I, Claudia

by Marilyn Todd

  ‘It’s that mummified bag of bones I can’t stick. Larentia.’

  Claudia gulped at her glass.

  ‘Do you know what she calls me, eh?’ She wagged her finger. ‘She calls me a gold-digger. Me? I’ve never heard you complain about this life of luxury, I said to her last time I was here. You never wore rings like those when you were a navvy’s wife. Insult me if you like, she says, I recognize your type. Not surprised, I said, you only have to look in the mirror you miserable old fossil. Yes, yes, call me what you will, she says, but you can’t fool me, you only married my son for his money. Ah, well, I had her there, Drusilla. Pinned like a winkle, she was. I leaned forward, till my nose was nearly touching hers. And your son only married me for my looks, I said. Which is more than you can say for your old man! Drusilla? Drusilla?’ Her eyes swept the courtyard. ‘Juno, even the bloody cat’s gone now.’

  She staggered to her feet, steadied herself against the brick wall and set her sights on the door. Cursing the threshold gods for tripping her she kicked off her sandals and padded silently across the mosaic. What a frightful design. She’d lay money it was Larentia’s choice, because what that woman knew about taste could be engraved on one of the tesselae.

  ‘Claudia! How lovely.’ Bugger. It would be Marcellus she ran into. ‘Have you been avoiding us? I say, what happened? Looks like you’ve been on the sand with the gladiators.’

  Claudia’s senses were never so addled that she couldn’t remember the things that were important. She sobered instantly. He couldn’t have overheard! This was coincidence, surely. Yet—yes, those were the self-same words she’d used to Ligarius on Friday…

  ‘No, Marcellus. I only wrestle elephants on my birthday. When did you arrive at the villa?’

  ‘Came out for a breather.’ He nodded towards the garden. ‘Heavy stuff going on out there.’

  ‘Hardly surprising, but—’

  ‘It’s always hard going after a funeral. Of course, Gaius’s taken the blow like a man and Valeria’s putting a brave face on widowhood, but as for Larentia, well—you can never tell with her, and Flavia’s really cut up about it.’

  ‘Don’t be naive, Marcellus. Flavia hated her brother, she was as jealous as sin. Tell me, when did you get here?’

  ‘Felt dutybound to come, of course, if only to give Julia a break from being cooped up with the presence of death all the time.’

  Give me strength. ‘I asked when, not why.’

  ‘Dunno. Not long. Who cares? Coming to join us?’

  Not bloody likely. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘It’s early.’

  ‘It’s boring.’

  Marcellus ran the flat of his hand over her shoulder blade. ‘We could change that, you and I.’ He glanced around. ‘No one would even notice we were missing.’

  ‘You know, Marcellus, you really are an offensive little wart.’

  For some unaccountable reason, he seemed to find that funny—although not quite funny enough to leave his hand where it was. ‘So why the black eye, Claudia? Did some bloke try to—’

  ‘If he did, Marcellus, he’d be in the city mortuary by now.’

  ‘What, then?’

  She jerked away from the hand that was tracing the wound on her forehead. ‘It’s hardly a shiner and you lay so much as one more finger on me, you miserable worm, I’ll snap it clean off.’ She gingerly rubbed the cut. ‘And if you’ve infected this wound, I swear by all things holy you’ll pay with your life.’

  ‘Bad journey up, then?’

  ‘Find me a good one. Look, why don’t you run along and join Lucius, there’s a good chap?’

  ‘Lucius is…oh, very droll. Claudia, you ought at least to give you condolences to poor Valeria.’

  ‘In the morning.’

  Another day wouldn’t make any difference, and what can you say to a young widow eight months pregnant with a child whose father’s ashes are still smouldering?

  ‘Ah!’ There was a knowing look in his eye. ‘It’s Larentia, isn’t it? You know, she’s not so bad once you get to know her.’

  ‘I don’t want to know her better thank you very much.’ Venomous old bitch.

  Claudia began to dab at the corner of her eye. ‘I can’t see anyone now, Marcellus. You must remember that this is…extremely painful for me. Why, it was only five years ago that I was in the very same position myself.’

