. Bloody slaves. Always earwigging when they’re not supposed to, never around when you need them!

  From behind, Orbilio’s hand suddenly clamped over her mouth to stifle the scream, and this time he’d preempted the bite. She tried to elbow him in the ribs, but his free arm lashed her shoulders tight against his body. Entwined, they fought and writhed until the backs of his knees collided with the seat, toppling them both backwards into a bed of lavender and parsley. And when help did finally come, it was to find Marcus Cornelius Orbilio spreadeagled on his back with Claudia’s head grasped firmly underneath his arm.

  XII

  It was characteristic of Gaius Seferius that, having decided to make his fortune from wine, he should do so with the same style of military precision that was proving so successful in broadening the Empire. Well-thought-out strategies, attention to detail and a modicum of luck until, day by day, little by little, the outposts of his own empire were extended to the point where it, too, became almost unassailable. For any man this was a considerable achievement, but for the son of a road builder it was truly exceptional.

  Despite an outward appearance of bonhomie, Claudia quickly realized he was as ruthless as he was logical. He divorced his first wife, Plotina, because he believed her barren, and a man like Gaius Seferius would not allow fourteen years of marriage to stand in the way of what he called progress. By the age of twenty-four, he’d accumulated sufficient funds from his foray into the world of viniculture to purchase land suitable for the production of his own wine and when, at the age of twenty-eight, no heir stood to inherit his flourishing empire, he felt he had little option but to put Plotina aside. To his credit, Gaius had gone to considerable lengths to arrange a decent remarriage for her and it was one of life’s ironies, Claudia reflected soulfully, that the poor woman had fallen pregnant almost immediately and then had had the misfortune to die in childbirth.

  The fright that Plotina’s pregnancy had given Gaius was immense. It set him questioning his own fertility until, to his utter relief, his new bride allayed his worst fears by announcing her own gravidity and when she finally produced a bouncing boy she named Lucius it coincided with Gaius’s twenty-ninth birthday. In the eight years that followed she dutifully birthed several more children, three of them healthy, until she, too, was claimed by childbed fever. By then Lucius, small as he was, had been groomed to take over. Gaius had engaged personal tutors at the expense of Secundus and Calpumia, whose upbringing he entrusted to his mother without asking or even caring, and he fostered baby, Flavia, out to his sister, with scant regard to either her or Marcellus who, at the time, was struggling to set up as an architect.

  It was equally characteristic of Gaius, Claudia thought, that he should choose his land so carefully. Call it luck, call it fate, call it skill if you like, but the hundred hectares of fertile land he’d purchased was as good as you’d get anywhere for the price. Near a main road and with access to the sea, he could ship his wine all round the Mediterranean from the one place. You had to hand it to him, you really did. Under his shrewd and careful eye, his fortune seemed to multiply with an almost consummate ease, the pinnacle of his career, of course, being his appointment to the equestrian order.

  The wagon rumbled into the farmyard after what seemed an eternity on the road, and Claudia wondered whether she’d be bow-legged for the rest of her life or whether it would pass after a week or two. Certainly she’d never lose the stoop. The scene before her presented a picture of rural tranquillity—clear skies and pure air, interrupted only by the droning of bumble bees and the warble of songbirds. Moonshine, of course. The place was a seething hive of labouring activity, with slaves of every creed and colour from every corner of the Empire working their skins off to fill a never-ending succession of barrels with the very finest Seferius wine. But that, thought Claudia, is always the case. Turbulence is invariably hidden below the surface and that, unfortunately, is when it’s at its most dangerous.

  Gaius ambled into the yard to greet her. She had hoped he’d be busy inspecting whatever frightful little things one had to inspect on a vineyard in the middle of July, thus giving her ample time to plaster a spot of white chalk on her face to cover the bruises and disguise the whole damn lot with a generous dollop of rouge. Isn’t life a bitch?

  ‘Good grief, Claudia, what happened?’ There was no mistaking the look of genuine consternation on his face.

  ‘It’s a long story, Gaius,’ she said, twisting her mouth. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

  He helped her out of the wagon. ‘Good journey?’

  ‘Foul. I’m covered in dung and dust, splinters and blisters.’

  ‘Then what you need is a bath. It’s all ready.’

