I, Claudia (30 page)

‘Claudia, don’t walk away, there’s something I want to say to you.’

‘I’m still waiting, Marcellus. Four minutes have ticked past already, and you haven’t opened your mouth yet.’ When he grinned, you could see every gap in his teeth. ‘Do I sense a smidgen of frustration here, Claudia?’

‘Well if anyone can, you can, because I’m sure it’s something you have a lot of experience with. Now unless you want us both to die of old age, kindly spit it out.’

‘Phew! How can I say this?’

‘Try quickly.’

The pitted face moved closer to hers. ‘Very well, then, I’ll be blunt. I know Gaius had been depressed for some time and I know he wasn’t doing right by you, but I will, Claudia. I’ll do right by you.’

‘Marcellus, what on earth are you talking about?’

‘You know.’

‘Call me thick, but sorry, I’m not quite up there with you. Could you give me a tinksy-winksy clue, just to get me started?’

‘Claudia, I know what’s missing from your life and I can provide it.’

Give me strength!

‘Exactly what can you provide, Marcellus?’

‘Sex, of course.’

‘Sex?
Sex?
Am I hearing you right? My husband’s ashes are sitting in his room waiting to be buried, yet you’re offering to fuck me as a favour?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite so crudely, but—yes. I’m thirty-four, in my prime, I’ll have you know. Oh, I’ve felt the shivers that run down your body every time I stroke you, the way you twitched when my hand caressed your breast. Remus, Claudia, we can make sweet, sweet music, so… What do you say?’

‘Just this, Marcellus.’ Claudia stepped back, balled her fist and punched him squarely on the nose.

*

Oil lamps had been burning for an hour before Claudia returned to the atrium. When she saw Antonius coming out of the latrines, she made a silent beckoning signal then turned back up the stairs to her room. A good ten minutes passed before he slipped in. Drusilla, woken from her sleep on the bed, raised her hackles and began to growl.

‘Sssh, it’s only Antonius.’

The cat didn’t seem mollified, neither did Scaevola. Having heard what had happened to Otho, he backed against the wall.

‘I hate to do this, Drusilla, but it’s the only way. We need to talk and you? You’ll bring the whole house running. That, I’m afraid, will never do.’

Claudia scooped up the cat, stiff with rage and indignation, and tipped her gently through the open window amid howls of protest. There was a ledge below. She’d probably sit on that and sulk. Claudia closed the shutters behind her.

Antonius grinned. ‘Holding up all right?’

‘Not too bad. You?’

‘Suppose so. May I?’ He nodded towards the jug of wine that lived on her table.

‘Help yourself, Tony, you always have.’

‘Yes, but it’s different now. I mean, I’ve never been inside your bedroom before.’

Claudia smiled. ‘Well, the same can’t be said of you, my friend. I know every cube of mosaic like the back of my hand. Floor
and
ceiling!’

Antonius laughed with her. ‘Good times, Claudia. Bloody good times, in fact.’ He poured two glasses of wine. ‘To good times to come!’

She slipped out of her sandals and positioned herself on the bed, tucking her feet underneath her. ‘You’re a very handsome man, Tony Scaevola.’ Lean, grey, muscular. ‘Can’t imagine why Flavia didn’t snap you up right from the start.’

Who else would have her? If Claudia had told her once, she’d told her a thousand times. Don’t bite your nails, don’t suck your hair and don’t hunch over like that or you’ll be round-shouldered by the time you’re twenty. On the other hand, taking a bath occasionally might be to your advantage.

Antonius sat beside her and leaned over. ‘You won’t believe this, the little bitch actually wants to marry me now.’

‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? Gaius cut her out of his will, Marcellus is broke and you, my old cobber, are not exactly destitute. Julia will have convinced her it’s a smart move, considering your elevated position in the Treasury. It’s goodbye tears, hello flattery.’

‘She tried that with our patrician friend.’