  The catch in her voice was masterful, she thought. Absolutely bloody masterful. As Mulberrychops retreated, his head bowed in shame and embarrassment, Claudia was left to ponder why her brother-in-law was suddenly making overtures lacking in both subtlety and discretion. No matter, she could sort out that smarmy reptile any old time, there were more pressing matters on hand.

  Slamming the rec room door in the face of Galla, the one who had replaced Melissa and was supposed to help her undress (because the last thing she wanted at the moment was company, especially from a girl who lisped), Claudia flung her sandals into the corner. On the whole, she thought, splashing water over her face, you’ve managed rather well. That exquisite soak in hot water had eased the aches and pains, the cold plunge had sharpened her wits and by the time she’d met up with Gaius again in the privacy of their bedroom, her spirits and confidence had buoyed themselves up.

  Naturally he’d been flabbergasted when she told him about the riot. ‘Surely you notified the authorities? Good grief, my dove, they nearly killed you!’

  She’d thought about that one.

  ‘At the time I was too concerned for the slaves,’ she said. ‘Then, afterwards, I was glad I hadn’t summoned the police.’ She patted his arm. ‘You’ve had so much to contend with lately, Gaius, the last thing you needed was your good name dragged into a common street brawl.’

  ‘You’re a very considerate woman, Claudia, do you know that? No, don’t look so modest. Most wives would have panicked and pandemonium would have been let loose. Instead, you mop up trouble like a wine spill and no one’s the wiser.’

  Certainly not once you’ve set Junius free, they won’t be.

  ‘One of our slaves—oh dear I can’t remember his name—anyway, the poor boy stepped straight in and practically saved my life. I’ve hinted, only hinted, mind, that you might see your way clear to setting him free as a reward for his heroism.’

  ‘Could I do less, my brave little dove? Now, Claudia,’ the furrows on his brow deepened, ‘what’s this nonsense about your cousin Marcus? You said he made a pass at you?’

  Honestly! The best playwright in the whole of the Empire couldn’t have penned a better script, she thought afterwards. The timing was perfection itself and Gaius, poor soul, fell into every trap. Now, waiting for him to come up to bed, she calculated there was no better time to play the loaded dice she had up her sleeve…

  The oil in the lamp was burning low before Claudia, fully sober, heard her husband’s hand on the latch. He dismissed the slave with a growl. Hmm. If Marcellus believed he was taking Lucius’s death well, Claudia knew better. Gaius Seferius took every knock on the chin without obvious sign of damage. It was his way.

  ‘You’re not still awake?’

  Claudia mentally rolled the dice down her arm and began weighing it.

  ‘I was worried about you, Gaius.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you.’ He eased his tunic over his head, then paused while his breath came back. ‘Jupiter, I’m getting old.’

  He’d been having chest pains again. She could tell by the way he massaged his breast. ‘Rubbish,’ she countered.

  ‘No, no, Claudia, I feel myself teetering on the border of death—’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Gaius, cut that out. You’re fifty-three, not eighty-three.’

  Grunt.

  ‘Good grief, your mother’s across the hall—she’s knocking seventy and, Gaius, I swear Larentia will outlive the pair of us, just to spite me!’

  Thank Juno, he began to chuckle. Claudia shook her mental dice and decided there was no better time for a roll.

  ‘Cou
ple of things I meant to tell you, Gaius.’

  ‘Oh?’

  There was an unexpected edge to his voice, which caught her off guard. She propped herself up on one elbow and forced a smile.

  ‘Yes. Business matters you asked me to handle in your absence, remember?’

  ‘Ah.’ The relief was unmistakable.

  Claudia carefully recounted the gist of the meetings he’d entrusted her with, but her mind was only half on them. Something was up, she could smell it. The bed tilted as Gaius sat on the edge and kicked off his sandals.

  ‘And, Gaius, I’m afraid I’ve got a confession to make.’

  His eyes bored into hers and suddenly the air was so heavy you could have sliced it up and served it with honey.

  ‘You know—’ Claudia cleared her throat and started again. ‘You know the shipment that was due the day you left?’

  Again the ominous exhalation of breath. ‘What about it, my dove?’

  There was a definite smell of fish in the air but Claudia chose to pass over it. There was an iron which needed to be struck while it was still red hot.