  Claudia did something she’d only ever done twice before in her life. She wrapped her arms around her husband and kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘Bless you.’ You can shower me with gems, Gaius, but sometimes water can be more precious than gold.

  ‘I’ll come with you, we can talk.’

  He looks old, she thought. The lines on his face had deepened, his eyes had retired so far that if they went much further they’d come out of the back of his head.

  ‘I’d prefer to be alone, if you don’t mind.’ It was bad enough they’d have to share a bedroom in this godforsaken dump, she didn’t want him in the bath house with her as well. She’d never taken her clothes off in front of him before, why the hell start now? Besides—she swallowed a mouthful of dust—he looked so lost, so vulnerable all of a sudden, she had a sneaky feeling that, although he’d never pestered her for sex before, sweet Hymen, he might just change his mind!

  She smiled apologetically and patted her stomach. ‘Women’s troubles.’

  ‘Oh.’ He went pink and his arm fell away from her shoulder. ‘Oh. Well in that case, I, er, I’ll see you later.’

  Sometimes we forget how lucky we are, she thought, breaking into a whistle as she headed towards the bath house. We girls take ourselves for granted far too often, we really do.

  *

  ‘You know, Drusilla, I’ve never understood why people enjoy living in the country.’

  The cat, curled into a tight ball on Claudia’s lap, didn’t twitch so much as a solitary whisker, even though she was far from sleepy.

  ‘Look over there. Nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills.’ She stared blankly into her empty glass. ‘Turn your head the other way, and still nothing but fields and trees, vines and hills. Miles of them.’ She hiccuped.

  ‘And what happens, eh? I’ll tell you what happens, Drusilla. Bugger all.’

  She picked up the jug, but it was already drained.

  ‘Bloody countryside.’

  The earthenware jug smashed into a dozen pieces as she hurled it into the middle of the yard. Drusilla, instantly on the alert, found herself being soothed back to sleep.

  ‘Sorry, poppet, but just look at it, will you? Back home, around now,’ she hiccuped again, ‘the gates would be cranking open to let in the first of the carts. Yep. Lots of wagons piled right up to here with grain and fruit and wine and oil and…and…and…stuff.’

  She clapped her hands for wine, but no one answered. It served her right, she supposed, settling down in this stinking yard. The house had been designed to face away from the farm, so who’d know she was even here? The slaves would be clustered round Gaius and his awful, awful family, who’d have fin
ished dinner and would be sitting on the terrace, boring themselves into an early grave. Well, sod the lot of them!

  ‘And these carts will be rumbling round the city, delivering here, delivering there, and there’d be donkeys braying and torch-bearers to light the way, and the eating houses and the taverns will be mowry and derry…uh-uh, rowdy and merry and everyone’ll be having a wonderful, wonderful time. But here?’

  She pointed at the red ball of fire slowly sinking behind the horizon.

  ‘That, Drusilla, is tonight’s entertainment. No brawls. No robberies. No accidents, no fires, not even a bloody riot to liven things up.’

  Another hiccup.

  ‘They say Rome never sleeps. Well this place, Drusilla, this place never bloody wakes up.’

  The cat, hearing a rustle from one of the rectangular cottages that served as labourers’ quarters, stiffened and pricked up her ears. For her the pulsating heart of the Empire wasn’t Rome, it was here—with that big, fat, juicy rat!

  ‘Mmrrr.’ She crouched low on Claudia’s lap.

  ‘No gambling. D’you hear that, Drusilla? No gambling. Out here,’ Claudia giggled, ‘I’d have to bet with myself. Oh, to hell with it!’

  The glass hurtled through the air and splintered against the cottage wall. A head poked round.

  ‘Hey, you! Fetch some wine. And another bloody glass.’

  The head hesitated.

  ‘Move!’

  Drusilla, unfazed by the rat’s vanishing trick at the sound of breaking glass, yawned, stretched and clambered off in search of another victim to harry. By the time the slave had returned with the wine, she’d found it, in the form of a fat, hairy spider.

  ‘I know you’re going to tell me there’s been a death in the family and I should make allowances and,’ she gave a soft belch, ‘excuse me, and you’re probably right. But this place is so dull, poppet, it’d bore the freckles off a frog. Not, you understand, that that’s the only reason I hate this poxy place.’

  Drusilla looked round, reassured herself that it didn’t matter that Claudia hadn’t noticed her absence, and busied herself with her quarry.