‘Orbilio? She never stood a chance with him. He was flirting with her to wind me up and, again, I think you’ll find Auntie Julia told Flavia the facts of life about patricians and equestrians. Particularly penniless equestrians. You’re the best bet that child’s got.’

‘Tough. An heiress I’d marry, but to take Old Grizzle-guts for free? No way.’ He refilled both glasses. ‘I haven’t told her yet. I thought I’d wait until after the burial tomorrow, because Gaius deserves a decent showing, and it’s better I attend as a son-in-law than merely an old friend.’ He gulped his wine. ‘That edict was a bloody disgrace.’

‘I didn’t see you at the funeral.’

‘Gaius is dead, life has to go on. What good would it do me at the Treasury once word gets round I defied the Emperor to attend the funeral of a mass murderer?’

‘You believe Gaius killed those men?’

‘Course not. But Callisunus thinks he did, so why stick my neck out? There’s no reason now why we can’t carry on as planned.’

Grieving widow comforted by stepdaughter’s jilted fiancé. They fall in love and marry, and in next to no time there’ll be children on the scene. Sons for whom the Senate is not out of the question. Sons for whom the admission price of one million sesterces is no obstacle. Claudia sipped silently for several minutes. With both door and windows shut, the heat was intolerable. She knew Scaevola well enough, of course, to take off her tunic—to sit in the nude if she so desired—but this was not the moment. Indeed, it never would be again.

‘I have something for you,’ she said finally, running her hand under her pillow and drawing out a small opaque flagon.

‘For me?’

When Antonius smiled, deep crevices appeared in his cheeks. Claudia had not flattered him, he was a very attractive man. She wouldn’t have slept with him otherwise, even at twenty sesterces a shot. Certainly wouldn’t have chosen him to be the father of her children.

‘What is it?’

Claudia held the tiny flagon up to the light. It was half full. ‘Poison,’ she said quietly.

Beside her she felt Scaevola stiffen. ‘I…I don’t understand.’

She could barely breathe, and it wasn’t only because of the heat. ‘There’s no other way, Tony.’

‘Hey, come on.’ He tried to inject amusement into his ragged voice. ‘What sort of stunt is this?’

In the depths of the house, Claudia heard a pot smash into smithereens. A heated argument broke out among the slaves.

‘You shouldn’t have killed him, Tony. Everything was going so well, it was practically within our grasp. There was no need to kill him.’

Sweat trickled down Scaevola’s forehead and into his eyes. ‘Claudia, you’re crazy. Kill who? Who am I supposed to have killed?’

‘You got him drunk, you sat him down, you picked up that little bronze statue of Apollo and you smashed it over his head. You positioned his sword—and then you pushed. Hard. Tell me, Tony, did it squelch? Did it—’

‘Shut up, shut up!’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh, shit, Claudia, you really know how to make a point.’ Several long lonely minutes rolled past before he spoke again. ‘He didn’t suffer, he was out cold, I swear.’

‘I know that, Tony, but he didn’t deserve to die like a dog and he didn’t deserve to have his name sullied.’

‘For pity’s sake, how could I know he’d be labelled a murderer? He was depressed, for gods’ sakes, he’d lost two sons, a daughter and a grandchild. Any man could top himself under that burden.’

‘He was your friend.’

‘He was your husband, so don’t start moralizing! This whole thing was your idea, remember. I’ll never make it through the ranks, you said, but by heaven I’ll bear sons who will. This was shortly after you realized Gaius’s interests lay elsewhere and you approached me, Claudia, so don’t you forget that.’

Claudia leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. How could she forget? The betrayal had tormented her from the moment she first looked down on Gaius’s corpse.

‘You think that because Gaius left you a million, I’m trying to claw into that?’ The look on her face told him he guessed right. ‘Don’t be silly. The plan was we’d cobble together the requisite million by me marrying that whingeing cow downstairs, then divorcing her on trumped-up charges of adultery. I would then denounce the child I was so eager for as another man’s—hell, Claudia, we’d already earmarked the patsy—because that way I’d hang on to Flavia’s dowry
and
put in a hefty claim for compensation. By this time you’d have a not inconsiderable settlement of your own, since Gaius Seferius—overweight and unhealthy would have shuffled off his mortal coil.’