  ‘The captain called at the house to collect the three hundred sesterces outstanding on the account. I’m afraid I was terribly upset about Lucius, I mean you can imagine how it brought back my grief…’ She tailed off and sniffed. ‘Five years and it still seems like yesterday!’ She turned away and sobbed into the pillow.

  ‘There, there, I understand… What the hell did he mean, three hundred outstanding?’

  ‘That’s the point, Gaius. I was so distraught, I paid him on the spot. Then when I sent down to the wharf for a receipt, I realized we…I…had been conned. The ship was there, so was the captain. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the same man!’ She flung herself face down into the pillows. ‘I’m most terribly sorry.’

  He was cross—Juno, was the man cross!—but thankfully not with her. Claudia let her breath out ever so slowly and peered out between her fingers. Dammit, had she known he’d take it this lightly, she’d have given Lucan five hundred. Too late now, but this was the time to get to the source of that fishy smell in the air.

  ‘Gaius, there’s something worrying you, isn’t there?’

  ‘As a matter of fact—’ He stood up and began to pace the chamber. ‘This is very difficult for me, Claudia, but the morning I left Rome, a letter arrived—an anonymous letter. It…it made some rather unsavoury accusations.’ So Gaius’s secret was finally out, was it?

  ‘About you?’

  ‘Um, no. About you, actually.’

  Once, when she was very small, an earth tremor rocked the town where she was living. Nothing serious, no lives lost, just a couple of statues which lost their heads when they toppled over and a few shopfronts which tumbled down. But during the tremor, when the ground rumbled and buildings rocked, it had scared a five-year-old girl to her marrow.

  ‘You threw it straight on the fire, I hope. Pass me another pillow, will you, this one’s stuffed with old boots.’ Come on, Claudia. Force a laugh.

  There was a tortuous silence as she forced herself to continue the feign of disinterest. Pillows were plumped, tried, replaced. Come on, Gaius, change the subject.

  ‘It—er, it suggested you were…’

  ‘Not spinning my own wool? Not sending your tunics to the fullers? Sneaking titbits for Drusilla?’ Thatta girl.

  He chuckled. ‘Worse! It said you were—promiscuous!’

  ‘Prom—?’ Dear Diana, he must surely have heard the catch in her breath? ‘Promiscuous?’ She slapped his arm and fell back in a heap of pretended mirth. ‘What, when you and I don’t even share a bedroom?’

  ‘I know! The daft thing is, that damned letter had me worried for a while.’

  Got you worried?

  ‘Of course,’ he began to sober up, ‘I suppose the writer meant with lots of other men.’

  Deep breaths. One, two, three.

  ‘Gaius. If you start thinking along those lines, it’s a victory for the spiteful lunatic who penned the letter. Have you got it with you?’

  He shook his head.

  Bugger!

  ‘When you get home, throw it away and forget it, because if you can tell me where I get the time, running a house that size, to go gallivanting with hordes of lovers without arousing a single rumourmonger’s suspicions in the whole of Rome, I’ll eat your best tunic with onions.’

  Claudia blew out the lamp and stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. By heaven she’d have to kill that lunatic soon and put a stop to both killings and rumours. It might mean finding other means for paying Lucan off, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. In the meantime, unless she was careful, she’d be needing a whole sack of onions if it meant eating one of Gaius’s tunics.

  XIII

  The face that stared back from the looking-glass was like nothing on earth. The bruises ranged in hue from yellow to green to purple, the bags below her eyes could have carried sufficient water to see a whole legion through a week’s campaign.

  ‘Ouch!’

  If she’d told that stupid girl once, she’d told her a hundred times. Twist the curls to the left. Twist them both ways and you get knots!

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, get out and leave me alone! A blind man with a broken arm could make a better job of it than you.’

  The slave, the one with the lisp, the one whose name she could never be bothered with, pulled a sulky face and slunk off as Claudia slumped in front of the mirror, her head in her hands. For all her making light of last night’s thunderbolt, the anonymous letter had unnerved her and no matter how many times she told herself she was hungry, she was tired, she’d had too much to drink, she was simply overwrought, nothing dissipated the deep-rooted feeling of anxiety.

  All night long she’d tossed and turned, turned and tossed—but no matter how desperately she invoked it, sleep simply wouldn’t come. The same questions followed in the same sequence. Who sent the letter? What did it say? What was its purpose? The night was one of the longest she’d ever known, yet no sooner had the Great Healer finally heard her summons than the most atrocious racket started up right outside the window. She was bolt upright within seconds.

  ‘What the hell…?’

  ‘Relax! It’s only the dawn chorus.’

  ‘Well, bugger the dawn chorus, that’s all I can say.’

  The couch had joggled as Gaius Seferius’s huge body shook with laughter. ‘You lie back and get some shut-eye,’ he’d said, rolling off the bed. ‘I want to check the vines.’

  ‘At this hour?’

  ‘Why not?’ He ruffled her hair. ‘Don’t think you’ve got a monopoly on unorthodox behaviour, my dove.’

  Drusilla, who had been biding her time outside the window for Gaius to leave, had leapt on to the bed the moment he’d closed the door behind him, and, soothed by the cat’s purring, Claudia had fallen asleep. And with sleep had come dreams. Dark, diabolical dreams. There was Flamininus, the censor chained to the bloated corpse of Quintus Aurelius Crassus, urging her to whip harder because he’d pay her another quadran for every strike. A quadran’s not enough, she was saying, I need two thousand sesterces. Suddenly the corpse on the chain rolled over. ‘I’ll double that if you find my eyes,’ it said. ‘I dropped them with my sandals.’ ‘I sold ’em,’ Rufus piped up, ‘swapped ’em for a pig’s head.’ When Claudia turned to give him a clip round the ear the boy wore Otho’s scarred face and she had woken up sweating. Drusilla had snuggled closer and thanks to her rhythmic washing, Claudia had drifted off again. This time Gaius—on his back, naked and wriggling like a big, fat baby—was crying, ‘Help me, Claudie, help me,’ and while she watched, doing nothing, the tears dissolved his eyes into raw, red sockets and she had woken up again, shaking.

  ‘There’s a perfectly simple explanation for all this,’ Claudia Seferius told her reflection. ‘You’re hungry, you’re tired, you drank too much last night. What do you expect, you silly cow?’

  Expert fingers began to cover the bruises wit
h chalk, drawing a thin (but steady!) line of antimony round her eyes and rubbing ochre into her cheeks and lips. By the time she’d stuck the last bone pin into her curls, Claudia Seferius was equipped to deal with any obstacle in her path, and had she come face to face with the Minotaur himself raging on the other side of her bedroom door, her stride would not have been broken. Unfortunately, as it happened, it was Marcellus she bumped into.

  ‘Remus, Claudia, you look like shit.’

  ‘Why, thank you, brother-in-law, you look terrific yourself.’

  He was, she noticed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  ‘Did you want me?’

  Marcellus flashed a lecherous grin. ‘Any time, darling, any time. Although, at this particular moment, it’s your old man I’m after.’

  She jerked her head towards the fields. ‘At dawn, would you believe? He went off to potter round his precious vines. Could be anywhere by now.’

  She wondered what Marcellus wanted. In fact, she wondered why an architect embroiled in the restoration works was at the villa at all. He seemed edgy, that was certain. Claudia quickly forgot him and followed her nose in the direction of freshly baked bread.

  ‘So you’ve condescended to join us at last.’

  Her mother-in-law, lips pursed, forehead puckered, didn’t even bother to look up.

  ‘Larentia, darling! Lovely to see you again.’

  Claudia swept over to her and planted a loud kiss on her mother-in-law’s withered cheek.

  ‘And good morning to you too, ladies.’ Julia, Flavia and Valeria were also reclining in the dining room.

  Larentia snorted. ‘You’d best throw another salt cake on the fire,’ she said to the slave hovering at her shoulder. ‘I’ve already put one on today, madam.’—

  ‘I know,’ Larentia replied dryly, darting a reptilian glance at Claudia. ‘But Vesta will need a damn sight more than that to appease her.’

  The slave bowed and went off to toss another offering on the sacred flame. Claudia inspected a pear and, pretending she’d missed the jibe, turned to Valeria.

  ‘How are you doing, kid?’