At least he’d have died from natural causes.

‘Now since I was prepared to do all the dirty work, it doesn’t stand to reason I’d change the rules simply because Gaius left you all his dough.’

‘Gaius changed his will in the firm conviction that Flavia killed her siblings out of bitter rivalry. He made the new will, he said, in case she tried to kill him, too. He left me a letter explaining it all.’

‘Flavia?’ Scaevola blew out his breath in a whistle. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

‘I daresay we both shall, but that’s not the point. The point, Tony, is that Flavia didn’t kill them, you did.’

His arm fell away. ‘You’re not serious…’

‘Never more so.’ She opened her eyes and looked at him. He looked terrible. ‘You were engaged to Calpurnia when she died of a fever, and it gave you an idea. Gaius’s fortune was divided three ways instead of four, so you asked to marry Flavia. I thought it was my idea, but it wasn’t, you already had your plans in motion. You were with Secundus the night he died.
You
took him on a tour of the taverns.
You
got him pissed. Then
you
pushed him under a wagon.’

‘He fell. When I realized he was dead, I panicked.’

‘You pushed him, Tony. You waited for a wagon piled with grain and you pushed him. You poisoned Lucius, and you paid the midwife to lie about Valeria’s perfectly healthy baby.’

And no doubt grizzly little Flavia would come to a sticky end along the way, poor cow. Claudia could feel, rather than see, that he was shaking. Perhaps he was crying, she didn’t particularly care. He’d murdered four people, she hoped he fried in hell. And for what? Greed, pure and simple.

‘It’s over, Tony. Go home and take that bottle with you.’

‘You don’t mean you’ve told the authorities?’

‘There’s a letter, yes, and should anything happen to me, it’ll be handed over.’ She was bluffing, of course, but he wouldn’t know that. ‘This way, they’ll be none the wiser.’

‘Claudia, please—’

She turned her head and covered her ears. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to hear him. She just wanted him gone.

A century must have passed before she found the courage to turn round. The room was empty, apart from herself.

Feeling like an old woman, she crawled off the bed and opened the shutters to let in the fresh night air. Drusilla, miffed at being thrown out, was nowhere in sight and it was quite possible that, knowing her she’d stay out until dawn to teach Claudia a lesson. She yawned. The night was still young, but her bones ached, her head was pounding, there was a filthy taste in her mouth.

‘Good evening, m’dear. Received your message.’

She spun round. There was a figure in the room, the figure of a man. He wore a toga, which didn’t disguise the fact that he was small in all directions.

‘Jupiter!’

She turned up the light to find herself staring into the blank features of Ventidius Balbus, a flagon of wine under one arm.

‘I think there’s been a mistake in communications, Ventidius, I didn’t send any message.’

‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘Um. Sent you a letter…’

‘Yes, I know.’

She was too damned weary to bawl him out and he looked so pathetic standing there. Besides she could use that drink.

‘Plus proposal of marriage. Wondered, er, whether this has been considered?’

‘Ventidius, could we discuss this another time? I’m very tired.’

‘Ah! One didn’t mean to, um… Although this matter is of some urgency to one’s self.’

One’s self? Or was that, one’s elf? Really, it was quite impossible to take this twit seriously! However, since he was the one who might still make that Genoa connection, it wouldn’t hurt to be tolerant. He had, after all, recently divorced a wife who, he told her endlessly at the banquet, had been bonking every man in sight. His ego was probably fragile.

‘The thing is, Ventidius, I’ve decided against remarriage.’

‘Somewhat hasty, don’t you think? Early days, and all that.’

‘Possibly, but you know Roman law. I’d be putting myself under the rule of another man, and somehow the concept of subordination doesn’t appeal.’

His eyes, those ghastly boiled gooseberries, widened in shock. ‘Oh, but you must. What would people think?’

‘Convention, Ventidius, is not something that interests me.’